Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So,” Tony said at last, as he wiped his fingers on a napkin. The last greasy remains left on the corner of his mouth was wiped clean with the swipe of his tongue. “What’s the verdict?”

The Avengers, or what was left of them, sat in a stiff circle around the table. Natasha, who sat on Tony’s right, was still chewing. Though she seemed elsewhere at the moment—her gaze never seemed to leave the napkin dispenser—she nodded, very slowly. “Think it’s starting to grow on me.” Tony turned his gaze to Cap. The star spangled man with a plan threw quick looks around the table, which was nearly crowded with half empty plates and cups. And Shawarma. French Shawarma, to be exact. After a long pause, Steve finally titled his head at Tony with raised eyebrows and a closed mouth smile. “Not bad...not sure if it beats New York’s though.”

“No,” Tony agreed, tossing his napkin beside his empty plate. “No, it sure doesn’t.”

He didn’t know what he expected when he actually said yes to Cap’s dinner invitation—maybe he was feeling more hopelessly nostalgic than he thought he was. It certainly wasn’t a blast from the past, however. Only Rogers, Romanoff, Wilson, and himself were able to make it on short notice.

The last several months had been a whirlwind.

Last November, a new threat revealed itself in New Zealand. A giant hole in the sky opened up just above Hamilton. Giant, spiny, metallic wasps swarmed the city, destroying everything in their path. They were about the size of Tony’s fist, and they reproduced like rabbits. With more and more little nymphs popping out every two to five seconds, the colony soon spread to other countries. Worst of all were the stings—large yellow boils would grow on the skin, and if someone were to be stung one place too many, the boils would spread over the entire body, causing the person to explode into a miserable yellow pile of goop.

The Avengers assembled, Accords be darned.

As grueling and tedious, and quite frankly nasty as the mission was, nothing compared to arriving at New Zealand, ready to neutralize the threat, only to find Steve Rogers and James Barnes waiting for him there.

At the time, Tony couldn’t help but think that the two of them should count themselves lucky that the world had been in peril. But the team had regrouped—Rhodey, Wanda, Vision—even Barton had tagged along. The archer had brazenly escaped house arrest, but everyone pretty much knew he wouldn’t be stopped.

“It’s not terrible”, said Wilson, snapping Tony out of his thoughts. The young veteran was sitting back in his seat, relaxed. “But for Paris? I can think of better cuisines than this.”

“Well, no one’s holding you at gunpoint, Wilson,” Tony said with the lightest cadence. “Be my guest, there’s the door.”

“And leave without paying my share of the tip? Now what kind of gentleman would I be?”

Something flashed in his mind.

A beam of energy, striking his best friend in the chest. The trail of smoke, the spinning, the impact. Blood slithering out of Rhodey’s nose.

Tony sunk his teeth deep into his tongue.

"It wasn’t his fault, Tones,” came Rhodey’s tired but firm voice from just a day prior. “Vision tried to blast him. What was he supposed to do, hold still? You or I would have done the same thing, and apparently he went back for me. Just try and be civil. Do it for me, alright? For me, Tones?”

He clicked his tongue, not looking anyone in the eye. “Of course. How could I forget?”

Silence settled over their little corner. The high end but cozy Parisian restaurant, Quelque Chose, buzzed around them with the hum of chatter and the clinks of forks and plates. The strains of a violin warbled almost sorrowfully from a few tables to their right. How fitting, Tony thought. “So,” Natasha supplied with an almost sarcastic sort of lightness, “When do you plan on returning to New York?”

Tony didn’t look up—he had pulled out his phone and opened a text from Happy. It was a forwarded message from the kid:

2:43- School’s out for the summer. Hope Queens is ready for full time Spidey! :D 

Tony’s sharp smile went as quick as it came. “Soon.” He shot a quick text back before pocketing his phone. “The President and Prime Minister have what they need, and we’ve already been to China and Brazil. My eyes are tired and my writing hand is sore. I’m done.”

“I still can’t believe we’re working under SHIELD now,” Sam said.

“It could be worse,” Steve reminded. “The New Accords aren’t perfect, but ask anyone on the team—this new revision is a big improvement from where we started from.”

Tony picked up a wine glass and downed half of it. Cap drove him nuts, he shouldn’t expect anything else—but he did have a point there.

The New Accords, which had been drawn up as soon as the Wasp threat had been neutralized, included new and somewhat drastic changes...and this time, the Avengers had been apart of all of it, down to the last page.

First – the Avengers were to operate under the supervision of SHIELD. They were now apart of the now official (At least by SHIELD standards) Avengers’ Initiative. Ross had argued against this at first, because SHIELD wasn’t exactly known for playing by the rules 100% of the time. But no one would have signed otherwise, and the U.N. wouldn’t risk consequences if they tried to arrest the Avengers again.

Other changes included the combined agreement that all 117 countries were to hold and participate in city-wide drills in the event of an Avengers-level crisis. Tony threw his weight into the agreement that they would be referred to as the Charlie Spencer Drills—that was the only reason he agreed to put his signature next to Cap’s.

The practice drills had been made mandatory. Over the last several months, every man, woman and child had been subjected to various scenarios ranging from a mild, 30 minute fight that might inconvenience you during rush hour, to end-of-the-world, say-your-prayers, brace-yourself-for-catastrophe type events.

Both SHIELD and Stark Industries had provided everything civilians would need, (And a little extra on Tony’s part) Scanners, radars, sirens; bomb shelters with stocked cans, first aid kits, beds and toiletries.

They also had emergency boats and ships in place, in case of last minute evacuations. Tony was currently working on the schematics for emergency underground railways. No matter what, there needed to be a way out. Always. People had complained—work interruptions, thrown off family schedules, and just plain inconvenience—but Tony knew it would be worth it. The team had been flying from country to country to personally observe the demonstrations and set it up for approval. France, Thank God, was their last stop.

Rogers turned and faced Tony. He had shaved his beard a week ago, and his face had a fresh look. His smile was kind, soft—even proud. “The Charlie drills were a great idea, Tony. It’ll take some time for people to come around to it, but...when the time comes, they’ll thank you.”

Before Tony could even think to respond, Romanoff sat forward, crossing her arms and leaning both elbows on the table. “We couldn’t have done it without you. The Wasp Invasion, the New Accords...everything.” She looked right at him so that Tony had no choice other than to reciprocate. It was the first time he looked her in the eye that evening.

Tony smiled, tight and lifeless. “Yeah, well…” He turned away at last. “We make a good team.”

“We do indeed,” said Romanov after a long pause. She then picked up her glass and raised it, one arm still resting on the table. “To the Avengers.”

Steve and Sam mirrored her. “To the Avengers,” they echoed.

Tony stood up and downed what was left of his wine. “L’Chaim,” He smacked his lips with a pop, cleared his throat, and set his glass back down. “Well, I’m out of here. More work awaits at home.” He looked around at everyone without actually looking at their faces. “Anyone else need a lift back to New York, or are we all good here?”

Rogers shook his head. “Can’t. We’re, uh...we’re on separate assignments for SHIELD. We leave in an hour.”

“Whoah....already.” He dropped his portion of the tab on the table and pulled up his chair. “No rest for the weary.”

“Hydra never rests,” Steve said, briefly looking down. “And as long as it exists, neither can we.”

It was how Rogers chose to look at things, Tony knew. Along with the U.N., SHIELD wasn’t exactly pleased when Cap and his merry men gave everyone the slip. If anything, the sudden missions were Nick Fury’s not-so-subtle way of payback.

“Well, it’s good to see no one’s really holding their breath, Cap. Dropping the Ring into Mount Doom might take us a while.”

Steve’s forehead crinkled in mild confusion. “Mount Doom?”

For a long free-fall of a second, Tony stared. “Mount Doom,” he repeated, no emotion whatsoever. “Y’know. Frodo, Gandalf… ‘My Precious?’ ”

Steve stared blankly.

Natasha and Sam tried to hide their smiles.

“I take it that you haven’t seen The Lord of the Rings.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Steve said, a little awkwardly. “It’s on my list, actually.” Then, “I’ve read The Hobbit.”

Tony breathed a long sigh and put on a pair of sunglasses. “Someone please get Rogers acquainted with the Jackson films.”

“Not our job,” Sam said, humorously eyeing Steve.

“Sure it is.” He nodded to everyone. “Rogers. Romanoff. Wilson.”

“Stark,” Natasha said, watching Tony as he exited the room.

Steve’s eyes followed.

Tony approached the coat check and placed his ticket on the desk. “Bonsoir,” he said. His French tongue was a little rusty. “Je suis là pour mon manteau.”

“Oui, Monsieur.”

“Tony.”

The initial jolt faded away, and he turned with a sigh (He was doing that a lot tonight). Rogers approached.

“Let me guess, my check bounced.”

The soldier chuckled, almost tiredly. “Fat chance of that happening.”

“Then what do you want?”

It came out more harshly than he intended. In his defense, it was late, and he was getting old. Also Jet Lag.

If Steve was bothered by Tony’s bluntness, he didn’t show it. He seemed to take Tony in. “We never really got a chance to talk,” he said simply. “We’ve all been through a lot of changes in such a short time. I came by to see how you were.”

Silence roared between them. Somewhere in the building, the same violinist from earlier was putting his elbow into it this time, as if his next month’s rent were depending on it. It probably was.

A faint whistle escaped Tony’s nostrils, and he removed his sunglasses. His eyes bore into Steve’s. “No,” he said, or rather decided. Something about that statement just...something snapped inside of him. Something that had been pulled taught ever since their battle with the Wasps. “No, you didn’t. Because you and I both remember what you did, and you wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Steve’s countenance didn’t change much. He probably expected this, and that just made Tony angrier.

“Tony, he was not in his right mind. Decades of brainwashing, of torture. If you knew him before—”

“I’m not talking about Barnes and you know it,” Tony hissed. His body ran with little tremors and he had to fight to keep his voice down. Pepper would lose it if he made a scene at one of her favorite restaurants. “Although that’s a whole other can of worms I don’t feel like opening tonight. And you know what, Rogers? For one who’s been on the run for a year and a half, I thought that maybe you would have gained some insight.”

“And what insight is that?”

Tony gripped his wrist. “About what it actually means to be a team. I can’t believe I just said that to Captain freaking America, but that’s where we’re at.”

Steve’s eyes were unreadable. “You think you know what that means now? How many times have you went behind the team’s back, Tony? How many times have you acted on your own without consulting any of us?”

“So I guess that justifies keeping the nature of my parent’s murder a secret from me,” Tony snapped. “You wanna know how I am, Rogers, you really wanna know where I’m at, emotionally, physically, mentally—”

“Tony—”

“I’m terrific! Always am, thanks for asking!” His breathing stuttered, and faint vein lines rose up against his skin. Tony tried to rein himself back in. “I can’t for the life of me figure out why I said yes to this little dinner invite. Maybe you were trying to recreate something—and maybe, somewhere deep inside, I wanted to find out if it was possible. Turns out that it’s not.”

“It’s not,” Steve agreed. “But maybe...I don’t know. Maybe it could create something new. Sort of a fresh start, between all of us.”

“Yeah, but before that, you want closure,” Tony said. “Well, I’ll spare you the suspense. If that’s what you’re looking for, there are plenty of other places to find it, but you won’t be getting it from me.”

A long pause wavered between them. Steve then glanced at something behind Tony.

The shorter man turned, and there was the coat check girl, clutching Tony’s coat between her hands. The poor thing gave a start at their sudden focus on her, and froze up like a teenager caught having a party. “Ah—your coat, Monsieur,” she stuttered in a very thick French accent.

Tony gave a small sound acknowledgment and took the coat, slinging it casually over his shoulder. “Thank you dear,” he said. His voice was a touch smoother now, like butter. No sign of any public mental breakdown here.

He gave the girl a very sizable tip. “Oh, and uh, tell your boss to give that violinist a raise. He’s playing for everyone’s soul in there.”

The girl walked away in an awed daze, and Tony put his sunglasses back on. He took a deep breath that shook at the edges. “I’m just not ready,” he said. The admission was tired, and yeah, maybe he should have brought that part up first. Again, Jet Lag.

“Of course,” Steve nodded. “Tony, I didn’t expect everything to fix itself overnight. I just wanted there to be a start. This, tonight, this is a start. No one’s expecting you to jump right back into things…” The captain seemed to reevaluate something, then smirked a little. “Okay, maybe I hoped a little. But I never expected.”

Behind the sunglasses, Tony looked Steve up and down. Despite being berated, his posture remained open. His hands were on his hips, the same way they would be when he was confident, relaxed. Yet, his face was the same firm, steadfast, shining beacon of righteousness Tony had come to know. As good natured as the captain was, Rogers was no push over. Tony found that out quickly.

He had let Tony unleash his bottled up emotions because he allowed it. And perhaps because he agreed with him, somewhat.

He was one stubborn sun of a gun. But then again, so was Tony.

When an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, Pepper had referred to them, years ago.

As usual, she had a good point.

Knowing that Tony had nothing else to contribute to the conversation, Steve finally nodded. “We’ll keep in touch, Tony. Have a safe trip back.”

In the dark, a man moved up and down the aisle, rubbing his hands together like a kid in front of his favorite dessert. He had a slight limp.

On either side of him, people sat at their desks, typing away at their computers like insects. They all wore headsets.

“Are we ready?” the man asked, barely containing the grin in his voice. He straightened the lapels of his two piece suit as he continued to pace the room.

Another man stood off against the far end of the wall. He was bigger, taller, broader. He wasn’t hulking, but one look at him would send anyone in the opposite direction. His ice cold eyes gleamed in the dark. “All these years of planning,” he said, a calm, dangerous sort of rumble, “and you can’t sit still for five more minutes?”

“What can I say?” the first man said, not the least bit intimidated. He flashed his big white teeth in a wide smile. “Pre-show jitters.” His hands alternated from palm to fist as he rhythmically slapped them together. Occasionally, he would duck to look at one of the computer screens, paying no mind to anyone else’s personal space.

He finally stopped behind one woman’s chair and rested his chin on top of her head. “Julia, baby, we all set?”

“Everyone’s almost in place, Mr. Crowe,” came the reply. She looked at her screen as if it were beneath her, and her mouth rested in the tiniest of smirks.

“Didn’t I tell you that my friends call me Cyrus?” He stood up to full height and waved a hand. “Call me Cyrus, everyone!”

“I hope you know what you are doing.”

If the third man hadn’t spoken up, he would’ve been missed altogether. He was short and square, and he wore a lab coat and rounded glasses. His dark eyes betrayed no joy, or even life. He sat on a very uncomfortable looking stool, but he seemed to be right at home, like a coiled snake.

“We put our trust in you, Doc,” Cyrus replied. He kept a healthy distance. “Now put your faith in us. Your time will come; but for now, you just sit back and enjoy the show.”

“Mr. Crowe,” someone said. “Team 1 is ready and is standing by.”

“Hup!” Cyrus cried, and made his way over. He came behind a man with a comb over and gripped his shoulders. “Robert, my man! Excellent.”

“It’s Nelson, sir.”

“Sir! Team 2 is standing by!”

“Julia, baby!”

Other voices sounded off.

“Team 3 standing by.”

“Team 4 standing by!”

“Team 5 standing by.”

“Team 6 standing by.”

Cyrus spun around in a slow circle, rubbing his hands anew. “Good, good, good. And Queens, what about the team in Queens?”

One woman, with the final tap of her fingers, gave a nod of confirmation. “Team 7 standing by.”

Cyrus slapped his hands together and whooped. “Now we’re in business!”

“On your signal, sir.”

“Just a minute, Gentleman--!” He spun around to address the broader man against the wall, and the Doctor that sat nearest to him. Cyrus raised both his arms, and he cocked his head with a smile. “I hope you’re ready—because we’re about to make history.”

When it was clear he would receive no response, Cyrus briefly sunk his teeth into his lower lip. “Right!” He clapped, turning back to the vast number of people looking at him, waiting for further instruction.

Cyrus put his hands on his hips. His eyes shined, like a wolf’s.

“Alright then...break a leg, everyone.”

Steve returned to the table. Sam was just standing up. “You’re leaving?” Steve questioned, reaching out a hand.

Sam clasped it. “Yeah. Just got a message from SHIELD. The time table’s moved up. They’ve got a car out waiting for me.”

Steve’s eyebrows nearly touched his hairline. “Wow. That’s...eager of them.”

“That’s what I said,” Natasha agreed with another sip of wine. “I’m starting to think they have it out for us—especially us three.”

“Yeah, well.” Sam threw a half humored glance toward the direction Tony had left in. “They wouldn’t be the first. I’ll see you, Cap.”

Steve nodded and squeezed Sam’s hand. The extra pressure held a thousand meanings, but the overall message was simple: Thank you. For everything.

Sam only smiled, and they exchanged a couple pats on the back before parting. “I’ll see you,” Steve said. “Be careful.”

“You too.”

He turned towards Natasha, who rose to embrace him. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and smiled. “Stay safe. Be sure and contact us when it’s over, okay?”

Sam returned the smile with all warmth. “Yes ma’am. Take care.”

And with that, he left.

“Looks like it’s just us now, soldier,” Natasha said as they sat back down. “Care for desert?”

Steve signaled a nearby waitress. “Ma’am?”

After they had ordered, the spy’s face settled into one of business. Steve knew it well. “Have you heard from Barnes?”

“Last I heard he’s still in Zurich.”

There had been rumored sightings of strange serums that had been recreated and distributed between Hydra and its allies. Bucky had caught wind of it and volunteered for the assignment himself. He had been in deep cover for the past two months. Steve had tried to go with him, but Bucky wanted to go it alone—and Steve had his obligations with the Avengers.

Still, Steve worried.

“He wants Hydra gone more than any person I know,” he murmured. “Myself included.”

“It’s understandable,” Natasha said. She regarded him deeply. “Have you been getting any sleep?”

“I get enough.”

“Steve.”

“Nat.”

Natasha shifted away from him, rolling her eyes. They sat in silence for a while. Having finished her wine, the spy reached over and took a sip from Steve’s. Steve groaned soundlessly, but ultimately surrendered a smile at Natasha’s defiant shrug. “So,” she said after a spell. “How’s the Sharon situation?”

The soldier blinked. “How do you know about Sharon?”

“You're really asking me how I know?” Natasha’s lips then pressed together in a barely suppressed a smile as she briefly glanced down at the table. “And Sam might have let a few things slip.”

A breath of a chuckle left his lips. He only paused for a moment before he said, quietly, “Didn’t quite work out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

Natasha let a beat pass between them before saying very carefully,

“Steve, I think you’re a nice guy. And you’re a good soldier; one of our best. You see what needs doing, and sure enough, you follow through.”

“I’m sensing a ‘But’ in there somewhere,” Steve said.

“But…” She leaned forward again. “You don’t know when or where to stop. I know that defeating Hydra for good may seem like a pipe dream, and tomorrow is never guaranteed, especially in our line of work. One day, maybe you’ll keel over during a fight...or maybe you’ll age out of it. If the latter happens, you just might have to put down that shield of yours and leave saving the world to someone else. And if and when that day comes, you’re gonna need something, or someone to fall back on.”

“So...what? You’re telling me I should quit while I’m ahead?”

“No...I’m saying that it wouldn’t hurt to have a plan B.”

Steve’s jaw was set. He regarded her with searching eyes. “And what about you?” he asked. “What are you falling back on, Natasha?”

“Don’t change the subject. Besides, I asked first.”

His eyelids fluttered at the rate his mind was going. “Nat, I’m trying to do my job. We’ve got a lot going on, we’ve got the drills, we’ve got SHIELD to tip toe around—”

“You know what you don’t got?” Natasha said sharply, leaning back and kicking one leg over the other. “A girlfriend.”

Steve twisted his head around. “Where is that dessert?”

No sooner did the words leave his mouth, a waiter came by and placed two chocolate souffles on the table.

“Voila, Monsieur, Madame,” he chirped.

“Merci,” Steve said, almost too cheerfully. “L’addition, s’il vous plait.”

“Oui, Monsieur.”

Just then, their phones went off simultaneously. Steve and Natasha took their devices out of their pockets with such graceful proficiency, the casual observer might have sworn they had practiced it.

“Nick,” Steve sighed, not all that surprised.

“Damn,” Natasha whispered to her phone before putting it away. She frowned down at her desert and tossed her hands. “What about my souffle?”

Steve was already out of his chair. He took the souffles and faced a nearby couple that sat adjacent to them. “Excuse me—are any of you allergic to chocolate?”

The couple glanced at each other, momentarily stunned, before the man slowly shook his head.

Steve placed the souffles on their table with a smile. “It’s on us. Bon Appétit.”

“I’m still hungry,” Natasha grumbled as they left.

“I’ll buy you another one.”

The night grew colder.

“Okay. First, we start with Phantom Menace.”

“Obviously.”

“Then, Attack of the Clones. We'll probably reach the point where Anakin kills the Tusken Raiders. Dinner will be ready by then—we’re having tuna casserole, by the way.”

“Awesome.”

“And then afterward we’ll come back and finish it, let our food digest, and then afterwards—”

“—Hershey's and Marsh-mellows,” Peter finished with a grin.

“And dude,” Ned went on. “I’ve got, like, fifteen cans of root beer in my room—”

WHAM!

Peter coughed and sputtered as water dripped off his hair and clothes. Another balloon hit, then a third one. Startled, Ned spun around in circles. “What—where—”

“Boom, got ‘im!” Laughter scattered out across the front lawn of Midtown Tech. Ned and Peter zeroed in on a victorious Flash, who stood out on the front ramp, not ten feet away. The bully pumped his fists high above his head before violently high fiving his friends.

Ned heaved a sigh, and Peter flapped his arms twice, trying to shake his sleeves out. It was only a blue plaid shirt, but it was brand new! May was gonna kill him if he got it ruined.

"Happy summer vacation, Penis, see you next year! Whooo!” Flash took off running, and the laughter lingered long after. Some students shook their heads at Flash’s juvenile antics while others simply glanced up and went on with their business.

“Dude,” Ned hissed when everyone’s attention was finally averted. “You could have totally dodged those.”

“I know,” Peter grunted, pulling off his backpack and checking inside to see if any of his books were wet. “But he’s been doing this every last day of school since we were like, twelve. And if I couldn’t dodge them any of the other times—”

“Yeah, yeah, you shouldn’t dodge them now. But dude, we should plan something—you know, get him back for at least one year. One! What about senior year? Definitely senior year!”

“No, Ned. Just drop it, okay?” The teen was satisfied that most of his books remained dry; thank goodness he tucked his suit around them.

As Peter slung his backpack over his shoulder, his eyes caught the shredded remains of the water balloons lying on the sidewalk. He gathered them up, went over to the nearest trash can, and threw them out.

“I’m Spider-Man. You’re my guy in the chair. We’ve leveled up now!”

A dreamy smile suddenly pooled over Ned’s face, and Peter knew he was remembering Homecoming again. Over time, he had learned that reminding Ned of past heroics was the only way to bring him back down to earth. “Yeah,” his best friend drawled...then the spell broke for a moment. “Did you just pick up those water balloons?”

Peter tried to shrug non nonchalantly as they continued on their way. “I can’t just leave trash on the ground. It’s...littering.”

“It’s Flash’s litter. Flash’s trash!”

“So?”

Ned groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “Peter. After everything we’ve been through, people still think we’re losers. Even the Freshmen laugh at us. Are you really okay with that?”

“Ned, come on, focus.” Peter threw his arm around him. His sleeve was only half dry, but the other boy didn’t seem to mind. “Now’s not the time to focus on High School stuff. That’s all behind us now, we’ve got bigger things to do! Think of all the patrols you’ll get to help me on.”

Ned head briefly fell to the side. “True. I still can’t believe May is still letting you...y’know, fight crime.”

“Yeah, well...she and Mr. Stark worked it out.”

He smiled a little nervously at the look Ned threw him—he knew all about the fallout they had after May had caught him in his suit last October. Convincing May to continue being a part time superhero wasn’t nearly as easy as he’d made it sound.

He had rules now—rules that Mr. Stark had promised to make absolutely certain he’d follow: No patrolling until all his grades were back up, no cutting class for any reason unless it was for a big emergency, and always be in by 8:15, not a minute more.

It wasn’t too unreasonable, even he had to admit. And if it meant that he got to keep being Spider-Man, he’d absolutely take it.

“And besides,” Peter went on, “I think that whole weird alien wasp thing kind of cemented that this is what I’m meant to do.”

“Dude, If I hadn’t said it before, I’ll say it again. Sophomore year was bonkers.”

Queens didn’t get the worst of the Wasp Invasion, but it was still chaos. They had been everywhere—in the subway, in schools, even at the supermarkets. While the Avengers were out of the country trying to kill the source, Spider-Man had his hands full trying to scoop up hapless citizens and keeping them away from the worst of the swarm zones.

He had corralled people into some of the safest nooks and crannies that Karen could detect and sealed the entrances as tightly as he could with his webbing.

When it was over, he ended up getting stung, like, nine times. But, thanks to his healing factor and the antidote that the Wakandans obtained and distributed, his swollen lumps eventually faded away, and he was good as new.

Happy had driven him to the compound to receive his extra dose—and the cool part? He got to meet the official go-to doctor of the Avengers, Helen Cho. She was super nice.

Then after that came the Charlie Drills—which stressed out everyone he knew, but Peter knew it was necessary—and finals. The finals. It had been a lot.

But now came a new chapter. Things had been quiet for a while now as far as aliens were concerned—most of the Avengers were back—and he was pretty sure he aced most of his final tests. So naturally, it was cause for celebration.

A sleepover at Ned’s, and a Star Wars marathon. Just for today, he’d skip patrol to spend some time with his best friend. He had the whole summer, after all.

They headed toward Delmar’s, with Peter’s shoes squelching along the way. They stepped over a steaming manhole cover. “You’ll have to order for me,” said Peter as he dug into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash.

“Why?”

“I’m still soaked, Mr. Delmar would kill me if I got water on his floor. Now listen…” He looked Ned square in the eye and spoke slowly and clearly, like their lives depended on it. “Get me two packs of gummy worms, and a number 5 with pickles, and it needs to be smushed down flat. You got it?”

Ned nodded along. “Number 5, gummy worms with pickles, and smush it all flat. Cool, got it.”

Hesitation worked Peter’s jaw as Ned entered the Deli, but ultimately chose silence. He sighed a little and turned toward the open streets. It was a nice June afternoon, not too hot. A fire hydrant had burst across the street, and kids were jumping and screaming under the heavy spray of water. He smiled at them.

Something was weird, though. Well, not weird. Maybe...off? Normally, at this time of day, at this time of year, the street would be crowded. The area wasn’t abandoned or anything, but it felt...sort of spacious...and a little quiet? Other than the few screaming kids, and an argument between two men further down his left, the only noise his super hearing could pick up was the sound of the screech of an oncoming subway car and birds.

It’s almost too quiet, he thought.

A part of him shivered...he had a good couple of months despite everything, and it was shaping up to be a great weekend. And, that worried him, somewhat. Things always seemed to happen when he was having a particularly good day. Like, life-altering things.

Parker Luck, Ben used to call it. Parker Luck would always balance it out.

May would think it nonsense, and Peter remembered the way she would roll her eyes at his Uncle. “He’s just trying to be funny,” she would say. “Parker Luck doesn’t actually exist, kiddo.”

Still, though. His spider sense was quiet, as of now at least. But...

A rapping at the window startled him to attention. “Mr. Parker,” Mr. Delmar called, waving at him from inside the shop. “What are you standing out there for? Get in here!”

“My shoes are wet!”

“What?”

“I said my shoes are wet, I can’t come in!”

“Sir?” Ned questioned inside, and the confused deli owner turned his head toward him. “Sorry. Is the fried calamari made with peanuts? Because I think I might have a peanut allergy.”

“You might?”

“Yeah—I normally love cashews and stuff, but my mouth’s been pretty weird lately. I had a snickers yesterday and I felt a weird sort of tingle? I don’t know. My mom said that’s it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“We make ours with peanut oil.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Mr. Delmar turned back to the window. The glass was thin, so they could talk normally. “So, it’s your last day, huh?”

“Yep!” Peter replied.

“Sayonara Sophomore year!” He waved his big hand with a grin. “You gonna miss it?”

“Heck no!”

Mr. Delmar laughed. “You say the same thing every year. My daughter and her friends used to cry when moving up a grade. Not you!”

Peter shrugged up to his ears. Almost every kid at his school got emotional at the prospect of leaving their old grade behind. Most lamented about how simpler life was when they were little kids. The friends they grew up with, recesses, no pressure, no deadlines...Peter understood it to some degree, but he never really felt that way.

He liked his childhood for the most part, even though there were struggles (but everyone has struggles, right?). But he never actually missed being a kid. Heck, he didn’t care for it now! The future always seemed more exciting. “I dunno—I’m just excited for Junior year.”

"And all that time you’ll be dreaming about Senior year,” Mr. Delmar said. “Seriously, kid, slow down. In a few years you’ll miss being in High School.”

Peter’s half-dry curls shook along with his head. “No, no way…”

A young woman with rectangular glasses flew past him. After her came someone else, a bald man in a grey suit, his forehead covered with sweat.

“I can’t wait to graduate,” Peter said, watching them from the corner of his eye.

“Uhhh, the Jerk Chicken looks good,” said Ned, still choosing. “Does it have a lot of curry though? Curry kinda makes me gassy.”

“Would you like a Jerk Chicken?” Mr. Delmar asked patiently.

“I don’t know—Hey Peter! Should I get a Jerk Chicken?”

“I don’t know, just pick something,” Peter called back. He was half distracted by yet another group of people running past him. They were all in business attire.

A weird lull happened. Nearby, people started shifting out of Peter’s line of sight, and another man almost slammed into him while running.

“You know what, I really should get something a little healthier. I’m actually thinking of going vegan. How much is the Smoked Whitefish salad?”

“$6.99.”

“Really?...that’s kinda expensive for a salad.”

Peter’s eyebrows deepened in concern as people started shouting, fingers pointing somewhere up the street. He looked around sharply before grabbing hold the arm of a frazzled looking middle aged woman. His fingers were careful not to grip too hard. “Ma’am, what’s going on?”

Her body twisted as her free hand pointed south. “Fire. Up on 5^th. The whole building is on fire!”

Peter let her go. “Ned!”

The tone of Peter’s voice had Ned peeking out.

“I gotta go.” His feet were already dancing away.

“What? Why?” He looked up suddenly, and his eyes widened.

“Whoah…”

Peter whirled around and saw the billowing smoke. It was big. And close. “I gotta go!”

“Okay—should I like, call May? Or Happy?”

“What? No it’s fine, I got this. Later, Mr. Delmar!” He turned away, his shoes still squelching as he ran. Then he added to Ned over his shoulder, “Don’t start the movie without me!”

"Where’s he going?” Mr. Delmar murmured. Murph, who sat perched on the counter, yowled, almost mournfully. “Murph,” Delmar said, shocked. He stroked the back of his cat’s head and back. “What’s the matter, buddy? Hey, it’s okay.”

Murph only mewed in distress as Peter disappeared with the surging crowd.

Wanda breathed in the fresh afternoon air as she gripped Vision’s hand a little tighter. The park wasn’t very occupied, but she still pulled her hair back in a loose bun and wore dark sunglasses over her eyes in hopes of warding off recognition. Her track suit was black, despite the heat, and she wore matching tennis shoes.

Vision, however, was a stark contrast. He wore a pastel green shirt with a crisp white collar, and beige pants. His vanilla ice cream was dribbling slightly in his opposite hand.

Wanda’s mouth pursed as she held back a small smile. It was charming, watching the android experience the little things in life that humans take for granted...things like struggling to lick your ice cream in a neat fashion without making a mess.

Vision’s eyebrows knitted together in careful concentration, pulling in his lips. He was in his new human form. He stared at his ice cream, craned his head to lick one side, and studied it again. He was determined to keep the cone clean.

“I think am starting to get the hang of this,” Vision said, eyes still on the frozen treat. “There is a method, I think. I’ve found that twisting the cone slightly as you lick makes eating more efficient.”

Wanda chuckled. “I never saw the point of eating from a cone. I always eat from bowl.”

“Yes, but afterwards, you can eat the cone...you can eat the cone, can’t you?”

“Of course.”

Vision nodded. They continued up the trail in silence. They passed an old woman by the lake feeding a flock of birds. The shouts of a toddler echoed across the manicured lawn. Vision glanced over at his companion, who silently stared at the world ahead behind her shades. “Are you alright?”

Wanda only looked at him for a moment. “Fine. Just tired.”

“Are you wanting to return to the compound?”

“No...no, I just...I am feeling the Jet Lag. I will get over it soon.”

“We had been excused from approving the Charlie Drills, and have been stationary for the past month. I am certain you have recovered since we returned from New Zealand.”

Wanda sighed.

“I had hoped that enticing you out of your room to go to on an outing would lift your spirit,” Vision said. “It didn’t seem right, leaving you to redecorate your room all day.”

“I like decorating,” Wanda said.

“Be as it may, you haven’t been yourself lately. Maybe...it is the company you keep. The other Avengers have not been around for some time, though for good reason. What about Mr. Barton? I know that he is back with his family, but he is fond of you. We could call him.”

The young woman’s heart twisted a little. “It is not you, Vision, I promise.”

“Then what?”

They had paused under a tree. A cool wind carried under the boughs and the leaves fluttered like a thousand green little butterflies about to take flight. The lake shimmered to their left. Wanda took off her sunglasses and stared at the grass for a long while before finally looking up at Vision. “When we signed the New Accords...with all those representatives in the room...what did you think when they looked at you? Red skin and all?”

Vision took a moment to consider. His ice cream was finished now, and he chewed the last of the cone slowly, thoughtfully. “It is natural to be wary of one’s who’s existence is beyond their understanding. I am, after all, a living android who is growing more human by the day. It will take some time for people to get used to.”

Wanda smiled a little. “I wish I could be as objective as you.”

Vision took her face in his hands. They smelled like vanilla. “It was not personal, Wanda. Your abilities are astounding as they are fearsome. The way they looked at you was merely the result of their reservations about your power. Not you.”

“It wasn’t that,” Wanda said. She swallowed thickly. “On the way to the U.N. Center, I saw a little girl. She looked to be having lunch with her mother. I smiled at her, and she recognized me. She was…her eyes. She was so afraid, Vision.”

“Do you think that perhaps she was in awe of you?”

“She smiled at Steve. And at Natasha...one of the most deadliest spies in the world.”

Vision’s fingers were tender as they brushed her cheeks. “I know that I said that I can’t control their fear. Only my own. But I also see my own fear reflected back at me...that one day, I will slip, and lose all control. That I will become that monster everyone imagines.”

Vision took one of her hands and gently kissed the edge of her palm. His blue eyes never left hers. “That will never happen.”

“Because I have you,” Wanda whispered.

“You are stronger than you know,” Vision said. “And of course you have me, but I am not your only tether. There are others who care for you, Wanda.”

The young woman leaned forward and nuzzled her cheek into his chest. Warm, strong arms encircled her. “But none make me feel the way you do.”

Vision’s chin rested on top of her head.

“Yoooo!” said a voice.

The couple startled. A young man with long curly hair grinned at them from behind his phone. A friend stood beside him, openly staring. “It’s the witch!” the first man laughed.

Wanda broke away from Vision and shifted behind and away from him, hiding her face. Vision stayed rooted, glaring coldly but calmly at the unwanted spectators. “Afternoon, gentlemen.” A clear dismissal.

“Out of the way, Andy Bernard,” the first man shouted. He started to circle them with his phone still pointed. “You’re in my shot! How’s it going, witch?”

Wanda’s fingers trembled slightly as she put her sunglasses back on. Her head fell before the camera could catch her eyes.

“Where’s the Avengers? They didn’t ask you to go with them to Paris? Why not?”

“Please,” Vision said, his eyes growing sharper. “My companion and I are simply here to enjoy the scenery. I must ask you to move away.”

“It’s not like its private property,” the man quipped. He was almost in arm’s reach. “Did the team just up and leave you behind? They still mad about what happened in Lagos?”

Vision stepped forward, and Wanda grabbed his hand. “No. We go.”

Vision regarded her. “Wanda, perhaps—”

“No. We go.”

They clasped hands and moved a little faster. The young man’s voice followed them. “Oh, come on, baby girl, don’t be like that! What about your boyfriend there? Is he like you, or is he normal?”

They continued down the trail, ignoring the curious glances of passerby’s along the way.

Dark clouds gathered as they entered a grove of trees.

Frantic feet ran along the wooded path. A man, his printed orange shirt drenched in sweat, wheezed and puffed as he shoved random people out of the way. He ignored their surprised and angered shouts.

The man was more dead than alive when he finally arrived at a large thatched hut. He yanked apart the beaded doorway with one singular cry. “Doutor!”

The people in the hut either paid him no mind, or couldn’t hear him. A long line formed, and many villagers talked amongst themselves as they waited. At the front, a small form sat crouched, speaking softy to a father and his child. His face was partly obscured underneath his pith helmet.

“I know it tastes bad, but you must take your medicine.”

The little girl in front of him scrunched her nose up. The father smiled helplessly. The crouched figure reached out and gave a tap on the girl’s nose. His fair skin stood out even more against the light of the lanterns. “Ouça seu pai. Ele sabe o que é melhor para você.”

“Senhor!” the sweaty man cried. He jumped over a crate full of supplies and grabbed the smaller man’s shoulders. The doctor looked up. His demeanor was surprisingly calm despite the sudden and harsh treatment. “Senhor,” sweaty man gasped again, “É minha esposa...Wife!..Ela está em trabalho de parto!”

The smaller man evaluated him. His brow furrowed. “Tem certeza?” he asked carefully. “A que distância estão suas contrações?”

The sweaty man blinked hard to himself. He shook his head. “As contrações duram dois, talvez cinco minutos. A bolsa dela estourou—por favor!”

There was no visible change in the man, but a new resolve seemed to hit home. He slipped a small bottle into the father’s hand before turning and reaching for a medical bag.

He gave a word of parting to another worker who was sorting through bandages: “Assuma o controle para mim.”

The two men charged through the rain forest. The night was hot and wet. It wasn’t too long before the screams reached them, and the smaller man no longer needed a guide. The sweaty man entered the hut first. A young woman’s head was yanked back in excruciating pain, and she clutched at her swollen belly.

“Está tudo bem,” the sweaty man said excitedly, smoothing back his wife’s hair, which was damp. “Está tudo bem, encontrei o médico!”

"Onde você esteve?" the woman wailed angrily. 

Removing his pith helmet, the doctor set down his medical bag, snapped on a pair of gloves, and got out a small stack of towels. "Qual e o nome dela?" 

“Isadora,” replied the sweaty man.

The doctor smiled and laid the towels directly in front of the woman. "Nice to meet you, Isadora. My name is Bruce.” He got out a pair of clamps. The father-to-be gripped his wife’s hand nervously.

“Coloque para fora!” Isadora moaned. “Get it out!”

Bruce peered in and his eyes darkened in concentration. “Already listening to Mom, are we?” He readied himself in front of her.“Empurre,” he commanded. Isadora screamed, pushing with all her might. Her husband cringed into her bedside as she slowly crushed his hand. “Empurre! Novamente, empurre!”

A minute passed. Then two. Then five. Then ten.

“Eu não consigo,” Isadora sobbed. “Não posso!”

“Yes you can, Isadora!” Bruce said sharply. “Você pode! Você chegou até aqui. Agora, mais uma vez, EMPURRE!”

Isadora’s upper body jerked forward, eyes squeezed shut tight. Her screams were long, pained. And then… A new scream. A tiny scream. Isadora’s cries of pain melted into cries of joy as Bruce lifted her child into the light. With a simple smile of finality, the Doctor announced, “Um menino.”

The husband looked up weakly and laughed. Isadora sighed her relief and let her head fall back on the pillow. Bruce gently cleaned the baby boy up, cut the cord, and wrapped him snugly in a towel. He gently placed him into Isadora’s waiting arms and stood back as the parents marveled at their little one. “Nicholas,” Isadora breathed. “His name...Nicholas Reis Bruce Arantes.”

Bruce stared for a moment. He leaned his arms on the edge of the bed. A flattered and incredulous sort of sound escaped him. His smile burned the question, Are you sure about that? But Isadora simply smiled at him. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her husband echoed the sentiment, still enamored with the child.

Bruce nodded, briefly looking away. “De nada.” The soft moment lingered. Unbeknownst to the new parents, the Doctor was taking in the scene with a quiet melancholy. He managed to snap himself out of it with the slight shake of his head. He pulled off his gloves and prepared to gather his medical supplies.

Suddenly, several dark figures appeared at the door. Bruce did a double take before peering through the darkness with slightly bewildered eyes. He pivoted slightly, and his shoulders tensed. His voice came out low, cautious. “Who are you?”

“How’d it go?”

Happy’s question was met with the puff-blow of Tony’s cheeks and nothing more. “That bad huh?”

“Just drive, Hogan.”

Happy smiled wryly, but said nothing as he pulled away from the quiet, secluded curb that slept in the shadow of the Quelque Chose restaurant.

Even in the dark of night, Paris was still alive with people. Shopping, eating, dancing. Putting his head back, Tony closed his eyes with a quiet groan as Happy suddenly blasted a horn. “Hey! I have the right of way! I have the right of way! I swear, some Parisians—HEY!” The horn seemed even louder the second time around—or maybe that was just the result of Tony’s growing migraine.

“What are you trying to do, run me over!? You—oh, that’s nice, that’s real nice. Right back atcha, pal!”

A few scattered honks echoed behind them as the car made a blissful turn into the adjacent street. A lull of silence followed, and the forehead of security’s hands relaxed on the wheel.

It was a long time before Happy spoke again, his tone almost soft. “So what did Cap have to say?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” Tony said offhandedly. Rolling his head over to the side, he eyed the bottle of bourbon in front of him. He was tempted to take a glass—very tempted.

“I think we’re done.”

Happy eyed him in the rear view mirror. A sad, sarcastic smile seemed stuck to Tony’s face, and he looked away, ruefully.

“Professionally, the Avengers are everything the world needs it to be. We’re strong, maybe even stronger than ever in a few aspects. I mean, the Hulk’s till MIA, and Thor’s out somewhere in space, but...hey, more than half the team is back, That’s good news. And we’ve got SHIELD on our side, more or less. We’re—us? The Avengers? We’re set. We’re all good. We’re a team….”

He breathed in shakily through his nose. His arm suddenly darted out like a snake toward its prey (the bourbon of course) and he poured himself one.“...Except we’re not.” He knocked it back.

Happy’s eyes seemed to study him. “Have you talked to Pepper?”

Tony winced. He wasn’t the most agreeable person in the world (No surprise there), and Pepper knew this more than anybody, so she couldn’t really blame him too much for relaying a few… admittedly off color comments to the Prime Minister of Russia….and the President of India...and the Prime Minister of Britain...and the Prime Minister of Japan. She’s still sending out gift baskets.

“Y’know, Pepper’s a busy woman,” Tony coughed. “Anything I haven’t been doing the last several months has just fallen right onto her plate. I mean, the press conferences, the meetings, the paperwork—”

“She’s still mad at you, isn’t she?”

"I’m a stressed man, I’m just so stressed—”

“President Patel’s wife was not pregnant, why didn’t you just take her word for it? Or better yet, not say anything at all?”

“All I said was that she had a happy glow about her. And that her dress made it look like her stomach was hardly showing. It was supposed to be a compliment!”

“Oh, yeah, great compliment. I heard she cried for an hour.”

Tony sighed, rubbing his temple with his free hand. Happy’s phone buzzed. “I mean, she’s a knock out anyway,” The billionaire muttered. “I even told her so before we left!”

“Sure, that was lovely,” Happy said, an eye roll evident in his voice. His phone buzzed again. “First you insult the President of India’s wife, then you turn around and flirt with her. Diplomacy at its finest.”

The Head of Security spared a look at his phone, which was vibrating incessantly on the seat next to him.

“Gonna answer that?” Tony asked, silently willing for any sort of distraction from the current conversation.

Happy did a silent double take as the screen illuminated his features. He reached for the phone. “It’s Ned.”

A woman sat behind a news desk. Mid 30s, most likely. Her brown hair hung in a stiff curtain around her shoulders, and her purple dress was immaculate. Her dark eyes were approachable, but professional. Her manicured hands arranged a few sheets of paper before she began.

“Thank you for joining us on this 8:00 Friday, for Channel 3, Eyewitness News in the morning, I’m Viola Thatcher. We start this morning off with some breaking news. We have confirmed reports that billionaire Tony Stark is in fact missing. Yesterday, the Iron Man himself was in Paris France to approve the last of the Charlie Spencer Drills, along with a few other members of the Avengers. Mr. Stark was reportedly on his way back to New York when two other vehicles crashed into his Audi around 9:10pm Central European Time.

“Witnesses say that the other drivers looked to be completely unharmed, but their faces had been covered with masks. To the shock of onlookers, the masked drivers seemed to be extracting Mr. Stark. He was last seen being carried into yet another vehicle, which was already there at the scene. The third car sped away before anyone could intervene. No word yet from the DST.”

Viola Thatcher went on, adding, “Mr. Stark’s former body guard and current Head of Security, Happy Hogan, was also involved in the crash, and was quickly rushed to the hospital by paramedics. Currently, he is still in critical condition…”

Viola Thatcher trailed off. Her head lowered slightly, away from the camera. Something was obviously being said through her earpiece. She didn’t twitch a muscle—she was a professional after all—but something shifted in her face. She nodded ever so slightly, and one could feel the temperature drop. “Okay,” she said. Her steeled eyes returned to the camera.

“We have just received word that controversial hero Wanda Maximoff, also known to many as the Scarlet Witch, has also been reported missing. The 25 year old was last seen with an unknown companion in Beaver Island State Park. Of course, we will be staying on top of this breaking news as it comes, and we will be bringing you updates as the story unfolds.”

Translations:

-“Merci,” Steve said, almost too cheerfully. “L’addition, s’il vous plait.” (Check Please)

-Tony approached the Coat Check and placed his ticket on the desk. “Bonsoir,” he said. “Je suis là pour mon manteau.” (I’m here for my coat)

-He yanked apart the beaded doorway with one singular cry. “Doutor!”(Doctor!)

-The crouched figure reached out and gave a tap on the girl’s nose. “Ouça seu pai. Ele sabe o que é melhor para você.” (Listen to your father. He knows what’s best for you.)

-“Senhor,” sweaty man gasped again, “É minha esposa...Wife!..Ela está em trabalho de parto!” (It’s my wife..she is in labor!)

-The smaller man evaluated him. His brow furrowed. “Tem certeza?” (Are you sure) he asked carefully. “A que distância estão suas contrações?” (How far apart are her contractions?)

-The sweaty man blinked hard to himself. He shook his head. “As contrações duram dois, talvez cinco minutos. A bolsa dela estourou—por favor!” (The contractions are two, maybe five minutes apart. Her water broke—please!)

-He gave a word of parting to another worker who was sorting through bandages: “Assuma o controle para mim.” (take over for me.)

-“Está tudo bem,” the sweaty man said excitedly, smoothing back his wife’s hair. “Está tudo bem, encontrei o médico!” (It's alright, it's alright, I found the doctor!)

-“Onde você esteve?” the woman wailed angrily. (Where have you been?)

-The doctor set down his medical bag, snapped on a pair of gloves, and got out a small stack of towels. “Qual é o nome dela?” (What is her name?)

-“Empurre,” he commanded. (Push!) “Empurre! Novamente, empurre!” (Push..again, push!)

-“Yes you can, Isadora!” Bruce said sharply. “Você pode! Você chegou até aqui. Agora, mais uma vez, EMPURRE!” (You can! You've come this far. Now, one more time, PUSH!)

-With a simple smile of finality, the Doctor announced, “Um menino.” (A boy)

Chapter Text

The world was on fire.

But then again, what else was new?

Maria Hill marched forward, paying no mind to the other SHIELD agents scrambling around her. The long corridor was like a frantic ant farm—every few seconds, agents kept bumping into each other, or the wall. Everyone did their darnedest to avoid her though, and rightly so.

Her face remained a blank mask as she continued on, a small stack of folders tucked under her arm. Up ahead, to her left, the elevator dinged, and Nick Fury stepped out. “What have we got?”

“Still no sign of Stark since yesterday.” They moved down the hall in unison. “We tried running the license plates of the two SUVs that slammed into his car, but they wound up being dead ends. The vehicles had been rented five hours prior to the accident, under two aliases; Mark White and Paul Olson. Both have been deceased for five and ten years, respectively.”

“Ransom demands?”

“None so far. We’ve got people keeping an eye on the web for anything even remotely suspicious. Nothing on our satellites or our biometric scans. Sam Wilson is also still MIA.”

Fury sighed. “And still no sign of Steve and Natasha’s Quinjet?”

“None, sir. We’re still looking.”

“It’s been seven hours since we lost contact,” Fury muttered. “Not even a distress signal. It’s like they vanished into thin air.”

“He’s not the only one.” They entered the Control Room, and Maria handed him one of the files. “Bruce Banner was last seen handing out medical supplies to some villagers.”

Nick took the file and scanned it gravely. “Not even the Brazilian Rain Forest was secluded enough. They were dead set on him.”

Maria nodded. “Witnesses said that he followed a man who claimed that his wife was in labor. They left in a big hurry.”

“The man?”

“Alexandre Arantes. He’s still being questioned, but he and his wife seem to check out.”

“I want their story as soon as possible,” Fury said, rubbing his temple with his thumb. “Where are the agents who were surveilling Banner?”

“They were found in a river three miles from the village.” Maria paused as Nick turned the page. His eye lingered on the high-res photographs of the unfortunate agents. His outward appearance didn’t change, but a shadow seemed to fall over his face. “Agent Jarkins and Agent Reyes had been keeping close vigilance of Banner for the past two years. Jarkins called in late last night, but the signal was suddenly cut off. They were shot point blank.”

Nick flipped through a few more pictures before snapping the folder shut.

“Are we at war?” Maria asked.

“We’ve got trouble,” Nick replied. He handed the folder back to Maria, and his free hands found a railing and leaned on it. He looked out over the dozens of SHIELD analysts at work, pouring over their screens and scanners in a barely contained frenzy. Interns weaved in and out with papers clutched to their chests. All had reasonably high clearance, and were the best of the best...which made the agitation going around all the more disquieting. “As of now, we are seven Avengers short. One gravely injured...and the rest gone at relatively the same time, without a trace. Barely even a fight. This is no amateur. And yet… in all these instances, there have been plenty of random witnesses that remained unharmed. Even Mr. and Mrs. Arantes emerged without so much as a scrape. No sign of Hulk damage. Besides Vision, the only people who did get hurt were two SHIELD agents and Happy Hogan, Head of Security. Not civilians.”

“So it’s not a Global Crisis,” Maria realized. “At least not yet. This is personal.”

“Could be.” Fury straightened and folded his hands behind his back. “What’s interesting though, is that they haven’t even attempted to nab Colonel Rhodes yet...and they hurt Vision bad, but they left him too.”

Maria nodded.

“Speaking of Colonel Rhodes, sir,” piped an agent. She winced at Nick and Maria’s sharp glares for butting in on a personal conversation. “Uh...The Colonel—the Colonel has refused the protective...detail we’ve provided for him?”

Nick’s eye flared. “He left protective custody?”

The agent flinched and straightened her posture a little more. “He was insistent, sir. He wanted to be apart of the search efforts for Mr. Stark. And...also, he kind of flew away...in his suit.”

Maria could see the stress mounting in Nick’s shoulders. His back was turned to them both. “Thank you...that will be all, Agent Toris,” he finally said.

Agent Toris practically skated away.

"I’ll have to talk to him myself,” Nick murmured, almost bitingly. “I know he and Stark are best friends, but I always used to think he was the more reasonable of the two.”

“Desperate times,” Maria said with a small smile. Nick huffed a little, but said nothing.

“Sir,” called a young man as he stood up from his chair. He had a large phone and he covered the receiver with his hand. “President Ellis is on the line!”

“We’re not in,” Nick responded. “Tell him to call back.”

“He’s adamant!”

“Not. In!” The Director breathed in and out calmly as the young man reluctantly returned to his seat. “It’s a good thing he only knows about four out of six disappearances,” he said to Maria. “I’d like to keep it that way, at least until we know more. Barton’s on his way, at least.”

“Sir, we’ve lost contact with Barton!”

Nick whirled. “What!?”

The analyst who spoke had glittering sweat on his brow. He stared in dumb shock at his satellite screen, which was blank. He had a white fingered grip on the mouthpiece of his headset. “Foxtrot! Come in, come in! Foxtrot, come in!” He turned his head and looked up anxiously at Fury and Maria as they loomed over him. “We sent two cars to pick up Barton like you ordered, sir. But now they’re not responding, they’ve completely disappeared!”

“Try them again!” Fury demanded.

“Foxtrot, report! Brown Wolf! Brown Wolf, do you copy? This is Matthews. Come in, come in! Anyone, come in!”

Nothing.

Nick stood fuming for a split second. “Put together a tactical team. I want Phil Coulson at the helm.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Bring in the family. And keep trying for Barton!”

No sooner had Nick turned away, someone else came running up with a file. “Sir, I think you need to see this—”

“Do not tell me another Avenger dropped off the face of the earth!”

“Well—no, sir. But he has been on our radar and I thought you should know.”

Maria held out her hand and the agent obeyed before backing out. Maria quickly scanned the contents and sighed a little. “This just in. Spider-Man’s gone.”

Nick’s head snapped toward her, his eye practically bulged out of its socket. “Him too?!”

“Yep. Apparently, an apartment building in Queens caught on fire yesterday. Spider-Man arrived at the scene in record time.” She read ahead a little, flipping trough reports. “It seems that he had his hands full rescuing tenants...about, three or four minutes before the fire department arrived. Witnesses are reporting that his last save had been a baby who was stuck alone near the top. Spider-Man was just carrying it back to its mother when they heard a scream. He webbed himself up and crashed through a third story window. He didn’t come back out.”

Nick sighed and ran his hand over his face. “Casualties?”

“None. Miraculously, everyone made it out without any serious injuries. Just mild smoke inhalation and minor burns.”

“Everyone?”

“That’s the thing. That scream? It couldn’t have come from anyone who lived at the apartment. Every single tenant had been present and accounted for after the flames had been doused. They swept the place top to bottom, but no remains were found.”

“So that means he’s alive, at least.”

“Right now, that’s what the public assumes. They think he made it out fine, and that the smoke must have blocked everyone's view of him. But our security detail confirmed that Parker never made it back home. May Parker has called at least a dozen police stations...and even that pales in comparison to the multitude of calls she made to Stark. From what’s been happening, it’s safe to assume that Spider-Man has been targeted, along with the rest.”

A new thought came to Maria, and her eyebrows drew together. “...But that doesn't make any sense. Why go after Parker? He’s not even an Avenger. This changes our guy’s MO completely.”

Nick stood still for a long moment, deep in thought. Then something flicked in his eye. “Maybe not.”

He suddenly moved. Maria only lagged behind a second. “Sir?”

“Agent David!” Fury boomed.

Said agent stopped in his tracks and stood at attention. “Yes, sir?”

“Call up Agent Carter. Tell her to bring in Scott Lang. Make sure she knows that she’s free to use any force necessary.” If the agent was in any way confused by this order, he didn’t show it. His head dropped in a nod. “Sir.”

Maria continued along with Fury, falling in step beside him as they left the Control Room. “Scott Lang?”

“Think about it, Hill. Tony Stark, Captain America, Black Widow....Falcon, Barton, Maximoff. Spider-Man. I wasn’t sure before, but Spider-Man ended up being the missing piece to the puzzle. When was the last time all of those heroes were together?”

Maria’s eyebrows lifted before dropping into a confused knit. “You think this has something to do with the Berlin Incident? I guess it seems like a plausible conclusion, but—Banner wasn’t even there. Why would they risk grabbing him? And why would they leave Vision and Colonel Rhodes behind?”

“Nothing concrete, but I have a few theories. Which leads me to ask—”

“You want me to pull Barnes from Zurich.” Maria glanced over, matter of fact. “He’s still in deep cover.”

“Not anymore, he’s not. I’d like you to see to it personally. Take only those you feel are up for the job.”

“On it.”

“Good. I’m going to see about Baron Zemo.”

“The Berlin Correctional Facility is tightly secured—I doubt he’s had any visitors, let alone the means to pull off something like this.”

“No, but he might know something. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years, is that there are eyes and ears everywhere.”

Pepper stared blankly at the passing clouds. The private jet hummed quietly—the medium sized flat screen TV on the wall was muted, leaving her in a deep contemplative silence. The image of Tony’s cocky eyes burned a hole in the side of her skull as tiny news bullets scrolled along the bottom of the screen. Enormous coverage, very little updates.

“Ms. Potts,” said the flight attendant. She presented a sleek bottle of wine, gesturing towards Pepper’s empty glass. “Would you care for—”

Pepper waved a hand. “No, no thank you.” She paused. Then she reached for the glass and held it up. “Actually, yes, thank you.” The flight attendant smiled as she poured. Pepper took two, three sips. “I know I shouldn’t be drinking,” she murmured to herself as the other woman left. Just then, her phone rang. Pepper answered immediately, almost spilling her wine in the process. “Hello?”

“Pep, it’s me.”

Pepper sighed, deflating. “Rhodey. Hi, I called you.”

“I know.”

“I called eight times.”

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s been pretty hectic.”

“Yeah, I, I know, I figured it would be, I’m sorry. I just…” She covered her eyes with one hand.

“I completely understand. No updates yet, at least from our end. I just wanted to call to see how you’re holding up. Though, it seems kinda silly to ask.”

“No, it’s fine—really, I’m just happy to hear a friendly voice.”

“Same here. How’s Hogan?”

Pepper took a steadying breath. “We had a scare, but I got the call an hour ago. He’s gonna pull through.”

“Pepper, that’s wonderful.”

“Yeah. He’s being transported back to the states as we speak.”

“Thank God.”

“Yeah.”

There was a long pause.

Finally, Rhodey said, “He’s gonna be okay.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“We’ll find him, Pep. We’ve been through this before.”

A rattling sort of giggle came from Pepper as her neck and shoulders slumped forward all the way down to her knees. Her hand swept up to her forehead as her long blonde hair dangled to her ankles. “I know,” she repeated. “This is just...Deja vu in the worst sense. Tony missing, Happy in the hospital...I feel like I’m in a loop.” Silence came over the line. She hovered where she was, softly breathing in and out. “It’s just...it’s always him. Every time.”

Rhodey’s sad smile could practically be felt through the other line. “It only seems that way because we love him.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she said quietly. She raised herself back up and smoothed her hair back. “I can’t get ahold of anyone else. It’s just as well, they’re probably following up leads.”

She could hear movement on the other end, followed by the sound of a door closing. “Listen, Pep,” came his voice, more softly this time. “I know I said there weren’t any updates, but there’s something I think you should know. This is a secure line. I’m trusting you to keep a lid on this, at least for now.”

Pepper sat up a little straighter. “Are you—is this allowed? Never mind, what is it?”

“Steve and Natasha were supposed to be sent on a mission in Cairo Egypt yesterday. Somewhere along the way, SHIELD had lost contact with their Quinjet over the Mediterranean. Same time as Tony’s disappearance.”

If Pepper hadn’t been sitting down already, she would have been on the floor. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I was. Their blip completely disappeared on their satellites. No heat signatures, nothing. And what’s worse, Sam seems to be missing too.”

Pepper’s eyes snapped to the television—she only saw rolling pictures of Tony, and of Wanda in smaller intervals. “Why isn’t this on the News, I don’t understand, I—”

“The Government thought it would be best if the public only knew about Tony and Wanda for now. If it got out that the Avengers are dropping like flies, it might cause panic. And the Military doesn’t even know about Sam yet.”

“Wait, aren’t you an Avenger?” Pepper accused her phone, her free hand suspended. “Shouldn’t you be in...I don’t know, hiding? And how do you know about Sam if the Military—”

“Uh, yeah, SHIELD came to see me,” Rhodey said, and Pepper could picture him running a hand over his face. “They sort of took me into protective custody. I got what I could out of them before I...left.”

Pepper shot up to her feet. “You ran away from SHIELD?”

“...Yeah.”

“James!”

“Look I’m fine. I’m surrounded by the best of the best. More importantly, I’m an Avenger. I’m not gonna just sit around while my best friend is in danger!”

“Yeah, but…” Pepper began to pace the jet. “James, you could get seriously hurt. It sounds like someone’s targeting you guys. Avenger might not be the safest thing to be right now.”

“It never was, Pepper. Now, look I’ve gotta ask—this is off the record. Did Tony say anything to you before he went to dinner with the others? How did he seem, was he…”

Pepper blinked rapidly to the ceiling. “Uh—no, not that I—well, he knew that I was mad at him for making all those stupid comments to those Prime Ministers—”

“Right.”

“I mean, I was still in the middle of putting together a proper gift basket for Haruto Sato when I talked to him last. We were on a video call—that was days before he even left for Paris. He was...well, he was Tony. He was a little worn out from all the traveling he’d done, but he didn’t seem scared, or distressed in any way. Not that he’d tell me what was going on. You know how he tends to keep secrets from those closest to him. Vital secrets.”

“Sadly, yes.”

“And—Rhodey—I don’t know if you’ve heard anything or not, but the News said that Wanda was last seen with a companion, but there was nothing mentioned about him. It had to have been Vision, right?”

"It was. I...read the reports, Pep, it wasn’t pretty. SHIELD was able to get to him before anyone else could intervene. They wouldn’t tell me where they took him, or what his status is. I assume he’s alive, but I’m not 100%.”

“James, I really think you should get somewhere safe. Or at least safer. Come to the Compound, or the Tower at least. It’s where I’m headed.”

“Sorry, Pep. You know I gotta do this. And besides...I have a feeling that whoever doing all this isn’t too interested in me.”

“How do you know that?” Pepper asked tiredly.

“I don’t... not exactly. Just a hunch I guess.” Pepper closed her eyes, her hand resting on her hip. It was Deja Vu alright. Old aches and pains from pure stress were starting to crawl back into her body. Obadiah, Vanko, Hammer, Killian...now this. 

“Listen, I gotta go,” Rhodey said after a long pause. “I’ll call you if I hear anything. Give Happy my best. Stay safe.”

“You stay safe,” Pepper nearly grumbled. “And I mean it.” She hung up and dropped the phone onto her empty seat before covering her eyes. Then her hands swiped over her face and rested on either side of her neck. She rolled her eyes in quiet resignation. “Avengers.”

May Parker pushed her way through the crowd of reporters. “Excuse me! Coming through, excuse me, excuse me!”

“Ma’am, you can’t pass through here.”

May made a sound of disbelief as her hand dropped onto the barrier that separated her and the officer. “You’ve gotta be kidding me! Officer, listen, please listen, I’m not a reporter! I just need to get through—”

The officer held up a hand. “Sorry. The perimeter around Avengers Tower is prohibited. You’ll have to go around.”

“But I need to get into Avengers Tower!”

“No can do, they’re on official lock down.”

May’s toes bounced anxiously. “Please I just need to speak to Pepper Potts! My name is May Parker! I have an appointment with her!”

The officer’s curt smile seemed to say nice try as he gripped the hem of his pants and turned away. May gritted her teeth and looked around. She went and sought out another officer, who was standing apart from the others. She squeezed past shouting reporters who doggedly attempted to get any sort of statement.

“Are there any leads in the Stark investigation?”

“Has anyone claimed responsibility for Tony Stark’s abduction?”

“Are there any ransom demands?”

“Is the Wanda Maximoff disappearance related to this case?”

“Is this a terrorist act?”

“Should the public be worried?”

“What about Pepper Potts, how is she feeling today?”

"So far the Avengers have been radio silent, any thoughts on that?”

“Sir,” said May, reaching over the barrier and touching the officer’s shoulder. He was a big guy, thick necked, large belly. She read the name underneath his badge. “Officer Anderson...please. My name is May Parker. I know Tony Stark, I know he’d be okay with me coming up. I just need a moment with Pepper Potts!”

Anderson nodded ironically. “And do you know Ms. Potts as well?”

"Well, no...we’ve never met. But I’m sure she knows about me….somewhat.”

Anderson began to walk away. “No, please—please, I..” She reached into her purse and unfolded a picture of Peter. Granted, it was a school photo from two years ago, but she figured it would help win more sympathy. More help. “I have a nephew. Peter Parker. He’s missing. He's fifteen, brown hair, brown eyes. He’s about...this high? About 5’ 7. He hasn’t been seen since yesterday.”

“Have you filed a missing person’s report?”

“Yes, but, see—and this is why I’m here—my nephew knows Mr. Stark too. Probably far better than I do, they’re close. I figured that if I could just contact him, Peter might be found faster. I mean, he’s got resources, AI surveillance, all those crazy suits...but then I found out this morning that Tony is also missing...just my luck, right? So, as an aunt, as a worried aunt, I would hope that the next best thing is to talk to Pepper Potts. Does that make sense?”

“Ma’am, with all due respect, I don’t see how Mr. Stark and a….frankly random kid could be that close. In fact, I’m pretty hard pressed to believe it. I’m guessing your family isn’t rich, or has any connections?”

“No, we’re not rich!” May said. “But he’s not random at all—he’s actually his Intern! Did I tell you Peter is his Intern?”

“Stark Industries doesn't take Interns.”

May cursed internally. They really should have made the Intern thing official. Seeing that she was losing the man, she hurriedly pulled out her phone. “Look! Here’s some text messages between me and Tony Stark! They date back to late 2017. See?”

The officer peered at the text messages, but to May’s dismay, his demeanor didn’t change. “Assuming you do know him personally, and even if you dialed his number right now, there’d be no answer. Do you, by any chance, have Pepper Potts’ phone number?”

“No,” she groaned, her head cringing backwards. “I didn’t get her number—I didn’t even ask—oh!” She jumped. “Happy! I know Happy Hogan!”

“Do you have his number?”

“Yes, but--!” May deflated, realizing that Happy’s phone was probably crushed during the car crash. And he was probably in surgery or a coma or something. But maybe the phone did make it! Maybe Pepper Potts would answer it...

She pressed Happy’s contact and she and Anderson waited.

Not even a ring. The phone was kaput.

“I swear to you,” May sighed, putting her phone away. She held up Peter’s picture again, and her hands trembled anxiously. “He’s his Intern. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Sorry.” Anderson gave the barrier a pat as he moved away. “Even if it did, the place is locked down. No visitors.”

May’s hands flew to her hips, and she glared at the man’s retreating form. Her foot tapped the ground for a bit, before she spat, “I’m his mistress. Does that count for something?”

Anderson turned back around, and a couple of reporters glanced back at her. “That’s right!” May said. “I’m his mistress! In fact, I’m carrying Tony Stark’s child! Tell Ms. Potts that I came to collect! Go ahead, do it! I’m not scared of her!”

Anderson disappeared with the roll of his eyes, and the others turned away. In the already growing chaos, she was effectively spat back out of the crowd, leaving her stumbling backward and alone. It took an extreme amount of restraint not to stamp her foot right then and there.

Talk about terrible, awful, no good timing. Talk about Parker Luck! No, no, it doesn’t exist. But Peter seemed to be testing that theory every day now. “I should have never let him be Spider-Man,” she muttered to herself as she fumed down the street. “I’m sorry, but I shouldn’t have. Ugh, no, I take that back…”

She kicked the base of a lamppost. It didn’t feel as good as she thought it would. In fact it hurt.

Where on earth was he? And who would look for him? The entire world was busy searching for Tony Stark, and everyone in Queens thought that Spider-Man was alive and well, probably out looking for the man himself. May would have thought that too, but Peter would have at least called her first, or left some kind of voicemail. He wouldn’t just leave out of nowhere without saying anything. Especially not after their long talk. Especially not after that fire! He just...he left her nothing. Not even a text message.

Ned, bless him, was doing all he could. He’s hacked into traffic cameras and New York Surveillance feeds. No luck so far. Not a single web in the wind. The only solace was that she knew that Peter was strong, and that his spider abilities would make it hard for anyone to get the best of him. But still...he could be hurt, or bleeding, or scared...or worse. Just the thought of it was unacceptable.

May hovered for a moment, weighing her options. Tony had been her first, and admittedly, only hope. She was concerned for him of course, but Peter took up most of her thoughts. She needed to focus on him.

The other Avengers could help, but they were undoubtedly out there somewhere looking for Tony and that girl with the weird hands. It wasn’t like there was a special hot line, although there should be.

Eventually, an idea came. It wasn’t the best idea, and frankly a rather desperate one, but it was better than just doing nothing. There probably wasn’t anyone at the Avenger’s Compound, and chances were that she would have even worse luck there than at the tower. But, she’d try. She’d try for Peter.

Upstate it was.

Fury walked down the side of an abandoned road. He wrapped his fleece jacket tightly and breathed out a cold puff of air into the night. His matching grey beanie fit snugly over his eyebrows. The Director was in deep, dark thought when his phone rang. Fury answered. “Do you want the good news first, or the bad news?” Maria asked.

“Unfortunately, I already have a clear idea of what the bad news is, but give it to me anyway.”

“Well, we contacted Barnes’s handler and set up a meet...when he didn’t show, we went looking. We located their base of operations, and found...well, his handler wasn’t far. He was in an abandoned dumpster with a broken neck. Aside from that, we were able to obtain Barnes’ contact log. He would phone in every three days, like clockwork. As of a week ago, nothing. No warning, no extraction request. I’m afraid his trail’s gone cold.”

“Hmm. Sounds about right. Well, I can’t say much from my end either. Zemo knows nothing.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Used all my old tricks on him. Like you said, desperate times. I’m confident that he’s had nothing to do with their disappearances. He doesn’t even know the full extent of the situation, if you can believe it.”

“Yikes. I almost feel sorry for the guy.”

“So do I. Almost. The guards are probably being notified…” Miles behind him, a siren wailed. “….now.”

“You didn’t let him see your face, did you?”

“Of course not!” He glanced over his shoulder and kept moving.

“On the bright side, I got a call from Agent Carter. Scott Lang is secured.”

“Well, isn’t that a relief.”

“On a scale of one to ten, how panicked should we be?” Hill asked wryly.

“The sky isn’t falling just yet. We still have a few players in range. And if somehow that fails...well, let’s not discuss too much over the phone. But I’d start looking into the Secondary Protocol.”

There was a long pause over the line. “Do you really think it’s come to that?”

“Never hurts to be prepared. But it remains our last resort. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“In the meantime, hold down the fort for now, I won’t be in for a while. There’s one more errand for me to run.” With that, Fury hung up, snapped the flip phone in half, and tossed the remains into a nearby lake. The faint sirens continued on as he crossed to another path.

Happy woke with a hand weakly stretched out. “Hnngh--!”

There was a shift next to him, and he opened his eyes to blonde hair and a tired face. Pepper’s smile broke through the fog and gloom. “Happy, hey.”

“Tony,” he managed, grunting as he attempted to sit up.

“Hey—take it easy,” Pepper said calmly, holding a gentle but firm hand against his chest. Pain flared up, and Happy squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in short, sharp groans. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re back home at the Tower.” Pepper reached somewhere beside his bed and pushed a button. Somewhere to his left a machine beeped, probably his heart monitor, and was only increasing by the minute.

“Tony,” he said again, his voice catching against the agony. He couldn’t move his neck—it was fitted with a brace. He met Pepper’s gaze as much as he could, a warning in his eyes. “There was—”

“I know. Your body’s been put through the wringer, so just relax, okay?”

Happy would’ve shaken his head if he could. “Pepper—where’s Tony?”

Pepper sat back in her chair. She stared at Happy, fingers to her lips in muted contemplation. Then her fingers fell, and she stirred herself up. “Happy, first off,” she started, still sounding carefully calm. “Tony wouldn’t want you to worry, especially in your condition.”

“What? What do you mean, what—”

“And Tony’s strong. He’s been through this before—”

“Pepper, what are you talking about?”

“We’re looking. We’re still looking, but we’re going to find him—Happy, what are you doing!”

She lurched forward as Happy started pulling the IV from his arm with his uninjured hand. “Happy, stop! Nurse!”

Right on cue, the nurse swooped in, along with three other personnel. It took some maneuvering, and a little bit of man power—even injured, Happy was still a force to be reckoned with—but the handful of staff managed to subdue the former boxer and reinserted the IV. They spoke to him in assuring, placating tones, but Happy wasn’t having it. “Unhand me!” he demanded. “I’m fine, I’m fine, just get me out of this bed!”

“Happy, you cannot be serious,” Pepper said, her head poking out from behind a doctor’s shoulder. She glared down at him like a hawk. “You have a fractured pelvis, five broken ribs, a sprained wrist—whiplash—not to mention multiple lacerations! Your head smashed against the side window. Do you have any idea how long it took for the doctors to tweeze out shards and fragments of glass from your scalp?”

“Bah! I’ve had worse when I fought Mike Tyson—hey, watch where you—that’s a true story by the way—get your hands off—Look, Tony’s the one in danger, not me!”

“And what exactly do you plan to do? The entirety of the U.S. Government is looking for him. SHIELD is looking for him. The public has been made aware. Rhodey is working himself half to death.”

“But you haven’t found him. I’ve got lists, Pepper, Tony’s made many enemies over the years. I’ve got personal accounts of where he’s been and who he’s been talking to over the last few days. I’ve been by his side since New Zealand. Look, just get me a wheelchair and some pain killers or something, I don’t care what it takes. The first 48 hours are crucial—”

“We’re long past 48 hours, Happy,” Pepper said. Her words came out like vomit, and her arms flopped exasperatingly to her sides.

Happy stopped struggling. “...what?” His face then seized in pain and he hissed. The Med Bay personnel finally managed to get him into a more comfortable position before backing a way a little.

“There we are, Mr. Hogan,” the nurse said briskly. As the other men and women in scrubs left, the nurse—Haylie something—checked him over, taking his pulse, listening to his heart. Happy tried to get more information from Pepper, but the woman simply stood to the side with her arms cross and stared at him pointedly—clearly, she was waiting to hear what the nurse’s diagnosis was. Her word would come before anything else.

So Happy begrudgingly answered Haylie’s questions and allowed her to take what she needed. He was only half listening as she picked up her chart and rattled off his injuries, current state of health, recovery time, medication, all that junk. He was more engaged in the stare down between Pepper and himself.

“...so, we’ll give it a few months,” Haylie finally chirped, letting the chart papers fall back onto the clipboard. She was a chipper young woman with smooth dark skin. Her dark curly hair was gathered in a pony tail and scrunchie. “I’d take it slow and easy, but it looks like you’ll be in good shape.” She turned to Pepper. “I’ll be back with his prescription.” She lowered her voice. “I’d...say that he’s alright when it comes to all else. Just make sure he’s not too overwhelmed with information.”

Pepper made sure to smile. “Thank you, Haylie.”

Haylie smiled back with all force. “Sure.” The nurse excused herself, leaving the two alone.

Pepper slowly neared the bed, her arms still folded. She didn’t waste anymore time. “It’s been three days and four nights since your accident, Happy.”

Happy could only stare. “What? And they—they still haven’t found him? The Avengers still haven’t found him? Get me a phone, I wanna talk to Steve, or Nat, or—”

“Steve’s gone. Clint, Natasha, Wanda, Sam...everyone. All gone, in less than an hour.”

In the soft light of a nearby lamp, Happy suddenly noticed the dark circles under Pepper’s eyes. Her hair was also somewhat out of place, which was rare. Her clothes (a simple knee-length skirt and blouse), while well put together and expensive, gave off the impression that they had been worn for some time. The new revelation had shocked him into sudden awareness of his surroundings.

The room was spacious, yet comfortable. There was a large window on the far side, curtains parted. The sky was calm and dark, but looking closer proved that dawn was fast approaching. That would mean that the Avengers...Tony had been missing for almost four days.

And Happy had missed every precious second.

He stared out the window until a bird flew by. Something clicked in his mind, and he turned back toward Pepper. A television hung on the wall above and behind her head. Downton Abbey reruns on PBS. “Remote,” he grunted. “Please.” The hand wasn’t in a splint feebly reached out, and Pepper wordlessly grabbed it from a shelf.

With shaky fingers, Happy flipped the channel. He was immediately met with a news report. Not live, what with the sun being out. Yesterday, probably.

A man with a microphone stood in what looked to be a park. Behind him, the ground was all but destroyed, and the trees were either missing their tops, or decimated entirely.

Happy turned up the volume.

“….amounts of damage, here in Beaver Islands State Park. As you can see, we’re still not allowed anywhere close...” The reporter reached behind and gripped the yellow tape that roped off the entire area. People stood scattered around the outside of it, some taking pictures or videos with their phones. Others just stood with their arms crossed, observing the damage with grim interest.

“Just a little while ago, special forensics swarmed this area. They had been here for several hours, gathering sampled evidence. They finally cleared out about 4:00pm, this afternoon. Now, Tony Stark’s disappearance was dramatic as it was somewhat expected—he’s both a billionaire and a well known superhero after all. His abduction, while very concerning, is as cut and dry as it gets.

But the disappearance of Miss Maximoff is shrouded in mystery , and it’s really got people talking. Who or what could take down someone that powerful? Where is she now? Why haven’t we seen any sight of her since? And who was the mystery man that was with her?”

The reporter started walking around the tape, and the camera followed, recording all the calamity that was left behind. The destroyed ground trailed on for some miles. Benches were splintered to pieces. Signs were scorched. Wanda, and apparently Vision had fought. But strangely, it wasn’t the all out battlefield that Happy would've expected. The park was a mess, but it was the sort of aftermath that one would expect from an Iron Man fight. Not powerhouses like Wanda and Vision fighting for their lives...combined.

“A video has been circulating world wide, which shows Miss Maximoff several minutes before she went missing. Take a look.”

The image switched, and there was Wanda, hiding behind Vision, who was in his human form. Happy clenched his jaw at the obnoxious voice from behind the camera. “It’s not like its private property! Did the team just up and leave you behind? They still mad about what happened in Lagos?”

Happy changed the channel. And there was Tony, limp and bloodied, being pulled out of the car by three masked men. The video was shaky, too shaky to get a decent look at the perps’ license plates. Within seconds, they were gone. It happened that quick.

“I thought people would’ve been more panicked,” Happy said. He turned the volume down a little before tossing the remote onto the blanket.

“That’s because the general public only know about Tony and Wanda,” Pepper said. She pursed her lips a moment. “The Government had finally caught wind a day ago, and they’ve been trying to hold off announcing anything until they learned more….until they could find them. But there’s been...absolutely nothing. It’d be wrong to let people assume that the Avengers had been looking all this time, so…” She brushed her hair behind her ear. “They’re planning to make the announcement this morning. Rhodey told me.”

Happy looked at Pepper. It dawned on him, with some shame, the sheer extent of what Pepper had been going through the past few days. Tony’s abduction, and the team’s. Being privy to earth-shattering secrets and having to keep them all to herself. Worrying about Happy during his operation, and subsequently dealing with his escape attempt...and all this without a single update on her fiancé, the love of her life.

“Pepper, I’m sorry, I…”

Pepper smiled softly and sunk onto the bed near his feet. She was careful not to bump him. “It’s okay. We’re all on edge. Honestly, I’m just relieved that you’re alive. Tony and I...we wouldn’t know what to do without you.”

Happy sighed through his nose. It sounded more like a wheeze. Glancing back up, the video of Tony had been replaced with two anchors—a man and a woman. “I should have done more.”

“Happy, you couldn’t have. These people...they’re...I don’t know who they are, or what they even want. But to do what they did in such a short time...they’re professionals. No one could have stopped them, and I’m positive they would have killed you if you tried.”

Now it was Happy’s turn to purse his lips. Years of being Tony’s bodyguard, and it’s come to this. Again.

It’d be one thing if these yahoos were super powered overlords bent on enslaving the human race. It’s what lead him to becoming the Head of Security in the first place. Happy had to admit that he was a fairly regular guy, and he could only do so much (although he always tried his darndest, no matter which robot had whatever army). But these bad guys appeared to be people. People with money, guns and resources, maybe. But flesh and blood people. That made it Happy’s jurisdiction. And he failed.

Just then, as the sky brightened outside, something started to niggle in the back of Happy’s mind. It took a minute to figure out what it was, and it hit him like a ton of bricks. His eyes widened.

“...Ned.”

Pepper blinked. “What?”

“Before the accident...I...I remember now, I got a call from Ned. I picked up...and he was rambling on about something. I couldn’t even understand him, that was when…”

His uninjured hand went to his head, which was wrapped up in a thick bandage.

“Happy, what—hey, hey.”

“Pepper, I need your phone,” Happy said, grunting as he struggled to sit forward. “I need to call somebody.”

“Okay, just—don’t pull anything, please.” She went over to get her purse.

On TV, the anchorman droned on. “..still no official statement from Stark Industries—”

The broadcast cut out.

Pepper and Happy started. The screen was flooded now with color bars—SMPTE color bars. “Hey, what happened?”

Pepper’s eyebrows furrowed as she picked up the remote. “I...I don’t know.” She looked down and pressed several buttons. “FRIDAY?”

FRIDAY’S voice came softly in consideration for Happy. “There’s some interference with the television broadcast. It’s not just here—it appears that multiple stations are having the same issue across North America. Satellites are down. I’ll try and look further into it.”

“What?” Pepper said, fingers pressing repeatedly. A low ringing sound whined endlessly in monotone.

A nurse, not Haylie, appeared in the doorway and poked his head in. “Jeez, this one too?” He ducked out, and his voice called out to someone else down the hall.

“Great! How are we supposed to know what’s happening?” Happy said, his irritation rising. Things were getting worse by the second.

Five seconds passed. Then twelve. The only thing they succeeded in was controlling the volume and turning the TV off and back on again. The color bars glared brightly, obnoxiously. The ringing didn’t stop either.

A shudder suddenly went through Pepper’s body. It was visible enough for Happy to notice. “Pepper?”

Pepper didn’t respond right away. She stood rooted to the floor and wet her lips, shaking her head. “...Just...Deja vu,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “In the worst sense.”

The ringing stopped.

The color bar disappeared.

And in its place, a grey screen, and the moving image of a film reel. Pepper and Happy were silent as big black numbers started counting down, just like it used to for old films. Beeping accompanied the flashing digits.

5….4...3...2...1…

The picture changed again, and Pepper gasped sharply.

Happy’s hands, splint and all, flew to his head. “Holy--!”

Tony Stark lay flat on his back.

It wasn’t exactly clear where he was, but they could see that he was on the floor, in a room that seemed to be comprised of white concrete. Only a moment had passed before there was a twitch behind Tony’s eyes. The billionaire subsequently breathed in and blinked awake in a half startled grunt.

Happy and Pepper watched in frozen shock as they watched Tony’s eyes adjust. He watched the ceiling a moment before turning his head to the side. Then his head went back again, and he closed his eyes with a groan. The camera trailed over to the source of Tony’s displeasure.

There at his side, still unconscious, was Captain Steve Rogers.

Chapter Text

Waking up and finding that you have no idea where you were, or how you even got there wasn’t new to Tony by any means—in fact, over half the experiences he’s had were from birthdays and college parties alone. But that didn’t mean it got any easier, particularly at his current age. The thought of “I’m getting too old for this” never really crossed his mind before, at least when it came to his illustrious Iron Man career. Sure, being driven half crazy trying to find ways to protect the earth and driving away his loved ones were good enough reasons, but age certainly wasn’t one of them.

But right now, in this moment, lying next to Steve Rogers, Tony was seriously starting to reconsider his retirement. If Pepper were standing over him, and if she had a contract that ensured that Tony was to never step foot into another Iron Suit again, he would have been inclined to sign it.

The thought of Pepper compelled him to sit up. “Rogers,” he said, and he cleared his throat a few times. It felt like he had been gargling chips of wood. When Steve didn’t stir, Tony shuffled over on his hands and elbows. “Rogers.” When that still didn’t work, Tony reached down and started slapping Steve’s cheek. “Rogers. Hey. Wake up. Wake up, Rogers. Don’t make me give you a wet willy. Rogers.”

Huh. Nothing. That...wasn’t good. Steve was breathing alright, but it was no small feat knocking Captain America out like that. In all likeliness, whoever abducted them meant business. All the more reason to get their heads into the game. Right now.

Sighing, Tony shook his head and put his mouth very close to Steve’s ear. Then he took a deep breath and screamed with all his might. “ROGERS!”

Steve stuttered awake. “Jeez,” he breathed, his eyes ping ponging around the room. “Where...Tony?”

“Yeah, hup to, soldier,” Tony said, easing back into sitting position. “We’ve got a situation.”

Looking around, Steve sat up next to him. “Tony, how...where are we? How did we get here?”

“No idea…” They observed the room together. It was fairly large, about 4 X10. Empty, white, concrete. Echoed a little. No windows. No doors either, at least nothing pronounced. They had to have gotten in here somehow. “They could have at least left us a couple beds...or a bean bag even,” Tony remarked as he got to his feet.

Steve was already heading toward the far side of the wall. He ran a hand over the surface. “Off the bat, I’d assume that this was some type of white room torture,” Steve said, still focused on the wall. “But if that were the case, we’d both be in stark white.”

Tony glanced down at himself. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt with grey thermal sleeves underneath and comfy black pants. Nothing unlike something he’d wear at home, oddly enough. The same could be said for Rogers. A simple blue t-shirt and light brown khaki pants.

And upon checking, they both had on white socks inside their sturdy tennis shoes. “Can’t exactly knock the style,” Tony murmured, briefly pulling at his shirt. “Interesting that they gave us shoes instead of taking them away.” He then took a closer look at Steve. “You’ve got a little...splotch here and there.” Tony’s finger gestured towards his own temple and cheek.

“Really?” Steve’s fingers ghosted over his injuries, which were pink and fairly minimal. Barely even noticeable. “Our Quinjet crashed…” He suddenly turned towards Tony. “Nat was with me.”

Tony nodded, eyes dark. His thoughts immediately went to Happy. “I’m gonna check this side,” he said, crossing the room. “Work your way towards me.”

The two men felt over the walls, carefully checking for any source of weakness or opening, though it didn’t seem like there was any. “So what about you?” Steve asked as they slowly inched toward each other. “Anything coming back?”

“Last thing I remember was a car crash,” Tony said.

Steve nodded. “Yeah, I figured it was something like that. I wasn’t gonna say anything, but…” Tony rolled his eyes. “You look good though!” Cap amended. “I mean...to be in a car crash. And you’ve got good mobility.”

“I’m flattered, Cap. So, what do you think? Got any theories?”

Steve bent at the waist as his hands slid over a spot close to the floor. “Not at the moment, no. Hydra was my first thought, but...I don’t know, I guess that’d be too easy. These walls are pretty sturdy, probably meant to hold us for a good number of weeks, give or take. They sealed us in together, so we’re likely looking at some sort of interrogation or torture...one to make the other cooperate. But since we’re not restrained, we’re not in that stage yet.

“They’ll want to talk, or negotiate, or gloat first. If these guys have just the one boss, chances are that they’ll anticipate the possibility of us getting the jump on him, and even they wouldn’t risk that. They’ll probably send in guards to subdue us and bring us to him, so what we’ll need—”

“Door’s open,” Tony said. He had nudged it open with a finger.

Steve whirled around, and the two watched as the door creaked slowly into darkness. “It’s gotta be a trap,” Steve said.

“One way to find out.”

“Tony, wait just a—Tony!”

They stepped into a dark hallway. It was dingy, industrious. The overhead lights flickered every moment or two. The two men scanned the passageway, left then right. It seemed to stretch on on either side, and each seemed to go down a long way before turning to the next passage. Neither direction yielded any clues as to which was more or least dangerous.

“Flip a coin?”

“We’re not separating, Tony.”

“Of course not. I say we go right.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I’m not. Not entirely. But I figure it’s better than standing here, arguing on where to go next.”

Steve sighed thinly through his nose. “Fine. You don’t have your tech, so let me go first.”

Tony’s arm went up like a crossing gate, gesturing the path before them. “After you, Captain.”

“Are you seeing this? Are you...is anyone seeing this?”

The chair had rolled backward and slammed into someone’s desk as Christine Everhart stood to her feet. She and all of her other co workers stared in disbelief as they watched Tony Stark and Steve Rogers move cautiously down the corridor. There had been complete silence throughout their entire back and forth, and only now had the spell broken. “We’re...I…” said Jane Atkins, looking back and forth between the flat screen and her phone. “My phone’s blowing up...It’s everywhere...they’re everywhere. On every TV!”

“Go and look!” commanded Christine’s boss.

Christine broke from her daze and rushed out of the office. She didn’t even bother taking the elevator. Her heels clacked loudly in the stairway. She heard the door grunt open and close above her as a handful of coworkers followed her.

She paid no mind to any of them as she practically flew down the last flight of stairs, out the door, and into the street. They were close enough to Times Square to see the spectaculars and jumbo trons from here. On every one of them were Stark and Rogers. Every single one.

“No freakin’ way,” a co worker panted near her ear. “What even is this?” The others murmured excitedly to one another, and Christine kept staring. Slowly, she felt herself smile.

“Hey! What happened to Gumball?” Cassie Lang kept trying to flip the channel, but all she got was Captain America and Iron Man walking down a hall. “Mom!”

“In a minute, sweetie!” called Margret from the kitchen.

“But Mom, Iron Man and Captain America are on TV! I can’t get them off!”

"How do you think I feel everyday?” Margaret murmured, cutting the chives.

Mrs. Leeds appeared in the doorway. “Ned, honey. I think there’s something you should see.”

Ned’s red eyes hazily studied his computer screen. He hunched over it protectively. “Not now, Mom. I’m...busy…” He picked up his pencil and notebook, and with a sigh, crossed off the last neighborhood in Connecticut. He had double, triple, quadruple checked the surveillance feeds of every city, county, neighborhood and alleyway in the entirety of New York. He then went on to New Jersey, and had just finished Connecticut. No sign of his best friend. Guess it was time to move on to Rhode Island.

“Edward. You’ve been at that computer non stop.”

“Mom, I’m busy.”

“Too busy even for Iron Man? It looks like they found him.”

Ned’s weary mind took a moment to process. “...What?” He put down his pencil and paper and rushed past his mother into the living room. If they found Iron Man, then could that mean…?

He stopped behind the couch and leaned on it for support. He was expecting breaking news coverage or something, but the scene before him was muted, dark, and...unsettling. There he was alright, Tony Stark himself. But, he looked all beat up. And was that Captain America?

“Why are they without their suits?” Ned asked, half dazed. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, but there he is,” Mrs. Leeds said, coming up behind him. She smiled. “Thought it might cheer you up. Trouble is, I can’t seem to change the channel. Might be some kind of glitch or something. Here, I’ll get you some pie and milk.”

As his mom left for the kitchen, Ned turned back to the TV. Then, with one foot at a time, he rounded the couch and approached the screen. He flopped down on the floor in front of it and leaned forward. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for exactly. But he did watch. And he did wait. For something....anything.

A phone rang.

“Fury.”

“Sir—”

“I know. I see it. I’m on my way, tell everyone not to panic.”

“Not to sound like a broken record, but the President—”

“He’s waited this long, tell him to hold on!”

Pepper stared up at the TV, motionless. Her hand had been to her mouth the whole time. She could feel the radiating anger and worry from Happy behind her...but in all honesty, all she felt in that moment was relief. Relief that Tony wasn’t being tortured, or starved, or beaten...at least not yet.

He was up. He was moving. He was quipping. She closed her eyes and hid a laugh. Tony was still Tony, and Pepper was immensely grateful. It was like someone poured healing ointment on her heart. She knew that her elation wouldn’t last long, no doubt about that. Chances were, she'd be at her breaking point again, and would possibly be screaming her head off in an hour tops. But she would hold on to that sweet feeling regardless, and cling to it as long as she could.

No sooner had Tony and Steve stepped into the hallway, her phone rang. She ignored it for the first six rings. Her eyes were glued to the screen, silently watching Tony’s every move, and counting every scar on his face. But then she glanced over, and saw that it was Rhodey.

“Hey.”

“Pepper, are you—”

“Yeah. I’m seeing it. Where are….where is this broadcasting from?”

“I don’t know, we’re trying to figure that out…” There was a pause. “At least we know he and Steve are okay.”

“Yeah, but for how long,” Pepper murmured, though she was still riding that elation high. She glanced back at Happy, whose face seemed frozen in bewilderment. With a reassuring smile, she retreated back to his bedside and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Still, so far so good,” Pepper said to Rhodey.

“Thing is, we haven’t gotten that far yet. We still don’t know what their plan—”

Ladies and Gentlemen...

Pepper jumped a little. Rhodey had been abruptly interrupted by a smooth voice.

Boys and Girls….children of all ages. Welcome to our show.

“FRIDAY,” Pepper said.

“I can’t seem to locate the source of the broadcast, Ms. Potts,” FRIDAY said, and the AI actually sounded somewhat confused.

Pepper studied the screen. Tony and Steve didn’t seem to react to the voice at all. Apparently only they, the audience, could hear it.

Apologies for the interruption of this program, the voice continued, though he didn’t sound like he was sorry at all.

But I think the content you are about to see will prove much more interesting. Right now, the entirety of the U.S. Government is probably running around like hens trying to locate the origin of our broadcast. Well, I’ll tell ya right now...don’t bother. You’ll find our technology quite advanced compared to yours. We’re out of your league. That goes for you too, SHIELD. But hey, if you really wanna go for it, then by all means, knock yourselves out. Whatever it takes to amuse yourselves for the coming weeks. Or, months, or days—I dunno, depends on how long our heroes can survive.

His voice then took on a more friendly tone.

But not to worry, dear people. We mean you no harm. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Think of this as a special gift, from us, to you. Who are we, you might ask? Not important. At least, not for the time being. As for me, I go by many names...but you fine people can call me Maestro.

Pepper and Happy’s faces crinkled, and said in unison, “Maestro?”

Rhodey scoffed on the other line. “Get a load of this guy.” Pepper could hear the slight echo of Maestro’s voice on the other end as he resumed talking.

Most of you think that the Avengers are heroes. We’d like to challenge that belief. Sure, they’ll catch you if you fall off a building, or pull you out of the way of a rampaging alien beast, if they can get to you fast enough… and yes, maybe they’ll even take a hit or two on your behalf. Question is though, do you know them? Do any of us really know them? Well, as it happens, I have reason to believe that the Avengers really are no better than you or I. Power is a funny thing. Only the chosen few can really be trusted with it. These band of misfits are not such people. And I’ve taken it upon myself to share my little hypothesis with all of you.

Pepper watched with stilled breath as she watched Steve and Tony round another corner. The camera switched angles every so often. The quality was surprisingly flawless. Good enough to be a blockbuster film.

Trust me, folks. The Avengers can’t even keep themselves together. If you knew...if you really knew how broken this team is...how foolish, how dangerous, how careless...if you knew who they truly are under the masks, the shields, the shiny costumes...well, I’ll let you be the judge. I could do this the boring way, and leak all sorts of archival files, data and reports that the powers that be would do anything to keep under wraps...but hey, as they say in the movie business—show, don’t tell.

So, sit back...relax...grab the popcorn, take a load off. Because you’re about to get the full on behind the scenes treatment. Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, the Avengers.

As the savages they really are.

There was silence then, save from the ominous sounds coming from the corridor Steve and Tony were still traversing.

Rhodey said after a long pause, “Pep, I’m gonna…”

“Yep.” She nodded, once. “You do that.”

The line went dead.

Steve and Tony moved silently. They had been walking for...maybe ten minutes now? Twelve? With each new passage came another, and they all looked the same. “Maybe this was the torture,” Tony said.

“Keep your voice down,” Steve whispered.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to risk them knowing the two of us are out here, what with the unlocked door and all.” But Tony softened his voice anyway. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say—”

“Shh.”

“...Did you just shush—”

“Shhhh!”

Steve had changed his stance and he held out an arm in front of Tony. The two men stalled a second, straining their ears for sound. Slowly, Steve eased towards the corner up ahead, with Tony following tensely behind.

As Steve peeked around the corner, a fist flew out. Steve grabbed it and flew the surprise guest onto their back. The stranger lifted their legs and snapped back to their feet before blocking a punch. Steve swung the stranger into the opposite wall, but the captain quickly realized his mistake before another move could be made.

“Nat?”

Panting a little, Natasha smiled. “Hey, soldier.”

Steve let go, and he closed his eyes with a sigh while the spy rolled her shoulders, recovering. “I could have hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t have. Besides, what’s a little tussle between friends?” She looked over at Tony and nodded her head. “Stark.”

Tony, who didn’t have time to even process the two second fight before him before he knew all was well, eased his stance and gave a casual gesture of greeting, as if he were hosting one of his dinners. “Romanoff. Welcome to the party.”

“Some party.” Natasha looked around, then looked back up at Steve. “Looks like you’re doing okay.” She gestured to his injuries.

“Yeah, you too.”

Natasha had some scarring, a little more pronounced than Steve’s, but not too severe. She had cuts on her chin, beneath her hairline, and across her cheek. Some bruising here and there. But other than that, she looked okay. “It’s a good thing we’re in the dark,” Natasha said with a small smirk. “Who knows what I’d look like in the light of day.”

“Yeah, I bet you look terrible now,” Steve said, sarcasm prevalent. He finally allowed himself to return the small smile.

“Ugh...sorry, I just threw up in my mouth a little,” Tony said, sauntering past the two. “We can chat and swap stories on the way. Oh, and I’m also fine, thanks for asking.” Steve and Natasha shared another glance before following the billionaire.

On they crept, silently listening, watching.

“What else did you find on the way here?” Steve asked Natasha after a short while.

“So far, nothing. I woke up in a room, might as well have been a supply closet. The door was practically open for me. Been walking for about ten minutes before I ran into you boys.”

“Hmm. About the same for us,” Tony said. “One minute, I’m relaxing in the back of my Audi, enjoying a bottle of Bourbon in Paris...the next thing I know, I’m on a cold hard floor in a big white room, with nothing but Uncle Sam to keep me company.” He looked back to Steve. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’ve woken up next to worse.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“And I also see they’ve given you some new digs,” Tony said.

Natasha’s outfit was simple enough, though not nearly as laid back as Steve and Tony’s. A spring green military jacket, a black tank top, and jeans. It was Natasha at her most casual, to the extent of their knowledge, at least. These people had done their research. But it now seemed that they had showcased their one flaw, and it was rather reassuring.

No one really knew how Natasha Romanoff wore in her absolute moments of comfort, or what she slept in. Clint probably didn’t even know, and they were thick as thieves. These people were know-it-alls, but they were not all knowing.

Natasha tugged at her jacket sleeve. “It’s sort of cute, I’ll give them that. Oh, and they left me this baby.” She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small switch blade knife. Steve and Tony stared in a moment of surprise, but continued their stride.

“Why didn’t I get one?” Tony muttered, putting on an offended tone.

“They must know I like to accessorize.”

“But a switchblade?” Steve said.

Natasha shrugged and pocketed it away. “Might come in handy later. But what interests me is that they put the two of you together.”

Steve looked at the back of Tony’s head, but the shorter man made no comment. “What do you remember?” He asked Natasha. “About the crash? My mind goes blank whenever I try to think about it.”

“Not much.” Her eyes scanned the next passage as they moved on. “We were on autopilot...at some point, the Quinjet went dark. All communications were down. I don’t even remember hitting the water, but...afterwards, I remember looking out the window and seeing figures. When they got closer, I could see they were wearing some sort of strange scuba gear. My mind clocked out after that.”

The other two were silent, quietly ruminating on what they just heard. Just who were they dealing with, here?

The three continued on, and for a little while, it seemed like they were sure to find nothing and arrive nowhere. But then, the scenery started changing. The walls greyed out, and the overhead lights sharpened into harsh rectangles. From then on, the pathways seemed more...sleek. Sophisticated. No more foreboding than an elaborate office building.

The three exchanged raised eyebrows, but didn’t stop. In fact, they went a little faster. It was a lot brighter now, and their scars were starting to look translucent. Before long, they came to a large open space that somewhat reminded them of a recreational room. Empty of course.

But something instantly drew their attention—large black double doors. Each door yielded two rectangular windows, which were covered with tiny little diamond grids. It seemed dark and dim on the other side, and they could hear some noises.

“What do we think?” Steve asked grimly.

“I think you’re about ready to go in,” Tony said. “Might as well back you up.”

“Guess that makes three yeses,” Natasha said, and they advanced.

Steve pushed open the doors, and they stopped short upon entering. The room opened into a circumferenced space, much bigger than the recreational room. It was somewhat dim again, and the floor was made of metal. If Steve, Tony, and Natasha were to go directly straight, they would enter in what looked to be another passage up ahead (Though it was unclear where it lead). But on either side of the room, there were chambers, small chambers walled up with glass.

Bucky was in one of them.

And so was Sam, right next door. And to Sam’s left, Clint. And finally, on the other side, sat Wanda.

No one spoke at first. Everyone stared at one another. “Well,” Tony finally said. “This is awkward.”

Sam sat on the floor in front of his cot, his elbows resting casually on his propped up knees. He smiled wryly up at Natasha as she approached. “Funny. I thought I told you to take care.”

“And I thought I told you to stay safe,” Natasha replied. Nearing closer, she examined the key pad in front of Sam’s chamber. There was one for each cell. The key pads were also positioned outward and at an angle, so that the prisoner could see it. “You wouldn’t happen to have the password, do you?”

“Afraid not.”

Steve stopped in front of Bucky’s chamber. “Bucky, how did...you’re supposed to be in—”

“Zurich,” Bucky said. He inclined his head and clicked his tongue a little. “Yeah, I...think that the Intel we got may have been a...false lead.”

Steve exhaled humorously, then furrowed his eyebrows. Bucky’s metal arm was on the floor, which had a strange, cold looking surface. He could hear it hum, even from the outside. “It’s some kind of magnet,” Bucky said. “Couldn’t get it free no matter what.”

Steve nodded. “Stand back.”

Bucky did so, and turned around. Steve hit the glass with as much force he could muster—but the glass stayed put. He hit it again, with his fists, feet, and elbows. But in the end, he couldn’t make so much as a dent, or crack. Panting, he stared up at the transparent wall in wonder. “That’s some really tough glass.”

“Yep,” Bucky said, probably having made his peace hours ago.

Steve went around and tried the others, just to be sure, but yielded nothing. His hand rested on the glass of Sam’s chamber, and he sighed.

“Good try,” Sam said.

Steve glanced at him apologetically, but Sam shrugged in a hey, what are you gonna do sort of way.

Tony had strolled along behind the captain, inspecting all the key pads closely. He caught Clint’s eyes as he neared. “Wow,” Clint said. “What happened to your face?”

“Aw. Worried about me, Barton?”

“Hardly.” He sighed, leaning both hands on the glass. “Well, isn’t this a lovely little dose of Deja vu?”

Something in Tony’s eyes sobered, and he shook his head. “Not so lovely.” He bent down a little and looked at Clint’s key pad. It appeared, like all the others, that some of the code had been filled in on both ends. Clint’s read:

P _ _ _ _ _    _ _ _ _ _ _ _ F

Natasha appeared beside Tony. “Hey, Clint.”

“Hey, Nat.”

Her eyes started to zero in on Clint’s code, but he stopped her. “I’d get Wanda first.” He nodded his head toward the young woman across the room. “See that on her neck?”

Steve Tony and Natasha turned around. Wanda was silent, staring off into space. She had a collar around her neck, similar to the one she was forced to wear on the Raft. But upon closer inspection, there was something different about it. A dark spark of recognition flickered in Natasha’s eyes, and she went over to Wanda’s cell, muttering, “Guess I know what the switchblade is for.” She eyed the metal plate below Wanda’s chin.

“What is it?” Tony asked Clint.

“I’ve seen one of those before. It’s a suppressant, yeah, but it’s also one of those rare editions. Try to remove it before disarming it...or even nudge it to scratch...the chip inside will release enough cyanide to kill an elephant into your bloodstream. The injection is instant.”

Tony bit the inside of his cheek and forced himself to look away.

Steve bit back a curse. “Hang on, Wanda.”

Wanda didn’t respond. Her eyes were red and puffy. “Hey,” said Natasha, softly. “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?” She looked down at Wanda’s key pad.

B _ _ _ _      _ _ _ _ _ R

The cursor blinked over the second dash. “Do you have any clue what the code could be?”

No response.

Natasha, Steve and Tony slowly circled the room, reexamining everyone’s missing codes.

For Bucky,

H _ _ _ _ _     _ _ _ _ K

For Sam,

J _ _ _ _    _ _ _ _ _ S

And then, of course, they had

P _ _ _ _ _     _ _ _ _ _ _ _ F

for Clint, and

B _ _ _ _      _ _ _ _ _ R

for Wanda.

The three regrouped. “So, what are we looking at here?” Tony said, crossing his arms. “There’s a myriad of possibilities as to what the codes could be. Names, Cities, Countries, Towns, you name it.”

“Normally, I’d bypass all this and just hack my way in,” said Natasha. “But I’m not gonna risk Wanda’s life. Chances are they’re watching us.”

“Without a doubt,” Steve nodded. “And who knows what would happen to them if we enter the wrong code. They could release poison gas, or cement, bury them alive. We don’t know what kind of traps they've set up, if any.”

“So let’s get this right then,” Tony said, breaking away from the huddle, and cracking his knuckles. His eyes landed on each key pad with renewed sharpness. “Let’s all review, shall we? I’m gonna take a shot in the dark and say that we’ve all been here a few days. Long enough for most of our injuries to be in the process of healing, or nearly healed altogether. These people have clearly been watching us, and I don’t mean like a casual fan, or even a super fan. They’ve been obsessed with us long enough and passionately enough to know our personal schedules. Who we talk to, where we’ve been, and where we plan on going. Oh, and also, our new outfits.” He gestured around the room.

“Every single one of us are in clothes that we’d pick out for ourselves. And not just street clothing, or uniforms or costumes. Casual wear. Clothes we wear in our personal downtime.”

Looking around, it was true enough. Clint was wearing a plaid button down on top of a dark blue t shirt, along with a leather brown jacket. Sam wore a green polo shirt with black pants. For Bucky, their captors had chosen a red Henley shirt, and a black bomber jacket. And for Wanda, a dark lined t-shirt, ripped jeans and an elongated jacket.

“What does that say about our abductors?” Tony asked.

“That they’re cocky,” Sam said from inside his chamber. “They want us to know how far their reach is.”

Tony pointed a finger in his direction. “Bingo. These guys have big giant egos, and apparently the money to match. Now consider the lay out.” He had his arms out. “Cap and I wake up together in the same room. They could have kept us in there, but they left the door unlocked and unbolted, giving us free range. But you guys, you’re all locked up in a room that...frankly resembles the Raft. I mean…” Tony shifted his weight, and his hand fell with a smack against the side of his leg. “This is a one for one replica, you couldn’t google this. I mean, this is top secret knowledge.”

Steve frowned. “That suggests friends in high places.”

“Corruption and bribery at best,” Tony agreed before continuing. “The fact that they’ve given us both the freedom to walk around and the option to free the rest of you, would mean that they’ve assigned us special responsibility. Maybe even appointed blame.”

“For the Accords debacle?” Natasha asked.

“More than likely.”

“But what about Nat? She’s out and about too,” Clint said, without the slightest trace of resentment. “You saying they’re blaming her too?”

“I did sort of switch sides at the last minute,” Natasha said. “I didn’t exactly help matters.”

“True,” Tony said, and he and Natasha both exchanged a half sarcastic glance. “But you didn’t make matters that much worse, either. Damage had been done by then...but I digress.”

“If they think you three hold responsibility, then what does that make us?” Sam said, a little annoyed. “Collateral damage? Helpless victims?”

“Well, no, not exactly.” Tony began to circle the room again. “Check out these key pads. They’re all...sticking out, which is not all that common for a cell. If these people saw you as collateral damage, it would have been flat up against the door.” He patted the space against Clint’s glass. “But they let you see the code, they want you to see the code. They’re giving you some sort of autonomy, which also suggests blame...if not the Accords, then for something else.”

The room quieted for a moment.

“Well, jeez, how much time we got?” Clint said, hands still leaning against the glass. “We’ve all done things we’re not all that proud of.”

“Some more than others,” Bucky murmured, and nodded to himself. Steve looked at him unhappily.

“That’s an understatement,” Tony said, still moving. “We’re the Avengers, not the Avenging Angels. At some point in time, or several points in time, we’ve all had our hands in the mud. We’ve all sinned…” Tony trailed, frowning, as if he was still in the process of working it out himself.

The others remained silent, knowing better than to interrupt when Tony was on a roll.

“But we’ve gotta step back and look at things from our captor’s perspective. These codes each have one sentence, or maybe one word...maybe one name.”

“The ultimate wrong,” Natasha said quietly.

Tony nodded.

“So the question is, what...or who have we wronged the most?” Sam said.

Tony paused by Bucky’s chamber and looked the winter soldier in the eye. They held each other’s tense and quiet gaze. “Who indeed?” Tony said softly. His eyes landed on Bucky’s keypad. Suddenly, his hand reached out.

“Tony—” Steve began, but Tony had already began punching in the code. His thumb pressed each key with some force. He finished the last letter with a flourish.

Bucky’s mouth formed into a grim line when he saw what had been put in:

H O W A R D     S T A R K

A cheerful beep sounded, followed by a hard click and a whoosh of decompression. Tony opened Bucky’s door. Steve’s mouth opened, and the low humming from the floor stopped. Slowly, Bucky bent down and picked up his metal arm. “Presto,” Tony said, and turned away.

There was no time for anyone to gather their bearings. The ones free went to tend to the entrapped. Natasha reappeared in front of Wanda’s chamber. Her eyes ran over the missing code, and her chest rose and fell. “This means nothing, Wanda.”

She punched in the code.

B R U C E    B A N N E R

There was a beep, and the door opened. Right away, Natasha stepped inside and went to work on the collar. There was no point in telling her to hold still—Wanda didn’t so much as twitch a muscle the entire time. But her eyes did linger on her code.

“The mechanism’s armed,” Clint said. “Your best bet is to sever the link to the relay board—”

“I know what I’m doing, Clint,” Natasha murmured as she nudged open the metal plate with the knife. Her eyes were laser focused.

Steve went to Sam. “I think I already know,” Sam said, arms folded. His eyes held a melancholic acceptance. He turned his head away. “Go ahead.” Steve’s heart went out to him.

J A M E S    R H O D E S

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

“Not your fault.”

“Not yours, either.”

Bucky frowned a little in front of Clint. “I don’t really know you all that well, so I have no idea what your code is.”

Clint’s eyes were serious. “Don’t worry. I do.”

P I E T R O     M A X I M O F F

Natasha, still working with Wanda’s collar, glanced over briefly. “Bastards,” she murmured. Very carefully, she clipped a wire and a stuttered little beep followed. “Okay, I disarmed it.”

Robotically, Wanda’s hand went up behind her neck and tore the collar off with one jerk. It clattered on the floor. “Thank you,” she said, void of emotion. Her voice was terribly scratched.

With everyone freed, the Avengers mingled back together in the center of the room. Among separate remarks and conversations, Clint went over to Wanda and took her elbow. “Hey. You okay?” Wanda’s arms had locked protectively in front of her, and her eyes remained on the floor. “Hey…”

The touch of Clint’s hand managed to change something in Wanda, and her lower lip gradually started to tremble. “I remember nothing,” she finally whispered, and Clint nodded. “Nothing except the fact that they...stabbed him with something…” Her face broke in a wave of raw emotion. “They left him for dead.”

“I know,” Clint murmured, bringing her in a hug. His hand came up against the back of her head as he held her close. “I know. It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

Wanda’s head buried into his shoulder. Her body trembled as she tried to keep the sobs in. “What if he is dead?” Her head suddenly lifted, and she looked horrified into Clint’s eyes. “What if they have him here somewhere? Maybe this...this place is just some kind of sick game? They could be torturing him, and we—”

“Hey. Hey.” Clint gripped her shoulders and looked her dead in the eye. “Don’t. You will drive yourself crazy with what ifs. That’s what they want. And even if they do have Vision, and this is part of their sick twisted game….we’ll deal with it. Together.” He raised his eyebrows pointedly. “Okay?”

Wanda’s jaw still wobbled and trembled, but she nodded with new resoluteness. “Okay,” she said softly.

Meanwhile, Steve spoke closely with Tony. “But it doesn’t make much sense. What’s the point of all this? They set this up as if it were some big reveal, but we already know all these things about each other. Wanda didn’t even react to Clint’s code. Why the reminder?”

“Well, either these people just enjoy rubbing salt in our wounds,” Tony said, “Or we haven’t seen their whole plan yet. Could be just the beginning.”

“Yeah, but the beginning of what?” Steve wondered.

“Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

Steve felt himself growing more frustrated, but had to agree. Because what else was there? In any case, they couldn’t stay here. “Alright, team,” he said, grabbing everyone’s attention. He looked around at all of his teammates...particularly at Wanda's exhausted gaze, the tightness of Clint's jaw, and the heavy weight on Bucky's shoulders. 

All things considered, none of them were really worse for wear, even Tony. Sam was barely injured, and Bucky and Clint only had a few bruises. Wanda had surface level scrapes. But it didn’t change the fact that most of them were tired, hungry, irritated...and...yes, Steve could admit, a little rattled. They’ve faced dangers before...they’ve been threatened, challenged, attacked, knocked down. But this...this was different. New territory. And every one of them knew it.

Looking around, though, it seemed that no one, not even Tony, was taking this lightly. Which, was a good thing. Right now, vigilance was key. Strength in numbers. If they stayed sharp and played their cards right, best case scenario would be everyone making it out in one piece. Worst case...well, they would do their best. Steve would make sure of that. Set and focused, he nodded to the group. “Let’s move out.”

They all looked towards the exit.

“What, we’re supposed to follow their rules now?” Sam asked. It wasn’t a real protest or disagreement...it was more just so that someone’s said it. It was a part of how Sam spoke his mind, as Steve had learned over the years.

“Either that or stay here,” Tony said with a shrug.

“Forget that. I’ve been holding in my bladder for two hours,” Clint said, striding forward. “I’m outta here.”

Wanda followed, then Natasha, who threw a smile over her shoulder. Sam rolled his eyes and sighed, but followed two paces behind. Slowly, they all trickled out into the next hall. Tony was last out. Steve could feel the billionaire's eyes burning holes in the back of his head….him, and Bucky’s.

Rhodey burst in, slightly out of breath. “Sorry I’m late, Mr. President…” he trailed off.

The situation room was packed with people. All eyes were glued to the large screen on the right side of the room. The Avengers were on the move, into uncertain territory. Secretaries murmured to one another, and many were speaking urgently on their phones.

“Colonel Rhodes,” President Ellis said with a beckoning hand. Even in the tentative chaos, his voice was soft, as if he were calling to Rhodey in a movie theater. Ellis’s voice deepened as Rhodey put his ear next to his mouth. “I don’t think I need to stress how much we need them found.”

“No, Sir.”

“I will not have a repeat of The Mandarin.”

“Definitely not, Sir.”

“You sure you’re up for it? I know you’re tired from searching for Tony.”

“No, you can count on me, Sir, I’m all over it.”

“Good. But first I want you to see if you can get in contact with Nick Fury. I know he’s been ignoring my calls.”

Rhodey cringed internally. Unbeknownst to the President, Fury was exactly the man he’d been struggling to avoid for the past few days. But he simply said, “Yes, Sir.”

The two of them glanced back at the screen. At one point, the Secretary of State said, “What does James Barnes have to do with Howard Stark?”

Rhodey and President Ellis shared a look before Rhodey closed his eyes. “Crap.”

The next path proved modern again. Their steps echoed off against the metallic walls. Nothing else seemed to be in sight, except for the light at the end of the long, lonely stretch of tunnel. Now that the seven of them were together again, it seemed less like an invisible cat and mouse game, and more like a tense mission with no clear objective. Upper hand or no, the Avengers were still dangerous, even without weapons. Confidence aside, they were vigilant, ready, and poised for any fight. No one spoke, though Steve supposed they were loud enough.

Further along the stretch, they eventually came upon a singular door along the left side of the wall. The door was innocuous enough to almost be missed. Most of the Avengers probably wouldn’t think anything of it, if it weren't for the keypad. It was flat against the door.

The missing code read,

S _ _ _ _ _     _ _ _ _ _ _     _ _ _ _ Y

“Now, who’s this?” Sam said, and slapped against the door twice. “That’s the longest one yet. Rhodes, you in there?”

“I don’t think Rhodes would be inside,” Natasha said, eyebrows furrowed. “He would have at least been in one of our groups. It wouldn’t make sense to separate him from us.”

“And check out the door,” Clint said, running his fingers along it. “Look familiar?”

“Vibranium,” Steve murmured. “They...they can’t have Bruce in there, could they?”

Natasha blinked at the mention of Bruce, but betrayed nothing else.

“No way, ceiling's too low,” Clint said. “Unless they plan to take us all out in a cave in.”

“Maybe, the Ant guy?” Bucky suggested. “What’s his name, Smitty…?”

“Scott,” Sam said. “And I’m pretty sure they don’t need Vibranium to detain him. “Take away the suit, and he’s just a regular guy.”

“What, like you?”

“Ohh, you got jokes now?”

Bucky gave a small smile. “A few.”

“Then who else?” Clint said, still laser focused on the door. “They can’t have gotten to King T’Challa?”

“No way, not him,” said Bucky. “Wakanda is a force, it would take an alien army to storm that place...and I don’t think their reach is as far as they’d like us to think it is.”

“And Vision’s...not exactly fit for action,” Natasha said, looking sideways at Wanda, who lingered in the back of the group with her arms folded and eyes averted. She didn’t seem to keen on participating. “And how do we know its an ally? Could be the bad guys.”

“No,” said Steve. “These guys like drama. If they were to make an entrance, they’d want to do it big.”

“Then I don’t get it,” Clint said. “If not Rhodes, or Vision, or even Scott Lang, then who? Who else are we missing?”

There was a change in the air, a sudden thought, really. Simultaneously, they all turned to Tony, whom they all realized hadn’t said a single word since they came upon the door.

Tony was staring hard at the keypad, and Steve was taken aback at the sudden transformation in his eyes. He...he looked unsettled. More than unsettled, upset. His posture was rigid, his mouth in a flat line. They stared at him, and the longer the silence lasted, the more concerning it got. “Tony,” Steve started, but Tony suddenly barged through them. “Wait—”

Tony ran a quick type on the keypad. His fingers (which actually trembled a little) went at a speed that Steve and the others had never seen before. The code read:

S T A T E N   I S L A N D    F E R R Y

The keypad beeped.

Tony yanked open the door and entered before anyone else could stop him. Steve was quick to follow. “Tony!”

The room inside was no more interesting than the one Steve and Tony woke up in, though there were a couple of exceptions. It was a little smaller, and there had been a cot placed in the corner. Problem was, there wasn’t a single person inside, save for Tony.

“Tony,” Steve repeated, but the billionaire was not looking at him, or anything else at ground level. He was glaring up at the ceiling. Steve followed his gaze and started back a little. Okay, scratch that. There was someone here.

As multiple footsteps sounded behind him, Steve stared up at the familiar man in the red and blue suit, who had wedged himself up against the ceiling corner. Judging by the widened mechanical eyes, their new guest seemed just as shocked as they were.

“Mr. Stark!”

Chapter Text

“Mr. Stark,” Spider-Man repeated, and Steve and the others stood back a little as the webbed hero jumped down and landed with perfect precision in front of them. “Holy cow,” he breathed, “You will not believe what’s happened. First there was this fire, right? And there was smoke, tons of smoke, and no one could see a thing, and everyone was freaking out, which made me almost freak out, it was crazy. But I think I got everyone out, and I even saved a baby—wait, are those the Avengers?”

He took in a sharp gasp before anyone could confirm. “Holy cow! What are you guys doing here? I mean—not that I’m not glad to see you. I mean, if anyone were to come through that door, I’m really glad it turned out to be...especially you, Mr. Stark. Hey, what happened to your face? Are you okay?”

Tony was silent. He hadn’t moved an inch, not even when Spider-Man had dropped down directly in front of him, which would jar anyone. His eyes still had that hard stare, which practically bore its way past Spider-Man’s mask.

Steve looked back and forth between the two. “Tony?”

He didn’t respond. The air grew uncomfortable. Spider-Man’s energy diminished a little, and he seemed to grow uncertain under the man’s gaze. “Um...Mr. Stark?”

Tony stood there and blinked several times at the young man before he finally spoke, quietly. “Are you hurt?” Spider-Man’s mechanical eyes blinked before he shook his head. The billionaire nodded, curtly. “Okay. Good. Now how are you here?”

“I—uh—I’m sorry?”

“I mean,” Tony said, raising his volume just a little, “How did you get here. What do you remember.”

“Oh. Well, not that much really. I mean, there was this fire.”

“Yep. Right, you established that. Take me back a little.” He gestured with his hand. “Start at the beginning, tell me who what and where.”

“Oh. Okay, uhh, I was just coming back from my last day of…” he glanced over at the others. “...work.”

The Avengers shared strange looks. Sam hid his mouth behind his hand. “And me and my….associate...we were just heading to Delmar’s to grab something to eat. Then people started running and acting crazy, and I knew something was up.”

“The fire, was it close?” Tony asked, arms folded and serious.

“...Yeah, it was really close. Hey, how’d you know?”

“Lucky guess. Go on, what happened next?”

“Well, when I got there, I pretty much went in and started grabbing people. It’s a good thing you built in that filtration system, otherwise I probably would’ve keeled over the first few trips. I pretty much got everyone out by the time the fire department came...at least, that’s what I thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I heard this scream. Pretty much everyone heard it, but it was weird, since Karen said that there weren’t any heat signatures left. I went up to check anyway. I followed the voice, and…” Spider-Man paused, then shook his head. “Well, I don’t remember anything else. Next thing I knew, I woke up here.”

Tony stared at the floor for a few moments, then sniffed and turned to face the corner wall. He paced a little, with one hand on his hip and another running through his hair. It seemed as if he were having a private meeting with himself. He sighed, and Steve was surprised at how burdened it sounded. “You...should not be here.” He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, but there was a threatening undercurrent to it. And it wasn’t directed toward Spider-Man.

“Well, technically, none of us should,” Sam said, one finger scratching at his ear.

But Spider-Man’s shoulders hitched. “Wait, what do you mean?” He looked around at everyone’s faces. “You mean this isn’t some weird hazing ritual or something?”

Clint snorted. “If we wanted to initiate you, don’t you think all of this is just a little bit elaborate?”

“Then...then...okay, should we be worried? Where are we? What is this place?” He twisted around to face Tony. “Mr. Stark?”

Tony sauntered back to the young man’s side, hands in his pockets. He still seemed to be half in thought. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

There was a brief pause before Spider-Man’s hands flew to his head. “You mean we’re kidnapped? Like, actually kidnapped!? All of us?”

“Yes, but there’s no need to panic,” Steve supplied, hands on his hips. He nodded in reassurance to the young man. “We’ll figure this out.”

“Yeah, but…” Spider-Man turned back to Tony. “Mr. Stark, Ned was with me. He was close by, he...they wouldn’t—” His breathing increased. “And May, what about May? What if—”

“Hey. No. Listen.” He came in close, and made sure that Spider-Man was looking directly at him. “Okay? They don’t want Ned, you understand? They won’t touch him.” He emphasized with the pinch of his fingers. “Alright? You were the one they were after, no one else. And as for May, she’s safe. Much safer than we’re probably about to be.”

“You’re sure?” Spider-Man asked tentatively.

“Look around you, see any regular Joes? Yeah, just—just ignore Barton and Wilson for a second and look at everyone else. You’re surrounded by some of the most powerful super humans on earth, yourself included. If they wanted anything to do with Ned or May, they wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of isolating you.” He dropped his hand to the young man’s shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze. “Trust me. They’re good. Worried sick for you, probably, but good.”

Spider-Man regarded him for a long moment, then started nodding. “Okay,” he said softly.

“Okay?” Tony returned the nod and gave his shoulder two pats. “Now come on. We could use your help.” He steered Spider-Man towards the group, though Steve could tell there was some reluctance there.

“Yeah, the more the merrier,” Clint said, and turned to the others. “Seriously, what’s the point of all this? What’s their end goal?”

“And why does web head get to keep his suit?” Sam said, nodding towards the approaching newcomer.

Spider-Man shrugged. “I dunno. I just got here.”

“Oh, kid,” Tony said suddenly, snapping his fingers. “Your suit still working?”

“Yeah.”

“You try calling for help?”

“Uh, yeah...I mean, yes, Sir. I tried calling you, like, a dozen times. I tried for May, Ned, the police, anybody. But Karen said there was no signal—something’s hindering her sensors.”

“So no way to find out our location or send a distress signal?” Spider-Man shook his head, and Tony sighed. “Wonderful.”

“Who’s Karen?” Bucky asked, eyeing the four walls in confusion.

“My suit lady.”

“Suit lady?” Sam repeated, eyebrows raised. “What is she, like a FRIDAY mini-me?”

“Well no...I mean, sort of. She’s more of a….distant cousin?” He looked to Tony for confirmation, but Tony had merely closed his eyes in vain search of inner peace and solitude.

“Look, enough chit chat boys,” Natasha said, and she seemed to be resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “If we want answers, we might as well keep moving.”

There were no arguments to that, and the group started to file out of the room. Wanda, who had been merely hovering by the doorway, went first, still in a cloud of her own quiet sorrows.

Spider-Man had started forward, but was stopped by Tony’s arm out in front of his chest. The young man looked up in question, but his mentor gave a warning in his eye to wait. Steve didn’t have to wait long to see why.

Bucky had passed by with a mere glance toward them before heading out the door. Once he was clear and far ahead, the billionaire lowered his arm. After waiting a moment, Tony turned to Spider-Man and lowered his voice. “Listen. Just stick close, okay?”

Spider-Man nodded. “Okay…” then he seemed to perk up, and said in soft excitement, “I held a baby, Mr. Stark. It was like holding a little football, it was awesome. And her mom...you should’ve seen her face, Mr. Stark. She was so happy.”

Tony rolled in his lips in a shell of a smile. Once again, he gave Spider-Man’s shoulder two pats, as if he were transferring all of his remaining strength into the young hero. “Yep,” he nodded, “Good. Good work, kid.”

Spider-Man’s toes bounced a little at the praise. Steve walked out of the room then. He pretended not to hear the entire conversation, but he was listening, thoughtfully.

The walk down the corridor resumed. For the following ten minutes, everything proved to be the same. Same long hallway, same metallic echoes, same dim light at the end of the long stretch. No change.

Well, save one.

“So,” Spider-Man piped, his high and warbled voice bouncing off the walls, “What if this is all just a big test? Or maybe a fight to the death thing?”

Sam’s flat voice answered, “If it were, then why would the bad guys be leaving you the suit, while the rest of us don’t have any weapons?”

“Well...I mean, I don’t have my web shooters.” Spider-Man held up his wrists. “And maybe the weapons come later. Maybe they’ll be in a big pile somewhere, like in the Hunger Games.”

“Hunger Games?” Bucky mumbled.

“Yeah, remember? They all stand on these metal plates, and they kinda pull them up out of the ground and—ohhhh, you’re Mr. Barnes. You’re from the 30’s or something, right? Don’t worry, I got you.”

And so Spider-Man preceded to launch into the whole story, starting from a young woman named Katniss Everdeen and her hunting days.

Steve, having found himself at the back of the group, tried to hold in his laughter. Even if they had been trying to maintain the element of surprise, it was out the window now. He remembered admittedly little about the young hero from when they met last, but he hadn’t forgotten how chatty he was.

Natasha appeared next to him, and if Steve weren’t so used to her presence, he would have jumped. She hadn’t lost her touch when it came to sneaking up on people. “So what do we think of our friend?” she asked, though she sounded just as amused as he was.

Steve briefly tilted his head to the side. “He's still got spirit, that's for sure.”

“So you think he’s okay?”

“You tell me, you were teammates once.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t really stop to chat or anything. In fact, Tony made sure we barely spoke. Kept him close to the vest until it was time to intercept you.” She looked ahead and studied Tony. The billionaire still walked with his usual swagger, but you could tell that his mind was heavily preoccupied. “He’s pretty up in arms when it comes to him, isn’t he?”

“He is,” Steve agreed. “Maybe he feels responsible for him.”

“Or he’s hiding something.”

“That too.”

Truth was, there was a storm of questions and mysteries swirling about in Steve’s mind, and they all concerned Spider-Man. His suit, for starters. Their abductors made a point to dress the rest of them as casually as possible, in order to flaunt what they knew about them. Not so with Spider-Man, who was fully suited. Why was that?

Surely it wasn’t because they respected his hidden identity. And there wasn’t any particular reason that Spider-Man should receive special treatment from them, at least as far as Steve knew.

Maybe it was intentional, a ploy to build up mistrust between them. Granted, Steve did have his suspicions at first, but he also had an instinct about people. And right now, in this moment, Steve couldn’t bring himself to fully distrust Spider-Man. Not yet, at least.

And then there was Tony. One minute he was himself...alert, focused, cocky. And the next...it was like someone had thrown him for a loop, and he still seemed like he was trying to find his balance. Tony tried hiding it, but they had seen.

From the moment he opened Spider-Man’s door, the billionaire had seemed...lost. Angry. Secretive.

It was clear that Spider-Man was in no hurry to reveal who he was under the mask, but Steve only grew more curious. Just who was he, and what exactly was the relationship between him and Tony?

There wasn’t time to dwell on these questions, of course, but Steve would file them away for later.

The soldier pulled himself back from his own personal musings in time to hear Spider-Man talking about the fight in Berlin.

“So, no hard feelings?” he asked Sam and Bucky as they continued on. “I mean, for the airport and all.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sam.

“Uh—well, you know, throwing things at you, gumming up your wings, webbing you guys to the ground. It wasn’t personal, y’know?”

“I don’t remember any of that,” Sam said. “Do you, Barnes?”

Bucky shook his had slowly. “Can’t say I do.”

Spider-Man started. “What? No, remember? I tackled you guys! And I said, ‘ You have the right to remain silent,’ and you said, ‘Usually there’s not that much talking in a fight’, and then I said, ‘ Hey, I think you lost this!’ and you, Mr. Barnes, you swung a punch at me with your metal arm, but I caught it, and—”

“Sorry, kid,” Sam said. “There was a lot going on that day, and I had a lot on my mind. And I’d like to think that I’ve got a good memory, so..”

“Yeah,” Bucky finished, a shrug in his voice.

Spider-Man’s shoulder’s deflated a little. “Oh, that’s...no, yeah, that’s fine, cool.” Steve then caught the subtle smirk that Sam shared with Bucky. Tony cleared his throat, and the younger hero took it as a sign to increase his distance between himself and the men he had been conversing with. “But anyway,” Spider-Man continued, “With all the heroes here in once place and everything, they could be planning to sixty-six us.”

“I think you mean eighty-six, squirt,” Tony said.

“No, I mean, order sixty-six. Like, from Revenge of the Sith? You know that part—” He put on a terrible deep throaty voice, “‘Execute ordah sixty-six.’ ‘It will be done my lord,’ ” Then he fashioned his arms into a long armed gun and started blasting. “Chuchuchuchuchu! And they killed all the Jedi, even the Younglings. Well, not all of the Jedi, but—”

“Please tell me we’re almost there,” Clint broke in, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.

Clint was in relative luck.

While Spider-Man had been yammering on, the floor below them began to slope gradually, and the ceiling had risen until it was well over 40ft high. Along the left side, the smooth wall had broken up into a series of enormous steel panels that seemed to continue on into the darkness of the hall. Along these panels, a fairly large steel door produced itself, along with a comparatively tiny keypad.

The code:

J _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ G

“Looks like Bruce,” Tony muttered.

“They really went all out, didn’t they?” Sam said. He sounded like he was starting to get angry.

With terse lips, Steve stepped forward and put in the code.

J O H A N N E S B U R G

“This is really starting to get redundant,” Clint said as the keypad beeped.

“Wait, how’d you know what code to put in?” Spider-Man asked. “Did everyone else have a code? Did I have a code?”

“Yes, Underoos, you did,” Tony said, rubbing at his chin with a half-patient sigh.

“What did mine say?”

“None of your beeswax.” With the same breath, he said to the others, “There’s no telling what kind of state he’s in. And I don’t think it’d be a good idea to...overwhelm him.”

Natasha nodded. “I’ll go.”

Looking at her, Steve knew she was the only one for the job. Still he asked, “You sure? I could go with you.”

“I’ve got it,” she replied, already advancing. “Won’t be but a minute. Feel free to standby, though.” There was a visual agreement among the circle, and Natasha pulled the door open.

No sooner had she gone in, Tony turned to Spider-Man. The billionaire gave off an air that was so stern, the young hero immediately stood to attention. With a hard face and firm mouth, Tony said warningly, “Tune out.”

Spider-Man gulped and nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

Sam looked in between them. “Tune out?”

Tony wagged his index finger back and forth next to his ear. “Super hearing.”

Steve cocked his head. “Really?”

“Yes, Sir...Captain America...sir.” He saluted a little nervously. “About, several meters, give or take.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully. “Hmm. What else can you do?”

A silent, quiet groan rippled throughout the group as Spider-Man kick started his list of abilities.

Natasha faced Bruce with her upper back leaned against the door. They had him in the middle of the room, on his back, and on a gurney. He was unconscious.

She stared a moment, thinking. This was a space in time, she knew, that wouldn’t come along again, not for a long while. A moment to herself, to take stock, to reflect. To theorize.

It was clear that they were being tested on something, but there was no telling what it could be.

Some time earlier, she thought it might have been courage, or honor, or strength. Maybe it was righteousness or sense of justice, if the keypad thing was anything to go by. But that wouldn’t explain why she, out of all the Avengers, was left without a code. But now, looking at Bruce, Natasha saw what her personal test was. At least, in her mind.

Endurance.

Endurance of what, she didn’t bother trying to clarify or put her finger on. Her heart seemed to land on the word. Endurance. As she finally neared closer, she didn’t know whether or not if she would pass, or fail. But even so, Natasha Romanoff never backed down from a challenge.

Hovering over Bruce now, she let her eyes roam over his form. He hadn’t changed much, physically. Maybe a tad bit leaner than when she saw him last. Her fingers briefly ran through his wild and unkempt hair, which now had a few streaks of grey.

Bruce was dressed comfortably in a smart purple button down shirt, brown pants, and a dark blazer. It was a tad bit dressy considering the usual pattern, but Natasha knew it was the style that Bruce typically preferred, no matter what he was doing.

Next to the gurney was a simple stool with a metal plate on top of it. The metal plate displayed a vial and syringe. Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed as she picked up the post-it note attached to the vial. All it said was:

Wakey Wakey :)

Her still furrowed gaze went back and forth between the note and Bruce. Then, with a decided frown, she put down the note, picked up the syringe, and withdrew the contents from the vial.

Then, taking his forearm, she flicked the needle, inserted it, and plunged.

It only took seconds.

Bruce’s eyes fluttered open, and he winced at the bright light overhead. “Ahh,” he groaned, his body curling upward along with his hands.

“Morning,” Natasha said, putting the instruments away.

Bruce did a sluggish double take as he tried to rub his eyes. “N...Nat?” He blinked at her repeatedly as if she were a hallucination. “What are...what are you doing here? Wait, what am I doing here?”

“Hard to say, but my guess is that it’s work related.” Natasha tried smiling. She gave Bruce’s mind a moment to catch up, and when it did, the doctor groaned even louder. He laid back against the gurney and ground his palms against his eyes. “I’m sorry, Bruce,” she said softly.

His hands stilled against his eyes, and he said quietly, throatily, “Yeah, me too.”

Natasha waited patiently as Bruce gathered his bearings. Then he sighed and began to sit up, slowly. His hands pressed gingerly against the gurney, and he looked around the room...it was just as dull and empty as the others, if not much, much bigger. “Where are we?”

"No idea. Nothing concrete, anyway. What do you remember?”

“I…” Bruce turned his head to face her, and he looked into her eyes for the first time. His pupils wavered a little, and his head twitched, the way it often did when he noticed something. “...You dyed your hair.”

Natasha took a subtle deep breath and smiled. “Yep.”

“It looks nice.”

“Thank you.”

He gazed at her appreciatively a little longer before he refocused himself. His eyes fell to his lap, and he tried to remember. “I was...I was delivering a baby. It went well, I think, the delivery. Then these guys came…” His forehead pinched and he shook his head. “Something told me they weren’t SHIELD, or even the government.”

“Hmm. They took you out?”

“...No...I think I took myself out, actually. I turned green, I was growing, and then...then I thought about the baby, and the mom and dad behind me. I don’t know how, but...I stopped. More than stopped, I went back to me.”

Natasha stared. “You went back? Even though you were already green?”

“Yeah...yeah I think so.”

“Bruce, that’s...that’s incredible. I mean...wow.”

“Wow’s right. I couldn’t believe it myself, although I didn’t really have time to. I blacked out, my body couldn’t take it.”

“But you did it. And you survived. That’s a serious accomplishment.” She caught his gaze, not allowing him shrug it off. “You should be proud.”

Bruce’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. His arms wrapped around himself in an awkward hug. He looked away. “So who else is here?”

There was a slight pause, a silent reprimand from Natasha for changing the subject. She switched gears regardless. “Question is, who isn’t?” She had moved toward the other end of the gurney. Crossing her arms, she turned and leaned back against it. “Let’s see, there’s Steve, Tony, Sam, Clint….Wanda…”

Something in Bruce’s eyes darkened a little. “As in Wanda Maximoff.”

“Yes.”

He lowered his head with an empty nod.

“And there’s Barnes..”

He looked back up. “Who?”

Natasha glanced at him sideways, and she briefly weighed the pros and cons before ultimately deciding on...“New guy.” Bruce would have to be filled in later, if later even came. “Oh, and Spider-Man.”

“Spider what?”

“Spider-Man, he’s...also a new guy, I guess. He’s some sort of protege of Tony’s. But now it seems he’s with us.”

“Does he...have like...like eight legs, or—”

“No,” she chuckled. “No, nothing like that. But who knows what else, he might be self conscious. He’s covered head to toe. He’s got a good sense of humor, though.”

“Hmm.” Bruce’s mind seemed far away now. Natasha pushed off the gurney and smoothed her jacket. With the movement, Bruce suddenly noticed the metal tray. “What’s this?”

“It was here with you. Helped wake you up.”

“So you knew what it was?”

“No.”

Bruce was incredulous. “Our abductors put a strange vial of liquid on a table, you don’t know what it does, and you just shoot me up with it?”

“If they wanted to kill you, they would have done it already.”

“No, but it could have been literally anything else! An enhancement, a tracker, sodium pentothal—”

“Sodium pentothal? Truth serum?” She almost laughed.

Bruce fidgeted. “I mean, you never know.”

Natasha was half tempted to touch the side of his face. Instead, she settled for patting his knee. “It’s good the have you back, Bruce. You ready to do this?”

“No, but when do I ever get what I want?” Natasha nodded and assisted Bruce off of the gurney. Now standing, he patted his chest and pulled a face. “What...huh.” He pulled a folded pair of glasses from his front shirt pocket. They were exactly his prescription. “That’s interesting.”

Natasha only took a moment to look at the spectacles. “Indeed. Shall we?”

Bruce refolded the glasses and put them back in place. He followed her out without so much as a look back.

“Well, that was...tender.”

Paul Brewster smiled over at his sister. Janice had just got back from her sophomore year at college and had come back home for the summer. “Well, he does look kinda pathetic,” he replied.

“No, I don’t mean that,” said Janice. She had grabbed a soda can and plopped onto the sofa next to him. “I could be wrong, but...it actually looks like they might be...you know, together.”

Paul snorted, loudly. “What? Black Widow and Bruce Banner, in a relationship? Yeah, right!”

“Why, what’s so funny about that?”

“I mean...well, look at him, he’s a...a nerd!”

“What are you, sixteen? Plus, if you haven’t noticed, nerds run pretty much everything now. And anyway, didn’t you see the way she looked at him? The way he looked at her? C’mon, open your eyes.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Janice rolled her eyes at him, and the two relaxed on the couch. Paul munched on his chips.

“You’ve been watching this all day?” Janice asked.

“Well, there’s nothing else on. ‘S pretty stupid, but I got nothin’ else to do.”

“Mmhm,” She reached over and grabbed a handful from his bag. “Well, whoever this Maestro is, I’m gonna kill him. I’m missing the Bachelorette for this.”

Tony and the others turned as the door opened. “Bruce,” he greeted as he and Natasha neared.

Bruce latched on to Tony’s face. “Yo Adrien,” he replied, and his eyes held some concern.

He moved closer to take a better look, but Tony stopped him with a hand to the shoulder. “I know. It’s a good thing I still have my personality.” Bruce smiled in an ironic way, and Tony gave his shoulder a shake. “Good to see you, Doc.”

Bruce nodded. “Yeah, you too, Tony…” he turned his head to address the rest of them, but looked no one in the eye. “...Everyone.”

Several nods went around.

" Bruce.”

“Hey, man.”

“Good to see you.”

The loose, yet protective circle that had formed around Bruce moments before had drawn in closer once it was clear that the doctor wasn’t going to freak out on them. Even the kid joined the circle, even though he didn’t know Bruce from Adam.

He was also practically vibrating with excitement. “This is so cool—you’re actually Dr. Bruce Banner!” He stopped geeking out long enough to stick out his hand. “Hey, I’m Spider-Man. It’s an honor to meet you, Sir.”

Bruce stared at the hand for a long moment before hesitatingly shaking it. “A pleasure.” Outwardly, he seemed put off and even disinterested, but Tony had known Bruce well enough to know that the doctor was still stuck in his own head.

If the kid was at all deterred by the lack of enthusiasm, he didn’t show it. “I’m a big fan,” he said as they released hands. “Especially my friend, he’d freak out if he knew I met you.”

“Yeah, that’s, that’s great.” He gave the group a quick once-over. His gaze lingered a moment on Wanda, who sat silently against the wall. They locked eyes before quickly breaking away. “So, what’s the plan?”

“We keep moving,” Steve said, nodding once.

“Yep,” Clint said as they started off. “There’s gotta be a point to this somewhere, at some time.” The annoyed edge of his voice echoed off the walls.

The loud footsteps also resumed and increased, now that they had one extra. “There’s nine of us now,” Barnes commented to Steve. “I’m not liking our odds on the other side of this.”

“Won’t be a picnic,” Steve agreed, still facing ahead.

“Dude, do not mention food,” Sam almost groaned. “I’m starving enough as it is.”

Tony looked sharply in Spider-Man’s direction. Peter’s direction. His metabolism. If Wilson, a regular man, was feeling hunger pangs, then…

The kid looked studiously in the other direction. Tony could have kicked himself. Of course the kid wouldn’t say anything. It was his way of toughing it out in front of the other heroes. His heroes.

It had only been thirty minutes and he was already screwing up as a mentor. With another look toward the kid, Tony increased his steps and he accelerated to the front of the pack. “Let’s get this over with.” He ignored the several calls for him to slow down. Tony didn’t care what was waiting for them. Whatever their abductor’s plan was, it couldn’t have been to let them slowly starve to death. The sooner they dealt with this, the better.

Eventually, some of the others had to pick up the pace in order to catch up with him, and soon enough, their feet began to collectively thunder down the hall. “Can we maybe take...a little break?” Bruce panted. They were practically sprinting now.

“Hang in there, Banner, I’ve got a good feeling,” Tony called back.

“We could be passing someone,” Natasha chastised.

“Keep and eye out then.”

A short time passed before Peter called out, “Guys, I think I smell something! Smells like...salt water?”

“Salt water?” half of them echoed.

“That doesn’t sound good,” Clint murmured, and pumped his arms a little harder.

Tony eventually came to a stop and he leaned on his knees, breathing in and out. Steve came to an easy stop beside him. They both looked up at the giant hanger door in front of them. It seemed to be all there was, the end of the line.

As Tony caught his breath, Peter came up next to him, along with Barnes, Clint, and Wanda. Natasha came up at the rear and glanced backward at poor Banner, who was still stumbling a few yards behind. “So this is it,” Sam said. His shirt was beginning to stain at the armpits.

“For all we know it could be it it,” Clint said. “Smell that salt water?”

“Yeah, I smell it too,” Steve said.

“What, you think they’ll drown us?” Natasha said.

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Clint said, leaning against the side wall.

Sam looked over at the kid. “How ‘bout you, Lassie? Get anything else?”

Peter lifted his chin as he sniffed the air. “Think I do, actually...maybe, mango? Grapefruit?”

“Sure you’re not just hungry?” Barnes asked.

“No...actually, I think I hear something too...like humming? I’m not sure.”

Bruce finally caught up. “I don’t think...they’d bring us this far...just to kill us...ahh.” He nearly fell to his knees.

Contrary to Bruce, Tony rose up to full height. “Look there.” Everyone followed his finger. Up near the top, next to the hangar and just below the ceiling, was a keypad.

“They can’t be serious,” Sam said.

“I’ve got it!” Peter sing-songed, and launched himself onto the wall before anyone could stop him. He reached the keypad in two leap-crawls and studied the code. “Okay,” he called down to them. “This time it’s got seven letters. The first one’s an S, and the last one is an A.”

“Sokovia,” everyone said in unison, save Barnes.

Peter glanced down at them a moment, then punched in the code. The final beep sounded, followed by a creak and a whir. Peter jumped back down to Tony’s side, and Tony nudged the kid behind him. The hangar slowly creaked open. The Avengers gathered in a clustered line, bracing themselves. And then--

Light.

Light burned their eyes. Hands flew up in front of faces. Heat. That came second. Not scorching, but significant enough to start sweating. Then came the wind...air, fresh air. And upon taking a deep breath, they could smell it now, in full force. Salt. Tony lowered his hands and squinted. Hot white sand surrounded them.

To their far left, they could see a field of towering bamboo. There were also random clusters of sharp black rocks with speckles of green moss staining the north side. And if they looked further on to the right, they could see a strip of blue ocean lying along the horizon.

For a moment, everyone was speechless.

Bruce found his words first. “Uh….what?”

Agitated hands worked the keyboard. “Stats, I need stats now!” Maria bellowed, and the hands worked faster.

“Ma’am, with all due respect,” said an analyst, who sounded like he was near the end of his rope. “There are over 200,000 ocean islands in the world.”

“We can narrow it down,” said Maria, all past excuses. “Throw up a list and knock it down one by one. Right now our best guess might be the Pacific Islands, we can start there.”

“That still leaves us 30,000!” someone said.

“Do it.”

All around her, people put their heads down and got to work. Maria put her hands on her hips and sighed before looking back up at the screen. Limp handed and open mouthed, the Avengers stared out at their surroundings. The broadcast had only lasted an hour and a half so far, and yet this Maestro character had managed throw the world into complete chaos.

At present, only American televisions had been affected, but now the broadcast was being streamed to other countries, and many were viewing the unfolding events online (Which apparently had been left alone). Multiple videos and clips were popping up on YouTube every few seconds, despite their many attempts to take it down.

Maria clenched her jaw. Hard to admit, but this was starting to grow beyond them. Whoever Maestro was, he was more of a problem than they first realized. And she was learning that, minute by minute.

She also learned that Bruce Banner ran like crap.

She watched as the camera panned out a little. There was a giant hole in the 2,000ft mountain they had just walked out of, and some of the heroes stopped to marvel at it when the group fanned out to observe their surroundings. Many eyes watched the screen in disbelief.

“They were in a mountain?”

“What kind of Island is this, where are they?”

“This is nuts.”

On screen, Clint knelt on one knee and gathered up the sand, running it through his fingers. Then, letting it fall, he dusted his hands off as he eyed his surroundings with a frown.

“‘Kay, Karen,” Spider-Man said, having recovered enough from his surprise to speak. “How about now?….what, what do you mean you still can’t get a signal?”

Barnes was the last one out, and as soon as he stepped out onto the sand, the hangar creaked and started to close itself. “Whoah, hey,” Tony said, but no one made a move to stop it. A low boom rumbled lowly through the air as the hangar shut with finality. They only spared the hangar door a minute before turning away. There was nothing to be done about it now.

Slowly, cautiously, and led by Steve, the Avengers began to walk across the sand and around the rocks, toward the ocean. “Where are we?” Sam said, and wasn’t that the question of the day?

“Florida maybe?” Spider-Man suggested.

“I think we’re quite a ways from Florida, kid,” Stark said, and he turned in a slow circle as they trudged on. “I’ve been to a lot of Islands, but this...this feels different somehow.”

“I don’t think sunbathing in the Bahamas and hosting beach parties is enough to make a valid assessment,” Wilson said.

“If you wanted an invitation, Wilson, just say so,” Stark replied. “I know Cindy Crawford personally, I could hook you up.”

“The woman is married, Tony,” Rogers reprimanded.

“How do you know she’s married, Cap?”

“Guys.” Natasha nodded toward something up ahead. They had rounded a corner, and the beach lay before them openly. A few yards ahead, and a fair distance away from the lapping waves, lay a large bundle. At first it looked like some strange creature, or a thick pile of seaweed, but as the camera zoomed in, Maria could see it was supplies. The heap was packed tightly together under a large black net.

“Guys,” Spider-Man said warily as they neared. “Guys, guys, guys, those are supplies, this is not good.” No one replied, but Clint gave his shoulder a light pat as he passed the young hero.

Bruce lagged behind, and he made himself fall carefully backward onto his bottom. The doctor tried to keep control of his breathing as he pulled off his shoes and socks. “Sand,” he muttered, turning one of his shoes upside down. “All in my socks, all in my shoes.”

“Bruce,” Sam called back.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

Rolling his socks into neat little balls and neatly tucking them into his shoes, Banner stood up and resumed his slow trudge to the bundle of supplies. Up ahead, Steve arrived first. He checked over the bundle himself, and he seemed to come to a good conclusion about it. “Nat, still have that knife?”

Romanoff stepped forward and began to cut her way through the net. Once it fell away, the contents of the bundle stood out more under the gleaming sun.

They all stared, and Spider-Man shook his head. “This is not good.” But even he seemed appreciative, because it might as well have been a gift from heaven.

The first thing that drew their attention was the food, snacks really. Loads of nutrition bars packed into medium-sized cardboard crates. There were also packs of crackers, fruit snacks, and jerky. The Avengers shared a look at this. It wasn’t nearly enough to fully sustain a group of nine, and certainly not enough for the enhanced on the team. There were also nine separate water canteens. They were all filled, but there didn’t seem to be any more available within the pile. Evidently, they were to find more for themselves.

Aside from the nourishment, there were other things like piles of blankets (No pillows), four packs of water-proof tarp, two first aid kits, a tool box, and comm devices. The pile also seemed to be sectioned off, one for each Avenger. Neatly folded pairs of shirts, pants, socks, undergarments, and jackets. Each article seemed to come straight out of their closet. Spider man held up a T-shirt that read: What do you do with sick chemists? Helium!

A sort of startled chuckle came from Spidey, which he quickly changed to a cough. He also noticed Rogers peering at the T-shirt from behind him, and he lowered it almost shyly. Steve simply smiled and turned his attention elsewhere.

Among the clothes, there were also two pairs of well-made sneakers for each of them, all perfectly sized to the intended wearer. There were toiletries too: Nine toothbrushes, five tubes of toothpaste, soap, shampoo, towels, shaving cream, razors, deodorant, hairbrushes, combs, and the like. Pads and tampons were also thrown in.

But the most interesting items were the weapons. Their weapons. Dual batons, and a pair of Glock 26’s for Natasha—and yes, there were her signature Widow Bite bracelets.

Submachine guns for Sam Wilson, along with his EXO-7 jet pack and wings.

A M249 SAW rifle for Barnes, along with a few grenades.

Barton was practically armed to the teeth—he had his specialized arrow quiver, a collapsible bow, a dagger, a handgun, and a retractable baton. The archer pulled back on the bow for a bit, testing the feel of it. He seemed satisfied.

Spider-Man had his web shooters back...and a mysterious metal case with a post it note on it.

Use sparingly :)

Spider-Man peeked into the case, and closed it back with a small nod.

Roger’s shield gleamed almost triumphantly in the sunlight. It was almost at the top of the pile. Steve looked Tony’s way. The billionaire was silent, but soon gave a weighted nod before turning away.

Then with a heavy but thankful smile towards Tony, Steve stepped forward and took the shield with one hand. It was a practically a reunion. Besides the shield, there were two handguns and nothing more. Cap was set regardless.

Wanda Maximoff needed no weapons, but she did find a small box of pretty rings for her fingers. She stared at them blankly.

Tony also found a suitcase, but this one was a brilliant red and gold. He furrowed his brow and laid it down on the sand, examining it. Spider-Man seemed to recognize it immediately. “Whoah—it’s like the suit that you used to fight Ivan Vanko at the Grand Prix in Monaco, right? So cool!”

Natasha raised her eyebrows. “Fanboy much?”

“Well...yeah,” Spider-Man replied as he watched Tony step on the heel of the case, and it opened halfway. “How could I not be?”

“Kid knows his stuff,” Tony said, and simultaneously put his hands inside the twin gauntlets that poked out. He brought it up to his chest, and the suit closed around him. It resembled his Mark 7 suit.

“How is it in there?” Steve asked.

“HUD’s good. FRIDAY, you here hon? Yikes, what happened to your voice?...I see. You feel good enough to get our location?...I see. Okay, enough. I’m gonna start calling you THURSDAY from now on if you’re gonna keep sounding like that.”

His face plate popped open. “Okay, got some good news and bad news. Apparently, someone stole one of my prototypes, and hacked FRIDAY. Suit’s still functioning, but it sounds like she’s got the flu, poor thing. Can’t call anyone either, signal’s blocked.”

“Blocked?” Clint said. “By what?”

Wordlessly, Tony turned, aimed, and fired off a few mini missiles and blasts into the sky. Some gave startled shouts as pulses of energy fireworked out of his gauntlets. Immediately, a strange purple dome appeared, and the blasts ricocheted off of it. The dome emitted a low, warped sound throughout the assault, but held strong.

Stark stopped shooting and lowered his gauntlets. “That.”

The others stared up at the dome in half bewilderment.

“So that’s what I heard before,” said Spider-Man.

Clint aimed his bow and shot at it—the arrow was zapped. Cap threw his shield—it bounced harmlessly back. Spider-Man even shot a web—it sizzled on impact. The last hope was Wanda, but she immediately cringed back in pain.

“Think the big guy could get through it?” Natasha asked Bruce.

The doctor shook his head, his eyes scanning up and down the dome hopelessly. “No, I don’t think so. It’s not like the shield outside the Hydra base in Sokovia, it’s made of different stuff entirely. This isn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before.”

“FRI, power source?” Tony asked. “….I see. Well, thanks for nothing.”

“Great,” Sam said, sitting on a crate. “Now what?”

Suddenly, Spider-Man turned his head. “Wait—you guys hear that?”

The others were suddenly attentive, now that they were learning to take Spidey’s warnings more seriously. “What?” Bruce said, his head swiveling nervously from side to side. “Hear what?”

“Shhh, listen!” Sure enough, there was a faint crackling sound coming from the pile.

Tony watched as Peter hopped over the bundle. He heard the kid comment, “Hey, you guys got costumes!”

“Seriously?” said Barnes.

“Yep, everyone’s got one—except you, Dr. Banner, sorry.”

“Kid,” Tony said. “What do you hear?”

“Hang on, I got it!”

The kid came back, and he had some sort of device in his hand. The team gathered around. The origin of the noise was a standard walkie talkie. Tony took it and turned it over in his hands.

“Chh, chh,” said a voice amongst the crackling static. “Avengers, come in, Avengers! Testing, testing, 123, anyone out there! Chh, chh, over!”

The Avengers exchanged dark looks, and sucking in his lips, Tony adjusted the volume and pressed the talk button near the top. “Iron Man speaking,” he said humorlessly. “And who might you be?”

“Tony!” said the voice smoothly, as if they were on a freaking game show— “Glad to see you up and about. I trust you found the package I sent?”

“Looking at it right now. I won’t ask again. Who are you?”

“Cutting right to the chase. I like that. Alright then Tony, since you asked so nicely—Maestro will do for present.”

“Maestro?” Clint sneered.

“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

“No it’s not,” said Peter, and Tony sent him a look.

“What do you want?” Steve cut in, right down to business. “And why did you put us on this island?”

“It’s pretty snazzy, isn’t it?” Maestro sounded smug. “The cool part is that it’s no ordinary island, oh no. It’s completely manufactured. Years ago, this was an advanced training ground for Hydra recruits.”

Barnes’ expression flickered, and Steve’s eyes hardened.

“See, Hydra wanted their soldiers to be able to adapt to more exotic environments in order to carry out special missions. Intense missions, over any sort of terrain. So they created this island. And boy, the things they put their recruits through here. Initial training, various combat scenarios, fitness, psychological conditioning, a little torture here and there...y’know, the usual. Rumor was that they even conducted an experiment or two, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

“So you’re Hydra,” Steve said curtly.

Beside Tony, Peter swallowed hard, and he felt the already present anger in his chest start to rise.

“Yello,” said Maestro. “Did  I say I was Hydra? I said the island was Hydra. Crank up the hearing aid, Gramps.”

“So why bring us here?” Natasha said.

“I’m holding an experiment,” Maestro replied, and there was a smile in his voice. “And I needed a few volunteers.”

“Except we’re not volunteers,” Sam said, storm faced.

“What can I say? I was too shy to ask you personally. Besides, I figured that if anyone could carry out this assignment, it would be the mighty Avengers themselves.”

“Yeah—except you made a slight miscalculation,” Tony said, and his hand gripped the walkie a little tighter. “Or hadn’t you noticed?”

“I didn’t miscalculate,” Maestro said innocently. “Wasn’t the fight at the Berlin airport between all of you? I’m pretty sure that that party was exclusive.”

Bruce sent a confused look Tony’s way, but he ignored it.

“Yeah but see, some of us were just plus one’s,” Tony said through gritted teeth, “Which I’m sure you would know, since you’re so keen on spying on us. You would know what bringing said plus one is a mistake, one you’ll come to regret in the near future if anything were to happen.” His voice was rising steadily now, and Tony could only imagine the looks he was getting, but couldn’t bring himself to care. The walkie was trembling, and he quickly switched it to the other hand.

“Relax, Tony. I’m sure that as long as your team sticks together, everything will turn out fine.”

Tony’s anger was nearly at its boiling point. Maestro knew exactly what he was doing, and Tony was onto him. The epiphany had come to him ever since they found the kid, and Maestro’s comment only confirmed it.

He wanted to destroy what was left of the team.

Zemo started it, Maestro would finish it.

Zemo broke the vase, but now Maestro will smash it to smithereens.

That’s why he made the codes the way they were, that’s why Barnes was here, and that’s why the kid was still in the suit. He wanted a big dramatic reveal, which was practically inbound. Peter couldn’t keep the mask on forever, and it would only be a matter of time. 

How Bruce factored into the equation, he didn’t know. But the endgame was made abundantly clear to Tony. He forced himself to take a deep breath. Peter was watching, and Tony had promised himself to keep his cool for the kid’s sake.

A pair of hands suddenly snatched the walkie. “What about Vision?” Wanda demanded, making the team jump.

She had been completely silent throughout the whole ordeal...picking up Spider-Man and Bruce, running through the corridor, even stepping out onto the beach—she said not one word, nor betrayed any other emotion other than indifference. Now her face was flushed red, and her eyes were bright with fury.

The walkie shook even harder in her grip. “He was part of the team and you hurt him. Where is he? Tell me where he is, or you’re dead.” Natasha’s hands calmly reached for the walkie, but Wanda snatched it away. “He may be an android, but he is a man. You understand me? He is a man with feelings. With dreams.” Her eyes began to moisten. “If you take that away...if you take him away..”

“Miss Maximoff,” Maestro said, suddenly very serious. “I understand your frustrations. Tell you what though. If you follow my instructions, there is a good chance that you will see Vision again, in the land of the living. But only if you follow my instructions.”

The flush of red slowly drained from Wanda’s face as she stared at the walkie. “And what would that be?” Steve asked.

“Take a gander up at the mountains.” They all turned to look behind them. Way up high, far off past the trees and bamboo fields, were sharp jagged cliffs that melted into lush green mountain tops. Each layer seemed to fold on top of one another. At the very peak, a faint tower loomed.

“See that tower? That there’s your best friend. It’s one of Hydra’s beacon stations. There are three on this island. Inside, you’ll find a switch next to a red light. Flick the switch, and it’ll turn a lovely shade of green. Do exactly that for all three beacons, and the towers will triangulate a special energy pulse that will turn off the shield.”

There was a long pause. “That’s it?” Spider-Man piped up.

“That’s it,” Maestro replied. “See, this particular shield is the island’s security defense system. It helped cloak the island’s existence for decades, and can hold up against any attack. No one got in or out without say so. Of course, I took the liberty and made a few...modifications to it. Gotta keep up with the times, after all. In the old days, the beacons used to be manned 24/7 by at least three guards. You know, in order to keep security tight.”

“Sorry, but I don’t see a map anywhere,” Sam said. “How are we supposed to find the other two beacons?”

“You’ve got the tech. The Iron Man Suit, Spider-Man’s suit, even your Redwing, Wilson—they’ll help you out. Can’t send out distress signals, but they’ll be able to track down the other beacons, easy peasy.”

“Annnnd….after which, you’ll just...let us go,” said Clint, terse. “Yeah, somehow I don’t buy that.”

“Mr. Barton, I’m not a lot of things, but I am a man of my word. After you disable the shield, you’re all home free.”

“After all you’ve got on us?” Barnes said. “How stupid do you think we are?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to,” said Maestro. “But either way, you have no choice. I’ve given you an out, take it or leave it.”

“So, we find all three beacons,” Natasha said, and something in her voice suggested that she was choosing her words very carefully. “Flip the switch, and deactivate the shield. That’s all we have to do?”

There was an almost frightful pause, followed by a single intake of breath. “Well,” Maestro said in a strange voice, “There is a catch.”

Just then, the temperature dropped. Chills ran down Tony’s spine, and several went to wrap their arms around themselves. Alarmed, they looked this way and that, but found nothing. “What the—” Clint began, but stopped short in surprise when a visible cloud of breath left his mouth.

All around, people starred shivering, and Tony snapped his face plate back on. “FRIDAY?”

The HUD glowed back to life.

“See,” said Maestro, “What I said about the three guards earlier...that’s still kinda true. They might not be Hydra, but you’ll find that they’re very serious about protecting their tower.”

“FRIDAY,” Tony nearly barked. “Talk to me, what’s happening?”

And FRIDAY replied in a slightly nasally voice, “We’ve got incoming, boss.”

Chapter Text

Business at Red Rabbit’s was good. Particularly during the summer—tourist vacations, beach parties, summer concerts…it was during this period that people from all walks of life would come flooding in for a good drink and a good time. Today, though, the bar was packed—not because drinks were half price, or because there was yet another brawl that only the cops could break up—but because of what was on T.V.

Bob Shaffer, the owner, had always taken pride in how clear the picture was on the three flat screen TVs he had purchased two years ago. He had placed them above the main counter at certain angles in front of the glass windows. Normally, he’d have the game on, and that was usually the main attraction for the customers.

But then Tony Stark appeared on screen. At first, Bob couldn’t be more irritated. He tried everything he could to get the game back; he fiddled with the wiring, plugged and unplugged, and even called the cable company (The line of course, was busy). No dice. Just Stark, and those costume-wearing bozos.

But then he started getting a few stragglers. Some had been shop owners from next door, checking to see whether if his television was acting up too. Others were tourists who were just coming back from the beach, or carnival, or party, and happened to pass by. They stood in front of the windows and watched the unfolding events with curious interest. Soon enough, people started coming in and sitting down, and half became customers, ordering a drink or two.

Before Bob knew it, he and his employees were the busiest they had been years. They were almost swamped with work.

Now, Bob decided, maybe missing the game wasn’t so bad.

The general chatter went up when Black Widow ran her fingers through Bruce Banner’s hair (Along with a few ooohs and whistles), and only grew louder when the camera swept around the Avengers as they formed a defensive circle. The sky darkened around them, and the waves, which now looked icy and cold, rolled more violently on the shore.

There wouldn’t be any time to slip into costumes. They hurriedly shoved the comm devices into their ears and tossed confirmations to one another. Wind whistled and rushed through, and Bob could only imagine how it felt on their skin.

“We’ve got eight hostiles incoming,” Iron Man said, once they were all connected. “Scratch that, twelve hostiles.”

Wanda Maximoff’s hands glowed a harsh red, as did her eyes. “Let them come,” she growled, already in search for targets.

Another round of oooohs, some sarcastic. Maximoff wasn’t liked very much, certainly not here in Miami. She was far away enough that one would feel braver taking a jab or two, but fear often drove it. Lagos still burned in everyone’s minds.

“This is insane,” said Janice, who was a regular. She looked over at Raymond, another regular. “Are we really about to watch them fight?”

“Looks like it,” Raymond replied. He then slammed a small stack of twenties on the counter. “Sixty dollars the Avengers win!”

“Oh yeah?” said another customer. “I’ll bet you seventy dollars that they lose!”

Raymond pointed a finger. “You’re on.”

“Raymond!” Janice exclaimed, “You can’t be serious! They’re probably about to die!”

“Twenty dollars that Maximoff sweeps,” said a woman from the back.

“No way, my money’s on Hulk. Thirty-five bucks!”

“Seventeen dollars, Iron Man deals the final blow.”

“Forty-five bucks Hawkeye dies first!”

“Are all of you guys forgetting Cap?”

“Bro, I’m from Queens, don’t underestimate Spidey.”

On screen, the trees of the Jungle parted. Clint fired an arrow, and it lodged in a creature’s chest. The creature, made entirely of ice, looked down in a moment of disbelief. Immediately, it reached up and snapped the tail end before letting out a ferocious roar.

Bob jumped—it was an ugly thing with little sharp spikes and claws coming out from its body. It was at least 25 feet fall, and the ground shook with every step it took. Funnily enough, it reminded him of that ice creature from that Disney movie his daughters loved so much.

The monster that Hawkeye shot charged at him. Clint rolled away just in time—he switched arrows, and shot again—this time, the arrow exploded. With a dull roar, the monster collapsed. Many more stampeded out from the trees, and Maximoff launched herself into the air.

Bob had never really been a fan of the Avengers. To him, they were glorified vigilantes who could get away with anything they wanted. They were dangerous, reckless, and constantly out of control. It almost never mattered though, mostly because they had friends in high places—mainly Stark. Drop a city from the sky? No problem. Blow up a building full of people? Send ‘em a check. Once Stark waved his wallet around, the higher ups were more than happy to turn a blind eye.

But if Bob said that he didn’t feel goosebumps in that moment, he’d be lying. Despite the oncoming chaos, the Avengers simply steeled their bodies, cracked their knuckles, and went unflinchingly into battle mode.

“Two on your right, Sam.”

“I see ‘em.”

“Watch your six.”

“Three down.”

“I had that one, Romanoff!”

“Sorry, got excited.”

“Duck!”

“Watch it!”

“My bad.”

There was a click-beep, followed by Banner’s hesitant voice. “Guys, is this a code green?”

“Not yet,” Iron Man said, raising a hand and blasting one creature away. “For one, being trapped in a dome with the Hulk isn’t something I’m in a hurry to experience—plus, that pile of supplies is all we’ve got, we can’t risk Hulk destroying it.”

“I second that,” Clint grunted, “I call dibs on at least five pieces of that beef jerky.”

"So we can even hear them over comms,” said a customer, her chin resting on one hand. “That’s kind of cool.”

“Kid, guard Banner and the supplies,” Iron Man said.

“On it!” Spider-Man trilled. Crossing his arms, he aimed two webs at an incoming monster. Then, with full force, he swung it around and slammed it against another, smashing two at once. Bruce ducked as ice shards rained down near him. “Gahh—my bad, Dr. Banner, I’ll be more careful next time!”

Bruce, still crouched, waved a hand in Spider-Man’s general direction. “That-that’s okay, thank you.” He then proceeded to crawl behind a rock pile.

After that, Spider-Man somersaulted over to the supplies, and with the rapid fire of his wrists, webbed them all down until it was a single, sticky heap on the beach. “Let’s see ‘em get through that,” he declared before moving on to the next monster.

The fight then gradually inched down the beach, away from the supplies. It was no easy maneuver, surely, but the Avengers were making it look easy.

“Man, this is it?” Sam Wilson said after a while. He fired his guns until the creature in front of him was reduced to splintered shards. “Maestro talked a big talk, but I’m getting a little sleepy over here.”

“Look,” Wanda warned, and Clint cursed. The remains of the defeated ice creatures started vibrating and trembling on the sand; then they rolled across the beach on their own accord, and reassembled until a brand new creature emerged. The new monsters looked leaner, but sharper and much more deadly.

Barnes tossed an ill-humored glance over at Wilson. “Feel awake yet?”

Wilson rolled his eyes in response and took off into the air. He was careful not to go up too high, else he’d be zapped by the dome. Iron Man and Maximoff were also cautious.

“So these guys can regenerate?” Black Widow said. She jumped onto the shoulders of one creature and fried it to pieces with the dual punch of her bracelets.

“They might not even be alive,” Captain America replied. He hurled his shield and caught it before the creature even had time to break apart. He then slid and kicked the legs from out under it once it reassembled. “Check out one of the pieces when they break apart.”

Sure enough, among the shattered remains of a monster, there was one tiny piece that glowed blue. The ice shards would quickly surround it until it built up into something completely new.

“I see it,” Tony said. “FRIDAY, target the blue stones.” The shoulders of the suit opened up, and dozens of tiny missiles flew out and collided with the hard surfaces that each stone hid behind.

The beasts collapsed, but every stone flared, and the ice seemed to rally and cling even harder, cocooning around the stones until they reinforced themselves. In just seconds, several new monsters emerged; some even had wings. “Sorry,” Tony said as the suit began to fly away. “I’m sorry—hey!”

Multiple monsters with wings went after him, and they disappeared into the trees. “Mr. Stark!” said Spider-Man, but over comms, Iron responded, “Banner, kid, stick with him!”

“They’re more like robots than monsters,” Sam called out. “They’re being controlled somehow!”

“So the question is, who’s controlling them,” Barnes said. Many monsters ate lead around him.

Close by, Spider-Man shot a web at the top of a coconut tree and pulled it back as far as he could. Then, he released it with force, knocking a particularly large creature back towards the ocean. “Fore!” he shouted.

Unfortunately, as soon as the monster hit the waves, there was a foreboding flash beneath the surface. It rose again...about two times bigger than before. “...oops.”

Bruce Banner remained on his knees and elbows, and crawled along behind the rocks. Once in a while, the doctor would offer up a wave of thanks to Spider-Man (who valiantly defended him), or give out suggestions and warnings to the team. Some helpful, some unnecessary. “Watch your back, Nat...one more Clint, on your left. Steve, get that one!”

“Come on man, transform,” a customer muttered.

“Did you not hear them talk about why he shouldn’t yet?”

“Yeah, but I bet on him.”

The camera then focused on Iron Man, who was now deep into the jungle. With the winged monsters in hot pursuit, the man flipped himself over, still flying. Then, raising his repulsors, he fired away, shooting down one creature after another. It was only temporary of course, and chances were that they would come back even stronger. Iron Man flipped over once more, belly towards the ground. “Alright Dear. I know you’re not feeling well today, but I need you to get me that power source.”

A woman’s voice with a light Irish accent answered him smoothly, if not haltingly. “I’m getting readings from the tower up ahead. The 18^th level, by the look of it. I’m getting at least one heat signature, so I’m betting that’s where your man is.”

“Gotcha.” There was an extra blast from his repulsors as he sailed upward, careful not to catch fire to any trees. “Alright team,” he said into comms, “The power source is coming from inside the beacon, I’m heading there now.”

“Good luck,” Cap breathed.

But in mid air, something happened. A horrible roar sounded, and the winged creatures were back with a vengeance. They had grown bigger, and far more ferocious. They flew toward Iron Man with a terrifying speed.

Stark was just turning to brace himself for the attack, when the beasts flew right by him. Iron Man hovered in the air for a moment. “Um...FRIDAY, did I miss something?”

“They’re heading for the tower,” FRIDAY said, and for a robot, or AI, or whatever she was, she actually sounded concerned.

The lights of Iron Man’s eyes flared, and he shot after them. The ice creatures reached the beacon and started circling around it. The tower itself was high on the mountain ridge, and was about 211 feet tall. It was an uninspired grey color, and wide at the bottom. The top of the beacon resembled a tiny, but well-built house with a strong antenna attached to the top.

The whole thing was also frozen solid. Jagged ice crystals clung to the tower like a second coat of paint, and it seemed to spiral from the bottom, all the way to the top. The front entrance was also frozen over, with white icicles guarding and overlapping it like crooked teeth.

The creatures circled the tower for a moment longer before going in for the attack. “Whoah!” Tony exclaimed, firing a laser beam at one of them. “Whoah whoah whoah, what are you doing? I thought you liked your master!”

The creatures simply hissed, and circled the tower once more, like lions around an antelope. Iron Man engaged everything, weaving his way through the enemies as he defended the tower. “Okay, new situation,” he told the others. “It looks like the Ringwraiths are attacking the tower.”

“What?” Sam said. “I thought Maestro said that the beacon would be defended!”

“Defended from us, maybe,” Black Widow said, delivering a roundhouse kick. “Not necessarily from themselves. Whoever we’re fighting against doesn’t want us to leave the island. That beacon is their biggest target.”

“But are they not controlling the creatures from the inside?” asked Wanda. “If the tower is destroyed, would they not perish?”

“Could be a special power we don’t know about,” Clint said, firing arrow after arrow. “Either that, or we’re dealing with a lunatic with nothing to lose.”

“Let’s hope it’s the first option,” said Iron Man. He narrowly dodged an incoming whip of a tail, and responded with an arc blast. He turned too late to ward off another attacker that reared behind him, but the critical bite was stopped by a hail of bullets.

As the creature fell, Falcon reloaded one of his guns. “Thought you could use a hand.”

Iron Man merely looked his way at first. “Two to your right,” was the only reply before before he moved on to the next enemy. “Looks like we’re gonna have our hands full up here, which means someone else needs to get to the tower. Any volunteers?”

However, just as the sentence left Iron Man’s mouth, Captain America gave a warning shout. “Heads up!”

Down below, a big ugly ice troll came stomping forth, and before anyone could stop him, he swung a giant ice mallet and struck the center of the beach. The Avengers who were standing nearby found their feet swept out from out for them as sand came rushing into the vortex. “Dr. Banner!” shouted Spider-Man, and allowed the sand to carry him closer before grabbing the doctor and throwing him up toward a banyan tree.

“Ahh!” Banner shouted as he went flying. A web shot up after him, he was promptly secured to the upper trunk. His legs, the only part of his body that wasn’t covered, dangled haplessly in the air.

“Sorry!” Spider-Man called as he was swept away.

Digging her heel, Wanda hurriedly waved her hands. Red energy followed the path of the vortex and buried itself deeply in the center. Then the sand started to rise until it began to twist around itself like a tornado. As the team started to recover around her, Wanda continued to bend and twist her hands in a hurried fluidity.

For a moment, it seemed like everything was finally under control. It didn’t last.

The stones glowed with a vengeance, and one of the beasts reached out and slammed against the red cyclone that trapped them. Wanda jerked back from the effect, and she cried out.

Subsequently, a handful of monsters spilled out and hit the ground running. One of them pounced on Black Widow, who only had time to use her baton to keep her throat from being bitten into. Clint would have killed it, if he weren’t knocked across the head with an ice club. He struggled to get to his feet again, dazed.

As Barnes jumped in to cover him, Rogers came to Natasha’s aid, delivering several blows with his shield. Enraged, the creature lost interest in Black Widow, and set its sights on Cap.

Meanwhile, Banner was having troubles of his own. A monster that sort of looked like a bear was trying to gnaw at his foot, like some kind of appetizer. The doctor was still encased in webbing, and was struggling to pull his foot back as far as he could. “No, noooo. Bad bear! Bad! Get do—heel! Heel!”

“Hey!” Spidey screamed out, and the creature turned its head. “Hey ugly! Over here!” He eased backward until the creature finally chose to give chase. “That’s right, come and get me!”

The camera followed as Spider-Man plunged into the jungle, hopping over logs and boulders as he went. Often, he got himself entangled in a mesh of overhanging vines, or almost conked himself out with a tree branch.

Back at the beach, Captain America had his beast in a wrestling hold, his muscles bulging and straining as he did so. With gritted teeth, he jerked the beast around. “Bucky!” Barnes looked over a moment, and instantly aimed his rifle. In moments, shards of ice fell from Roger’s hands. “Thanks.”

He turned to Natasha. “You alright?”

Romanoff looked a little shaky, but was already up and fighting. “Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

He then looked out toward the jungle and raised a hand to his ear. “Spider-Man, turn around.” The soldier then started running all the way across the beach, and rounded a corner.

“What?” Spider-Man squawked.

“Use the suit to get my location and come towards me. Trust me, son!”

“Okay,” said Spider-Man, reluctantly.

Captain America was now out of sight of the others, legs pumping as he went on further down the beach. Several moments later, rumbling sounded, and Spider-Man came crashing out from the tree line. He hopped over an enormous cluster of jagged rocks, but he landed on the wrong foot, and was sent rolling down a sand hill.

When he finally came to a stop, Spider-Man turned onto his back and looked up.

The creature leered back down at him from the rocks, ready to pounce.

Before Bob could frantically ponder if these things could actually eat people, Captain America barreled in, eliciting a few shouts from the crowd. He tackled Spider-Man from the side and caused them to briefly roll together. Then, as the creature leapt, Steve raised his shield directly above their heads. It was too late to change direction or stop itself in mid air, so the creature shattered on impact.

There was scattered applause as the shield lowered.

“You alright?” Rogers asked, slightly breathless.

“Yeah, thanks!”

“Hey!” said an annoyed voice. Bob jumped and tore his eyes away. Mr. Reeves, another regular, frowned up at him from the counter. “I ordered a highball five minutes ago!”

Bob had to blink, his brain battling between bar owner and viewer at lightning speeds. He suddenly realized he hadn’t been this enthralled with the television since he was a schoolboy watching Saturday morning cartoons. Still, his other employees were occupied, and there was money to be made.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Coming up.”

But he snuck a glance over his shoulder as he prepared.

“Anyone?” Tony asked for the fourth time. “Helloooo?” He sighed.

He knew full well that it was probably a free-for-all down there, and he was sternly teaching himself to be more patient with this teammates. But he was fighting flying ice monsters for gosh’s sakes. He currently had one creature by the neck, and gunned his boot jets.

Flying up as high as he dared, Tony rammed the monster up along against the under surface of the dome until it sizzled into tiny pieces.

“Nice,” Wilson commented, almost begrudgingly.

“Papa’s still got it.”

They weren’t given much fly space, not as much as they would’ve liked. A thorough scanning from their technology revealed that a large portion of the beach, mountains, and air space was sectioned off in a sort of wedge. The energy walls were made out of the same stuff as the rest of the dome, only it was a divider of sorts. He and Wilson came to the conclusion that if and when they defeated their enemy, they would be given more access to the island.

Tony was almost impressed. Maestro really did think of everything.

Another winged creature appeared where the last one died, and Tony raised his gauntlet once more. “Does anyone copy down there, or are we down to two already?”

“Here, Tony,” Rogers finally answered. “Sorry, got distracted for a moment.”

“You can say that again.” That was the kid’s voice. “Dr. Banner? You okay, man?”

“I’m fine,” Bruce replied. Tony could hear the warped blasts from Wanda’s energy in the background. “Everyone’s got me covered, more or less. Thanks for the save, by the way.”

Tony could practically see the stars in Peter’s eyes. “Holy cow—I mean, uh—” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure, no problem Dr. B, glad I could help.”

Barely suppressing the roll of his eyes, Tony cut in, “If we’re all done catching up—”

“Right. I’m close to the beacon, heading there now,” said Rogers. “The rest of you—son, you can let go now—the rest of you keep the monsters busy on the beach, do not let them reach the jungle. We can’t afford to lose track of these guys.”

There were grunts of affirmation from those who could respond, but Tony raised an eyebrow. “Kid? What—are you with Rogers? What are you doing?”

“Just warming him up, Mr. Stark,” Peter replied.

“Please tell me you weren’t hugging him.”

“He’s in a t-shirt Mr. Stark! And I’ve got a whole heater! He’s probably freezing—that and he totally saved my bacon, FYI.”

“FYI?” Clint repeated.

A flurry of thoughts briefly went through Tony’s mind, and he came to a split decision. May was going to kill him for this, if she ever were to find out. The words left his mouth before he had the chance to think twice. “Kid, go with him.”

“Wait, really?”

“Like I always say, two enhanced are better than one. He might need you. Temperature’s dropping, and we have 20 minutes before the team’s hypothermic, maybe even less.”

He could picture Rogers nodding to Peter. “Then let’s go, Queens.”

“R-Right!”

Tony then opened a private channel. “Kid, this line’s just between you and me. How much power do you have left in your heater?”

“Uh, Karen says 40%.”

Tony ran the calculations in his head. “Okay, keep it running, but use it sparingly. The sooner you help nail our baddie, the better. There should still be enough to keep you covered until then.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“It’s not at all what I had in mind for your first team assignment, but here we are, and this is it. This is your chance to make a good impression, so make it count. Keep your eyes peeled, stay sharp—and if Cap tells you to do something, do it. No fooling around, no goofing off. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” Peter murmured, with a slight tinge of embarrassment.

Captain America was probably listening to every word with his enhanced hearing, and Tony was probably making him look uncool or whatever. But he knew that Peter was taking his words seriously, and would put a hundred percent into everything he did, especially when it came to helping others. The kid was good that way.

Tony nodded inside the suit. “Good. Keep me posted.” He signed out, and elbowed a monster to his right.

“They’re heading up the mountain, Sir.”

“Good, good. That’s good.” Cyrus eased up onto one of the desks and grinned up at the giant screen.

Behind him, his analysts—or rather his ‘crew’, as he liked to call them—continued to work diligently at their computers. He swung his feet like a little kid as he watched Captain America and Spider-Man charge through the jungle. “Tighten up on that, Rex. Yeaaah, that’s great, more on the feet there. Now close up, close up on Rogers’ face—theeeere it is.” He cackled a little, and drummed his fingers gleefully on the desk.

“Mr. Crowe,” said a woman with some caution.

“Yes, Verbina!” said Cyrus, in the throes of a good mood.

“I was just thinking...the Avengers are well enough to be physically active, but some of their scars are still showing. Won’t that elicit some sympathy from the audience, especially now that they’re forced to fight?”

“Oh, that won’t be a problem. For one, it’s the Avengers. They’ve been beat up so many times, it’ll barely register. And secondly, any trace of sympathy the audience might feel won’t last very long.”

His eyes refocused back on the screen, and there was hunger in his gaze. “Pretty soon, the public is gonna get to know the Avengers. The real Avengers. The longer we film, the more the audience will start to resent them. Hate them. By that time, those little cuts and bruises will be the last thing on anyone’s minds.”

Verbina and a few others nodded before resuming their work.

Cyrus gave the desk a final tap before easing back off of the desk. “I gotta use the john. Let me know the moment they reach the tower.”

There was a collective ‘yes sir’, and Cyrus moved down the aisle with a slight limp before pushing the door open. People stood aside and nodded as he passed by, and he would often return the gesture with finger guns. After he tended to his business, Cyrus washed his hands and observed himself in the mirror. Frowning, he used his pinky finger to clean something out of his teeth.

All his life, people called him average-looking, but Cryus was often told that he was handsome, by people who ought to know. He resembled his father, with his jet black hair, olive skin, and brown eyes. Though, unlike his father, his build was much like his face—average. But what he lacked in body weight and muscle, he made up for in sharp features and high cheekbones.

He was also often told that his teeth were too large for his mouth to handle—but at the same time, they were a crisp, glacial white. That was something to be envied, especially in Hollywood.

He ran his tongue across them, and gave them a good chomp. In another life, he could have been an actor—he had tried when he was much younger. However, his acting coach (Mr. Palmer, he remembered), hated him. He would often say terrible, nasty things about his performances, using words and phrases such as: “On the nose. Uninspired. 1940’s overacting.”

Cyrus used to loathe that old geezer. As time passed though, he knew that the glamour and bright lights just wasn’t for him anymore. He was more of a behind the scenes guy, anyhow. But he also began to appreciate the sleek sophistication of the Hollywood actors of that time...Clark Gable, James Stewart, Frank Sinatra...sure, they weren’t body building hunks of meat like most actors from the 80s, but they could always command attention and respect. And so, Cyrus figured...why not give it a shot?

He didn’t go around pretending he was in the 1940s or anything, but he did take to parting his hair and slicking it back—he also upped his style, changed his walk, and altered the way he carried himself. Now he was the master of his own life, and was moving on to bigger, better things...like getting revenge on Tony Stark. Yes sir, he was doing alright for himself.

Straightening the lapels of his suit, Cyrus exited the bathroom and nearly slammed into a smaller figure. “Ah!” he exclaimed. “Dr. Kunz! Didn’t see you there.”

Dr. Kunz stared in response. Cyrus tried not to swallow. The doctor shared Cyrus’ jet black hair, but the resemblance stopped there. He was a short and stocky sort of fellow, and he had dark hazel eyes that could easily be mistaken for brown. They also seemed dead, at least to Cyrus. In the time he had known him, there hasn’t been a single spark of laughter, sadness, fury, or...anything in those eyes. It was admittedly off putting.

Cryus also fancied that Dr. Kunz looked a lot like a bullfrog. He didn’t go spreading that around, though. He wanted to live.

“Those ice creatures,” Kunz said in his usual low, warbly voice, “Are starting to damage the trees. Most of them took years to grow.”

“Ah—we talked about this, doc. We respect your jungles and forests and all that, but things do happen in battle. If we want this to work, we’ve gotta let our antagonists let loose a little.”

Dr. Kunz’s eyes darkened, even more than usual. “I allowed the two of you to use my island because I was promised that it would be showcased to the best of its abilities. I don’t see how that’s possible, if it’s all but razed to the ground.”

“Hey. Doc.” Cyrus’ voice was equally frank. “I get it. It’s your island, but it’s also my stage. There might be a couple scuffs on the floor, and the actors might break a prop or two. All the same, I’m the one managing it, and it’s my responsibility. It won’t be destroyed, you have my word, alright? I’d die first.”

Kunz scoffed, though his face didn’t twitch a muscle. “Well. Let’s hope that you are right, Maestro...or I just might take you up on that offer.”

With that, he briskly turned away.

“What—hey, was that a smile?” Cyrus called after him, pointing a finger. “I didn’t think you could do that!” The doctor turned a corner. “Okay, good talk—hey, Cap’s almost at the beacon, so get...get ready.”

Now alone, Cyrus righted himself by straitening his tie, and walked in the opposite direction. “Short and stubby little, bullfrog-looking little…”

The Jungle was a dark and dank place. Steve’s hearing could pick up the buzzing of strange insects and the uneasy groans of old trees. And now that he and Spider-Man had put a fair amount of distance between the beach and themselves, the freezing cold had evaporated into sweltering heat and humidity. Running had never been a problem for Steve, but the sudden change in temperature had him panting and sweating from the hairline.

Spider-Man was panting too, but the young man kept pace. He had to give the kid credit—it wasn’t everyday someone could keep up with him. “You should know,” he said, “we could be walking into a trap. Did you notice how the creature we fought didn’t regenerate? Or how nothing else came after us? I’m willing to bet that that’s not a coincidence.”

“Yeah,” Spider-Man gasped, trying not to trip over his own feet in the hard packed dirt. “Don’t worry though, I’m ready—whoah—for anything!”

“Good.”

It was clear that Spider-Man was young, and judging by the embarrassment over his T-shirt earlier, Steve deduced that he was about college age. Still green. Not nearly old enough to know how the world works yet, but very eager and willing to help save it. Steve could respect that.

What’s more, Tony seemed to have an unusually firm confidence in him, and Steve would do the same. Hopefully, if Spider-Man lived, this battle would prove to be a good learning experience for him.

“I want you to know that whatever we find up there, we’re in it together,” Steve made sure to add. “As of now, we’re teammates. I’m gonna have your back out there, and I’m trusting you to have mine. Got it?”

“Got it,” Spider-Man replied, sounding pleased. “So then...what’s the plan?”

“No plan yet. We’ll know better when we get there, see exactly what we’re dealing with. 80% of this job is improvisation, remember that.”

“Yes Sir, Captain America.”

Steve held in a chuckle. “Just Rogers, Son. Or Steve, if you feel comfortable. If we’re gonna be working together, we might as well be on level with one other.”

Spider-Man made a sort of noise before falling silent. Then, after a while, “Karen’s acting funny.”

“Could be interference from our guy. Let’s hurry.”

They put more speed into it. If Steve had to estimate, the journey from the beach to the tower would be at least half a day’s hike for the average person, even if they were going as fast as they could. It took him and Spider-Man less than ten minutes to break into a clearing and reach the base of the mountain. They didn’t bother taking the trail path. Not wasting a moment, Steve whipped his shield onto his back, got a good grip on a ledge with his foot, and hoisted himself up.

“Hey!” called Spider-Man to his left. He was almost out of breath, but Steve could tell he was smiling. He scaled the mountains with his hands and feet, having no need for ledges. “Let’s see who gets to the top first!”

“It’s not a race, son,” said Steve, but put a little more strength into his climb. Making their way up the mountain, they could see the tops of a few ice giants as they raised their clawed fists in combat. And there in the sky were the tiny figures Tony and Sam, working diligently to keep the winged monsters at bay.

Things would soon get ugly, and fast.

They climbed faster, with one sometimes out pacing the other. Occasionally, they stole glances at each other, checking the other man’s progress. They hadn’t even reached the top when they felt the change. The air was freezing again, only it was far worse than how it was at the beach.

Steve could hear Spider-Man’s teeth chatter. “Almost there,” he said in encouragement, and the young man nodded. Together, they climbed the last ledge, and entered sideways into a small forest. In the end, Steve reached the top first, if it mattered at all.

With twin grunts, they hoisted themselves up, and moved as quickly as they could through the trees. The ground crunched beneath their feet, and they could see fresh wounds of hard packed ice running up the tree trunks.

When the clearing broke, the two skidded to a stop. The tower loomed before them. It was almost like an ice palace—beautiful, yet cold and frigid. Guarded too. Icicles barred the way, and the door was hidden from sight.

Running up, Spider-Man shot a web, but it inexplicably started to crystalize. The young hero yelped and snapped the web off before it could reach his web shooter. He then went up to the tower and started punching the ice. By the eighth blow, he had to stop, shaking out his hands. “Wow—this stuff’s strong!”

Steve rested his hands on his knees beside him, catching his breath. His eyes carefully scanned the entrance.

Not one to give up easily, Spider-Man flexed his fingers and started scaling up the tower. He nearly broke his neck on the way down. He tried again, and again, at different angles and with different methods, but he couldn’t seem to maintain his hold on the ice.

Spider-Man slid back along a slope of ice towards Steve and breathed with effort. “How are we...s’posed to get in there?”

“I’ve got a few ideas,” Steve said. Straightening up, he gave himself some distance before taking a flying leap over the thorned spikes, and landed onto the front terrace. Once he steadied himself enough not to slip, he whipped the shield from his back and started slamming it against the ice.

And, with it being made of vibranium, it didn’t take long to give. A huge chunk of ice fell inward, and a path to the inside was opened. “Oh...right, awesome,” Spider-Man said from the ground.

It was even colder inside, and practically white with ice. The rotunda glittered, and long icicles hung low from the winding staircase in the middle.

As Steve checked around to see if the area was clear, Spider-Man leapt his way inside. “Okay, Karen, what do you got?” He waited in silence for a moment, then titled his head back toward the ceiling. “Karen says that there’s a strong energy pulse upstairs, but she can’t detect much else. Someone’s definitely causing interference up there.”

“Right,” Steve said quietly, peering behind an open door on the far side of the room. It seemed to lead to more stairs, straight up and down.

“Hey, look.”

Steve turned. There was a glass display case by the door, completely untouched by the ice. Inside it was a pair of handcuffs. The soldier rounded back, put the shield back between his shoulders, and removed the handcuffs, studying them. “They don’t look like suppressants,” Spider-Man commented, echoing Steve’s thoughts. “They’re completely regular.”

“Which means we’re not dealing with any sort of enhanced,” Steve said with a nod. There was some hesitation in the air, and Spider-Man looked up at Steve. “It...almost sounds too easy.”

“Keep your guard up,” Steve agreed. “We should probably split up, can’t risk us both getting caught in one place.” He pointed two fingers behind the winding staircase. “There’s another door, probably the emergency exit. You take that route, I’ll head up the stairs. I’ll hold on to the handcuffs—you’ve got enough web fluid, right?”

“Yeah, plenty.”

“Good. As of now, we keep it simple. If you run into our guy, don’t engage unless you have a clear shot. Fighting’s the last result, containment is the goal. If you have any trouble, tell me through comms, I’ll do my best to get to you, or at least talk you through it. And if you see the switch...well, then, flick it. But don’t leave it unmanned until our perp is secured.”

Spider-Man nodded throughout the plan. “Okay. Got it. Wait!” Warm steam came rushing out from the suit, and Spider-Man quickly rubbed Steve’s hands and arms. “Sorry you don’t have a jacket or something, man. I should have pulled one out of the supplies before I webbed it.”

“That’s okay.” Steve smiled. His instinct had been right. The young man had a good heart. “Thanks a lot, son, but save it for yourself. Remember, we can still talk over comms, so if you come upon anything, let me know.”

“Right, okay.” He gave two quick thumbs up. “Good luck.”

“You too.”

With that, Steve moved over to the spiral staircase. Once he stuffed the handcuffs into his back pocket, he jumped twelve feet in the air and clung to the icy railing that was closest to the open ceiling. He then proceeded to pull himself up from curved banister to curved banister, avoiding the slippery stair trap.

Far below, Spider-Man disappeared into the doorway.

The tower went straight up, and there were a vast number of levels that Steve already passed. Each one either had a row of old and dead terminals, a kitchenette, or a break room. Or simply nothing at all.

Spider-Man’s voice sounded quietly in his ear. “So what do you think their name is?”

“Sorry?” Steve said, grunting as he pulled himself up.

“You know, their Villain name. Practically every bad guy has one. I was thinking Freezer Burn, or maybe Snow Globe. But I kinda figured those names would be too simple, you know?”

Steve would have laughed—of all conversations that they should be having right now—but he felt more concerned than anything. He could hear shivering from the other end. “You alright there, kid?”

“Yeah, yeah. S’just really cold...I mean, of course it is, but I think ‘m starting to feel it...even from inside the suit.”

A sudden thought came to Steve. “Can you, by chance...you know...thermoregulate?”

“….No, not really...but I’m still good, Cap, as long as we beat this guy...or girl soon.”

“Then let’s keep moving,” Steve agreed, pulling faster.

He had been climbing a while when he came upon an open corridor that was tunneled with ice. “That was easy,” Steve grunted before swinging his way over to the barred partition. His feet nearly slipped when he hoisted himself up and landed on the other side, and he barely missed hitting his head on the ice. Cold air steamed out of his mouth as his arms gripped the partition behind him. Carefully, he eased himself back to his feet.

The corridor resembled a freezer that was in serious need of defrosting. The light tinted blue, and Steve’s eyebrows started to feel like they were hardening.

“About time you got here,” drifted a voice. It sounded plain, bored. Young, too. “I was starting to get antsy.”

“Didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” Steve answered as he eased along, back to the wall. He reached for his shield and crouched low, holding it out in front of him.

“Oh, if only you knew.”

Steve moved behind a particularly large lump of ice and waited. “I can see you,” said the voice, and he was reminded of Bucky’s unimpressed face whenever they tried to play hide and seek together. He was never really good at it. He was always sneezing, or coughing.

Steve then replied, with an edge of sarcasm, “I guess that means it’s game over then.”

The voice seemed to smile. “On the contrary. The game’s just started.”

A towering figure emerged from the wall behind him. Steve barely had time to react when the massive snowy fist slammed into the center of the shield. The sound reverberated, irritating the beast backward, momentarily. Steve seized the opportunity and brought the shield down, slicing its hand off. The creature roared, and Steve dealt a series of devastating blows and kicks to the body. When the monster caved in on itself, Steve jumped over the melting remains and slid into the adjacent room.

It was frozen over, like everything else, and was relatively small. A young man sat in the middle of it. Ice formed around him in a sort of bird-nest like chair.

He was very thin, and had dark skin. His long black braids were fashioned into a half-ponytail, and he had a very sharp jaw line. He wore a two-piece green and white ski suit, and his eyes were partially covered by matching green visor goggles. The eyes in question flicked over to Steve.

“Hello, Cap,” he said, though he seemed a little distracted. Steve’s eyes dropped down to the device in the young man’s hands. It was a remote of some sort, and the solider had the vague recollection of a video game controller. “Actually, sorry, hold on a sec.”

Steve squinted; small, holographic figures moved across the visor. With a startled blink, he realized how familiar they looked: A metal suit in frantic combat. A young woman with long hair, waving her hands. A long haired man with a rifle.

He shot forward, lunging for the controller. “Don’t—!”

Cocoons of ice shot up from the ground, entrapping his feet. Before Steve could even strike with his shield, A number of men—men made out of ice piled onto him. He was able to fight them off only for a minute or two—in the end, his shield was wrestled from him, and their ice arms wrapped around his body.

The young man barely looked up. Chewing gum, he jerked his thumbs across one of the knobs. “C’mon, c’moooon,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Oooh, nice try, Wilson. Typical, Miss Maximoff, same move, same story. Do better.”

“Where'd you get those fancy gadgets?” Steve asked, grunting and straining against the icemen. One of them held him in a choke hold from behind.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” The image seemed to wipe itself from the visor, and the man lowered the control. He finally turned to face Steve, and he smiled in a lazy sort of way. There was an intelligent air about him. “Your friends will be kept busy for the time being. I wanted us to have time to talk. Good to see you, Steve Rogers.”

“We know each other?”

“Well, no, but...I guess you’re practically family, at this point.” He leaned back and kicked one leg over the other. “I’ll spare you the guessing games. I’m sure you’re familiar with Gabriel Jones?”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “Gabe? Of...of course I am.”

The young man nodded. One of the icemen, the one closest to his shoulder, started to change. Steve jerked a little, disturbed, as the once smooth face morphed into Gabe’s.

“He was one of your Howling Commandos. He was an upright guy, smart too. Studied German, switched to French. Then the war came, and he was eventually captured by Hydra. I’m sure you know the rest, Cap. You disobeyed orders, stormed Hydra’s prison camp on your own, saved a bunch of men including Gabe, yadda yadda yadda...you later ask for his help to take down Hydra...and boom. Howler.”

“So what’s the connection?” Steve asked, avoiding Gabe’s blank stare. “You can’t be family, I’ve already met them.”

“Ah, yes, the illustrious Jones’. Such a lovely family. Well off, accomplished...spotless.” He practically spat out the last word. His eyes glowed sardonically. “But every family has their skeletons, Cap, even them. I guess their skeleton would be me. See, long after Gabriel returned from the war, he had a child sometime in his 50s. The child loved his father. Looked up to him, venerated him, practically kissed the ground his father walked on. So much so, that in his eyes, no one else could measure up. Not even his own children.”

“Reggie loved his kids. Still loves his kids,” Steve said.

“Oh, he does. Well, most of them, that is.” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “Unfortunately, unlike his dear, moral, upright father, Reginald wasn’t so great. He had secrets. Secrets he would have taken to the grave. And he would've succeeded at that, had he been more careful. But my mother was always a charming woman, and I guess the man couldn’t help himself.”

Steve strained against the arms that held him and shivered. It was getting even colder. “He had an affair.”

“Sad, but true. But I’ve gotta hand it to the guy. He’s been able to cover his tracks for the last twenty-seven years now; paid my mother hush money, gave us a pretty little house with a white picket fence around it...just as long as we stay away from his real family. Keep out of contact with his real children. Wouldn’t want to tarnish the family name, or break their hearts. Especially not his wife’s.”

“Son,” said Steve, “What’s your name?”

The young man blinked, surprised at the response. His face went through a blur of emotions before settling into a self-satisfied smirk. “Wyatt. Wyatt Sterling.”

“Wyatt. I know you’re hurt, but this isn’t the way. You’re 27 years old. You’re still young. You could still become a great man if you wanted to. But you have to make that choice.”

“Speaking of 27 years,” Wyatt said, kicking his legs up into a criss-cross position. “My birth year—1991—was quite an eventful year for you and your friends, wasn’t it? Or so I’ve read.”

Steve was freezing, but still he felt himself grow cold on the inside. “Maestro gave you files.”

“He gave us all files.” Wyatt shrugged. “Not that it matters, since I’m the only one who’s going to take down the Avengers. The others won’t have that chance. But yeah, we’ve received files. We know the date you were born, your height, your weight, your blood type—you know, the usual boring stuff that anyone could look up on the internet.

“But then, when you look further—they’ve got some juicy stuff on you guys. But the thing that really proved interesting to me was what I found on your old pal Barnes’ file….Mission Report. December 16. 1991.” He tilted his head. “Sad that such things had to become between you and Iron Man. When the news broke that the Avengers were fighting each other, I thought, ‘whatever’. Right? But now...now I see what all the fuss was about.”

A voice suddenly blared in his ear. “Mr. Captain America Sir!”

Steve’s expression remained stoic, but Wyatt’s face crumbled in annoyance. He turned to the side. “Spider-Man,” he said flatly, “Do you mind?”

There was a pause. “You...are you the bad guy? Is this you? What did you do to Mr. Rogers?”

“I’m right here, son,” Steve said. “We’re...in the middle of a talk. Looks like he’s tapped into our comms.”

“What? You can’t do that! That’s...that’s cheating!”

“Cry about it. Now if you’ll—”

“And are you chewing gum?” Spider-Man said, incredulous. “Dude, you know the drill. If you bring gum, you need to share with the class!”

Wyatt’s face showed mild disgust. “What are you, in the fifth grade? Grow up. Signing you out.”

“But wait a minute! Aren’t you even worried about where I am?”

“I know exactly where you are. You’re at the switch, two floors above us. But you and I both know that you won’t be getting to it any time soon.”

“Son, what is it?” Steve asked, frowning.

Spidey sighed a little. “He’s right. It’s behind this huge ice wall. It’s hard as nails, and...and I can barely punch through it. It’s strong, and I’m...I’m…”

Spider-Man didn’t need to finish. He was running out of time, and so was the team. “Keep at it son, the team needs us. I’ll handle things down here.”

“Okay...but wait, wait!”

“What?” Wyatt snapped.

“What’s your villain name?”

“What? Are—my villain name? Are you five? My name is Wyatt!”

“...that’s it? Just Wyatt?”

“Goodbye.” Spider-Man’s voice cut out, and Wyatt took a deep breath and shook his head. “Sorry about that, Cap. Where were we?”

“You were about to surrender. Seriously, kid. Turn around. Walk away from this. Whatever Maestro promised you, I can tell you right now that it’s not worth it.”

Wyatt leaned forward, and his eyes flicked with interest. “This feels...special somehow. My own personal Captain America lecture. I mean, technically, you’ve been around all my life. My Dad wouldn’t shut up about you, or about my Grandfather. I should hate the sight of you, but I have to admit...I’m a little star-struck. Kinda makes me wonder how different things would be if you were around, instead of my old man.”

A space of silence hung between them before Wyatt sat up and readjusted the controller in his hands. “I don’t have anything against you, Cap. Really, I don’t.”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Short version? I have issues. No denying that. But I also have ambitions. I’ve been working on a number of projects—projects that many would frown upon...have frowned upon. But no matter. I had the drive, and I had the funds. All I needed was the opportunity. When I heard about what Maestro was doing, I seized my chance, simple as.”

His visor flared back to life, and he nodded toward the icemen. All at once, Steve was released, and the ice cones that encased his feet retracted into the floor. Steve stumbled a little, confused. He jerked his head when he felt something brush up against him, and saw that one of the icemen was offering his shield back. Not moving, Steve turned a suspicious gaze toward Wyatt. “What is this?”

Wyatt had turned his focus back to the figures on his visor, chewing his gum with concentrated thought. “Consider this your final boss level.”

“...Young man, I have no idea what that means.”

Wyatt ignored him. “Your friends have less than...ten minutes? Before they freeze to death. Spider-boy up there has less than that. I’m giving you the chance to save them.”

Steve snatched the shield back and slowly bent at the knees. “Why?”

Wyatt only spared him a glance. “Because when I defeat you, I want to know that you were really trying.”

Blue eyes glared coolly. “Alright then.” With a grunt, Steve chucked the shield toward Wyatt, but a blue energy wall flared, and it bounced back.

“Wow,” Wyatt chuckled, his attention still divided. “Whoever said that Captain America was a boy scout was lying. If that force field hadn’t been up there, I’d be a goner right now.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” He twisted around and engaged in combat with the icemen, trading blows, lunges and kicks. There were about six of them, which wouldn’t be an issue, if it weren’t for the frigid temperatures. “Is that force field why you’re not a block of ice by now?”

“Oh—no, it’s just a precaution. This is how I stay warm.” He gestured to his green and white ski suit with a small flourish. “Neat huh? I made it myself. It’s made of micro circuited cryogenic units. And it’s got a heater—much more advanced and longer lasting than Spidey’s, or even Iron Man’s. Though to be fair, the heating system is only one of the suit’s two main functions.”

He then waved his thick white gloves that had grey finger pads. “Through these ducts, I can make it as cold as I want. This beacon is a nice place for the suit to pulse out cooling energy. And lucky for me, the dome around the island will help trap in all the cold air I’m putting out. My own personal igloo.”

As Wyatt was talking, Spider-Man’s voice returned, very softly.“Mr. Captain Rogers—be cool—no pun intended. But I got….Karen to hack back into...the comms.”

Steve kicked one iceman in the sternum. He spoke very very quietly, barely moving his lips. “How’s it looking?”

“Could be better,” Spidey admitted. He drew a shuddering breath, and Steve fought back a wince. It sounded pained. “I’ve…actually made...good progress, but...I don’t know if I can...get through it, in time.”

“Heater?”

“Karen says…20%. It wouldn’t...be a problem, it it weren’t...s-so cold.” He swallowed, hard. “But that’s...why I called. I think I have...a plan.”

Steve only thought a moment. At this point, he was fresh out of options, and there wasn’t time to think of any other alternatives. “I’m all ears.”

There wasn’t a response at first, and he could hear Spider-Man’s shallow breathing. “It’s kinda risky...so don’t tell Mr. Stark. I was thinking that we….ayatt….uy….ime...you have him put... all..s..pot…”

Steve frowned. “You’re breaking up son.” He then reeled back from a nasty headbutt.

The battle wore on. The suit was made to withstand any temperature—in fact, it was once of his first upgrades—but all the same, it was taking a beating. Claws, teeth, and now spears were all making their mark. The creatures were enough of a pain, but now they had men made out of ice to worry about. It wouldn’t be so terrible, if it weren’t for the advanced weaponry they were carrying.

Tony lunged to the side, barely missing a cannon blast.

Nearby, Sam Wilson’s wings had taken too many ice hits. He managed to ease himself back onto the beach, and he briefly rolled across the sand before planting one foot and firing above his head. “What are these things made of?”

“I stopped caring an hour ago,” Clint said. The archer had a major bump on his head that continued to grow, and his arm went at a rapid pace, shooting target after target. Never missing, but not exactly winning, either. “And I really, really need to pee.”

“You can do it, Clint,” Natasha said. Her hair was wild around her head, and there was a bleeding cut on her lip. She had confiscated one of the icemen’s spears and started ruthlessly smashing and stabbing all in her path. “Think of Budapest.”

“I am thinking of Budapest, and my bladder was never the same,” Clint said, eyes flicking over in half irritation. “Your point?”

“Heads up,” Tony said as he swooped back over the group. A strong vapor of steam emitted from the suit. He made sure to hit the team with it every so often, if he was able to reach them. The effect only lasted a few moments, but it was better than nothing. One of the older creatures came up and bit down on his shoulder, gnawing the heck out of it. His repulsor whined as he placed a hand over the creature’s neck and fired. “How are we looking, FRI?”

“The suit is at less than 11%, boss,” FRIDAY replied gravely. “And current temperature is 35 below and counting. At this rate, the team has less than 9 minutes before general hypothermia sets in.”

“Great, thought as much,” Tony muttered. He opened comms back up. “Kid, it’s me, what’s the situation?”

There was a crackle of static. Steve answered instead. “Perp is giving….orking on….att...yo...reak it!”

“Can’t hear you, Steve!” said Barnes.

“...orking on the….ear the foo...enough time!” That was Peter’s voice.

“Kid? Speak up, I can barely hear you.”

There was garbled static in the kid’s intonation, but no actual words were coming through. Tony tapped the side of his helmet. “FRIDAY, what’s going on?”

“We’re getting some interference from the tower, boss.”

Cap’s voice suddenly returned, clear and sharp. “We need more time!”

“Oh, great, the one thing we’re fresh out of. Kid, you still there? You alright? How’s the heater?”

“Fine,” Peter said, but he sounded distracted with something.

Sam made a noise. “Oh, yes. Can’t have Spider-Man getting chilly up there!” His voice took on an annoying lilt. “Are you snug and cozy, Spidey? Are you nice and warm? Is—ahh!”

Not that Wilson didn’t deserve it somewhat, but Tony’s heart jumped at the blast that suddenly nicked Wilson’s arm. Ice was slowly spreading up his body, like a poison. “Crap, crap, crap—”

“What happened?” Roger’s voice demanded. “Sam? Are you okay?”

“...I...ah, think so.” He took a deep breath as he flexed his arm. “Actually, no, not really. One of the guys hit me with a blast, my arm’s freezing.”

“Hang tight, Sam,” Rogers said hurriedly. “Give us five minutes, team, just five minutes.”

“Go for it,” said Romanoff.

“Yeah, whatever you’re doing, do it fast,” said Sam, holding his arm out cautiously to the side. Lucky for him, the ice stopped at his shoulder. But the island was colder still. A faint crackling sound filled the air, and Tony realized that it was the surrounding ocean, freezing over.

Maximoff, who had been pulling a heavy weight with most of the monster minions, was starting to jerk and twitch, like a wind-up doll running out of juice. Her red energy was flickering in and out. “My hands,” she shuddered, stumbling. “So...cold…” she dropped to her knees, frantically trying to work her stiff fingers.

Behind her, an iceman raised his sword for the kill.

It had been a long enough time for the kid’s webbing to dissolve, so Bruce had been hovering nearby for a while, hiding behind the tree line. Good thing too, because while Tony couldn’t get there in time, the doctor himself came running up, and with a shout, smashed it with a large rock he found. Wanda spun around and looked up at him, stun-faced. Then her brows knitted, and she rose with a steadied hand. “Get behind me.”

Bruce obeyed without hesitation, and she took down a row of approaching ice minions.

Tony’s suit emitted flying sparks as a heavy set of ice arms slammed and braced against his own. Whatever you two are planning up there, he thought, it better work.

“Sloppy,” said Wyatt.

Steve hit the floor, groaning. He covered his stomach, which was creeping with ice. “You do know that you leave yourself open every time you throw your shield, right? Every time! You should know this by now.”

Steve took a swallowing breath, and forced himself to turn over. His face was bruised and swollen, and one eye was shut. Still, he pushed himself up and stood, only for all six icemen to slam him against the wall. “This is the great Captain America? This is the man that my grandfather followed? This is the standard my father held us all too?” Wyatt shook his head with a dark sneer. “Pathetic.”

Straining, Steve frantically wiggled his fingers out toward his fallen shield, which was just out of reach to his right.

“I really did feel bad about your ruined friendship with Tony,” Wyatt said. “From the look of it, he was the closest friend you had since you were thawed, wasn’t he? Now, it’s...practically fallen to pieces.”

Wyatt’s eyes flashed with irritation when he heard bits and pieces of Spider-Man’s voice through Steve’s earpiece. “Still talking to Spidey, huh? Well, I hope you’re giving him some words of comfort. Because he’s not gonna last long.”

He refocused his gaze on the figures across the visor, and mashed his fingers on the controller. “I got lucky when you were the one who ended up coming here, even though I had a hand in some of it. But I really got lucky when that bug freak tagged along with you. His profile wasn’t as extensive, but I do know that he can’t thermoregulate. In a minute or two, his heater will run out, and tiny little ice crystals will start forming in his veins. Then his body will start to shut down. Pretty soon, he’ll crawl under a desk or something and die.”

Steve’s fists clenched, and his upper body jerked forward. “You k-know that…. for a fact, do you?”

“I have my sources.”

The icemen slammed him back, hard. Slowly, crystals started to form at Steve’s feet, and worked its way up towards his chest. He shuddered. Every breath burned in his lungs, and he couldn’t feel his toes anymore.

“It’s a shame, Steve, that it had to end like this,” came Wyatt’s voice, from far away. “How lonely it must feel—dying in a foreign time, away from those who loved you. From those who cared.”

The icemen that entrapped him changed faces. A few more Howlers, Jim, Jacques, Pinky...and his heart twisted when he looked into Dr. Erskine’s deep, kind eyes. But wort of all was a woman’s face, a lovely face. The face that’s haunted him since the day they parted.

His lips formed her name, but he couldn’t voice it. Peggy’s icy hands cupped his face, and his hair frosted.

“But you...you put the lives of strangers ahead of your own...heroes often do that. But think if you hadn’t, Steve. Think of the life you could’ve had, the life you could have given her. The super soldier serum undoubtedly prolongs your lifespan...you could have been there for her, as her life flickered out. You could have been there, to hold her, in her final moments. To love her.”

Steve’s eyes closed. He didn’t remember the impact when he crashed that plane all those years ago. His last thought, his last wish, was to have that dance. But the cold, numb sensation felt darkly familiar. His brain couldn’t grasp it, but his body remembered. The body always remembered.

“That’s right, Steve,” Wyatt whispered. “Better they didn’t pull you out in the first place. Then you wouldn’t have to fight...then you wouldn’t have to fill in that void. Because you have nothing. No one.”

The ice crackled up to his neck.

“Go back to sleep, Cap…and don’t worry. I’ll make sure you never wake up again.”

With a deep breath, Steve’s eyes flared open. “NOW, Queens!”

Spider-Man’s chipper voice responded, “Roger that, Captain America!”

Wyatt’s face fell apart in utter confusion. “Wha—”

There was a dull noise, and a moment later, the roof shattered. Steaming with heat, Spider-Man dropped down from the hole in the ceiling, directly above Sterling. Before Wyatt could react, a swift punch knocked him over, and his visor was destroyed.

At the same time, Steve’s fingers quickly grasped his shield, and he broke free from the ice. The icemen, who had been distracted by Spidey’s entrance, tried going on the attack again, but were immediately smashed to shards by Steve.

With a shivering grunt, he rose to full height, and Spider-Man’s hands closed around the controller, crushing it with ease. The blue shield that protected Wyatt winked out, and the blue balls that kept the monsters alive ceased glowing and scattered harmlessly to the floor.

Slack jawed and swollen faced, Wyatt stared up at them. “But...but I...you weren’t even affected?” he whispered towards Steve. He turned his attention to Spider-Man. “And you...how did you even—”

“Don’t get me wrong, you guarded the tower pretty well with the ice,” Spider-Man said, opening and closing his steaming palms. “But at the end of the day, it’s just metal. We had to wait a little while, let Cap goad you into freezing the tower juuust right. ‘Cause if you take any solid and get it cold enough, it’ll turn brittle. Physics 101, dude.”

Wyatt dropped his head backwards.

“Plus, I could hear you, from like, a mile away. I knew exactly where you’d be at—I just needed a distraction.” He turned to Steve. “By the way, I flipped the switch.” He wiggled his still-steaming fingers in the air. “The heater helped get through the ice!”

Steve had to smile, and he firmly patted the young man on the shoulder. “Good work, son.”

"Thanks! Anything else?”

“Umm, oh, his suit. It controls the cold.”

“Oh, shoot, really?” He turned to Wyatt, who was trying to crawl away, and aimed his wrist. “Taser web!”

Wyatt shouted as his suit sparked blue and gold, fizzling. His body jerked once, twice, three times, before collapsing onto his side in a miserable heap. “Freeze Tag,” said Spider-Man in a grand voice, placing his hands on his hips. “You're under arrest!”

Wyatt said nothing as Steve knelt down and cuffed his hands behind his back. Just as he did so, feedback squealed, startling all of them. Against the wall, in the upper corner, was a speaker. It had gone completely unnoticed by Steve, until now. Maestro’s voice blared through.

“Congrats, Gramps! Oh, and you too, kiddo—you’ve successfully apprehended the perpetrator! Big round of applause!”

Steve felt a rush of irritation, and Spider-Man walked up beneath the speaker. “H-Hey, man. What’s the...what’s the bi...big...what’s the bi…” He couldn’t finish.

“Spider-Man, outside, now,” Steve commanded. The kid probably used all that was left of his heater, and was now feeling the cold at full force. It would take a while for things to warm up, and this particular spot was still dangerously below temperature.

“But...but what if you n-need—”

“Outside, son, that’s an order. I’ll take care of him. Go see if the rest of the team needs any help.”

Spider-Man shuddered, but he nodded. He took little steps at first, then slowly made his way out of the room. Steve turned back to the speaker. “So, is this how it’s going to be? Sending people to do your dirty work? Using them?”

Wyatt sucked in air through his teeth. “Oh, don’t you worry about me, Captain America. I’m nobody’s pawn. I admit that I miscalculated. And as result, you beat me, fair and square. But d-don’t think f-for one second that you can let your g-guard down.” Wyatt was starting to shiver, but fire burned in his eyes as he looked up at Steve. “Believe me. There will be others. And when you come across them, you’ll be t-thinking back and wishing that you let me kill you.”

Steve tightened his grip on his arm. “These people. Who are they?”

Before Wyatt could say anything, something beeped. Steve looked up. On the far side of the wall, behind Wyatt’s nest-chair, was a tall, thin, tube-shaped door. It had opened.

Steve got to his feet and tugged Wyatt with him. The soldier peeked his head inside, searching top to bottom. It seemed like a tiny, cramped elevator with no buttons or levers. Beside the door, there was a panel against the wall. It displayed numbers, like some sort of timer, which was ticking down by the second. 30...29...28...27…

Just then, Wyatt cried out, and was nearly jerked out of Steve’s hands.

“What—hey! Hey!” Steve’s muscles ripped as he renewed his hold on Wyatt. The young man stalled at the entrance, and was wincing in pain. “What is this?” Steve shouted.

“This, my friend,” Maestro finally answered, “is one of our lovely Capsule Chambers. There’s one for every tower. Originally used by Hydra soldiers to send various objects to different parts of the island, for the sake of time management. In this case, you’ll be depositing the foes you’ve captured. The cuffs we placed around his neck, wrists, and ankles will ensure that. They’re laced with special magnet technology.”

Steve managed to tug the hem of Wyatt’s collar, and sure enough, a strange collar shone back at him.

23….22….21…

“Yeah?” Steve said through gritted teeth. “And then what? You’ll kill them? Promote them? Unleash them to the real world, where they can terrorize innocent people?”

“Gramps,” Maestro exclaimed, actually sounding somewhat hurt. “What kind of operation do you think we’re running here? I would never put citizens in danger, if I can help it. No, we’ll take care of them, you have my word.”

“You really don’t think I’ve got my head screwed on right, do you?” Steve snapped. He and Wyatt groaned as the latter inched closer to the chamber.

19...18...17…

“Think about it, Gramps. We’ve spent a lot of resources to get you and your teammates here. You were the prize, not random citizens. Would we go to such trouble, if our goal was to terrorize the every day man? But, no matter. Either way, you’ve only got sixteen seconds. After that, the chamber closes. Even if you do manage to prevent them from going in the chamber, you’ll find yourself stuck with whoever you’ve captured. Which, would be a huge pain on your part. Lugging prisoners across the island? Yikes. And what if they manage to get free, and kill your teammates in their sleep? Now that would be tragic. And, it would be on you.”

Steve clenched his jaw, and looked back at the chamber searchingly.

“And don’t bother thinking about jumping in yourself,” Maestro added. “These chambers have an advanced biometric scanning system. If anything conveys that it’s one of you heroes, and not the perpetrators, it’ll seal shut, and it won’t move an inch. Also, note the vibranuim—not one of you will be able to get out, and you’ll rot.”

13...12...11…

Digging his feet in, Steve gripped Wyatt, hard. “Who are you working for? Who is Maestro?”

Wyatt let out a pained grunt. “I don’t know.” Steve squeezed harder. “Ahh, I don’t know!”

“Then tell me about the other people, you said that there were more coming. What do you know about them?”

“I don’t know their names,” Wyatt said pitifully. “All I know is that they’re dangerous—strong, enhanced. Psychos. Brilliant as I am, I wouldn’t even qualify for this mission, if I hadn’t mentioned my lineage...Nepotism, I know...but that’s all I can tell you, I swear!”

9….8….7...6…5...

“How were you paid?”

“Wire transfer!”

“Who approached you?”

“Aauagh, I was hired by phone! Some guy on the phone!

“By phone?”

“Yes!”

Steve looked him in the eye. “You’re a bad liar, son.”

Wyatt scowled, then suddenly kicked an open wound on Steve’s leg. Steve let go, and Wyatt was slammed into the back of the chamber. The young man said something, but the door snapped shut when the timer got down to 1, and a faint whoosh followed, completing his exit.

Steve was alone.

The soldier sunk into a low crouch, and folded his fingers together. He stared long and hard at the icy wall. He didn’t trust Maestro one lick, but Steve had gotten pretty good at knowing when someone was lying to him. Somehow, he was convinced that Maestro wouldn’t hurt anyone that wasn’t an Avenger, or was considered to be one. He had a personal vendetta, and he had yet to fulfill it.

Steve also had the sobering feeling that Maestro would indeed have plans for those who failed. Groups like this did not take these things lightly.

Wyatt was about to learn that the hard way.

He sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. The room was still freezing, and his body yearned for any semblance of warmth. A jacket, a thick blanket. Maybe even a hot cup of cocoa. He moved slowly though, rising back to his feet, and going over to pick up his shield. Thoughts weighed heavily on his brain, one of them vaguely being that they probably needed to clear out most of the ice before it melted...they couldn’t have a flooded beacon on their hands.

But he made no move to start doing so, not yet. He found himself half-limping down the emergency stairs, the path he hadn’t taken. About halfway down, he was jolted from his ruminations.

“Spider-Man!”

Delmar was having an unusual day. It started out fine, good in fact. His wife kissed him good morning, he had a big breakfast, and the pigeons missed his newly washed car by an inch. There had been a weird sort of vibe in the air when he left the house, but he wasn’t really paying close attention.

The first order of business was always entering the store at 8:30 sharp, and making sure floors were swept and windows were wiped to his satisfaction. He never watched TV in the mornings, nor did he turn on the small television on the counter until about noon-ish.

So he was surprised then, when he found out the big news. Apparently, the Avengers had been on everyone’s screens since five or so in the morning, and everyone in Queens had been transfixed ever since. No wonder business had been slower today. It was just as well, however. Ever since Delmar turned on the broadcast, he wasn’t worth a decent stroke of work. He became a TV zombie, like everyone else. Especially since their very own Spider-Man was thrown in the mix. Local excitement had skyrocketed. Imagine, their very own Spider-Man, fighting along side the Avengers! It was almost like watching your team play the Superbowl. Almost.

Kid was moving up in the world, it seemed.

Soon, he decided to close the store early. He could take one day, if not just to see how the fight would end. Two of his hires showed up, much to his surprise, and the three of them ended up pulling chairs and watched the chaos unfold over snacks. They offered up cheers when one of the Avengers managed to get a good hit in, and groaned comically whenever someone was sent flying. But at some point, Delmar stopped laughing.

A strange feeling came over him, and he couldn’t exactly place it. There was something to be said about watching someone on TV, particularly someone you knew.

You could pass that person everyday, and know exactly what they look like. But, if you were to watch that person on screen for a prolonged time, you would be somewhat forced to notice certain details of that person’s face that you wouldn’t have noticed before. A mole, perhaps, or maybe strange flecks in their eyes. Listening to someone’s voice, perhaps, was no different.

Everyone in Queens knew Spider-Man’s voice well enough in passing, and there were plenty of YouTube videos in which you can hear him running his mouth at some crook. Delmar wasn’t an internet person, but he was privileged to hear the man up close when he rescued him and Murph from his burning shop all those months ago.

Somewhere between Spidey and Cap climbing up the mountain and Wilson getting shot with an ice blast, Delmar had sobered, and sat with his arms folded while his workers cheered on. Snacks flew everywhere when Spider-Man dropped down from the ceiling, and knocked Wyatt’s lights out.

They were residents of Queens, and even they had forgotten all about their wall crawler for a moment. Watching Cap struggle like that had consumed them. Delmar nodded while his workers clapped and whooped wildly for their heroes' victory. But everything had quieted again when Cap found Spider-Man lying at the bottom of the stairs.

“Spider-Man!” Cap said, taking three steps at a time.

“I’m...f-fine,” Spider-Man replied. He had been lying on his side on the landing, and was just now pushing himself. “I...I guess I slipped or something.”

Steve was at his side instantly, and wrapped the young man’s arm around his shoulder. “Can you walk? Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They went slowly and steadily, the two battered enhanced. They took their time, allowing the groans and creaks of the walls to fill the silence. Steve smiled at one point, aggravating his swollen eye. “So. Freeze Tag, huh?”

“It’s s-still a work in progress,” Spider-Man admitted.

“No….no, I kinda like it.”

“Really? C-C-Cool.”

They had just managed to step onto the green grass when Spider-Man’s legs gave out. Steve quickly eased the young hero to the ground, careful of his own injuries.

“Spidey. Hey. You with me buddy?”

“Yeah,” came the quiet response. “I’ll be up in a sec...’m just...really tired.”

“Stay awake, soldier. You hurt anywhere? Hey--!”

His hands reached out to catch Spider-Man’s head before it hit the ground. “Queens! Queens, what’s wrong?”

The young man didn’t respond.

“Crap,” murmured Carlos. He was new at the shop, while Marvin had been with Delmar for years. “C’mon, Spidey.”

Steve laid Spider-Man flat on his back, and his hands hovered uselessly over his body for a moment. The kid’s suit had a few rips and tears here and there, but nothing that could warrant this. Was he already hypothermic, or worse? Was all that crap about ice crystalizing in his veins actually true?

Murph moved over in front TV for about the ninth time, and Marvin and Carlos groaned at him to move. Delmar went over, picked him up, and sat the cat on his lap. Murph had never been interested in the TV, until today. Demlar’s eyes darkened, and a queasy feeling entered his stomach. He didn’t know why.

“Karen? Er—can you hear me, it’s Steve Rogers, what’s wrong with him?” No answer, obviously. “Kid!” he slapped his cheek repeatedly. “Kid wake up. Wake up, son. Do you have a concussion? Did you hit your head? Talk to me, son!”

Spider-Man’s head lolled to the side.

Whatever it was, there was no telling—not if they couldn’t even see him. Not while the mask was on.

“Come on, not like this,” Marvin said. “Get up, kid, get up!”

Steve’s eyes steeled. A decision had to be made, and he was making it. Taking a deep breath, he reached out his hands and felt along the bottom of the mask until he found a flap. “Sorry Queens, but I need to see if you’re okay.” Gently, carefully, he rolled the mask upward. There was a bolt of shock in the air, and the three men leaned forward. “Wait, wait, wait,” Delmar said, and the others were stammering the same thing. Spider-Man’s identity had been a complete mystery—everyone had more or less respected his desire to keep his face hidden, but people were still curious.

Fingers continued to pull the mask back, and Delmar’s eyes widened. This was actually happening, right here, right now. No time to think of the implications or consequences. He had a fleeting thought of looking away, or turning off the TV, but he couldn’t. He was frozen. He couldn't move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even blink. He couldn’t.

The mask went up, over his chin, over his nose, over his eyebrows. “Don’t worry, son,” Steve said, “I won’t tell a sou..." 

Chapter Text

The door whirred open, and light flooded in. Two ice blue eyes stared right back at him. Wyatt jumped a little, and his chest hitched—then his posture deflated with a sigh. “Jeez.”

The owner of the eyes smiled wide, as if he were in the middle of telling an inside joke. “Didn’t go too well, huh?”

Wyatt huffed and looked away. His face still stung from that punch Spider-Man dealt him. “I might have underestimated a few of my opponents.”

The other man—Dylan—shrugged.

Dylan reminded Wyatt of those old GI Joe action figures he used to play with. Taller than him, about 6’7. Fit, well-built. His dark brown hair was fashioned in a high top fade, and even though he had zero facial hair, he seemed to carry more weight than anyone else in the room. Wyatt used to hate guys like him when he was younger.

Middle and High school bullies made his life a living nightmare, and Dylan resembled them all, right down to the cold gleam in his eyes. Sometimes it was mocking—sometimes it was jovial. But the opportunity Cyrus presented him made it so that Wyatt was willing to let the ends justify the means. And after all, he was maturing, and Dylan wasn’t all that bad really, if you remained on his good side.

“You win some, you lose some,” Dylan said lightly, and a key dangled in his hand.

As Wyatt allowed him to undo the magnetic cuffs, he noticed that the hallway—which was sterile and industrial, with pipes running along the ceiling—was crowded. In the bleak light, there were three other men standing off to the side in their combat uniforms. They looked back at him stonily, hands folded in front of them.

Dylan was significantly dressed down in comparison—a grey tank top, cargo pants and heavy boots. But he was also practically their boss, so Wyatt supposed it wouldn’t matter what he showed up in. To have that sort of power...that respect. He hoped that he’d reach that sort of status one day.

Wyatt rubbed his wrists as soon as he was free, and pushed himself from the wall. “You actually did good, for the most part,” Dylan said. “Too bad Spidey got in the way.”

“Yeah, too bad,” Wyatt said, a little shortly. “If it weren’t for him, I could’ve had a decent chance of killing Cap.” He sighed, rolling his sore shoulders. “But it couldn’t be helped, I guess. He’s new, and he hasn’t been in the field long, which made him less predictable. No matter. I did what I set out to do, and even though I didn’t get everything I wanted..” His dark eyes glinted. “At least I was able to take out my most hated enemy of them all...the Jones’ family name. Even if my Dad isn’t watching, he’ll hear about it. All his hard work trying to hide me from the world...gone, in an instant.”

Dylan patted his shoulder. “Now that’s the spirit.” He smiled as he guided Wyatt out of the chamber. Wyatt didn’t return the smile.

His shoes squeaked on the floor suddenly, halting mid step. Now that he was further out into the hallway, he was able to see Dr. Kunz waiting a bit further down. White coat and all, he loomed silently, hands folded behind his back.

Wyatt stared at him a moment, then swallowed, refocusing back on Dylan. “So, uh...where’s, where’s my money?”

Dylan’s eyebrows lifted, his arm still around Wyatt’s shoulder. “Money?”

A pause. “My money,” Wyatt repeated. “The 3.1 million that Cyrus promised me after I completed the assignment. He said I’d get it all in cash, remember? Or doesn’t that ring any bells?”

“Oh it rings a few. It does. But uh, see, the deal was…” His voice softened, and the arm around Wyatt tightened, just a little. “..That you’d defeat the Avengers first. And then you’d get paid.” He smiled again with all his teeth, and tilted his head. “Are the Avengers defeated, Wyatt?”

Hissing, Wyatt threw the arm off him. “I want to talk to Cyrus. I want to talk to him now.”

“Cyrus is busy. Besides, you have a new engagement.”

“A new engagme—hey!” Dylan had nodded to the men in uniforms, and two of the three each took Wyatt by the arm. As the young man began to thrash, Dr. Kunz stepped forward. “Let go! What do you think you’re doing?! I said let go of me!”

The men held fast, and Wyatt panted frantically as Dr. Kunz observed him and grabbed him by the chin, which still felt tender. Wyatt saw his own panicked expression reflected in the doctor’s round glasses.

He had seen him around, during meetings, or waiting in line for breakfast or lunch—but they had never interacted, never spoken. Wyatt had been happy just to keep his distance. Until now.

“How much time you need, Doc?” asked Dylan’s voice from behind.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” the doctor replied, releasing Wyatt’s chin. “He is not as injured as he ought to have been. The boy was generous. He held back immensely. So now, I can get started early.” And then Dr. Kunz did the unthinkable.

He smiled.

“We are going to spend some time together.”

Something in Wyatt broke. “No we’re not, you little freak! I want to talk to Cyrus! I WANNA TALK TO CYRUS! CYRUS!”

Dr. Kunz nodded to the men holding him. “You may take him.”

Dylan watched as Wyatt was carried down the hall, kicking and screaming. Dr. Kunz followed close behind.

The third man, who had a slicked back blond ponytail and a hard jaw, watched them go before turning to face Dylan. “The second participant is watching the highlights.” His German accent was thick. “She is eager to get started.”

“Tell her to hold her horses,” Dylan said. He took out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket and plucked one out. “You heard Cyrus. Let things cool down a little, give our heroes some breathing room. Else it’d look malicious.” He then looked at his subordinate with a sarcastic gleam in his eye. “And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

The other man’s face remained the same. “No, we would not. I will pass your orders along.” With a salute and a nod of parting, the man went down the same direction Wyatt was carried.

Getting out a lighter, Dylan turned away and lit his cigarette. After two puffs, he pocketed the lighter and blew out a trail of smoke. “You can come out now.”

Cyrus rounded the corner, a tablet in his hands. He ducked a little as he approached, checking down the hallway. “He gone? Oh, good. I hate confrontations.” He then refocused back down at the tablet and grinned.

“Enjoying your little show?”

“Oh boy, am I.” Cyrus chuckled. “The kid’s getting de-masked as we speak. Happened a lot sooner than I thought it would.”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “You and your theatrics.”

“Hey. It’s okay to admit that I’m brilliant sometimes, Dyl. You’re not gonna combust if you do.” His nose then crinkled, and he looked up to see the hallway filling with smoke. “Okay, seriously? You know I’m trying to quit.”

Dylan looked at him through half lidded eyes, cigarette dangling from his mouth. “I’m not.”

Cyrus glared at him, and waved a hand, trying to dispel the fumes. “Seriously,” he coughed. “Those things’ll kill you, not to mention give you bad teeth. And Ma would skin you alive if she caught you smoking.”

Dylan calmly blew a cloud of smoke in Cyrus’s face, causing him to go into a coughing fit. “Ma’s not here.”

“Jerk,” Cyrus managed through his sleeve, and quickly disappeared down the hall, coughing and hacking as he went. A small smirk tugged at Dylan’s lips as he watched his brother go, but it quickly fell into a neutral, cold frown. He took another drag, and released his head back as smoke trailed up toward the ceiling.

At first, Steve didn’t know what he was looking at. Well, he did, but he couldn’t make sense of it, fully. The first thing that struck him was how absurdly pale Spider-Man was. He was breathing okay, but his skin was cold to the touch. Hypothermia then, most likely. Pulse was good. They would need to get down to the beach quickly though, and get him warmed up.

The second thing, though not as concerning or life-threatening, was enough to make Steve’s blood run cold. He looked...young. Very young. Almost enough to be...

Steve shook his head, stopping the thought in its tracks. No. Of course not. Because the very notion would be ridiculous, and Tony would never. Relief flooded back into his shoulders when he suddenly remembered a soldier he knew back in the army days. Jerry Watkins. He was Steve’s age at the time, but he had a face young enough to be mistaken for a schoolboy. All the other guys gave him crap for it. Everyone liked and respected Watkins, but they still teased him plenty. Someone had jokingly called him Junior Watkins once, and it stuck. He had the hardest time getting dates—he reminded gals too much of their little brothers.

Steve relaxed. Yeah, that was probably it. His first response had been an overreaction, surely.

But...the longer he stared at Spider-Man’s face, the younger it became. A cocktail of panic and doubt wormed back into Steve’s chest. But Tony wouldn’t, his mind supplied. It was the only thing keeping his mind from going into a tailspin...but a counter thought seemed to lean close to his ear, and whispered: Wouldn’t he? Wouldn’t he?

There was a sudden twitch in the kid’s face. Doe brown eyes opened, bleary and seeing nothing at first.

There’s this woman, Steve thought frantically. Agent Reese, a field agent of SHIELD. She’s twenty-nine and still gets carded. Nick gave her all the assignments that had to do with going undercover on college campuses.

But despite all these reasonings, explanations and excuses forming in his head, Steve felt the cold slap of truth, and it stung.

Tony.

Spider-Man—was he even a man—blinked and finally focused on Steve. There was a distant relief in his gaze, until a cold breeze swept by. He must of felt the cold on his bare skin, because his eyes suddenly grew big. With a jerk, his hands went up to his face, then clutched at Steve’s hands, which still gripped the hem of his mask.

The kid’s fingers clumsily felt past Steve’s, and he tried to pull the mask back down. Steve’s grip tightened, keeping it where it was. They stared at each other in silence as they had a brief, half-hearted tug-of-war with the mask—the kid, wide-eyed in frozen shock. Steve, eyes blazing and facial muscles taught.

With a slightly firmer tug, Steve gained the upper hand (Even though they both knew that the jig was up at this point) and the mask came completely off. Brown curls fluffed out and tumbled over the kid’s face. Before he could even swipe them out of his eyes, Steve carelessly discarded the mask on the grass and grabbed his head with both hands.

Spider-Man still stared up at him, his breaths quiet and uneven. He seemed too stunned to move, even as Steve’s hands ran curtly through his hair, searching for any sort of bump or injury.

When he found nothing, he gripped the kid’s chin with one hand. Cheeks squished up against his fingers, and Steve leaned closer, bringing them almost nose to nose. Eyes were clear. Alert. Very alert now. The silence endured, and the kid’s breathing came to a soft, thin whistle. “Mr. Rogers,” he eventually croaked. “I—”

“Can you walk?” Steve’s voice was terse.

The kid blinked. “W-What?”

“Can you walk.”

“Uh...yeah...yeah, I think so.”

“Good.”

Steve let go of his chin and leaned back onto his heels. As the kid moved to sit up, Steve grabbed the Spider-Man mask and hooked the kid’s arm back around his shoulder.

Together, they carefully rose to their feet and slowly started their way back down the mountain. The kid’s eyes went to his mask, but Steve had already stuffed it into his back pocket. “Actually,” he swallowed, the top half of his body twisting toward the mask, hoping to reach it with his free hand. “Could I—maybe get—”

Steve halted his movements, and adamantly held him in place. The soldier's grip wasn’t any tighter than it was, but it also left zero room for argument. Gulping, the kid faced front again. Wetting his lips, he spoke again, cautiously. “Um...so...what...what happened to that Wyatt guy?”

Steve only glanced at him a moment. “He’s apprehended. I’ll fill the rest of you in later.”

The kid briefly twisted his head back behind them, then nodded a little awkwardly. “Okay, uh...cool. That’s, that’s...yeah.” Every now and again, the kid’s brown eyes would nervously flick up to Steve, then back down to the ground.

Neither of them said another word.

“Bring it in,” Bruce instructed. “Now bring it out again. Good.” While Sam sat on a rock, Bruce stood next to him, guiding his arm back and forth in a steady pace. “Now can you make a fist like this? Good, good. Turn it out for me, like this? Nicely done.”

“He alright?” Clint asked as he walked past.

Bruce nodded. “He’s suffering from a cryogenic burn, but it’s not severe. We gave the arm enough time to thaw—now we’ll just need to let it soak for 20 to 30 minutes in tepid water. Should help do the trick.”

Clint smiled and gave a pat to Sam’s good shoulder. “Knew they couldn’t keep you down for long.”

Sam sent a smile in Clint’s direction before turning back to Bruce.

“We might not have that kind of time for me to do a full on soak. Maybe I could get a t-shirt, soak it, then wrap it around my arm?”

“That could work,” Bruce nodded, briefly removing his glasses and giving them a polish. “But only if we need to pick up and move at a moment’s notice, and I don’t think we’ll need to do that. In the meantime, we can grab a few canteens, let them lay out in the sun, just enough to get ‘em lukewarm. We’ll wash your burn with soap first. Then I’d like to apply this ointment.”

He reached into the open first aid kit Maestro left them—Class B first aid—and held up a small round container. “We’re in luck, Sam, it looks like they gave us the really good stuff.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn’t disagree. The kit was advanced, and had just about anything they would need—bandages, painkillers, tweezers, gauze patches, tourniquets...burn ointment. The works.

“Ah, how they spoil us,” Barnes said as he went by. He was helping Clint retrieve his arrows.

The battle had ended in the nick of time. All at once, the ice monsters had frozen in place and collapsed onto the sand into large, broken heaps. Afterwards, the air slowly started to warm back up again, and icy sheets rolled onto the beach as the ocean started to thaw.

Bruce had spent the last twenty minutes or so patching up his teammates. Fortunately, most had come away with only a few scrapes, cuts and bruises. The real concern had been the risk of hypothermia, a problem that they quickly tended to with a change of clothes, warm blankets, and some time out in the sun.

Not one item from the supplies was damaged, largely thanks to Spider-Man’s webbing, which had long since dissolved.

“Would’ve been a good idea for everyone to relax a little, let everyone warm up slowly,” Bruce said with the general turn of his head, but he knew better. The Avengers were some of the worst patients. As soon as he fixed them up, each teammate left and went on to take care of other things.

Further down the beach, Wanda was hard at work lifting the carcasses of the monsters, and dropping them as far out into the ocean as she could without hitting the dome.

Only Natasha seemed to be decompressing. She had found a smooth, flat rock, and was lying on top of it with one leg out, and one hand tucked behind her head.

Clint frowned when he came upon her. “What are you, sunbathing?”

“I’m overdue for a good tan, figured I’d make the most if it,” Natasha replied with her eyes closed. She took a bite from one of the nutrition bars. “Mmm. S’actually pretty good. You should try one.”

“I already ate three.” Clint contained a burp in his throat, and briefly felt his stomach before moving on. “Where’s Stark anyway?”

“He went off to go retrieve the pieces of his suit that had broken off during the fight,” said Bruce, eyebrows knitted in concentration as he cleaned Sam’s arm. “He’ll need to be twice as careful in combat from now on, it’s the only weapon he’s got, aside from his mind.”

“Yeah...that goes for the rest of us, too,” Sam said, eyeing the horizon. Off to the side, his wings were splayed out on another slab of rock, under the sun. They weren’t all that damaged, now that most of the ice had melted away. Other weapons were currently being deposited next to them by Clint and Barnes. Sam then smiled at Bruce. “Except you, of course.”

Bruce squinted half-humoredly, and pressed one of the canteens against Sam’s chest, gesturing him to keep it there. “Yeah, well, trust me. Out here, Hulk is my absolute last resort, if I can help it. But who knows what Maestro’s got cooked up, so...” He bent his head down further into his work.

Sam regarded him. “You know, if you're worried, don’t be. You seem to have a good handle on it. And even if you...somehow don’t, this island can still work to your advantage. No buildings to worry about, no civilians...just trained professionals. And we all know what to expect.”

Bruce smiled, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. He stole a passing glance at Natasha, who was still enjoying the sun. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up, but...you never know what to expect with the Hulk. I learned that a long time ago.”

Bruce avoided Sam’s eyes, and the man’s silence spoke volumes. But they both left it at that, for a while. The doctor was just finishing up with Sam’s arm when Natasha sat up and shielded her eyes with her hand. “Finally.”

Bruce and Sam looked over, and they could see two silhouettes emerging from the deep jungle. They were slow going but purposeful, and it looked like one was supporting the other. “About time,” Bruce said, pausing once again to polish his glasses. “I was starting wonder if we should send someone.”

Clint lugged the last of his arrows across from across the beach and dropped them unceremoniously into the weapons pile. He exhaled, leaning his face up towards the sky. “You know what I could go for? A good, nice drink. Too bad Maestro packed only water. No coffee either. Now that I have a problem with.”

Bruce peered closer at the approaching figures. He could see now that the shorter figure had brown hair, and a rather troublesome complexion. He also seemed to be having trouble with his footing, and without warning, ended up slumping over entirely. The larger then stooped down to hook an arm underneath the other’s legs before continuing forward in a hurried pace.

Natasha stood up from her rock and her face hardened. Barnes and Wanda stopped working.

“Whiskey would be nice,” Clint continued, oblivious to the abrupt silence. “But I could go for a beer, if it were provided. I think we deserve it.” Out of his peripheral, he caught a glimpse of the blue and red of Spider-Man’s costume. He dropped one of his batons onto the pile with a flourish.

“How ‘bout you, Spider-Man, couldn’t you go for a beer…?” He turned around mid-sentence, and the relaxed smile melted off his face. Steve brought Spider-Man into full view under the sunlight, and Clint blinked. “….or a Sprite?”

‘Spider-Man’ was mumbling something to Steve, and the soldier wordlessly brushed past the others. Sam’s finger trailed after them. “Uh…” he said, but nothing else followed.

Steve brought Spider-Man to a smooth rock, and gingerly propped him up against it. “I could’ve walked, I just slipped,” the boy was saying, and Steve looked back over his shoulder. He had a few colored bruises that were in the beginning stages of healing. “Bruce, if you’re all done with Sam...Bruce!”

The doctor snapped out of the daze he was in, and his hands fumbled the front of his shirt before his mind could fully catch up. “Uh—yeah, sure, sorry,” he mumbled. He quickly went over, and his fingers plucked out a small flashlight from his pocket.

Likewise, the other Avengers also managed to break themselves from the spell they had fallen under. “Uh, blankets,” Sam muttered as he walked off, and Clint nodded. “Blankets. Yep, comin’ up.”

Bruce shone the flashlight in the kid’s eyes and fired off questions for Steve.

“Did he hit his head?”

“No, not that I know of.”

“He’s cold, probably hypothermic.”

“Yeah, but he’s doing a little better...he can’t thermoregulate.”

“I see. Did he ever lose consciousness during battle?”

“He fainted afterward, and again just now.”

“Didn’t faint,” the kid said, and his head fell back in Steve’s general direction. “Just slipped.”

Steve exhaled with the slightest bit of humor and bent down to touch the kid’s shoulder. “Alright, I believe you, son. Just take it easy.”

Bruce sat back, having checked Spider-Man’s vitals. “Pulse is returning back to normal, but you’re still shivering a little. Can I get—”

The doctor didn’t have a chance to finish, and he and Steve were temporarily shouldered out of the way as the rest of the team came over to deliver blankets. All at once, they either dropped them on the kid’s head, wrapped them around his shoulders, or spread them over his legs.

As they all stepped back, the only thing they could see now was the kid’s nose. “Mffyu, vcrnt brtth,” said the pile, and Bruce went to help him untangle his upper body. “Sorry about that, but they had the right idea,” the doctor said with a smile.

Brown curls shook free of the blanket trap, and the kid rearranged them until they settled comfortably around his shoulders. “Uh, thanks anyway…” He looked them in the eyes for the first time, and timidly scanned the group.

Behind Bruce, Sam muttered softly, “So when Tony called him ‘kid’, he really meant…”

“Yep,” Barnes said.

“And when he called him ‘squirt’, he…”

“Yep.” Barnes popped the ‘p.’

“Um…” The kid cleared his throat, correcting his voice crack. “Um, so where’s...where’s Mr. Stark?”

“He’ll be right back,” said Clint. The Avengers (Except Bruce, who sat crouched) were all now standing around the boy, not crowding, but close. No one said anything for a while.

Bruce didn’t want to call it staring—observing would be a better word—but how could they not? He looked...well, he looked like a kid. Was he? He wasn’t, surely.

Please say he isn’t.

Upon Clint’s response, the kid’s mouth thinned, and he swallowed. He looked at everyone warily before dropping his eyes, as if embarrassed.

Tony, why? Bruce’s mind groaned, but he forced a smile. “I’m just gonna ask you a few questions for medical reasons...that okay?”

Waves of self frustration seemed to radiate from the kid, and he heaved a deep, labored sigh. Still, he nodded, and scratched at his nose. “Okay.”

“Okay. Can you tell me your name?...Okay, you don’t have to answer that one. You remember your hero name then?”

The boy fidgeted and wrapped the blankets even closer around himself. Even through his stubborn reluctance, he had to know that there was no sense in denying anything now. He snuck a glance at Bruce. Don’t laugh, his eyes seemed to say.

“Spider-Man.”

Wanda pinched at Sam’s arm, and the veteran bit his lip to keep his mouth from curling.

“Do you know where you are, Spider-Man?” Bruce asked.

The kid shrugged a little. “I don’t know... Hydra Island, I guess? I’m not exactly sure.”

There was a soft snort from Clint, and Bruce nodded. “That’s okay, it’s a fair assessment. You feel dizzy at all, or nauseous?”

“...a little. Dizzy, I mean. But not that much.”

“Alright. You recognize anyone around you?”

“Well... yeah. You’re the Avengers. Of course I know you guys.”

Looking down at him as if he were a peculiar but interesting piece of artwork at a museum, Wanda neared closer and tilted her head, curious. “How old are you?”

The kid’s head jerked toward her, and then looked to Bruce, who raised his eyebrows. “Actually...if you don’t mind, I think I’ll wait for Mr. Stark before I answer any more questions...thanks.”

“Why, is he your lawyer?” Sam joked, but the kid clammed up.

Wanda looked out toward the bamboo fields. Then she announced, “I will go and get him.”

“Yeah, good idea,” Clint said.

The kid watched her go almost longingly before going back to gazing down at his lap.

They should really stop staring.

Natasha, who had left sometime during the exchange, returned with a protein bar. She leaned down and offered it to their newcomer. “Here.”

Something flickered across the kid’s face as he looked at the bar in front of him, hunger realized. He hesitated.

Natasha smiled a little. “Oh, come on...don’t tell me you still believe in cooties.”

The kid started. “No—no, of course not.” His gloved hand hastily accepted the bar and he peeled away at the wrapper. “And that’s...that’s kid stuff, anyway.”

“Well aren’t you?” Sam asked, eyebrows high.

“Aren’t I what?”

“Come on, now. You couldn’t be more than...what? Fourteen? Twelve maybe?”

The kid flushed red. “Mmm!? M’not Twelfh!”

“What, were you raised in a barn?” Clint asked, eyebrows wrinkled. “Chew your food first.”

The kid quickly chewed and swallowed. “I said I’m not twelve!”

“Then how old are you, kid?” Barnes asked. The sun flashed against the metal as he folded his arms.

“Miss Maximoff asked that already. And I’m not a kid.”

“Ohh, you’re not? So what college do you go to then?” Sam asked. “Or can’t you say? You employed anywhere? Hmm? Pay any taxes lately?”

The kid’s mouth opened and closed before snapping shut. He probably knew any answer he gave would just incriminate him further.

Sam turned his attention to Steve. “So what happened out there?”

“Let’s just say if I never see ice again…” Steve shook his head and looked out toward the ocean. “Anyway, he’s gone. The tower had a pod, and it was magnetized. He got pulled in after we disarmed him. Whatever happens to him now is up to Maestro.”

Clint frowned. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Well what was his deal, did he say?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Revenge, recognition. Had a chip on his shoulder. He was just a link in the chain, anyway. There will be others.”

“Huh,” said Sam. “Well, good riddance, then. What about his name, did you get that at least?”

“His name’s Wyatt,” the kid said, his self imposed vow of silence already forgotten about. “He said he was Gabriel Jones’ secret grandson...y’know one of the Howlers?”

Everyone turned to Steve with shocked eyes. The solider kept his quiet gaze on the ocean. “Anyway,” said the kid, “After we beat him, we flicked the switch and everything, so...that’s one beacon down.”

“Well,” Barnes said after a silence. “Good work then.”

The kid flashed him a small smile before looking warily at Natasha, who had knelt down in front of him. She was staring, and so was Bruce. They were both grave.

“You see that?” Natasha murmured.

“I do.”

“Steve.”

Steve, having recognized the tone of the spy’s voice, appeared at her side instantly. “What is it?”

“Look closely.”

Steve’s eyes darkened after a moment. “I see it.”

The kid’s eyes darted back and forth. “W...What? What?” The rest of the group gathered close, and their faces dropped, one by one. Barnes muttered a curse. The kid was getting freaked out now. “What?”

Clint left, and Steve shifted closer. “Son, you said that you had advanced healing ability.”

The kid blinked. “I do.” He felt his face. “Why, what’s wrong?”

Clint returned, and gave the kid a hand mirror from the supplies.

The kid gawked at his reflection. On each of his temples were small electrode marks. They had nearly faded entirely, but the kid’s pale complexion made them stand out all the more. Riveted, the kid tenderly touched each mark. “I...I don’t even feel anything.”

“What do you remember, son?” Steve asked. His voice had softened a touch.

The kid looked back at him, bewildered and scared. He went to open his mouth, but turned his head suddenly.

Steve stood up.

Several moments later, two figures came striding out from the bamboo field.

Tony must have seen the rigid half circle that was forming and knew what was in store for him. Still, he didn’t slow his gait; he walked straight toward them, with a small bundle of metal scraps tucked underneath one arm, and a battered iron suitcase swaying from the other.

He shrugged his eyebrows, and he received hard glares in return. “Well,” he said, going over to place his gathered belongings down by the other weapons. He dusted off his hands with a sigh. “Looks like the cat’s out of the bag.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Clint said.

The kid had wobbled to his feet with at least one blanket in his grasp, and the billionaire noticed how pale he looked. His confidence seemed to take a momentary hit, and was instantly by the kid’s side. “Hey kiddo,” he said lightly, but his eyes roved carefully over him. Concerned hands skipped onto various spots on the boy’s arms and shoulders. “You alright? You’re colder than Siberia.”

The kid’s brown eyes were guilty. “Mr. Stark, I’m really sorry. It happened so fast, and one moment I was awake and the next—”

Tony shook his head. “Hey—don’t sweat it. Alright? We both knew it had to happen eventually. Hmm?” The kid nodded reluctantly toward the ground, and Tony gave him a firm pat on the back. “What happened to the heater, did you use it all?”

“Yeah, I...kinda had to. There was this ice wall, and I couldn’t get through...anyway, I think the suit’s okay, but the heater’s at zero…sorry.”

Tony nodded. “Well, no biggie then. Had to be done.” He took the ends of the blanket and fixed it more securely around the kid’s shoulders before tapping the side of his jaw with a closed fist. “Chin up, you did good.”

He then looked back up toward the others quizzically. “So where’s the Perp?”

“Tony,” Natasha warned.

“No, seriously, where is he? Did we get him, or is he, y’know, iced? No offense to him.”

“Tony—”

“Don’t tell me you lost him, that we have to go gallivanting across the island for some—”

“He’s contained,” Steve said curtly.

Tony blinked. “Contained? What does that mean, contained? Like what, in a cave? Did you net him up in some tree, did you dig a pit somewhere? Come on, you gotta give me a lot more than—”

“I don’t think you’re the one in need of explanation here, Tony,” said Bruce. His forehead was wrinkled, and he wore a tight frown.

Tony took in the faces around him and reluctantly exhaled through his nose, lips pursed. He looked back at Bruce, and the admittance of I know went unsaid.

The kid leaned over and said something to Tony in a hushed whisper, and the billionaire quirked a dry smile at the sand. Then he said to the rest of them, “So you all have questions.”

“Yeah, I have a few,” Sam said. “First question being...are you kidding me? No, seriously! He’s Spider-Man? And you knew about it? Stark, he’s a freaking middle schooler!”

The kid bristled. “Dude, I’m fifteen!” His hand then flew to his mouth, and he abruptly looked up at Tony. “I mean—” It was too late, but the kid’s hands were already gesturing wildly in attempt to enact some damage control. “Technically, I’m fifteen in a half...my birthday’s in two months, like literally August...so really, I’m, I’m practically sixteen, when you...when you think about it.” He finished with a weak cringe, and Tony solemnly pinched the bridge of his nose.

The Avengers were silent.

“Fifteen,” Clint said breezily. “How ‘bout that. Three years older than my son.”

There was a pause, and the kid did a double take. “Wait, you have a son?!”

“Two sons, in fact,” Tony said, sending a spark of pure irritation through the rest of the team. “And a whole wife and daughter.”

“What!?”

“Mind-blowing, isn’t it?”

“Tony,” Steve said.

Meanwhile, Barnes’ eyes squinted half shut. He seemed terribly confused. “So in Germany...you had us fight a High schooler?”

Tony turned a searing gaze onto the winter solider. “I didn’t have you fight anything, Barnes. And clearly, age wasn’t a factor when he bodied you and Wilson at the airport.”

“Bodied?” Sam echoed, arching his eyebrows Spider-Man’s way.

“Son,” said Steve, and a storm seemed to be simmering underneath the surface, “Where are your parents?”

The kid twisted his hands. “I live with my aunt.”

“Does she know you’re doing this?”

“Well, yeah...but she didn’t find out until later. I wasn’t planning on telling her, like at all. But I kinda left the door open, and I didn’t really check to see if she was home, and I was...anyway, she, she walked in on me. But that was totally my bad, I really should’ve just shut the—”

“Wait a minute,” Tony interrupted, and he was staring. “Wait a minute, turn around—what is that?”

“Tony, before you—” Bruce cautioned, but Tony made the kid face him.

“No, what is that?” He pushed the kid’s brown curls aside with a calloused hand and zeroed in on the faint electrode marks on his temples. “Kid? What—”

Wanda gasped, and her hand went to cover her mouth, but it froze in midair. “What have they done?”

“I don’t know.” The kid shook his head at Tony. “It just showed up—”

“Who did this?”

“I don’t know!”

“You remember nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Parker, look me in the eye and tell me the truth. If you’re covering for someone—”

“I’m not! I swear, I—Mr. Stark, wait, it’s not a big—Mr. Stark!” Tony stormed past them all, and despite everyone’s objections, marched over to the supplies and rummaged through them.

“Where’s that stupid—”

“Tony,” said Natasha, “Before you do or say anything idiotic—”

“Not now, Romanoff….know it’s here somewhere—ah.” He plucked out the walkie talkie and brought it close to his mouth as he pressed the button. “Maestro, you there? Hey, hi, it’s me again. Listen, I knew you were a coward, but you’ve actually managed to set a new bar for yourself, haven’t you? Oh, you’re not answering? Too busy coming up with more brilliant schemes? That’s fine—I’m sure you’ll have plenty to say when I finally have the pleasure of meeting you face to face, man to scum.”

“Tony,” hissed Sam, but Wanda held back a hand.

“Let him,” she mouthed. Bruce turned and raked both hands through his hair. Steve was marching towards Tony.

“You know, I’m actually glad you’re surveilling us, and I’m glad you’re sending more of those clowns of yours for me to demolish. Because when I destroy each and every one of them—and you know I will— you’ll at least have an inkling of what’s gonna be in store for you in the near future. Mull over that while you can.” Tony then removed his finger and tossed it to Steve before it could be snatched away from him. The billionaire passed him without so much as looking back. “Don’t worry, I kept it PG.”

Steve frowned back at him, and briefly tightened his fingers over the walkie before placing it back into the pile.

Sam had his eyebrows up, and Clint shared a bemused look with Natasha. He came back up to the kid, who stared up at him wide-eyed. “You sure you’re alright?”

“Y-yeah...doesn’t even hurt,” the kid said, shaking his head in assurance. He paused, then lowered his voice. “It...should’ve healed by now though, shouldn’t it? I mean, I’ve had a lot worse and the scars are usually gone by morning.”

“...I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that. But, yeah. It should’ve.”

The group was silent again, but with the silence came with something else—something the billionaire couldn’t ignore or hold off, not anymore.

Not acknowledging but being fully aware of the folded arms and pointed glares, Tony sighed heavily. “Anyway, you look like death.” He jerked his thumb backward. “Go find some clothes, grab a blanket, sit in the sun for a while. The rest of us are gonna have a talk.”

The kid looked around at the others. “Wait, what about? Shouldn’t I come with?” He must have caught on to the seriousness of the situation, and he fully intended on staying—but one look from Tony was enough to shut it down.

“None of your business. Off you go now.”

“Why?”

“Why—because I said so, that’s why!”

Clint’s head whipped toward Tony and he looked like he was about to burst out laughing. He didn’t, but he was close. Tony ignored him.

“Clothes kid, get to it.”

The boy was clearly unhappy, but nodded once with a sigh. “Yes, sir.”

Head down, he cut through the group on the way to the supplies. Bruce rolled up his sleeves. He was still looking at Tony over his glasses, but addressed the boy. “I’ll help you out after you change.”

Meanwhile, Steve leaned in close and whispered in Wanda’s ear. She nodded after a moment. “I will be back,” she said, and moved a few paces down the beach. With the glow of her hands, she flew off above the trees and was gone.

Barnes, who was observing the scene before him, seemed to come to his own conclusion. He cleared his throat and gestured a hand. “I’m gonna...dry off my weapons. Then I’ll start packing.” He exchanged a look with Steve, and the captain gave a nod of acceptance.

“We won’t be long.”

Tony rolled his eyes—a gesture no one else in his position would dare make. The kid returned with an arm full of clothes, and before he went off behind the trees, Steve called to him. “Son. Here.” He pulled something from his back pocket and held it up. It was the Spider-Man mask.

Adjusting the bundle, the kid reached up and grasped the mask with his fingers. “Thanks…” In spite of Tony’s stern glare, which told him to get a move on, the kid addressed the group and lifted his mask in greeting. “I’m Peter, by the way...Peter Parker.”

He quickly disappeared into the green before Tony could say a word.

They all looked after Peter long after he was gone.

“Nice to meet you,” said Bruce.

They had come far out to the edge of the beach and gathered around in a spot in the shade where the banyan trees were thickest. With a contained sigh, Tony reached up and gripped one of the ariel roots that sprung from the tree, and let himself hang a little. They were far enough so that little spider ears wouldn’t overhear them, but Rogers still kept his voice low.

“Tony, he is a boy.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

Steve moved forward. “Tony—”

Romanoff placed a hand to stay him. “Calm. Down.” The possibility that Peter could still hear them went unsaid. Unfounded maybe, but it was another added worry piled on top of many.

Tony waved a hand. “Look, here’s the truth. Before you read me the riot act, put yourself in my shoes, just for a second. Barnes had just escaped custody. Rogers was nowhere to be found, and had possibly gone rouge. Ross is tearing me a new one, and I have just 36 hours to bring in Cap and his comrades. Soon after, I get a call, and guess what? Maximoff just jumped ship, and with Barton’s help of all people.”

Clint’s mouth twitched, just a little.

“Granted, we still had a few good hitters, but we were undermanned. I—we needed a little more muscle. Someone who could go toe to toe with other enhanced without risk of serious injury.”

“So...you brought a High schooler,” said Sam. “Really? That was your only option? There are others out there, Tony, you knew that. Why him?”

“There were,” Tony drawled out, watching a bug crawl on a nearby branch, “But, the superhero world is small, and with someone of my...distinguished reputation...and admittedly past oopsies... I was already at a severe disadvantage in that arena. And besides that, many of those individuals had their own thing going on. Separate agendas, certain loyalties, reservations. I was on the clock, and I didn’t have the time to try and convince everyone to come with.

“Spider-Man had only popped up recently, and had no such attachments or hang ups, as far as I knew. Additionally, he had already been fighting crime on his own for a few months. He was good—inexperienced, but good. Figured I’d give him a sneak peak of what his future could look like, and at the same time, bring my own heavy hitter into the ring. Two birds, one stone.”

“Here’s what I have a hard time with,” Sam said. “If boy wonder said that his Aunt only found out his identity recently, and our fight in Germany happened a year ago, then…” He let his wrist bend in the air, and everyone’s minds started to fill in the blank. “There’s...no way she gave him permission to go.”

Everyone looked to the billionaire.

“Tony?” said Clint.

The man’s foot bounced rapidly, and he opened and closed his fists. “I told her about it afterward.”

Nearby, a tree frog sounded off a few mating calls. Fingers of sunbeams hit various parts of their bodies, and one in particular shone on Roger’s hair in a golden halo. “Tony...they could get you on kidnapping at best.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic, Rogers.”

“So what should we call it then?” asked Romanoff, tilting her head. “A spontaneous field trip that his guardian had no knowledge of?”

“Alright, spare me, okay? I’ve already been through all this with May. Bottom line, he was never in any real danger. He was being supervised the whole time, and he barely had a scratch on him at the end of it. Heck, I walked away with more bruises than he did.”

“That still doesn’t absolve you, Tony!” Rogers said, and while he spoke, Bruce Banner appeared from around a tree. Natasha and Sam both shifted to the side, allowing the doctor to enter their loose huddle. Tony eyed him as he settled himself down on a boulder. “He’s fifteen. He shouldn’t have been there at all!”

“Bruce,” Tony sniffed, and Cap’s jaw clenched at being ignored, “Thought you were looking after the kid.”

“He’s alright,” Bruce nodded. “Wanda just got back, and she’s keeping an eye on him.”

Their eyes didn’t waver from one another, and the doc didn’t so much as blink. Tony then threw his hand in the air before letting it fall against his leg with a slap. “Fine. Great. More the merrier, let everyone get their punches in, get it out of the way so it doesn't have to come up again.”

There was a brief, awkward suspension before Wilson spoke again. “So where did he get his powers from anyway? Was he born with them, or..?”

Tony shook his head. “Not my origin story to tell. You’ll have to ask the kid.”

“And he would tell us that you had nothing to do with it,” Bruce said. “No accidents, no...experiments?”

Tony’s neck twisted sharply as he looked toward Bruce. It had eluded him before, but now he could finally place what had been lingering behind that stare of his. Something Tony had never seen directed at him before, at least not from the doctor.

Distrust.

Horror turned into disgust, and disgust flamed to anger.

“Oh, sure, Banner. Sure, I just...yanked some random kid off the streets of Queens and made him my own personal lab rat. And right underneath the noses of Pepper, and Rhodes and Hogan no less. That would take some real clever work on my part, wouldn’t it? You’re absolutely right Banner, he’s a freak experiment of mine, one of many, because I just happen to have that kind of time on my hands, and oh yeah, I’m just that morally capable!”

He ran a shaky hand over his hair, and he turned his back on them for a while.

Clint’s voice was unfazed. “Random kid from Queens, you say. So he’s not yours.”

The billionaire's mind blanked a moment. He spun back around before the cogs could fully turn again, and his eyes fluttered rapidly as he tried to process exactly what Barton just said. “Excuse me, what?”

Clint shrugged. “Look, it’s not like we’re entitled to know anything and everything about each other. There’s some things we keep close to the vest, I get that. But at this point—”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I won’t judge! None of us will. Just be honest about it, that’s all.”

“What—absolutely—you know what Barton, do me a favor and just—shh. I don’t want to hear another word out of you for the next six hours.”

“So you’re denying it?” Steve asked.

Tony was nearly at a loss for words, and he had to keep from barking out a laugh. “When did this turn into Maury all of a sudden? What’s there to deny? We don’t even—let alone—” He stopped himself, and took a deep breath. “You’re just gonna have to take my word for it. If not, I don’t know what to tell you. Geez, I think I liked it better when I was being accused of human experimentation.”

“You can’t truly blame us for wanting to clarify,” Romanoff said. “When you fell from that wormhole Tony, none of us thought that you’d walk away from that experience scott free. And even though it’s not our nature to pry into each other’s business, we could tell that something was going on with you. Even your relationship with Pepper was affected.”

Tony was already exhausted with this talk. He came around a swooping branch, and briefly inspected it, swiping off specks of dirt with a finger.

Romanoff continued though, knowing full well that Tony was still listening. “I’d hear things here and there. Breakdowns. Self isolation. Long hours in the workshop, lack of sleep. After you destroyed all those suits you made, I figured maybe it was a step in the right direction. But then came Sokovia, and...now you show up with this boy who can climb walls and can lift a hundred times his body weight, possibly even more.”

“What are you suggesting, that I’ve somehow lost it?” Tony said, trying to sound bored.

“Either that or you’ve become a massive hypocrite. First you come to us pleading your case about signing the Accords. You show us a picture of Charlie Spencer—remember him? The kid who lost his life because of our actions? At the time, I truly thought you were being sincere. You even named the drills after him. But then you turn around and bring another kid into the fray.”

“That’s different—”

“Is it?”

Bruce rocked forward a little as he looked up at her. “Not that I don’t agree, but didn’t you yourself recruit a little girl spy to lure me out in the open when we met?”

A flash of irritation crossed Romanoff’s face. “That girl was already in deep. Eight years old and already a spy of repute. Her file was extensive. By then, there was nothing anyone could have done to change that. But I figured that having her help recruit you would give her the opportunity to do something good. Turn her life around.”

Her eyes locked back onto Tony. “But that’s not the case with Peter. He’s chosen to do what he does, but Tony, if whatever happened to him is the result of some psychotic break—”

“Okay, stop.” He held up a hand in the air and let it linger. “If you’re all quite finished. My turn now.”

He put his hand down into his pocket and looked down at the ground a moment. “When Peter Parker first came to my attention, my first thought was to see if he was a potential candidate for a spot on the team. Once I made sure he checked out, the plan was to possibly set up a meet—give him the chance to get to know the team, and vice versa. Of course he was young, and this was new territory, but I thought once everyone got acquainted with him, maybe we could set something up. But then Lagos happened. And then the Accords happened. Then Barnes happened...and then and then and then.”

The others watched him in silence. Roger’s face was unreadable.

“But the biggest ‘and then’ came when over half of the Avengers skipped town. And suddenly the joint effort, the team effort I had in mind was effectively shot to sunshine.”

His thumb trailed along the bottom of his lip, and with great reluctance, admitted, “God knows I wanted to back out then. But the more I thought about it, the more I knew that I ultimately couldn’t. Not when I got to know him. Kid had a good head on his shoulders, but he had no real direction, no guidance...no one to make sure he stayed on the right path. If I didn’t step in, someone else would have. So, unfortunately for Pete, he was effectively stuck with me.”

He took time to look each and every one of his teammates right in the eye. “See, that’s the trouble when you’re the one left cleaning up everyone’s messes. Believe it or not, I had other matters that called for my attention. Oh, and, as it turns out, I’m not exactly the best role model in the world. I’ve got plenty of good pointers, but I never planned on doing this thing solo. And that was the trouble, wasn’t it? When you all skipped out, you skipped out on everyone, upcoming heroes included. People who could have used your help.”

His words hung out in the hot and heavy air.

“Sucks having to be the responsible one,” Tony said.

No one said anything for a while, until Steve stepped forward, eyes glinting strangely under the shifting shadows. “Regardless of all that, Tony...you still put him in the line of fire. I ended up having to face him. I could have killed him.”

“But you didn’t.” Tony wagged a finger. “And you wouldn’t have. I knew you wouldn’t go all out on a new recruit.”

“Anything can happen in battle, Tony,” Steve said, voice raising. “Do you really need me to remind you of the consequences of a fight gone wrong?” The image of Rhodey’s ashen, bloody face invaded his mind against his will. Tony’s Adam's apple bobbed up and down, and his jaw locked.

Only a flutter of regret passed through Roger’s countenance, but the soldier went on. “Even worse, the rest of us didn’t know we were fighting a child. Only you knew that. If anything else went sour, we would’ve walked away with a kid’s blood on our hands. That’s not a choice you just get to make for the rest of us.”

“You talk about him like he’s just any kid off the block,” said Tony. “You’ve seen him in action yourself, Rogers, so you know you can’t baby him. Like Romanoff said, it’s the path he’s chosen for himself.”

“I have seen him in action,” Steve said. “No doubt that was part of your plan, sending him to team up with me. And despite my reservations...I don’t exaggerate when I say that he’ll be one of our best, if he’s not already.”

The others looked at him in surprise, Tony included. Steve remained somber, however. “He’s smart, strong. Quick on his feet. If we were rescued today, I’d personally offer him a spot on the team for one of our next missions. And that’s what makes it so awful.”

The two men held each other’s gaze. One could have sworn that it was just Tony and Steve, and no one else.

“I get it. This is what he wants. And yes, a place on the team could very well be in his future. But here’s the real bottom line, Tony. When you found him, you could have let him keep doing what he was doing. Better yet, you could have mentored him right there in New York. Let him get better over the years. But instead, you took an inexperienced teenager out of the state, out of the country and put him into a fight he had no understanding of. And the worst part? You threw a spotlight on him that otherwise wouldn’t be there. And now he’s here, on this island, with us.”

A long pause followed, and Tony ran a slow hand around his mouth and down his chin. He couldn’t exactly place what this feeling was, but it was akin to the stinging after-blow of a severe tongue lashing from his Father. Familiar, sub emotions came with it...defensiveness, fury, sorrow...desperate inner pride. It always left a hollow smallness that couldn’t be filled, no matter what sort of foolish, expensive pleasantries he tried to fill it with.

Still, he drew himself up. His voice came quietly. “He was never meant to get hurt. He will not get hurt. Not in the way he has been already.” 

“Tony,” Natasha said, and despite the clear warning in her voice, there was an undertone of softness, of pity. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. But, my protege, my business. The rest of you, keep your noses out of it.”

“So none of us have to play babysitter?” Sam asked.

“You worry about yourself, Wilson, and let me worry about the kid.”

Sam raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, then. Fine.”

“Fine,” Clint nodded. “We’ll hold you to it.”

“Fantastic.”

Steve moved closer. The crunch of leaves beneath the soldier’s shoes served as prelude to what he was about to say. “I don’t know exactly what kind of relationship the two of you have. But Peter...he trusts you. I see it in his eyes. All I can say is, should the worst case scenario happen...you be there for him. And if you have even the slightest idea of what to say to his Aunt if this ends badly...you hash it out now. She deserves that much.”

Then the soldier disappeared through the branches.

In the silence, Tony noticed a tiny beetle crawling on his arm. Reaching over with his other hand, he took his thumb and squashed it.

They headed back down to the beach. On the way there, Steve could hear Natasha quietly filling Tony in on what happened with Wyatt. Tony nodded along, but said nothing. Upon arrival, everyone gathered together in small, separate bunches.

Peter, who was now dressed in a dark blue sweatshirt with long sleeves, ran up to greet Tony. His step was stronger, and color was already back in his cheeks. Steve saw Tony’s small smile, and he inadvertently listened in on their conversation. “How’re you feeling?”

“Uh, great,” Peter nodded. “Better now.” He looked Tony up and down, and brought his fist against his palm. “So uh...what’d you guys talk about?”

Tony waved a hand in the direction they just came from. “Nothing important. Just who we’re going to eat first, should food get scarce.”

Peter’s eyebrows scrunched together.

“The ice is cleared from the tower like you asked,” Wanda was saying to Steve. He blinked and reinforced his attention back to her.

“Good,” he nodded. “Good, thank you.”

Little by little, they converged into one collective group. Nine in all.

It was late afternoon now, if the sun was anything to go by. The sand, trees and mountains were plated in a hazy golden color. The blue-green ocean rolled in and receded. Heat and humidity made their hair slightly damp and sticky, and the gritty, unpleasant sensation of sand shifted around inside their shoes.

As the wind sighed around them, so too did the minds of the Avengers as the realization dawned. Steve could feel it in the air, and he could see it in everyone’s faces.

Tony placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, and the kid offered a small smile up at him. They had known it before, but now it was really starting to sink in. Fact was, they were indeed stranded on this island, and with no clear hope for outside communication or rescue. This would be their place of residence, for the time being. Until a better solution was found.

“So, what’s the plan, where are we?” Sam asked.

Tony cleared his throat, grabbing everyone’s attention. “After our harrowing battle with Mr. Wyatt, I consulted with FRIDAY.” He then slung a finger in one direction, toward the trees. “From where we’re standing, nearest beacon is about 30 miles North of here, in the jungle. Might not sound difficult, but when you take our current situation into account...could take us a hot minute.”

Clint nodded toward the ground, thinking. “Too many variables to consider. Weather, terrain, elevation change, mud, rocks, possibility of quicksand. Not to mention all the gear we need to haul with us. And who knows what kind of wildlife is lurking around in the jungle.”

There was a discussion then, on how they would need to go about it. Wanda volunteered to run ahead of them and see if she couldn’t flick the next switch herself, but that was quickly met with dissent. Even at her fastest, there was no telling what she would find out there in the jungle, and no one would be able to come to her aid quick enough, should the worst happen.

The same could be said if they were to split up into small groups. Separation would only invite even more risk. The best way, the safest way, was that they would all move forward as a team. Strength in numbers.

“Alright then,” Steve said at last. “Let’s get moving.”

The team broke away again, and Bruce knocked into him and firmly pulled him aside so that he could tend to his injuries.

Besides the bounty, Maestro had left them various backpacks to take with them on their journey. Everyone went up and snagged one that seemed suited to them, and started packing.

Steve would sneak glances at Tony and Peter, who folded their T-shirts together in silence.

Before long, the last toothbrush had been packed away, and the last blanket rolled. It took some expert maneuvering and a bit of stuffing and cramming on their part, but they managed. Not one item was left behind on the beach.

When everyone was loaded up, they slowly started down the beach in a single file. The plan was to stay out of the jungle for as long as possible before eventually cutting into the trees for the last stretch.

Bucky, himself and Peter moved ahead with ease, but the others soon began to lug across the sand with labored steps, and there were some grunts of effort here and there.

Steve would occasionally glance back and estimate to himself how far he could push everyone; The front of Bruce’s shirt was already wet with sweat, and Tony was huffing and puffing along. Sam and Natasha were faring better, but their foreheads glistened. Further into their hike, Wanda started assisting the others by having her red tendrils scoop under their backpacks to help ease their burdens. But walking for hours across the sand still took its toll.

“I’m starting to hate sand now,” Sam huffed after while.

“I hate sand,” Peter said, and smiled a little. “It’s coarse, and rough, and irritating...and it gets everywhere.”

Sam looked at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

It was near sunset when Steve held up a fist. “Alright, take five, team.” Sighs of relief rose behind him, and bags were flung down. “We’ll have about 30 minutes before it gets dark, so we need to cover as much ground as possible.”

No one replied as they got out their canteens and drank hungrily. Bucky came over while taking a sip. “So,” he said, barely even out of breath. “Gabe’s grandson.”

Steve took a swig and recapped his canteen. “Yeah.”

“Did Gabe even know about him?”

“I don't think so. He would've mentioned it if he did.”

“Hmm.” Bucky nodded thoughtfully. “He still alive?”

“He is.”

“Gosh. He oughta be...what, ninety-two?”

“Ninety-four next week.”

“Hmm. You know with all that’s been going on, I didn’t even think to try and reconnect with people I knew before.”

“Well, like you said. You’ve had a lot going on. And you might still get the chance, when all of this is over.”

“Yeah, maybe. If they don’t keel over on me first.” Bucky smiled, and so did Steve, but it was weighed. “It doesn’t get any less weird...everyone our age having already lived out their lives.. sometimes I feel like I’m still learning.”

Steve nodded vaguely. “I know what you mean.”

Bucky studied him, and his smile softened into a sympathetic quirk. “Hey, I’m sorry about Wyatt.”

“I barely knew him,” said Steve.

“I know. Still sorry though.”

“...Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

Steve then left Bucky to his water and went further down to run a visual check on the team. He gave a weary Bruce a pat on the shoulder; the doctor was sitting on top of his backpack and was sluggishly unfastening the buttons near his neck. The doctor nodded hastily at him, communicating without words that he was fine.

With a smile, Steve moved on. Clint and Natasha were talking, both exhausted looking, but fine. Wanda fanned herself with a hand, and Sam took the time to stretch. Steve stood off by them and exchanged a few words here and there, but diverted part of his attention to the last two bringing up the rear.

“Mr. Stark, come on,” Peter was saying thought clenched teeth, but Tony shook his head. “Nope. Go over there, have a sit.” He pointed at a spot in front of a large cracked stone.

“But—”

Tony snapped his fingers. “Sit.”

Sighing and slumping his shoulders, Peter dragged his feet over. Steve found himself moving a bit closer as Tony knelt down and carefully rolled back Peter’s pant leg. A cut gleamed bright red.

“Care to tell me when you were you planning on mentioning this?” Tony asked.

“I was gonna,” Peter assured. “…okay, I wasn’t. But, seriously, Mr. Stark, it’s just a scratch.”

“That’s no good, Peter, you should’ve told me,” Bruce said, trying not to stumble as he hauled the first aid kit down toward them. “And scratches can be serious. If there’s one thing that’ll kill us out here, it’s infection.”

“Listen to the Doc,” Tony said, pointing a finger at Bruce. “Here, I’ve got it covered. Just hand me that. And that canteen there, yep. Skedaddle Banner, I got it.” He poured water on Peter’s cut and he tried not to hiss. “Pete, next time you get a cut like this, tell me.”

“Mr. Stark, ‘m not a little kid anymore,” Peter groaned.

“Hey, same goes for all of us,” Tony said as he applied pressure. “If any one of us gets hurt or injured, the rest of us need to know about it.”

“Yeah, but heroes like Captain America or Black Widow don’t tell everyone when they get a cut. Seriously, I don’t need to mention every time I get a bump or bruise or something...and besides, I’m enhanced.” He squeezed the top of his leg as Tony applied a bandage. “Whatever it is, I can handle it.”

Tony looked up at him for a moment, then refocused on the leg. A thought passed behind his eyes as he did so. “Alright, despite the fact that we’re on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere, we’re still relatively civilized individuals. So, like any civilized group of people away from home, we’re gonna set up a few ground rules.”

“What, like for all of us?”

Tony nodded in a so-so kind of way. “Well, yes, in a sense. But some might apply to some more than others...might even be just a couple of you...it’s mostly you.”

Peter huffed a little and rolled his eyes.

“Rule number one: Always tell me about your injuries, I don’t care how small or insignificant it might seem. If you hurt your ankle, or if your nose somehow bleeds, or even if you get a hangnail, I wanna know about it. Actually, that’s rule number two. Rule number one is, no throwing yourself into danger, just because you’re enhanced. Okay? No jumping in the way of lasers and swords and crap.”

“...But what if—”

“No what if’s, Parker. Yes, you can take more than the lot of us. But you’re not a shield, and you’re not bulletproof. Understand me?”

“I understand, but...but Mr. Stark, I’m crazy strong. If something happens, and I’m able to stop it—”

“Not with your body you don’t,” Tony interrupted sharply. “You assess the situation, you calmly assess the situation, and then you come up with a plan. No running in head first and brains last. Besides, there’s...look, there’s no telling what they did...back there.”

No one had to mention Maestro.

“We don’t know what is and isn’t a factor yet. So, no writing checks you know you can’t cash. Find another way. Capisce?”

“Capisce,” Peter sighed, losing the staring contest with Tony’s raised eyebrows. “I just...I just wanna help you guys out.” The shrug in his voice turned into determination. “No matter what happens, I’ve got your back. A hundred percent.”

Tony smiled, and Steve thought it looked sad, but he couldn’t tell for sure. “I know you are, kid. However, that brings me to rule number three.”

Peter looked up sharply, and Tony moved a little closer, making absolute certain that his protege was paying attention. “If at any point the situation looks bleak, or if things look particularly dire and there’s no possible way for us to get out of it...I need you to go. I need you to run, and finish the mission.” His voice gradually raised, and Peter had been shaking his head mid sentence.

“No. No, no—”

“Yes. Parker, yes.”

“Mr. Stark, no way, you cannot ask me to do that!”

“I’m not asking, I’m telling. It’s worse case scenario—”

“In any scenario it’s wrong, I can’t believe you’re asking me to go against everything I—”

“Hey. Will you zip it for one second, and let me finish?”

Peter’s mouth pressed, and he looked down. An aggravated sigh blew out through his nose.

Tony looked at the top of Peter’s head a moment. His shoulders went down a little, and he rubbed at his chin with a thumb. “Pete, look at me.”

Their eyes met.

“We’ve...I know we haven’t known each other for that long, and all of this is...it’s sudden. It’s crazy, psycho, full on bananas. Look, I know what you’re about, and I know you want to be a hero. You are one. No one wants to take that away from you, least of all me. At the same time kid...like it or not, out here, you’re my responsibility.”

They regarded each other, and they seemed to soften each other up the longer they looked. Steve felt something stir inside him unexpectedly. Despite the boy’s frustration, Peter still emitted a trust so deep, that it was almost painful.

“And think of May back home. If she knew you and I were together, she’d count on me to step in where she can’t. I know you don’t need any reminders, but she only has you.”

Peter nodded downward. “I know.”

Tony's voice softened further, half against his will. “Like you said kid, we’re in this thing together—though there might come a time when we need to separate for some reason or another. The last thing I need is to worry about whether or not you’re making decisions that would put your life in danger. I can’t focus and do my job otherwise.”

“I understand,” said Peter, and he bobbed his head. “And you don’t need to worry. I’ve got this. You know I do.”

Tony nodded. “Yep. That I do.” Smiling, the billionaire lightly slapped the space underneath Peter’s ear. “Good. Got your leg all fixed up, try not to lean too much on it.”

“‘Kay. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it...Now pretend I have the strength to stand us both up, my knees are on fire.”

Peter laughed a little and gave Tony a hand.

Steve waited a little while longer before strapping his backpack back on. “Alright, let’s move, team.” The soldier lead the bunch further along the beach with a firm and assured step. But inside, he was left shaky and confused. Just how much did he miss while he was away? The way he looked at Peter, it was…warm. Almost parental.

In all the years he had known Tony, he had never...Steve had seen him with Pepper, and that woman absolutely had his heart. But this was something else. Something different.

The others, did they notice? They must have. The lot of them had kept up personal conversations and remarks during the entire exchange, but they were also professionals in ways of surveillance. They absolutely heard what was said.

Steve hadn’t been sure what to make of their relationship, but at the same time, he was no fool. That Spider-Man suit had Tony written all over it. Building and making things was his passion. Building and making things for others was a genuine sign of care.

And with all the sub functions and gadgets the suit had…

And while he thought about it, Steve suddenly realized part of the reason why Tony was so willing to send Peter with him to the beacon. The kid would need to learn how to flip the switch himself, should he find himself alone by the end of this. As usual, Tony was a half step ahead of everyone else.

The soldier felt a little bit of shame for eavesdropping on them. But he couldn’t help wanting to learn more. There were just too many mysteries surrounding the two, despite what he’d heard from Tony. Maybe later on, he’d get Peter’s side of things.

Steve smiled a little to himself. Funnily enough, he hadn’t felt this out of the loop since he was first pulled from the ice.

Night eventually fell, and the Avengers set up camp. They sat around the campfire, feasting on another round of protein bars, jerky, and crackers. No one complained—it was all they had, after all—but snacks like these weren’t gonna cut it in the future, especially not with enhanced people on the team.

“I’ll head out tomorrow,” Barton said, nodding towards the jungle, “And see if I can’t find anything to shoot and bring back.”

“What would you even find in there?” Wanda asked. She sat with a blanket wrapped around herself.

“Boars, probably. Wild rabbits...maybe a feral chicken or two if we’re lucky. Could even get a few eggs from ‘em.”

Sam nodded. “And there’s sure to be plenty of fish in the water, even in the dome with us. I’ll start at dawn.”

“Since when did you learn how to fish, Wilson?” Tony asked.

“Uh, since forever. My family owns a fishing business.”

Tony made a face. “You never told me that before.”

“You never asked.”

“Okay,” Clint said. “Fish, meat...not to mention there’s tons of fruit up in those trees. We’ll be alright.”

Peter took a break from looking up at the stars. “Think we’ll see any lions?”

“Lions don’t actually live in jungles, Peter,” Banner said.

“Well, yeah, but...it’s not a regular island, and phone guy could’ve put anything in here with us...right?”

“I...you’re right, I guess so.”

Barnes threw a small twig into the fire. “Well, there goes my sleep for tonight.”

“Phone guy?” Wilson repeated.

“Yeah. It’s what I’ve been calling him in my head. Maestro’s kinda dumb.” Peter’s eyes then darted around, as if he were expecting Maestro to retaliate at any moment. “Sorry man, but that’s what I think.”

Cap steered them back to the topic at hand. “Our main concern is water. Our canteens won’t last us for very long.”

“I preserved some ice from the battle,” Wanda said. “It will buy us some time.”

“Yeah, but not that much,” Sam said.

“I’ll go look, first light,” said Romanoff.

“I’ll come with,” said Barnes.

Tony yawned big. “Good, can we figure out the rest tomorrow? I’m wiped.”

“Someone’s gonna have to keep watch,” said Rogers. “I’ll stay up.”

“No you won’t,” said Natasha, Barnes and Sam at the same time.

“Guys—”

“Steve,” said Natasha, “You almost froze to death fighting Wyatt. If you don’t get some rest right now, I’ll knock you out myself. I’ll stay up.”

“We’ll both go in shifts,” Clint said, driving one of his arrows in and out of the sand. “Five hours each, then we’ll switch.”

“Sounds good to me.” Romanoff casually whipped her head towards Steve, daring him to say otherwise.

Rogers didn’t look happy, but he knew that he was outnumbered. “Fine. But I’ll get the next night.”

“Great, excellent, splendid,” Tony said as they began to disperse to their respective blankets.

Peter stood up, and coughed loud enough for everyone to hear. Once he had everyone’s attention, he moved his arms in effort to shake the nerves out. “Um...so…” He glanced at Tony. “You guys have probably figured out that my identity is pretty important to me. I mean, Mr. Stark wouldn’t have withheld it from you if I hadn’t asked him...Thanks, Mr. Stark, by the way, for keeping it secret.”

Tony raised his canteen.

“Anyway,” He rocked on his heels a bit and entangled his fingers. “I know I have no right to ask you to not to tell anyone else about this...especially when some of you have families.” He looked Clint’s way. “But Spider-Man’s bound to have enemies...and if anyone else knew…if the people I care about get hurt because of me…”

“Kid,” said Clint. “Don’t sweat it.”

"Yeah man,” said Wilson. “Your secret’s safe with us.”

Peter looked at all the rest of the Avengers, and they looked back at him with either affirmed nods or soft hums.

A small smile tugged at Tony’s mouth. If there was one thing he could concede to appreciate about the Avengers, the one thing he could usually count on, was the use of discretion. They were like Vegas, in a way. When it came to personal matters, the Avengers don’t kiss and tell. Or punch and tell. Whichever one.

The kid didn’t know that yet, but he would soon enough. Having to ask them at all wasn’t necessary.

“Oh,” Peter said, and he relaxed. “Uh, great! Thanks.” He lingered there a moment longer, and they were still looking back at him. He lifted a hand. “Well, goodnight, everybody.”

Tony moved close to Peter with his back turned to the others. “You don’t need to say goodnight, they know.”

“Oh.”

With a sheepish smile, Peter made a final wave before going to his place in the sand.

“Need someone to tuck you in?” Wilson called after him.

As they all hunkered down with Clint off on a nearby rock keeping watch, Tony sat cross legged and motioned his finger at his protege. “C’mere, one more thing.”

Peter crawled over on his elbows. “Yeah?”

“About Barnes...outside of battle, I want you to stay away from him.”

“Why?”

Tony sighed with all the exasperation he was physically capable of. He was really getting tired of the kid asking why. “Because. Just do it, alright?”

“Okay,” said Peter, even though they both knew that Tony would be hearing about it later. The billionaire decided to switch gears.

“You good, you warm enough?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Tony eyed Peter’s temples. Now that the kid’s color was back, he could barely see the marks anymore. But he would always remember exactly where they were.

“You’d tell me too, right?”

“Hmm?”

“If you got hurt, or injured, or...anything. You’d tell me, right? I mean, we’re in this together.”

Tony felt himself nod. “Right you are. Now c’mon, let’s get some shuteye.”

They settled themselves underneath their blankets. Peter reached back and fluffed his makeshift pillow made out of three folded sweaters. “This would be so awesome if it wasn’t so scary.”

“Try annoyingly inconvenient,” Tony replied, closing his eyes. “But I get your point.”

It must have been an hour later when he heard Peter whisper over to him. “Mr. Stark...Mr. Stark.”

“What?”

“Are you awake?”

“What is it,” sighed Tony, eyes still closed.

“I can’t sleep. There’s no way I can sleep.”

“Sure you can. Count...I don’t know, count sheep or something.”

“I did. It doesn’t work. I can hear everything.”

It took a moment to realize what Peter was talking about. His senses were dialed to eleven—there was no telling what sounds he was hearing, way out in the jungle.

“Okay, well drown it out somehow,” Tony suggested, still half asleep. “Try 99 bottles. Always worked for me when I was a tyke.”

“Okay.” There was a long silence, and Peter’s hushed whisper began: “99 bottles of beer on the wall..”

“No. I mean—what I meant was, do it in your head, quietly.”

“Oh—sorry. I’ll do that.” Then, “’Night, Mr. Stark.”

“Goodnight.”

Eventually, each member of the team managed to find sleep, with the exception of Clint, who kept vigil. One by one, they dropped off, heeding no nightly jungle noise.

None could have fathomed the sheer chaos that was erupting back home.

Chapter Text

“No way, not him,” said Barnes. “Wakanda is a force, it would take an alien army to storm that place...and I don’t think their reach is as far as they’d like us to think it is.”

“And Vision’s...not exactly fit for action. And how do we know it’s an ally? Could be the bad guys.”

“No. These guys like drama. If they were to make an entrance, they’d want to do it big.”

“Then I don’t get it. If not Rhodes, or Vision, or even Scott Lang, then who? Who else are we missing?”

After a long, tense pause, Tony Stark barged through the group. “Tony! Wait—” He typed in Staten Island Ferry, and went in without a word. “Tony!”

The Avengers followed him inside, only to find a short person in blue and red tights looking down at them from the ceiling. “Mr. Stark!”

5 hours later...

“Thanks for coming,” said May as she carefully handed Happy a glass of water.

Happy’s uninjured hand grasped it, and briefly raised it in appreciation. “Don’t mention it. I wasn’t going to get any rest until I was sure how you were.”

May looked him up and down, sighing. The man had hobbled through the door with a boot on his foot and a brace on his neck. His red face was still sensitive with tiny scars here and there. They sat on a couch together, with Happy’s crutch leaning against the armrest. “Ms. Potts is going to kill you when she finds out that you left.”

After three large gulps of water, Happy smacked his lips, followed by an ‘Ahh’. “We’ve got bigger problems. Pep knows that.”

May found herself nodding silently. Her hands went to her lap, and Happy drew in a long breath. “On behalf of SHIELD, I’d like to extend my sincerest apologies.”

May shook her head. “You don’t have to apologize for them—”

“I do.” The look in his eye was foreign, as if someone had crossed a line. The intensity alone had May sitting up a little straighter. “Don’t get me wrong, I still trust SHIELD. But most of the time, they can be real morons. They should have known better than to scare you like that.”

May inclined her head at that, a little sharply.

It certainly hadn’t been a nice introduction.

She had been driving around in her beat up old car, trying to find a spot to hang up more of Peter’s missing posters, when a swarm of black cars converged on her. Before she even had time to fully hit the break, a bunch of men in dark suits jumped out and surrounded her, guns drawn.

They explained later that they were working for SHIELD, and that she was being put into protective custody. May didn’t even have it in her to be relieved.

“I heard you let those agents have it,” Happy said with a small chuckle. “Wish I was there, I would’ve given anything to see you give those bozos a piece of your mind.”

Averting her eyes, May tucked a strand behind her ear and blew air out of her cheeks. She usually didn’t lose her temper like that, but—for goodness sakes, with Peter and the other heroes missing, what else was she supposed to think? The idiom ‘scared the living daylights’ couldn’t even hold a candle to the state they put her in when she was yanked out of the car with her hands raised.

“Yeah, well trust me, you didn’t miss much. I mean, there I was, just screaming my head off, and they didn’t even say anything back. They just...stood there, looking at me. Really wasn't worth the effort." 

After patiently waiting out her tirade, the supervising SHIELD agents then had May sign a bunch of NDA’s before ushering her into what looked like a simple apartment living space, complete with small kitchen and bathroom. Looking around, she also discovered a medium sized bedroom in the back, and a closet full of folded towels and soaps and things. Shades were drawn over the windows. She wasn’t permitted to leave, and she had been alone for most of the day.

Happy sighed out of his nose. “May, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

The earnest sincerity made her feel a little better. She briefly squeezed is leg. “Thank you. You’re sweet. And I know they meant well. I think.” They exchanged the smallest of smiles before the reality of the situation returned. May finally took a deep breath.

She was told to hold off on any more questions until another agent came by and explained the situation further—but since Happy was able to visit, she wouldn’t let the chance go to waste.

A small part of her felt guilty for extracting information from the ex bodyguard when he was still obviously in pain. But remaining in the dark was definitely not an option. “What’s going on with him?”

“What have they told you?”

“That a group of psychos lead by someone named Maestro captured most of the Avengers. That they’re being forced to fight on an island somewhere. That Peter might be with them...and that they’re all being filmed somehow?”

A spike of anxiety threatened to well up, but May violently forced it back down. She had spent the last few hours agonizing over what was happening to Peter and why, but she ultimately decided that for her nephew’s sake, she would do her best to keep calm and focused. She wouldn’t be able to get anything done if she were a frightened, sobbing mess. She swallowed, soothing her nerves. “Is all of that actually true?”

“I’m afraid so. As soon as I saw the Spider suit, I knew I had to get out of there and get to you. I...guess I should’ve known that SHIELD would beat me to it.”

May’s forehead crinkled. “But, I don’t understand. Just how many people are watching them, exactly? No one would tell me.”

Happy took the time to place his empty glass of water on the coffee table as he searched for a definitive answer. “It’s hard to say. What I do know, is that every television in America is tuned in, by Maestro’s doing. And it looks like other countries are starting to stream this thing. So the scale of this is...it’s getting big.”

The information slowly absorbed. “Okay...okay, so how long, do you think, before they’re rescued?”

Happy looked uncomfortable for a moment, then looked her square in the eye. “Here’s the thing, May. These people...we don’t know exactly what kind of group they are, but they’re advanced. They were able to target the Avengers in ways that no one saw coming, or even thought was possible. But, SHIELD is all over it, trust me. They’ve got equipment, they’ve got technology, they’ve got analysts. They won’t rest until—”

“Wait, are you telling me that they don’t even know where they are?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

“I think that’s exactly what you’re saying. It’s SHIELD, and you’re telling me they can’t find the world’s greatest heroes on an island?”

“They...ran into a few complications. That’s the word they used. They won’t tell me more than that. The point is, they’ll find them. Without a doubt, they’ll find them. It just...it might take some time.”

“How much time?”

“...I don’t know. They wouldn’t give me any specifics, but at the very best...I’d guess probably more than a week, maybe two.”

May stood up and slowly started pacing before suddenly whirling around. “What happens if Peter takes his mask off?”

Happy sat like a stone, flexing his fingers. He didn’t have to say it. May felt the room shift. “...You can’t be serious.”

Silence took up the space, save for the hum of the refrigerator. Breaths came shorter, quicker. “But I’m sure they’ll find them before then, right? And I know Peter, he’ll do his best to keep his identity hidden for as long as possible, even in front of the Avengers.”

“He’ll try,” Happy said, nodding. “But in case it does somehow come off…”

“I can’t believe this.” May resumed pacing, her hands running up against her forehead. “I truly cannot believe this. Can’t they...can’t they at least order a power outage or something, or at least jam the signal?”

“May, I get what you’re saying, but you don’t understand the power these people have. They’ve got money, resources, hackers—no matter what they try, the signal just bounces right back. Trust me, I’ve gone over every option. It won’t do a thing.”

“But that’s my nephew!” May jabbed a finger out toward the shaded window. “There are criminals out there, criminals he helped put away. Every one of them is going to know what he looks like, what his name is, where he lives—”

“We know, May. That’s why SHIELD brought you here. To keep you safe.”

May continued to circle back and forth, her hair billowing around her shoulders. Her hands moved to her hips. “What about Ned? They said he’s in custody too.”

“Yeah, him and his mother.”

“After you leave, I want to talk to them.”

“Uh, actually, no can do.” Happy looked apologetic. “Quite a few people that have close ties to the team had to be taken in, and SHIELD didn’t want to risk the chance of someone attempting to take all of you out in one fell swoop—so they decided to keep you guys in separate safe houses.”

May paused. “But that actually won’t happen, right?”

“Hm? Oh, no, of course not. That’s only worse case scenario, you’re totally safe. They’re just taking extra precautions, especially with all that’s been happening around here. I always thought that SHIELD was a little paranoid, but hey, can you blame them?”

May tried to combat her disappointment. She wanted to have the chance to at least apologize to the Leeds and try and explain everything herself. And, let’s face it—she really didn’t want to go through all this alone.

Happy saw through her. “Don’t worry, you won’t be completely by yourself. There’s actually some people who are gonna be right next door to you.” He gestured to the left side of the wall, and May’s eyebrows furrowed.

After signing the paperwork, the agents all but shoved her in an elevator and escorted her down a hallway, which was long and narrow, and had a few doors on either side. She had inquired about who or what was behind said doors, but they had hustled her into her new living quarters without a word.

“Who else is here?”

“Clint’s wife, Laura. You’ll like her, she’s a nice lady. And her three kids—”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah I know—”

“Clint. As in Clint Barton—”

“Yep.”

“Has a wife.”

“Yep.”

May looked at the wall and back, her brain still trying to process. “...and three kids?”

Happy allowed himself a small smile and shrugged. “What can I say, he’s a private guy. Or at least he was. They’ve been living remotely for a long time, but...with this broadcast thing, it’s safe to say that their cover’s about to be blown.”

The revelation, stunning as it was, brought on a multitude of feelings and emotions, humility being one of them. Her and Peter’s lives weren’t the only ones turned upside down by all this.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of overall dread she felt for her own family. She looked toward the wooden dresser against the wall, and flicked a hand toward it. “I need a TV. They didn’t get me one.”

“I’ll have one sent up.” Happy then fished something out of his pocket. “That reminds me, I got you a few things.” He held up a phone, and May went back toward the couch at his gesture. “My phone ended up being totaled, but I’ve got a new one, and so do you.”

May looked at the fancy thing in Happy’s hand. “What, you mean that?”

“Just for emergencies. I heard you tried to contact us, am I right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t have anyone else’s phone number and security wouldn’t let me in.”

“I bet it was Anderson,” Happy grumbled. “He takes over when I’m not available. He’s a prick. Well don’t worry, that won’t happen again.”

He pressed a few buttons on the phone. “I put my new number in, so if you ever need to call or text, I’m always available.” He made sure to catch her eyes. “Always.”

May nodded, trying to keep her throat dry.

Happy moved on. “I also went ahead and added Pepper’s number too, in case you ever need to reach her again.”

“You gave me Pepper Potts’ phone number?”

“She insisted on it. No more middle man, no hoops to jump through. If you need her, call her. Tony’s number is in there too, though he’s obviously occupied at the moment. Oh, and Colonel Rhodes, just to be safe. We’ve also upped your clearance at Stark Tower, and when the time comes, you’ll get a badge. So if anyone tries to hold you up, just show ‘em that, and they’ll send you right up.”

“Happy, I...I don’t know what to say.”

“Hang on, I’m not done yet,” said Happy, though his face had a pleased flush to it. He started going over all of the phone’s features and mechanisms, and May tried to listen. But all she could think of were all the names and faces of the criminals Spider-Man helped put away over the last year.

She never told Peter, but after she found out his secret, she kept track of all of them. Frightening mug shots flashed across her mind. Gold teeth, wild eyes, scowling lips. Some had rap sheets as long as her arm. Robbery and theft just so happened to be some of the crimes Spider-Man caught them for.

There was one YouTube video she had watched from last March that particularly unsettled her; Spider-Man had just busted a crook for an attempted bank robbery, and he had left the culprit dangling from a web, ready for arrest. While being handcuffed, the man screamed out horrible things at him, even long after he swung out of sight. Cold shivers ran up and down her body as she watched him practically foam at the mouth at someone who wasn’t even there anymore.

Peter had taken it all in stride, assuring her that everything was fine, and that the guy was all talk. But May knew better.

Most people he helped put away were capable of truly heinous things, and May was sure that most had friends on the outside, seeking revenge.

And now...

“...push that button there, sends out a GPS signal. But SHIELD is pretty adamant, so no using the phone for anything other than emergencies, or they’ll confiscate it. You can, however, look up a couple things, within reason.”

He handed her the phone, and her finger pressed the internet icon. A white screen popped up, and a cursor blinked. May drew in a long, shuddering breath. If the world was really watching, then there was no doubt that the internet was already flooded with updates. Her thumb hovered as she tried to rake her brain for a key word. Of course she desperately wanted to know what was happening with her nephew, but at the same time, it honestly terrified her. What would she find, once she looked him up?

Before she could touch the screen again, Happy laid a hand over hers. “Before you do that, there’s...some things you should know about.”

May looked up sharply. What now?

“In the event that the kid’s identity is revealed, there’s...gonna be some people who aren’t gonna take it well. There’s likely going to be investigations—”

“Investigations?”

“Where the kid is concerned. He is a minor fighting crime.”

“Well yeah, but—” May pressed her lips together. Because what could she say? That it’s all a big misunderstanding? That people are wrong to be concerned?

If she were truly, completely honest, and if the shoe was on the other foot, and Spider-Man happened to be some other teenager, May would be outraged herself. What kind of parents did this Spider-Man have, letting their child put himself in the line of gunfire every night? Could they even call themselves parents, or guardians at all?

But...with Peter, it was so different. May had been floored when he confessed all what had happened with Ben, and how many of his lessons he actually took to heart. In fact, those lessons became an essential part of him. Spider-Man was Ben, in a way. And despite her agonizing fears and worries as a guardian, May quickly realized that this was perhaps the last thing Peter and Ben will ever share.

With that in mind, how could she possibly take Spider-Man away? Not only would it crush Peter’s spirit, but Queens would be left without her defender. The choice was practically made for her at that point. But she allowed it, all the same.

“There’s also the possibility of CPS getting involved—”

“CPS?” May shot to her feet again. “What are you saying, that they might try to take him away from me?”

“I only said possibility,” Happy said, holding out a hand. “I just don’t want you to feel blindsided in case it does happen. But we’re already on it, okay? Pepper’s got a dozen of her best lawyers lined up—”

“Lawyers,” May laughed. “No this, this is crazy, this is ridiculous!” Her leg shook as she tried to pace again, but ended up being rooted to one spot. “He’s just—Spider-Man is a local hero. He saves cats from trees and helps old ladies across the street! Why is he with the Avengers, what do they even want with him?”

Happy sat in silence.

His expression wasn’t of pity, which came as a small bit of relief. A mutual agreement seemed to pass through them both, and he watched with a practiced sense of patience and empathy. 

“And I just—I can’t get past the fact that there’s nothing that you, or me, or anyone can do to stop this. Like...is there really, truly nothing? Literally, nothing? ...I feel—”

Don’t cry. She needed to be strong.

“—I feel like I’m just sitting here like a useless sack of potatoes while I’m waiting for my kid’s life to end!”

“End? No, not end.” Happy shook his head, stern. “Is his life changed? Absolutely. Everything’s going to be different, after this.” He sighed, running a careful hand down his face. “If I could prevent it, I would.”

May’s mouth puckered shut, holding in a watery sigh. Her eyes danced helplessly around the room before landing imploringly back on Happy. “What am I supposed to tell him?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Happy said, close to soothing. “Right now, we’re just...gearing up.” He reached into his pocket and briefly pulled out another phone, his own. “Pepper’s gonna send me a notification the moment he’s unmasked. As soon as she does, I’ll send you one.”

“You really think it’ll happen that soon?”

“It might. Look, I don’t want you to to be overwhelmed...though I can only imagine what you’re going through. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least prepare you. I mean, I’d wanna know, if I were in your shoes.”

“Yes...yes, and thank you. I’m just...I’m sorry—”

“Still not done.” He smiled, and weakly, May returned it.

Happy reached down by his good foot and opened the tote bag he had carried in with him, completely forgotten by May. “After I found out that SHIELD took you in, I swung by your apartment and brought you some things. I had to fight tooth and nail to get these through security.”

Curious, May bent down and went through the contents: Her Diary, a throw blanket, a box of teabags, an unused candle that Mrs. Waymen got her for Christmas, spare reading glasses, and…

May pulled out a small, wooden, oval shaped box with flowers printed on it. Slowly, she cracked it open. Her pair of jade earrings. She fought to keep her voice steady. “How did you know?”

Happy’s eyes went back and forth between May and the box. “I, uh, actually didn’t. I was in a hurry, and I just grabbed what thought looked important. The box looked nice. Seemed keep-sakey. I didn’t look inside it, don’t worry.”

Her teeth sunk into her lower lip as she grinned, and she looked his way, eyes shining. Happy cleared his throat. “Anyway, uh..if there’s anything else you need, I’d be happy to try and get it...but it might be a little difficult to get in there from now on.”

May understood. Who knows when they’d be able to return to their apartment—probably never.

She watched the stones flash brilliantly as she gently tilted them from side to side. “It was an anniversary gift from Ben,” she said. “His last gift, actually. He sold off some of his best tools. Saved for months.”

Happy watched the earrings too. “He sounds like a great guy.”

“He was.” Without warning, she left a kiss on Happy’s cheek, much to the man’s surprise. “Thank you.”

She looked back at her earrings and sniffed. “You’ll check on Ned?”

Happy coughed, his face seeming redder than before. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course. And uh...I know it’s hard, but try not to worry about Peter. For one, he’s in good company. And two…” He couldn’t help but look around, even though it was obviously just the two of them. “Don’t tell him I said this. But if you ask me? He’s one of the toughest kids around.”

May’s smile came more easily. Happy was right...there were still positives in this. Peter was a tough kid. And Tony was with him. “Still though,” she sighed, “I can’t help the feeling...”

ding!

A momentary shock wave shot through them both. Carefully, Happy fished his phone back out of his pocket. Heart thumping against her rib cage, May searched his face for any sign.

“What is it?” she asked.

But she knew.

Happy reluctantly looked back at her, and May’s heart dropped. 

Flash Thompson had always hated Peter Parker. It had started in the second grade, when they first met.

At just seven, Flash’s gift of intellect started to garner quite the attention. Any question the teacher had for the class, he would be the first to raise his hand, and answer it correctly. And if the teacher called someone up to the board, who should come marching to the front of the classroom but himself? He had impressed everyone, teachers and students alike. It was how he earned the nickname ‘Flash’.

He remembered the first day he was called that. After school, he sprang out of the limo, grinning like a madman, his backpack thumping hard against his back.

After the maid had made Flash his favorite after school snack, he had gone right up to his room and began to study, hard. Since then, he quickly became one of the brightest students of their entire grade. His tests all came back with a 98 or 99 percent at the top, and his report cards were the envy of all his classmates. All A’s and B’s. Math and Science was his specialty.

At one point his Father looked at one of his reports and actually smiled at him. “Good work, son,” he said.

Those were his actual words. Good work son.

Flash was over the moon.

Everything was perfect.

Then Peter Parker came.

He had showed up one day, about four months into the year. All the adults had been whispering about it. The story was that his parents died in a plane crash the year previous, and was now living with his aunt and uncle. Up until now, he had been home schooled.

Flash remembered the morning he showed up. Large, thick rimmed square-shaped glasses, wild curly hair and big ears. All the other students gave him a wide berth, himself included. No one was mean or rude to him or anything, but they sort of looked at him as if he were some kind of wild zoo animal...fascinating to look at, but only from a healthy distance. And in a dark way, they truly were fascinated. Some thought the story with his parents was some kind of myth. Others thought that some parts were true, but not all of it.

Despite their collective stupidity, their thoughts and actions weren’t necessarily born out of malice or cruelty, at least not on Flash’s part.

It was just...the story was so sad. Too sad and crazy to be believable. No one in class could even begin to imagine losing one parent, let alone two at the same time. And while Flash didn’t really see his parents that often, imagining life without them seemed impossible to his seven year old self.

To him, to all of them, Parker was the living proof of their most darkest fears come to life. So every time they thought Parker wasn’t looking, they would stare at him, watching, waiting. How would he react, they wondered. Would he burst into tears in the middle of class? Would he accidentally call the teacher ‘Mom’, only to remember that his own mother was no more? Would he stare longingly when all the parents came to pick up their children at the end of the day?

Parker, for his part, was pretty quiet. He did his work in silence, and ate alone. They watched him eat an apple one time, and a girl had whispered that she wouldn’t have been able to eat anything at all if her parents were dead.

The adults took extra care to be nice and sweet to him. It was understandable, Flash knew. He was the new kid, and a terrible thing had happened to him. He even felt sorry for the poor sap.

But then, something happened.

Mrs. Beven had a particularly difficult problem set up on the board, and Flash raced to the front of the room before she had even finished asking for volunteers.

As soon as he put the marker down, he knew he had it wrong.

He had come to his conclusion too quickly.

Flash tried not to be too sore about it. As Mrs. Beven assured, the problem was difficult, and it had been stumping students for nine years now.

But when Mrs. Beven asked for another volunteer, a new, hesitant hand went up with the others. Peter Parker. It was the first time he participated in...well, anything in class.

Delighted, Mrs. Beven pointed right at him, and handed him the marker. By then, Flash had done some recalculating in his head, and was now sure he had the problem right this time. He excitedly raised his hand again, only for it to slowly descend. Parker had written the exact same conclusion.

Mrs. Beven didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she whispered in hushed awe, “That’s...that’s exactly right Peter!” She beamed, and led a round of applause that everyone gradually joined in on.

Amazed murmurs mingled with the ovation, and a pencil snapped in Flash’s grip.

From then on, Peter became somewhat of a star student. The teacher started calling on him more often, and gave him special classroom privileges. His grades were also outstanding—nothing but hundreds, and straight A’s.

The other kids hailed him as some kind of freaking genius. Pretty soon everyone started coming to him for help on hard questions, wherein just a couple of months ago, they would have asked Flash.

By the time spring rolled around, Parker was fully accepted by his classmates. It was also around that time when Flash and Peter started competing.

….Well okay, Flash had done most of the competing, but he always had the nagging feeling that Parker was showing him up somehow.

School projects, group assignments, science fairs...Parker always seemed to come out on top without even trying. And Flash, inexplicably, started declining. Not to the point where he was failing or anything, his grades were still excellent. But he was no longer the best. And as years passed, Flash’s indifference toward Parker slowly turned to irritation and jealousy.

In reality, the kid did nothing to Flash. But he irked him all the same. It was just...so annoying! Parker was poor. Wore the same shoes everyday. Barely had any friends, not counting that Ned kid. His parents were dead, and his uncle even died last year—barely any family. He had nothing.

Flash had everything.

And yet...and yet.

Somehow, Flash always felt...beneath him. Somehow, Parker seemed to be strong everywhere he wasn’t. It didn’t matter how many spitballs he blew at him, or what sort of names he called him in public, or how much he trashed his lack of clothes, or money, or cars.

Parker had a confidence, a self assurance that just wouldn’t go away. He was poor, but he didn’t hide it in shame. He was a nerd (Even by Midtown standards), but he expressed his love of Star Wars freely. And even though he had very few friends and family, he was content with the people that surrounded him.

And worst of all, he always got away with everything.

Parker had been a clumsy dork all his life, but last fall had been the worst. He was flighty. Unfocused. He broke all sorts of promises and engagements, and was always late. He even landed himself into detention. Still, people always forgave him.

The shock and novelty of Parker being a complete orphan had long since faded away, but they still bent over backwards for him, adults especially. Whereas if Flash messed up half as much as Parker did…

It just wasn’t fair. It made him irritated. It made him angry.

Everything worked out for Parker. Everything.

So when Steve Rogers pulled away the mask, and Parker’s face was underneath it, the first thought that crossed Flash’s mind was: Of course he is.

He had been watching the broadcast in the living room, his gaze alternating between his phone and the giant flat screen TV on the wall. His fingers flew as he updated his blog every few seconds, dishing out details of the battle. Seeing the Avengers fight up close like this was a wickedly cool experience, the greatest part being that Spider-Man was with them. He liked and admired all the Avengers, but Spider-Man was by far his favorite.

Up until then, at least.

“More Pepsi, Mr. Thompson?” asked Bernard, gesturing to his empty glass. He had been the family butler for the past 25 years, and Flash had known him all his life. “Uh, yeah,” said Flash, still distracted by his phone. “Get me some Lays too, just put ‘em in a bowl.”

“Certainly, Sir.”

Alongside his blog, he was also constantly checking up on a bet he made online. It seemed to everyone that it would only be a matter of time before Spider-Man was unmasked, and people on social media started betting on what he looked like. Was white, black, Asian? Did he have brown eyes or green? Handsome or ugly? Freckles or no freckles? Was his hair dyed, or was he bald altogether?

Flash bet 500 dollars that he was an Italian with a sick buzz cut and tattoos. He was sure of it.

“Don’t worry son,” said Captain America, pulling off the mask. “I won’t tell a so…”

Glass shattered on the floor, and one of the other maids gasped with her hands over her mouth.

Flash later supposed that more than half the staff probably had Parker’s face memorized by heart, since Flash always liked to showcase all of his defaced year book photos. And yeah, he probably complained about him a lot over the years too.

Even the stoic Bernard was white with shock.

Afterwards, Flash got off the couch, snuck into his Father’s study, drank from one of the hidden bottles, threw up, and vowed to never touch alcohol ever again.

He had spent the rest of that night alone in the dark of his room; he had shut off his phone, shut the curtains, locked the door. He stared up at the ceiling for hours until he fell asleep.

The next morning, he had fencing lessons.

During breakfast, he ultimately decided that his main goal for the day was to try and keep his mind off it. After all, it would only be a matter of time before people caught wind of where the Parkers lived. Reporters would come, cameras would descend, fingers would point, and he’d never have a moment’s peace again.

Today, just for today, he would live out his last day of relative normalcy. He had left his phone off, and ordered the staff not to turn on any televisions in the house. No heroes, no Spider-Man, no Peter Parker. Today, he would only focus on Flash Eugene Thompson.

Which was why it was unfortunate that just as the sun was rising, he opened the front door only to find Parker’s face splashed across the morning paper, in all his unmasked, puppy-eyed glory.

The heading read Itsy Bitsy! In bold black letters.

If it weren’t Father’s newspaper, Flash would have ripped it to shreds. Mr. Thompson was currently out of the country on business, and he expected all his papers from The Bugle there waiting for him when he returned.

So Flash calmly went to place it on the nearby lamp table. The pictures on the walls rattled when the door slammed shut behind him.

Shoving in his earphones, he watched the neighborhood go by from the back of the limo. It was brisk and quiet, as usual. And further into the drive, he found that people still went about their daily business like always. He smiled a little. See? The world didn’t stop turning just because Parker was Spider-Man. In fact, nobody cared, not really. Everything was just the same.

He later arrived at the building where fencing classes were being held, and walked up the front steps with his bag slung over his shoulder. In the lobby, he saw the two security guards. One had his elbow on the front desk while the other sat behind it. They were both staring at a computer—watching playbacks, from the sound of it.

“No, seriously! He’s Spider-Man? And you knew about it? Stark, he’s a freaking middle schooler!”

“Dude, I’m fifteen!”

“No freakin’ way,” groaned the guard who was standing, his face scrunched up.

“Yo Mike, didn’t he save you from that robber three months ago?” asked the other guard.

The first guard’s neck went red and eyes flashed. “He got lucky, beginner’s luck. Anyone could’ve taken that schmuck down. I would’ve myself if I didn’t have that concussion.”

“What? You’ve been callin’ him your hero every day since!”

“Yeah,” said the first guard, shooting a warning glance. “Well that was before we knew he was just a dumb kid. He don’t know up from down. He got lucky.”

Flash showed his card and walked past them.

It was easy enough to get excited for today—it was Flash’s turn to finally face off against Laurent, the top of the class. He had trained extra hard for months with a personal instructor, and now he was stoked to show off the fruits of his labor.

Instead, Madame Cartier announced a change of plans, and they spent the duration of class going over simple exercises they learned over the year. Advancing, retreating, standing long jumps, pistol squats—all that boring crap.

Madame insisted that she would be reviewing them closely, but she barely spared her students a glance, spending the duration of class leaning against the doorway and chatting quietly with the instructor from next door. During breaks, Flash heard bits and pieces of the hushed conversation.

“What is that man thinking? Fifteen? Fifteen?”

“I know.”

“I used to think that Stark was somewhat careless—now I know for sure that he’s a madman. For heaven’s sakes, he’s a baby.”

“Just a baby.”

“I hope they are rescued soon, he needs to be in jail. I cannot stand to see him on my screen anymore.”

Piano lessons were next.

His rendition of Fur Elise wasn’t half bad this time, and he was finally able to play all the notes he couldn’t at the beginning of his teachings.

Unfortunately, his instructor had been too busy on the phone to notice. “Yeah, can you believe it? Barely older than my son. They could’ve gone to school together. I’ve got a student here, he’s around the same age. Yeah. No, I haven’t seen that yet. I’m stuck at work all day, I’ll have to catch up on all the highlights when I get home tonight.”

He glanced over at Flash. “Eugene,” he whispered and motioned with his fingers. “Yeah, go on and play, I’m listening. Yeah, yeah. And he actually got down on the ground and fixed his leg? The Tony Stark. No way.”

“Told you it’s Flash,” the teen muttered. He went on playing.

At Tennis, he faced off against a machine. Mr. Yearling was off on the sidelines, gesturing wildly with his hands. “Look. He saves pedestrians, keeps crime down, and catches crooks. That’s man enough!”

“Is he man enough to get killed?” asked a woman, one of the club members. Her gold bracelet glinted in the sun. “How could any responsible adult let him go out fighting criminals every night? Some mother he’s got.”

Flash’s mouth formed a small circle, and he breathed rhythmically as he shuffled across the court. Knees bent. Open stance. Eyes level with the court. Proud and stacked...

“I heard he said he lived with his aunt,” said a second older woman. “What was her name, May something…? Oh, I haven’t watched a thing, but my daughter has been talking about it nonstop.”

“Oh yes, you’re right, it’s May, May Parker I assume. Do we know any May Parkers?”

Closed stance. Swing—! Missed. Keep low, feet shoulder length apart—

“I know a Josephine Parker, but she has no other family—oh, but there’s plenty of Parkers in Queens, I’m sure.”

“Bottom line, he’s doing good for the community,” said Mr. Yearling. “This borough is lucky to have him.”

Swing—the ball sailed.

“I did it! Mr. Yearling!” Flash turned with a sweaty grin. “I did it, I hit the b—” another ball knocked into his face, toppling him off balance.

“Lucky,” the first woman said with the rueful roll of her eyes. “Queens is being protected by a teenager. We’re lucky if we’re not made a laughingstock.”

The balls kept coming, and the machine relentlessly spat them out. Flash gave up and had to curl in on himself, his last line of defense. “Ow—ow, Mr. Yearling—ow!”

“Doing great kid,” Mr. Yearling said, waving a vague hand in his direction.

Later on, Flash winced as he felt Sigrid’s bony elbow dig into his back. “Do you know if he’s rich?”

“He must be,” said the other masseuse, and the two worked on their respective clients as they chatted. “He is close to Iron Man, no?”

“You know what I think. I think he is his child.” Sigrid leaned her weight onto her elbow, and Flash tried not to whimper. “He looks like him. I say he is.”

“Looks like him!” the second masseuse laughed, “They look nothing alike! Oh ja, brown hair, brown eyes. That’s all the proof I’ll ever need!”

“Well, I still say he is! And I’ll bet you Stark sends money to the mother every year, just like the Jones family.”

“I’ve only ever heard the aunt mentioned.”

“Or who the boy thinks is his aunt, if you get my meaning.”

“Ohh, the drama! You can’t make these things up!”

“You truly can’t!”

“And do you think Ms. Potts knows?”

“Oooh, surely. God only knows what she’s seen that man do over the years. Who knows what else she’s had to put up with.”

"Iron Man doesn’t deserve her.”

“He truly doesn’t!” Sigrid then sounded astonished. “Eugene, you are so tense!”

“Tell me about it,” Flash between his teeth.

When he finally returned home, Bernard was waiting for him at the door. “Welcome home, Mr. Thompson.”

Flash grunted and started up the winding staircase. Bernard came over to where the stairs curved. “Francis is preparing buffalo chicken meatballs for lunch. Your favorite.”

“Lunch?” Flash repeated, face wrinkling. “What time is it?”

“It’s 11:30, Sir.”

Flash groaned quietly and his head fell back. “No freaking way…”

Bernard’s eyes seemed soft. “Shall I send it up for you?”

“Uh...fine. Have it put by my door. See that no one disturbs me.”

“Very good Sir.” Flash was about to continue up the steps, but paused. “Bernard...can you maybe get me a copy of the house line’s call log history?”

“Call log, Sir?”

“Yeah—every call that my Father made to the house over the last month. Can you get it for me?”

Bernard looked at him a little strangely, but nodded. “I think I can have that arranged.”

“Good.”

Before Flash could leave, Bernard added, “Oh—and Miss Belfry would like to extend her deepest apologizes for breaking the glass pitcher yesterday afternoon.”

“Pitcher?” Flash had to think a moment. Oh right, her. The maid chick who just started working here a year ago. She had dropped the pitcher in surprise upon seeing Parker’s face. Any other time, Flash would have gone ballistic on her. But honestly, it had been the last thing on his mind. “Uh, tell her to forget it. We’ve got other pitchers, Mother can’t tell the difference anyway.”

Not bothering to catch the response, Flash bounded up the stairs and headed to his room. He shut the door and threw his things by his bed before collapsing onto it. Here he was again, staring at the ceiling. The light behind the curtains gave off a weird feeling—like so much of the world was going on without him. Yet he didn’t feel like being apart of it. He turned his head and looked at his phone, which was still snug in the pocket of his backpack.

He sighed through his nose. He had to check it eventually.

Rolling over, he shimmied it out before flopping onto his back again. Yesterday, it almost buzzed out of his hands right after the unmasking.

Now his phone was screaming at him in consequence of neglect. His grip held fast against the angry vibrations, paired with back to back notification dings. The sheer bombardment gave him a headache, and he went to settings to turn the sound off.

The messages kept coming, but at least now he could hear himself think. He had over 73 missed calls, and at least a few hundred texts. Scrolling, Flash couldn’t help but be somewhat awed by it. It was more than he’d ever gotten in his life. More than half were numbers he didn’t even recognize.

One managed to catch his eye—a text from Betty Brant. He had had asked her out a bunch of times in the eighth grade, only to be brutally shut down, and without reason.

...okay, maybe he could have worded his sentences a little better. But she didn’t have to be such a shrew about it. He had fostered sour feelings toward her ever since. But they made an effort to at least tolerate each other now, because they both existed in popular circles. How she got his number was beyond him. The single blue bubble read:

Did you know???

And that was the question, wasn’t it?

Flash moved the phone to his chest, and he searched the ceiling for answers. His first option had been to play it off...act as if he and Parker were best friends. Get all the interviews, maybe get a hold some of his DNA samples and sell it for a profit. But of course that wouldn’t work. Not with Parker being filmed 24/7. One word from him, and Flash’s story would fall apart like crumbled pastry.

Besides, the last time he saw him was when he had pelted him with water balloons in front of the entire school. It would take an awful lot of convincing for people to believe that they were friends.

Option two: Admit to the bullying, but say that it was all apart of Parker’s cover story. He could say that he knew Peter was Spider-Man all along, and the other teen had asked for his help by pretending to make fun of him, in order to throw off suspicion! Yeah, and Flash was the only one he could entrust with keeping up the lie! In a way, that would make him a hero, wouldn’t it?

...no. The result would be the same. He could see it now, the Avengers sitting by a quiet river, going over backstories...Parker telling them all about how Flash bullied him for years, but never fought back. Even now, Parker had power over him. And he didn’t even know it.

Which, led him to option three, and he really really hated that option—he could play it straight. Be honest with it. Admit to everything. Maybe even apologize to Parker when he got back and make good on all the things he’d done to him.

….Nah, there’s gotta be another way.

In any case, he had to land on something, and he was already taking too long to respond to calls and texts from those who knew him best. He focused on Betty’s text for now, primarily because she was one of the most popular girls in school, and she often had her finger on the pulse of general activities circulating Midtown Tech.

Betty knew anybody who was anybody, and was a huge blabbermouth. Responding to her would be just as good as putting out a public statement—so he would have to tread carefully.

After staring at the screen for a while, his thumbs moved.

He’d play it by ear.

no. U?

He immediately got a response.

No?!??!

Followed by,

like?!!?

He didn’t get anything else after that. She was probably texting multiple people at once, as was her specialty. He scrolled further, skimming over the other texts. Surprisingly there was nothing about him teasing Parker yet. Most were just short brief sentences of pure shock, or questions.

Do you know him? People said you know him. He's in Spanish with us, isn't he? Did you always know he was Spider-Man? Did he ever bring his suit to school? Did you ever see him climb on walls? How did he get his powers? Someone said you knew him since grade school. Did you know?

Stuff like that. Some people only sent walls of shock emojis that cluttered everything.

He tapped on a recent message from his friend Zach, which had an image attached to it. He vaguely recognized it as Peter’s apartment building. A large crowd had already gathered out front, and Flash could see someone in the back trying to sell tickets.

Another image came beneath it, and this time the camera was pointed at a different angle. It was a large white van with a satellite on top of it. Channel 5’s here, said the bottom text.

Flash pressed his lips. It was only channel 5, but still. It was starting. It then occurred to Flash that these news channels had nowhere to broadcast their stuff, so how would they even get their stories out? By streaming online? Possibly.

Speaking of online, he decided to hop onto YouTube and search for clips. He might as well try to catch up on what he missed. Already, dozens upon dozens of thumbnails featuring at least one of the Avengers were put up on the main page. All of them had attention-grabbing titles.

Scarlet Witch DESTROYS ice creatures

Steve Rogers and Tony Stark ARGUMENT

Hawkeye Family REVEALED??

Captain America and Spider-Man vs Freeze Tag FULL FIGHT

And one in particular, which had the still frame of Captain America’s fingers rolling up the mask—

SPIDER-MAN IDENTITY REVEALED!!!

It uploaded only yesterday, and it already had 8.7 Million views and counting.

He had to do a little digging, but he eventually found a channel that was kind enough to upload every sequence in the right order. He found another Spider-Man reveal clip (which had a little less views), and started from there.

It was more than weird, seeing the Spider-Man suit with Parker’s head on top of it. Like some weird fever-dream nightmare come to life. He watched Parker being led down the mountain by Captain America, and he watched the Avengers argue over him. He didn’t even know Spider-Man was there in Germany, none of them did. Just one more detail on top of the pile, he supposed. Flash was numb to it at this point.

It was curious when they found the marks on Peter's head. It...sort of weirded him out, to be honest. He didn't really know what to think about it. 

Then he got to the part where Tony Stark fixed his leg. That clip had nearly as many views as the reveal, and something in Flash’s stomach curled.

“We’ve...I know we haven’t known each other for that long, and all of this is...it’s sudden. It’s crazy, psycho, full on bananas. Look, I know what you’re about, and I know you want to be a hero. You are one. No one wants to take that away from you, least of all me. At the same time kid...like it or not, out here, you’re my responsibility.”

Iron Man and Peter shared a quiet and meaningful look, and that was the last thing Flash saw before the image blurred over. He hastily put the phone down and ran a sleeve across his eyes. He couldn’t stomach anymore. He’d have to catch up later, if the videos weren’t taken down by then.

The last text he read from his messages flitted across his mind.

The Stark Internship was REAL, lolololllllll

Flash snorted a scoff as both hands came up to wipe at his tears. ‘ The Stark Internship.’ Parker and Leeds must have had a good laugh over that.

Wait. Did Leeds know? Oh, who was he kidding, of course he did.

Those two were peas in a pod, and deep dish probably knew from the very beginning. It was actually more surprising that Leeds managed to keep it a secret.

Flash picked up his phone again. He was seized with a sudden urge to ask Leeds something, though he didn’t exactly know what. No doubt the dude’s phone was blowing up, probably ten times worse than his was.

He opened a separate thread that included Zach and his other friend Marcus.

Anyone seen Leeds?

[Zachattack]

Nah

[MarkyMark]

He’s gone bro

Couple guys I know went ovr 2 his house

No answer, lights off. Car is still in driveway

[Zachattack]

The Popo got him, nooooooo T.T 

Flash couldn’t help the chill that ran down his spine. Even after all he’s seen, Leeds being gone made things more real somehow. Would the government come for him next? They weren’t close at all, but he’s known Parker way longer than Leeds ever did.

Well, if they do come for him, they might as well put a bullet in his head while they’re at it. In a matter of hours, he could very well be known as the loser who bullied Spider-Man.

Cringing, Flash rolled over and buried his face into his pillow. Stupid Parker! That self-righteous prick! If he really was Spider-Man this whole time, why did he let Flash play all those pranks on him? For what reason?!

Every time he called him Penis Parker, was he secretly mocking him? Every time Flash stuck his foot out and tripped him in the hallways, was he reveling in how puny and insignificant he was? And every time Flash snuck a thumbtack onto his chair, did he get some sort of sick pleasure out of knowing he could curb stomp him at any time?

What a laugh he and Leeds must have had! No wonder they were so happy all the time.

And where did he get off anyway, letting Flash tell anyone who would listen that his ‘Stark Internship’ was a load of baloney? He didn’t say a word, not one word to defend himself!

Whenever something important came up, it was always: Gotta go, I’ve got the Stark Internship! Oh, sorry guys, I can’t, I’ve got the Stark Internship! Like wow, what a compelling argument! Not!

If their places had been switched, Flash would never stop talking about how he knew Tony Stark.

That masochistic freak! He was sure he hated him even more now.

Flash then stopped and took a deep breath in. Okay, calm down. After all, he might have been the main one tormenting Parker—he could admit that. But there were others—others who roughly shouldered him in the hallways, or threw food at him in the Cafeteria. Heck, Paul Henderson even stole his clothes from the gym locker room last year. Sure, Flash had jokingly suggested it, but he didn’t actually do it.

And when he threw the water balloons that day, didn’t almost everyone laugh? And those who didn’t still did jack about it. He even saw a few teachers in the mix...they didn’t do anything either. Every year he pulled that prank, and they always went about their business.

All this time, no one bothered to stop him. So really, who was at fault here?

Isn’t that how evil triumphs? When good men do nothing, and all that crap?

Not that that implied him, but still.

If people shut him down more often, he would’ve stopped. Honestly, he would’ve. Even Parker, the one who had the power to prevent everything, didn’t so much as lift a finger. So really, it couldn’t have been that serious. It wasn’t that serious. It was just Flash messing around.

And if anyone tried to come at him...well, he’d tell the truth...and then some. Sure, he was the loser who bullied Spider-Man. But there were plenty other losers at Midtown to go around.

Feeling a little better, Flash remembered how hungry he was. He opened the door and found a plate of buffalo chicken meatballs with a tall glass of iced tea and a lemon wedge. The meatballs were cooled now, but still delicious. He plopped into his desk chair and opened his laptop.

He wanted to check one more thing, that being the Midtown Tech Chat board. No one really used it, aside from club leaders posting reminders of upcoming meetings and events. Now it was flooded with messages.

@JessiePrinston

Does he really go to our school?

@LuisChang

I don’t know—it’s what I heard.

@MirandaBernstien

He does. He’s on the Academic Decathlon Team

@LuisChang

He wasn’t at the tournament in D.C. though

@Kevindaye

Dude wake up. Spider-Man saved the entire team, remember??

@EzekielYoung

I know him! We’re in Physics together, Mrs. Warren’s class!

@EliasSavage

He’s been my partner in gym class with me a few times—but he’s average, he can’t be Spider-Man!

@JessiePrinston

Unless he was faking it.

An image was suddenly uploaded, along with the caption,

Courtesy of the Yearbook Committee ;)

And there it was, Parker’s yearbook photo with the school crest at the bottom. He grinned dorkily at the camera, sweater vest and all.

The chat exploded.

@NoahOliver

NO FREAKING WAY

@LucaGonzolez

BROOOOO

@JeneatteSinclair

HE LOOKS SO INNOCENT, LIKE!?!

@MolenaLake

We’re so stupid, lol

Flash closed his laptop, having seen enough. He then proceeded to get out a notebook and pen and his phone, and looked back at all the calls his Father made to him in the past month. He... needed to see something.

Alright, Father. Let's see how many times you call me back now.

The phone rang, and Christine Everhart picked it up on the first ring. “Well?”

“Well, hello to you too.”

Christine didn’t have the patience. “Well?”

“No,” sighed Rodin, trying and failing to hold back his own irritation. “I did a lot of digging and I pooled all of my resources, but nothing came up.”

“Nothing. Are you sure. Mission report December 16^th, 1991.”

“I know all that Christine, but I’m telling you there’s nothing. All those files are classified, not even TMZ could get them.”

“Great. Thanks for nothing.” She hung up and tossed her phone back onto her desk. Sighing heavily, she sat back in her chair and ran her hands through her hair. She wasn’t having a bad day, not really. In fact, it was the most promising moments of her entire career. Ever since the broadcast started, the workplace exploded in a furiously delighted frenzy, and there’s been no rest since. Not that anyone wanted to rest. With news stations being cut off, it was time for reporters, journalists and bloggers alike to shine.

The TV had been running all night and all day, and most at The Empire made a habit of staying over longer, giving the office a more lived-in feel. Christine even brought an overnight bag, just in case.

“No luck huh?” said Gina to her left. The heavy-set woman twirled a pen in her hand and lazily swiveled from side to side in her desk chair.

Christine’s eyebrows did a light bounce. “None.”

“Yeah, me neither. Count yourself lucky though, I got Hawkeye. I’m still waiting for Moe to call in with updates.” A playful smile then crossed Gina’s face, and her eyes trailed up in thought. “Clint Barton, a family man. Who would’ve thought?”

“Well, let’s hope we can at least get something substantial before deadline,” said Christine, eyeing the clock on the wall.

The Empire was currently in a frantic race against the world. The world of publication, that is. Secrets wise, the Avengers were dropping bomb after bomb on screen, and the people would need someone to make sense of it all. As far as anyone knew, the first newspaper or magazine to produce credible and sensational background checks on each revelation would have the print of the century.

Martha Black, their boss, had broken the office up into various groups of three, and hashed out assignments concerning a single Avenger to each group. Christine had violently petitioned for the group reporting about Stark, which she of course ended up being the head of, given her history with the man.

She was currently interested in this December 16^th, 1991 business that Wyatt Sterling had mentioned during his fight with Cap.

It was apparently found in Barnes’ file, and it wouldn’t have been in Christine’s department at all, if it weren’t for the key code prison thing from earlier. Howard Stark was his code. The ‘wrong’ he apparently did. And didn’t Tony’s parents both die that exact same year, on that exact same date? It was definitely worth pursuing.

Trouble was, every lead she looked into, she hit a wall. Team Barnes was having the same trouble.

No one really knew who the guy was, other than the fact that he was Steve Rogers’ childhood friend, fought with him during the war, was presumed dead until recently, and had been preserved and brainwashed by Hydra so he could carry out orders for them. His last public appearance had been of course during the fight against those horrid wasps last November.

No one knew for sure what this so-called ‘Winter Soldier’ had been doing for Hydra all those years. Whatever it was, it was being kept top, top secret.

In any case, it was probably time to switch gears on this, at least for now. The deadline was approaching, and they needed something with more meat on it for their first print. But she wouldn’t let this go. Not for a long shot.

“Here, something to cheer you up,” said Gina. She grabbed the remote and flipped over to camera 2, where Stark was. The ex playboy had apparently stepped on a sea urchin, and was muttering out a series of curses as Dr. Banner tried to get the spike out of his foot.

“You’re right,” Christine chuckled. “That does make me feel a little better.”

It was around the time the Avengers first made camp when people started to notice that several channels had been added, eleven in all. Each channel seemed to focus on one Avenger at a time, but switched people every so often.

For instance, camera 7 had been following Black Widow all morning, until she had gone into a secluded place into the bushes. When it was clear that she was about to start changing, the camera cut to a decidedly less exciting image of Clint Barton picking at something in his teeth with a finger.

Not to worry, folks, came Maestro’s cheeky voice. We’re keeping things PG here—where modesty is concerned at least.

Camera 7 eventually returned when Natasha was fully clothed, and continued to stay on her. The two spare cameras mostly focused on atmosphere and group shots from different angles.

No matter where anyone went, there was almost always a camera on them. Every move was being captured.

People in the office flipped around every now and again, just to check on what everyone was up to. But they pretty much all agreed to stay on Tony. He was where it was at, most of the time.

For now, nothing much was happening. The day was just beginning for the Avengers (It looked like they were three, maybe four hours ahead of the island). All of them rose early, except for Peter, who slept like a rock, even when everyone had washed up and had another round of crackers and protein bars. At one point, Wilson gleefully attempted to stick his finger in Peter’s ear, but Maximoff promptly smacked away his hand.

Then came the first order of business—gathering more nourishment.

While Barton and Romanoff set out to find water, Clint took along Wanda for some hunting. Wilson went to fish, and Banner left a sweating Tony to see if he couldn’t find more edible plant life. No one made an attempt to rouse Peter, who still looked exhausted even in sleep.

Christine and Gina then heard the sound of heels. Immediately, they straightened up behind their desks and tried to look busy.

Martha Black, Editor-in-Chief, walked in, and the office fell into a hush.

Martha was a short woman in her early 50’s, but she was as hard as anything. One look from that lined face was enough to make a grown man cower, and one scathing remark would send a hardened reporter to the bathroom crying. It certainly happened to everyone in the office at least once, Christine included.

“Greyson,” Martha said, and poor Greyson snapped his attention away from the television screen. “Do I pay you around the clock just so you can sit like a dope and do nothing all day? Where’s your report on Banner?”

“I’m just trying to get some new information, Ma’am,” said Greyson, nodding toward the screen. “Liam and Judy are on it, but we have nothing on him so far. I mean, he’s practically fallen off the face of the earth until Maestro pulled him out. Right now, I’m just...waiting. I’ve got no choice, Ma’am.”

“I’ll tell you whether you have a choice or not. And if he doesn’t say anything for the next half hour, start working on what you have. Call up Liam and Judy and make the best out of what you got, clock’s ticking.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Johnson, what do you have on Parker?”

Johnson, tall bald and handsome, was standing in front of a white board, arms crossed. “Waiting on my partner, Ma’am, should have something by the end of the hour.”

“Well come on, make it snappy!” said Martha, her parting advice very much extending toward the rest of the room. The clacking of her heels accompanied her exit.

Christine’s eyes flicked over, and Johnson’s smile slowly grew as he took in the envious glares being sent his way. “What?”

“You know what,” Gina grumbled, grabbing a jolly rancher from her candy bowl and flicking it aggressively at Johnson. “Lucky jerk. Getting Parker.”

Johnson caught the candy with ease and chuckled as he unwrapped it. “Hey. Black had to choose somebody. And that somebody just so happened to be me.”

Gina rolled her eyes toward Christine. “Sometimes I just want to punch him in his perfect face.”

“Love you too, Gina,” Johnson said, popping the jolly rancher into his mouth.

“What are you smiling about?” One of Johnson’s group members came over with a sour frown. Christine forgot his name—if a wicked witch’s snaggle tooth had a face, it would be his. “The Bugle already beat us to the punch.” To punctuate his point, snaggle tooth tossed a copy onto Gina’s desk and slammed it with his fist. “Look at that—‘Itsy Bitsy’? I came up with that, I was gonna use it!”

Johnson rolled his eyes. “Goonley—”

Goonely, that’s it!

“—Anyone could come up with that. And what are you worrying about The Bugle for? You know they’re purely reactionary, there’s nothing they know that the public doesn’t already. There’s no real story. So chill out, okay?”

“Chill out.” Goonley nodded soullessly, hands on his hips. He paused to give everyone the stink eye, then slunk away. “Chill out, he says.”

Johnson only shook his head and turned back to the white board.

Sometime this morning, an intern had rolled it up to the front of the office, and everyone had been putting up key names and places that had been mentioned during the broadcast, as well as a few theories. Johnson had written Staten Island Ferry in the top left hand corner, and had been staring at it for some time now.

“What’s on your mind, Johnson?” Christine asked.

“Ah—nothin’. Just the kid’s code. There was an incident involving a ferry last fall, and I’m wondering.”

Christine understood. She had her doubts as well.

The story was that a few weapons dealers had been holding a secret trade, when one of the chitauri weapons suddenly went off, causing that horrible scare. Spider-Man had arrived at the scene just in time and did his best to hold the ferry together before Iron Man arrived and finished the job.

But now, it seemed like something else had went on entirely.

“Maestro framed it as his ‘ wrong,’ ” said Johnson. “And Stark put that code in pretty quick.” Below, he wrote, Cover up? and drew heavy circles around it. “If Maestro’s right, and the Peter was at fault, I don’t think the kid did it on purpose. He wouldn’t have stuck around and tried to help if that was the case.”

“No, but he almost got all those people killed,” reminded Christine. “He could be charged with reckless endangerment.”

Johnson stared at the board a moment longer before putting the marker down and walking back toward his desk. “Think he meant well.”

She snorted. “Yeah, that’ll go over well in court.”

Gina’s phone rang, and she answered it swiftly. “Gina speaking. Really….Really. And can you verify that? Well you need a little more than...okay just make it quick, or Martha will have me for breakfast. Okay. Bye.”

Her body teetered forward as she rolled her chair back. “We’ve got a location concerning Barton, at least we think we do.” She scurried over to the whiteboard, her necklaces and bracelets clacking loudly together. Christine craned her neck at the words Waverly, Iowa.

“Got a tip,” said Gina, capping her marker, “That there was some big crash involving several suspicious vehicles on the 218 headed toward Janesville. That road is almost completely abandoned, but a farmer’s kid apparently caught it on video—it was taken down immediately, but it was too late by then, several people had seen it. There looked to be some big shoot out, and my source thinks one of the gunslingers was Barton.”

“Are you sure your source can make a positive ID?” Christine asked, skeptical.

“Video was a little grainy,” Gina admitted. “But, yeah. She’s pretty sure. There’s already a handful of journalists headed toward Iowa now, hoping to get a scoop.”

“Okay then. Iowa.” Trying not to roll her eyes, she went to check her phone. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Still not seeing any new notifications, she decided to give Viola Thatcher, an old friend of hers, a call back. She was a news anchor for Channel 3. And despite her poised and professional appearance on TV, the woman had a surprising playful side. Always reliable too.

“Hey.” She tossed her blonde curls over her shoulder as she cradled the phone to her ear. “How are you guys holding up?”

“We’re alright,” came Viola’s sensible voice. “Bored, mostly.”

“Don’t tell me you’re still coming to work.”

“Of course. Every single one of us. We mostly shoot for our social media platforms, but...other than that, Tom and I are just sitting here at the desk. If our signal somehow comes back, we’ll want to be prepared.”

“Ugh, yikes.”

“It’s not so bad. You should see the crew, everyone’s on their phones. It’s like watching a soap opera.” Then, knowingly, “How’s The Empire?”

“Like a bunch of chickens with our heads cut off. But these chickens are about to lay a bunch of golden eggs thanks to Maestro.”

“Aren’t you the lucky one."

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” said Christine, checking for Martha before crossing one leg over the other and leaning back in her chair. “Some of it just comes natural.”

Viola chuckled, and paused thoughtfully. “By the way, Christine...people around the station have been talking, and I’ve been sort of curious myself...what do you have on Peter Parker, anything yet?”

Christine groaned up toward the ceiling. “You are about the eighth person outside of work that’s asked me about him in the last 24 hours.”

“Can you blame them? Half my family thinks that he’s Stark’s kid, or at least a relative.”

“While it wouldn’t surprise me, there’s too little evidence to go on. Personally, I don’t believe it. The kid mentioned that he lives with his aunt, which leads me to believe that his father’s either a deadbeat or dead. Knowing Stark, he probably saw the opportunity to feed his giant ego and swooped in as the hero he thinks he is.”

“Oh, come on, Christine. You have to admit that it’s sort of cute.”

“Cute?  The kid has Stockholm syndrome! The Police are probably having a field day stacking charges against Stark. And I so don’t buy the wise, protective mentor act.”

“Act? For who, the Avengers?”

“Himself. Always knowing what’s best for people, not once taking a good hard look in the mirror. Even if he actually admits to anything shady, he reframes it as ‘necessary action’ for the greater good. And people believe him. It’s insufferable.”

“All I’m saying that it’s interesting to watch. And did you see how he was this morning?”

“Yeah, I saw,” Christine said dryly.

Very very early on, when Christine was still pouring orange juice at home, and before the sun even dawned the island, Tony could be seen crouched with Barnes a little ways from camp, both speaking in low tones. It surprised Christine, to say the least. Judging by his actions, she could have sworn that the billionaire openly despised the man, barely even saying two words to him since the broadcast started. She had to turn up the volume catch what they were saying.

“...and who knows when we’ll actually see home again,” Stark was saying. “If I end up not making it, or if I’m incapacitated somehow, then I need you to do one thing for me.”

“And that is?” Barnes questioned with a raised brow.

“Get him out. Whatever it takes, get him out for me.”

“You mean the kid.”

“No, Wilson. Yes, I mean the kid. If I’m out of the picture for any reason, then you do what you can for him...no matter what things look like, no matter who else is left. If you wanna save Rogers, then by all means, save Rogers. Save the others. But he's your first priority. Don't even think of stepping off this rock until you know he’s safe.”

Barnes' eyebrows raised in casual surprise. “Hm. Interesting. And, what makes you so confident that I’ll do anything you say?”

“Because,” said Tony, “You owe me.”

A long pause stretched between them. Barnes rubbed at his chin, now thoughtful. “Kid’s strong. Say if I try to get him to safety, and he wants to stay with you.”

“You’re a trained soldier,” Tony said with the slight shake of his head. “And I’m sure you’ve got more than a few secret Hydra moves up your sleeve. Use them. Knock him out, if that’s what it takes. Just promise me.”

Barnes nodded after a while. “Okay. Deal.”

“What do you think he meant by that?” Viola asked, bringing Christine back to present. “ 'You owe me’. What’s that about?”

“Heck if I know. That’s what I’m trying to find out. I’m telling you, Vi, this is just the tip of the iceberg. All I can say is, buckle up.”

“Oh, my. Just try and go easy on them, will you? They’re going through a lot.”

“That’s just the fangirl in you, it’ll pass. Now, me? I can’t wait for everyone to see who Stark really is.”

“Well, who knows—maybe we’ll get to see his softer side, if he has one. He certainly seems different with Peter. Sort of vulnerable. Sensitive. It’s...almost attractive.”

“Viola you did not just say that.”

“I’m just making an observation. And yes I know, he’s engaged.”

“No, not that,” Christine said, mouth curled in disgust. “Don’t let me ever hear you say you have the hots for Tony Stark again. He’s beneath you.”

“Come now, is he really so terrible?” Viola laughed.

“Trust me.” Christine tapped her desk with a pen and a sly smile crept across her face. “Besides, if it’s smart men you want, I think Banner’s more your type.”

“Actually Christine, I think it’s time for my lunch break.”

Now it was Christine’s turn to laugh. “What? He’s kinda cute, in an Adrian Monk sort of way.”

“Got it!” hollered a voice from down the hall.

Christine twisted her chair around. “Vi, lemme call you back.”

No sooner did she hang up, Hensley, a short balding man in his 40s (And also part of team Parker) came triumphantly through the door, raising a small flip notebook in the air as if he were carrying the Olympic flame. “Ha ha, I got it!”

The commotion summoned a frowning Martha from her office, and Johnson came up to meet his partner, expectant. “Well?”

Hensley grinned and flicked up the cover of the notebook with a triumphant flourish. “Peter Benjamin Parker, lives in Forest Hills, Queens with his aunt, Maybelle ‘May’ Parker. They reside in an old apartment building on 20 Ingram Street, top floor.”

Everyone stared at him, gobsmacked. “Dude, where’d you get this info?” Johnson asked. Hensley, the self-satisfied idiot, tried to pass himself off as nonchalant, but they all knew better. “I have a friend in the business that just so happens to live in the area...and he owed me a favor.”

“That doesn’t sound shady,” said Gina.

Martha impatiently rolled her hand. “Well on with it, Hensley, what else?”

Hensley quickly remembered himself and cleared his throat, flipping over to the next page. “Right—well, Ms. Parker works part time as a medical receptionist, we’re still working on which Hospital.” He flipped to another page. “She’s widowed, used to be married to a fella named Benjamin Parker, the kid’s uncle. He was shot to death outside a convenient store just a year and a half ago. No arrests.”

“Jeez,” someone said, frowning.

“It gets better,” said Hensley excitedly. “Turns out, kid’s an orphan! His parents, a Richard and Mary Parker, were simultaneously killed in a plane crash nearly ten years ago.”

“No way.”

“Seriously?”

“You making this up?” Johnson said, a threatening edge to his voice.

Hensley raised a hand and chortled, still astounded himself. “I swear on my mother’s grave! Mommy and daddy die, kid gets taken in by uncle and wife—”

“Uncle gets plugged years later,” continued a nodding Christine, “Leaving Peter without a father figure. Then along comes Stark with his money-backed stamp of approval, ready to fill in the void.” Smiling, she shook her head and scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

Johnson crossed his arms. “So are we ruling out the lovechild theory?”

“Well obviously we don’t have a DNA test,” said Hensley, shrugging out his arms. “But who’s to say he isn’t Stark’s? For all we know, Mary could have had an affair—and Peter is around the right age.”

A round of affirmed murmurs went up. “True that,” Johnson nodded with a small smirk. “Mid 90’s, early 2000’s? Stark was that guy.”

Christine didn’t miss the few non-subtle glances sent her way. She shrugged them off with the flip of her hair. Rumors were rumors, after all. And only that.

“Ugh, not the words I’d use,” said Gina, rolling her eyes. “But yeah, that man was worse than a tom cat. Heck I’d be surprised if he didn’t have a few secret kiddos running around.”

“Well, for now, let’s just stick to the facts,” said Martha, reining them all in. “What about the kid himself, anything?”

“Uh, yeah, few notes.” Hensley flipped through more pages. “Neighbors are saying that he’s a good kid. Smart kid. Awkward but friendly...always there to help carry groceries, or fix a busted microwave. He’s a big hit with the elderly. A Mrs. Bernadette Walters even said he was, and I quote: ‘ The most darling boy you’ll ever meet.’ ”

A few scattered chuckles. “Well if Mrs. Walters says so, then I’ll believe her,” Johnson smiled.

Hensley went on with his notes. “They also say that he’s always busy, always on the move...not a fan of school, but does really well.”

“Where does he go?” Gina asked.

“We’ve yet to confirm, but some say it’s Midtown.”

“Midtown,” repeated Martha. “As in Midtown School of Science and Technology? That’s a STEM school. Thought those kids are supposed to be geniuses, they don’t know that an enhanced is among them?”

“Maybe they all kept his secret,” said Hensley with a shrug.

“Doubt it. Too many people, too big a secret. Someone would have talked.”

Goonley came up to them. “Didn’t Spider-Man save a bunch of kids from that school in D.C. a while back? A strange explosion, just like at the ferry. And Spider-Man was there at both incidents.”

They all looked at each other.

“Could be a coincidence,” said Johnson.

“We’ll see about that.”

“We don’t even know if he goes there,” Gina assured.

Christine smirked, having checked her email inbox from her phone, and swiftly opened up her laptop. “Well, let’s just confirm that, shall we?”

“You got something, Christine?”

Christine tapped the keys, smiled, and stood up from her chair. “Don’t I..” She turned her laptop around so that the others could see. “...always?”

A shocked silence took up the space, followed by the sound of chairs scraping the floor as everyone gathered around. It was the kid’s high school photo. “Voila,” she said, placing a satisfied hand on her hip. “Our amazing Spider-Man.”

“Nice, Christine!”

“Whoah!”

“How ‘bout that.”

Gina cooed in distress. “Aw, I could just squeeze his little cheeks!”

“He could also snap you in half,” said Goonley. Gina rolled her eyes and waved him off with the jingle of her bracelets.

Hensley looked at Christine in disbelief. “When did you have time to find that?”

Christine shrugged coyly. “I’ve got friends too. Favors really are the best currency.”

She and Johnson shared a look, and he smiled sarcastically at her. There was more than one reason why she picked Stark to report on, and they both knew it. He and Parker had a history, which made it fair game for Christine.

Martha briefly pulled up her reading glasses before nodding and taking them off again. “Alright, Midtown. Good work Christine, Hensley. Where are we with the other heroes?”

“I have a lead in Waverly, Iowa ma’am,” said Gina, raising a finger. “It could be the Bartons’ place of residence, but we’ve yet to confirm.”

“Can’t use that yet then, put a pin in it,” said Martha. “What else, team Barnes, any luck? No. Team Banner? Wilson?”

“We already know about his family and business in Louisiana,” the head of team Wilson said. “He’s given nothing beyond that yet.”

And that was the trick of it. The Avenger’s lives weren’t necessarily private—you could look up almost everything about them on Google. At the same time, they were the most secretive people on the planet. No one knew of their whereabouts half the time, and their activities were shrouded in even more mystery, unless it made the news. And it was still much too early in the broadcast to get any of the juicer details.

Parker was different though. Unlike the others, he lived on ground level, among all the other plebeians. The bulk of the information they gathered mostly circulated around him.

Christine watched as Martha settled into a moment of thought, and she had a pretty good idea what was going through the Editor in Chief’s mind. If they wanted a substantial scoop before anyone else, then Parker would need to be their focus.

Everyone seemed to come to the same conclusion. “So, what’s our angle?” Gina asked.

“How about the dozens of crimes that he committed?” said Goonley. “I mean, come on. Among other things, Stark gave a teenager a multi gazillion dollar suit of destruction, and what does the kid do with it? He almost gets a bunch of people killed at the Staten Island Ferry and the Washington Monument trying to play hero.”

“He also saves people,” said Johnson. “Sure he’s had screw ups...but haven’t we all at that age? He’ll get better, with time.”

“And how many people have to die before he’s finished with growing pains? I understand where you're coming from, but he’s enhanced, Johnson, any ‘oopies’ he makes could be fatal.”

“Either way we have no direct confirmation on either of those incidents,” said Martha. “Until then, it’s just supposition. Besides that, what you’re suggesting is a hit piece, and he’s a minor. There are rules we have to follow.”

“I’m well aware of them,” said Goonley. “But boss, his identity is already out there. Heck his address is leaking, he’s exposed either way!”

“That doesn’t make it right,” spoke up a voice. Everyone turned to the mousy intern, Jane. She had round glasses and a long braid down her back. She froze under their gazes a moment, before swallowing and drawing herself up a little. “He has rights. We can’t compromise them.”

“His rights are already compromised!”

“Goonley is right,” Martha said with a frown. “The damage is already done. But The Empire has a reputation to uphold, and it’s an extremely delicate situation.” She jerked her thumb back at the screen, which now showed Barton and Maximoff moving quietly through the jungle in search of food. “Writing a hit piece on any of the Avengers this early on could be fatal to this publication. So that’s a no, for now.”

Goonley turned away with his hands on his hips, but refrained from arguing.

“We could write about Stark and the kid,” Johnson suggested. “They might not be related, but they seem to have some sort of close bond.”

“As much I’d like to, no, not yet,” said Martha. “There’s still too little to go on, and either Stark and Parker could tell us more. That could be our next issue.”

“I gotta wonder,” said Gina. “What’s Stark’s plan, if they ever get off the island? I mean, let’s just say, hypothetically, that the whole country isn’t watching them, like they all assume. Would he seriously let him just go on fighting crime, even after everything that’s happened?”

Johnson shrugged. “You heard the man yesterday. Taking away Spider-Man is the last thing he wants to do.”

“Yeah, well that’s gonna have to be reconsidered,” said Christine. “There’s no way the U.S. government is going to let that slide. If you ask me, I see a permanent grounding in the spiderling’s future.”

Gina looked down and sighed, shaking her head. “While I hate that, I have to agree. If he survives this and if he goes on the way he’s going, and gets killed...isn’t that on all of us? I mean, how could we as adults allow him to go on like this? If we let children fight our battles for us, then what does that say about our society?”

Christine perked up. “That’s it. That’s it, we could generalize it. Make it about the super hero climate and how it impacts today’s youth. We could link it back to the battle of New York.”

Martha pointed a finger. “I like that. Where’s Dave from Graphics?”

“On lunch break, Ma’am,” someone said.

“Call him up and tell him to get his butt back here. We’ll use a photograph of Parker and one group shot of the Avengers from 2012, there’s dozens in the archives. Put them together side by side.”

One journalist hesitantly raised his hand. “Actually, I’ve got an old photo of my kids watching the fight on TV, you can only see the silhouette of their heads from the back.”

“Even better, pull up that photo, we’ll go over it together. Hensley, see if you can find out more on Parker. I want interviews from friends, schoolmates, teachers, the whole shebang. Johnson, I want you to go out in the street and get quotes from people, particularly those with older kids; Ask them how their behaviors and outlooks have changed in life since the 2012 battle. Everhart, how fast can you finish your first draft?”

“7,000 words within the hour,” said Christine without missing a beat.

“Good, you’ll head it up then. Lose the home address, keep everything else in. After you finish, come straight to my office. The rest of you get back to work, this goes to bed at three.”

They all dispersed, and Gina made a silent clapping motion, which Christine answered with an exaggerated bow. Johnson snorted and grabbed his coat on the way out.

Sitting back down, Christine fanned her hand in the mousy intern’s direction. “Jane, Jane.”

Jane came up to her desk, and Christine opened up google docs.

“Run to Starbucks for me, will you?”

The young woman wordlessly pulled out her writing pad and pulled out a pencil from behind her ear. “Get me and iced blonde latte with brown sugar and oat milk with cin...what’s with you?”

Jane looked up. “Hm? Oh, nothing.” She resumed writing. “Nothing, it’s just…” her pencil gradually slowed until it stalled. She sighed. “It’s just that...well doesn’t this feel wrong to you? Writing about Parker’s life like this?”

Christine only looked at her. “It’s news.”

“Oh, I know—”

“It’s more than public interest at this point.”

“Yes, I completely understand, but…” Jane’s mouth worked a little. Helpless hesitation wrinkled her face. “He’s...I don’t know. Maestro already destroyed his identity...and I feel like we’re just tearing down what’s left. If he gets back, there’s nothing about his life that’s private anymore. And it’s not just him...I know it's the Avengers, but...they’re sharing things about themselves that they can’t ever take back.”

Christine slowly breathed in and out of her nose, and refocused her attention to her computer screen, typing out the first paragraph. “Look. I know you’re new and everything, but here’s the deal. Ever since the battle of New York, and especially the Accords debacle, things have changed. The superhero business isn’t a private matter anymore; Everyone knows this. And as for Parker, you heard Stark and the others. He chose this life.”

She half ignored the intensity of Jane’s stare. “He’s a kid,” she said quietly. “And even though he chose to be Spider-Man, he never chose to have his life exposed like this.”

Polished fingers stopped typing, and Christine turned and leveled Jane with her stern reporter glare that never failed to stop anyone in their tracks. It certainly seemed to be working.

“Jane,” she said very, very slowly, “Trust me when I say, that no one likes this more than you do. But there he is, there they all are, up there, on our television screens. The people have a right to know what’s going on and who’s out there acting as their heroes.”

Jane swallowed. “Yes, I—”

“And we have a job to do.”

“...Understood.”

Christine’s icy glare didn’t dim in intensity, however. It lingered. “If you need someone to blame, blame Maestro. He’s the one who put them in this position. Not us.”

“Of course. My apologies, Ms. Everhart.”

“Yeah,” Christine agreed, finally releasing Jane from her stare. She returned back to typing. “If you’re still conflicted Jane, no one’s stopping you from taking some time off. Just so you know though, there’s plenty of people out there eager for a job like yours.”

Jane went white. “That won’t be necessary, Ma’am.”

“Alright then. Now as for my coffee, I’ll have an iced blonde latte, with brown sugar, oat milk and cinnamon powder. You can keep the change.”

Jane looked at her, and pursed her lips as she nodded. As she was walking away, Gina called out to her. “Oh, I didn’t know you were going for a coffee run! Jane! Jane come back! I’ll have a Chai tea latte, double pump vanilla…”

As the office settled back into its usual, steady ruckus, the television played on. Clint and Wanda had agreed to briefly split up, and Wanda eventually came across a medium sized boar. Quiet as a mouse, she crept up. With the silent jerk of her hands, red energy surrounded the ugly creature, and snapped its neck. It fell to the ground, dead.

The young woman grinned toothily at her catch. “Clint!” she called. Her head whipped from side to side. “Clint!”

For a while, only the insects answered her. “...Clint?”

Chapter Text

Peter woke to the smell of...smoked fish?

Grunting, he automatically rolled over to investigate, and realized that his mouth was full of sand. “Blegh! Aww, gross...”

He looked up, and there was Steve Rogers sitting by the simmering camp fire, not four feet away. He had a banana leaf in his lap, and he seemed to be eating something from inside it. The soldier offered him a nod. “Morning.”

Captain America just said Good Morning to him. Yesterday wasn’t a dream then.

“Hey,” Peter said, or at least that’s what he meant to say. It came out as an intelligible, grumbled mess at best.

Steve smiled as the teen rubbed his eyes and made a half-hearted attempt at sitting up, only to roll over onto his back. “What time is it?” he muttered, and his hand automatically reached for a phone that wasn’t there.

Right. Deserted Island. Deserted Hydra Island.

His phone was probably back in Queens somewhere, rattling around in his backpack with the rest of his stuff. He’d left it webbed against a building somewhere, and it was highly likely that it was stolen right about now.

“Well, Maestro didn’t pack us any watches,” Steve said with some amusement. “But the sun rose about...two hours ago?”

Peter’s still heavy eyes flicked up towards the sky; Fluffy white clouds flew by with the wind, and from far away, he could hear the crying of birds. He groaned again.

“Morning, sunshine,” sang a cheeky voice. Peter looked over, and Sam grinned wryly at him as he breezed by. A towel hung off of his shoulder, and he had on a change of clothes. He also smelled really nice, like shampoo.

Peter squinted. “How long have you guys been up?”

“Way longer than you, sleeping beauty.”

Feeling more awake at that, Peter sat up and hastily brushed away the sand that spilled off his shoulders and back. He glanced around at the beach again; The rest of the Avengers were nowhere in sight, and everyone’s blankets and belongings had been folded up and put away with the supplies. “Why didn’t anybody wake me?”

“We all had a long day yesterday,” said Steve without a trace of judgment. “And you looked tired. Figured we let you rest a bit.”

Something hot crept up Peter’s neck. A mortifying image popped up in his head of the Avengers, the earth’s mightiest heroes, tip toeing around a snoring Peter and putting their fingers to their lips.

The redness rose to his cheeks and flushed his entire face. Great. It hadn’t even been a day yet and already he was being treated like a little kid. And it had started out so well (Up until the obvious), he fought alongside Cap for crying out loud!

But all things considered, he was still a newbie, a rookie. Yesterday was wild for him, but the Avengers had been through way worse than the likes of Freeze Tag. He needed to step it up, and fast.

Becoming a liability wasn’t something he wanted, or needed. He needed to show the team that he could keep up.

Clearing his throat, Peter stumbled to his feet and raked a hand through his hair, which was a mess. “Well—you can wake me up, next time.”

“Okay,” Steve nodded.

Peter’s eyebrows shot up—he certainly didn’t expect the soldier to grant his request on the spot like that.

It...actually felt kinda nice, to be honest.

“Oh, uh...cool then.” He thought about offering a thumbs up, but decided that it would’ve been too much. Instead he stretched his arms high above his head and took another look around. “Where is everybody,” he asked with a yawn.

“Let’s see, Wanda and Clint went to see if they can bag us a hunt,” said Sam, reaching behind the smoldering black rocks by the fire and pulling something out. “Nat and Bucky went out to look for water...Tony’s around here somewhere. And...I forgot, what’s Bruce doing again?”

“Categorizing plants,” Steve said, still eating.

“Right, categorizing plants. Wouldn’t want to accidentally poison ourselves.” He suddenly shoved a banana leaf against Peter’s chest. “Here, breakfast. Tony said to make sure you eat before you did anything else. Caught it fresh this morning.”

“Oh, awesome, thanks,” Peter said. The fish had been cut into nine neat squares, and was thankfully headless, so Peter wouldn’t have to stare into its eyes. The skin (Or scales?) was a cool red-white color, and it smelled awesome. He sank down on a rock across from Steve and started scarfing it down.

“Whoah there Kirby,” Sam said as he sat down next to Peter, completing the three-man campfire circle. “I haven’t even told you what it is yet. That right there is what we call the Onaga fish. Otherwise known as Red Snapper. And it just so happens to be a sea food delicacy.”

Eyes widening, Peter slowed his chewing, and Sam nodded along, feeling his hands through the air. “That’s right, slow down, take your time. Really start to taste the flavor. Notice the overall sweetness? The hint of nuttiness?”

Peter nodded, even though he only knew half of what Sam was talking about. Steve hid a laugh in a cough, and Sam went on, “See, if I had it my way, I’d pair it with a nice mango relish, add some butter...maybe sprinkle it with little bit of lemon juice. You know, if we weren’t island prisoners and everything.”

“How’d you catch the fish?” Peter asked, curious.

Sam reached behind him. “I saved the net that Maestro used to hold our supplies together yesterday.” He held it up. “Figured I’d use it to catch breakfast. Gave it a good clean, knotted it. Tossed some bait into the water. Works like a dream.”

“Dude, that’s awesome.”

“Hey, gotta use what we’ve got.” He put the net down and pointed a finger at Peter’s fish. “See how I also went ahead and did the gutting and cleaning for you. But consider that as your one and only freebie. Later today, I’m gonna teach you and Wanda how to do it yourselves, but only two times max. After that, you guys are on your own. That’s how I learned growing up.”

Peter nodded, though he didn’t really know if he be any good at it. He was a city kid at heart, and his stomach churned a little at the thought of what the inside of a newly killed fish would look like.

“So, when do you think we’ll leave again?”

“Soon, right after the rest of the team comes back,” said Steve. “We can’t get far without more water, and the extra protein will help us get farther. So when the time comes, be ready.”

After breakfast, Peter made sure to thank Sam again and went to brush his teeth and splash water on his face before going to look for Mr. Stark. He traipsed along the beach until he came upon the faint outline of his mentor standing in the ocean, a little ways out from shore.

Upon running up, Peter also saw that the man was stumbling a little, and had some sort of stick in his hands. “Hey Mr. Stark,” he shouted, and he looked for a spot where he could kick off his shoes and socks.

Since he came to the island in his suit, Peter had to wear the sneakers Phone Guy got for him (Which was weirdly nice of him, in a way). He hadn’t had new shoes in forever, and they were great for running, but they also pinched a lot, despite being his exact size. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too long before he broke them in properly.

Soothing relief came in the form of squishy wet sand as he rolled up his pants and waded out to where Mr. Stark was. “Mr. Stark,” he called again.

Mr. Stark glanced back before refocusing on his task. “There he is,” he said lightly. Peter came up behind him, and Mr. Stark wobbled slightly before righting himself. “Got all your Z’s in?”

“Yeah.”

Mr. Stark looked back again, and this time the corners of his mouth turned up knowingly. “So, how’s it feel? Now that our secret’s out.”

“Weird,” Peter sighed out, like a long held breath. “You know how at the end of a Scooby-Doo episode, the Mystery Gang finally catches up to the scary ghost that’s been terrorizing everyone in town, and it turns out it’s just some guy named Phil? It...kinda feels like that.”

But it was actually a lot more than that. It was freaky, being able to look at his childhood heroes up close, and them looking straight back at him. Him, Peter Parker, and no one else. The protective barrier was gone, the illusion was gone. The snappy, quick-witted mystery figure he’d built up had given way to an average, a lot of times insecure teenager who still put on acne cream in the morning.

He couldn’t bring himself to say it or even think about it too hard, but sometimes he felt like a walking impostor.

“And...what, you think they’re disappointed?”

“I dunno...maybe.” Peter suddenly felt curious. “Were you?”

Mr. Stark had his back turned, but it looked like he was thinking about it. “In no particular order,” he finally said, drawing out the last word, “Intrigued. Surprised. Humbled...Impressed. And trust me, it’s not often that I’m impressed...or humbled...or surprised, or intrigued. By the way, what’s your assessment of the A team so far?”

“You mean what do I think of them?” He paused, shrugging. “They’re pretty nice. They’re...they’re cool actually. But I guess I should've known that already. They’re the Avengers, of course they’re cool. And they’re so calm about everything—nothing ever phases them!”

Peter could have sworn he heard a snort, but he wasn’t sure. “So then lemme ask you this Pete: They treat you any different?”

“Well…” They did all let him sleep in this morning...but then Peter remembered the promise Cap made to wake him up with the rest of the team from now on. And while Sam did cut up his fish for him, he probably did the same for Wanda too, since he planned to teach her how to prepare one. Not because she and Peter were young, but because Sam was nice.

“No,” Peter concluded.

“Anyone holding your hand?”

“No.”

“Anyone make you stay in one spot where everyone can see you?”

“No.”

“There you go then. Not disappointed. They wouldn’t trust you to walk around unsupervised if they thought you couldn’t hold your own.”

That...sort of made sense. He didn’t think about it that way. “Yeah….yeah you’re probably right,” said Peter.

“Probably?”

“Still feels weird though.” A gentle wave came up and rolled through them. “Y’know I...kinda had this thing in my head that I’d be with the mask for a week, maybe. And while we’re fighting, my mask almost comes off. But then there’s helicopters and stuff, and the police come and arrest Phone Guy. And then I’d be like, ‘Ohh, so close, maybe next time guys!’ And then I make this really cool exit and attach a web to a helicopter and fly off or something. Then they’d be like, ‘Aww man, who knows if we’ll ever get to see his face, maybe we’ll cross paths again someday!’ And then maybe like a week later I’ll be on patrol and some dude in sunglasses comes up with a card and says there’s like a new top secret assignment—and then—”

“Happy warned me about your love for cheesy Hollywood endings,” said Mr. Stark.

“Anyway, it’s too bad it didn’t happen that way,” sighed Peter. “At the start I made a promise to myself that no one would ever know who Spider-Man really was—now it’s like, twenty people.”

“Bit of an exaggeration,” said Mr. Stark. “But hey, could've been worse. Your identity's still secret, relatively speaking. Just think of the team as...authorized personnel.”

“Yeah, except the number of personnel is getting a little big for my...” He frowned, watching as his mentor searched the water below as if he lost something. It suddenly occurred to Peter that he actually had no clue on why his mentor was out here. “What are you doing anyway?”

“What’s it look like I’m doing?” Mr. Stark suddenly stabbed at the water with his stick, which was sharpened at the end. “I’m fishing.”

Peter’s face screwed up a little. “Uh...you know Mr. Wilson already caught a bunch of fish, right?”

“Yes, I know Mr. Wilson caught a bunch of fish,” Mr. Stark said testily. He took another stab, and came up empty. “We…” He cracked his neck a little and cleared his throat. “We sort of had a slight altercation this morning.”

Raising his eyebrows, Peter looked over toward the end of the beach, then back at Mr. Stark. “What’d you say to him?”

The billionaire's neck snapped toward him. “Me? What makes you think I’m the one—” He broke off and sighed harshly as a wave came up and rushed against their torsos. A bit of seawater made it into Mr. Stark’s mouth, and he spat it out. “Alright, I may have made a comment or two about his family business. Probably not the smartest—whoah—” He teetered sharply to the right, but Peter was able to catch his elbow. “—Thank you—probably not the smartest move, particularly right before breakfast.”

“So now he’s making you catch your own fish?” Peter asked, eyes widening.

“Well, yes and no. We fell into this whole thing about the art of fish—which was sort of a silly thing to argue about now that I think about it—anyway, one thing led to another. I bet that I could catch a fish, he bet against. Now here we are. Ooh! There!”

He lunged forward at a silhouette, only to be pushed back by yet another wave, way bigger than the last one. He came up dripping, and he cursed at the ocean. “Doggone it. I almost had—are you laughing, Parker?”

“No,” said Peter.

Hair sticking to his forehead, Mr. Stark came up close and locked Peter a dead stare that was so seemingly serious, the teen had to press his lips firmly together to keep any sound from coming out. But he couldn’t help from spluttering a few chuckles, and Mr. Stark smirked a little before pulling back.

“Alright Krusty, since you’re standing here, why don’t you come spot me?”

They both got into position, and Peter squinted down. “Okay, uhhh…” He pointed at a wiggling silhouette. “There’s one!”

Mr. Stark’s hands tightened over his stick. “Where?”

“There!”

His mentor missed and slipped, and the billionare shook his head violently, spluttering. “That was way off Parker!”

“No no, you almost had him! Look, there’s another one...aw man, so close! You gotta corner it, Mr. Stark!”

“I’m cornering,” said Mr. Stark, shaking the water out of his head once more. His posture was more rigid now, and a sort of wild determination flamed his eyes. “C’mon, where are ya? Huh?”

“There!”

“Ya-ah!” His mentor fell completely in, and came up spitting after the next wave.

“Slippery little guys,” Peter commented, half impressed.

Grumbling and muttering, Mr. Stark yanked off the light jacket he was wearing (which was now hopelessly soaked) and flung it off toward the shore. “Come on Parker, are you on my team or aren’t you?”

“Right, okay--" They both spread out. Something brushed against Peter’s foot. “Gaah, something touched me!”

“Well get it, kid!”

“Euuugh!” A thought suddenly came to Peter, and he quickly grabbed hold of his mentor's arm. “Mr. Stark! You don’t think...you don’t think sharks come out this far, do you?”

“No, Sharks don’t...they…” The observed the water in a wary silence. “Well how the heck would I know kid, do I look like a marine biologist? Just...use your sixth sense or whatever, we’re fine!”

“You mean my spider sense.”

“Yes, exactly what I said.”

Peter slowly let go of Mr. Stark’s arm, but he didn’t mention that by the time his spider sense detected a hungry shark, it’d be too late by then.

Regardless, he had a task to complete. Shaking off the heebie jeebies, he knelt down, feeling his way. Something bumped his hand, and Peter grabbed onto it, only for it to squirm out of his hands. “C’mere, you little—!” His fingers then felt something else, much bigger than the last. Grinning, he pulled it out in one swift move. “Gotcha! Here Mr. Stark, I—” The next wave came up, and Peter gaped in stunned horror upon realizing that it was Mr. Stark’s foot he pulled up, and that his mentor was nowhere to be seen above water. Immediately, he dropped his foot and lunged forward, pulling a half-drowned Mr. Stark from the depths. “Hoooly cow, I am so so sorry! I thought it—Mr. Stark? C’mon, don’t look at me like that! It was a complete accide—nonononono, waitwaitwait—GYAHH!”

Mr. Stark had mercilessly shoved him into the water (he had meticulously timed it with the next big wave), and Peter was sent tumbling towards the shore with seaweed in his mouth.

The clouds gradually passed over, and together, Peter and Mr. Stark warred against the forces of nature. Off an on, the two argued, planned, strategized. Somewhere during their struggle, a crab pinched Mr. Stark’s toe, and Peter somehow managed to get himself slapped in the face by a tail fin. Half the time, they ended up snorting sea water out of their noses, and came away with nothing but pebbles and bits of kelp.

But finally, finally, after a long, agonizing struggle that equaled in both progress and defeat, Peter and Mr. Stark emerged from the sparkling waters with one singular medium sized fish. “Whoo,” Peter panted as they practically crawled back onto the beach. He weakly raised his fists above his head, a soaking mess. “We did it!”

He then rested his hands on his knees, taking in gulps of air. The fish wiggled and flopped around in Mr. Stark’s hands, and the billionaire's smile was nearly grim with triumph. “Not so tough now, are ya?” Out of breath himself, he lazily thumped Peter on the back. “Good work, kid.”

Peter could only nod back.

After having gathered up the few belongings they had with them, the pair slowly dragged themselves back to camp. Steve was there waiting, and he raised an eyebrow at both of them. “You’re still messing with breakfast?”

Still retaining a superior demeanor, Mr. Stark smugly held up his prize. “Caught a fish, didn’t I? Where’s Wilson, I wanna rub his nose in it.”

Hands on his hips, Steve glanced down at the fish. It looked like he was trying his best not to smile. “Actually, Sam went to go gather for more fish bait.”

“Eh, figures. Oh well, gives me time to smoke this baby. If he gets back early, chances are I’ll be eating it. Preferably in his face.”

Pulling an interested face, Steve nodded slowly. “Of course. Now all you’ll have to do is gut it and clean it, and you’re good to go.”

The smirk dropped off of Mr. Stark’s face.

Steve then raised his eyebrows at him, questioningly. “You...do know how to gut a fish, right?”

Peter watched Mr. Stark’s jaw work a bit. “Whatever,” he sniffed. “I’ll figure it out. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

An awkward pause filled the space. “Mr. Wilson was gonna show me how,” Peter offered. “I can get him to teach me—”

“Nope, that won’t be necessary.” He turned the fish over in his hands, and he inspected each part of it, like he was tackling a strange new project.

Steve cleared his throat. “Anyway—kid, got a mission for ya.”

Peter perked up and stood at attention. A mission from Captain America! He remembered spending hours with Ned playing that popular Avengers video game, where your character would come up to a full-suited Cap, and he would always send the player on cool missions and side quests and stuff. Now it was actually for real.

“Yes Sir?”

“I was gonna try and head into the jungle to find us some fruit,” said Cap. “I figure between the two of us, we’ll be able to cover more ground.”

“Awesome, where do you need me?”

“We’ll both stay on this side of the island. You take one half of the jungle here, and I’ll take the other.” He looked over at Tony. “At least one of us is gonna need to stay and watch the supplies.

“Hm?” Mr. Stark briefly looked up before going back to analyze his fish, which was now motionless. “Yeah uh, good, sounds great.” He was about to walk away when suddenly he stopped and turned around, forehead wrinkled. “Uhhh, what was I gonna say?” He lifted a finger, and let it hang for a moment before pointing it at Peter. “Right, don’t go far. Keep your eyes and ears out for trouble, holler if you need us. Rules one two and three still apply. Oh, and put away at least three papayas for me. Love those.”

Steve gave him a funny look, and cleared his throat before the billionaire could go any further.

“Uh, Tony? Anything else you wanna add?”

Mr. Stark blinked, and looked between Cap and Peter. “...And uh...be good? Don’t set the jungle on fire?”

“The perimeter, Tony.”

Mr. Stark snapped his fingers. “Perimeter! Right. We all went over it, it’s a done deal, no more than 200 feet into the jungle. Go any further and I’ll...I dunno, I’ll figure it out. Point is, don’t make me figure it out.”

Peter nodded. “Yessir.”

“Now if you’ll both excuse me…” With a thinking tongue out, he gestured his fish and walked off.

Cap watched him go, and with the shake of his head, he turned back to Peter. “Like he said, try not to go too far in. If you can’t hear the sounds of camp, that’s the signal for you to turn back. Understood?”

Peter’s spine straightened, and he gave an earnest salute. “Yes, Sir, Captain America, Sir.”

Steve huffed a laugh, and his eyes fixed fondly on him. “Promise me one thing, kid. Outside of battle, call me Steve.” With a pat to Peter’s shoulder, Cap went to grab an empty pack, and was off.

“Steve,” mumbled Peter, trying it out. Yeah, still weird. But his heart soared at this new bond between him and the Captain. Mr. Stark was obviously still number one, but...Steve was practically part of his everyday life with all the gym training videos and encouraging lessons on proper conduct. And he would always smile at the memory of him at home with Ben watching the battle of New York on TV, completely goggle-eyed at the way Cap used his shield against the Chitauri.

They were all so amazing. They are amazing. And Peter was among them. Shaking the star dust out of his eyes, he quickly grabbed a fresh change of clothes, picked a secluded place on the beach, and plunged back into the water (with soap this time).

Once he his hair was brushed, and his pinchy shoes were back on, he remembered to make sure to take his web shooters along with him. Repairing his suit would be next on the list, since it took a little damage from his fight with Freeze Tag.

“Be right back!” Peter called over to Mr. Stark, who was running a shaky knife down his fish’s stomach.

His mentor didn’t look up. “Yeah, have fun,” he muttered followed by a very unpleasant squishing sound.

Turns out, Peter was pretty good at fruit-picking. His super strength made it easy enough to just shake the coconuts loose from trees, but for the softer fruits, he opted to climb his way up and pluck them out.

It wasn’t long before his satchel was filled to the brim. At that point, the teen found himself pretty far out, but still inside of the perimeter. He could still hear the waves on the beach, but just barely. Peter briefly thought of heading back, but since he finished early, he decided to stay and practice a few swinging techniques. With Spider-Man being almost solely active in Queens, he always had tall, sturdy buildings to count on. Totally different story out here, and their next fight could happen sooner than later. Might as well get a hang of it now.

So, webbing his bundle of fruit to a tree, he latched on to another one nearby. Right away he felt a significant difference. The tree didn’t nearly have the firm solidity of the side of a building, or bridge. And while most of the trees towered over him, they were way too low for swinging, much lower than he was used to. In consequence, Peter ended up face planting, multiple times. He had better luck with the coconut trees, but even they were too thin to latch onto for his liking. At least he could scale them alright.

It was about the seventh time he fell face down on the ground when a pair of shoes stepped into his line of sight. He looked up. “Miss Maximoff,” he yelped. Wanda watched as he scrambled to his feet and dusted the dirt of his clothes. He was just winning in second impressions today. “Uh...hey!”

A ghost of a smile flitted across her face, though her eyes were serious. She came closer, and Peter realized she was carrying something in her arms. Something hairy.

Startled, Peter stumbled a few steps back and pointed. “What is that?”

Wanda only briefly glanced down. “A boar. Don’t worry, it’s dead.”

“Oh...that’s...awesome,” he got out, unable to tear his eyes from it. What was a boar, anyway? A pig? A Warthog? It sort of felt too late in the game to ask.

“Listen Peter...it is Peter, isn’t it?” She came up and placed the boar into his fumbling hands. It was like holding a big dog...except it wasn’t. It really, really wasn’t. One of the furs accidentally brushed up against his chin, and an icky shiver went down his spine. Gross. So gross. “I need you to take this into camp.”

Peter’s eyes darted from the boar to Wanda in panicked, confused intervals. “Where—wait, where’re you going?”

The young woman slipped what looked to be a hair tie from her wrist and started pulling her hair up. “I’m going back to look for Clint.”

“...Wait, Mr. Barton is missing?”

“Not missing. Just…” Her eyes flitted away, trying not to seem troubled. “I just need fifteen more minutes. Take the boar back to camp, and do not say a word to the others. If it turns out to be a trap, we don’t need the entire team falling into it.”

“But—” He stuttered on his words. “I can—I can help! I mean it could be dangerous, and you might need back up or something.”

“No. I will be quicker on my own.”

“But what if you can’t find him?”

Tightening her ponytail, Wanda gave him a solid look. And even though there were no signs of her red wisps, the essence of her power radiated from her. “I will find him.”

Tiny little goosebumps ran down Peter’s arms. But somehow, he didn’t feel afraid. As scary and mysterious as Miss Maximoff was (Especially up close), Peter knew she was also one of the good guys. And, he was also kind of a fan. He was dying to ask about her powers.

Wanda turned away, and hesitated. “But If I’m not back by noon, alert the camp. Until then, not a word.”

Peter’s mouth opened and closed, trying to figure out some other way, another solution. “...B-But—!”

Too late. She had already disappeared into the foliage. Now alone, he breathed out, and tried to sort out what just happened.

So far, they were stuck on an island full of enemies.

It’s technically day two.

And Mr. Barton may or may not be missing.

The teen’s feet shuffled anxiously, glancing between the trees and the boar in his arms with mounting frustration. Miss Maximoff told him to go back, and that she’d handle it herself. And Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers warned him not to go any deeper than he was now.

But what if Hawkeye really needed help?

He couldn’t just stand by.

Gnawing on his lip, Peter was still warring with himself when the branches parted on his right, and he jumped. He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t even hear the man coming.

“Oh, hey, you’re up,” said Dr. Banner. He seemed to be in good spirits, and he had a notebook and pencil with him. “You won’t believe the plant life I’ve found, it’s actually pretty fascinating.” With an excited smile, he showed Peter his notes. “White Batflowers, Monkey faced orchids, Arrowleafs. And look at this, Yarrows. Now they—”

“That’s great, Dr. Banner—hey, can you take this back to camp?”

Peter handed him the boar, and the doctor’s knees nearly buckled. “Uh,” said the man, and ogled at the beast, eyebrows drawn in. “Did you—did you actually kill this?”

“No, Wanda did.” Peter quickly brushed off his arms and started off toward the deeper jungle. Wanda went east, so Peter would head west. They’d cover more ground that way. “Be right back!”

“Hey, where are you going?” Bruce called after him, looking increasingly concerned.

Peter twisted around to face him, his feet still moving backwards. “I’m uh...I’m smelling a lot more fruit from over this way. Mangoes and...bananas and stuff. I won’t go far, just be a second!”

Leaving Dr. Banner in a befuddled daze (And also leaving thousands of viewers shouting at him from their living rooms), Peter turned and scampered off, double checking the web fluid around his wrists. Not as stocked as he wanted, but there was no time to turn back. It would be enough for now though. Best case scenario, he wouldn’t even need to use them.

Hopefully he’d be back before Mr. Stark or anyone else noticed.

The door creaked open.

“About time you got to me,” Scott Lang said. He turned with a scowl that quickly melted away when he saw who walked in.

Nick Fury let the door click shut behind him and moved to the middle of the room, hands folded behind his back. Scott blinked several times. “Uh...not to be rude or anything, but aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

“Only when there’s not a crisis.” Fury nodded toward the metal chair near Scott. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

The room they had thrown him in was small, barely had anything in it. Just a table, and the chair. And of course the door was locked. Scott had no idea how long they left him in here, waiting.

“I’d rather stand, thanks,” he said. The initial shock of Fury’s appearance had worn off, and indignant irritation took its place. “Y’know, you might’ve told your agent that if she at least mentioned she was from SHIELD, I would've come with. Or at least considered it.”

Scott then turned his head to the side and offered Nick a closer view of his right cheek, which had a bruise. “Look, look at that. One minute I’m minding my own business in my own house—next thing I know, I’m being manhandled by a giant blonde woman in heels. Which were really, really sharp by the way.”

“Agent Carter was only doing her job,” Fury said, unfazed. “Time was of the essence and we had to act fast. We couldn’t risk the possibility of you being whisked away.”

Scott’s expression faltered. “Wait, whisked away, what do you mean whisked away, by who?”

“Not to worry, that’s no longer a factor. That being said, we still have things to discuss.” Fury held up something, and Scott could see that it was a manila folder. The Director gestured with his free hand. “Have a seat, Mr. Lang.”

Watching Fury very carefully, Scott slowly made his way over and sat down. Some of his hackles were still raised though, and his fingers drummed erratically against his knees. “Look, I’m not in trouble, am I? Whatever it is, I had nothing to do with it. I’ve been home the entire time, I swear. I can vouch.”

“Yes, I know. Lately, you’ve had your hands full with your security business with Luis...and his interesting friends.”

“...Oh, great. You’ve also been spying on me.” Scott nodded, and his mouth twisted in an ironic smile. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“You’re right, you shouldn’t be.” Manila folder still in hand, Fury approached the table with his arms crossed, and Scott leaned back hesitantly in his chair. “With all that went down with Germany, did you really think we wouldn’t keep tabs?”

“Oh, come on, you’re mad at me now too?” Upon looking at Fury’s expression, Scott cleared his throat and altered his tone. “Look, Cap needed help, and I did what I knew I had to do. I mean, no disrespect to you, or anyone else, but, y’know, we’re heroes. We’re few, we’re tight. We gotta stick together. And I signed your New Accords, so we should all be good….right?”

Nick’s eye simply looked at him. “I’m not looking for explanations or excuses, Scott. What I am looking for is your cooperation. We have a situation at hand.”

Scott was almost afraid to ask. “What situation?”

“A man who calls himself Maestro, real name unknown, has gathered a large team of people and formed some type of secret organization. Who they are or where they came from, we’re not sure yet. But just a few days ago, they’ve managed to do the impossible—overpower and capture the Avengers. Iron Man, Captain America, Black Widow...all of them gone in one fell swoop. Currently, they’re surviving on an island manufactured by Hydra, which is surrounded by an impenetrable dome. To add insult to injury, they’re completely oblivious to the fact that they’re being filmed in front of the entirety of America as we speak.”

Scott rose from his seat. Leaning slightly over the table, he invaded the space close to Fury’s mouth and sniffed. Fury watched flatly as the other man hovered for a moment before sitting back down.

“Okay,” Scott said after a spell, nodding. “So when do we leave?”

“Leave?”

“For the rescue mission.” He paused expectantly. “That is why you brought me here, isn’t it?”

“Not exactly.” The manila folder fell onto the table with a slap and Fury opened it. “This is why we brought you here.”

Pictures fanned out in front of Scott. Strange people and faces he didn’t know. One was of an older guy with a salt and pepper beard standing in front of what looked to be a deli shop. Another was of a pasty middle-aged man with glasses, and it looked like he was leading a bunch of high schoolers in ugly mustard colored blazers.

“I don’t understand.”

“Among the others, Maestro also captured a budding superhero in the making. A vigilante called Spider-Man.”

Spider-Man...oh yeah, he remembered. The dude with the red and blue tights. The sensation of the little bugger crawling over his helmet when he went big still sent a shudder through Scott from time to time.

But he’s not an Avenger, at least not to Scott’s knowledge.

Seeing Scott’s deepening confusion, Nick wordlessly slid one of the photographs into his line of sight. The setting appeared to be a beach, and he picked it up with both hands. “Whoah, you really weren’t kidding,” he murmured. There was Steve, and Natasha and Sam and Tony Stark...and was that Bruce Banner? No one had seen a single trace of him in...literally years.

Frozen in time, the Avengers looked to be trekking across the sand with a bunch of baggage in tow. You could tell from their expressions that they were definitely not enjoying it. His eyes caught a foreign face among the group. “Who’s that?” he asked, flipping the picture around and pointing.

"That’s Peter Parker,” said Fury. “AKA, Spider-Man.”

Scott stared before turning the picture around again, getting a better look. He looked back up. “He’s a kid.”

“For the past year and a half, Spider-Man has been doing hero work in Queens—”

“Hang on, Spider-Man’s a kid?” Scott was back on his feet, and the photograph fluttered stiffly in his hand. “Why didn’t anyone tell me, I could have knocked his brains out in Germany!”

“One could say he could’ve done the same thing to you,” said Fury. “As I was saying, Spider-Man has been protecting Queens borough for some time. Stopping burglaries, rescuing cats from trees, giving tourists directions, stuff like that.”

“Yeah, I know, I’ve seen his YouTube videos,” Scott muttered. Once in a while, when he was still on house arrest, Cassie would come by with her tablet and they’d watch clips together.

And, yeah okay, he’s watched a few by himself here and there. When he wasn’t being annoying, Spider-Man’s sense of humor was actually pretty funny. Or at least decent enough, compared to Scott’s. “But I still don’t understand, what does that have to do with me?”

“For a while, Parker had been able to keep his identity a complete secret. That was, until yesterday. A fight ensued, mask came off—now everyone knows who he is...and more importantly, where he lives. We were able to get the ones closest to him to safety, but the main problem still remains. Thanks to the broadcast, Queens is about to get a whole lot of publicity. And now that Spider-Man is off on prolonged holiday...well, let’s just say the place is gonna get a whole lot more vulnerable.”

The pieces of the puzzle came together mournfully for Scott. “You want me to babysit Queens?”

“Think of it as acting as a temporary substitute.”

“Whatever, same difference! As flattering as this is, I should be out on search and rescue, not playing hall monitor. Come on, just put me in, I’m game!”

“When we get to that point, we’ll discuss it,” Fury said, holding up a firm hand. “Right now, our main task is getting a location.”

Scott stared. “You mean you don’t even know which island they’re on?”

Fury shot him a look, and Scott’s mouth snapped shut. “We’ve run into a few complications. But by and by, we will get through. In the meantime, this is your assignment.”

Scott exhaled thinly, and looked down at the photos splayed out on the table. He gestured to them without enthusiasm. “Who are these people supposed to be?”

“Acquaintances of Parker’s. Unlike most of the team, Parker’s been toeing the line between hero and civilian. In consequence, he has one too many ties—friends, neighbors, teachers—even people he sees on the way to and from school everyday. These are just some of the people we’ll need you to keep a special eye on.”

“Don’t you have field agents for that?”

“We do, they’re already in place. But we prefer everyone’s eyes to be on you.”

Scott didn’t say anything for a long moment, eyes staring at nothing as he went into deep thought. “You said that this guy named Maestro is the one behind this. He shouldn’t have been able to get within 500 feet of the Avengers, but there they are, trapped and stranded. He must have been planning this for years.” He took his thumb and rubbed the middle of his forehead with it. “And the fact that you thought you had to bring me in leads me to believe I could have been one of them...or was at least considered...right?”

“That’s right.”

“Then they know about my life. My routine, my friends...Cassie.” He tossed the group photo of the Avengers back onto the table. “I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to refuse.”

“I told you that was no longer a factor,” Nick said, eye glinting a little dangerously. “You were one of the few that Maestro didn’t want and to our knowledge, still doesn’t want.”

Scott blinked. “Okay, ouch.” Sighing, he shook his head. “Still, the answer’s no. Look, I’m really sorry about the kid and his friends and all...but I’ve got my own kid to worry about, and for all we know these wackos could easily change their minds about me, about the people I care about. As long as they’re still out there, I’ve gotta be around to protect my daughter.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong Scott, but weren’t you just saying to me minutes ago that you signed the New Accords? That means you operate under SHIELD now. Declining on a job is not an option for you.”

“Again, she’s my daughter. And I only signed it so I could get out of house arrest! So that Hank and Hope—” He stopped himself and took a deep breath. “Anyway, why me? What about Colonel Rhodes, or even Vision? He’d keep Queens in line for sure.”

“Colonel Rhodes is on assignment,” said Fury. “And Vision is out of commission.”

“...What, like he’s dead? He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“He’s alive. But we’ll have to do without him for a long while.”

Scott turned away and ran a hand over his mouth and chin. He felt Nick behind him, observing.

“I’ll be honest with you, Scott. The country, the earth is in a very delicate situation. Nine Avengers are gone. Eight trapped on Gilligan’s island, one terribly injured. Right now, I guarantee you that there are some very dangerous people in the shadows who’ve been waiting for a moment like this. Multiple terrorists groups are probably having meetings as we speak. We’ve got to show the world that we’re not completely vulnerable.”

“...Yeah, but even so, I’m just one guy. What will putting me in Queens even accomplish?”

“You’re not the only one. I’ve pulled a few strings and called up a number of people in the superhero business, and most have agreed to lend us their talents..at least until the Avengers return. Enhanced and gifted individuals are still relatively few in number, so we’re placing you all strategically throughout the country, the world. It’ll be impossible for anyone to overlook you.”

Bracing his fist against the wall, Scott dropped his head and closed his eyes. Despite the conflicting emotions going on inside his head, he had to admit Fury was right. This wasn’t just about him fighting off crooks for Spider-Man.

With the Avengers gone the world was in trouble.

That was, if they didn’t act fast.

Scott wasn’t against helping—normally he’d be glad to do it. But this was really bad timing. Maggie and Paxton’s wedding anniversary was coming up and they planned to spend a week at Niagara Falls. Cassie was set to come stay over at his place the day after tomorrow. They had everything planned out. Movie nights, trips to the fair, cardboard obstacle courses, pillow forts and marshmallows. She was so looking forward to it. He was looking forward to it. It was a big chance for them to spend more time together and now...

“Can’t you at least...pick something closer to home? New York is...clear on the other side of the country.”

Scott could have imagined it, but he could’ve sworn that Fury’s voice softened, if only a little. “I know how hard you’ve worked to be closer to your daughter. You’ve lost time with her.”

“Yeah, that’s an understatement,” said Scott.

“Well now she needs you more than ever. You understand that what’s happening could affect her life too.”

“I do.”

He heard Fury move closer. “We didn’t pick you because we felt like it. You’ve got some real potential. Captain America saw something in you, and I’m willing to take a chance on that. We all need to step up, Mr. Lang. Let’s take some of the burden off of them, ‘till they get back.”

Scott didn’t move from his place by the wall. He eventually exhaled, nodding once. “I’ll do it. But I need to make sure Cassie’s taken care of. I know you’ve got people, but I’m gonna need some assurance.”

“Sure. You can ask Hope.”

Scott spun around. “What...Hope? How could Hope—”

“She’s got a suit, a brand spanking new one with wings. And she’s more than capable when it comes to hand to hand combat. She’ll keep an eye on your daughter for you.”

Scott’s mouth opened and closed for a moment. “Have you been watching them too?”

Nick raised an eyebrow.

“...Why do I even ask.” He sighed. “Well in case you haven’t noticed, Hank and Hope aren’t exactly returning my calls at the moment. They’re still miffed about what happened in Germany.”

“They’re still your friends, Scott. Besides, I know a little something about Hank. And I know for a fact that he didn’t raise his daughter to look the other way when a person is in need. Especially when that person is a bright little girl whom she’s particularly fond of.”

Well. Scott couldn’t exactly argue with that. Resigned, he wiped his hands on his jeans, trying to rid the nervous sweat. “I’ll need a phone. Need to make some calls.”

“You can have yours back.” Cementing his word, Nick pulled Scott’s phone out of his coat pocket and dropped it on the table. “You’re not a prisoner you know.”

“Could have fooled me,” Scott muttered, swiping it. He turned it on and scrolled through his contacts. “Actually can I use someone else’s real fast? Hope probably has my number blocked.”

“No need,” said Fury, putting away the photos and heading out of the room. “We already contacted her. And she said yes.”

The door shut, leaving Scott motionless. “Gotta say,” he finally murmured to himself. “Not a big fan of that guy.” He then selected a number and brought the phone to his ear. “Hey, Maggie. Yeah, yeah, I know. Listen I’m sorry but there’s been a change of plans…”

Right away he knew that tracking down Hawkeye would be a challenge. It would’ve been a cinch if Peter had his suit, but he’d left it back at camp, and he couldn’t risk going back without the team seeing him and asking questions. By then, it might be too late for Clint.

His spider sense wouldn’t be much help either. The environment was too new for his senses and he hadn’t had the chance to adjust. Even the slightest hoot would throw him off.

So he decided to do what he would usually did while out on a particularly boring patrol and didn’t know where to look for action —stake out a spot, and listen. Peter was a mover by nature, but something always came up when he just sat still. Part of it, he knew, was due to Parker Luck. If he couldn’t find trouble, trouble would certainly come to him. Handy when you’re Spider-Man, unhandy when you’re Peter Parker. At the moment, he was pulling double duty.

With that in mind, the teen went high up a coconut tree and leapt from top to top before pausing and waiting. The ominous clicks of insects sounded in his ears as they strained for signs of trouble. When it was clear to him that nothing was happening, he fired off a web against a trunk to mark his way back, and moved on elsewhere.

The further he went in, the more dense the Jungle got.

It was darker too—the trees rose high enough to the point where they blocked out most of the sun, yet the heat and humidity had him wiping sweat from his eyes. The air was pungent with the smell of wild earth, and stalks of strange red and purple flowers sprang up from either side of him. The noises got stranger too. Echoes of high pitched yips could be heard from meters away, and Peter was pretty sure he caught the tail of something slither on the ground by his feet.

“Probably a just a lizard,” he quietly reasoned, swallowing. He’s resorted to tip-toeing now, as if he were on his way to grab a midnight snack without waking anyone. His senses might have been wonky, but there was something about this place that nagged at him.

Just then, a sharp, rough squeal sounded behind him. Yelping, Peter whirled around into a clumsy defensive position. “..Oh!” He chuckled a little, lowering his trembling fists. “Hey...hey, buddy.”

A boar, a very large boar, blinked back at him. Like seriously, it was twice the length of Peter’s arms, and it had sharp, ginormous tusks. Fortunately, it didn’t seem like it was interested in him. He—or she—chewed lazily on some grass in the shade.

Peter frowned. That meant his search was probably over then.

No way Clint would have missed a boar that huge. And the boar itself seemed unbothered by Peter’s appearance, which meant that no one had been hunting it...unless somehow Clint found an even bigger boar, and went after it instead. Peter shivered. Just how big could boars get?

Still, despite this new encounter, he couldn’t help but feel that something was off. Like he was still missing something.

Peter decided to do a quick check around, just to be sure. But he couldn’t find a single trace of him. He sighed on his way down from a high tree branch. Maybe Wanda was having better luck. Heck, maybe they were both already back at camp.

Besides, he’d be in huge, huge trouble if Mr. Stark found out he’d gone way past the perimeter. The teen was just preparing to head back when something caught his ears.

A rustle in the leaves.

Peter ducked low in a bush and listened again. Footsteps, and close!

Immediately, Peter scaled up nearest coconut tree and hid himself within the leaves. Right now, the element of surprise was his friend. If Clint was in trouble, or even captured, Peter would get the jump on them.

Heart hammering in his throat, he forced himself to slow his breathing and waited. Someone passed underneath him. This section of the jungle was particularly dark and dense, but Peter could still make out Clint’s silhouette, bow and arrow in hand.

The boy’s eyebrows met together in surprise when he saw no one else with him. The archer wasn’t running from anything and he didn’t seem all that stressed. Clint moved slowly and silently, only occasionally pausing to kick at a spot in the ground or pass a hand over the rough bark of a tree. He was obviously looking for something, and somehow Peter knew it wasn’t a boar. But if not boar, then what?

Silently, he leapt from tree to tree, tailing Clint. Instinct told Peter that calling out to him would be a mistake. The man was intensely focused, and looked like he was hot on the trail of something. Something big. The last thing Peter wanted to do was interrupt. So he shadowed him, taking care to make as little noise as possible.

His mind however was working on overdrive, trying to make sense of it. It was clear that Clint was keeping up the appearance that he was still hunting, and Peter had to admit it looked pretty convincing. Kneeling down and feeling for tracks, checking the trees for tusk marks, aiming his arrow now and then. But every so often, Clint’s foot would slowly tap against the ground before pausing and moving on. The action awakened a deep memory inside of Peter, and his mind instantly went to those old movies he used to watch with Ben, where the detectives would search the walls for secret passageways.

A puzzle piece clicked in his mind, and his eyes widened. Didn’t Cap mention earlier that the beacon tower had a pod, and that Wyatt went inside it? That pod had to lead somewhere, didn’t it?

Was Clint trying to find a way in?

Looking at the man now, there was no doubting it. The knocking and tapping was so incredibly subtle that Peter doubted that even Phone Guy would be able to notice. At least, he hoped he didn’t.

It was a risky move. Even if there was a passageway underground, there was no telling if Clint could even fit inside and crawl his way across, or where it would lead him. Probably somewhere worse.

But the teen couldn’t help but trust Clint’s judgment. This was Hawkeye.

And if Hawkeye had a plan brewing...well, then count him in.

Jumping to the next tree, a long branch suddenly fell to the ground and Peter winced. It was lucky for him that the branch landed softly, and Clint had already moved further away. Peter sighed, silently kicking himself. Way to almost blow your cover Spider-Man. Waiting a moment or two, he kept going, eventually catching up to the archer. 

Down below, the tip of Clint’s shoe knocked against a rock on the ground. Suddenly, the archer spun around and fired an arrow. Peter flinched at the suddenness of the attack. Heart thudding, he looked in time to see the electric death burst of a robot drone (Which was about ten feet away from where Clint was standing) before it collapsed onto its side.

Before Peter could even process what was happening, about a dozen of flat, layered robots sprung from the ground, visors blaring red. Clint took out one after another with deadly precision, but more were coming.

Peter wasted no time. From his position in the tree, he aimed and shot a web at two robots that were coming up behind Clint and knocked them into a neighboring tree trunk, smashing them to pieces. He then flipped onto the ground and fired off multiple webs, stopping the oncoming hoard in their tracks.

Clint’s head twisted around, eyes impossibly wide. “Peter?”

Peter grinned his way. “Surprise!”

But his voice was pitched high with nerves, and Mr. Barton did not look happy, not even a little bit. Jaw tight, Clint went right back into taking out the drones while Peter expertly cleaned out the strays. In all consideration, the robots really weren’t all that big or frightening. Peter soon reasoned that they were too far away from the next beacon, so this couldn’t have been the work of another villain. It was possible that they tripped some kind of security alarm or something, one Phone Guy apparently neglected to tell them about.

For a while, they managed to keep a firm lid on things, successfully keeping the swarm at bay.

Then the lasers started.

In that instant, Clint and Peter went back to back and switched places. Peter gummed up every blaster he saw, causing the robots to build up until they imploded. “Right,” warned Clint, and Peter turned in time to stop a bunch of oncoming drones shaped like squares, and hoisted them up to dangle in a tightly packed cocoon, effectively deactivating them. “Thanks!” he called, to which Clint only responded with a grunt.

Peter gulped. He was about 83% sure that he was in for it later.

It looked like the robots were finally beginning to thin out when something caught the corner of Peter’s eye.

This robot didn’t seem all that different, but there was something about it that made the hairs on the back of Peter’s neck rise on end. It moved straight for Hawkeye, too quick for even the archer to react in time.

Moving faster than he ever had in his life, Peter barreled into him, and they both rolled away from a chill-inducing slicing sound that just barely missed them.

The two tumbled down a deep slope. At the bottom, Clint brought them to a stop and quickly sat up, grasping for his bow. But it was gone, Peter had knocked it clean out of his hands. It was at the top of the slope, out of reach. “Crap crap I’m sorry—” Peter started, but eerie whirring sounds caused both of them to tense.

The robot that just attacked them (Which had an assortment of gleaming knives sticking out of it), and a few others were now crowding around them, visors flashing.

Sitting up on one knee, Peter aimed his wrist, but nothing happened. Wide eyed, he tried again. Empty. He was empty, and Clint was weaponless.

There wasn’t really any time to think about it. “Whoah--hey!” Clint exclaimed as Peter threw his body over top of his. The robots, now in a semi circle, aimed their blasters. Clint was struggling now, and his voice was edging on frantic. “Okay seriously kid, get off. Kid. Kid I said move! MOVE, KID!”

Peter only tightened his arms, holding him down. He hoped his shorter stature would be enough to block what was coming. With Clint’s shouts ringing in his ears, he buried his face and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself.

A shot rang out. Peter jerked. A strangled noise came from Clint.

But neither of them were hurt.

A second shot followed, then another, and another.

Peter jerked his head up and watched stunned as the last robot fell at Black Widow's feet. Her two handguns smoked the air, and for a moment, time froze in the silence. Without ceremony, Black Widow holstered one gun, aimed with the other as she made her way towards them, checking for any more.

There weren’t anymore, but Peter was still glad for her. Like, on the verge of gifting her the entirety of his hard won light saber collection glad. Sweet relief burst in his chest, leaving him a little lightheaded.

The feeling didn’t last though.

In one move, something knocked into him, and he was slammed down on his back. Wheezing, Peter looked wide eyed up at Hawkeye, who was kneeling over him. He had never seen so much fury in a man’s eyes before.

“You broke,” he hissed softly, “Rule number one.”

Chapter Text

Despite the threat being neutralized, it was imperative that they put as far a distance between themselves and the robots as possible. After gathering his bow and arrows, Clint lead the way, his fist tightening over the back of Peter’s shirt.

Even though the kid didn’t resist or put up a fight, Clint’s grip didn’t relent so much as an inch. The three ran about a half a mile or two, cutting through foliage and splashing over little streams before gradually slowing their pace.

They came upon a wide clearing; Not stopping a moment, Natasha went to do a quick sweep around, gun low. When it was apparent that the area was safe, Clint gave Peter a small push forward, in which he stumbled before whirling to face the elder.

The kid’s eyes were round as saucers, and his mouth opened and shut as if to speak, but nothing came out. Peter’s expression easily mirrored his son Cooper’s when Clint caught him at an abandoned warehouse smoking with his friends when they were supposed to be at the movies.

Good, Clint thought. ‘Cause that’s how screwed spider-kid’s about to be.

With him or with Tony, he didn’t quite know yet. But one thing was for sure—he wasn’t gonna let this stand.

Peter wet his lips and began, “I know what you’re gonna say—”

“No you don’t.” Clint’s voice was rough and curt.

The kid swallowed.

Natasha moved in, almost getting in between the two but not quite. Panting slightly, she holstered her gun, and her sharp gaze fixed directly on Peter. “Are you alright?” When a response failed the kid, her hand shot out and gripped his chin. “Hey. Look at me. Are you alright?”

Brain fart, Cooper’s voice chortled in Clint’s head as Peter fumbled for a reply. “I—uh—”

“Not for long he’s not.”

“Clint!” Letting out a small sound of exasperation, Natasha let go of Peter’s chin and gestured with a finger. “Turn around.”

“What?” squeaked Peter.

“Turn around, let me see if you’ve got any hidden injuries.”

“He’s fine,” Clint said with a disgusted wave of a hand. Natasha spun Peter around and did a quick assessment. After tugging at him here and there, she gave a nod of satisfaction. “He’s good.”

“Again, not for long.”

“Now Clint, before you—”

Ignoring Natasha, Clint got up close in front of Peter, forcing the kid to look straight up. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose, barely containing his rage. “What were you thinking?”

“I—”

“You weren’t, that’s what!” Clint jabbed two fingers towards the dense overgrowth, back where they came from. “That back there was the stupidest thing I’ve seen in a while!”

“But—!”

“Aaaahp, nope! No buts! Ands, ifs, none of that.” He stabbed a finger against Peter’s chest, and the kid stiffened. “There was absolutely no reason for you to put yourself in the line of fire like that. You hear me? None.”

“But they were going to shoot you!”

Instead of knocking Peter’s lights out right then and there, Clint snorted humorlessly. “So your plan was to be shot instead?”

Peter was starting to sweat. “Well...no, not exactly.”

“Then what was your plan?” asked Natasha. Her calmer tone of voice was a soothing balm compared to Clint’s fury, but the concern and disappointment was palpable. “Did you actually have one when you went in, or were you flying by the seat of your pants?”

They all knew the answer to that one.

“Well—see—what really—”

“You know of all the rules and restrictions Stark could’ve put on a kid your age, he gave you only three?” said Clint. “Which, now that I think about it, was pretty damn generous in my opinion. For better or for worse, he trusted you to honor those rules. And for what?”

“Well I wouldn’t say they were rules exactly,” Peter stammered helplessly, hands gesturing wildly. “They’re—they’re more like guidelines? And anyway that whole conversion was between Mr. Stark and me, so—honestly I should be mad that you were eavesdropping.”

Natasha raised her eyebrows, and Peter’s face only had time to drop a shade before surrendering his hands. “I—actually take that back,” he said with a weak smile.

Clint nodded, terse. “Smartest move you made today.”

Peter’s eyes dropped to the ground, and Clint blew air out of his cheeks. Easy now, Barton. Reel it in. He’s not your kid. “What were you doing following me anyway?”

“Wanda—” Peter cleared his throat, trying to steady his voice. “Wanda was trying to find you, she said you got separated somehow.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so Wanda put you up to this?”

Eyes wide, Peter waved his hands. “Nononono, that’s not what I meant, it wasn’t her fault! She was….actually the one who told me to go back to camp. She wanted more time to look for you before we said anything about it to the team. But after she left, I...I kinda went out on my own.” His gaze returned to the ground and his ears flushed—probably it sounded a lot less smart out loud than it did in his head. “I...thought I could help bring you back.”

“Did you at least tell anyone where you were going?” asked Natasha. Though once again, they all knew what the answer probably was.

“...No.”

Clint’s lips stretched in a smile. Turning away, he shook his finger toward Peter. “This kid, Nat,” he chuckled. “This kid right here.”

“Look, I know it’s my fault,” Peter said, his anxiety growing. “And I shouldn’t have run off like that. But when I heard you might be missing or trapped somewhere...I couldn’t just stay behind!”

“You could've, and you should’ve. You know why? Because you were explicitly told to stay behind! And oh, by the way, when a comrade finds him or herself unarmed, you don’t just throw yourself on top of them!”

Peter looked incredulous. “Well what was I supposed to do, just let you die!?”

“I didn’t say that, but kid, if it comes down to it—”

“No. No way!” Peter was furiously shaking his head. “I could never do that!”

“Let me tell you something half-pint,” said Clint, near the end of his rope. “I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have. If anything had happened to me, then the best thing for you to do is wait for further instructions. Before you do anything, wait for further instructions. Wanda gave you an order, and you disobeyed it. Point blank. The Avengers are a team. That means we can’t just go off half cocked doing whatever we want! Do you even understand how serious this is? Do you have any idea how badly this could have ended?”

“Yes sir, I do,” Peter admitted. “But—”

“Oh really? What part exactly?” He motioned a finger by his ear. “‘Cause, I’m not entirely sure what gets through and what doesn’t. Must be the ol’ cobwebs between the ears.”

Clint threw a hand out toward Natasha. “What if Nat hadn’t been there? Hmm? What then?” His voice came out strangely. “If you’d been hit, kid...if we couldn’t find any way to save you…Can you imagine how it would feel for me, having to carry your body back to camp?”

Peter paled even further; Any petitions or arguments he probably had prepared were stolen right out of him. But Clint pressed on. “And the team. How do you think they would feel, knowing they let a kid die on their watch? What about Tony, huh?”

“I...Mr. Barton—”

“What explanation could I possibly offer him? What excuse? ‘Sorry Tony, the kid came out of nowhere?’ ‘I couldn’t stop him in time?’ ‘He wasn’t supposed to be there?’ None of it would matter though, would it? Because the kid he promised to look after, the kid he swore to bring back home is dead. Gone. We would’ve had to bury you here.”

“Mr. Barton—”

“Here, on this island! We would’ve had no choice, not until rescue came. We would’ve had to carry that with us. You understand what that means, carrying something with you? Having a death on your conscience?”

“Yes!”

The word flew out of Peter’s mouth before he could stop it, and his knuckles flew to his mouth, startled. Clint stopped short, and even Natasha’s face expressed some shock before settling. The kid’s knuckles remained pressed against his mouth before hesitantly falling away. “I do,” he said quietly.

Peter started gathering up up the end of his t-shirt with his fists, and he didn’t look either of them in the eye. “I let someone die once. Someone...someone I loved a lot.” He breathed in, shakily.

“The crazy...the crazy part was that I’d gotten my powers by then. Had ‘em for about a week. I could’ve ended it. I could’ve stopped it, before it even happened. But I didn’t. And I watched him die because of it.”

Clint and Natasha watched as Peter twisted the bottom of his shirt in knots. “I fight robbers and muggers everyday now. Takes me literally seconds to stop them, I don’t even break a sweat. It’s really awesome, knowing I can actually help someone. But then sometimes...sometimes I see him, in the back of my head. I see him bleeding. And I know that no matter what I do or how many people I end up saving, he’s still dead. Because of me. Because of what I chose not to do.”

Clint closed his eyes. “Kid—”

Natasha shook her head. “You can’t think like that.”

But it was as if neither of them had spoken. “But I can still keep it from happening to anyone else!” Emotion rushed back into his voice, like a pounding headache. “No one else has to die that way, at least not while I’m around to stop it. Because...because when you can do the things I can, but you don’t...and then the bad things happen, they happen because of you.” He turned to Clint, face still void of color, but determined and set.

“I know going after you without backup was stupid. And I owe Miss Maximoff an apology...but they were gonna shoot you. I might’ve been sorta dead, yeah...but you would've been definitely dead. The world would have lost Hawkeye. And not only that. Your wife, your kids...I couldn’t live with that. So I’m sorry, Mr. Barton…”

Peter looked away, and swallowed thickly. “But I’m not sorry.”

A dead silence followed, save the song of summer insects in the far distance. The kid’s face heated up gradually, undoubtedly feeling every inch of Clint’s and Natasha’s stares. He was intimidated by them, clearly. But so stubbornly, stubbornly resolute.

Clint glanced at Natasha, and it seemed that they were both of the same mind. Groaning silently, the archer ran a hand over his forehead, over his nose, stopping at his chin.

This kid.

Part of him wished he could say that he blamed Stark for this, for being a bad influence on the teen. But he knew that wouldn’t be entirely fair. Heck, knowing Tony, he was probably doing his best to set the kid straight, in his own way. Level him out a little, teach him the proper way of doing things. He was failing obviously, but again, Clint could hardly blame the guy.

This wasn’t a simple case of teenage rebellion or a naive sense of heroism, though some of those things definitely factored here.

This went deeper. Much deeper.

Clint threw his hands up. “You know what? This is Stark’s problem, he’ll deal with it. Let’s go, we’re leaving.”

Peter’s head snapped up. “What?” he croaked.

“Yep, we’re heading back to camp.” He rechecked and triple checked his weaponry and nodded. “Got everything?”

Peter’s eyes automatically went to his web shooters, and absentmindedly twisted one of them around his wrist. “We’re going...like right now right now? I mean, do we have to?”

“I’m afraid Clint’s right,” said Natasha, looking somewhat sympathetic. “We’ve been out here long enough as it is. The others will start to wonder about us.”

The web shooter twisted around again, slowly. “Yeah...yeah I guess so.” He jumped a little when he felt two firm claps to the shoulder, and Clint jerked his head. “C’mon. Hup to.”

The kid’s complexion was ghost like, but he ultimately obeyed, putting one foot in front of the other. Clint walked directly behind him, and Natasha brought up the rear.

They had been walking a while in complete silence before Natasha eventually sidled up next to Clint and lightly bumped her shoulder against his. Clint got the message. “Hey kid,” he said, and they all halted. “Give us a minute.”

Peter looked between him and Nat. “A minute...like as in—”

“Go on and walk ahead.” Clint motioned a finger back and forth. “Just keep yourself where we can see you. We’d like a private talk, so if you please, keep your super hearing on mute?”

“Keep in mind we’re both highly trained in surveillance,” Natasha added. “So, don’t go pretending on us. Otherwise…” She hiked up her eyebrows just a little. “We might be perfectly liable to take you out ourselves.”

“With our bare hands,” Clint said in a stage whisper.

Peter’s eyes widened almost comically, but nodded. “Uh, right. Okay.” He turned to go.

“Hang on a sec.”

Natasha reached for the band around her waist and pulled out a water canister. Multiple sat around her hips, reminding Clint of what she came out here for, and reminding him of his own thirst. “Here. Drink that up.”

Peter accepted it with a stiff nod. “Thanks.” He gave them a slightly uneasy look before went ahead, widening the gap. Clint vaguely wondered if the kid actually took their threat seriously. 

He was in the midst of shaking his head when he noticed the look Natasha was giving him. “What?”

“You know what. Are you really going to make me ask?”

No, he guessed not. Maestro probably had mics on all of them, and the plan was blown sky high, but he kept his voice low regardless. “I was trying to find us a little shortcut.”

Natasha caught on quickly. “The pods Steve mentioned. You think there’s a passageway underground.”

“Yep.”

“And you were trying to find a way in.”

“Mmm.”

Natasha clicked her tongue softly. “Not the worst plan. Though if I were you I would've handled it differently.”

“Oh yeah? How much differently?”

“Well for starters I would have given our teammates at least some sort of clue as to what I was doing. Even if it was just one or two people.”

“Alright, I admit it. I should have told you, sorry I didn’t.”

“You can stuff your sorries in a sack, mister.”

Clint snorted. “Alright... but seriously. Everyone was busy, so I figured I’d take the chance. And I would have bet money on the fact that Maestro and pals wouldn’t have anticipated an early escape attempt.”

“You’re right, they wouldn’t have. But you put yourself at risk.” Sighing in half frustration, she shook her head. “Thought we agreed Clint, we were all in this together.”

“Yeah but for how long?” There was a grave edge to his voice. “We’re all on our best behavior, but let’s be honest...the cracks are starting to show; I think you know what I’m talking about Nat. Tension was thick this morning. Plenty of stink eyes are going around. How long do you think the team can go on pretending everything’s hunky dory?”

“As long as it takes,” said Natasha. Clint could detect a trace of melancholy in her voice. “But ignoring the problem doesn’t make it go away. It festers. Gets worse. We should have learned that lesson by now. But hey. What can we do about it? Now’s definitely not the time for a couple’s therapy session. Especially not in front of Peter.”

No argument there. All things considered, Peter was undoubtedly one of the main reasons why the team has remained civil for this long. No one’s said a word about it, but the kid’s presence had a strong effect on all of them, including their behavior.

Because this was their mess. The Avengers’ mess. Peter shouldn’t have to pay for it.

One problem though. The Avengers were a rambunctious crowd, filled to the brim with incredibly exceptional abilities paired with big, strong personalities. Even during their so called golden era, it was a dysfunctional system. Always had been.

The general public would never know it...but sometimes the earth’s mightiest heroes wanted to strangle each other. Some of them actually did. But then later they’d all go out for drinks. A bite to eat, a story to share, followed by jokes and laughter. And there was no question, whether they could lean on each other or not. They put their lives in each other’s hands again and again, without a second thought. The past didn’t matter. All that mattered was the difference they were making, and the unlikely bonds that formed.

Sure there were several hiccups. And far too many headaches. Yet somehow, they always managed to make it work.

But now...now throw in conflicting loyalties, past deceptions, hidden resentments and shattered trust, and...well, they could only smile cordially at one another for so long. And this time, there was no Nick Fury around to break up their fights. Or Thor for that matter.

“To think that there used to be a time when we actually liked spending time with each other,” said Clint with a huff. “This Maestro business would be nothing more than a fun exercise back in the old days. Imagine what that would have been like.”

Natasha smiled a little and hummed in agreement. A fond memory that would never be.

“But take a look around, Nat. No innocents, no vulnerable cities, no villages. Yeah we’re still a team, and we work great together—when the world needs us to. The only times we tolerate each other now is when it needs saving. Take that out of the equation—”

“And we still work great together,” said Natasha, leaving no room for discussion. “But only if we make the effort. Safety in numbers Clint, that’s what we all agreed. No running off half cocked, doing whatever we want.”

Clint’s neck snapped toward her, incredulous. “What? Thought you agreed with me back there, now you’re taking the pipsqueak’s side?”

“Hey, you were the one who wanted to take the lead, so I let you,” Natasha said, putting a little more movement in her hips as she walked. “And besides—isn't it both the parents’ job to put up a united front during a lecture?”

“I wasn’t lecturing him!” Clint said. “I was…” He swept a hand out towards Peter’s lone figure and let it hover while he tried to think of the right word. “I was trying to talk some sense into him! And don’t use that analogy, we are definitely not his parents.”

“Noooo...but once upon a time he was the team’s joint protege, according to Tony. If it weren’t for the Accords debacle—”

“Whoah whoah no, okay? First off, I was well retired by then, and Stark knew it. I’m still retired!”

“Uh huh.”

“No, I mean it Nat. I’ve got enough problems of my own. He’s not my protege, or yours, or Steve’s, or anyone else’s. Tony said that he’d handle the kid, so I’m letting him handle the kid. That’s it, that’s all. I wash my hands of the entire thing.”

“You haven’t and you know it.”

A silent grumble rattled in his chest. A twig snapped underneath his shoes, and up ahead, Clint saw Peter respond with a half head turn. He then quickly faced front again, a frantic sign of assuring them that he wasn’t listening.

Natasha’s voice came softly. “He did try to save your life, Clint.”

“I know,” Clint muttered.

“If he weren’t there, you would have been killed. Or at the very least, gravely injured. And that would have created all sorts of problems for us.”

“I know.” His voice turned rough. “That doesn’t make it acceptable.”

They parted around a large broken log in the middle of the ground before meeting back by each other’s side. Nat’s shoulder briefly rubbed up against his. “Ultron was responsible for Pietro. Not you.”

Clint was silent for a long moment. “Didn’t know we’d be having this kind of talk today,” he said. But there was no heat behind it. He reached out and nicked a twig off a branch and flung it away without passion.

“We can talk about it. I’m not saying now, but...whenever. You never talk about it.”

Clint pretended to take interest in the tangled mass of wild weeds that threatened to trip them up if they weren’t careful. “Yeah well...not much to talk about.”

Nothing much except the fact that he was a twenty-two year old kid with potential that would never be nourished. A kid that had his whole life in front of him, and despite being an annoying little twerp, had more courage than he knew what to do with.

Maybe it would’ve been better if it had been a rash decision on his part. But Wanda had eventually confessed that Pietro perceived time differently, thanks to Strucker’s experiments. Even a simple conversation would move at a snail’s pace for him. So he had plenty of time to think about it. Plenty of time to feel. But he stood there, taking hit after hit after hit.

Call him crazy, but Clint was getting real sick and tired of young punks thinking that they can use themselves as his personal shield.

But it wasn’t just that. It was a lot of things.

“I missed Lila’s birthday,” Clint said.

“I know,” said Natasha. “She’s nine now right?”

“Yep. Almost a decade old.”

“Time sure moves fast. How is everyone?”

“Kids are fine. Missing their auntie Nat. And Laura just got the house refurnished.”

“Did she?”

“Mmhm. She’s really excited for Lila, getting ready for her big birthday bash.” Clint sniffed deeply. “I was actually building her a live-in dollhouse in the backyard. She and Cooper already have one tree house, but...hey, you know siblings. The concept of sharing tends to slip their minds when they get older.”

“And Laura wanted peace?”

“Laura wanted peace.” Clint’s face then twisted into something. Not quite a smile, but not quite a scowl either. “I was out buying some new tools when I was notified by SHIELD that you were missing. Straight after I called Laura, promised I’d be back before she even made the cake.”

“Lila will understand,” Natasha assured.

“She always has. But in a kid way, you know? In her mind, all she’s ever known was…‘ Daddy will come back home. No matter how long he’s been gone, Daddy will always come back home.’ But she’s getting that age now when a kid realizes…Hey, maybe Dad isn’t so invincible. Maybe Dad isn’t the strongest, smartest, bravest guy around. He’s human, just like anyone else. Combine that with the fact that she’s starting to realize just how dangerous my job really is...I didn’t want to put that on her. I already went through it with Coop. I’d hoped that when I retired I wouldn’t have to start that up again with the other two.”

He briefly wet his lips. He felt jittery all of a sudden. “I just...I gotta get back to ‘em, Nat. Not just because I missed my daughter’s birthday, or because I miss the heck out of my family. It’s...this place.” His voice was suddenly a low hiss. “It’s this place Nat, I don’t know what it is. But I’ve got a bad feeling.”

It had been a hot minute since he was last on edge like this. Decades, to be specific. There was nothing visually odd about the island, nothing to cause immediate alarm...but Clint was never one to ignore his instincts. Something was looming. Something bad. And he didn’t care to stick around long enough to find out what that was.

Natasha to his shock, nodded. “Thought I was the only one.”

He gripped her arm, stopping abruptly. “You too?”

Only now did Clint notice the sheen of sweat on Natasha’s forehead. Something told him it wasn’t due to the heat. “All the more reason why we need to be very careful out here Clint. Especially with Peter around. Like it or not we’re setting an example for him. We will find a way, Clint. Together.”

Natasha’s free hand seized out and squeezed Clint’s arm, the two of them now gripping each other. “Promise me. No more surprises.”

Clint watched her carefully.

Funny thing about Nat.

Most of the time, Clint could read her like a book. There were barely any secrets between them. But once in a blue moon there were instances when he couldn’t gauge a thing.

Just one of those fun little things that kept their friendship interesting.

Looking at her now it sure seemed like she was being sincere. But Clint couldn’t help but wonder if she actually meant what she was saying, or if she was simply playing it up for Maestro and his minions.

“No more surprises,” said Clint. His lips pulled in a smile.

“Good,” said Natasha. The two of them relaxed, and Nat’s mood changed in an instant. Smiling, she gave him a light hit to the arm. “Remember, you’re still the voice of reason around here. Don’t go leaving me alone with these blockheads.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They eventually caught up with the kid, who jumped at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder (Now the kid listens), and all was silent for a while.

Soon enough, parts of the jungle started looking more familiar, and the kid started noticing trails of dissolving web fluid on the side of trees blowing in the wind; Apparently he used them to mark his way back. Other than that, the kid himself had been quiet the entire way.

The expression on his face was one Clint had seen thousands of times before, when either he or Laura would catch their little angels red handed with something. As per usual, they would subsequently be told to either sit on the couch or go wait in their respective rooms, giving Lila or Cooper time to think about what they did, and about the appropriate punishment they should receive.

Peter Parker could have easily fit on that couch, resigned and awaiting his fate. Because in his mind, the worst was yet to come.

Clint had been determined not to say anything else to the kid—he had already gotten everything he needed to off his chest, there was nothing more to add. But when they happened upon a bundle of fruit that was entrapped by a slowly dissolving web (Another thing Peter left behind), the words were out before Clint could fully regret them. “Nat, you go on ahead. I need a minute with Pete.”

Peter’s head snapped to him.

“Oh?” Natasha said, and she batted her eyes quizzically at him. Clint nearly narrowed his in response. Don’t get cute. “We’ll only be a second.”

She nodded. “Alright then. Here, in the meantime drink up.” She handed Clint a canteen from her belt, and Peter gave her back the one she had given him earlier.

“Thank you,” Nat hummed.

“Thank you.” Peter’s face heated up again, and he clarified himself. “I mean uh, thank you for saving us...Miss Black Widow...ma’am.”

Natasha clipped the canteen to her belt and looked back at him. The thought of teasing him definitely crossed her mind—but she didn’t. “You know most of my friends just call me Natasha. Or Nat, if you prefer.”

It took a long minute for Peter to catch on. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “Oh, you want us to be friends! I—that’s what you meant, right? Like for real?”

Natasha nodded coolly, though her lips barely repressed a smile. Clint had to give her props for not laughing outright. “For real, for real.” Peter looked back at Clint as if he needed a second person to verify what was happening, and the man simply turned away with a soft sigh.

“After all, we’re part of a team,” said Natasha said, bringing Peter’s attention back. “And you just saved a very dear friend of mine. I think we can do away with formalities.” Then she angled her chin downward. “But for the record? Don’t ever pull a stunt like that again.”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

Nat was smiling again. “Thought I told you, it’s Natasha.” She gave Peter a passing pat on the cheek as she left. Over her shoulder she called out, “Don’t make me have to come after you boys.”

Clint waved a hand. “Like I said, won’t take but a minute.”

They watched her disappear into the trees, and Peter slowly turned to Clint. His fingers lingered on his cheek as if Nat had either kissed him or slapped him instead of a simple pat. His hand quickly dropped when he felt the full weight of Clint’s gaze—still, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling in half awe. “I just made friends with Black Widow.”

“Yeah, I saw that.” He sighed and put his hands on his hips. The kid was apprehensive, he could tell. His stance was slightly angled away from him, and he was subconsciously biting his lip—as if Clint were the Principal or something, and he was being cornered in the hallway.

Can’t have that, I guess.

He jerked his head toward a nearby cluster of rocks. “C’mon. Let’s have a man to man talk. You and me.”

Instantly there was a change. A flicker in those surprised eyes, a sudden spark. Peter followed Clint without a word and promptly parked himself on a large boulder, hands resting on his knees and back straight with attention.

Clint’s heart felt a small pang at that. These kinds of talks didn’t come around often then, if at all.

Ever since his son turned ten, Cooper always complained about having to be dragged out of bed to go fishing (Which he used to love by the way), or being forced to come help fix the roof before the next storm hit. And Clint would always ruffle his hair and chuckle, joking to his preteen how lucky he was to have an uncool dad like him in his life. Trust me kiddo, he’d say to Cooper’s sullen face. One day you’ll look back and appreciate all the times we replaced these lame-ass shingles together.

Now, he was sure that he’d drive it home. Because there were kids out there who didn’t have a dad, period.

Leaning his foot on one sturdy rock, he rested one elbow on his knee and pressed the knuckles of one hand against his mouth. The two looked at each other for a long moment before Clint finally said, “This might sound like a strange question, but...you ever find yourself having dark thoughts lately?”

“Huh?”

“Maybe, sometimes you feel headaches coming on? You ever find yourself losing interest in a favorite hobby of yours?”

Peter looked perplexed. “Uh...no, not really?”

“Hm. You drink any alcohol?”

“I’m not old enough to drink.”

“Like I said, you drinking any alcohol? I’m not here to judge, I’m just curious.”

“No sir.”

“You do any drugs?”

“Drugs!? Wait are you—are you asking if I’m depressed or something?”

“I’m not saying you are,” said Clint with a shrug. “I’m just trying to get a sense. Look, I don’t have all the details of what you went through—but stuff like that can weigh on you. Trust me, I know. Everyone copes differently after a traumatic event. But it’s easy sometimes to slip into some unhealthy habits. Things like self isolation, or substance abuse, or...risky behaviors.”

Peter shook his head. “It’s nothing like that, sir.”

“I know this feels like it’s coming out of nowhere. But kid you gotta understand—Not only did I just learn that Tony Stark took on an apprentice—which, I’m still trying to wrap my head around—but that that apprentice happens to be a kid...a teenager. And for some reason said teenager, without hesitation, jumped in front of a hail of lasers just to save my life.” He huffed a small breath of laughter as he scratched a finger behind his neck. “It’s a lot to digest in less than 48 hours.”

The kid looked a little sheepish. “Yeah...I guess I get that. But I swear I’m not depressed.”

“Are you suicidal?”

Peter reared back as if struck. “No, sir!” He said it with such earnest sincerity that Clint believed him.

“Alright, alright, settle down. I’m just checking that’s all.” He sighed, leaning forward a little bit closer on his knee. “ ‘Cause I’ll be honest, Pete. You scared the crap out of me back there.”

Peter stared. “...Really?”

Nodding, Clint added, “Keep in mind I only just met you. I haven’t the faintest idea if you even fear death or not...and that just scares me even more. Because a mindset like that puts everyone on this team in danger, as well as yourself. I need to know if this kind of thing is going to be a common occurrence with you.”

Clint watched Peter’s attempt to absorb what he said. “It’s not like I want to die,” he finally said, and it looked like he was trying to figure out what he himself was saying. “I mean I definitely don’t. I guess it’s just hard to think about when I’m trying to save someone. There’s not a lot out there that can kill me anyway, at least when it comes to my usual haul. But sometimes...maybe once in a while...I get close calls. And I realize...I’m just not ready. There’s just so much I wanna do, you know? I haven’t even gotten my license yet. And I always hear that Prom is awesome.”

Clint snorted a little, but nodded.

“At the same time, I wanna help people. Be the person my unc...I mean a really good friend of mine...believed I could be.” He chuckled a little. “Besides, somebody’s gotta look out for the little guy, right?”

It was at that moment, at this smile, that Clint began to understand. Of course he could never endorse a kid as young as Peter to go and fight battles that belonged to the adults.

But maybe Tony did have something here.

The Great Futurist. Clint could laugh. Just one of those things he’d never admit to Stark’s face.

But that didn’t mean that he had it all down though. And why would he? Tony was nice enough to kids, but he never personally dealt with them. The best interaction he’d have with children is a quick autograph or a few selfies at social functions. He even gave Clint’s own kids a wide berth.

Tony was obviously trying his best with Peter—but there was only so much he could do with a genetically enhanced teenager with a larger than life guilt complex.

Now that he had basically confirmed that Spider-Man wasn’t a complete maniac, Clint released a sigh that might have been of relief and went to sit down beside Peter. Elbows resting on his knees, he laced his fingers together in front of him. Peter mirrored his posture. “So tell me something. How much training did Tony give you, after the fight at the airport?”

Peter blinked. “Uh...training. As in…”

The corners of Clint’s mouth twitched. “Yeah. Thought as much.” Letting out a long, contemplative grunt, he looked up and searched the trees. Then he turned back to Peter. “Well let me start you off with some real advice. Y’know, since you are the new rookie in town and I’m in my retirement stage—”

“You’re retired?” Peter asked, eyebrows scrunched up.

“Yea—” Clint frowned, astounded and puzzled at the same time. “What, is that so hard to believe?”

“No...it’s just…wait, you’re really retired?”

“I am!” Cricking his neck in slight discomfort, Clint cleared his throat. “Anyway as I was saying... you know how at the beginning of every flight, there’s a safety demonstration at the front of the plane?”

“No, not really,” Peter said. “The only plane I’ve ever been on was Mr. Stark’s private jet. There wasn’t a demonstration—or a pilot. The plane flew itself.” His features brightened a little in remembrance. “It was kinda sick.”

“...Alright then. Well, before takeoff they have a flight attendant showcase all the safety features on the plane. They also demonstrate what you should do in case of emergency. Like, say, a sudden loss of cabin pressure for instance. When that happens, oxygen masks will drop down in front of you. At that point, you’re always instructed to put your mask on first before helping put on someone else’s. Especially when you’re flying with a small child. Now why do you think that is?”

“...Well I guess at that altitude you’d pass out pretty quick because the air is thinner,” said Peter. He frowned slowly in realization. “Even if you were quick with the other person’s mask, by then it’d be too late for you to try to put your own mask on. You’d be hypoxic in seconds.”

Smart kid. “Bingo. If the parent passes out, who’s going to be there for the kid? Not much help or comfort in a plane full of panicking strangers and busy flight crew. They’d be completely unsupervised. So always put your mask on first—that doesn’t just apply to air safety.” He hesitated, then placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “We all have limits, Pete. I admit, you have very few of them. But you’re also still human. If I pinch you—”

“Ow!” 

“Still hurts, right?” Clint chuckled. “I wasn’t angry because you tried to save my life, kid. It was how you did it. Your last resort should never be your first. And think about it—if you’re down for the count, who’s going to be around to help the little guy? And even us, the professionals, could definitely use your help. It would have been extremely hard figuring how we were going to lug an injured teenager with us across the island and fight off Maestro’s goons at the same time. Sometimes a big part of saving people is making sure you’re good first. Otherwise it’s the little guy—whoever that might be—that ends up suffering the most.”

Peter was looking down, and he picked at a seam in his jeans. “Yeah, but...what if that one person in front of you...how can you make a choice like that? I get how dangerous it is being reckless, but...what if there’s no other way? What do you do then?”

“Some things are just beyond our control, Pete,” Clint said softly. “Hard to believe, I know.”

Peter was silent for a long moment.

Smiling, Clint tapped his own forehead lightly. “Just food for thought. I’m not your parent or guardian or anything, and I’m not here to boss you around. All I ask is that you think about it.” With a pat to Peter’s leg, he stood up with a grunt and stretched. “Ahh, my knees. So how ‘bout it? You ready to hit it before Natasha comes storming back?”

“Yeah,” said Peter, and he sounded a little absent. But when Clint turned to go, he stood abruptly. “Mr. Barton? Thanks for uh...”

Clint looked at him patiently.

“...well, thanks. For the advice I mean. I really appreciate it.”

A nod. “Don’t mention it.”

"And…” Peter came up to him, his sincerity potent. “And I’m not suicidal. I just...in that second all I could think about was saving you. That’s all.”

Clint’s gaze softened a touch. “I know, kid.”

“And I’m not on drugs,” Peter went on. “I’m definitely, definitely not on drugs. And anyway I would never—plus my aunt would kill me.”

Cling laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “Okay okay, you don’t need to sell me. I believe you squirt.”

Peter smiled. He then went to gather up his previously abandoned sack of fruit in his arms, and when all was adjusted, the two headed off. “I didn’t mean to scare you by the way,” Peter said as they walked. His voice softened, as if he were talking to himself. “I...didn’t think Hawkeye could get scared.”

“Oh, believe me kid. Happens more often than you think. Everybody gets scared, even the Avengers. Even Tony.”

“No way.”

“Hmmhm. Definitely yes way.”

Peter uttered a sound that resembled a laugh, though he still didn’t look like he believed it.

“Hey, we’re all fresh and blood, ain’t we? Whoah, hold up—!”

A fluffle of wild rabbits scampered by, and Clint whipped out his arrow. One by one they went down, each arrow piercing straight through the eye. “Oh, oh dude,” Peter groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and turning away. “Dude, not the bunnies.”

“I’m supposed to be hunting,” was Clint’s simple reply, shooting down the last survivor. “Can’t come back completely empty handed.”

Peter kept his distance as Clint went to retrieve his arrows, and while he cleaned them, he could hear faint soft retching sounds. “They’ll be delicious, don’t worry,” Clint called back. “It’s all for a good cause.”

Another groan. Another wretch.

Shaking his head, Clint smirked. City kids.

The air felt lighter, and the faint sound of the ocean crashed in Peter’s ears. They were finally coming up on their beach again. Clint sniffed the air. “Now what’s that heavenly smell?”

“Probably the boar Wanda caught,” said Peter.

Clint’s eyebrows raised. “Wanda caught a boar? By herself?”

“Yeah. A big one too.”

“Well, what do you know.”

Peter watched Clint. He seemed really proud. “Are you like...her mentor or something?”

“What...Wanda? No...no, we’re just good friends, that’s all. What made you think that?”

Peter shrugged. “You guys are together a lot. Plus she was really worried about you.”

“Well she’s definitely not. I like helping her out, when I can.” The smell of meat and smoke grew stronger, and they rounded the bend.

Everyone was there on the beach, way down the stretch. Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes...Mr. Stark. Taking a deep breath, Peter followed Clint as they emerged from the last cluster of trees.

The boar Wanda had caught was slowly turning on a long stick, and all the fur had been stripped away. Even from here, Peter could see the blank, empty stare. I feel you man, he thought. That’s gonna be me in five minutes.

“Come on, don’t dawdle,” Clint called, but Peter found himself dragging his feet anyway. After all, the teen was in no hurry. He wondered if Natasha had already told Mr. Stark about what happened. But it was more likely that she decided to leave that up to Clint, or himself.

Peter would never regret trying to save Mr. Barton. But good intentions or not, he broke a rule. A simple one. He didn’t think that Mr. Stark would take his suit away or anything, but the thought of disappointing his mentor again made Peter’s stomach churn.

He had already come such a long way from his screw up with the ferry. Spider-Man was going great, he had made large improvements. And the Wasp Invasion only boosted his sense of confidence. More importantly, it boosted Mr. Stark’s confidence in him.

More than anything he wanted Mr. Stark to believe that he could handle things all by himself. So that Mr. Stark wouldn’t have to feel like he had to babysit Peter, or chaperone him all the way across the island.

That would definitely change now. And the Avengers would surely start treating him differently too, once they found out what he did.

This was more than a huge step back. It was a full-on slide to the bottom.

Mentally, he groaned. But the rational part of his mind knew it was better to get it over with sooner rather than later.

Clint was halfway to the camp (Peter tried not to look at the string of dead rabbits swinging from his belt) when Wanda came running up to him with a hand to his chest, stopping him. Her harsh whisper reached Peter’s ears. “Where have you been? I have been looking everywhere—”

“I know. I’m sorry…” He looked out toward the ocean for a moment before turning to her with a sort of smile that made you want really to get to know him. “Got sidetracked.”

Wanda pressed her lips tightly. But as she looked Clint up and down, relief seemed to override frustration. The sigh came deep from her chest. “Do not do that again.”

“I won’t.”

“I was this close to telling the team before Natasha showed up. You cannot just disappear—”

“I know. I promise.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. “Never again.”

He’s definitely her mentor, Peter thought.

Wanda didn’t look convinced, but she abandoned all effort of pushing the matter further. As Clint went to join the others, Peter came shuffling up, fruit cradled to his person. An unimpressed sound left her lips, and her hand waved at him. “And where have you been?”

Peter tried not to wince. “I...also got sidetracked?” Wanda raised her eyebrows, and his smile came up weakly before falling into a grimace. “Truth is...I screwed up. A lot, actually.” He looked into her eyes. “I’m sorry for disobeying your orders. It won’t happen again.”

Wanda looked taken aback. Perplexity followed. She opened her mouth when Clint’s voice carried over. “C’mon Pete, let’s have that fruit.”

Peter gulped. This was it then. The moment he dreaded. Mr. Stark was so going to kill him. “Here goes,” he mumbled as he headed toward the bustling group.

Wanda didn’t say anything, but he could hear her light footsteps behind him. Her eyes were dead on him, he was sure.

As the smoke billowed and the boar continued to spin, a light hearted argument went around. “I’m telling you, this thing needs to cook for at least another four hours!”

“We’re on a time crunch Sam,” said Steve. “It’ll be fine, we’ll give it another 30 minutes or so.”

“It’s called slow roasting for a reason—it’s gonna taste raw otherwise!”

“Look, it’s not like we’re on Master Chef,” said Sergeant Barnes.

“Now what do you know about Master Chef? At least make sure the skin gets crispy—don’t let it explode!”

Natasha materialized in front of Peter. “There you are. Here, I’ll take that.” She snagged the bundle of fruit out of his arms and swept away. He opened his mouth and closed it, too anxious to try asking if she told Mr. Stark yet.

Speaking of Mr. Stark—Peter’s eyes searched for him until he caught sight of the man sitting cross legged in front of a bunch of heated coals. The fish he caught that morning—Peter had forgotten all about it—was almost unrecognizable. The poor little guy looked like it had been mashed several times with a fork and was run over by a semi truck twice...but Mr. Stark was gazing upon it almost lovingly, and his hands were raised above it as if he were expecting the fish to somehow come to life and speak to him.

Peter would have been tempted to laugh, if he weren’t about to be in a humongous amount of trouble.

Mr. Stark’s eyes flicked up. “Ahh, long time no see,” he greeted, and went on tending to the fish. “We were just thinking about sending in the Calvary.”

“Yeah,” Peter chuckled, though it sounded like a soft gasp instead.

Just get it over with. Just get it over with.

“I—” Peter said, jerking his thumb backward towards a still arguing Steve and Sam. “I’m gonna see if they need help.”

“ ‘Kay then,” said Mr. Stark, eyes still gleaming over his charred masterpiece.

Steve and Sam needed no such help with the boar, and for a while Peter just hovered until the smoke got too much for his senses and was sent coughing over to where Dr. Banner and Natasha sat, cutting up the gathered fruit. He helped clear away the scraps for a while before gradually moving on to help Sergeant Barnes gather banana leaves.

Everyone’s hands were busy, and once and a while one or two people would switch stations to help with the overall progress. Clint seemed at home, joking and trading shots with members of the team. Natasha also gave no discernible hint of what happened, engaging in idle conversation with first Dr. Banner, then with Sam. As Peter migrated from group to group, he was only able to make eye contact with the two of them once or twice. He had no idea what they were thinking.

Wanda, who was also making rounds, eyed them all suspiciously, particularly Peter. Thanks to him and his big mouth, it was clear she now suspected that something had happened between the three of them, though she didn’t know exactly that.

There were a handful of moments when Peter was certain she would say something, but she never uttered a word.

Before he knew it, they were all sat in a circle, each with a slice of cooked boar, fish, and rabbit on a banana leaf. As they passed the slices of fruit around, Mr. Stark’s voice broke through the casual chatter. “Seriously, Barton? You’re gone for like half an hour, and all you come back with is a bunch of bunnies?”

“What can I say,” said Clint, popping a sliced piece of mango into his mouth. Somehow he and Peter ended up sitting right next to each other. “Boars are elusive creatures.”

“Yeah, when it comes to you maybe.” Mr. Stark gestured a knife toward Wanda. “Congrats, bread winner. You’re always full of surprises.”

Wanda offered a small smile to the soft round of applause, but her mind was elsewhere. She was looking at Peter out of the corner of her eye, and the teen felt sweat run down his back. He tried to send a signal with his eyes. Please stop looking at me like that!

But she was fully invested now, too curious to see how all of this would play out. To be completely fair, Peter would have been the same way, if their roles were reversed.

“You were kinda gone for a while too, Nat,” Sam said.

“Anything happen?” Steve looked like he knew something, even if he didn’t have all the details yet.

Glancing around, Peter mentally smacked himself. Of course. Of course they already suspected something was up. They were the Avengers. Everyone probably suspected them from the jump. Everyone, except maybe Mr. Stark, who finally looked up from trying to cut through his fish. “Hmm? Something happened?”

Natasha passed something across from her. “We did run into some trouble in the jungle.”

Clint cleared his throat. “Pete was with us.”

All eyes fell on him, and Peter could have turned into a puddle. “What kind of trouble?” Steve asked, looking back at Natasha.

“Few robots, ‘bout a few meters in,” said Clint, nodding in that direction. “Some kind of security system of Maestro’s. Apparently it sets itself off whenever we venture too close. Who knows what for yet.”

“Oh wonderful,” said Sam. “Why am I not surprised?”

“You guys alright?” Sergeant Barnes asked, and Wanda was looking at Peter. So was Mr. Stark.

“It got a little hairy,” said Natasha, a slight admittance in her voice. “But, nothing we couldn’t handle.”

“Pete was great,” said Clint, mouth full of food and chewing. “Saved my life, actually.”

“Really,” said Mr. Stark, and Peter was fully convinced that his heart stopped when their eyes locked on to each other. Natasha nodded. “Yep. Hey, when’d you catch that?”

Mr. Stark blinked, then realized that she was referring to his fish. “Huh? Oh, found ‘im this morning. Anyway, you saved him?” He wagged a finger between Peter and Clint, eyebrows furrowed. “How did this...”

“Uh—”

“...come about?”

“Yeah,” said Peter. “Uh, well, see—”

“Well, he had my back if we’re realistically speaking,” said Clint. “Those reflexes really do come in handy. What’d you use? Net, stick?”

Mr. Stark stalled. “What, you mean the fish? No—no, caught it...with my hands.” He then turned back to Peter, his forehead wrinkled. “So Pete—”

“I think you’re burning this part a little,” said Natasha, reaching over and nudging Mr. Stark’s fish. There was a suspension of thought, then he pointed down at his meal. “Uh no, not really. That’s intentional, it’s supposed to look like that.”

“No it’s not,” Sam coughed behind his fist, and Sergeant Barnes did a show of thumping him on the back. “Doin’ alright there?”

“Yep. Good.”

“So you really did catch a fish,” said Clint with an impressed quirk of the lips. “Even when Sam here said you couldn’t.”

“If you can call that a fish,” said Sam. “Even the seagulls here would choke on it.”

“It doesn’t look that bad,” supplied Steve.

“Did Captain America just lie?” said Natasha, shooting him an appalled look that was clearly feigned.

“I’m just saying, food is food.”

“Says the guy from the 1930’s,” Bruce pointed out with a slight grin.

“We don’t waste,” said Sergeant Barnes.

“Yeah well y’all might want to make an exception this time around,” said Sam.

“I can break you all off a piece if you want,” Mr. Stark offered with the casual raise of his eyebrows.

A healthy round of dissent.

Mr. Stark continued to dig his knife into the fish. “The lesson kids, is never underestimate a Stark. You all said I couldn’t catch a fish if I tried...now here it is, cooked and ready to go.” He tugged off a piece, put it in his mouth and chewed. “Mm. Look at that, fantastic….” He was still chewing. “Texture could use some work…”

Laughter rose up, followed up by more of the Avengers taking friendly shots at one another.

Peter’s mouth was halfway open. Wait…

“My side’s overdone!” Sam said.

“Oh, so now we burned it.”

Holy cow. Hooooly cow. Was this really...was he actually...

Something nudged his side. “Pete. I said can you pass me the coconut?”

“Uh, sure,” he said, blinking fast. He picked up a leaf that had a pile of sliced coconut inside, and he made eye contact with Clint.

The man didn’t say a word, but there was a clear message in his eyes, in his smile, subtle as it was. Bittersweet nostalgia punched Peter in the gut.

Don’t let it happen again, Pete.

I won’t. Are you...gonna tell Aunt May?

Not if you don’t want me to. You want me to? Alright then. We all make mistakes, Peter. Just use your head next time.

I will. I promise. Thanks, Uncle Ben.

Clint watched the soft, grateful smile on Peter’s face, and he cleared his throat a little, passing the coconuts to someone else. The teen then looked over at Natasha, and he could have sworn that the spy gave him a wink.

With the weight lifted off his shoulders and warmth bursting forth in his chest, Peter’s appetite quickly surfaced. Now that it was certain that Mr. Stark wasn’t gonna strangle him any time soon, he turned his attention to his meal with a new kind of enthusiasm and dug in.

Only Wanda sat in relative confusion, but she eventually shrugged her shoulders to herself and bit into a boar leg. Grease dribbled down her chin.

The meal passed quickly, and Sam finally had pity on Mr. Stark and gave him a freshly caught fish. The food was wild and tough, but hearty enough to sustain and satisfy the entire group.

Shortly after, they all packed up and set off again in hopes of reaching that second beacon.

Cooper turned to look at her. “He got off way easy.”

Laura nodded, fingers absently playing with his hair. “That he did.” And she could see why. There were many reasons of course, but...she knew her husband. Knew his heart.

Not many people knew this, except for maybe Fury, and Natasha. But Clint had a mentor once. Once, when he was very young. It didn’t end well. Her husband obviously knew that Tony and his old idol weren’t one in the same, but... he saw himself in Peter.

There was something sweet in that. Maybe a little bit melancholy.

She looked at her son. “You make sure and thank Peter when he gets back.”

Cooper’s tone of voice was uncharacteristically serious. “I will.”

Laura glanced over at Lila.

She and three year old Nathaniel were both sprawled on the floor on top of a blanket; Nathaniel was busy trying to fit a star shaped block into a wooden box with differently shaped holes. He was having the time of his life, completely oblivious to the danger his father was in. After all, he had seen daddy on TV a hundred times...why should this be any different?

Lila though, was silent.

“Honey?” Laura said softly. She had been worried about letting her and kids watch this, especially when she had no idea how all of this would play out. But then she remembered all the recent talks she had with Clint, and despite her fears, she had to agree.

Lila and Cooper were both reaching the age where they couldn’t be shielded from Clint’s work anymore. This was their life, their reality. And really, where in the world could they go now without hearing and eventually seeing all the details?

They couldn’t keep them in the dark forever.

Still, Lila’s silence frightened her a bit. “Is all this getting too much for you?” She asked gently.

“If you can’t handle it, go to the back room,” said Cooper, and Laura shot him a look of warning. “I’m staying,” insisted Cooper, stubbornly. A bit too stubbornly. Always wanting to be tough for dad.

Lila turned to look at them. Laura’s breath caught in her throat when she saw unshed tears in her daughter’s eyes. “I don’t care about the dollhouse,” she said calmly, quietly. “I just want him to come back.”

“Oh, so do I, baby,” Laura chuckled, relieved. Her voice wobbled all the same. “So do I.”

Laura knew her husband. Knew his heart.

And she feared that the world soon would too. 

Chapter Text

“Sir I strongly advise against this course of action—”

“We can’t just leave everything to SHIELD—”

“I’ve got some of my best men on this recovery mission, how can we possibly—”

The sound of a fist hitting wood silenced the clamor of voices. Secretary Ross raised his eyebrows, fairly intrigued. He had never seen President Ellis display such anger.

Not that he blamed him. These were stressful times. The Avengers weren’t the only one’s that were being made a spectacle of.

Despite the US security team’s best efforts, the broadcast could not be cut or traced. And the widespread military search for the Avengers only yielded embarrassingly low results. As it stood, Maestro was making right fools of the United States Government as a whole. And the entire world had a front row seat.

The humiliation of the situation only worsened with the new piece of intel they just received from SHIELD. At about 11:30am this morning, the President stoically relayed the following:

Hydra Island, the island they’ve spent hours desperately searching for, was surrounded by not only one dome but two—with the second dome being made of an entirely new kind of retro reflective technology. This new brand of tech was unfortunately unlike anything anyone had seen thus far.

The heads of SHIELD refused disclose how long it would take them to get through, but it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that it wouldn’t be any time soon.

Ellis, who now stood at the head of the oval table, took a subtle deep breath and addressed his Cabinet in a low, controlled tone. “Gentlemen, I said that’s enough. I want any and all Search and Rescue operations to be brought to a halt, and that’s final.”

“But why sir,” the Secretary of Defense nearly shouted, face red with exasperation. “All we need to do is locate this second dome of theirs, send out our best task force—”

“It’s not that easy,” said Ellis, grimly. Sighing, he sat back down and picked up a small remote, pushing a button. The device in the middle of the table lit up and displayed a holographic projection. Then Ellis nodded at a woman in heels by the door, and she dutifully turned off the lights.

A satellite image of the Pacific Ocean appeared above their heads. Something stretched across it. At first glance it looked like some sort of constellation. Further inspection showed a number of large white spheres connected by faint lines—a long, rickety chain.

Ross ran a slow hand over his mouth, his mind already putting the pieces together.

“The second dome is connected to a vast security network,” said Ellis. “Intel indicates that there are a number of identical reflector shields that are concealing multiple islands across the Pacific. The island we’re looking for could be hidden underneath any one of these domes...like a damn needle in a haystack. We simply don’t have enough time and resource to try to break through each and every one. It’ll be madness if we do, and we could end up losing all of our heroes in the process.”

A comprehensive silence filled the room. The projection went down, lights went up.

“How much money does this guy have?” someone whispered.

Not one of them had an answer.

The Attorney General crossed his arms over his round belly and sat back in his chair. “So the plan then, is to wait around for SHIELD to make some kind of breakthrough.”

“As a matter or fact, yes.” Ellis interlaced his fingers tightly in front of him. “They’re the ones who discovered the Network. They believe that if they can break through the firewall and get into the mainframe it’ll lead them to Maestro, and hopefully, the Avengers. They should be able to shut down the all the shields from there. Until then, we will temporarily put off any and all Search and Rescue efforts.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, but this is a big mistake. The world is watching us, country leaders are laughing. To sit back now would be—”

“I didn’t ask about what anyone else is doing or not doing,” said Ellis firmly. “It’s a waste of manpower, and a waste of resources. Until the Avengers are found, we’ll put the rest of what we have into defending this country. Let SHIELD pull the weight, instead of the U.S. overextending itself over a few decoys.”

“With all do respect, sir,” said Ross, and heads turned in his direction. “You put far too much faith in that organization. I’ll admit that they have significant amount of reach, skill and resource. But they’re proving to be far more trouble than they’re worth. Need I remind everyone of the infamous Hydra infiltration fiasco?”

There were a couple grunts of assent, but Ellis was unyielding. “SHIELD remains an invaluable member of the intelligence community. Millions of people would be dead right now from the Wasp Invasion if it weren’t for their assistance. For now, we turn our focus to Maestro's men. I want to know who they are and where they came from.”

“I wanna know where SHIELD is hiding Vision,” spoke up one department head, gruffly. “And I wanna know how a cow-eyed sewer rat from Queens ended up with an untold amount of power that rivals the strength of even Steve Rogers!”

Ellis closed his eyes and rubbed at the space between his eyebrows. “Edward,” he sighed.

“I have to agree sir,” admitted the Secretary of Homeland Security. “Any and all reported incidents involving genetic enhancement experiments and DNA altering are few and far between. Freak accidents, like with Dr. Banner and the Fantastic Four. Products of war—namely Captain Rogers and the Maximoff twins. These were all one-offs, anomalies. But this kid, this Peter Parker…he’s not a scientist, or a soldier, or a spy as far as we know. He’s an average American High schooler.”

“We’ve all reviewed his personal records, and his aunt’s,” added another department head. He was by far the youngest department head in the room, in his mid forties, to be exact. His salt and pepper eyebrows were creased in concern. “He has no connections beyond Tony Stark. Has no passport. No criminal record. He’s certainly not employed anywhere. And his aunt, his only living family member, barely squeaks by on minimum wage. The only thing remarkable about this boy is the school he attends, although he appears to be an exceptional student.”

“What about his parents? The names Richard and Mary Parker ring a bell.”

“Says here on this file that they both had jobs within the CIA a while back. Mrs. Parker was a Language Officer, Mr. Parker in Forensics. Looks like they both resigned as soon as the kid was born. They then got jobs as a part time College Professor and a Museum Educator respectively.”

“Even so, the Parkers were regular civilians all the way up to their deaths, their previous line of work aside. And to classify the boy and his aunt as lower middle class would be generous.”

“Exactly. Which brings me to my point; The American people are worried Mr. President. Particularly parents, and with good reason. For all we know there could be a virus going around, or something in the water. Or even worse, some mad man going around experimenting on unsuspecting innocents. We need to know exactly how a kid like Peter ended up the way he did, and why.”

“They’re worried for nothing, he’s probably a mutant,” said the Attorney General offhandedly. “Or have we ruled out the Stark experimentation theory already?”

“No, that’s not possible. Mutant powers typically manifest at the start of puberty—others are born right off. Spider-Man’s first appearance was reportedly only a year and a half ago.”

“And let’s not forget, Stark denied ever conducting experiments on him.”

The Attorney General barked out a laugh. “So now we’re taking the word of Tony Stark!”

A hesitant shrug. “He seemed adamant enough when he spoke with the other Avengers.”

“I gotta agree, Rich. He looked...horrified at the very notion. I don’t know about anyone else here, but when I saw the look in his eyes—”

“The look in his—” The Attorney General gave two deep coughs, then recovered enough to say, “Well, excuse me for not noting the single tear rolling down his cheek. I’ve been busy settling the country’s legal matters down in the Supreme Court—not catching up with the superhero version of Days of Our Lives!”

“Gentlemen eno—”

“Where Parker got his abilities is not of our concern.” All eyes went from Ellis to Ross, who smoothly rose from his chair. With controlled fingers, he fastened the middle button of his suit. “At least, not yet. What he does with them however, is.”

“Meaning?” came a gruff reply.

“That display yesterday in the jungle was unacceptable. Parker was told to stay put and yet he did the opposite. The country would have been left with at least one less Avenger thanks to his carelessness. We need to be put him check.”

There as an uncomfortable shift around the room, followed by a few throat clearings and coughs.

The Secretary of Defense wearily rubbed at his closed eyelids. “He’s...for Heaven’s sake Ross, he’s fifteen years old. What do you want us to do, put a court martial on him? Besides, he did it to save Barton’s life. They’re not even on the job right now!”

Ross quirked an eyebrow in his direction. “To be an Avenger means that you are always on the job. Parker is smart enough to know that.”

“Are you trying to suggest that he’s a danger?”

“Danger? No, of course not.”

And Ross truly believed it. Despite his sheer amount of strength and power, Parker was about as threatening as a newborn lion cub with a bottle of milk in its mouth. Any idiot off the street could tell that much. Initially Ross had planned on branding him as he did Banner and Maximoff...but as the broadcast went on, he could see what a waste of time it would have been. Even for a teenager, he was too sincere. Too genuine. Wore his heart on his sleeve.

There was no sense in trying to sell something that even Ross himself didn’t believe. Parker’s intentions, no matter how naive, were as clear as day.

But as they always say about roads paved with good intentions...

“No,” Ross shook his head. “Parker is not a danger...yet. But in five years, ten years, twenty? He’ll only be harder to control.”

Unhurried, he began to circle the room. “Even in the presence of his so called heroes, he couldn’t help himself. He disobeyed them. If the Avengers can’t hope to control him, imagine what it’ll be like for you, Mr. President. If we’re to entrust him with the lives of innocents, then we need to nip that sort of behavior in the bud, and quickly.”

“And what do you suppose we do exactly,” spoke up one department head, his voice roughening at the edges. “Send him to the Raft until he behaves?”

“Absolutely not,” said Don, the Secretary of Treasury, and he quickly cleared his throat when he saw the looks he was getting. Ross suppressed the urge to roll his eyes in disgust. It wasn’t a secret that Don’s granddaughter had been gushing over Parker for the past several hours on social media. Clearly, the girl had gotten to her father.

Ellis’s expression was severe. “Secretary Ross, you’ve handled the Rouge situation as well as anyone could’ve, and I commend you for your efforts. But I will not put that child, or any child on that Raft.”

“Oh believe me sir, we’re far beyond the Raft. It’s a swell idea of course, that’s why it’s still operational. But I’m not incapable of change. And what I’ve learned over these past couple years is that the Avengers and others like them have the potential of being far more useful working under our command than they would ever be under lock and key. Most of the time.”

Ross then addressed the rest of the room, and looked every one of his peers in the eye. He continued to circle, slowly.

“I am not blind to the fact that Parker is young. He is. But what we let slide today could mean a world of pain tomorrow. Yes, he’s a boy...but one day that boy will be a man. And mark my words—Peter Parker will end up being more trouble for the U.S. Government than Rogers or Stark ever was, combined. It’s time we start implementing some changes. Real changes, not that silly ‘New Accords’ business. It’s a new world, and new enhanced like Spider-Man are starting to pop up like daisies. As leaders of this nation, we need to be seen as being two steps ahead. Not behind.”

“I see what you’re saying. But for now our main concern lies with getting the Avengers back,” said Ellis. “The country—the world cannot afford to lose them.”

“But we should prepare for the possibility,” said one department head. “Though I’m not optimistic about our current prospects. Aside from Colonel Rhodes, who are we left with? Scott Lang? I wouldn’t count on him to mow my lawn. And certainly not King T’Challa and the Wakandans. They’ve helped us out immensely with the Wasp Invasion, but they have no agreements with the U.S. And if aliens should invade again...even with their advanced technology, how long could they realistically hold them off on their own?”

“There’s other super hero teams.”

“Yeah, but none have the right amount of punch the Avengers have. Half of them I guarantee you won’t be nearly as dedicated to the earth’s safety.”

“Which is why we’ll do everything we can to save the Avengers,” said Ellis, rising and closing the folder in front of him. “But we’re going to do it the right way. Start by looking for any traces or footprints that Maestro and his people left behind. Names, contacts, backdoor business deals, weapons transactions...anything you can find. I want leads by tomorrow morning.” Ellis peered at his watch, then at the clock on the wall. “That will be all Gentlemen, thank you.”

Murmuring overlapped the sound of chairs being pushed back. Ross made a beeline for the President, brushing past various other Secretaries and Directors as they headed out the door.

Don, the one with the fanatic Granddaughter, was already speaking hastily with Ellis. “...before anything is done. I’d rather not put the boy in that kind of position.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Ellis promised, and they briefly shook hands. Before he left the room, Don turned and looked at Ross, a glint of warning in his eye.

Ross simply sneered in return. He turned to Ellis just as he was leaving. “Matthew, a moment of your time.”

“Please sign here, Mr. President.” A woman materialized next to them and opened up a file book. Pulling out a pen and scribbling his signature, Ellis said to Ross, “Listen Thaddeus, if this is about Spider-Man—Judy, can you put this in the Dropbox for me? Thanks.” The woman left, and Ellis turned to his old colleague. “I understand your concerns. But our primary focus should be taking back control from Maestro and getting everyone home safely.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” assured Ross.

“And I’m sure that the Avengers would be more than willing to offer the boy guidance when they return.”

“Sir, we have yet to see who the Avengers truly are. In fact, I already have more than enough evidence to ensure that Tony Stark never comes within so much as ten feet of Peter Parker ever again.”

Ellis said nothing as two more assistants came up to him, and he signed more papers. Watching him, Ross went on. “Stark tricked May Parker and took custody of a minor under false pretenses. Brought him across international borders, no passport. Encouraged vigilante justice for his own gain. You know what we call that?”

“Thaddeus—”

“Human trafficking. Or something very akin to it. We’re talking twenty years to life if he’s convicted. And we all heard him confess.”

“I know.” Ellis’s sharp reply came with a soft sigh. “I know.” There were only a few people left in the room now, save for his few assistants waiting by the door, chatting and going over reports with one another. “And you had no idea, back then?”

“None, sir. All I did was task Stark with bringing in Rogers and Barnes. I never dreamed he would stoop to hiring a teenager.”

“Right.”

Noticing the familiar frown of confliction on Ellis’s face, Ross moved in closer. “Look I know you have history with Stark, and with Colonel Rhodes. I get it, they saved your life. You want to do right by them, by all of them. But, as I’m sure you know, the American people come first. If it turns out the Avengers are corrupt, or if there’s another infiltration at SHIELD, the people will want to know what we’re doing to counter that. Maestro is taking away their assurance. We need to build it back.”

The space between Ellis’ eyebrows crinkled. “What are you proposing?”

“An Academy, sir. A special Academy, for young people with strange abilities.”

“There’s already a school for that. Professor X’s, if I’m remembering correctly.”

“For Mutants, sir, Mutants. I’m talking about the newly cursed—gifted. Individuals like Spider-Man, and Maximoff. Of course Maximoff is off the table, now that she’s under SHIELD’s umbrella. But think about it. No more fear of wondering who or what is going to show up out of nowhere and cause the next incident. No more tragedies like Lagos.”

Ellis was silent a moment, unreadable. “And who exactly would head up this Academy?”

“Me sir, naturally.”

“And hypothetically, Spider-Man would be the first candidate.”

“Again, naturally. He’s not signed with anyone. And I know, he probably has his heart set on being an Avenger. But I don’t trust him with them, they’re not in his best interest. He’d be far more protected and better suited under the wing of the U.S. Government, specifically the Military. And I’ll be honest sir—we could definitely use the muscle.”

“That may be,” admitted Ellis, then waved a hand. “But let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves here. We’re getting a little deep into the ‘What if’ territory.”

“Of course, of course. Take your time, think about it. Anyway that’s not all I came to talk to you about. There’s something far more pressing at hand, and I wanted to discuss it with you. I didn’t want to bring it up at the meeting.”

“What is it?” Ellis was genuinely curious this time.

“I want a warrant out for Banner’s arrest.”

Eyebrows shot all the way up. “Banner?”

Ross’s eyes glinted. “He’s a fugitive sir, has been from day one. He never signed the Accords, hasn’t even signed the revision.”

Ellis sort of chuckled. “Well I should think not! He’s been living in some remote rain forest for the past what...two, three years? He couldn’t have known—”

“Oh, he knew. He just didn’t want to face the responsibility. And speaking of responsibility, he still has yet to answer for what happened in Johannesburg. Yes, Stark Industries footed the bill for all the damages and medical expenses. But the people are scarred to this day. Families still shaken up, children having nightmares. Sooner or later Banner must face justice.”

“Yes he must,” said Ellis, though he didn’t respond with nearly as much enthusiasm as Ross had hoped. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“But sir—”

“As for the first Accords, I consider Banner exempt. Those documents were made specifically for the Avengers, and I take running off with SHIELD’s Quinjet a sign of the Hulk's resignation. If Banner ever changes his mind however, he’s free to sign the revised version.”

“I’ll have him prosecuted before then. For Johannesburg and several others, should he admit to it. Everything he does, every slip of the tounge, I’ll be watching him like a Hawk.”

Ellis rubbed his chin with his thumb a moment, deep in thought. Then he said, “You ever watch The Office?”

Ross blinked. Not the response he was expecting. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh, it’s a great comedic television show, great program. It’s about this fictional paper company with a camera crew that follows the entire staff in their day to day lives, like a documentary. My niece and I used to watch it every chance we got.”

Ellis crossed his arms and smiled, reminiscing. “We would just laugh ourselves silly watching Michael, and Dwight, and Kelly...anyway, there’s this episode, the last episode that I’ve always liked. See a couple episodes before, the camera crew finally wrapped everything up, and the paper employees are finally able to sit down and watch back everything they did over the past nine years on television. The good the bad, the ridiculous... Sometime later they all come back together for one last taping, a ‘Where are they Now’ sort of thing. The crew goes around one more time and they interview everyone at the paper company to get their final words, their final input.”

Ross’s eyebrows were scrunched together, his mouth a thin line.

What was the point to all this?

“I’m getting to the point, don’t worry,” said Ellis. “Anyway, there’s this one guy, Kevin Malone—he’s a real hoot, one of my favorite characters in the entire show. He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, but once in a while you’re reminded that he’s actually very perceptive—that’s what always drew me to him. And do you know what his final words were? He says, and I just love this line, he says: ‘ If there is one thing that I have learned through this whole experience, is that if you film anybody long enough, they’re going to do something stupid. It’s only human natural.’ ”

He then grinned widely at Ross, and the Secretary found himself at a loss of words for a long moment. He blinked out his confusion, shaking his head. “Sorry sir, I’m not following.”

“What I’m trying to say Thaddeus, is that we’re not watching the Avengers to scrutinize them. At least, we’re not. I’m sure they all have dark pasts, in fact I’m certain of it. But they’ve done so much for the world in spite of it. And for all their trouble…” He trailed off, sighing. “Besides. I know a little something about being put on display for the masses.”

A rare and vulnerable admission, Ross noted with some surprise. The President hardly ever talked about his ordeal with Killian on a personal level. “We’re all imperfect beings. The least we can do if offer a little grace.”

“Grace is one thing sir, complicity is another.”

“Mr. President,” called a young voice.

“One moment Marvin.” Ellis placed a hand on Ross’s shoulder. “Thaddeus. We go back, you and me. Elizabeth is my Goddaughter. I grant that the Hulk has caused us issues in the past. And you’re frustrated, naturally, that he’s always managed to slip through our fingers. Yours in particular.”

Ross’s voice was sharp. “That’s not—”

“Please, just stick with Maestro. His accent’s American, so it stands to reason that most of his people are Americans as well. It’s also likely that he’s pulling people and resources from around the world. That’s your wheelhouse, find me what you can. And uh…” He paused, checking to see that no one else was in earshot. He moved his mouth closer to Ross’s ear. “Be careful. Tony may have been right about corruption in high places. I fear we may have a few spies in our midst. I’ve got a few trusted people working on it, but...just keep your eyes and ears open. Watch out for yourself.” He pulled back and gave him a pat on the shoulder, smiling. “I know you’ll do great.”

“But sir if you would just—”

“Mr. President.” A young man with rectangular glasses hurried up to them. “So sorry to interrupt sir, but the Vice President needs to see you in the Oval Office.”

“Thank you Marvin, I’ll be right there. I’ll see you, Thaddeus.”

Ross wasn’t nearly finished, but it hadn’t mattered. Voices clamored over his, and a fresh wave of people swallowed up Ellis and swept him out of the room, leaving Ross the sole occupant.

Slowly, shakily, he tightened his fist.

Ross all but stormed out of the Cabinet Room. He gripped at his tie and tugged it in aggravated frustration. He was just on the edge of yanking it off entirely when a voice echoed the hallway. “Thaddeus!”

His shoes lightly squeaked the floor as he stopped and turned. His facial muscles loosened in surprise. A figure dressed in a sharp green uniform decorated with medals emerged from a bustling crowd of White House employees and made his way over with a sharp grin. “Arnold, what—”

“Thaddeus,” Arnold repeated, relishing in the word as they clasped hands.

Ross found himself laughing despite the day he’s had. His eyes roved over his friend in disbelief. “Well, what do you know? What’s it been, five years, six? Long time no see!”

“Likewise, likewise!”

General Arnold Baxter, an old friend. A little shorter than Ross, but plenty scrappy. He had the squint of an old man, but his smile was every bit of the young scoundrel he used to be (And probably still was), even at the age of forty-seven. He was one of those soldiers who joined the Army at a very young age. With his knowledge strength and courage combined, he shot up the ranks in the blink of an eye. Ross had always admired his grit.

“What brings you to Washington?”

“Ah, some big briefing,” sighed Arnold. “The lot of us are being called in, said it was mandatory.” He fixed Ross with an indeterminable glance. “Any idea of what it’s about?”

Ross bobbed his head slightly. “Perhaps.”

On that first day, within the first few hours of the broadcast, the President had called a private Cabinet meeting (One of many) and promptly revealed an astonishing piece of information that only Ellis himself had been privy to.

“Barnes killed Tony Stark’s parents.”

Arnold blinked. “Uh…”

The overall chatter and bustle greatly overwhelmed Ross’ soft declaration, and they were both certain that no one overheard. Arnold still glanced around and chuckled, “Awful forthcoming of you Thaddeus.”

Ross however looked him up and down. “You don’t seem all that surprised.”

“Well I did just spend nine hours on a plane. Takes a while before my brain fully catches up to things. So that’s what this is all about then?”

“In part. Thanks to Maestro and his team it’s only a matter of time before the secret’s out for the world to see. It wouldn’t look good if none of us any sort of knowledge of it. Hence the mass briefings.”

“Right. No sense in embarrassing ourselves further. Well, much obliged, Thaddeus.”

Ross shrugged almost carelessly. “Thought I’d spare you the suspense.”

“Makes you wonder how Ellis got that information though.”

“He’s tight lipped, but I think we all know it has something to do with his dear friends over at SHIELD. More than half of the Cabinet was furious with him. I was too, at first. ‘Til I realized what little difference it made.”

It also put a damper on his fervent theory of Stark knowing the Rouges’ whereabouts while they were still on the run. If Stark and Rogers both knew that Barnes was responsible for the killings, what was to stop the billionaire from searching for them and turning them all in?

Ross suspected the answer. It was a shot in the dark, sure, but he and an instinct—a hunter’s instinct that always told him what to do. And it told him that it was possible that the men’s friendship possibly went deeper than any of them had previously realized.

“Hey, you alright?” asked Arnold. “You seem a little…”

Ross waved a hand. “Ahh. Just more of this Maestro nonsense.” He turned his head and narrowed his eyes around the hall, as if the man was threatening to pop up around the corner at any moment.

“Cheeky guy ain’t he? Everyone’s been obsessed.”

“Yeah I’ll bet.” Ross took another quick glance around. “How much time you got before your briefing?”

“I’ve got an hour or two to kill.”

“Have a drink in my office?”

“Oh I’d love to.”

On the way, Arnold said keenly, “I know that look. Maestro's been a pain in the butt obviously, but it takes a lot more than that to rile you up. What’s going on, really?”

Ross needed no further prompting. His lips moved on their own accord and he relayed just about everything, from the President’s frustrating refusal of Banner’s prosecution, to the Cabinet’s lukewarm reception of his plans for Spider-Man.

“Ahh, Spider-Man,” said Arnold. “Our amazing Spider-Man. Cute little bugger. Did’ja hear about the Staten Island Ferry rumor?”

Ross scoffed a little. “Spider-Boy is more like it. The title’s a joke. And even if he is found at fault for the incident I doubt that they’ll sue. New York’s Mayor issued a statement this morning that he’s a staunch supporter of our ‘heroes’, especially their friendly neighborhood wall-crawler. Not to mention he’s got the better part of the Cabinet practically wrapped around his finger.”

“It’s the puppy eyes.” Arnold’s voice then went up a few pitches.“Thanks for saving us, Miss Black Widow ma’am!”

The wrinkles around Ross’s eyes crinkled as they both shared a hearty chuckle, deep from the chest. “That’s actually a good impression.”

“Thank you, thank you. But seriously. Most of the department heads in there have kids of their own. Nieces, nephews, grandchildren. Godchildren. I doubt they’ll be quick to bring the hammer down on a kid who reminds them of their own young ones.”

They paused by a large glass window as people filtered by. Their heads were haloed in sunlight. Patting his chest, Arnold nodded solemnly. “I have a son. Tyler, you remember him. He and Peter are the exact same age. He’s just about the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He tilted his head. “On the other hand, he’s a complete and utter idiot.”

Ross barked out a laugh, and Arnold accompanied him. “See, what Parker needs is discipline,” he went on. “All boys that age do. He could very well benefit from this Academy of yours, I can see it. But if you want the Cabinet’s approval, the President’s approval, you’ve gotta make it seem a lot less like a boot camp. And you’ve got to be careful, too. The kid’s got good spirit, we all see that. At this point only a complete villain would want to see it crushed.”

“That’s the process of creating strong soldiers,” Ross replied, and they resumed walking. “We tear them down so we can build something even stronger in its place. Parker would be a great asset to us.”

“Yeah, but…” Arnold gestured with his hands. “I don’t know, you could at least make it sound more fun. Like a boarding school, or some type of summer camp.”

“Summer camp,” Ross murmured.

Hmm. Summer Camp. He actually liked the sound of that.

Ross’s Summer Camp.

“And as for Banner—well, Banner’s a teddy bear, apart from the obvious. Smart man too. He’s contributed a lot to science over the years.”

“He also contributed the Hulk. People would do well to remember that.”

“Oh no one’s forgotten, to be sure. It’s just not the first thing that comes to mind when you’re watching the poor guy’s skin turning pink out there instead of green. He’s lathering himself with heaps of sunscreen every five minutes. Folks are getting a real kick out of it.”

And therein lies the trouble.

Ross had a feeling something like this would happen, and now it was slowly becoming a reality.

The first warning sign came in the form of his personal secretary of eight years, Delores. She was a shrewd woman. Always on time, never late, rarely smiled.

Yet for the past few days it felt like he was looking at a complete stranger.

She gasped in distress when one of the ice monsters nearly tore Romanoff’s throat out. Laughed until tears rolled down her cheeks when Stark nearly drowned himself trying to catch a fish. And when Parker jumped in front of Barton, she shrieked in terror along with some of the other staff—and spilled coffee on Ross’s favorite loafers in the process.

If this was the case with even with his usually reserved secretary, then they had a big problem.

People were not supposed to care about the Avengers.

People were not supposed to wonder, or worry.

There was fine line that existed between them and the public, a line that should never be crossed. It was natural for humans to fear what they don’t understand. Fear of the unknown.

Fear was the leading factor in getting the Accords drafted and signed in the first place. The less the public knew about them, the better. Black lines in a redacted statement.

Granted there were still a great number of people who were rightfully distrusting of them. But Ross was no fool. He was able to take a step back and look at the big picture. He had a growing sense of what this could turn into.

As the two men neared Ross’s office, they came upon Delores herself sitting at her desk. “Delores,” said Ross. When the woman didn’t answer, he neared closer. “Delores.”

Frowning, he rounded her chair and peered over her shoulder. Delores was deadlocked on her computer, scrolling down what looked to be a social media website.

He noticed a still photograph of Barton talking with Peter in the jungle, and the words typed just above it. I know Hawkeye didn’t give this kid a plane analogy when his parents died in a plane crash I’m cryiiinngggg

Another image, this one moving on a loop, featured Maximoff just after the fight with the ice monsters. As she used her powers to toss one of the defeated monsters into the ocean farthest from her, someone had added the word ME in bold letters to Maximoff’s person, while MY RESPONSIBILITIES followed the monster into the drink.

Ross rolled his eyes. “Mrs. Santiago.”

Startling, Delores swiveled in her seat. “Sir! Uh—” She hurriedly straightened her glasses and put on her business face. “Yes, what can I do for you?”

“I’ll just be in my office. As far as anyone is concerned, I’m not in. No interruptions. Understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“And may I suggest finding a better use of your time?”

Delores at least had the decency to appear sheepish. “Yes sir.”

“Quite dark in here,” Arnold remarked as Ross shut the door behind them. He motioned his finger toward the back. “I never knew you were one for putting a TV in your office.”

“I’m not.” He turned it on, a clear bright light flooding the dark. “I had one installed yesterday. Got to keep up with the current news after all.”

Arnold took up one of the seats and Ross went over to the mini bar in the far corner of the room.

“You still take Gin and Tonic?”

“Ah, you remembered.”

“By the way, where are my manners? How’s your wife? I meant to thank her for the flowers she sent after I had my heart attack.”

“Oh, Lilith? Good, she’s doing good. You know she’s still got bridge. Runs every day. And she and my credit card seem to do well together.” Taking the glass Ross handed him, he circled a finger toward the television. “She’s been deeply obsessed with all this. Although I have to say I’m growing a little suspicious—every time I pass by she’s always watching Steve Rogers running across the beach in a sweaty t-shirt.”

As Ross finished pouring himself a glass, Clint Barton could be seen tossing a canteen of water to someone. Arnold pointed. “This guy here, I like him. Out of all of ‘em he’s becoming one of my favorites so far.”

“He’s becoming a real thorn in my side,” said Ross as he pulled up a chair next to him. “Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Although he was by no means the most popular Avenger, Barton always had respect. A human with no outstanding abilities other than refined skill and precision, and yet could easily keep up with those who outclassed him in terms of devastating power and intelligence was certainly nothing to stick your nose up at.

Still, he never was much of a stand out, though it was abundantly clear that he could take care of his own business in the field.

A relative mystery, same as the others. A SHIELD agent who was friends with the likes of Hulk and Thor, and was impeccable with a bow and arrow. That was all there was to know about him.

Then came the revelation that he was a husband and a father of three. A hardworking family man who worked with his hands, and apparently (Thanks to the dogged efforts of investigative reporters from all corners of the country), lived in a quiet farmhouse northeast of Iowa.

This was an astonishing surprise to the American people...a welcome one. Particularly the hardworking middle class. Never in their wildest imaginations did they think they had something so much in common with an Avenger.

Quite a few men certainly identified with him. They too built tree houses for their children and worked hard to please their wives. They too had ‘man to man’ talks with their sons. Barton wasn’t like Stark and the others, with their castles and towers and empires. He was down to earth.

In the eyes of many, this made Barton more amicable. Relatable. A new sense of appreciation bloomed for him, and it only seemed to be spreading.

The whole thing should have been relatively harmless, since he wasn’t exactly a hard hitter. But again, Ross was no fool. He knew that watching Barton interact with the others had the potential to inspire feelings of sympathy, maybe even empathy. Being kind to the boy was one thing—Parker had little to no trouble stealing hearts all on his own. But then there was this whole ‘Auntie Nat’ crap.

Never mind that Natasha Romanoff was a stone cold killing machine with her hands still stained stone cold red...she remembered Clint’s daughter’s birthday. Now isn’t that just sweet of her?

And don’t get him started on Barton’s apparent bond with the Maximoff girl. Anyone could see that she was a danger. A chaotic entity. Plenty had lost their lives due to her carelessness. Her lack of control. But here Barton was, treating her not like the ticking time bomb that she was—but as a young lady. A dear young lady who was in need of patience, guidance and encouragement.

It was sickening.

And while it would take a herculean effort to change hearts and minds where she’s concerned, Barton’s fondness just might inspire some people to pause. Second guess. Reevaluate. Ross couldn’t have that.

“This is the second time I’ve underestimated Barton,” he told Arnold. “I hadn’t even bothered with him when the Accords were being drawn up. Aside from being quote unquote ‘retired’, he didn’t have my interest. But then he started intervening, and took Maximoff along with him. In turn Maximoff played a vital role in allowing Rogers to escape. And because Rogers was able to escape, he was then free to circle back and break them all out of prison. If it weren’t for him, if it weren’t for Barton, they would all still be locked up.”

“Tough break,” Arnold said, taking a sip out of his glass. “Still, no sense in dwelling over the past. What’s done’s done.”

“Hmm.”

They laid their focus on the screen in silence. The Avengers had been forging ahead all day, only stopping long enough for everyone to catch their breath. During these breaks, Stark would take the time to repair his iron suit. Parker likewise whipped out a sewing needle and patched up his suit. After that was finished, he finally cracked open the mysterious metal case that he received at the very beginning, the one with the small note telling him to ‘Use sparingly’.

Even the Avengers were curious, and half of them craned their necks from where they all sat on the ground, under the shade of trees. It was a small chemistry set.

“It’s how I create webs,” Peter explained as he poured a bright orange solution into a beaker, causing it to foam over. He then mixed it hard and fast until a string of sticky solution emerged. “I always make at few batches every other week in the chemistry lab.”

“So, this is like one of your after-school activities?” asked Wilson, eyeing one of the bubbling beakers. He too was gaining significant popularity. The man had charm, looks, personality, wit. Personally Ross was disappointed in him the most, being a Veteran. Breaking the law, betraying his country. Ross expected a lot more from him.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck with a finger. His smile had a touch of guilt in it. “Actually, the lab is locked down after school, so I usually make it during class when the teacher isn’t looking.”

“Naughty,” said Romanoff, taking a sip of water.

“And no one’s ever caught you?” asked Barton.

“Nope, not yet...I least I don’t think so.”

“What can I say,” Piped Stark, hard at work with the screwdriver. “Kid likes to live dangerously.” Pausing, he wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. He seemed to be looking for something. “Uhhhh….kid, while you’re over there, do me a favor and hand me the electric actuator. It’s just by you.”

Peter looked around at the random scattering of parts and scraps, and Wilson snorted a little. “Seriously Stark? He’s not gonna know what a—”

“Here.”

Eyebrows shot up when Peter handed him the long cylinder shaped device before returning to his own work. “Oooh,” said Arnold. His white grin could be seen in the dark. “Now there’s a smart one.”

Ross’s eyes remained where they were.

Stark meanwhile seemed to relish in the stunned silence, and he gave Wilson a smug glance. “Thanks kid.”

“Welcome.”

The rest of the Avengers exchanged several looks with different meanings, but it was safe to say that their collective interest had been piqued once more.

"So Peter,” said Banner, “What school do you go to?”

“Mid Town Science and Technology,” said Stark, eyes never leaving his suit. “You might have heard of it.”

Again, a wave of surprise as they all looked back to Peter, and some seemed to be resizing him up. “Really,” said Barton, though the quirk of his mouth suggested that he wasn’t really surprised at all.

“That’s a really good school,” Banner remarked. “And not that easy to get into either. You must have made a really good impression.”

“Top of his class,” Stark coughed into his fist.

Peter’s cheeks were turning pink. “I uh, I’m doing alright...I’m actually just on scholarship.”

Captain Rogers shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Fancy schools like that don’t just let people in for the heck of it. And being the top of your class is nothing to sneeze at, scholarship or not.”

“Still,” said Barnes, “Isn’t juggling both Spider-Man and schoolwork kind of a rough gig?”

Peter lifted his arm and another strand of web came up from the pool of foam. “Uhh, used to be. It’s a lot of work, don’t get me wrong, but...I think I’ve got a handle on it now.”

Maximoff was sitting against the base of a tree with her knees pulled up. The breeze blew strands of her hair against her face, giving her a soft appearance. Her mood today had been curiously reserved, but she smiled in Peter’s direction. “When I was little I would watch all sorts of movies about Americans in High school. They were always in each other’s business. I imagine you are quite popular, yes? It must be hard, keeping your identity a secret from all of your friends.”

The boy looked uncomfortable. “Well...I mean one of my friends knows...but uh, yeah, I...manage.”

“Popularity’s all relative,” Rogers said encouragingly. “What matters is that you keep doing your best. Keep on focusing, keep on applying yourself. Your work will speak for itself. And although making web fluid is important—”

“Here we go,” said Wilson.

“Paying attention during class is also a fundamental attribute to success. Remember, half of life—”

“—is showing up,” Peter finished along with him.

“Whoah,” Barton laughed. “You sure you guys have never met before?”

“Actually at my school they play these tapes—”

“Um!” Rogers cleared his throat loudly. “Actually you look hungry kid, why don’t you take a break?”

“But I’m not—”

“Here.” Rogers threw a granola bar, and it would have smacked the kid in the face if it weren’t for his reflexes.

Arnold chuckled. “Now this, this is entertainment.” His eyes flicked over. “You know it’s really too bad about that Maximoff kid. You could have really done something with her. Alas. Under SHIELD, she’s untouchable.”

“I’ll get her back,” said Ross. He raised his drink to his lips. “I’ll get ‘em all back. Where there’s a will there’s a way.”

On screen, with the cartridges now locked and loaded, Peter stood and fired off a test web, and it stuck firmly to a nearby tree.

Barnes let out a low whistle and Wilson commented, “Nice.”

Stark rose to his feet. With a grunt and a stretch, he held his hand out. “Lemme see that Pete.”

Peter placed the web shooter that was still connected to the tree in his mentor’s hand. “When I met the kid I knew right away that his whole costume needed a serious upgrade. Seriously, it was practically a onesie, you should have seen it.”

“It wasn’t a onesie!”

“Don’t get me wrong, it had nice color coordination, I saw where he was trying to go with it. But it was a onesie. And don’t get me started on those horrendous swim goggles he was placing over his eyes. Couldn’t find anything lacking with the webbing though.”

Using a finger, he flicked at the web. “I mean, look at it. Tensile strength about, hmmm, 120 pounds per square millimeter of cross section, give or take. Strong as steel, yet works like rubber. I would have tried to recreate it myself, but then I figured, you know what? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Even with my help I knew there was very little room for improvement.”

He handed the web shooter back to Peter and looked him right in the eye as he did so. His expression was foreign, yet shockingly nostalgic to all who knew what it meant to have a proud parent or a beloved teacher look at them, even as the cocky smirk tried to cling to the billionaire's face. “Fashion sense aside, he knows what he’s doing. Kid’s got smarts.”

Captain Rogers’ face flickered into something unreadable, and a new revelation seemed to burst gently forth, sending waves throughout the entire group. It could be felt, even from Ross’s office.

Seconds ticked by with no one saying a word, and Stark was suddenly hyper aware of the moment he never intended to create in the first place. It was clear he only meant to brag, to talk up the kid’s attributes. But faces were softening around him, eyes took him in as if they were seeing him for the first time.

Sniffing, Stark cleared his throat and shook his hand as if he were attempting to wipe off something disgusting. He gestured toward his iron suit. “Anyway, nobody touch my stuff. I’m gonna go...take a leak.”

Romanoff huffed and rolled her eyes, and Banner’s shoulders shook with silent laughter as he took a bite out of a beef jerky.

As Stark left, Peter crouched back down, bending over his station. He was giving all pretense of storing the rest of the web fluid but everyone could see that his neck and ears were red.

“Well would you look at that,” said Arnold softly after a long silence. “Stark giving genuine compliments. That’s not something you see everyday.”

“Hmm.” Not an agreement from Ross, but a pondering thought. An idea.

“Do you think what they’re saying is true? That he’ll get prison time?”

Ross grimaced slightly. “Truth be told, it’s a strong possibility, but not all that likely.” He had finished his glass and started pouring himself another. “Even with a mountain of evidence against him, he’s far too valuable in terms of defense. What is likely is that when he gets back to the mainland he’ll have to face heavy consequences. Ultimately, he’ll need to cut a deal.”

“A deal away from SHIELD,” Arnold supplied.

“Exactly.” Using the drink in his hand, he gestured a knuckle toward the screen. “Parker’s apart of that deal.”

“Two for the price of one.”

“You got it.”

“And the rest?”

“I’ll have to play it by ear. If this thing goes Maestro’s way, the public will be so disillusioned and infuriated with them, SHIELD will have no other choice but to relinquish their power. But then there’s the opposite.”

“People loving the Avengers,” said Arnold, eyes crinkling. “Outside of merchandising? That’ll be a kick.”

“Might be easier to prevent than you think. Take Stark and Wilson. Here they are laughing and chatting it up when just this morning they were cutting up fruit side by side and they said not one word to each other. Like the other man didn’t even exist. They were cold. No one could have fathomed that sort of behavior towards one another, they’re supposed to be united. Like Barton said yesterday, the cracks are showing and now everyone’s looking for them. That’s our way in.”

“Hmm.” Arnold nodded, looking back at the screen. “Still, you got your work cut out for you. And even if getting Stark and the kid turns out to be a shoe in, people are going to want to know what’s going on with them, especially the kid. The audience is starting to fall for him you know.”

“Security measures will only go up after all this is over. Anything and everything involving the enhanced will be classified, need to know only. And I’ll see to it personally that they remain separated for a while. Maybe it’ll inspire Stark to follow orders from now on.”

“And Parker? He’s pretty much stuck on what Stark fills his head with. Might take him a while to believe in your cause.”

Ice clinked in the glass as it hovered just in front of Ross’s lips. Blinking irritably, he then swallowed the liquid. “He’ll believe whatever I tell him to believe.” He downed another sip and wiped his mouth with a hand. “I’ve got plenty of friends in congress. I’ll have papers for the Academy within the week.” Letting out a sound, he stood up and crossed over to where the television sat. “Sadly, nothing can be currently done about our biggest issue.”

“Let me guess,” said Arnold. “Banner?”

Hand still holding the glass, Ross knocked a knuckle against the screen, and against the scientist's face. “Banner,” he confirmed.

He turned toward Arnold. “You familiar with Project Gamma Pulse?”

There was a slight pause. “Of course. It was the program developed by the Army in order to try and recreate Cap’s serum after 9/11.”

Ross nodded. “We were at war then. The higher ups believed that we needed to find a way to make our soldiers better. Stronger. Having Captain America was an invaluable piece in WW2. Imagine what an entire army of Captain Americas would have done for us.”

“Yeah, except congress killed that program. I remember, I saw the pictures of what the test serum did to those captured terrorists….not entirely pleasant.”

“Somebody had to be the test subjects,” Ross said gruffly. He sighed, shaking his head. “Just when we were on the verge of breaking real ground. The cowards. Well, I wasn’t done, not by a long shot. So I took some of the serum and started up a new project, one made up of a fresh new pool of scientists, privately funded. My daughter was among that group….and so was Banner. Back then, they were...involved. His work was very early phase. He thought that he was working on radiation resistance.”

Through the dark, Ross could see Arnold’s eyes widen. “You mean you didn’t tell him he was working with a recreated super soldier serum?”

“Something I chose to omit, even to Betty. I couldn’t risk the program getting shut down. Banner meanwhile, got ambitious. He was confident that his research would work, tested it on himself.” Ross paused, then shook his head, clearing it. “Two scientists were killed. Betty nearly was. I’d been hunting him ever since.”

Slowly, Arnold leaned forward on his knees, his drink hanging from both his hands. “In all this time...you don’t think he knows, do you?”

A stiff reply. “Betty investigated. She got too close. Eventually I admitted it to her, foolish on my part. Soon as she found out the truth, she ran straight to him. Told him everything.”

“Oh, Thaddeus. Not your own daughter.”

Ross gritted his teeth, and his jaw clenched. “He puts her in a coma for a week...and the first thing she asks...is Bruce alright.” He scoffed in contempt, knocking back the rest of his beverage. “He was never fit enough to lick the bottom of her shoe. He poisoned her against me.”

“...you’re worried, aren’t you?” Arnold pointedly flicked his eyes toward the screen. “Intentionally or not, Banner might say something.”

Ross didn’t respond, but Arnold noticed the slight tremor in the other man’s fingers. “Ah,” he said softly. “That’s it, isn’t it? It’s a wonder Banner hadn’t told anyone else that you lied to him and everyone else involving the project. SHIELD and the Avengers would have busted your door down by now if he had. And the love of your daughter, estranged as you are now, kept you safe as well. But should the good doctor let something slip on national television…”

A twitch of his mustache. One drawn in breath, then another. “People would never understand.” He started pacing, agitated.

“There are forces in this world that we could never hope to win against on our own. Without the proper tools every man woman and child in America would defenseless, helpless against whatever comes. Hulk isn’t just a monster—he’s power itself. And for our nation I intend to put a harness around it. And history would say that we had the courage, had the gall to stand up and take control of our destiny. That special data still resides inside of Banner, he is the data. Therefore he owes a debt. As far as I’m concerned that man’s whole body is property of the US Army. I wouldn’t expect the average citizen to fully comprehend what’s at stake.”

“Nor the Government I bet.” Arnold’s sharp eyes gleamed. “I was wondering why you were telling me all this. But now I can see that it’s eating you up inside. Has been all day, from the looks of it.” He reached over and poured another glass for himself. “Well don’t worry Thaddeus, we’ve been friends a long time. We’re both smart enough to see what the vision is. Few would be able to grasp it.”

“Precisely that.” Calming a little, Ross turned back to the screen and zeroed in on Banner, who was in the middle of polishing his glasses. His wild hair fell over his eyebrows, which were furrowed. “He may look harmless. Unassuming. But we all know what he’s capable of. Him, and that monster. He’s far too dangerous to let run wild. They all are, to a degree. But him...he must be contained. By any means necessary.”

He was too engrossed to notice Arnold staring directly at him, studying. “Would you perhaps say that Banner’s capture should be made top priority?

“Yes. Yes I would.”

“Even over Maestro?”

Ross’s eyes roved over Banner’s face, deadlocked in a one-sided stare down. The doctor suddenly looked over his shoulder as if he could somehow sense that someone was burning holes in his head, eyes just missing the camera.

Ross nodded ever so slightly. “Even over Maestro.”

There was a silence before Arnold spoke again. His voice was slightly altered. “Well as it happens, I might know of someone who could help.”

“Help?”

“Yes, help. He’s a little unconventional. But I think you’ll find him quite sympathetic to your predicament. If you’d like, I could set up a meeting today.”

Ross scoffed a little. “Contact of yours? Someone under the radar?”

“Of a sort. He could get you just about anything. And when I say anything I mean anything.”

“Hmph. Yeah right. Could he get me Banner on a stick?”

“Something like that. That is, if you’re able to reach a certain compromise.”

For the first time since they entered the office, their eyes met entirely.

Chapter Text

Something was off.

Everyone could tell as much before the sun even cleared the horizon on Hydra Island.

Bob Shaffer cleaned the counter tops with a rag and kept up a wary eye on the nearest television. The bar, quiet in anticipation.

It had been two days since the infamous robot incident. Day four of the broadcast. The Avengers had been moving practically non stop since then, fists squeezing tightly around backpack straps, sweat dripping from foreheads. All seemed to be going relatively well so far. No incidents, no injuries. And the team was getting along well...sort of. Ever since Clint Barton mentioned that the cracks were showing, the brewing issues only became more apparent as the hours ticked on.

The long, tense silences. The fleeting dark glances. It was strange behavior at best. Concerning at worst.

But today...today was different.

It all started this morning, around about 10:00am Miami Florida time. With shaking limbs and pale faces, the Avengers rolled out from under their blankets, ready to begin another day.

One problem though. Everyone was sick.

The good news was, it wasn’t fatal. But it was still terribly inconvenient. Diarrhea always is. The stark new diet of fish, fruit and wild boar finally caught up with the heroes, and it came on them hard and fast. Most of the team tried to play it off at first, grabbing a few leaves and going off quietly into the jungle. But almost as soon as they stepped back onto the beach the soft sounds of rumbling and gurgling could be heard over the microphones, and the inevitable heel turn followed.

Bob had to give it to them. Gnarly as it looked, most handled the affliction with as much dignity and class as they could muster. Peter though, wasn’t nearly as graceful. No one could really blame him—it really did look like they were dealing with a particularly bad case. Still, it was regretfully amusing watching him go from slight winces to full out groaning and practically falling face first into the sand when all was temporarily over.

Earlier, his voice had carried out from the edge of the jungle. “Uh, guys? Are we supposed to dig a hole before or after?” The adults were either too exhausted or too irritated to answer, and a minute or two later, Peter called out, “Actually never mind, it’s before!”

Eyes rolled, Avengers and audience members alike.

Eventually things calmed down enough to make another try for it. By then however, they had lost a few vital hours of daylight, and were completely off schedule. Out there in the wilderness, having to lug weighted supplies across miles of sand under the blazing heat of the sun...it had to be frustrating. Exhausting. A general feeling of grumpiness settled over the group, and the temperaments only seemed to worsen.

The front door opened again, and in walked Raymond, one of the regulars. “Hey Bob.”

“Hey Ray. The usual?”

“You know it.”

As Bob got started to set up the drink, Raymond casually approached the bar, glancing up at one of the screens. He was in the process of wiggling a small toothpick between his teeth. “How’s it goin’? They still crapping their brains out?”

Seated further down, Janice snorted at her fellow regular, barely looking up from her phone. “Real classy topic of conversation, Ray.”

“What, I’m just askin!’ I just came off my late shift last night, I crashed on my couch before I thought to check on updates. They had it real rough this morning last I heard.”

“Yeah, but they’re doing alright for now,” said Bob, throwing a glance up at the screen. “Keepin’ it goin, pushin through, like they always do. They want off that island yesterday.”

“Hey, I hear ‘em.”

Raymond sat down, and Janice smirked as if something occurred to her and she looked over at Bob. “You know there’s this thing going around? Everywhere you look now in the women’s bathrooms there’s a message written in marker on the inside of the stalls.”

“What’s the message?”

“Even Black Widow poops.”

“Euugh. Come on, really?”

“And you want to talk to me about classy conversation,” said Raymond, pulling close the drink that Bob slid over to him.

“It’s literally everywhere now. It’s become like some sort of scavenger hunt. It’s even written in there.”

“Written in where?”

Janice inclined her head. “In the stalls.”

Bob stopped cleaning the counter and his head jerked back. “Oh for—Tom! Tom, where’s Lewis?”

“Uhh, I dunno. Think he’s running late.”

“Well tell him when he gets here that I want that writing scrubbed out of the women’s stalls! This ain’t a gas station, people!”

“Whatever helps girl’s self-esteem,” said Raymond, toasting to the notion. He then looked up dreamily when Romanoff appeared again on screen. “Maestro could never make me hate you, darlin’.”

Janice rolled her eyes at him. “She could probably kill you seventeen different ways with a paper clip. You do know that right?”

Raymond grinned. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Janice.”

Shaking his head, Bob scoffed softly as he continued to tidy up. The rest of the morning had passed this way, with gaggles of customers filtering in and out, checking on current events and having a quick drink in the process.

It was around the afternoon when the Avengers first ran into some trouble. They had just stepped foot into new territory on the southeast part of the beach when more of those metal robots sprung up out of the sand—an ambush.

Pretty much all conversation stopped as they all turned to watch. Even Bob turned around, crossing his arms and leaning against the bar with a quiet exhale through the nose.

Realistically speaking, this was nothing. The robots themselves were only apart of the island’s security system, to their understanding. There were quite a few of them this time around. Plated with black and silver, all of varying shapes and sizes. Some shot out lasers while others whirred jagged blades. Only a pebble in the road for the likes of the Avengers. The Ice fight was way bigger than this.

But something was different this time around. There was a growing pit in Bob’s stomach, and quite often he found himself holding his breath. At first he couldn’t figure out why, but when someone audibly hissed at the sight of a sharp blade grazing against Sam Wilson’s temple, he realized.

Because really, since when did anyone actually worry for the Avengers during a fight?

Seriously, when? Worried that they would lose...yeah, definitely. Worried they would die...sure, why not? Because if the Avengers happened to die, what would become of the rest of them? Who would be worthy of stepping up in their place? Who would the people trust to take care of them and their loved ones?

But as far as the Avengers themselves were concerned, their actual physical and mental well being...well...huh. Jeez. Was it really the first time Bob was thinking about this? Had the thought really never occurred to him before?

The almost vague squeeze of guilt in his chest told him exactly that.

And he wasn’t alone. Just three days ago the Red Rabbit had been alive with cheers and screams, air electrifying. Bills were slammed on tables, with every other person loudly betting on which side would win or lose, who would die first, and who would come away with the biggest body count.

The mood was vastly different now. There were no cheers. No laughs or jokes. It wasn’t somber or anything like that...just serious. Apprehensive maybe. The bottom of lips were being chewed on, customers were subconsciously leaning forward in their seats.

Which was really quite ridiculous when you think about it. These were the Avengers for crying out loud. This is their job. It’s what’s expected of them.

So then why now, why the sudden mood switch? What was the difference between this fight and all the others they’d seen over the years?

I’ll tell you why, The voice in the back of Bob’s head supplied, and it gnawed away at his growing sense of guilt. In the end it all boils down to one simple fact. We know too much.

Bitter as it was, it was the truth.

Before all this, before Maestro, the Avengers were as distant and far removed from the reality of the average citizen as you could possibly get. Sure, they’ve seen all the in depth interviews (Mostly of Stark), and there have been articles and documentaries and hit pieces surrounding each member of the team.

You always knew about them, but distantly, like celebrities. No, more than like celebrities. The Avengers were….they were the people’s gladiators, their champions, their giants on the hill. From beyond that mystical curtain, that impenetrable barrier, the mighty dragons took to the skies and fought terrible battles while the rest of them groggily slammed their alarm clocks and forced themselves to get up for work every morning.

But now there was a shift. Turns out, their dragons could bleed. They could get hungry, thirsty, tired. In the mornings, more than half would wake up with ache-filled groans and serious bedhead while the others grumbled about, wiping the crust from their eyes.

Skin nearly raw with sunburn, hives breaking out, digestive problems...It was all so startlingly human, a lot of people had to take a mental step back.

On top of all that, there was no going back, now that they knew that Clint Barton was a father of three. And there, just now, he was nearly stabbed in the heart. Natasha Romanoff had banged her knee badly on a rock sometime before the fight, and now she was delivering a perfect round house kick. Barnes didn’t sleep well last night, yet went straight into the fray, guns blasting.

Yeah, they’re fighting for their survival, but...had it always been this way? Just...pushing through despite what their bodies are telling them?

And of course there was the kid. Because of the ambush Peter didn’t have time to change into his suit, but he did remember to keep his web shooters on his wrists just in case.

So there he was, webbing up and smashing robots in a simple t-shirt and jeans. Seeing him fight without a mask only highlighted the utter insanity of it all. The kid didn’t even have his drivers license, yet he was doing rows of back flips, dodging lasers and knives with ease. An unhappy murmur rippled through the crowd.

In a way it was sort of funny—the exact same people who had been cheering Spider-Man on just a few days ago were now sternly watching the screen with their arms folded. They nit-picked nearly every move.

“Sloppy landing there.”

“He turned way too late, he nearly got his head blasted off.”

“You’re using up all of your web fluid, it’s one battle, kid.”

“It’s a miracle he’s survived this long.”

Oh, there was a big wave of support too, make no mistake. Some customers cheered him on, and there was a scattering of overly encouraging applause every time the kid landed a good hit. But Bob couldn’t help shaking his head in disapproval.

It all felt wrong. The kid shouldn’t be doing this. If Bob had his way he’d put a stop to this and make Peter take cover in the bushes along with Dr. Banner. Not that he’d listen. Peter was one stubborn little twerp.

One long-haired customer came up to the counter and dropped his tab. “I’m headin’ home,” he muttered. “I’m not watchin’ a kid get killed on TV.”

Shortly after he left, the fight gradually started to fizzle out. It wasn’t until Barton had shoved his boot down on the last dismembered robot arm when the air finally deflated, and the general chatter started back up again.

Bob’s shoulder’s sagged as he let out a breath and went back to polishing the glass cups. He still kept a casual eye out, watching Stark’s newly repaired gauntlet give off smoke. Lucky for him, he had the suit up and working again just before the attack.

The billionaire then went around and gathered a few scrappy remains of the defeated robots. “Just thought I’d take some souvenirs,” said Stark when inquired. The face plate was still down, so it was hard to guess what he was really thinking.

The day passed slowly on from there. The afternoon customers dispersed, and the evening crowd soon started swarming in. A random fight had broken out sometime later, effectively stealing Bob’s attention for the next half hour. The hiking heroes essentially became background noise.

It was around the late evening however, when things started to become worrisome.

A hazy fog had settled over the beach as the sun started to go down, and Cap called for a halt soon after it started to really thicken. They would have to make camp early for the night.

By the time Bob had mentally tuned back in, Wanda could be seen kneeling next to a pile of firewood, trying to get a spark going by using her powers. Peter sat opposite, and was animatedly retelling a story of how he stopped a black market weapons dealer who somehow managed to get his hands on Chitauri technology.

“And then the glowy thing just exploded—” Peter gestured widely with his arms. “Like, from inside his backpack.”

“Mmm,” said Wanda, hands out and concentrating. The red glow reflected off both their faces. Combined with the grey fog, it made them look spooky.

“The whole elevator came down,” Peter went on. “That was when I swooped in and—” He made a noise with his mouth—“I saved everyone. With Karen’s help, of course. Can you believe she actually tried to get me to kiss Liz? Crazy, right?” He chuckled, wrapping his arms around his knees and rocking a little. “I mean talk about bad timing. As if I would actually...I mean it would’ve been cool..not that I would, if I had to do it over again. And there’s probably like a dozen rules about that sort of thing, and I’d be breaking a whole bunch of ‘em...plus it would’ve been crazy unprofessional...wouldn’t it?”

Bob suppressed a groan. Several others did.

“Probably would’ve been awkward anyway ‘cause I was upside down, and..there was glass falling everywhere, and I had a mask..plus everyone almost died not too long ago, so..”

Wanda gave him a funny look, and Peter quickly got back on track. “Anyway everyone got out safe and things turned out cool. Then I got detention. You know, for ditching Decathlon? But then later I shook down this guy and found out there was a secret weapons deal happening at Staten Island Ferry. The whole setup was nearly perfect by the way. You had the weapons, the buyers and the sellers all in one place.”

“And so you caught him.”

“...Well, no. I almost did though. But then the FBI showed up, and the buyers got freaked out, and I sort of freaked out and…” Peter trailed off, then shook his head. “Anyway the Vulture guy ended up getting away.”

A flame sparked, and the red wisps worked to contain it properly. “Mmm,” Wanda hummed again, gently rolling her fingers, stoking the growing flames. “That is too bad,” she said to Peter.

“No, see that’s the thing!” Peter leaned forward, excited now. “My school had this Homecoming dance one night, and I went to pick up Liz, right? I forgot to mention that I asked her out, heh. Anyway I knocked on the door, and you’ll never guess who was there. It was the Vulture guy! The whole time, the Vulture was LIZ’S DAD.”

The bar reeled, and Bob barked out a laugh that could even be heard over the commotion. Even if the kid was making all of it up (Which he doubted), he sure did have a knack for storytelling.

On screen, Wanda had merely raised her eyebrows. It was enough for Peter though. “I know, right? I was completely blindsided, it was the craziest thing ever. Then we took pictures and he drove us to the dance, and he must’ve figured out that I knew he knew that I was Spider-Man and he told Liz that he was gonna give me the dad talk but then he pulled out a gun—”

“There.” Wanda smiled as the flames grew into a proper camp fire. She sat back in satisfaction and dusted her hands off, sighing. Then she chuckled and looked over at Peter. “So the father of your prom date was the bad guy.”

“Homecoming date, but yeah. It was insane.”

“And then he held you a gunpoint?” Peter nodded, and this time she laughed, surprising him. “Oh, I am sorry. But the bank robbery, the snooping around for bad guys, the homecoming date... it's so adorable. And I cannot believe that was your first experience with a Chitauri weapon. Plus carrying it with you to school, in your backpack? It’s just...that is the cutest thing.”

Peter blushed. Anyone in his position would.

Because as entertaining as his story was, it was nothing compared to what the Avengers dealt with on a daily basis. What must have taken several weeks for Peter to work through would have been resolved and locked down by the end of the day for any member of the team. Not even that. Sometime before lunch would have been more accurate.

Up against hoards of alien armies and sentient robots out to destroy the earth as they knew it, a simple weapons bust was next to nothing.

Peter was just now realizing this, and he reddened even further.

Bruce Banner, who had a bag of coconuts slung over his shoulder, had been silently standing off to the side, catching the last bits of Peter’s story before finally approaching, brow creased. His bare feet left footprints in the sand.

“And so then what happened,” Wanda asked, leaning forward—like an adult would a kindergartner while being told all about their day at school. “This man holds you at gunpoint, and then what? How did you escape?”

“Well...I mean...define escape—”

“You must have been scared.”

“What—no!” The voice crack betrayed him. “No, I was not scared!”

“You were, you were scared,” Wanda cooed playfully, laughing and looking mere inches away from pinching Peter’s cheek when Bruce cleared his throat. The two of them looked up and the doctor’s gaze lingered on Wanda for half a second before addressing Peter. “Sounds like it was quite the adventure.” The bag of coconuts slid off his shoulder, and he lazily tossed it onto the sand, away from the fire.

“Well, it…” Peter looked away and absently scratched at his arm, still very much looking like he wanted to sink into the ground. “It was actually nothing. Not that big a deal honestly. Nothing like what you guys do.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Bruce. “Chitauri tech is inherently unstable, even in the most capable hands. You saved a lot of lives by preventing him from selling it to more thoughtless criminals.”

Peter's face could rival a tomato, but you could tell he was at least a bit flattered. At the same time, Bruce had glanced back toward the trees, then at Maximoff again. She was once more tending to the fire, red wisps fleeting and returning. Leaning over a bit, he cleared his throat. “Sorry—Wanda? I couldn’t help but notice that this set up little close to the tree line.”

Wanda looked into his face. “Excuse me?”

He clarified, “The campfire. You might wanna consider moving it down a few more feet. You know, so the embers won’t catch onto the trees and the jungle won’t go up in flames.”

There was a pause from Wanda, and she briefly looked back over her shoulder before redirecting her focus towards the fire, fingers dancing. “Thank you, but I think we are fine. We are far enough away.”

Bruce’s tone was still polite. “I’m only mentioning this because when it comes to campfires, the general rule of thumb is to set ‘em up 20 to 30 feet away from anything that burns. 15 feet at minimum. Yours is barely 10 feet.”

Wanda’s eyes glinted imperceptibly. “Again, thank you. But I think I know how to control my own powers.”

Bruce’s expression flickered. “Never said you didn’t.”

“But that’s what you were implying.”

Peter looked back and forth between the two, and Bruce slowly shook his head. “I...wasn’t implying anything. I was just making an observation.” He looked her carefully in the eye. “Look, if I’ve somehow managed to offend you in some way—”

Bursting into soft giggles, Wanda’s smile was sharp as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You say that as if you haven’t been shooting daggers at me the entire time we’ve been here.” At the look on Bruce’s face, she added, “Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Every time I catch you staring, you look like you want to kill me. Or you pretend I don’t exist at all. And if neither, you’re always criticizing every decision I make. Today the camp fire is too close to the trees. Yesterday, I was not cutting up the papayas correctly. The day before that—”

“Hey, I’m helping you out here.” His hands were up in surrender, but you could tell that the irritation was creeping in. “I don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but I’ve been on the run a few times, and I just thought that maybe you could benefit from a little advice from someone with some experience with being out in the wild.”

"Well if I need advice I’ll ask for it. And perhaps you are not in the best position to question someone else’s control over themselves and their abilities. Instead of wasting time criticizing me and burning holes into my back perhaps you should be more focused on your own green problem.”

You could hear a pin drop in the bar. Without breath, they all watched the doctor’s skin, expecting it to start turning green, but surprisingly, he chuckled. “Well isn’t that irony in its purest form?"

Slowly, Wanda rose to her feet. Peter rose with her, eyes darting nervously. Her voice was low. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve heard of the pot calling the kettle black, but... personally, if I had to choose between being crushed to death by the Hulk and being burned alive by chaos magic, I’d go with the former.”

“That was not my fault,” Wanda quietly hissed, skin flushing.

“Of course it wasn’t, nothing ever is.”

“Hey guys…” Peter tried to interject. 

“You know what, this is no surprise. You are reminded of what I made you see that day and you are angry,” Wanda began, trying to maintain a sense of calm. Too late, in Bob’s opinion. “I understand—”

“Don’t.” Bruce shook his head in warning. “Don't even think of making this about what I saw, what ended up happening afterwards. And don’t think that just because you pulled my deepest darkest fear out of my head means you know me in any way. You don't." 

“Fine! I don’t know you, you don’t know me. We’ll leave it at that.”

“Good, then we’re agreed. I’ll get out of your hair.”

That would have been the end of it, but Wanda was still in high on the adrenaline of it all, and was still in defense mode. Skin flushed and slightly trembling. “And despite what you think,” she said before Bruce could fully turn away, “I am able to take advice. Constructive advice.”

Snorting, Bruce said, “Actually, you know what? Here’s some constructive advice you can hold on to—next time, maybe try and show a little support toward your younger teammates when they’re opening up about something, instead of outright laughing at them?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just now, when you were talking with Peter.” He gestured to him, though neither of them looked the kid’s way. “He tells you about an experience he’s had, that he was held at gunpoint, and the first thing you do is mock him?”

Wanda looked half stricken. “I did—I did not mock him!”

“Guys, hey,” Peter broke in, a little too excitedly. “I have this really funny story about the Cafeteria lady and the moldy bread that she never throws away, it's so gross. Maybe if we all sit down, I can—”

“You were patronizing. I don’t care how much street cred you have, diminishing someone else’s experiences is just plain arrogant.”

They were almost nose to nose now. “Being a friend of Tony Stark’s, I suppose you’d know all about arrogance,” said Wanda, almost between her teeth. “Admit it, you are only interested in payback. Well if that’s what you want, then why don’t we—”

Out of nowhere, Tony and Clint swooped down like hawks. Without a single word uttered, Barton grabbed Wanda by the elbow and pulled her off in one direction while Stark gripped the shirt fabric of Bruce’s shoulder and hauled him off toward the other. “Uh—” started Peter, but Tony merely tossed over his shoulder, “Go look for more fruit."

The camera lingered a little longer on Peter, left in a daze by the crackling fire. "But..." he looked down at it. "What should I do about..." But the kid was alone.

“What’s Maximoff's story again?” asked a customer. “Something about her parents being blown up?”

“A bomb killed them,” confirmed another. “Her and her brother were trapped in the rubble for hours.”

“Yeah, and he’s gone now too.”

“Still, she acts like some kid.”

“Well yeah, she was, what...maybe ten when it happened?”

“Hang on, I’mma look it up….yeah, says here she was ten.”

It made sense, at least to Bob. Her childhood basically died along with her parents, so it wouldn’t come too much as a surprise that Maximoff had some development issues. Plus she was still young, and had a lot to learn.

The channel the Red Rabbit was tuned on had Camera 2 in the upper right hand corner, and it was Camera two that followed Clint and Wanda as they steered out towards the ocean. Wanda was tugging at her arm the entire way. “Let go,” she hissed, finally yanking free. Her hair whipped around as she turned to face Barton, ready to tell him off, but was pulled up short she saw the look on his face. Not the burning ferocity he showed with Peter days before, but somehow more unsettling. The utter silence was enough to give them all goosebumps.

“What?” said Wanda, caught off guard.

“You know what,” said Barton, voice low. “Last I checked there was only one teenager on this island.”

The young woman’s mouth hung halfway open. “What, you think this is my fault? I cannot believe this, you’re actually blaming me when he was the one who—”

“I don’t care who’s fault it is,” Barton cut her off. “And I don’t care who started it. What I do care about is the fact that we’re almost at the second beacon. The absolute last thing we need is a code green on our hands.”

“Well then you should talk to him about that. I’m not the one in control of his anger.”

“No, but you are in control of how you talk to him. Now’s the time to get our heads into the game, not sabotaging ourselves by having petty arguments!”

“Clint!”

“It. Was. Petty.” There was no room for argument in his voice, nor in his rigid posture.

Wanda’s lips pursed. She was being cornered and she knew it, but she refused to give up on the fight. “So is this how the team works? Always tip toeing around him, careful not to say the wrong thing? Letting him do whatever he wants, just so he wouldn’t turn green?”

Barton glared, and Maximoff’s mouth snapped shut, knowing she’d gone a step too far. An extremely uncomfortable silence followed, to which Clint mercifully ended with a forced patience, “Nobody’s ‘tip toeing’ around anyone Wanda. And though we’re far past linking hands and singing kumbaya, we at least try respecting one another. What you just did was unacceptable. You never bring up someone else’s past as a weapon to use against them, especially in an argument. Ever.”

“But—”

“Ever, you hear me? Whether you know Bruce well or not, you still know perfectly well that he has issues with the Hulk. For crying out loud, you’re smarter than this!”

Wanda backed away a little, forehead wrinkled and eyes slightly misty. “Well what about me, and how I feel? What about Lagos? Someone on this team told him. That’s personal for me too!”

He sighed through his nose. “I’ll talk to Bruce about it. Both of you were out of line.”

“Maybe,” Wanda admitted. “But I thought you would have been at least on my side.”

“I am on your side,” said Clint, his voice a little less harsh than it was. “You think I want you out here burning bridges, jeopardizing the stability of this team? We’re here together, we’re all in this together. And think, we’ve got a kid now. We can’t afford to mess this up."

Waves crashed on the shore as they stood together in the open wind, Wanda no longer meeting his gaze. Fog settled around them, shifting in misty curtains with every subtle movement. “Hey,” Barton said, “What’s up? I can tell you’ve been out of it lately. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Something seemed to irk her, a raw emotion flashing across her features. “Oh, nothing. It’s not as if that nothing about this place feels right, and that Vision isn’t—” She swallowed the sentence. “All I can see is him in the back of my mind. I only remember flashes, but the pain, the agony.... I know we have a job to do, but no one so much as mentions his name. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one wondering if he’s dead or alive.”

“That’s not true,” Clint said immediately. “That’s not true at all, you think you’re the only one who’s worried about him? Of course we are, he’s one of us. But we all left people behind, Wanda. Laura, the kids, I think about them everyday. I worry I’m gonna lose half my mind half the time, but for the sake of our sanity we’ve got to find a way to compartmentalize.”

“It’s easy for you to say. The last thing you saw wasn’t your wife being stabbed and left for dead. And when you come home, you come home to an entire family.” The tears were building up again, silent and accusing. “You do not know what it’s like to have only one person left in your life.”

Clint regarded her, sobered. “You’re only half right about that Wanda.” Firm hands were placed on her shoulders. “I know how you feel about him, I see the way you two look at each other. But believe me when I say that on the good chance that he is alive somewhere, he’s gonna be fighting every step of the way. And he’s counting on you to fight too. He wouldn’t want you to be worried.”

“I know.”

“And you’re not completely on you own...you know that too, don't you?”

“Clint—”

“Don’t Clint me,” he said, not unkindly. “And don’t give me that look. I’m not saying that you have to braid each other’s hair or anything. But maybe look at this as a chance to break the ice with the rest of the team.”

A half-hearted shoulder lift. “I talk to Steve. And I am friends with Sam.”

“You’ve trained with Sam. And I’m glad you trust Steve. You’re cordial enough with the rest. You’re always with Vision every time I see you. And that’s fine and all, but I know he’d be the first one to agree with me when I say that it wouldn’t hurt for you to branch out a little. Try coming out of that shell of yours.”

“I will try,” said Wanda. “But…”

“But what? You’ve been on the run with most of them for a year, what are you afraid of?”

“Nothing. Can’t you—just leave it alone, Clint.”

“Hey no, I’m here, I’m listening. It’s just us. You know what, pretend I’m Vision, if that makes it better. Pretend that I’m Vision, and just lay it all out—”

“You are not Vision!” Wanda burst out, a thread of bone-tired exasperation in her voice. “And there is no us. There was only me and him, you understand? None of you can…” Her chest heaved, and her words stuttered to a halt.

Bob swallowed. His eyes went right to Clint, who had gone silent. No one spoke, no one moved. Someone who risked a cough was swiftly punched on the shoulder.

“Alright,” said Barton. His smile was back, but it was tired, and it was wrong. “You don’t need to spell it out. I’ll quit butting in.” He turned to go.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” said Wanda, her voice edged with a desperate insistence. A helplessness. “Vision is not like everyone else, he is...he...he understands me. We understand each other. It’s different with us. We both know what it’s like to be outcasts.”

Clint only turned back a moment. “Outcasts, huh? Wonder what that makes the Avengers then.”

The young woman watched him leave, and she turned toward the ocean, raking a frustrated hand through her hair as the wind blew through it.

Bob jumped when someone from behind him shouted, “Flip to channel six!”

One of Bob’s employees grabbed the remote, and the images flew by until it landed on Stark and Banner, still engaged in tense conversation.

“—And all the sudden here’s this new guy with a metal arm who’s apparently an old friend of Steve’s that you’ve been avoiding like the plague—”

“Bruce.”

“And the last time I checked, you and Cap were on good terms, and now you two can barely look at each other. Tony, you gotta tell me what’s going on here. You gotta tell me how the heck we went from taking turns lifting Thor’s hammer to everyone walking on eggshells. What happened?”

Stroking at his chin, Stark looked like he was considering something, but of a whole different topic. He then regarded Banner as if he hadn’t noticed him before. “Gosh, we haven't caught up in a spell, have we? The Avengers broke up.”

“Broke up,” Banner repeated, more confused than ever. “Like a band, like—like the Beatles?”

“Cap and I fell out hard. Before the Wasp attack we weren’t on speaking terms.”

"And why is that?"

Stark rubbed at his temple with his thumb. He actually looked exhausted. They all did. “Look, why don’t we put a pin in it for now, because that’s not the point of our discussion. Right now we’re talking about you, and Maximoff, and how I need you two to start playing nice in the sandbox before daddy Hulk decides to drop in and stomp on everyone’s toys. Then playtime would really be screwed, wouldn’t it?”

“I’m not five, Tony.”

“Then quit pulling her pigtails. Lay off Maximoff. And I mean it."

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re right. You’re right, I’m...I don’t know what I was thinking. And in front of the kid too.."  He started fidgeting, growing more agitated by the second. "I don't know what 's happening to me, I don't know what I'm doing anymore, I'm..I'm still exposed Tony, out here's not better, I'm still like a nerve--"

"Hey hey hey." Tony's hands clasped on the doctor's shoulders, nearly cupping the back of his head and neck. "Easy, just take it easy, relax, breathe..." And Bruce does, short and ragged at first, then calming down in a rapid hurry, like he's had experience. Tony nodded. "I know it feels like you're the green ant under the magnifying glass, but trust me, you're not. You're not exposed, you're not trapped, you're not a nerve. That's what Maestro wants you to think. But you're gonna outwit him, why, because you're Bruce Banner, that's why. You're better than him. You're smarter than him. You're gonna get through this. Okay?" 

Bruce takes a few more calming breathes, then nodded with his eyes closed. "Yeah. Yeah, alright. Sorry."

"Don't apologize. We've all been there once or twice." Having patted his shoulders, Stark wrapped a comfortable arm around the doctor and started walking him. “As for Maximoff, don’t worry your big brain about it; Just try and stay focused, get your mind off it. Don’t look at her, don’t talk to her, don’t even think about her. Are you thinking about her?”

Banner rolled his eyes. “You’re hilarious, Tony.”

Stark smiled, sharp and genuine. “Don’t let this place get to your head. Remember, you’re still in control. Now look at me and promise—are we good here?”

“Yeah yeah, whatever, fine."

“What was that? Didn’t quite hear you.”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Stark looked right into his eyes. “Now seal it with a pinky.”

“Tony, you can’t be seri—”

“I am very much serious. Pinky. Now.”

A wry smile was finally pulled out of the other man, and Stark was happy to take advantage of it. “Pinky promise Bruce, come on. Come on....theeere it is.”

Bob was in awe. Stark was more fearless than he thought. Banner could change form in the blink of an eye and grind his bones into dust. How the heck could he be so relaxed? Squeezing pinkies? Bob would be afraid to even go near him.

“Now go sit by the water,” Stark advised, sending his friend off with a thematic push, “Go do some yoga. Think happy thoughts.”

"I'll do my best," Banner replied dryly.

As he went, Tony took the time to nod to himself. “We’re good, the Avengers are all good, we’re…” He drew in a deep breath and blew it out, letting it shake at the edges. The mist grew thick around him, and he suddenly caught the eye of someone watching him. It was Romanoff, standing over by the rocks, eyeing him. He blinked. “Thought we talked about announcing yourself.”

Romanoff said nothing.

Tony started. “What?”

The woman remained silent, her figure becoming nothing more than a silhouette as she turned and walked away.

“Alrighty then,” he muttered, now that he was by himself. “Note to self: Don’t yell at the boyfriend.”

As he walked off in the opposite direction, there was an uncomfortable shift. “I thought the Avengers were at least friends,” said one customer after a silence.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too. I mean, they got back together and saved the world from those Wasps—I dunno, it’s—you’d just think that they’d at least be on better terms.” Mutterings of agreement.

“This is serious. If there’s another attack, what happens if they’re too busy fighting it out with each other to focus?”

"What did Maximoff do to Banner?"

“Are these the kind of people we’re relying on to protect us?”

“What’ll happen to our kids?”

The murmuring increased, and Bob found himself stepping up and clapping his hands, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Hey hey hey! Have you all lost your heads? The Avengers are fine, they’re a team. They can work it out!”

“They don’t look like no team to me,” said a customer. “Didn't you see what happened, they’re at each other’s throats; Heck, half of them broke the law! Say if they do get off the island—how can we be sure they won’t fall out again when we need them the most? Maybe Maestro was onto something.”

Bob slammed his hand on the counter top, silencing the growing commotion. “When have we ever known the Avengers to put their own baggage above our safety? What about the Wasp attack, huh? Or are your memories that short?” His eyes swept over the crowd. “As a people, as a society, we’ve seen a lot of wacky stuff in a short amount of time. Aliens, robots, falling cities, super soldiers, you name it. We’ve all lived through it and survived. We’re supposed to be made out of tougher stuff than this. I think the very least we can do is give the heroes the benefit of the doubt before we go jumping to conclusions.”

“But you gotta admit Bob,” someone said, off by one of the windows. “It is a little concerning. Don’t you think?”

“Maybe it is,” said Bob, “Maybe it isn’t. But considering everything they’ve done, everything they’ve gone through to keep us safe—look at ‘em, they’re tired, they’re baked—can’t you see how stressed they are? Can’t you see they’re not their usual 100 percent? I know I wouldn’t be, if I were in their shoes. And neither would any of you!”

The crowd quieted, and a few pair of eyes flicked guiltily toward the screen.

“It’s gonna be alright. Nothing is going to happen. So before we hit that panic button, Let’s just see how it all plays out. Have a little faith here."

There was no direct response, but grumblings were heard as the crowd gradually began to settle, and murmur amongst themselves. During this, Bob turned away and blew out a breath, his hand flying briefly to his heart. He had never done anything like that in his life. What had come over him, he wondered?

“Great speech, Captain America.”

Bob jumped. “Janice!” he exclaimed. “When did—when did you get back?”

“Ten minutes ago.” She smiled at him, but there was something pinched in her expression. Alarm bells rung in his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” She held her phone in a near death grip. “It’s just...well, social media’s going crazy. Everyone's freaking out.”

"Aren't they always?”

“Yeah, but…” She hesitated. “You know how Stark was just talking to Black Widow, on camera six?”

“..Yeah?”

“Well, she’s...also talking with Sam Wilson on Camera four. Both Black Widows were at two different places at the same time.”

Bob’s mind was slow to process. “What...it…”

"Bob,” said Janice, looking every bit as unsettled as he felt. “One of them isn't the real Black Widow. I think...I think it’s starting.”

More sickness came upon them the next day, this time with a round of vomiting. The blazing heat brought about excessive thirst, and nearly half the aspirin was gone. More heated arguments broke out, mostly over little things. It wasn’t unlike the Avengers to quarrel, but it was getting to be a bit much, even for them.

It was a real shame. Because this wasn’t who they were, not really. The Avengers, they were...well, they were just wiped.

The sand burned under the sun as they tramped across it, and their lips were cracked and scorched.

Nights were rough, with all those little sand fleas nibbling and gnawing at their legs and ankles. Plus Barton snored like a wood chipper, so getting any real semblance of sleep was more of an uphill battle.

Mornings were irritating, with no coffee or any sort of caffeine to properly wake them up and keep them sane. Not to mention there was always a mix up with the towels and toothbrushes and the like.

Lots of, where’s my toothbrush, I don't know, this is your fourth time losing it, why don’t you keep up with it, and the kid’s using my hair brush again, and Bruce is using up all the sunscreen, there won’t be any left for the rest of us, etcetera, etcetera. 

With everyone green in the gills and being forcibly lumped together under the blazing sun as the situation demanded, it was fairly easy to get snippy with one another.

Letting out a disparaging groan, Tony spit out the rest of what little remained in his stomach and feebly rested on his elbows and knees, head down. Panting a little, the back of his hand wiped at his mouth. If there was anything about his golden days that he definitely did not miss, it was this. “Alright, definitely getting too old,” he panted before emptying out more of his stomach.

Not too much later, a tentative hand touched his back. “You alright Mr. Stark?”

Tony couldn’t help but huff at the near parental tone in Peter’s voice. Sniffing, he nodded. “Yep. Breakfast is even better the second time around.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a canteen coming toward him. Nodding again, he took it from the kid’s hand. “Thanks.” Grunting, he managed to sit back on his heels and took a swig. The edge of the jungle was cool and quiet. It wouldn’t be long now before they reached the second beacon—probably less than a day or two, by FRIDAY’s reckoning. It would’ve been spectacular news, if the team weren’t in shambles.

Tony looked over at Peter, who was running an absent hand up and down the back of his neck. “What’s up?”

The hand fell. “nothing.”

“I can practically see the wheels turning in your head. What’s on your mind, kid?”

Peter was hesitant. He glanced over to where the others were on the beach, restocking the supplies in silence. “Is there..” He looked back at Tony, voice soft and serious. “Is there anything I can do?”

Peter didn’t need to clarify what he meant, and Tony wasn’t about to insult his intelligence by feigning otherwise. That didn’t mean however that he wanted to talk about it, especially not with the kid.

Because in some twisted turn of fate, Tony was the responsible adult in this scenario. He had more or less accepted that role before, but now it was squarely on him to lend good advice and make important decisions. He was supposed to spare Peter from the whole Avenger drama—because none of that belonged to him, and it wouldn’t be fair.

Unfortunately he’d seen almost everything—the bickering, the snarky comments, the cold shoulders. Heck, even Barton and Maximoff were avoiding each other now.

But then the kid surprised Tony, surprised them all, by taking it upon himself to deescalate things—not by injecting himself into the conversation, but by heading off any and all confrontations as much as possible. For instance, whenever there was an argument brewing over a menial task, Peter would jump in and take over, acting as a temporary buffer. The kid must have studied them for a while, figured out who was capable of setting off who the most.

He certainly noticed the tension between Tony and Rogers. It was only a few minutes ago when the two of them were getting snippy on how to lay the fish net in the water. The next thing Tony knew, Peter had appeared beside them and started gathering the net. “I can help you with that Mr. Rogers,” he had said, eyes going back and forth between them.

There was a twinge of shame in the faces of the two men, and with little more than a backward glance, Tony retreated into to the jungle, where he promptly threw up by a log. The fruit was really wreaking havoc on his stomach.

As he was busy dry heaving, he couldn’t help thinking how embarrassing for the team this was. They were embarrassed, as well as they should be, having a literal teenager running around trying to keep the peace between the adults.

Careers that spanned decades and billions of people saved, and yet somehow Peter was acting more like of a professional than all of them combined.

It was pitiful. And yet deep down, Tony couldn’t help but be filled with a sense of gratitude toward the kid. For keeping him calm, for keeping him sane, grounded. Peter's very presence was a stark reminder of what the ultimate goal was, and that was getting him home. 

“Don’t worry about it,” said Tony, clearing his throat. “Just got a lot on our minds, that’s all.

Peter nodded. Tony squinted. “C’mere a sec.”

“What?”

“You. Come here.” With an impatient huff, he leaned forward and the back of his hand practically smacked Peter’s forehead before quickly pulling it away. “Gettin’ kinda warm kid.”

“So are you,” said Peter, and he was breathing a bit differently. 

Tony was actually burning up, had been for the past few hours now. But he effectively pushed it down for progresses’ sake. They were already hopelessly behind on schedule.

He waved a hand. “Perfectly good explanation. We’re exposed to a different environment, it's to be...expected." A small surge of dizziness washed over him. Shaking his head a little, he closed his eyes against it. “I want you...to get some extra sleep tonight. We all will, and uh...come morning our bodies will adjust, and we'll be right as rain.” His stomach rolled, and he abruptly hunched over and vomited again.

A watery grey edged his vision, and he was vaguely aware of the kid hovering somewhere above him, gently patting his back. “Mr. Stark, maybe I should get..”

“I'm fine,” Tony muttered, spitting out what was left.

Slowly, painstakingly, he was helped back into sitting position, and Tony found himself leaning up against Peter’s side. The arm that wrapped around his shoulder was firm, an anchor. I must really look pathetic, Tony mused distantly. But he had to admit, it was somewhat comforting.

Lazily, he threw an arm up, briefly patting the kid’s bicep. “You’rra good kid. Y’know that?”

There was a pause. “Uh...thanks?”

“I mean it. ‘ou’re like Rogers... ‘ithout being Rogers.” He was really spewing nonsense now. He needed a steak, he needed a nap, he needed... he just needed to get off this island.

Hesitant yet determined hands rubbed at his shoulders, as if Tony were a senile old man. With a wry smile, the billionaire made a mental note to make it up to the kid ten fold when they return to the mainland. He’d be swamped with so much Star Wars and Star Trek memorabilia, it’d blow his little mind. He'll send trucks, May would love it. 

“Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah.”

The hands squeezed a little, and the voice that accompanied them was soft, yet resolute. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Somehow Tony knew he wasn’t talking about the stomach bug. He huffed, not quite a laugh, and finally looked up at his intern and managed a smile that hopefully looked carefree. “Of course it will. Why wouldn't it be?"

But inside his head came the mantra... I hope you're right, kid. I hope you're right.

Points to Peter for the optimism, but as Tony suspected-slash-dreaded, things soon began to spiral. It was about after sunrise the following day. Now that they were starting to approach their destination, they had all decided to start suiting up. As far as they were concerned, fight could come to them any moment now, and they wanted to be ready. 

Barton stood close by the kid, who stood full in his spider-suit, securing his web shooters. “You got everything? Got extra fluid on you?”

“Yep,” said Peter.

“You didn’t forget to eat extra, did you?”

“Nope.”

“What about bathroom breaks?” He raised his eyebrows pointedly. “Don’t say you don’t need to go, and then turn around in mid battle asking for a two minute time out.”

“That was one time!” said Peter. “I didn’t have to go then, and those robots showed up when I was about to. So that doesn’t count. And...yeah, I went.”

Tony contained a scoff. If there was one relationship that actually seemed to be improving it was those two. Their whole vibe had been different, ever since the day Wanda came back with the boar. 

In the time that followed, Barton had already taught Peter a handful of wilderness lessons, like how to tie a good knot and how to spot a trail. He even gave him his first few shaky lessons with a bow and arrow. He was terrible at it, (Clint lost an arrow thanks to Peter shooting it high and into the dome, frying it into a crisp) but the kid was honestly just content to be in the moment and had fun with it. The kid could use a bit of fun, so Tony could hardly deny him that. 

He also supposed that perhaps hunting for fruit and boar was some type of a bonding ritual for the every day man that he wasn't aware of. Maybe he could try a hand in it sometime, should he have the chance. 

With everyone stocked and ready to go, they set off. An hour later, Wanda started stumbling over her own feet. At first Tony thought it was just early morning grogginess. But then he took notice of how pale she looked, and how shallow her breathing had become.

“Everyone stop,” Roger finally said with a signaled hand. The train came to a halt. “We’re taking a break.”

“What? No…” Wanda hastened to the front of the line where Cap was. “No, we can keep going, you don't have to stop for me, we have to keep going!”

“We’re taking a break,” Rogers repeated firmly with a look. “You’re not well, you can barely walk. Have a seat.”

“Steve I can make it!”

“That’s an order.”

Sighing sharply, she turned away from him. As the rest of the group shrugged off their packs, she ambled her way down a small slope, looked confused, then was in the process of setting down her own pack when she lost consciousness. Barton must have seen it coming, because he was right there behind her, catching her by the arm.

The team sprang to action and worked swiftly from there. Clint carried her to a safe spot on the beach under the shade of a palm tree, Natasha loosened her clothing, and Steve was quick to prop something under her head. When Wanda opened her eyes again, her body jerked upon realizing that Sam was in the process of elevating her legs. “Whoah. It’s okay. It’s just us.”

“Is she okay? Are you okay?” Peter breathed, having brought back water.

“She’s fine, just stand back, everyone stand back, give her some air.”

Wanda’s bleary eyes swept around. “What happened?”

“You fainted,” said Natasha, matter of fact as you can get.

Wanda grimaced, and Cap quickly steadied her by the elbow as she struggled to sit up. “Easy now. Easy.” As he helped her prop up against the tree, Tony took the water from the kid with a pat to the back, then bent over and offered it to Wanda. She accepted it with a nod, and drank slowly under Steve’s cautious instruction.

Barton stood close by above her head, one hand leaning up against the same trunk. He didn’t take his eyes off her. “How are you feeling? Be honest.”

Lowering the canteen from her lips, she risked looking him in the eye, but only briefly. “Not so good.”

“On a scale of one to ten?” Rogers prompted.

“I...I do not know. A six, maybe seven.”

Bruce squatted down in front of her, and Tony tensed. But to his relief, the doctor merely held up a finger. “Follow my finger please.” Wanda obeyed. “Are you feeling dizzy, nauseous?”

“A little, yes.”

“Are you experiencing headaches, fatigue?”

“Yes.”

The group waited in tense anticipation as Bruce checked her over and asked her more standard questions. A first aid kit was placed on the ground nearby. At length, Bruce sat back on his heels with a very pinched look on his face. He sank into a deep vortex of thought, struggling with something. It wasn’t until Wanda was about to drink again when his eyes widened, and his hand suddenly darted out and snatched it away. “No!”

Wanda looked taken aback, and Bruce unscrewed the cap, taking a cautious sniff. He shuddered in disgust and started to pour it out onto the sand. “Doc?” Tony questioned. “Come on Brucie, talk to us.”

The smaller man ignored him, and his head jerked from side to side, taking stock of all their supplies. “Everyone listen to me, nobody drink anything, alright? Bring all your canteens right here, quickly!”

“Wait, what?”

“Come again?”

Instead of answering, Bruce hurriedly opened the first aid kit and started rummaging through it. “Wanda, I need you to stay very still, don’t move. Nobody eat anything either. Not until we know—”

“Not until we know what?” Barton suddenly grabbed the doctor and lifted him up by the shirt. “Hey! Tell us what’s going on, what’s wrong with her?”

“Hey, ease up there Barton—”

“Can it, Stark! Start talking and start talking now, Banner." 

“She’s poisoned, isn’t she?”

All eyes fell on Romanoff, who in the moment, only had eyes for Bruce. "Wanda. She's poisoned." There was a shared dark knowing, a shadow on their faces. The man was reluctant, panting ever so slightly; but dropped his head in a nod. “Yes. But not just her, I think it's all of us."

There was a commotion then. Weapons whipped out, guns cocked and pointed in all directions, and everyone started talking at once.

“What?”

“Poisoned, poisoned how?”

“Poisoned by who?”

Peter turned around towards the ground and lifted his Spider-Man mask just enough over his nose and mouth. "Plegh! Pleuugh!"

"Kid what are you doing?" said Wilson. 

"'M spitting out the poison!"

"Man cut that out, it's too late anyhow. Bruce, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I wasn’t sure before,” Bruce said. He was still in Clint’s clutches, and he was looking up solemnly but calmly into his tight face. “I don’t know exactly when it started, but I think it was sometime during when...you know, when we all got sick the first time. That first experience, that was all natural. But then came the vomiting, the stomach cramps, high fevers...they strategically timed it so that we wouldn’t notice. We mistook it for exposure or a bad case of food poisoning. I should have noticed it right off. But I didn’t.”

“You’re right, you should’ve,” Clint said, but released the doctor’s shirt with a huff.

“But why would they do that?” Peter asked. “Why would they poison us without actually killing us?”

“I don’t know,” said Bruce.

“What about Wanda?” asked Rogers, poised directly and protectively over said woman’s weak form. The shield was already firm in hand. “Why’s she getting the worst of it?”

“I don’t know.”

“And if someone was going around spiking us,” said Wilson, “How come we’ve never seen anyone? Better yet, how come the kid’s freaky spider-goosebumps didn’t detect anything?”

Wilson...had a point. They all looked to Peter, who’s face had utterly fallen. His hands went up to either side of his head. “Oh man,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I...crap, I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry—”

“Kid?”

“I didn’t know, didn’t—”

“Hey,” said Tony. “Calm down, talk slow—”

“It...did go off,” Peter admitted with a wince, then ran a tired, frustrated hand over his face, making his curled hair stick up and out. “I thought I felt something, but I didn’t see anyone else, and I thought...I thought it had something to do with…”

He didn’t need to say it. Tony suppressed a sigh. It was them. Their arguing. Of course. With no tangible threats present and the team falling apart before his eyes, what other logical conclusion could the kid come to? The revelation produced grim faces all around, and for a shameful moment, no one looked at each other. But the sound of Wanda’s coughs was enough to snap them back to reality. Bruce had gone back to her side, and a cool cloth had been placed over her forehead. “Just relax,” he told her, digging back into the first aid kit.

“Relax?” said Wilson. “No man, we need to get out of here.”

“You gonna carry her?” Natasha questioned. The fog hung densely around them.

“If I have to, yeah! Whoever poisoned us is already out there.”

“No one’s carrying anybody,” Bruce said. “Not yet.”

The iron plate snapped shut over Tony’s face, and the HUD lit up. “FRIDAY, scan everyone's vitals. And run a heat signature check on the path in front of us while you're at it.”

“Right away boss,” came the reply.

Meanwhile Natasha was in the process of draining out everyone’s canteens and titled each one, revealing a powdery white substance that sat at the bottom. “It looks like it might be Arsenic,” she murmured, and watched as Clint scooped out a small clump out of one canteen and rubbed the substance between his fingers. FRIDAY relayed the results.  

“Scan complete. Agent Romanoff is correct, I’m detecting high levels of Arsenic. However it looks like the poison’s been carefully measured. Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes and Spider-Man have all received higher doses, but when we consider their enhanced biological makeup, their arsenic levels are actually quite low. All of your vitals look good, what you have received was non-lethal. You might be suffering some nasty stomach aches for a little while longer, but that's the extent of it. In the case of Miss Maximoff however…”

“Go on,” said Tony.

“Well according to my readings, she’s received almost twice the amount for someone of her particular height and body weight.”

“Fatal?”

“Not exactly—that’s the good news. But I wouldn’t expect her to be back in action anytime soon. Whoever poisoned Miss Maximoff isn’t out to kill her just yet—but it certainly looks like they want her out of commission for a while.”

Alrighty then. Not exactly encouraging news, but it could be worse. “So basically you’re telling me that she’s down for the count. How long’s that gonna last?”

“For the foreseeable future,” FRIDAY replied, almost regretfully. “It’ll take her days to recover, possibly even weeks. She won’t be knocking on Heaven’s door anytime soon, but I wouldn’t expect too much from the girl.”

He contained a sigh. Fantastic. 

“Well?” came Wilson’s impatient tone.

“It’s arsenic,” Tony confirmed, the gears in his brain still working on overdrive, “But she’s gonna be fine, we’re all gonna be fine, just—hang on a sec. What about incoming threats FRI, anything?”

“Zero heat signatures detected. And no robots or any unnatural anomalies either. The area is clear…” A three-dimensional infrared display of the jungle flashed up before his eyes, and FRIDAY zoomed in. “...The second tower isn’t that far—approximately five miles eastward into the jungle. So far I don’t detect anyone near it. But I’d proceed with caution boss.”

“Yeah,” said Tony, still thinking, “Thanks.” The face plate flipped back up, and he turned to the others. “Okay, here’s the deal people. We’ve still got a mile or two to march but as far as we're concerned the fight’s already begun. Whoever or whatever we’re up against definitely wasn't shy about making the first move.”

“Yeah and for some reason they really wanted Wanda out of the picture,” said Barton grimly.

“Does that mean I’m dying then?” asked Wanda. Propped up against her tree, she looked almost weirdly at peace, with her hair fanned out and her hands folded neatly over her stomach. A pale sheen coated her face.

Tony’s throat closed without it meaning to. “No—” he began.

“No.” Clint was firm as he knelt down and brought his hand underneath her hair and up against the back of her neck, coaxing her to look at him. “I know it feels bad, it feels real bad, but you’re not dying, I promise.”

“He’s right,” Natasha said. She was still holding Wanda’s canteen and weighed it in her hand. “They were pretty generous with the dosage. They used just enough to keep you stationary.” She crouched down to the other side of the younger woman and pursed her lips before speaking. “I’m sorry I didn’t catch this earlier. Guess after years of consuming different poisons I’ve lost all taste for it. Like a packet of sugar.”

Clint shook his head. "They knew about your tolerance, it's not your fault."

“Yeah well watching my friends fall sick around me should’ve been enough to raise some red flags, Clint.” With a harsh sigh, she brushed sticky strands of blonde hair from her forehead in attempt to distract herself from her own frustration. “Sorry.”

“Tony,” said Rogers, and the billionaire looked over. “How far did FRIDAY say the beacon was?”

“Five miles inland, give or take.”

“Any hostiles?”

“None, she gave the all clear. It’s a straight path forward from here.” Rogers fell silent, and Tony nodded. “I know. Smells fishy to me too.”

“You’re not seriously thinking of moving her now,” said a disbelieving Bruce. He had a small orange colored vial in his hands that he had taken from the first aid kit and was squeezing a few drops into Wanda's mouth. Tony had no idea what it was or what it contained, but if Bruce trusted it, so would Tony. “She’s in no condition to go traipsing across the jungle!”

“I can carry her on my back,” said Clint, but Rogers shook his head. “No. We’ll be heading straight into enemy territory, and I won’t have anyone going into the jungle unarmed. And your bow and hunter’s intuition isn’t something we can afford to lose.”

In a fraction of a second, Barton and Rogers stood face to face. “We’re not leaving her here. If you even think of suggesting—”

“I wasn’t about to,” Rogers said, cool as a cumber like always.

“So...what? Are we splitting up?” Wilson didn’t seem too exited about that plan.

“Can’t do that either,” said Romanoff. “That could be exactly what they want. We’d be playing right into their hands.”

“I could carry her,” Peter offered, raising a hand. “I carry people around while still fighting bad guys all the time.”

“Appreciate the suggestion Underoos, but I’m not sure jostling around a sick woman like a sack of potatoes is the best course of action.”

“Oh,” said Peter, lowering his hand. “Right.”

“Well we’ve gotta come up with something.”

Rogers sighed, looking out through the ever thickening fog into the jungle. Nodding his head, he said, “I say the quicker we get this done the better, so that Wanda will have time to recover. Sam, have Redwing map out the fastest possible route.”

“Already ahead of you,” said Wilson. He quickly tapped the touch screen attached to his bracer, and a triangle shaped drone (One of Tony’s in fact) flew high into the air and disappeared into the murky veil that surrounded them, presumably above the trees.

“It doesn’t matter which one’s the fastest,” said Bruce as soon as the drone left. He rose to his feet with a sweeping look of disapproval. “What part of ‘She’s in no condition to move’ seems to escape everyone?”

“Might not have a choice here doc,” said Tony. “Worst comes to worse, maybe the big guy can look after her.”

“Yeah,” Bruce frowned, “Or crush her.”

“Touché.”

“But…” Peter looked at the doctor, mechanical eyes blinking. “Wouldn’t the Hulk already know who she is? Why would he crush her?”

“It’s….” Bruce ran a hand through his wild hair, skin still slightly flushed from the poison. He seemed to settle on one thought, then abandoned it entirely. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ve got one path by the river,” Wilson reported, finger gliding over the touch pad. “We could get to the beacon in under half an hour.” His eyebrows were knit. “Still, it’s a long way if we’re gonna bring Wanda.”

“….What about the path over by the fig tree?”

All heads swiveled over to Barnes. He was standing upright at the edge of the group, rifle up against his chest. Tony had to admit he was slightly startled—after all, Barnes was a man of very few words, and had been content to hang around in the back of the pack. Even though they’ve exchanged a few words here and there, Tony often found himself forgetting that Barnes could even speak.

“Uh,” said Wilson, momentarily at a loss. “The what?”

“The fig tree,” Barnes repeated, ignoring the stares. “Should be about maybe ten minutes from where we’re standing. Huge, big wide branches, lots of roots, you can’t miss it.”

There was a moment’s pause, and Wilson checked his screen. Tracing his finger, he nodded. “Uh, yeah, I see it right here.”

Bruce waved a hand, eyes half squinted shut. “I’m sorry, how did you know that exactly?”

“Doesn’t matter right now,” said Barnes, then looked to Rogers. “Inside the trunk there’s a tunnel that leads underground, a passageway. If we hurry we can get there in half the time—”

“Wait, hang on just a minute,” Tony cut off sharply. He pointed a finger at the soldier, forehead scrunched. “Are you saying that you’ve actually been here before?”

Barnes didn’t respond at first, lips sinking in. Rogers moved closer to him, and while Tony didn’t couldn’t see the expression on his face, the Captain’s shoulders were tense. “Is that true, Buck?”

Barnes’ gaze passed over the group without actually looking at them, and his head dipped in a nod.

For once, Tony was near speechless. “Well why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

“Tony.”

“No, for once I’m actually with him,” said Wilson. He moved his visor to the top of his forehead, and Tony was vaguely taken aback at the deep and genuine concern in his eyes. “Buck, why didn’t you tell us from the start, that could’ve really worked to our advantage.”

“Because I didn’t know at first,” said Barnes, and he was getting antsy. “Look, I’ll be happy to explain everything once we flip the switch on the second beacon, if we hurry now—”

“No, how about this,” Tony cut off. “You start talking now and explain to us exactly what you know about this place and how you came to be here, and then maybe we’ll try working out a plan from there. ‘Till then, no one’s going anywhere.”

Once again Barnes fell silent, and everyone watched him intently, with only Wanda’s soft coughing filling up the background.

Tony cocked his head, eyebrows raised. “Well?”

All the hot and bothered wind went out of the soldier’s sails, but it looked like he’d been half expecting it anyway.

“Fine. Back when I was still the Winter Soldier...back when I was still with Hydra…the ones in charge would have me brought here. To the island. Shipped me to and from whenever they felt the need. I don’t know how many times exactly, but it was several.”

“Brought you here to do what?” Rogers asked.

“To train the newcomers mostly. Maestro was right about the island being a training ground for new recruits. But by ‘new recruits’, he meant well-established field agents who had plenty of kills under their belt but wanted more. They signed up for Project Black Star of their own free will.”

“Project Black Star?” said Romanoff.

“That’s what they called it. Hydra wanted to build a special unit team—an elite squad called the Black Stars. It wasn’t the typical pool of agents and soldiers and spies—they were making pure assassins. Ones who could come up out of the water and slit their target’s throat on a cruise boat and disappear in the blink of an eye. Ones who could run atop mountain cliffs at a moments notice in order to finish off those living in hiding—Hydra defectors, mostly. No official reprimand or punishment—just a bullet in the dark. The whole thing was top secret, and I mean top secret. Only those who had special clearance even knew of the island’s existence.”

“You’re kidding,” said Barton, brow furrowed.

“Nope. I don’t remember all the specifics, but the process...it was intense. Brutal, expedient. The Instructors only had about eight or so weeks to whip them all into shape, and they didn’t waste a single second. My assignments would vary, depending on what my superiors wanted done. Most of the time it was combat simulations and training exercises. I’d be their opponent.”

They let the information sink in.

“You’ve said before that Hydra would mess with your brain,” said Tony. “Other than wiping your memory, they’d sometimes implant fake ones that weren’t there in the first place, they were completely fabricated.”

“That’s right.”

“So then how can you be sure that what you saw was for real, and not what they put in you? How can you know it was this island, specifically?”

“They pulled all that out in Wakanda. Shuri developed an algorithm to help undo what Hydra did to my mind without touching my own memories and experiences. She called it ‘Rebooting’. She spent months trying to pinpoint exactly what Hydra injected or used, so she could flush out the trigger words and the influence they had over me. Now that I can’t be weaponized anymore, the memories I have are all mine, even if they’re not all complete, or even all that coherent. Basically, all my memories are real. My only job now is to try and piece them together.”

“But again, how were you sure that what you saw was this island?”

Barnes looked at Tony, then gestured with his rifle. “See that boulder right there? The one with the brown discoloration? That’s where I smashed candidate number 3140’s head in.” His head swiveled in the other direction. “That ridge is the one I threw candidate number 7133 off of. And there, by the vines? That’s where I strangled 9524 with my bare hands.”

Tony’s mouth dried in the stunned silence as they all looked back at Barnes. He tilted his head, as if it were all plain and simple. “One of our team exercise drills. If you were caught, you were killed. If you didn't cut it, you were killed. Like they always said, Hydra doesn’t tolerate failure. I’ve pursued trainees up and down this island, and only I had access to the secret passageways. They’re directly underground, and they don’t go extremely far, but they’ll help you get from one place to another in half the time. It’s only a matter of finding them.”

Natasha looked at Rogers. “What do you think?”

After a moment, the Captain nodded. “Let’s give it a shot.”

“Wait, hang on just a second,” said Tony just as people started moving. “Sorry, am I the only one who thinks this is weird? We’re almost a week in and now all of a sudden Barnes remembers what he's done on the island and knows exactly which secret tunnels to take? I mean seriously, how is this not a concern?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed Tony,” said Clint as he and Bruce helped Wanda stand, “But we don’t exactly have the time to stand around and chat. We gotta move.”

“Well excuse me Barton, for wanting a little more clarification before we start jumping in head first.”

“Now that’s a sentence I never thought I’d hear you say.”

"Come on Barton, you're not the least bit concerned? We're practically flying blind, and we only have Barnes' word to go off of."

“We’ve all gone off each other’s word before,” said Romanoff, shrugging on her pack.

“Yeah, and how’d that work out for everyone?”

“I have to admit, I’m not too crazy about this myself,” said Bruce. He pushed up his glasses with one finger.

“This all screams...convenient. And Sergeant Barnes I don’t mean to be rude, but when Maestro first told us about what the island was for, you must have at least had an inkling. Did you just...decide not to tell us, or..?”

Barnes hesitated. “I wasn’t sure at first," he began, then sighed. “At the same time, I didn’t want it to happen. I didn’t want it to be true. After spending all this time trying to get away from Hydra, trying to destroy it...I really didn’t want to face the fact that they have me right where they want me. Again.”

His blue eyes, his wounded blue eyes met Tony’s. “If I’m honest...I was scared. I’m sorry that I didn’t bring it up before.”

Tony considered this, tried not to look too directly into those blue eyes of his. “Yeah, but even so..” His mouth twisted, not knowing how else to put it. “I have doubts.”

“Is this because you really don’t trust him on his word?” Rogers asked suddenly. “Or is it because of something else?”

Slowly, Tony turned toward him. “And pray tell, what else would that something be?”

“Tony, don’t,” groaned Romanoff, actually groaned, and that was the last straw.

“Don’t, don’t, don’t WHAT, Romanoff?” A sharp stabbing pain formed behind his right eye, a throbbing, grating migraine taking shape. “Don’t do what? Don’t do what, please tell me, ‘cause I’m dying to know. What, you really think I would hold up the team because I’ve got some sort of secret agenda?”

“Tony,” said Rogers, “Please, let’s not argue. Let’s just get this done.”

“Arguing? Who’s arguing? I’m only pointing out the fact that maybe these so called secret passageways aren’t as safe as he remembers it? That cured or not, he could be blocking out memories he’s not ready to face yet. Or maybe, just maybe, Maestro already knows about these tunnels and we could all be walking into a trap. Anyone think about that?”

“We can’t second guess every move we make,” said Rogers. “And I trust him.”

Tony tried not to clench his fist as a dull pain ran up and down his arm. He clicked his tongue, emptily. “Well, Rogers, I wish the feeling were mutual.”

Roger’s face was hard. “So what’s it going to take then, Tony? He had your back during the Wasp attacks, and the ice fight, and the fight with the robots. Each time he put his life in your hands, and yours in his. And you still doubt him? When will it be enough?”

Tony pointed a finger. “Don’t. Don’t look at me like I’m the problem. Like I’m—” A fresh, sick feeling of rage coarse through him, and he fought, clawed to contain it, his face red and bubbling and screwed up. Somehow he managed, but only just barely.

Heart pounding, he faced Rogers square on. “I’m not trying to be a prick here. I’m trying to figure out a way to keep everyone safe. I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about us. Or, am I not being courteous enough to the murderer of my parents?"

Everyone started talking then, and Bruce’s “What?” could just barely be heard over the commotion. Out the corner of his eye, Tony saw Peter grip the top of his mask and pull it off.

“Fantastic guys, just fantastic,” Clint drawled, thick with sarcastic bite. He still had Wanda’s arm around his shoulder, and he was settling her back to her previous spot in front of the palm tree. “We couldn’t get through one day.”

"Zip it Barton, and I’m not kidding,” Tony threatened.

Why wasn’t I told about this?” Bruce asked, and whether he meant to or not, his eyes fell on Romanoff, who’s darkened expression indicated that she was taking it personally. “Well, between almost getting my head bitten off by ice monsters and dodging lasers, I guess I was just trying to wrack my brain and figure out how to break the news.”

“Alright, you don’t have to get snippy about it.”

“Real class act you guys,” said Wilson.

“Yeah, sorry Peter,” said Clint loudly, clapping his hands flat together in a pleading motion, “Sorry you had to see us like this, but if it’s any consolation we’re usually much, much worse.”

Tony’s eyes flew to Peter, half forgetting he was there. Sam’s hand was on his shoulder, either to hold him back or to offer some sort of silent support. The kid’s jaw was clenched, as was his fist, which opened and closed subtly at his side. He looked on helplessly, like this was somehow his fault, and he was frantically searching for a solution, any solution to help fix it.

Tony felt a surge of irritation towards him, even though he knew it was wrong. Looking away, he waved a hand. “Kid, give us a minute, go...look for fruit or something.”

“Tony are you nuts, it’s not safe!” Steve exclaimed.

“And now you're lecturing me!”

“Tony, he’s not going anywhere alone,” Natasha said, her voice borderline threatening.

“Fine, you know what kid, stay. You’re already with the traveling circus, might was well get your money’s worth and watch it all play out.”

The kid’s concerned brown eyes once again met his. And Tony knew that he knew, was wise enough to know, that this was beyond him.

That the scene playing out before him was the culmination of nearly a decade worth of build up that could never hope to be negated by the words of a young teenager. He wasn’t apart of it then, and he definitely shouldn’t be now. There was a line, and Peter knew better not to try and cross it. Still, as their gazes met, his eyes earnestly screamed out the same question he had posed the day before: What can I do? What can I do to help?

Tony only answered him with the slight shake of his head before turning his focus away.

“You can’t take it out on him, Tony,” Rogers was saying. “He didn’t know what he was—”

“I don’t need the line fed to me again Rogers, I know. I know what he’s been through, what they put him through, what his circumstances were, I’m not an idiot. I wasn’t born yesterday.”

He turned to Barnes. “But I’m not gonna stand here and sympathize with you, and say how hard it must be for you, because all of that’s irrelevant. I’m not taking anything out on you. Heck, I’m not even angry. Why? Because you were just another weapon of Hydra. You’re the gun. Therefore, I can’t be upset that you killed whatever family I had left in the world. I can’t hold anything against you. I’m not permitted, not allowed. Because it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Steve closed his eyes, but Barnes faced him head on, not once wavering in his gaze. “That being said, I’d be much more inclined to follow your gut if I had more insight into your mental state. Because Quantum Leaping aside, you’re a soldier who’s been tortured and traumatized beyond belief, and now you’re back on the battle field. Correct me if I’m wrong here, but I’d think that returning to a place of trauma would mess up anyone’s perception of things, wouldn’t it?” He craned his head. “Wilson, back me up. Am I right?”

“Yeah,” said Sam, looking at Barnes. “That can happen. But—”

“And even if our technology could sniff out any booby-traps, we can’t really rely on them either. Maestro already hacked FRIDAY, there’s a big chance that he’s letting us see what he wants us to see.”

“That’s too many ‘what-ifs’, Tony."

“Enough.”

Wanda had shakily gotten to her feet and painstakingly took two steps forward before Clint quickly moved in to support her, and Natasha assisted in helping her stay upright. Her auburn hair hung in a limp curtain as she looked at everyone in distaste. “In case you have all forgotten, I am poisoned. I am tired. And I want to lie down. We get nowhere by arguing.”

She spoke to Barnes. “Are you for certain about these tunnels? That they are safe to go through?”

Barnes looked at her, and nodded. “Always was for me. But Stark’s right—I can’t rule out the possibility that Maestro might’ve tampered with them, or our tech.”

“Stark.” She turned her head. “As of this moment, do you have a better plan?”

Still high off the emotional adrenaline, Tony cleared his throat, then shook his head. “No. No I don’t.”

“Then we will take our chances and go with Sergeant Barnes’ plan. If Sam is okay with it, we will send Redwing in first.”

Sam nodded. "I'm good with that."

"So am I," said Clint. 

Steve looked at Tony, and the billionaire could still see the traces of disheartenment on the other man’s face. But steady he remained, and his eyes posed a question, asking if he too was on board with the plan. Tony was clearly outnumbered here, but he knew all too well that Cap would have preferred to have things be unanimous between them. “Then by all means," he said. "Lead the way.”

Cap nodded. “Let's move out then, team."

And they did. But despite being out in the open, the air was stifling now. Costly. They all felt it, it permeated through them, they were wading through it, like dirty murk-filled sewage water.

And Tony... Tony didn’t know what on earth he felt, or how he should be feeling. He had no idea that things would go south the way it did just now, had hoped against all hope that it wouldn’t happen here.

But somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he at least thought that maybe by finally addressing the elephant in the room and laying it all out on the table, that there would be the feeling of a tremendous weight off the shoulders, that it would become easier somehow. No more fake smiles or try-hard jokes, no more pretenses. No more pretending that everything is fine. But as the seconds ticked by, it only felt like more of a mistake. There was no relief. No weight off the shoulders, no catharsis.

In fact it had quite the opposite effect, and he felt more dull rage boiling up inside of him than ever. His lungs were on fire, his gut twisted into ice cold knots. With each step he breathed as calmly and slowly as he could. In through his nose and out through his mouth. But he couldn’t focus. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t focus, because he was too revved up now. He was just getting started and he had to stop. For all their sakes, he had to stop.

Like a half-rusted wind-up toy, Tony followed the person in front of him, but he only had a vague idea who it was. He could barely see anything, could barely even think. All he knew was red. At this point Tony’s only hope was that some mindless entity was there waiting inside the jungle for him to start pummeling. It was the only stress reliever he could count on.

He felt a slight brush against his shoulder and realized that Peter was walking right beside him. He looked over, half expecting the face of a boy who’s just had the shining image of his childhood heroes completely shattered before his eyes.

So it was a momentary shock to the system then, that it wasn’t disillusion or even disappointment he saw, but sadness. Not for himself, but...for them. For the Avengers, for Tony. Compassion, not pity, radiated from Peter. He looked up at Tony in a way he never thought he could be looked at anymore, not since his mother died—with a genuine and honest empathy.

For whatever reason it struck a wrong chord in Tony.

He sniffed. “You forgetting something?”

Peter blinked. “Uh...forget what?”

He nodded toward the mask that was still wadded up in the kid’s hand. “Mask. Think it’s supposed to go on during battle.”

“Oh—” Peter snapped out of it, and his fingers fumbled with the mask. “Right.”

His face was quickly concealed, and Tony could breathe easier now.

The walk was a slow going process, with Wanda hobbling stiffly between Clint and Natasha. At one point her head lulled over toward the former, they caught each other’s gaze. “I am sorry,” Tony heard her murmur. There was only the shake of Clint’s head as he gripped her a little tighter. “Don’t worry about it.”

The opaque curtain shifted, and the group momentarily disappeared into the haze before clearing back out. "Kinda thirsty," Wilson commented. 

"We'll have to give the canteens a through wash before we look for more water," said Bruce, keeping a close eye on Wanda. "Hopefully we'll find some soon."

At length the edge of the jungle came into view. "We'll set the supplies down over there," said Rogers. 

"How are we going in?" asked Barnes. "What's the formation?"

Steve tightened the shield on his arm and scanned around. “In this fog...visibility’s gonna be low, so we’ll have to rely on the tech we got. First you and I will—”

“Where’s Bruce?”

There was a suspension of all time and thought brought on by Tony’s sudden question. All of them came to a halt and looked around; But the doctor was nowhere to be seen.

“Bruce!” yelled Steve.

“Wait a minute, he was just here!” Clint's neck twisted this way and that, first in disbelief, then alarm. “Bruce!”

Tony whirled around, and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Bruce!”

Cap’s finger dug into his ear, hoping to reach him through comms. “Banner, report.” Nothing but faint crackles.

“Come on man, this isn’t the time! BRUCE!”

“He was just here!"

“Dr. Banner!”

“Bruce!”

“Guys!” Natasha whipped her head back and forth, Wanda's arm still slung over her shoulder. “Sam’s gone too.”

Tony’s mind spun, and his teeth dug deep into his lower lip. The helmet came down. “FRIDAY, track ‘em,” he snapped. “Now.”

The AI’s voice came with all urgency, but she sounded strange again. “I’m scanning for vitals—both Wilson and Dr. Banner are moving fast, but in opposite directions—I...I can’t seem to pick up much else, something is—something’s—some...ing….”

“FRIDAY,” he said, heart beating wildly against his rib cage. “FRIDAY, reboot.”

“Iiii-I-iiii’mmmm sorry boss. I ca—nn’T, I caaa—”

Tony swore, repeatedly tapping the side of the helmet in aggravation. Meanwhile, Natasha eased Wanda from her person, then went to cock her gun. “I’m going after them.”

Cap grabbed her arm. “Hang on, we don’t know—”

“I’m not waiting to see what happens to them. Either come or don’t.”

“You don’t even know where you’re going,” said Tony, but it only felt like a formality. 

“Then point me in the right direction!”

"Wait Natasha. Everybody move, put your stuff over there, quickly." They moved in unison, and everyone tossed their packs and baggage into one hasty pile. Clint eased Wanda down on the ground and removed his bow from his back. "What are you doing?" 

"You're not going, you're staying here." 

"What? No! I am coming!" She tried to get to her feet but her legs wobbled like twigs, and she dropped down on the sand on her hands and knees. She panted heavily. “You cannot leave me behind. I can...I can…”

"Wanda. Listen to me." He knelt down in front of her, taking her arm gently. "You can't risk your health by fighting. They wanted you out of the picture for a reason. They wouldn't hesitate to kill you if you got in their way." 

"Clint's right," said Rogers. "We need you to stay and watch over the supplies." 

"But Steve--" 

"Tony, you got a track on them?”

“Yeah, but not for long. Bruce is heading west, Wilson to the east, there’s no time to lose.”

“Alright, here's what we'll do. Tony and Clint, you go after Sam. Nat, you’re with me. Bucky...Bucky, where….Bucky!”

“Crap,” hissed Barton, yanking open his bow with a vengeance. “This guy’s goin’ down.”

Spider-Man looked at all of them frantically. "What do we do?" 

For once, Cap looked out of sorts, and he swallowed thickly. Still, he barked out with more urgency, “The plan still stands, Nat and I will head east, Tony and Clint go west. Stay sharp, stay connected. As soon as we can, we'll all meet up at the tower."

“What about me, what do I do, Cap?” Spider-Man asked, positioned and ready for anything.

“I need you to stay here with Wanda.”

“What!?”

"No one's getting left on their own, this is non negotiable." His face softened just a bit. "Believe me son, this isn't personal. Wanda needs someone to watch her back while we’re gone, and I’m trusting you to do the job. Can you do it?”

“Well..." Peter hesitated. "Yeah, but—”

“No buts kid, Cap’s right.” Tony pointed a finger towards the ground between them. “Stay put, we’ll come and get you when the coast’s clear.”

“But Mr. Stark—”

“Kid, not now, not today, you understand? Stay here, stick with Wanda, keep a lookout. Remember that she's still in charge, so whatever she tells you to do, you do it, no questions asked. If there's a problem tell us through comms, but until then it's radio silence. Is that understood?" 

The kid looked at him, and through the mask, you could see him swallow. He nodded. "Yes sir." 

"Good." Tony turned at the others, the eyes of his helmet glowing. "Let's hit it." 

They paired up, and with weapons stocked and loaded they went in, disappearing into the murky grey depths. 

The wind blew in like a cold gentle current as Wanda and Peter waited. And waited.

Shuddering, Wanda felt her head drop, as in sleep. Peter must have noticed, and he snapped out of his melancholy and came rushing over.

“Hey—hey! Are you okay?”

She smacked her lips slowly and wordlessly, and her head rose before dropping again. “Miss Maximoff!” A gloved hand came urgently yet gently against the side of her face, tilting it in an upright position. “Hey,” the voice breathed, “Can you hear me?”

Wanda found herself smiling, her eyes still closed. “So formal,” she managed to say, her voice slightly hoarse. “I feel like I am in fancy restaurant."

She could hear the relieved smile in Peter’s voice. “How’re you feeling? You need anything?”

Another gust of wind blew by, and she sniffed. “I am a little cold," she admitted.

“Cold! Okay, okay uhhh...okay, wait right here. Don’t go any—”

She felt his presence leave, and she tried to wrap her jacket tighter around herself. It wasn’t long before footsteps hurried in close with a triumphant announcement: “Blankets!”

“Peter,” she said, half startled at the sensation of something warm being wrapped around her. “That is sweet of you, but you don’t need to—”

"Don’t worry Miss Maximoff,” Peter said, making a good work of it. His voice was set and determined, and he worked swiftly. “I’ll have you warmed up in a sec.”

Close to laughing as she was, a swell of warmth burst in her chest, as well as sadness. She and Pietro would always take care of one another when one of them fell sick. Before that, it was her mother. Something about being wrapped up...Wanda could barely remember the last time she received this kind of treatment.

Peter went overboard with the blankets. He wrapped and tucked with an concentrated urgency she didn't know he was capable of, and at the same time taking care not to invade her personal space. At the end of it, she was practically cocooned. There was movement above her head, and Wanda knew it was Peter poking his head in. “How’s this? Still cold?”

She laughed, quiet and slow, with all teeth. “Pietro,” she said, pulling out a hand and felt around before touching his arm. “Thank you really. I am just fine.” She then realized her mistake. "Oh I'm sorry. I meant Peter." 

"Oh--no worries, you're good." With a sound, he sat next to her, his knees tucked up to his chest. The sigh he emitted afterwards was a self-calming one. For a while, all was quiet. Minutes ticked by. 

Peter's leg was tapping restlessly. 

After a while, she put a finger to her ear. "Clint? Does anyone copy? Steve?" There was no answer...only static. "Peter, see if you can get a hold of them." 

Peter didn't need to be asked twice. "Hello? Anyone? It's uh, it's Peter, does anyone copy? Mr. Stark?" He waited, then shook his head. "Something's wrong." 

"Then I need you to go after them." 

"What?" 

"It's not like them not to report. Either someone's tampered with the comms or the team is in trouble. You need to go." 

"Yeah--" He looked out at the jungle, conflicted. "But--" 

"Don't worry about me. If someone needs backup you're the only one who can help them, they could have held you back for this very reason." 

He moved close to her. "But if something happens to you--" 

Her eyes flashed as she grabbed his arm. "Remember what Stark said. I'm giving you an order. And you promised yourself you would obey. Yes?" 

Surprised, Peter nodded, remembering. 

"So web up the supplies and go. I will look after it." 

"Okay," said Peter, "Okay, okay." Standing up, he aimed his wrists and fired, webbing up and securing everything firmly in one packed spot, protecting it from any external damage. When he was finished, he looked to Wanda, and she nodded. "Go. Go quickly." 

Spider-Man returned the nod and sprinted into the jungle. "I'll be back as soon as I can!"

And with that, Wanda was left alone. She coughed heavily into her fist and sunk backward into her blankets, her energy spent. Her eyes closed, and a whistling sounded faintly in her ear. 

A world passed, or maybe it was five or ten minutes before she heard the sound of footsteps. "Peter?" she mumbled, leaning her head lazily toward the sound. "Is that you?" 

There was a silence, then a laugh. "Close, buuut, not quite." 

Instantly her eyes flew open. That voice...

Sitting up, she searched around wildly before she spotting a figure standing in the mist, no too far away from her. Her mouth fell open, and she briefly rubbed at her eyes. The messy, unkempt ice blond hair, those blue eyes, that cocky yet direct smile... The blankets fell from her, and her hand automatically reached out before becoming frozen in space.

"...Pietro?" 

Chapter Text

“Barton!” The mist was dense and relentless as Tony’s metal clad feet stomped their way over a field of wildflowers, crushing a variety of weeds and dandelions in his path. Gritting his jaw, he looked this way and that before once again cupping his hands near his mouth. “Barton!” The word echoed into the vast shadows, but nothing more followed. Tony huffed a sigh. “Great.” He turned toward a misty path of trees.

He and Barton had long since parted ways with Rogers and Romanoff and were just starting to hit their stride in their pursuit of Wilson. Then the mist shifted. One moment Barton was here, and the next he was gone. “Fan freakin-tastic.”

Vexed though he was, Tony was quickly recognizing a pattern, one that was already getting old. Whoever their mysterious foe might be, they wanted the Avengers to be separated, they wanted them scattered and confused. And what’s more, Tony was beginning to think that this fog had something to do with it. The sudden waves of mist following a sudden disappearance was becoming too consistent to be a coincidence.

The fog itself could be a device of some kind, or a power, or ability. Either way, two things were becoming quite clear. For one, the Avengers probably had this person vastly outnumbered, or they wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of separating the team.

And for two, this person seemed to be relying heavily on what suited them. Ergo, the whole cloak and dagger schtick. This was their element, their forte—which probably meant that physical strength was out the window. Easy to take down. So it stood to reason that the only thing left to do was to locate the source and put an end to it.

Something didn’t smell quite right though.

The first being that of all the members of the team, Maximoff was the only one who got the worst of the poison. Just her, no one else. If physical prowess was an issue, then why stop there? Why not also target the super soldiers, or the kid, or, more glaringly, Bruce? Why risk getting thrashed by the Hulk?

The other thing too was that Maestro was a huge show off, a self-proclaimed Caesar. Thrills and entertainment seemed to be the name of the game, and there was zero chance that he’d bring the Avengers all the way out here just to watch them play hide and seek.

This mission would not be cut and dry.

In any case it looked like he was flying solo for now. Barton seemed to be a no-show, and Tony couldn’t afford to hang around for much longer. Despite everything that’s happened between them, Tony couldn’t help but hold out hope that the archer was still alive somewhere, safe, sound, and equally annoyed by the new development. But he couldn’t worry about him now.

If he wanted to help Barton and Wilson and the rest of the mystery gang, then he had to choice but to go straight for the root of the problem and deal with their new little culprit all by his lonesome.

So Tony turned heel and started heading in the direction of the tower. He was mostly going on memory since FRIDAY was currently kaput, so he was only 90% sure that he was going the right way. The fog certainly wasn’t helping any, even with the increased LED feature.

Mud and dirt clung to his iron clad boots, but Tony opted out of flying. Aside from the visibility issue, it was wiser to practice stealth until he knew more about what he was dealing with. The foggy wisps sifted around him as he moved as softly and quickly as he could.

A lost stretch of time passed in dry silence and unease. The fog wasn’t letting up, and Tony’s throat gradually began to tickle with thirst. He just making his way down a new path in the trail when he heard a snap of a branch, followed by a hustle of footsteps.

Tony’s repulsor whined to life as he whirled in the sound’s direction.

There was the a rustle of parting bushes, and a figure emerged from the vast obscurity. It was Rogers. The shield flashed brilliantly in the gloom. “Whoa easy,” he panted, holding up a hand. “It’s just me.”

Heart still skipping, Tony made an irritated sound with his mouth as the repulsor powered down. He did a quick visual sweep and noticed that Cap was one team member short.

“Where’s Romanoff?”

The soldier shook his head. “I lost her, she disappeared. Where’s Clint?”

“Same story.”

Steve let out a soft sigh, taking stock of their surroundings. “Something’s not right about this.”

“Oh really. Did you come to that conclusion either before or after people started disappearing?”

“We need to get to the tower. If Nat and Clint are still alive, they’ll have the same idea.”

Tony’s dark eyes were searching too. No particular figure or shape stood out. He then raised a fist in one direction and a beam of light emanated from the top of his wrist, pointing the way. “There’s a path that leads straight ahead. It’s still a ways, but if we really hoof it—”

“Right.” Steve briefly looked Tony up and down, and his lips formed in what attempted to be a smile. “Just try not to disappear on me.”

Tony didn’t match it. “Ditto.”

Together they went quickly. The forest seemed to creak and groan in a muddled haze as they cut through the greenery. They were just nearing the halfway mark when Tony’s breathing became ragged.

The arsenic poison. It was still raging in his system.

Tony was able to ignore the stabbing pains at first, bound and determined to make it to their destination. Then his stomach felt like it was sliced down the middle. A violent lurch followed, and his vision blurred and tilted. Choking, he stumbled to a stop and fell onto one knee.

He was about to tell Rogers to go on without him, when he heard a harsh deep coughing near by. He glanced over his shoulder. “Rogers...”

The soldier was also doubled over, and even though he was facing away, Tony could see that his neck was shining with sweat. “No, don’t,” Steve managed. “Try and save your breath.” His chest cautiously rose and fell. “We should rest for a minute...try and conserve our energy.”

Tony could only hang his head in silence, too sick with nausea to either agree or refute.

A long period passed, with nothing but the sound of distant crickets and uneven breaths filling the space between the two men.

Eventually Rogers spoke up. “Listen...about what happened back there—”

“You know, I’d rather not.”

“Tony—”

“Whatever happened to saving our breath, hm? What happened to getting this done? Just...bulldoze through everything, guns a blazing.”

“Believe it or not Tony, my main mission in life isn’t going against you, or making things hard on you.”

“Really? Well you seem to be doing a real bang-up job of it.”

For a long while, Steve didn’t respond. Then his voice same softly, quietly. “You should know, Tony. Back then I wanted to come clean to you. I really did.”

Tony’s head rose up. He didn’t look at Steve, didn’t even turn around to face him; Instead he leveled a half-hearted glare at the vague outline of trees in the near distance. “So why didn’t you?”

A short, imperceptible pause. “There were a lot of reasons.”

“Right,” Tony said. “One of those reasons being that you were ‘sparing’ yourself. That correct?”

He heard a shift of movement, and he looked over his shoulder in time to see the look of surprise on Steve’s face. “You read my letter.” At Tony’s reaction, he clarified. “I...didn’t think you would.”

“Yeah, I read it.” Tony turned around and forced himself to straighten his spine. “Kept your phone too. Kinda dated, by the way. But so distinctly... you.” Both were eyeing each other now, pale and haggard.

“You know after everything that went down in Berlin, I kept asking myself something over and over, something that I could never get out of my head...how long would you have kept that a secret, if Zemo never happened? Months? A year? Forever, maybe?”

“It’s not that simple. You know how things got after King T’Chakka died. Everything was chaotic, confused. A lot of things that ended up happening were happening in the moment. Yes, I knew Hydra had something to do with your parent’s death. But at the time, that was all I knew. I didn’t have all the pieces of the puzzle, and there wasn’t enough time or space to sit down and put them all together.”

“But say that you did have time,” said Tony. “Say there was plenty of time and space that you oh so coveted? What would you have done then, hmm?” His voice suddenly came sharply, a jagged knife’s edge. “What then, Cap?”

Steve’s lips settled into a line. “Even if Zemo hadn’t forced Bucky into a corner, and even if Ross weren’t there breathing down our necks about the Accords, what would you have possibly done to make the situation better instead of worse?”

“Oh nice one Rogers, way to avoid the question. Ten out of ten, really smooth.”

“Bringing up the possibility would have just been digging up old wounds, you wouldn’t have been thinking rationally enough to—”

“Rationally.” Tony’s voice cut through quietly, a whispered incoming missile of a threat. Poison still joyriding through his system, he moved forward, tried not to stumble, and swayed ever so slightly off balance. They were very close now, nose to nose.

“Rationally. Really, that’s your defense? After everything we’ve been through, after everything we’ve seen, that’s what you’re going with? For years you and I have lived and breathed insanity from the moment they pulled you from the ice, from the moment Loki decided to step foot on this planet and waged war on mankind. None of it was ever rational to begin with. But we’re not talking about what is or what isn’t rational, no. No, what it comes down to is faith.”

He make a poke at Rogers without actually touching him. “That’s another thing that really ticked me off about your letter. You said, and I can quote word for word on this because I practically have it memorized now, you said, ‘My faith’s in people, I guess. And I’m happy to say that for the most part, they haven’t let me down’. What I was hoping you’d say Cap, what I was hoping you’d tack onto that sentence was ‘ Tony, I gave up. I gave up on us, and I gave up on the Avengers. I admit full-heartedly that this time around when it really got down to the wire, I lost my faith in you.’ ”

He sniffed, looking off for a moment. “Gotta tell you, that ripped. It really did.”

“Tony,” said Steve, softly. There was a genuine sadness in his gaze. “If I could do a lot of things differently I would. I did have faith in you, and I still do. But I also know you. Your tendencies, your temperaments. You were always impulsive, almost to a fault. Could you honestly say, without a shadow of a doubt, that with all of your tech and all of your suits that Bucky’s safety wouldn’t have been compromised in any way shape or form?”

Tony mulled over the current taste in his mouth, dry and full of ash. “I don’t know.”

The words hovered, finally released into the air and free from its cage.

“But what I do know is that I would have at least heard you out. Given you the benefit of the doubt. Yeah the truth would have stung, most definitely. But at least I would have heard it from you. Someone I thought I could always count on. Instead I had to hear it from Zemo’s filthy mouth. Instead I was made to watch while—” He choked, involuntarily.

Steve’s eyes decently flicked away, allowing Tony to recollect himself. Wincing still due to the pain in his stomach, he drew in breath that didn’t feel like enough. “I also know that if it’d been me...I would never have snuck around behind your back, trying to weasel my way out of it. I wouldn’t have lost faith. I would know better. Now I realize what an absolute waste that would have been.”

Steve’s eyes fluttered, stung.

Hitching another breath, Tony had to keep himself upright by reaching out and leaning against a nearby tree. He knew he’d gone too far. But he couldn’t stop himself. Two years worth of hurt and betrayal and anguish that had been building in his chest was finally gushing out.

He wasn’t feeling any better.

“If it had been you,” came Steve’s voice. “You sound so sure. But what if, Tony, on the day you flew that missile through the wormhole, and you fell back down to earth...things went a little differently. Let’s say that the next time you opened your eyes, it wasn’t 2012 anymore, where you belonged. Instead it’s 2082, seventy years after the fact.

“It’s like a whole different universe. Nearly everything and everyone you’ve ever known is gone. Your friends.. your neighbors...your coworkers. By some miracle you find out that Pepper is still living, but she’s an old woman. She’s moved on, lived out her whole life without you. Half the time she doesn’t even know who you are. Then, she dies. You help lower her into the ground.”

Tony felt his breath still in the center of his chest. He looked back at Cap and saw an impossible pain reflected back. “You try and move on with your life,” Steve went on. “As best you can, anyway. You try...you try and hold it together. But then one day out of the clear blue sky, Rhodey shows up. Somehow he’s exactly the same as you left him, except he isn’t. You later find out that during the entire seventy years you’ve been asleep, someone out there has been using him. Brainwashing him. Torturing him. Making him do things you know for a fact he’d never do, not in a million years. He’s a killer now, and people have every right to demand justice. But in your heart, you know that deep down he’s the same Rhodey you’ve always known.”

Steve looked almost tired now, and his eyes held a heavy weight. “Tell me Tony, what would you do then? Would you leave him? Leave his life to chance? Or would you help him in any way you could?”

Tony barely had time to respond when a twig snapped. The two men whirled to action, Steve snapping into battle stance and Tony flinging up his hand. He gritted his teeth. Stupid! He had let himself get distracted.

“We know you’re there, show yourself,” Steve demanded, but there was no answer. Tony’s eyes scanned around them, the fog still much too dense to see through. “Alright, cover me, Rogers.”

“Tony,” Steve said sharply.

“Cover me. And stay close.” He went in.

Cap sighed, but he stuck like glue behind Tony. “This doesn’t have to end in a fight,” he called out. “It’d go a lot easier for you if you just came quietly.”

“Yeah, what he said.” Tony paused, alternating between potential targeting points before moving on. “Come on, don’t be shy. Tell you what, whatever Maestro is paying you, we’ll triple it.” They stopped again, and Tony aimed a shining light in every which way. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…” A cool mist blew past, whispering past his ears. “Olly olly oxen fre—” He jerked to a stop.

There in the gloom, a familiar monochromatic iron suit stood. The center light and eyes glowed red in the dark. Tony opened his mouth. “What on—”

The face plate of the other suit went up, revealing Rhodey’s face. “Tony!”

Tony blinked furiously. “Rhod—what—I—”

“Thank goodness you’re safe.” He practically launched forward and embraced him, suit against suit. Tony’s mouth was still working, still struggling to properly find the words. “How in the—you—” He grabbed Rhodey and pulled back, looking right at him. “We were literally just talking about you.”

Rhodey grinned. “I guess my ears must have been burning then.”

Tony laughed, slapping him on the arm. He turned. “Rogers, we—Rogers.” All traces of mirth dropped from his face as he looked around. “Rogers!”

Rhodey frowned. “Steve was here with you?”

“Yeah, he was right—Rogers!” He sighed, cursing under his breath. He turned back to Rhodey. “Yeah listen, we’ve got ourselves a smoke and mirrors situation here, long story. Right now I need your help. We need to find the person who’s causing this and catch them.”

“Okay, Roger that. We’ve got a number of SHIELD agents swarming the island as we speak. All of you are still relatively in one piece, right? Sam, Natasha, Peter, Bruce?”

“Yeah, yeah we’re all good—least I hope we are, we’re a bit scattered at the moment. Haven’t been able to reach anybody in this fog. Comms are down. I don’t think we’re dealing with anyone strong, so you and I can take take ‘em down right here, right now.”

“Sounds like a plan. You know where to go?”

“Yeah, this way I think.” With one last lingering stare toward where Cap once stood, he turned and went with Rhodey.

Peter charged through the jungle, body stinging from the large leathery leaves that smacked into him along the way. Enhanced eyesight or not he could see hardly anything through the fog, and he really had no idea where he was going in the first place. But Wanda gave him an objective, and he’d do his best to carry it out.

“Karen,” he panted, “I need you to help me find the team!”

His AI responded, her voice clear and bright as always. “Sure thing, Peter. Are you looking for anyone in particular?”

“I dunno, somebody—anybody. Anybody who needs my help!”

A part of him yearned to check on how Mr. Stark was doing—but first thing’s first. He had to help find the vanished. “Maybe look for Sam or Dr. Banner, or Sergeant Barnes? I don’t know, any Avenger that’s closest!”

“Okay,” said Karen. “I’ll start mapping the area now. Would you like me to send out Rufus?”

Peter could have smacked himself. Why didn’t he think of that before? “Yeah—yeah let’s do that, send him!”

There was a soft tiny click, and Rufus, formerly known as “Droney”, flew out from the center of the spider-suit and hovered out in front of Peter’s nose. Behind the mask, he smiled. Much like with Karen and her initial name being “Suit-lady”, Peter felt kinda bad about his reconnaissance drone’s name, especially when he’s helped out a lot during Spider-Man’s sketchier missions.

Rufus flexed out his little spidery legs and blinked at him, one eye after the other. “Go get ‘em boy,” Peter encouraged, arms still pumping. Rufus cutely chittered back and with a salute (A trick Peter spent hours teaching him), the drone flew off out of sight.

He had been running a long while since then, with no sign of anyone, no matter how many times he called out. Sometimes he had to stop to catch his breath, only to realize that he wasn’t sure exactly which direction he came from. The fog was so thick and the trees were all so similar, Peter could only guess which path he was supposed to continue down. But now it felt like he was going around in circles.

“This sucks,” he muttered as he sank down against the trunk of a tree. Splayed out and exhausted, he called out for what felt like the billionth time. “Hellooooo...anyone...need help? It’s me. Spider-Man.”

No answer, and no surprise.

Peter sighed, long and heavy, and closed his eyes. “Okay, anytime now Karen.”

As if on cue, he heard a faint chittering from high above, and Peter cracked his eyes open in time to see Rufus’ descent. “Scan complete,” said Karen. “I’m detecting a heat signature approximately 80 meters southeast of your location.”

Peter perked up hopefully, fatigue forgotten about. “Is it an Avenger?”

“My facial recognition database is finding a match with Dr. Bruce Banner.”

“Finally!”

“Hang on Peter,” said Karen, her voice having a slight pinch of concern in it. “It looks like he’s being pursued. I’m detecting a number of anomalies. If you hurry, you might be able to catch up with him in time.”

Peter’s brows furrowed. Dr. Banner was being chased? That can’t be good. “Okay, I’m on my way!” He got right to his feet and took a quick second to high five Rufus with a finger. “Nice going, buddy. You too, Karen!” He took off running, and Rufus retracted back into his chest.

“My pleasure Peter,” replied Karen.

“How are you here?” Bucky aimed his gun, trying to mask the slight tremble in his grip. Feet planted, his mind spun in circles. Arnim Zola smiled back at him. Briefly wetting his lips, Bucky readjusted his rifle, making sure that he was aiming right between the eyes. “I said how are you here?” His voice was stronger this time, his only solace at the moment.

But Zola’s grin only widened, and the twinkle of mirth that gleamed in the scientist’s eye sent icy shivers of fear down Bucky’s spine. Measuring his breath, he tried to calm his beating heart. He briefly nodded toward the other man. “You’re dead. You’re dead twice over, you don’t even have a body. Steve told me.”

Zola’s eyebrows raised and his smile grew more humored, as if Bucky were a small child who asked a silly yet interesting question. “I assure you, soldier,” he replied, and Bucky’s insides rattled at the sound of his voice. “I do indeed have a body. And I am very much alive.”

Bucky shook his head, still not believing it. “You’re a clone of some kind. That or I’ve finally gone off the deep end and my mind’s playing tricks.”

“I’m afraid you’re somewhat right about that, soldier,” said Zola, his expression morphing into something slightly more sympathetic. He then took off his glasses and started polishing them off with the end of his lab coat—an old habit of his. He shook his head, regretfully. “I do apologize, Sergeant Barnes. It never should have gone this far.”

This is bait, Bucky’s mind warned, but the words were out before he could stop them. “What’s gone this far?”

“Perhaps you should lower your gun, before someone gets hurt.”

“I’ll keep it right where it is, thanks.”

A sigh, an air of disappointment. “Very well then.” He walked over and sat on a log, ten paces from where Bucky stood. The rifle followed, though Zola didn’t seem to pay much mind. “You’re aware, Sergeant Barnes, that SHIELD decided to recruit me shortly after the war was over.”

“I know all about it,” said Bucky, sharply. “You were a mole the entire time, you played them. Planted Hydra’s seed so it could grow from the inside. Infecting it.”

“Indeed,” said Zola. “My position also allows me to observe many of their secret workings. SHIELD has been developing some very interesting future projects; blueprints of transportation and weaponry unlike anything we’ve seen, but were still years ahead of its time. Of our time. We had not yet the technology. But the potential, it was there.” He grinned then, his teeth stained a dull yellow. “Naturally, I made a few copies.”

“So? What’s that got to do with me?”

A small flicker of annoyance flickered on Zola’s face before he shrugged, like it couldn’t be helped. “For some time now, we at Hydra have been working on a state-of-the-art simulation chamber that would allow our soldiers to go in and experience a variety of battlegrounds that would help sharpen their skills so that when the time came, they would be flawless out in the field. But when I took the stolen copies of the SHIELD blueprints and entered them into the algorithm...the result…it was truly fascinating.”

His eyes still twinkled, like a child’s. “It was like peeking into the future.”

The scientist looked Buky’s way, and he tensed. “Naturally we thought to send you in—to see how our Winter Soldier would do against the potential SHIELD of tomorrow. You performed flawlessly, as expected. At first we saw no visible change in you, so we went ahead and scheduled you visit the island for a few weeks. Unfortunately that was when I started receiving reports.” Zola’s face became troubled, brows slightly furrowed. “First you started rambling about Steve Rogers and this so-called ‘Project Insight’. Then came something about a group of beings called The Avengers—” The scientist made air quotes. “Which, very creative by the way, but not at all practical.”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky’s voice was rough in his throat. His mouth was very dry all of a sudden. “The Avengers—”

“The Avengers do not exist, Sergeant Barnes,” said Zola sharply. “They are a combination of lines of code and the wild imagination of a silly, stupid soldier who still does not know his place.”

“You’re lying,” said Bucky, his voice raising. “You’re lying. Captain America, Iron Man, Black Widow, the Hulk, they’re all real, they’re all—” His voice caught, and he quickly steadied it, along with his burning anger. “They stopped Loki when he attacked New York, I know all about it. Then Steve found me—”

“Steve Rogers died when he crashed The Valkyrie into the Arctic thirty years ago. It’s high time you accept that and let him go.”

“Thirty years ago,” Bucky repeated. His heart did odd skips in his chest, and his eyes fluttered briefly. “No. No, that’s—”

A burdened, wearied sigh. “For the last time, soldier. It is 1975.”

Bucky’s mind...spun.

Steve was dead? 1975? No...no that can’t be right. Hissing a breath, he grit his teeth and readjusted his rifle. “No you died in 1972. You had a terminal illness!”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Zola smiled.

“It’s 2018!”

“Come now stop this foolishness.” The sharp edge was back, and it sent an involuntary spark of fear down Bucky’s spine. He’s not here, he thought. He’s not in control of me, he’s not. “I want to hear no more about green monsters and falling cities and black panthers. You’ve caused us enough trouble already. All of our trainees are gone because of you and your delusions.”

Hopelessly, Bucky wracked his brain. His forehead creased. “The recruits...I…”

“You killed them all.” Zola stood up then, face nearly void of emotion, but a simmering rage sat underneath. “Lost in one of your little daydreams, you apparently thought you were off fighting giant wasps from outer space. But in reality, you ignored all orders, disobeyed your superior officer, and bulldozed through the exercise, killing every one of our recruits. There is not a soul left to train.”

His mind flashed back. The wasps...they were real, he was sure of it. The way their metallic bodies brushed against his face and skin, the smell of putrid ooze, the sound of frantic, angry wing beats in his ears...it was real. All of it had to be real. He shook his head, not looking at the other man now. “No...no this is a trick. The Avengers are real. Project Insight, the Accords, Wakanda, all of it. You’re what’s fake.” Zola moved forward, and Bucky cocked his weapon. “Unless you want a face full of lead, you stay right there. Not one more step.”

Zola stopped, and he held his hands up in a placating manner. “I mean you no harm.”

“Yeah, right.” With his gun still trained on him, Bucky turned ever so slightly away. He put a finger to his ear while still keeping the scientist well within his sights. “Steve, you there? Come in.”

There was a long static. His heart beat desperately in his chest as he and Zola waited. “Steve. Nat, it’s me, come in. Does anybody copy?” The pause was long and empty and quiet, save for the dead feedback. “Sam, report. Stark, do you copy?”

“Ah, Stark,” said Zola, his voice carrying over the static, “Anthony Stark. The Iron Man. It’s touching really, the persona you’ve created for him. A result of your guilty conscience no doubt, making him into an orphan.”

A dark thrill went through him, and he nodded toward the scientist with a bare hint of a smile. “Nice try, but you’re off a couple decades, Pal.”

“You did kill Howard Stark, and his young wife. But not under the circumstances you have led yourself to believe.” Zola’s head was turned to the side, like a snake’s. “Howard has done very good work for SHIELD, and for the United States Armed Forces. For years we’ve been riding the coat tails of his work, but it soon came the time when his services were no longer required. We weren’t gunning for Mrs. Stark, but she was simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. Collateral damage. It was a nice little distraction for SHIELD to focus their sights on, rather than their stolen plans. That job was carried out four years ago.”

The fog thickened, and Bucky dragged in air through his nose. He felt sick. And it wasn’t just the poison in his system, which also raged and made his head spin. Dully, he tried the comms again. “This is James Buchanan Barnes. Does anyone copy?”

“And your so-called Iron Man,” Zola went on, eyes gleaming, “Is merely a hapless five year old boy whose life you’ve destroyed. No doubt he is being raised by a nanny of some sort back in the States. Still quite rich, but rather parentless.”

Zola moved again, slowly, and Bucky found himself edging back. “I take full responsibility for what’s happened. We should never have sent you into that chamber. Even now I see that’s it’s too soon to put you in such a drastic environment. I should have known that there would be some part of you that still wants to rebel. There used to be a time when I admired that strong will in you, but now enough is enough. It’s time to let go, solider.”

He inched ever closer, close enough for Bucky to notice the crows feet around Zola’s eyes, the deep lines in his face. And his hair, once a pale yellow, was now barely there, and a stark white. Older and seemingly wiser now, compared to when Bucky saw him last. It rattled him more than he’d ever want to admit. “Stay back.”

“Come now, Sergeant Barnes. Don’t you find your story just a little bit too perfect? I mean, here you are, with a team of ‘heroes’ that just so happens to include Steve Rogers, your closest childhood friend—who is not only alive and well, but has somehow emerged out of the ice without so much as a scratch after such a violent crash—and Anthony Stark, the bastard son of a man you once knew, a man whom you’ve killed. And how perfect is it that somehow after all these years, you’ve found your way back to the island. It is even more wonderfully convenient that Anthony has presented you with an opportunity to redeem yourself by saving a boy that he himself cares for. A second chance for you, hmm?”

Bucky’s breath was slower now. “I will shoot you.”

Zola regarded him consideringly. “Perhaps. But you should know Sergeant Barnes that even if you strike me down, someone will just take my place. And you are still hopelessly outnumbered.”

Bucky followed the pointed direction of Zola’s gaze and froze. Through the mist he could see the distinct shape of a boot poking out from behind a tree. And there—two shadowy figures looming in the bushes. Beads of sweat dotting along his forehead, his eyes darted this way and that, in all directions, searching desperately for an opening, a way out—but all he saw were Hydra agents, dressed in black, guns trained directly on him. Cornered, like the frightened animal he was.

Zola’s voice called out to him through the fog of growing panic. “We can find Anthony. You and him can be next to each other as the words are read out loud—”

“No.” Bucky’s voice was sharp, near primal. Then he blinked. Wait, he didn’t believe this, did he? But the familiar itch of dread crept along his skin as the circle slowly started to close in, and distinct noses and mouths and faces started to come into view. All of them held varying expressions of barely contained rage and revenge, their shoulders rigid, movements sharp and calculated.

Was it...was it all just a dream? Was it just his mind’s way of escaping his reality? But how could it have been, when it all felt so real?

“I meant what I said before, that we mean you no harm,” said Zola, his tone assuring. “You are still a valuable asset. Appropriate actions will be taken of course, and you will be disciplined accordingly.”

Bucky felt sick. He felt really, really sick. So sick, that he only now realized that he had lowered the gun significantly. His mouth opened, hesitated, then said in a soft voice, “But I’ve seen so many things...so many inventions, and advancements...not just SHIELD tech.”

“And I am sure they were wonderful things indeed,” Zola agreed. “But they are merely features that came with the algorithm. Perhaps some of the things you’ve seen will one day come into being. Others, not.” He neared ever closer, the muzzle of the gun almost pressing up against his chest. “Lower your weapon soldier.”

A surge sparked in his chest, and gritting his teeth, Bucky aimed, which set off a round of clicks of weapons. The spark fluttered into a deep seated fear that felt ages old but no less potent, and his heart skipped. With fleeting looks to all that surrounded him, his hands trembled lightly as he slowly, slowly lowered his rifle.

Bucky’s gaze didn’t fall on anyone in particular, but he heard the pleased smile in Zola’s voice. “Always a good boy.”

“How’s Happy doing?”

“Huh? Oh, he’s doing great. Mostly worried about you. Pepper too.”

Tony nodded. The forest was almost dead quiet as they moved through the mist, carefully checking for any strange sights or sounds along the way. “So how’d you find us?”

“It wasn’t easy that’s for sure,” Rhodey replied. “Your guy had this place pretty well hidden. SHIELD had to pull out all the stops.”

“He calls himself Maestro,” Tony said with a subtle roll of his eyes. “We’re not sure about his real identity yet, or his motive.”

Rhodey’s eyes flicked over. “What do you think it is? If you had to take a guess?”

Tony took a moment to answer. “Haven’t given it much thought to be honest. Clearly he’s got a chip on his shoulder, particularly with the Avengers. Could be that he’s out for some sort of revenge, though he hasn’t said anything about it yet—which is surprising, given that he likes to run his mouth about everything else. Gosh, he’s annoying. Have they caught him yet?”

“They’re working on it. He jumped ship the moment he figured out that SHIELD had pinpointed his location.”

“That tracks.”

Rhodey’s gaze was still on him as they walked. “But seriously. This guy, Maestro—he must’ve gone to a whole lot of trouble to make all this happen. I mean we’re talking years. Lots of patience. Doesn’t it make you wonder, just a little? What the Avengers could’ve done to tick him off that badly?”

“Who knows, really. I mean with our current track record—”

“Stop. You know I didn’t mean it that way, I’m just curious. I have a right to be curious, now that he’s involved all my friends.”

“That, and the fact he didn’t invite you.”

“The Weasel.”

Tony chuckled.

“Well he’s not gonna get away with it,” Rhodey said firmly. “He’s about to find out that he made the biggest mistake on earth messing with the Avengers.”

“Like that night we spent in Madrid? The whole Josie and Theresa fiasco? Think that tops it.”

“Oh, definitely.”

They were coming upon a split in the path when Rhodey suddenly stopped. “What is it?” Tony asked.

“Think I hear something.” They both ducked low to the ground and waited, not one of them moving a muscle.

Tony strained his ears, but he heard nothing. He began to shake his head. “I don’t—”

“Shh, no listen!” His finger hovered the air between them. “Hang on a sec.” He got to his feet and charged forward.

Tony sprang up. “Hey wait—”

A barrage of laser blasts shooting out of guns. Tony knocked into Rhodey just in time, and the two collapsed behind a thick cluster of bushes and into a small ditch. Grunting, Tony rolled over and propped himself on his side. Rhodey was laying diagonally from him, watching.

“Who are you?” Tony asked.

Rhodey’s eyebrows knitted together in apparent confusion. “I...I don’t understand, what—”

“Cut the crap.” The blasts continued, but the two men only had eyes for one another. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. But I’m not an idiot. And you’re definitely not Colonel Rhodes.”

Rhodey was silent for a long moment. Then he grinned, sitting up on one elbow and wiping the specks of dirt from his face. “What gave it away?”

“Well for one, you claimed that SHIELD sent you, but you didn’t report to anyone when you found me. You didn’t ask me nearly enough questions, didn’t even try to properly asses the situation. Rhodey and I never spent a night in Madrid, we never even spent an hour in Madrid. He and I were supposed to spend a week there on business years ago, but I got hammered the night before and threw up on the Mayor’s shoes the moment we stepped off the plane. Then I tried to kiss his mother. We still argue about it. Oh and FYI, Josie and Theresa are the names of his niece's hamsters.”

Inside Tony shuddered at the cold glint in Not-Rhodey’s eyes. His smirk found its way regardless. “And the Rhodey I know would never run in head first without a plan. Usually he’s the one who tries to pull me back, not the other way around. Part of how we compliment each other so well. That and the matching outfits.”

Not-Rhodey chewed his lip and tilted his head to the side, as if considering. “Okay. Anything else?”

Tony’s eye pinched a little as he thought about it. “Ehh, you were kinda gushy at the beginning. Rhodey would’ve at least had a joke lined up. And I don’t remember ever telling him the kid’s name either, but I admit, SHIELD would have filled him in on that little detail for the rescue mission, so I’ll let that slide. But weasel? Weasel? ”

“Fair enough, Tony. Thanks for the constructive criticism. I’ll remember to do better next time.”

“Oh but see, that’s where you’re wrong. There isn’t going to be a next time.” They were both in kneeling positions now, tensely poised. The barrage of fire raged on above the ditch and beyond the cover of bushes. “So, what’s the secret?” He lightly gestured up and down. “Photostatic Veil? Cloning? Evil twin brother? Plastic surgery? Body-snatching, perhaps?”

“So it’s true, you really are insufferable. You also look a lot taller on television.”

“What can I say. The Iron suit tends to add on a few inches.” He had a glowing palm aimed right at the impostor. “Who are you, really?”

“Oh, we’re not nearly there yet Tony,” Not-Rhodey smiled. “After all, the night’s just getting started. I’ll tell you before the end, but I intend to have my fun first. With you...with the Avengers...and with widdle Peter too.”

A hot spark flared in Tony’s chest. Don’t react. Keep the focus on you.

“I noticed that the fog is more thicker in some places than others. Here’s pretty heavy, but not nearly as dense as the place Barton and I first started from.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that all of this is coming from you. But you’re not really here, are you?”

Not-Rhodey lifted his eyebrows as if slightly impressed. “How do you figure that?”

“You match the War Machine suit pretty well, but I never even heard the suit coming, and it wasn’t exactly built for subtlety. And now that I really look at it, there’s a few features I’m seeing that aren’t looking quite right. How it moves, how it functions, even how it sounds. Even replicas and copy-cats have more realistic functionings than what you’ve got going. Not a lot to go on, I know. Just a hunch.”

“That’s a far-reaching hunch.”

“Maybe. But I am right though, aren’t I?” Tony jerked his head sideways. “Those guys with laser guns aren’t even real, are they?”

“Why don’t you shoot at them and find out?”

“How ‘bout I start with you?”

Not-Rhodey laughed, a frankly disturbing sound. “No you won’t, ‘Tones’. You wouldn’t shoot your dear old friend.”

“You’re not my dear old friend.”

“And yet you risked your life pushing me out of the way, even when you suspected that I was a fake. Oh Tony, you really couldn’t be that gallant, could you? A true and honest hero, under all that snark? Is there really a change in you?”

“More like I needed you, for questioning.”

“Well, you want to know what I think…” Tony’s heart stopped when he saw the blood, trailing out of Rhodey’s nose. Just like on that day…

“...I think that you just couldn’t help yourself. Real or not, you couldn’t bring yourself to fail him. Again.” He wiped at the blood with the back of his hand and chuckled, as if to himself. “I was actually planning to die in front of you. But then you had to go and tackle me and ruin it. Oh, well. There’s still time to spice things up.”

A blast came out of nowhere and struck Tony’s chest plate. “Ah!” He fell hard onto his back against the hard packed ground. He barely had the time to look at his smoking center in wonder when the men with lasers descended on him. The iron face plate slammed down and his head jerked from side to side. “Hey!”

But Not-Rhodey had disappeared.

Jerking to his feet, he sent out a number of blasts from his hands. His jaw practically dropped when the ones he hit directly lost all form and fell into a puddle of dark-colored goop on the ground. It only took him a second to gather his bearings before he leapt straight into the fray. The fog was shifting strangely now.

It's just like I thought. The fog’s gotta be spiraling from one person, like a typhoon. Possibly enhanced. That’s probably why we were all poisoned, to keep us within range. 

Now that he knew they weren’t human, his targets were much more precise, not afraid to aim directly for the head and chest, causing them to explode more efficiently. Looks like our perp is on the move while at the same time keeping me busy. These fakes sure are convincing, I'll give 'em that. Their weapons certainly feel real. Gotta find him or her NOW, before it’s too la—

A ring of goop surrounded his feet, but he saw more emerging out of the fog before he could even take a step. They were like ants, swarming him. And more after that.

Tony clenched his jaw. Okay...this might take me a while.

“Get back,” ordered Bruce, briefly kicking out a leg before hooking it back around the tree trunk. The robots below whirred and sliced all around him, slowly working away at the tree he had been forced to climb. He had only been able to make it up halfway, not nearly high up enough to be out of reach of the murder bots. One of them took another swipe at him, and managed to nick his leg. “Ow, hey!”

Another slice, this time tearing at his left thigh. Gritting his teeth, doctor scrambled, his hands and knees trying to grip what they could before sliding hopelessly back down. “You’re making a big mistake,” he warned them. “I’m about to get real angry—and you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry!”

The robots quieted, and for a bewildered split of a second, Bruce thought his threat of violence actually worked. But then they came to life again, perhaps even more frenzied than before, and the doctor heard the unmistakable sound of multiple mini-drills being activated before simultaneously piercing into the trunk below.

So much for that, he thought dryly. Wriggling back upward, he gripped his arms around the tree in a clumsy bear hug and tried to figure out his next move.

He really wasn’t trying to unleash the Hulk, especially not here on the island. Despite the team’s assurances, being in a secluded place was hardly any better. It was a relief that there would be no civilians to worry about. But they were in a dome. Escape was futile.

At least out in the real world there were several systems in place in order to keep the Hulk in line. And there were plenty of people in charge with the will to end his existence at a moment’s notice, should it come down to it. The Avengers didn’t operate that way, something they kept hammering into him ever since he met them.

They would exhaust any and every option they had before they finally decided to put him down for good. And there was no Hulk buster around to help protect them either. No containments. No weapons to truly withstand Hulk’s strength.

Tony only had one iron suit, and nothing more.

He was glad there were only a small group of people he could possibly hurt, he really was. But at the same time these were the only group of people who ever really believed in him. And he could end up killing them all.

Bruce looked down at the robots with a clenched jaw. He’s resisted this long. He wouldn’t give in to what Maestro wanted and lose control. If he could just find a way to hold back a little while longer—

“Look out below!”

Spider-Man came swinging in and landed feet first on a robot that was furthest from the tree, effectively caving it in. “What’s up, Doc?”

Bruce blinked.

The horde spun around in unison, turning away from their old prey. Visors blaring an angry red, and they charged toward the kid, sharp blades gleaming in the in the darkness.

A warning cry rose in Bruce’s throat, but Spider-Man was already somersaulting high over their heads before he could be swarmed, leaving the ones who couldn’t stop in time to smash headfirst into the trees. “Missed me!” Webs shout out from his wrists, stopping a few in their tracks and gumming up their weapons.

Letting out a breath, Bruce briefly turned his attention away from the smashing and quipping as he held fast and shimmied, slowly and carefully inching his way back down to the ground. “Take that! And that! And this!”

Arms trembling with effort, Bruce nodded to himself. “Okay Banner, nothing to it,” he murmured. “Just take it easy...one step at a ti—aah!” His foot slipped, and the doctor was sent sprawling to the ground with a hard thud.

“Ahh,” he said, face screwed up in pain as he lay flat on his back in the dirt. The sounds of fighting had long since ended, probably before Bruce even hit the ground.

Footsteps hurried. “Hey, you okay, Doctor B?” A yelp left Bruce’s mouth as the kid hoisted him up by the arm, causing him stumble. Hands fussed over him, checking for injuries and brushing the dust and dirt from his clothes. “You all good?”

Bruce stopped Peter and held him at arm’s length while his other hand went around to rub his sore back. He tried to hold in a wince. “Yeah, no I’m fine. Thanks.”

“Oh, great.” The kid sounded relieved. “Where’d you even go?”

“Where did I go?”

“Yeah, you like, disappeared! You, and Sam, and Sergeant Barnes—”

“Wait, what?”

“Literally what I’ve been saying, the three of you just straight up vanished—” He snapped his fingers. “Like that! Everyone was totally freaking out. What happened?”

“I...we were walking, and a huge cloud of mist showed up—then everyone was gone.” Rolling his tender left shoulder, he gestured at the scattered scraps of metal strewn all over the ground. “That’s when these guys showed up. Started chasing me.”

“Huh. Weird. Well it was a good thing Rufus found you when he did.”

The doctor looked at him. “Rufus?”

“Oh, he’s my reconnaissance drone thing-y. I named him after that cute little naked mole rat—you know, the one from that show, Kim Possible?”

“I’m sorry, Kim what?”

“You know, that cartoon show, the one with the teenager and the spy—Oh, you haven’t seen it.” An awkward pause lasted between them.

“Uh, that’s cool, no worries. Not everyone’s—and you’re a lot older, so you’ve probably—never heard of—” Bruce raised his eyebrows and Peter dropped off. “I’m just gonna...try the team, hey guys?” He put his finger to his ear, and Bruce sighed and began to survey their surroundings.

“Spider-Man to team, over! Anyone there? I found Doctor Banner, he’s okay.” He looked over at Bruce and added in a near whisper, “It’s actually a really good show. Maybe after this we could, I dunno, catch it together sometime.”

“Yeah maybe,” Bruce muttered, only half listening. Something nagged at him. Something about this area was different somehow.

“Spider-Man to team, come in team!” Peter sighed. “We should probably start heading back anyway. Wanda—”

Suddenly there was a burst of static, and both Peter and Bruce jumped, startled. There was garbled intonation, and Bruce winced, reaching into his right ear to tweak the volume.

“Hello?” Peter said, hunching forward intently.

Then, a voice rang out clear. “...eam, can anyone hear me!”

“Mr. Stark!”

“Tony!”

Tony didn’t answer, didn’t even seem to hear them call out to him, no matter how many times they tried.

There was significant movement on the other side of the line, at it sounded like he was struggling hard against something. “Listen,” he finally said, his breathing somewhat labored, “I don’t know if anyone’s getting this but if you come across a tall dark and handsome stud muffin in an Iron suit don’t believe it, it’s a trick!”

There was the sound of muffled gunfire on the other end. Bruce held his breath.

“It’s the fog, it’s producing illusions of live people. It copied Rhodey, but it was a rouse. STAY SHARP, be on your guard, DON’T FALL FOR—” There was a lull, and a distant shout. “Kid if you’re listening, STAY—”

His voice cut out and was replaced by another mess of static. “Mr. Stark?…Mr. Stark!”

This time there was a sea of other voices over the comms. Bruce could just barely recognize the team’s voices here and there, but nothing could be made out.

Bruce suddenly looked over at Peter, and Peter did the same, as evident by the slight turn of his head. They both froze. Bruce’s stomach turned to ice. Quickly, he wracked his brain. Was this really Peter? Or was it an illusion? A fake?

Normally Bruce would call the concept of doppelgangers absurd, let alone ones that could be produced by mere mist. But after everything else he’s experienced, he could hardly say for sure.

“Uh,” Peter began, swallowing. “I—”

Bruce’s hand went to his ear, turning his mic all the way up and said, “Bruce to Peter, over!”

The loud echo of his voice came muffled from under the mask, and Peter started back, covering his ears. “Hey, what was that for?”

“Comms,” Bruce said with relief. He turned his mic back down. “We’re all still connected, even the phantoms couldn’t replicate that.”

“Comms,” Peter echoed, and his shoulders melted in relief as well. “Yeah...yeah that’s right.” He chuckled and Bruce chuckled too, though it was more strained and halting than Peter’s. “And, uh look—” He briefly pulled up his mask, revealing his flushed face. He smiled and waved a little. “I’m me, I promise.”

“Yeah, I know, don’t worry,” nodded Bruce as the kid pulled his mask back down.

...At least, Bruce was 90% certain. There was still no sure fire way of telling, but he was at least confident enough to lower his guard, just a little.

Besides, people have often tried to kill Bruce as Bruce, before Hulk inevitably stepped in. If Peter did turn out to be a double of some sort and tried to back stab him, then Hulk would surely have a way of...dealing with it.

The garbled noise rose to a crescendo, and a new voice broke through, muttering mid-curse. “Sam?” Bruce asked, hand back to his ear.

“Bruce? Thank God, where have you been man, where are you?”

“I—” Bruce looked left and right and threw up a hand. “I have no idea. How about you, did you get Tony’s message?”

“Parts of it.” There were more gunshots, and what sounded like a mini explosion followed by a spray of dirt. “I don’t know about phantoms and copies but these guys with guns sure look real to me. First everyone disappears and these robots started chasing me, then these guys came up out of nowhere. I’m afraid I’m in the thick of it, I can barely see a thing out here, the fog’s too heavy.”

“Yeah, the fog here is—” It clicked. “There is no fog,” he realized.

Peter twisted his head around back and forth. “...Hey you’re right, there isn’t!” It was still dark out, but the air was open and clear. That’s what Bruce noticed.

Had the robots really chased him out that far away from the group? Or did the hostile know exactly where the fog would be dissipated? It had to be intentional. And if it was, why? For what reason? A thousand possibilities ran wild through his mind, and none of them led to anything good.

“Sam,” Peter said (Bruce was 98% sure it was really him now, no fog means no illusions), “I’m gonna try to get Karen to pinpoint your location so we can find you.”

There was a brief pause. “Kid, you with Bruce? Who else is there with you?”

“No one, it’s just us.”

“And you’re sure there’s no fog from where you’re standing?”

“No—I mean yes, we’re sure,” said Bruce. “There’s—”

A hand went to his shoulder, followed by a quiet yet urgent, “Doctor B.”

Bruce looked up. Just out ahead of them, about a stone throw’s distance away, a heavy mist rose. Little by little it approached, condemning all the trees in its path to a life of shadows.

The comms crackled. “What?” Sam asked. “What is it?”

“It...the fog,” said Bruce, as if in a trance. “I see it, it’s coming.”

More gunfire, thrown in with a few grunts and punches. “Get out of there, NOW!”

“What?” said Peter. “Wait no, what about you and the rest of—”

“No. Run. This could be some type of mind controlling agent. If you’re caught up in the fog Bruce—”

“I know.” Bruce didn’t need Sam to finish. If these powers were anything like Wanda’s or something even worse, then there was very little Bruce could do to try and hold Hulk back.

Bruce and Peter watched as the fog slowly inched closer. They inched back. Hands beginning to tremble, the doctor desperately tried to calm his breathing and pull himself together. “But those illusions Sam, what if...you might end up seeing—”

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME! Tony just gave us the heads up, I know what I’m up against. I can handle myself just fine. Right now you and Peter need to get as far away from the fog as possible!”

“Sam, Wanda’s still back at the beach,” Peter said tightly. “She’s—she’s still sick, she’s all alone—”

“I’LL GET WANDA. I swear on my life, I will get her! You wanna help her and the others, then get Bruce out of there until we find a way to beat this guy. Save him, save yourself! GO!”

The connection clicked off. “Doctor Banner?” Peter asked.

Bruce was still frozen. The clouds of mist crept ever closer, and was now walling them in on nearly all sides. Peter looked this way and that in a nervous fit of energy. “Uh...uh…” He looked upward, then turned to Bruce. “Right! Doctor Banner get on my back, quick!”

That was enough to snap Bruce out of it. “What?” he shouted, against the idea, against the situation, against the world, really.

“Yeah, come on, hurry!” He turned and bent his knees, half assisting as Bruce reluctantly scrambled on. It took some awkward maneuvering since Peter was a little shorter than Bruce and his shoulders weren’t broad—yet when he gripped on, Bruce was surprised to feel nothing but firm muscle. Not for the first time, he couldn’t help but wonder who created such a serum, if Peter had received any.

Because despite all appearances, the teen was strong and steady and supported Bruce’s weight easily, as if he were a mere backpack.

“Okay,” said Peter hurriedly, “You ready?”

“No.” With his arms wrapped almost chokingly around Peter’s neck and his legs around his torso, Bruce was sure that he’d never looked or felt more foolish in his life.

Peter fired off a web and it stuck to a nearby tree. “It’s a good thing I’ve been practicing. Hang on tight!” All too quickly, he sprung up off the ground, and Bruce screamed.

“But Mr. Hogan—”

“No.”

“But can’t I just—”

“I said no, kid!”

Happy whirled around and Ned stopped short, sneakers squeaking against the floor. Happy let his hand suspend for a moment, then let it drop, sighing. “I know you wanna help. But you and I both know that’s not gonna happen.”

A subtle whine crept into Ned’s voice. “But why?”

A nasty migraine throbbed between Happy’s eyebrows, of which he rubbed with a vengeance. “Kid,” he muttered, trying his best to be very patient, “Lemme put this into perspective for you. Everyone who hasn’t been living under a rock lately knows about Peter’s identity. And thanks to the oh-so diligent efforts of the press, all of his personal information has been leaked out to the entire world. I’m talking his phone number, his address, where he goes to school, his class schedule—everything. And when the Midtown students were asked if Peter had any close friends, who do you think they all pointed the finger at?”

Ned’s mood quieted somewhat. “Me?”

“You.”

“..Okay, well I get that, but...Mr. Happy sir, there’s gotta be something I can do. I’m his guy in the chair!”

“Guy in the what?”

“You know, the guy in the chair! I’m like his assistant slash analyst slash maybe-one day sidekick. I give him stats, make phone calls... like how on the night of Homecoming when I was trying to patch you through to Peter and you kind of hung up on me?”

Happy internally winced. He knew the kid was only building up a case for himself and probably had no idea. But that night was still a major sore for Happy, a night he’d like to forget. Definitely not his finest hour. So much happened under his watch, and would have been made a lot worse, if it hadn’t been for Peter.

Tony had told him to forget about it the morning after and never so much as brought it up again (Surprisingly). And Peter, he easily fell back into their old routine, sending Happy endless text updates about his school and spider schedule paired with one too many emojis, and chatting himself hoarse over phone messages. He never brought it up either.

Happy supposed that he shouldn’t be surprised. Peter was never one to hold grudges, even when he had the right to. He was that good of a kid.

Still, Happy thought of the incident often, and it gnawed away at him, secretly. He made more of an effort now to be more patient and receptive to the kid by answering more of his texts and being less grumpy around him.

But even with the changes he was making Happy held himself to the promise that one day he’d find a way to really make it up to him. He owed him one, big time. And Ned too, by extension.

Well, now this was it, his big chance. Happy would make absolutely certain that the ones closes to him were safe and protected.

“Yeah well...It’s different this time around kid,” he told Ned. He gestured behind him toward the end of the hallway, the one that connected to the spacious apartment, one of SHIELD'S nicest.

“Just...hang out for a while, alright? You and your mother should be fine here. Feel free to order something off the menu that’s on the coffee table, it’s all free. I’ll..try and have some books or an Xbox sent up or something.”

He turned to leave, but Ned followed, almost stepping on his heels. “But I don’t want an Xbox! I wanna help! Mr. Hogan please…”

He grabbed Happy by the sleeve and held his hands up in surrender when Happy shook him off irritably. “Hey, watch it! I just got my arm out of the cast yesterday. And in case you didn’t notice, the suit’s Bon Choix couture.”

“Sorry. It’s just that...Peter’s my best friend. And...watching him go through everything without being able to help…” His eyes dropped to the floor. “It...sucks.”

Happy’s shoulders went down as he sighed a little. “I know how you feel, kid. But why do you think you were put into protective custody in the first place? Do you have any idea how wide-spread this is? If everyone’s digging into Peter’s life, that means they’re digging into your life too. Your little Wikipedia page is becoming more popular by the minute.”

The kid’s eyes widened. “I have a Wikipedia page?”

At Happy’s nod, Ned’s face paled and lit up at the same time, and a stuttered choking sound escaped him, hand over his chest.

Happy’s frown remained, his reaction not one bit mirroring Ned’s. “Yeah, not good. We can’t run the risk of you and yours being targeted. I got a call yesterday confirming that your father was also taken in up in one SHIELD'S Nevada facilities. That’s where he works, right?”

“Yeah.” Ned was a bit awkward. “I’m not sure how we’re going to explain all this to him.”

“I’m sure the agents there gave him the basic rundown. They’re still in the process of deciding whether or not to bring your grandmother in too.”

Ned laughed a little, but his eyebrows furrowed in honest confusion. “Why would...why would anyone go after my Lola? She’s...just an old lady.”

The lingering pain along his stitches flared on his scalp, and Happy tried not to rub at it, his lips pressing into a tight line.

This was what he was afraid of from the beginning, when Tony first brought Peter in. Most people—kids especially—had no idea the darkness that heroes faced. The darkness that they were constantly trying to hold back, even if it was just to buy time. The Avengers did this willingly, and would continue to do so time and time again. But it came at a price. Always.

Happy had already known this, having worked under Tony for several years. He really got to see it first hand when he nearly got blown up. This job wasn’t for the faint of heart. Once you looked evil in the eye, there was no going back, not completely.

There would always be danger, threats. Tony's inner circle remained small over the years for a reason. Each of them had their harrowing experiences, and they all knew the risks. All except maybe Peter, who was more or less apart of said circle.

Don’t get him wrong, the kid was smart and already had a good grasp of the responsibilities that came with being a hero. Had guts too.

But.

There were aspects that even Peter remained blissfully unaware of. Things that someone his age wouldn’t be able to comprehend, nor should have to. A small part of Happy had hoped it would stay that way, if only for a little while longer.

In all of his years of employment, in all his years of living, he’s never encountered anyone like Peter Parker. His drive to do good paired with his vigorous and youthful innocence was simply unmatched and unique to his personality. He deserved to keep some of it.

That being said, was no point in trying to explain all of this to Ned, who had far less of an understanding than Peter did. Nor did he think it was a good idea to tell him all that had been going on back home.

Midtown Students were being harassed left and right, and the school itself was swarmed by reporters just a few days ago, all itching and foaming at the mouth to get the big scoop on Peter’s double life. It was lucky that school was out for the summer. Ned's house was swarmed too, the whole block a circus. 

And if that weren’t enough, some wackos actually decided to go the extra mile and hack into the school’s database. So now all of the students and faculty’s personal information have been unleashed onto the internet. The Decathlon team was a particular target of interest.

No threats have been made yet, but Happy kept an eye and ear out for anything even remotely suspicious. Leaked information was not something to take lightly, and the students who were running their mouths on social media weren’t exactly helping matters.

“Ned...just listen alright? I know this is all very frustrating, but you gotta work with me here.”

Ned’s shoes kicked lightly at the floor. “It’s just...it feels like something really bad is gonna happen to him. I mean he’s running from a fog that makes you see things that aren't actually there—”

Happy’s eyes closed involuntarily. “I know.”

“And Iron Man and Captain America are fighting—”

“I know.”

Ned couldn’t stop talking. “And the Winter Solider guy, Sergeant Barnes I mean, thinks it’s 1975 and thinks he never left Hydra, which, I don’t know what that’s all about, but it’s getting really scary and it’s so messed up and—”

“Kid!”

Ned’s mouth snapped shut. Happy’s headache throbbed once again, and he sighed, pinching his nose. He really shouldn’t snap at him. He had every right to feel a little frightened.

The situation...it wasn’t good. Ever since the Avengers blew up at each other on the beach, a very heavy sense of unease settled in the air. You could feel it. You could smell it.

There was no real blow back just yet—with the all the revelations that were being poured out one after the other after the other, there was little time for things to really sink in. And so much was still happening on screen. But the reprieve wouldn’t last. Sooner or later, when things calmed back down again (one way or another), the situation was sure to explode.

Happy had tried to reach Pepper and Rhodey several times by phone, but there was no answer yet. Both of them likely had their hands full during the crisis.

Happy just wondered how in the world they were going to handle Tony’s mental state.

“Can I at least have my phone back?” Ned asked. “Those SHIELD guys that brought us pretty much confiscated everything I tried to bring, except for my pj's and retainer.”

“Your mother has hers. Anyway what do you need your phone for, except to tell the time. You got a watch right there.” He gestured to the black and somewhat bulky shaped band around the teen’s wrist.

“You know that’s not what I mean,” Ned said, tucking said wrist behind him. “The only news that’s even available is online, and my mom won’t let me use her phone. She’s already so mad at me for keeping Peter’s secret from her. I have no idea what’s going on with my school or our neighborhood, or anything!”

Good, Happy couldn’t help thinking. No use sitting around and worrying about what you can’t change.

“You’re not missing much, trust me. And after what you pulled with the Spider suit, I don’t think that SHIELD wants to take any chances with you.”

Ned’s mouth hung open a little. “They know about that?”

“The real question is what don’t they know about,” Happy said gruffly.

“They should have stopped Maestro then, if they know so much,” Ned muttered. Then he swallowed and looked down, face pinched. “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” Happy watched him as his fingers fidgeted anxiously at his sides. His voice was small. “I’m just...I’m really scared he’s gonna die.”

In any other situation, these would merely be words of an overly dramatic teenager. More than anything Happy wished that were the case. He hesitated at first, then reached out and put his hands firmly on Ned’s shoulders. “Listen to me. Peter is not going to die.”

“You don’t know that!”

“I know.” Happy’s tone was more harsh than he intended. He dialed it back, slightly. “Waiting is the hardest part. Trust me, I know. Sometimes we wanna be that guy in the chair for ‘em, but most of the time we can’t. Not in the way we wanna be. Right now Ned, the best possible thing you can do for Peter to stay right where you are. He’s got enough on his plate without having to worry about your safety. Remember, you were one of the people he asked about first.”

It was hard to read Ned’s thoughts, hard to know if he really understood what Happy was telling him. He wasn’t even looking at him, but at the door at the end of the hall. Happy squeezed his shoulders for extra emphasis. “Hey. Don’t try anything stupid. I mean it. You leave this to the professionals. Is that understood?”

Ned broke off the stare and nodded. “Yes sir, Mr. Hogan.”

Happy gave him a long discerning look before releasing him. “Okay then. Good.” He checked his watch. “Alright, I’m heading out. Your mom has my phone number, she’ll call if you need me. Try not to get too sucked in. If it gets too much, turn off the TV.”

Ned looked unimpressed. “You say that like I have a choice. I heard you guys talking, she’s going to turn it off anyway if it gets bad.”

“And that’s how you know you have a good mother.” Happy smirked at Ned’s pout, and he gave him a light slap on the arm. “Chin up, kid. Everything’s gonna be alright.”

As he headed for the exit, he let out a small breath and hoped he didn’t just lie to him. He shook himself from the thought. Anyway, promise fulfilled. He checked on Ned like May had asked, and he most likely will again.

For now he was off to see Pepper, check on how she was holding up, if at all.

The Head of Security was so buried in his thoughts that he didn’t notice Ned, who instead of watching him leave, had eyes only for his watch, which he was twisting around his wrist.

“Are you okay?” Bruce was hovering awkwardly over Peter’s bent form as he wheezed and coughed horribly.

The teen was able to gasp in a few huffs of air before nodding. “Yeah—yeah I’m good! Just...I just need a second.”

Bruce nodded. “Take your time.”

The doctor was being nice, but they both knew that time was the one thing they didn’t have. Peter had managed to swing them a long distance when the poison flared up with a vengeance. Pain all but ripped through him. He tried to power through it, but Doctor Banner had noticed, and practically ordered him to stop and take a rest.

The fog was slow yet persistent, they could still see it approaching. Peter only had about three (Maybe two?) minutes of reprieve before they had to get moving again.

His insides churned painfully in his stomach, like it was about to slice open if he even thought of moving wrong. He thought about Wanda, and how she was probably somewhere suffering twice as much. Alone. He shook his head. “I shouldn’t have left her.” His voice was weaker, cracked. His body curled up within itself, the top of his head touching the ground. “I didn’t think. Stupid.”

“You did what you thought was best,” he heard Bruce say. “And...and Wanda’s tougher than you know. I’m sure she’ll be alright.”

Peter didn’t respond, he focused more on his breathing. Then he forced himself to stand, one leg at a time. Bruce supported him, nearly holding him in his arms. “We need to get going,” Peter said. Right now, before he screwed up even more than he already had.

Bruce’s eyes swept over him, frowning. “Are you sure you’re up for it? I don’t like this, you’re—you’re not well.”

It was probably best that Bruce didn’t know that Peter was currently having a conversation with three of him. Squinting narrowly, he tried to focus on the one in the middle.

“Y-Yeah,” he said, and he cringed at the way his voice squeaked up at the end. “‘S no problem—and the fog can’t go on forever right?” He nodded, assuring himself. “Piece of cake.”

Somehow Bruce looked even more doubtful than before. Whatever he was about to say however, was cut off by the sudden rustling of bushes. Wobbly on his feet, Peter tried to place himself in front of Bruce, but the doctor practically snatched at Peter’s arm, keeping him close.

The bushes parted, and the two yelped as a flurry of rabbits flew out past their legs. Only a couple actually seemed to acknowledge the two of them, bucking around erratically at the suddenness of their presence. Then they got over it and bounded off with the rest, gone in seconds. Peter laughed and Bruce sighed heavily, his hand sliding off the teen’s arm.

“That was close, huh?” Peter joked.

“Oh yeah, very.”

“How do you do that anyway?”

“Do what?”

“How do you stay so calm?” Because in that quick moment, Dr. Banner looked anything but. “Sorry—you probably get that question a lot.”

Bruce shrugged like it couldn’t bother him less. “I used to have my own method but it turned out it wouldn’t work long term. All I can say is...most instances are better than others. That, and I happen to like bunnies.”

Peter grinned, but it quickly slipped when he noticed the fog’s progress. “Crap—okay we really need to go. Ready?” Bruce climbed back on again. “You gotta hold on a little tighter Dr. Banner.”

“Take it easy on yourself Peter,” Bruce warned and his arms hesitantly tightened around his shoulders. “We’ve still got time, don’t push yourself.”

“I won’t,” promised Peter. They took off. Distantly, Peter wondered how far he’d really be able to go. His arms were shaky, and he was starting to feel kind of dizzy...still he had to push through for as long as it took. If he could just get Dr. Banner to a safe place to where the fog couldn’t reach, he could then circle back around and find a way to help the team.

“Go slow if you need to,” Bruce coached next to his ear.

“Do you still see it?” Peter asked.

Bruce turned his head around. “Yeah, I see it.”

“Is it going faster or slower? Or is it the same?”

“...might be going a little faster.”

Shoot!

“Okay, no problem,” said Peter, the exact opposite of what he felt. His voice was taking on a certain hoarse quality. “It’s fine, we’ll just have to be faster—”

“Look out!”

“Whoah!”

His legs lifted and he veered sharply to the right, barely missing the side of a large concrete building. Correcting his trajectory, he swung back around and, with what grace he had left, released a web and carefully dropped onto the hard packed ground. Bruce’s feet followed suit not a second later, making sure that Peter didn’t fall over. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah thanks,” Peter panted. “That was close. Sorry, my spider sense is still getting used to the island.”

Bruce shook his head firmly. “You don’t need to apologize.”

They looked up at the building, taking in the massiveness of it. Then they tensed up.

There on the side they were facing loomed an image of a skull with tentacles emerging from it, almost nearly as large as the wall itself.

Peter didn’t know a whole lot about Hydra, but he knew enough to know that this was their symbol. He tried not to shudder. “What is this place?”

“Looks like a hangar of some sort,” said Bruce. He nodded. “Look there.”

Over on the east side, they could just make out the edge of an open hydraulic door.

Peter perked up considerably. “Like for an aircraft?”

“Wait wait wait, Peter,” Bruce called out, but Peter had already rounded the corner. “Holy cow, look at this!”

The hangar was huge, comprised completely of white concrete and steel from the inside out. The interior was dark, but Peter could make out the outlines of military trucks and fighter jets reflected in the moonlight. “Whoah, there’s even a tank in there,” he remarked. His arms were out by his sides. “This is awesome!”

Doctor Banner caught up with him, his face pinched and sweating, and a hand on his stomach. “Sorry, how is this awesome, exactly?”

Peter pointed up. “If I can get this hangar door closed and seal all the entrances—”

“We’ll be safe from the fog.” Bruce didn’t seem too enthusiastic about the plan.

“I can try and keep going, if you don’t think it’s a good idea,” said Peter. Though if he were honest, his vision was getting a little wonky again.

“No, you’re right, this’ll have to do,” said Bruce, though he still looked unsure. His hand went to Peter’s back as he guided him forward. “Alright, let’s get inside, quick.”

It was pitch black, and their footsteps echoed loudly against the marble floor. “Karen, we’re good right? Nobody else in here?”

“No heat signatures detected. You’re all clear, Peter.”

“Cool, thanks.” He squinted along the walls. “It’d be great if we could find the light switch—”

“Found it.” Bruce’s voice sounded farther away. There was an audible click, and one by one, the overhead light’s flickered on. Peter’s eyes screwed shut under his raised hand, sensitive to the bleak harshness. When he readjusted, his mouth dropped at what lay before him.

There were loads of military transportation vehicles. Neat rows of giant trucks in the front, tanks in the middle, and aircraft near the back, stretching all the way to the furthest wall. The ceiling was easily 100ft high, complete with steel rafters. “Peter,” Bruce called, like he’d said it more than once.

Peter snapped out of it. Right, he had a job to do first. He turned around and worked quickly. Using a bit of elbow grease, he dragged the hydrophilic door closed. It squealed and creaked horribly, like it hadn’t been used in years, but it was still plenty strong.

Once the door was closed, Peter filled in all the cracks and crevices, packing it tightly with webbing. It was a good thing he already had experience with sealing in entrances so that the alien wasps wouldn’t get through.

When he was finished, he took a moment to stand back and admire his handiwork. “Okay, how’s it look, Karen?”

“Nicely done, Peter. The door is completely sealed on all sides.”

He looked over at Bruce and gave a thumbs up, and the man returned it with a smile.

“Awesome, Karen.” He turned to face the rest of the hangar. “Now I need you to help me find all the exit and entry points. Anywhere air could escape, we gotta seal it shut.”

“Roger. Scanning now.”

Luckily for them the place seemed air tight despite its size and there weren’t that many openings. It was all one level and doors were few, save for the ones that lead to small offices or a supply closet or two. Peter made sure to clog up all the air vents.

While Peter was busy zipping back and forth, Bruce was observing the trucks. Distantly, he ran a hand along the side of one. “These were either hijacked or stolen. No trace of any Hydra insignia.” He took the time to peek inside all the flaps, but all had been cleaned out, empty. He then skipped the tanks and went to observe the aircraft.

He stopped by one. “This is an F-14 tomcat,” he murmured. “I haven’t seen one of these since the 80s.” He looked over to his left. “And right there, that’s an MiG-29. That tank over there is an M1 Abram.”

Peter was making a leap far above his head onto the next wall. “How do you know all this stuff?”

“I did some Government work, before they...grew tired of my company.” He shoved his hands in his pockets with all appearance of being casual. “And I like to know what’s coming after me. I was a wanted man once upon a time, Hulk caused everyone a lot of problems. I might still have a warrant or two when we get back.”

“You still have a ton of fans back home,” Peter said. “Like my friend Ned for instance. Big big fan. Huge.”

Bruce looked dubious. “Of the Hulk?”

“Of both of you.”

Karen’s voice then chirped, “Congratulations, Peter. The fog should be passing now, and you have successfully sealed off the entire Hangar. There are zero leaks. I’ll keep trying to patch through to the team while you wait.”

“You’re the best Karen,” he grunted. He swung among the rafters and selected one, hanging upside down. His arms went out. “How’s it look, Doctor Banner?”

“Like it’s Halloween in here.” He motioned a finger. “Now come on down from there, you need to rest.” The web began to descend with Peter still upside down. “I can’t imagine how you don’t get a headache doing that.”

Peter simply shrugged. “‘S easy for me.” When he got low enough he flipped off onto one of the fighter jet’s wings and took off his mask, shaking his curls. “ Phew. Gettin’ hot in here.” He walked along the wing with his arms outstretched, like a tightrope walker. “Why do you think Hydra stole all this stuff if they could just make their own?”

Bruce shook his head, his thoughtful and intelligent gaze sweeping. “Who knows. Whatever the case, it looked like it happened a long time ago. Most of these vehicles and equipment are ancient, some probably dating back to the 1950s. Not exactly up to Hydra’s standards—” He stopped, then whirled around. “Be careful not to touch any—!” Peter was already seated inside one of the cockpits. “...thing.”

“This is so cool,” Peter gushed, flipping the dials and switches. “I’ve always wanted to be inside one of these.” He turned a few knobs, but it was cold and a bit rusty. “Don’t think any of these still work though.”

“No, I imagine they wouldn’t,” said Bruce. “Even if we could somehow get any of this stuff working they’re no match for the dome.”

Peter turned a few knobs that were by his seat, clicking them on and off. “Still, there’s a lot of parts here we could use.”

“Use for what?”

Peter shrugged a shoulder. “I dunno. Stuff.” His hands continued to roam the controls. “There’s probably enough engine components in this F-16 alone that Mr. Stark could make something out of. Something we could show up Phone Guy with.”

Bruce sounded surprised, and on the edge of a smile. “Sounds like you’re pretty knowledgeable about this stuff yourself.”

“Sort of, mostly only about fighter jets. My Uncle was the real expert. Total Aviation buff.”

That was, until his parents died. Uncle Ben never talked about planes much in front of Peter, probably because felt guilty about it. It wasn’t until Peter had discovered his secret stash of aircraft magazines and expressed an eager interest before the man slowly started being more open about his favorite hobby. Peter mostly just liked to know how stuff worked. Ben ended up letting him keep the entire stack. 

Peter gripped the controls. “Contact, multiple bogies, 165...Ice, take the shot!” He made whooshing noises with his mouth as he steered. “He’s firing, break right, watch your back! He’s gone supersonic!”

“Alright ‘Mav’, come on out of there,” said Bruce.

“Here’s one you probably know Doctor B,” said Peter as he pulled himself out of the cockpit, mask in hand. “I feel the need, the need for speed! You know, from that really old movie—”

“I’m gonna have to stop you right there.”

Peter grinned as his feet touched the floor. Now that he was on level ground he could see that Bruce was grinning too, before it quieted into a tiny smile. His eyes evoked a softness. “You know I’m still trying to get used to the fact that you’re only a kid. Sometimes it’s easy to forget.”

The doctor nodded as if he were considering great things. “What you did back there...getting us here, patching all this up so we’d stay safe...you’ve done really good work, Peter. I’m only sorry that I couldn’t be of much help.”

“No no, you were a great help! You had me take breaks when I needed it, and I would’ve been a pancake right now if you hadn’t warned me about the building.” He looked at him more closely. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I…” The man ran a hand through his hair, his eyes flicking back and forth. “Something about this...doesn’t feel right to me.”

“Oh. Yeah, I know what you mean.” He went past Bruce and over to a metal tool cabinet that was dingy and rusted with age. There was a small number of them by the west wall. With a sigh, he hopped up on top of it, feet swinging. “I hate the idea of just sitting here. There’s gotta be a way we can help the team without making things worse.”

“Yeah, but that’s not…you’re right, I don’t like it either. But what can we do?”

“I don’t know, something. I know it’s a long shot, but maybe if the three of us can come up with some sort of plan—”

“The three of us?”

“Yeah, you, me—and the big guy.”

Bruce barked out a laugh. “Where—where did you get that kind of idea from?”

Peter shrugged. “You’ve got some sort of mental connection with him right? I thought that maybe since he’s part of the team, he might have a few ideas.”

A dry snort. “Yeah. Right. Hulk doesn’t—Hulk is not a planner, he’s a destroyer. He destroys things. He doesn’t have an input on anything, except what to smash next.”

"Have you asked him?"  Peter was genuinely curious. 

Bruce spluttered. “I—what—no! Why would ever I ask him for his opinion on anything?”

Peter hummed, still swinging his legs thoughtfully. “Maybe that’s part of why he’s so grumpy sometimes.”

“Grumpy.” Bruce chuckled a little. “That’s...that’s certainly a choice word for it.”

“Annoyed,” Peter corrected, trying it on for size. “No disrespect Doctor Banner, I’m just saying that I’d kinda be annoyed too if no one listened to what I had to say. Especially if I really want to share my ideas with the person closest to me.”

Bruce stared at him, unreadable. “You...think that the Hulk and I are close.”

Peter ruminated over it—then he nodded. “Sure. Why not? Out of everyone you’re the one who knows him best. And vice versa.”

“Peter...look…yes, we do have a mental connection. But here’s the thing, we’re not…” He paused, struggling with the words. Then collected himself and settled bluntly on, “You wouldn’t like the Hulk kid. He’s not the plush toy that kids squeeze at the mall, and he’s not some big friendly giant. The two of us, we’re like crabs in a barrel, neither of us wants the other to have complete control. Even if the Hulk could reason, he refuses to. He’s just a big, green—”

Doctor Banner’s face dropped. Peter’s legs halted. “Doctor Banner?”

Bruce didn’t respond. His face was rapidly draining of all its color, and his eyes were filling up with what could only be described as complete and utter terror. A jolt shot up Peter’s spine. He jumped off the tool box. “Doctor Banner, what’s the matt—”

Bruce moved back, away from Peter, and Peter stopped in his tracks and raised his hands. “Hey...hey it’s okay, it’s just me.”

What was really terrifying was how utterly slack the doctor’s face had become. There was always a unique kind pinch or wrinkle or furrow in Bruce’s expressions, even when he was in a relatively good mood. A whole world of knowledge and secrets always seemed to lay behind his eyes. Now there was nothing, like someone had come and wiped his face clean of all human emotion.

“...Doctor Banner?” Peter tried again, voice small. His heart started beating fast. What was going on? Why was he...

“No.” The word fell from Doctor Banner’s lips. He took another step back, just barely shaking his head.

A bell went off in Peter’s head. Doctor Banner wasn’t looking at him. Peter jerked around. Behind—?

A man stood about eight feet away. Peter blinked, unsure if he was hallucinating.

The man was tall, definitely larger than the two of them. He had a domineering face, a firm mustache, and sharp dark eyes. But the strangest thing Peter noticed about him (Aside from his sudden and impossible appearance) was how his hair was fashioned, and the way he was dressed. It reminded him of those old 70’s movies he used to watch with Ben.

“Who’re you?” Peter asked, not quite processing his own shock.

The man looked at him, but didn’t answer. His direct gaze shifted behind him, at Bruce. “What do you think you’re looking at?”

Doctor Banner was white as a sheet. His bloodless lips moved without sound. “I…”

“Wait, who are you, where did—where did you come from, how did—”

The man ignored Peter, still talking to Bruce. “Answer me, boy.”

Bruce faltered another step back. “No,” he whispered. Not of defiance, but a realization of a nightmare come true.

The stranger’s expression darkened into something horrible. “Not a word,” he growled. “Not a word about what you saw, Bruce. You hear me?”

He started forward, and Peter flung up a hand out of instinct. “Wait, stop!”

Surprisingly the man obeyed and stayed right where he was, but the venom in his face remained, Doctor Banner still well within his sights. “Think you got the upper hand now, don’t you? Bet you’re just itching to tell everyone how I hit you, and your mother. That I somehow abused you.” He scoffed.

“Give me a break. I put clothes on your back, a roof over your head, food in your belly—even bought you all those books you liked. Does that sound like mistreatment to you? After all I sacrificed for this family, the hours I slaved away in order for you to have everything you could ever want or need, this is the thanks I get?” His eyes twinkled in a dark mirth, and his hands went out at his sides. “I guess I’m the fool then.” He started to advance forward.

Peter put up his hand again. “I said stay back!” His voice was high pitched, but he planted himself firmly between him and Doctor Banner. His mind was spinning in a tilt a whirl of confusion and a growing sense of panic and dread. That was when he noticed. A mist, a faint haze hung in the air near the ceiling like a wisp of cloud.

A numbness struck Peter, and every nerve burst back into life.

No no no no no no, WHAT?

His wide eyes flew wildly around the building in search a leak of some kind.

But...how!? That’s impossible! Karen said—

“When you get up on the stand,” the man went on, threateningly, “You tell them what I’m telling you. That your mother had an affair with our next door neighbor. He wanted her all to himself, and when he realized he couldn’t, he flew into a jealous rage and murdered her. That’s our story and we’re sticking to it. Right? Brucie?”

“Doctor Banner don’t listen to him, he’s not real!”

“You stay out of this, brat.” He snarled again at Bruce. “If you tell that jury anything else other than what we discussed, eventually I’ll find you. No matter where you go, no matter what hole you crawl into, I’ll find you, boy. And I’ll finally do the one thing I knew I should have done the day you were born—understand, you monstrous freak?”

“Stay away from him!” Peter ordered. “Karen, what—” Right, he was without his mask. He eyed it lying on top of the tool box, where he’d left it.

Keeping a glare of warning on the stranger, he inched sideways in a way that still put him in front of Bruce. Quickly he snatched it up, preparing to put it on and ask Karen what in the world was going on.

Then, he heard a faint groan.

Peter turned. Bruce was facing away from him, face in his hands.

“Doctor Banner?”

He could hear him breathing, slow and deep, and it grew more labored by the second. “No,” he muttered, and he hissed, as if pained. “No, no, no.”

“Doc—Doctor Banner? What’s wrong, are you okay?”

“Not here...no, not here, not now.”

Offhandedly, Peter glanced behind him to keep an eye on the man’s whereabouts. He was more than stunned to find that the man wasn’t behind him anymore. He was gone. Not a trace remained of his presence.

His head whipped back over, and Bruce was now in a crouched position. He stammered over his words. “It’s alright Doctor Banner, he’s—he’s not real, he’s gone.”

“Peter,” said Bruce, slightly muffled by his hands—and was it Peter’s imagination or was his voice deeper than it was before? “Peter you should—go now.”

His heart went thunk in his chest. Inching forward just a little, his unsteady hand went out toward him. “Doctor Banner it’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

Bruce sounded close to weeping. “Hulk, no! God, please not here. I can’t...I don’t…”

An ominous ripping sound filled the air, and it took more than a second for Peter to realize that it was Bruce’s shirt, tearing. Mask still limp in hand, Peter watched in a fascinated horror as Bruce’s muscles grew twice its normal size. More groaning.

“You’re gonna be okay, Doctor Banner,” Peter heard himself say. He tried to be firm, though he was steadily trembling. “He’s gone now. He can’t hurt you.”

A tinge of green, sitting on his neck, beginning to spread. “Rrrunn...now….GO.”

“We can still figure this out.” His feet slowly carried him backwards, and it dimly occurred to him that maybe he should have been doing that a lot earlier. “It was a trick Doctor Banner, he can’t hurt you again, ever. And I wouldn’t let him. There’s still time to...to…” Peter’s head went gradually upward, following as Doctor Banner grew twice his size.

“Doctor Banner?” He tried. He swallowed thickly. “...Bruce?”

“RUN!”

Peter jumped, and his back ended up slamming against the toolbox. Without a second’s thought, he scurried behind it and hid up to his eyeballs, like it made any difference. The breathing was much heavier, and the sound of grinding teeth filled the entire space.

In that instance, his mind was sent back to the conversation he had with Mr. Stark and Black Widow, just two days before everyone had their big fight….

“You guys sing him a lullaby?”

Mr. Stark, who had his arms folded, looked like he was trying not to roll his eyes. “Well, not in a literal sense kid. It’s not as heartwarming and adorable as it sounds, trust me.”

“It’s...more of a technique,” clarified Natasha. “A safeguard we use, at the end of a mission.” The three of them had gathered under a shade of a palm tree while the rest of the team were in the midst of packing up provisions for their next trip further down the beach.

The adults must have been talking, because as soon as the sun rose Miss Black Widow and Mr. Stark pulled Peter aside. Now that they had been on the island for a few days they agreed that it would be a good idea to fill him in on what to expect, should Doctor Banner turn green.

Personally Peter thought it had always been a possibility, but on the other hand, it didn’t really feel like it would happen all that soon. Doctor Banner was experienced, and he had managed to keep his cool this far.

Still, he listened with back-straight attention as they laid down all the basics.

“It’s important for you to know that when he’s changed, he won’t be able to recognize you the same way Bruce does,” said Natasha. “He might have a sense of you, but he won’t KNOW you, not at first. So don’t count on him not taking a swing at you if you stand in his way. Always keep yourself at arms length.”

“And no flying around his head or crawling on him like you did with Lang.” chimed in Mr. Stark. “Big guy will think you’re a fly, and he’ll end up swatting you. Got it?”

Peter nodded. “No flying around him, keep at arm’s length, got it.” He wished he had a pen to write all this stuff down with. “But, getting back to the lullaby—how does that work, exactly?”

Natasha gave him a knowing smile. “It’s really not all that crucial. It’s just something we used to work on with Hulk to help calm him down. Obviously we haven’t used it in a while.”

“And even back then it was always Romanoff’s expertise, no one else’s.”

Peter looked back and forth between them. “But if I’m gonna be out there with him, shouldn’t I at least know the words?”

This time Mr. Stark did roll his eyes. “It’s not a magic spell, Underoos. It only worked nine times out of ten anyway, it’s not exactly a fail safe.”

“All you need to know is that Hulk is sort of a wild card. We never really know what to expect once he’s let loose, but we hope for the best. And I’ll be honest—it’s going to be unsettling at first. Much different than just watching him on TV. The key is staying calm.”

“And stay close to me,” said Mr. Stark, tapping his shoulder to get his attention. “If I’m not there, then stay close behind the team, they’ll know how to handle him.”

“And if I’m alone?” asked Peter.

A troubled look crossed Mr. Stark’s face, but he waved his hand. “Hopefully it won’t come to that. Just...whatever you do, don’t treat him like he’s your buddy or pet or anything, this isn’t How to Train Your Dragon. You even try to reach out and do the whole hand-touch-the-nose crap, don’t be surprised if you end up losing that arm. And I’ll be right there saying I told you so."