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He had found her, and taking the suit wasn’t nearly enough for him. His plan involved sending her to the raft, a kind of prison she dreaded with every fiber of her being, and she was adamant about not going there. Fear gripped her; she never wanted to set foot in that place—no way was Paisley Parker going there, and certainly, she wasn’t going back to being a prisoner. Child Protective Services could screw themselves, and Mr. Stark could shove it right up his pants.
While she swung through the streets of her neighborhood, panic coursed through her veins as she was chased by her former mentor and former team! It felt surreal that it was all based on a misunderstanding, one born out of a failure to listen, to truly understand her. “Ghaaa!” Paisley let out a scream that echoed her pain as Hawkeye’s arrow struck her squarely in the leg, a sharp pain blossoming through her body, compounded by the realization that her spider-sense wasn’t even responding to warn her.
Exhaustion tugged at her from all sides; hunger gnawed at her insides. To make matters worse, her body was a patchwork of bruises and wounds, injuries that looked frighteningly like they could be life-threatening. Yet, despite everything—despite the pain and the fatigue—she kept swinging, pressing on, her legs pushing her to run even faster.
She would not yield to the prison. No way was she going to give in to that fate. Escaping was her only option!
In her heart, she yearned for home, to see Aunt May again, to simply knock on the door of their former apartment and be enveloped in the warmth of a bright smile and a comforting hug. But that fairy tale couldn’t happen; everything in her life had come crashing down because of her. Just like with her parents, and just like with her uncle. It felt as if everyone around her was destined to die, leaving her to shoulder the blame for not saving them. There was one common thread binding these tragedies together—her very existence.
The pain in her leg escalated, pushing her toward the brink of delirium. How else could she explain the dark thoughts swirling in her mind? There was no Aunt May, because she had died saving Paisley. And there was no one else—at least no one who wouldn’t hurt her in pursuit of taking her to the raft. Or perhaps they were plotting something far worse? It was a chilling thought, and the idea of them possibly wanting her dead didn’t surprise her at all. After all, it was an easy solution to their problems, and her absence wouldn’t leave a noticeable gap.
The repellors of Iron Man’s suit drew nearer, and in a moment of panic, Paisley aimed her arm away, trying to swing rapidly. With a loud thwing, she thought she was getting farther away from them—perhaps even escaping.
Her fleeting sense of freedom vanished as her web was abruptly cut in two, sending her into a freefall.
Down.
Down.
Down.
“Maybe it would just be easier?” she couldn’t help but think.
The ground rushed up to meet her; she found herself falling between two buildings. The alley where she was headed seemed to be closing in fast. It wouldn’t be too hard; she could reach out and grab the wall, redirect herself, and save her own life.
But was it worth saving herself?
Was she even worth it?
The impact upon landing stole her breath away, pain exploding through her back like fireworks. Her head struck the concrete a split second later, the sound of it cracking echoing loudly in her ringing ears. She struggled to take a breath, but it felt as though an enormous weight pressed down on her chest, making it impossible.
The sound of the repellors grew closer, accompanied by the muffled thumping noise of footsteps. She was dying—oh, how she was dying.
The realization crashed over her like a tidal wave, sending tears streaming down her face, unbidden. Without her realizing it, she gasped for air—her ribs protested angrily, aching and cracking as she forced her chest to expand.
With every ounce of strength she could muster, she pushed herself up against the wall at the end of the alley, but the corners of hopelessness encroached. It felt as if she were done for, and her only hope was that she would perish before they managed to take her away, dragging her to the raft.
Suddenly, Iron Man stood there, an imposing figure filled with authority, his proud stance unwavering. One arm pointed directly at her, the laser primed and ready for him to obliterate her into oblivion. The other Avengers flanked him, silent witnesses to her downfall. None of them made a move to save her; instead, they all aimed weapons at her, treating her like the very threat she never wanted to be.
But was she truly a threat?
Iron Man’s helmet opened, revealing his face. It was the same face that had once offered her a suit, the one that fed her whenever he had the chance, even if he never truly knew her identity. He had respected her once. Where had those moments gone? Had they simply vanished, swept away by the winds of time?
“Now you’re stuck,” he said, his voice dripping with anger and a cold distance that felt foreign coming from him.
She let out a shaky breath, “I— I—” she tried to form words, but pain surged, rendering her almost mute. The agony was overtaking her, pushing any coherent thought away in its wake.
“Yeah, don’t speak,” he replied, his voice harsh. “I know enough to lock you up for good.” Those words struck her deeper than any of her physical injuries; his normally kind voice now dripped with sarcasm and bitterness that sliced through her heart.
Her mask felt suffocating—she was slowly slipping away, completely losing herself. It had to come off.
With trembling hands, she raised her arm, weapons aimed right between her eyes. Summoning her last ounce of determination, she tore at the rough edges of her mask. As it fell away from her face, she tried to focus, to look into their eyes, but the world around her began blurring, warped by pain and fatigue.
The expressions she saw were a mixture of shock and something close to sadness, and that was not something she expected. Mr. Stark gasped, his response almost rhythmic, while Hawkeye wore a look of fury that could ignite a flame. He turned sharply towards Mr. Stark, and just like that, a whirlwind of chaos unfolded before her mind’s eye. Iron Man took a step back as he stumbled, a broken nose visibly marring his expression; the Black Widow caught Hawkeye’s arm with firm but steady strength.
“Not now!” her voice boomed within the chaos, full of authority and clarity, asserting control over the moment.
Hawkeye let out a fervent curse, his eyes blazing as he shouted at Iron Man, “That’s a fucking child! And I almost killed her! She looks what— thirteen?!” The noise landed hard in her already throbbing head, amplifying her pain as tears continued to flow unabated.
The last vision she clung to was of Hawkeye leaning down, enveloping her in his presence, attempting to shush her as darkness rapidly enveloped her consciousness, swallowing her whole.