end of beginning - webss312 (2024)

Chapter 1: Peter (Days 1-7)

Chapter Text

DAY 1

9:00 PM (+ 0 hours)

Peter’s POV

Peter opened his eyes to a hospital room.

Or, at least, that’s what he thought it was. The absence of typical hospital noises suggested otherwise. Perhaps it was soundproofed– though that would be an unusual feature for the normally busy MedBay. Come to think of it, Peter couldn’t remember why on earth he was here in the first place. Or how. He looked down at himself, moving his legs and wiggling his fingers, taking note of the bandages that wound around his appendages and the dull throb of pain in his head. Okay, so he definitely had reason to be in a hospital. And it didn’t look like anything was keeping him in here. But why on earth was it so quiet? Where were the doctors? Mr. Stark? Aunt May? Peter knew Mr. Stark wouldn’t ever let him wake up from an injury alone, in an unfamiliar hospital room. Neither would Aunt May, for that matter.

Panic started to thrum through his veins as Peter considered the possibility that something might have happened to them. Or was he the one in trouble? Waking up alone in an unfamiliar room would probably support that hypothesis. Despite the apparent lack of immediate danger, the eerie silence was starting to freak him out. He had to figure out what the hell was going on.

Peter started to struggle to his feet, tugging at the IV in his arm, only to be halted by a figure emerging from the shadows.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. Parker," the figure cautioned.

Peter whipped around, startled as to why his spidey sense hadn’t alerted him, until he saw who was speaking. He relaxed (perhaps not the wisest decision, but still, at least it wasn’t a freaky unknown kidnapper). “Fury, jesus christ! What is it with you and standing in the shadows?” He barreled on before the man had time to respond (in his defense, nervous rambling was kind of his whole shtick). “Look, I don’t know where I am or what happened, but I’ve got to get out of here, Aunt May is going to be worried sick.”

Fury tilted his head, unmoved. "Your aunt thinks you're dead."

Peter's world shifted, and he abandoned his attempt to stand, collapsing back onto the bed. "...What?" he whispered in disbelief.

Fury approached, speaking calmly despite the absolute bombshell he had just dropped. If his head weren’t still spinning, Peter probably would have laughed. "In fact, the whole world thinks you're dead. Your aunt, the Avengers, your friends."

Peter tried to stand up again. There was obviously something going on here that his normally quick mind should have caught onto, but currently his thoughts were bouncing around in all directions like a sh*tty windows screensaver. He updated his internal mental self assessment from probable concussion to definite concussion. “I- I’ve got to get out of here, I have to tell them I’m not dead! I’m all Aunt May has left and- oh god, Ned is going to be freaking out- and Mr. Stark, he-” Fury interrupted with a raised hand.

"You can't tell them you're alive."

"And why the hell not?" Peter demanded. "Of course I'm going to tell them—"

"Do you value your Aunt’s life, Peter?"

Mouth agape, Peter stared at Fury in disbelief. He felt his cheeks heat in anger, protectiveness for May rearing its head inside him. "Did you just threaten my Aunt?" he asked, his voice low. Fury sighed– as if explaining the situation was causing him some great inconvenience– and stepped forward until he was next to the hospital bed.

"No. But have you considered that the explosion wasn't an accident? Because it wasn't. It was meant to kill you." Fury's words barely registered as Peter's mind reeled. Explosion? What explosion? What the hell happened? Why couldn’t he remember anything? He attempted to voice his confusion, but Fury pressed on. "Do you really think they'd stop with one try? And what if they can't get to you directly? Who do you think they'll target next? Your aunt, your friends—anyone close enough to draw you in—"

"Alright, I get it!" Peter burst out before lowering his voice. His thoughts were uncoordinated, and his head was still viciously throbbing in pain. If Dr. Cho were here, she would probably be yelling at Fury for aggravating his head injury (he almost laughed at the fleeting thought). He pressed his knuckles into his temples, attempting to collect his thoughts. "First of all… what happened? What explosion? Where am I?" Fury tilted his head, reaching for a remote control on Peter's bedside.

"You're in a secure SHIELD location. As for what happened… see for yourself." He pressed a button, illuminating a TV on the wall. Peter's sore eyes were immediately assaulted by the headline: 'SPIDER-MAN SUSPECTED DEAD AFTER EXPLOSION FROM UNKNOWN SUSPECT.' Fury flipped through several news channels, all echoing similar headlines. Peter stared, slack-jawed, as one of the newscasters started speaking.

“This just in: Spider-Man was caught in a massive explosion in a warehouse in the outskirts of his own home borough, Queens. So far, officials suspect the local hero was the only victim, and though the Avengers have not released an official statement yet, witnesses and reporters alike agree that there is no chance that Spider-Man survived…”

The newscaster kept speaking, but Peter tuned him out, eyes zeroing in on one particular image– it was blurry and grainy, as if taken on a bystander’s phone– but it was unmistakable.

Iron Man, carrying the almost unrecognizable body of Spider-Man from a blackened and burned building complex, still ablaze in some places.

Peter gasped, gripping his head as memories flooded back. "sh*t."

~ ~ ~

Day 0

3:00 PM (- 30 hours)

"Come on, man, please?" Peter pleaded. "You're my guy in the chair! You're supposed to help me with things like this."

Ned shot him an exasperated look. "Peter, the last time I hacked into your Spidey suit like this, you ended up locked in a vault in DC and missed nationals."

"Well, yeah, but there's no nationals this time, and I'm not even planning to go stalk a supervillain! It's literally just a potential drug ring," Peter argued, imploringly.

Ned sighed, as if ‘not even planning to stalk a supervillain’ and ‘just a potential drug ring’ were considered reassuring phrases to hear from your best friend (coming from Peter Parker, they were). "If there's no trouble, then why do you want me to hack the suit?"

"Well, the warehouse is on the outskirts of Queens— not that far out, but it's still technically outside the city. Mr. Stark has this stupid alert set up that pings him every time I leave the city boundaries," Peter explained, rolling his eyes.

Ned gave him a strange look. "I still don't get what the big deal is. Can't you just explain that to Mr. Stark if he asks?"

Peter sighed. "If I have to explain this, I'll have to rehash everything that I've been doing to track down the drug ring, and I really just... don't want to do that." Ned opened his mouth, presumably to ask something along the lines of ‘why not’, but Peter kept talking, trying to clarify his reasoning. "Look, Ned, it's not that he explicitly wouldn't let me go to the warehouse, but he can be... a little too overbearing sometimes when it comes to things like this. He's never banned me from investigating drug rings, but I know he would disapprove if he found out how involved I am in it. He thinks it's too dangerous for a 'friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,'" Peter said, using air quotes.

The echo of Mr. Stark's cautionary words about Vulture's technology a year ago lingered in his mind. He wasn’t lying, per se. Though he hadn't explicitly discussed going after drug rings with Mr. Stark (and thus had never been officially banned), he had sensed the concern-bordering-on-disapproval whenever he mentioned a drug bust on patrol. Eventually, he stopped bringing them up, sticking to mugger stories instead. (It was the same tactic he used on May to stop her from worrying, but he hadn’t allowed himself to dwell for too long on that particular thought).

Ned hesitated. "Well... you know how messy the drug gangs can get. Maybe it isn't the best crowd to get involved in," he said uneasily, reluctant to argue with his best friend. Peter rolled his eyes once more.

"When you say it like that, you make it sound like I'm taking the drugs," he retorted jokingly. "Look, they might not even be there. It's just a potential location from a tip I heard going around; it's not like I know there's a drug deal about to happen, and I'm planning to bust it with no backup. Chances are, I'll go there, scope it out, nothing will happen, and I'll come back. No need to alert Mr. Stark and try to explain all of this to him beforehand. Besides, I'll tell him eventually; I just want to have a stronger case and more evidence when I do, to show him that I'm not running into this headfirst like a naive kid. And if I try to explain that to him before, it'll just lead to a back-and-forth argument that'll waste time I don't really want to spend for the same outcome."

Noticing Ned's wavering hesitation, Peter softened. "Hey, I promise if I get there and I'm in way over my head, I'll call Mr. Stark. I swear. It's just... the police aren't really dealing with this, and the Avengers aren't called in for things like this either. People are dying, Ned, and if Spider-Man doesn't protect them, who will?"

At that, Ned finally caved, heaving out a big sigh. "Fine. As long as you promise to call Mr. Stark if you get into trouble." Peter was already nodding, willing to agree to pretty much anything as long as Ned did what he asked, but his best friend was still talking. “But I’m not going to totally remove the tracker like I did last time, I’m only promising to disable the alert Mr. Stark gets when you leave the city boundaries. He’ll still be able to track you if something goes wrong.”

Peter rolled his eyes (for what felt like the seventh time in this conversation) affectionately at his friend’s concern, but he nodded again regardless. “Yeah yeah, as long as he doesn’t get an alert.” Ned sighed again but pulled out his laptop as Peter grinned, grabbing his Spidey suit to lay it on the bed. “Thanks Ned, you’re the best guy in the chair.”

Ned snorted but couldn’t help a small smile of his own. “Yeah, and don’t you forget it.”

~ ~ ~

Day 0

5:00 PM (- 28 hours)

Things were going great so far.

True to his word, Ned (bless his heart) disabled the notification, and Peter had crossed the city boundaries without issue. He was currently crouched on top of a bus, hitchhiking his way along the route that Karen had mapped out on his HUD.

Peter grinned. Twenty more minutes until he could hop off and swing his way to the warehouse. Then he'd scope out the inside, scan the building, set a tracker to notify him of anyone coming in or out, and he'd be back in time for dinner. What could possibly go wrong?

(As he would soon find out, a lot of things. Fate never seemed to take a liking to Peter Parker.)

—

Peter crept up the wall of the crumbling warehouse, ears straining for any sound of people or vehicles. He felt unnaturally exposed in the glare from the setting sunlight, his vibrant red and blue suit a stark contrast to the dull cement of the old warehouse and the leafy green of the trees around him. Not that he was particularly subtle in the city, either, but the loudness of the bustling metropolis provided some cover compared to the eerie silence he found himself in. (He should really work on a stealth suit).

"Karen, can you scan the building?" he whispered. She obliged, and a view of the warehouse popped up in his vision, overlaying what he could see from his lenses.

"My sensors can't penetrate the lower levels, but there are no heat signatures in the rest of the building," she informed him, and he nodded resolutely to himself.

"Alright. I'm going in," he whispered back. He really didn't need to be whispering, now that he knew nobody was here, but it felt wrong to be loud—even the birds were silent.

"Be careful, Peter," Karen murmured in acknowledgment.

He started crawling through the window, still scanning the floor below for anything she could have missed. When nothing appeared, he dropped from the rafters to the floor below, walking towards the only door in the building that didn't lead back outside. Gingerly, he gripped the doorknob and braced himself, not knowing what he'd find on the other side. He quickly yanked open the door and yelped at a sudden flurry of movement, shooting his webs instinctively and hearing a SQUAWK in response.

Belatedly, he realized that he'd just webbed a pigeon to the wall.

Peter let out a breathy half-laugh, half-sigh, and jumped up to where the bird was staring at him (as insulted as a bird could possibly look), before peeling the webbing off and releasing it. The pigeon let out another offended-sounding squawk and flapped off (seemingly uninjured at the very least), and Peter huffed and turned his attention back to the doorway.

"Karen, is there any way you can erase that from the Baby Monitor footage?" he grumbled, embarrassed that his Very Important Drug Reconnaissance Footage was now tainted with this Bird Incident (Mr. Stark was never going to let him hear the end of this).

"I'm afraid I would need confirmation from Boss to do that, Peter," Karen replied, not sounding apologetic in the least. In fact, Peter was pretty sure she was laughing at him. If AIs could even do that.

"Yeah, go figure," Peter sighed once more, peering into the darkened hallway and letting his eyes adjust from the brightness. "Can you detect anything else now that the door is open?"

Karen was silent for a few beats before speaking again, an apologetic tinge now coloring her tone. "Sorry, Peter. The walls downstairs seem to be blocked with something that sensors can't penetrate, even with a door open."

Peter frowned, the hairs on the back of his neck rising with general unease. Everything about this was fishy. Why would an utterly abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city have rooms in the basem*nt that were completely sensor-proofed? Even for a large-scale drug ring, it felt wrong. Drug rings usually moved from place to place to avoid getting caught; they didn't normally establish themselves in one place, and especially wouldn't invest in such high security (if you could even call it that) unless they were hiding something.

Well, hiding something other than the drugs, to be clear.

He hesitated. Maybe he shouldn't go in. Anyone with common sense probably wouldn't. But... he wasn’t just anyone—he was Spider-Man. He paused, focusing on his senses. His Spidey sense was quiet—so he wasn't in immediate danger, at least. He could hear MJ's voice in his head, telling him to listen to common sense for once ("You do realize the evolutionary equivalent of Spidey-sense is common sense," she'd said, rolling her eyes. "You should try listening to it sometime. Worked for our ancestors.").

"Sorry, MJ," Peter muttered to himself. "I never claimed to have common sense." With that, he stepped into the hallway, carefully webbing the door open behind him so that it didn't shut and lock him inside or anything (maybe he did have a little dash of common sense. Or maybe he'd just seen too many horror movies with MJ). He crept further into the building, Karen automatically switching to night vision to compensate. Within a few minutes, he'd descended down a few flights of stairs and had reached another doorway. Peter was tempted to ask Karen to scan again, but he knew she had already tried and would give him the same answer as before.

Bracing himself, he yanked the second door open, web-shooters at the ready again. Everything remained quiet.

"Well, at least there wasn't another pigeon this time," Peter half-joked, receiving no response from Karen before stepping through the threshold of the doorway and into the room.

A few things happened simultaneously.

His Spidey sense screamed at him at the same time Karen crackled to life in his ear, shouting a warning, and his foot depressed something in the floor. The door slammed shut behind him—he scrambled to catch it but was too disoriented by the rush of events as well as the loud cacophony of beeping that had suddenly begun to assault his ears. He clapped his hands to the side of his head reflexively and scrunched his eyes shut, trying to adjust his hearing after being in relative silence for so long. When he opened his eyes and scanned the room he was in, he realized what all the beeping was coming from.

Bombs.

The entire room, lined with explosives, with Peter stuck inside. He glanced down at his foot and realized that he had stepped on the trigger mechanism. Each of the bombs was ticking down ominously—they must have had 5 minutes on them originally, but they were now down to 4:23.

4:22

4:21

4:20

“sh*t.”

He would have preferred another pigeon.

With that, adrenaline flooded his body, and he tuned back into Karen’s urgent voice in his ear. “Karen, call Mr. Stark!” he yelled over the beeping, turning to push against the door he’d come in.

It didn’t budge.

Peter frowned and pushed harder, using his super strength to throw himself at it. He stumbled backwards, gripping his shoulder and panting in disbelief when he didn’t even see a dent in it. No. This couldn’t be possible. He had super strength. He could kick down a stupid metal door.

Focusing, he put all the strength he could into kicking at the door.

Nothing happened.

“No, no, no.” he panted. “That doesn’t make sense.” He stole another glance at the clock.

3:59

3:58

3:57

“Karen!” he called again, starting to panic.

“I can’t get in touch with Boss.” Karen said (if Peter didn’t know better, he’d say she sounded panicked herself). “I can’t tell if the walls are interfering or if he’s just not picking up.”

“Karen, what’s the door made out of?” Peter panted, having thrown himself at it several more times and nothing giving.

“Adamantium.” she replied, and Peter felt his heart sink. As far as he knew, there were only two metals he couldn’t break through- adamantium and vibranium. This wasn’t a drug bust, or even a reconnaissance mission. This was a trap. And he’d fallen right into it.

3:19

3:18

3:17

“Karen, start… recording a message.” Peter said, voice wavering. “A voicemail. Something.” God, he only had three minutes left. That… that wasn’t enough time for all of them. For Mr. Stark. May. Ned. MJ. Happy. The Avengers.

He scrambled over to one of the bombs, peeling off the cover and staring helplessly into the mass of wires. He didn’t know how to defuse a bomb. Even if he could figure it out without blowing himself up quicker, there’s no way he would be able to disarm dozens of them in the time he had left.

Karen said something, but Peter didn’t hear her, too preoccupied scanning the room, praying for any last hope- any final solution. He heard the telltale beep of the recording start, though, and he started rambling, staring at the literal clock ticking down to his demise.

2:59

2:58

2:57

“Hey guys!” he let out a little hysterical laugh. “I don’t even know if this recording will survive or if you’ll ever hear this because in approximately 2 minutes and 54– oh, 53– seconds I will be blown to smithereens so apologies I didn’t get to make this a little more personal because I’m a little cramped on time here.”

2:49

2:48

2:47

Peter started spraying all of the bombs with webbing, completely emptying his canisters and refilling with the ones on his belt in a last ditch attempt to minimize the explosion. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that literally being 10 feet away from dozens of detonating explosives– webbing-covered or not– did not exactly fare well for his chances of survival, but it made him feel like he was doing something and not just waiting for his imminent demise. It probably increased his likelihood of survival, too, by some infinitesimal amount (he could probably do the math– y'know, if he didn’t have like 2 minutes left to live).

2:26

2:25

2:24

He emptied his canisters.

2:23

2:22

2:21

With absolutely nothing else left to do, he turned and started punching the wall next to the door, over and over again. It may be layers and layers of reinforced concrete and steel, but it wasn’t adamantium. He knew he wouldn’t be able to get through it by the time the bombs detonated but maybe- just maybe- he’d be able to make a little wall nook for a bit of protection (it probably wouldn’t end up mattering, but he had to try).

2:11

2:10

2:09

The recording was still going. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you beforehand, Mr. Stark.” Peter panted. “That was stupid of me. I should have. MJ, I should have had common sense. Sorry about that too. Happy, you would have probably said the same thing too. Ned, please don’t blame yourself. That goes for all of you actually.”

1:56

1:55

1:54

Peter felt his knuckles crack and his fingers break. He kept punching the wall, digging the tips of his fingers into the concrete and tearing out chunks. He could feel warm blood seeping over his hands and his arms were aching but he continued tearing through the wall, trying to create a hole big enough to climb into.

1:28

1:27

1:26

“Aunt May, I’m so sorry, I’m going to have to miss dinner tonight.” he let out a little choked laugh that was more of a sob– he didn’t know when he’d started crying. “You should– you should get a cat or something. To keep you company. You could name him Ed, because, y’know, Mr. Stark always said he would never want a pet, and he calls Ned that, and it’s his middle name shortened which is kind of funny and Ned and I always wanted to–” he cut himself off with another choked sob, suddenly realizing that he would never get to see Ed the cat that Ned and him had always joked about getting May to keep her company when Peter went off to college. He would never get to see Mr. Stark pretend to be aloof around it (like he always acted around Dum-E and U). He was going to die in here.

1:03

1:02

1:01

“I’m sorry.” he whispered, tears now running freely down his face– not that there was anyone around to see them. “There’s- there’s so much I want to say to everyone, so many things I need to tell you, and I could talk for hours but I don’t even have a minute left and all I can say is ridiculous things like how it was actually me who broke the toaster 7 months ago and I framed Hawkeye for the stupid balloon prank and- and I told FRIDAY to play the national anthem every time Cap walked into a room and-” he laughed hysterically again. “-and none of that matters anymore because I’m going to be dead in 52 seconds and I can’t even really comprehend that so I’m just sitting here rambling and punching a wall and I think all my fingers are broken but that won’t really matter soon enough and-” he was hyperventilating now, staring at the bombs yet again. He still clawed at the wall, but he knew it was a futile effort. He’d never be able to dig deep enough.

0:37

0:36

0:35

“I can’t believe- this is the way I go out.” Peter muttered incredulously, not even sure if he was talking to the recording or himself at this point. “Spider-Man, taken out in the bottom of an abandoned warehouse because he was stupid and literally stepped on a detonator.”

0:23

0:22

0:21

Peter grabbed the biggest chunk of concrete he could find from the pile he’d created and hefted it up clumsily, broken and bloodied fingers slipping against it. The only thing that stopped him from dropping it was his sticky powers.

0:18

0:17

0:16

With the last of his strength, Peter hoisted himself up into the tiny hole he’d created in the wall. It wasn’t nearly big enough for him but he crammed himself in as much as he could, sticking himself to the surface. He held up the chunk of concrete in front of him in some sort of semi-useless attempt at a shield from the blast, and he trained his eyes on the final countdown.

0:10

0:09

0:08

“I’m so sorry. I love you all. Every single one of you.” Peter’s voice dropped down to a whisper. “Aunt May… I’m so sorry. For everything. I love you so much, you don’t deserve this. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Mr. Stark… I should have been better. This is on me.”

0:07

I’m going to die.

0:06

I hope the bird got out, Peter thought belatedly, almost laughing again at the absurdity.

0:05

What is someone even supposed to think in the last 5 seconds of his life?

0:04

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and tucked his head in, pushing as far back as he could into the wall and gripping the concrete for dear life (as if it were going to do anything).

0:03

“I’m sorry, Karen.” he made the final apology to his AI. “Stop recording.”

0:02

0:01

0:00

The beeping of the timer stopped for milliseconds before a blinding white hot flash of pain washed over Peter, accompanied by a bone-rattling explosion- and then everything went dark.

~ ~ ~

Day 1

9:00 PM (+ 0 hours)

“-er. Mr. Parker. Peter, are you back with me?”

The world came fizzling back in, and Peter shook his head vigorously, trying to clear the sudden onslaught of memories. Unfortunately, all it did was make his head throb more. “Y-yeah, sorry Mr. Fury, I just… I just remembered everything.” He glanced down at his body, the bandages suddenly making a lot more sense. “Well, up to the explosion at least, I don’t remember anything past that.”

Fury peered at him with his single eye. “When Stark found you, you were badly injured,” he paused, scrutinizing Peter in the hospital bed. “If you hadn’t taken the precautions that you did—covering the bombs with webbing and making that hole in the wall, the explosion would have killed you.”

Peter blinked. Fury phrased it like a statement, but coming from him it sounded vaguely like… a compliment? Before he could say anything, though, the man continued talking.

“There was a medical team working on you—mostly SHIELD, of course. But still headed by Helen Cho. Stark insisted on that. They managed to patch you up for the most part—hence the bandages—and that’s when one of my agents slipped you a drug, called Tetrodotoxin B.”

Peter looked up sharply at that. “I’ve heard of it. Dr. Banner made it, didn’t he? It lowers your heart rate to 1 beat per minute. Ned was freaking out about it when he told me. I didn’t know it was actually in production, though—everyone assumed it was more theoretical.” His voice trailed off at the thought of his best friend and what he must be feeling right now. Guilt ran through him as he remembered convincing Ned to turn off the tracker alert. He knew his best friend well enough to know he’d be devastated and blame himself for everything, even if he never could have known the outcome. And even though he’d told everyone in his last recording (if they even got that) not to blame themselves, he could almost guarantee that they still would. Peter tried to push the thoughts aside to focus on Fury’s explanation.

Fury inclined his head in a nod. “I had to use it myself once before, to stage my own death. Of course, the rest of the medical team thought the lowered heart rate was the usual case of flatlining, as you were badly injured, and they tried the normal procedures. My agent… interfered in some ways, to say the least. Not in any noticeable way, but enough to make their efforts look futile. They were… annoyingly persistent in trying to revive you, I have to say. Took them a while, but they eventually called your ‘death,’ and SHIELD moved your body to the morgue area, making sure to keep you injected with the drug to make up for your… enhanced metabolism.”

Peter looked down at his hands, twisting the sheets in his grip at the mention of how hard the medical team had tried to save him. “So the whole medical team thought I was dead? Your other… agents… weren’t in on it?”

“No,” Fury replied shortly. “Only one of my most trustworthy agents, who administered the drug. And she doesn’t know why, or even who you are. The more people who knew, the more chances there were that something would slip, and we couldn’t afford that. That’s still the case.”

Peter didn’t respond, still staring at his sheets. “Poor Dr. Cho,” he murmured. “She’s going to feel awful for thinking she wasn’t able to save me.”

Fury was silent for a few moments. “It won’t be forever. She will eventually know the truth. As will everyone else. But not yet. The consequences are too important.”

Peter looked up sharply at that as realization dawned on him. “Why are you doing this?” Fury was silent, staring back at him levelly. “I’d be willing to bet those ‘important consequences’ aren’t the death of Spider-Man or the safety of my friends and family. If it benefitted you, you wouldn’t lift a finger to change anything or protect me. You certainly wouldn’t put this much effort into faking my death if there weren’t something important that you’re after. What’s your game?”

The silence stretched in the quiet room, and Peter met Fury’s eye steadily for the first time since he’d woken up. Honestly, he kind of wasn’t expecting an answer. Fury wasn’t much of an explaining guy. Then, much to Peter’s surprise, Fury gave a short chuckle. “You’re smarter than you let on, Mr. Parker,” he paused, taking in Peter’s look of shock. “Your poker face is terrible; we’ll have to work on that,” he mused. “But you’re correct. This isn’t for the benefit of you or your friends. But believe it or not, it is currently in SHIELD’s best interests to maintain the Avengers as a team, and as it turns out, they don’t function well without you. I need you alive, or Earth’s best defenders become virtually useless.”

Peter hesitated. “Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment—if you can call it that—but… they’re the Avengers. I’m just Spider-Man. They could be a team without me. They were a team before me.”

Fury merely stared at him for a few moments. “You’d be surprised, kid. They weren’t much of a ‘team’ before you, believe it or not.” he said wryly.

Peter shook his head, refusing to go down that mental path, instead continuing his questioning. “Regardless of that… opinion, there has to be another reason. If it was just that, why fake my death to the Avengers, too? I would understand to the public, but if anything, the Avengers would be a protection, not a hindrance if they knew I was alive. They would do anything to protect me.”

Fury sighed. “Yes, and that… becomes an issue.” He paused again, the silence stretching between the two. Peter said nothing, recognizing whatever Fury said now was as much information as he was likely to get. “You’re right. SHIELD needs something. We know who set the explosion. It was HYDRA.” Peter’s eyes widened, but he didn’t interrupt for once, and Fury continued. “SHIELD has been trying to get rid of HYDRA for decades. Many people have. They’re pesky motherf*ckers, and we’ve been searching for all of their locations for god knows how long. It’s been suspected for years that there has to be a centralized collection of data somewhere, but nobody could prove it, much less get to it. We’ve recently been able to confirm that there is a disk, with information regarding the entire network on it. People have been after this information for decades; it’s HYDRA’s best-kept secret. The news that it’s centralized like that… If we can get to that disk, we will have the information to finally take down the entire HYDRA network, for good. If we get all of their proverbial ‘heads’ at once, none of them can grow back. Some of SHIELD’s best agents have attempted to track it down and retrieve it, to no avail. That’s where you come in.”

Peter stared at him like it was Fury himself that had grown multiple heads. “If it’s never been successfully retrieved by your best-trained agents, what on earth makes you think Peter Parker could get it?”

Fury merely stared back levelly. “You aren’t Peter Parker anymore. Legally, Parker is dead. It’s a perfect job for a dead man– you can assume anyone and anything and nobody is any wiser. The public and HYDRA don’t know your face– they only know Spider-Man. Even sending Widow or Barton would be risky, however well-trained they may be; their faces have been plastered across too many places by this point. Not to mention your enhancements give you an edge. All of this means you have become the perfect agent. And that is precisely why the Avengers cannot know– they would never allow you to take on such a task. Sending you on this mission doesn’t exactly lend itself to ‘doing anything to protect you.’”

Peter started to protest. “Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done, whatever your reasons, but I’m not an agent. I’m Spider-Man. The Avengers are right– I’m not the guy for the job.”

“You say that as if I’ve given you a choice, Mr. Parker.” Fury cooly replied. Peter’s jaw hung open.

“And what’s to stop me from going to the Avengers on my own once you let me out?” Peter asked with his chin raised in a challenge. “If you’re supposed to release me to track this disk down, you can’t keep me hidden away forever.”

Fury merely tilted his head. “You were right earlier, Mr. Parker. I couldn’t care less about the fate of you or your friends. But I know you do. HYDRA, for whatever reason, has decided to eliminate Spider-Man. I do not know their real reasoning, but my guess is that little ‘drug ring’ you were going after was merely a front, and you were getting too close for comfort.”

Vaguely, Peter wondered how Fury had even found out that he was going after a drug ring– he supposed it was possible he found out from the recording Peter left with Karen, though that information would have had to travel fast. He supposed he shouldn’t bother even asking– Fury was the type to enjoy remaining vague and cryptic and mysterious. Speaking of which–

“Currently, they think they have succeeded. If you work with us and get the info to get rid of HYDRA, you remove the source of your troubles. If you don’t, and you choose to return to your friends and family, well… you’ll always be looking over your shoulder. Even if you tried to give up being Spider-Man. By being around them, and allowing HYDRA to continue to exist, you’ll have painted a target on you and those close to you. You can’t protect them forever. Is that a risk you’re willing to take?” Peter stared back, not saying anything. He didn’t need to. They both knew what his answer was.

Fury nodded at his silence, before turning on his heel and heading towards the door. “Good. You’ll spend the next few months training. You start tomorrow.”

Peter balked, startled out of his silence. “Months?? Training?! I’m Spider-Man!”

“Kid, if you think I’m sending you out on a highly dangerous mission untrained, you’re out of your goddamn mind. I don’t care if you’re Jesus Christ himself, you’re getting properly trained.” Fury snapped, and then he was gone, leaving Peter alone in the quiet room with the sound of beeping machines and the TV still replaying the explosion on mute in the background.

“Great. Just fantastic.” Peter muttered to himself, sinking into his bedsheets before sighing and closing his eyes. Months… He had originally hoped that this would be a short mission, and he’d be back to normal soon, but now he could tell he had no choice. Fury was right. He was stuck. He desperately wanted to go back to Aunt May and his friends and the Avengers, but he would never prioritize his own wishes over their wellbeing. Plus… it was HYDRA. It was sort of Spider-Man’s duty to get rid of the bad guys. Even if it didn’t benefit him at all, and he knew he had the opportunity to get rid of an evil organization that’s been around for decades… Peter sighed. No matter which way he looked at it, he came to the same conclusion, and Fury knew it. Peter was well and truly stuck.

Before long, the adrenaline of waking up in an unfamiliar place had faded, and the rhythmic hum of the heart monitor and his body’s own exhaustion quickly started lulling him to sleep. Peter didn’t try to fight it, knowing he might as well try and get some sleep to help his super-healing along if he was going to start training tomorrow. (“Training” sounded ominous coming from Fury.) With his last conscious thoughts, Peter thought about Tony, and the Avengers, and Ned, and MJ. And Aunt May.

“I’m sorry.” he murmured into the quiet as he drifted off to sleep. He hoped they would understand. “I’ll keep you guys safe,” he promised.

~ ~ ~

Day 2

10:00 AM (+ 13 hours)

Much to his disappointment, Peter awoke in the same room. “Ugh, I was hoping it was a nightmare.” he muttered to himself, throwing a still-bandaged arm over his eyes.

“Unfortunately not.” a voice came from the shadows. Peter startled violently as Fury stepped out again, not dissimilar to the day before. (Night? He didn’t actually know how much time had passed, there were no windows in the damn place. Definitely some sort of hospital room code violation there.) Regardless, at this rate he’d have a heart attack before he even had time to complete his training.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Peter quipped, ignoring his internal qualms about the actual time and wincing as he tried to sit up. Apparently being in close-range of a deadly explosion wasn’t good for the muscles. “Don’t you have better things to do than stand in the shadows and watch me sleep?” Peter said, rubbing his chest. Fury merely raised an eyebrow.

“No.” he said simply. “HYDRA– and you, by proxy– are my top focus right now. Unfortunately.”

“Wow, I’m flattered.” Peter muttered, shifting.

Fury stepped towards him, making no note of the comment. “First lesson: you have to be aware of your senses at all times. Even right when waking up. Even while asleep. You have the benefit of enhanced senses, but you rely too heavily on your sixth sense, which isn’t always reliable– as we’ve seen two days in a row.”

Peter was, unnervingly, reminded of the explosion that had gotten him into this whole mess. And how his spidey-sense didn’t alert him until after he’d set off the detonator (or milliseconds beforehand, if he was being technical about it). So he supposed Fury was right. But he was not about to tell him that.

“But that’s not fair.” Peter protested instead. “It doesn’t go off around you because you’re not an active danger to me. I’m sure the same can’t be said about HYDRA agents.”

“You can’t rely on that.” Fury leaned forward, his gaze intense. “What if it isn’t HYDRA agents? What if it’s just a civilian? But if that civilian sees you and HYDRA happens to get ahold of them, your cover could be blown.” he continued. “You don’t know the full extent of your powers– which means you don’t know their limits. What if you’re hit by something that makes you effectively powerless? You need to be able to rely on your regular senses and instincts for information when your enhanced ones fail.” he straightened back up. “You should be a dangerous and capable asset without your enhancements– like Widow and Barton. Your powers should merely be used as an advanced tool rather than your reliant baseline.”

“How am I supposed to train like that?” Peter asked, brows furrowing as Fury paced the room. “It’s not like I can turn my powers on and off.”

“Oh, we’ll work on that.” Fury said, the corners of his mouth flickering briefly as if raised in a phantom smile.

“Ominous.” Peter muttered once more.

“I don’t usually do the training, it’s far below me.” Fury said, turning back to face Peter. (‘Wow, how humble.’ a voice that sounded eerily like his mentor’s said snarkily inside his head). “But I have no other options here. Nobody except me, you, and the agent who administered the drug know that you’re alive, and I plan to keep it that way for as long as possible. Plus, I don’t trust anyone else to train you for this mission. So I will train you personally.”

“What an honor.” Peter said, with a mock salute. Fury frowned (or maybe that was just his resting face).

“You’ll want to lose the Spider-Man sass during this training period, Parker.” he said sharply. “It doesn’t work the same on HYDRA as it does on common criminals. Besides, you’ll be working primarily in stealth and interrogation for this mission, not flashy battles like you’re used to in the Avengers and on your home turf.”

Peter held his tongue (for now). He doubted he would be able to completely lose his joking remarks; it may not work the exact same on Hydra agents, but he was willing to bet it would still give him some benefit. Even if it just meant annoying the sh*t out of the bad guys. Or keeping himself mentally sane. Those were both a win in his books.

“So. Your training will consist of hand to hand combat, physical endurance and agility training, interrogation methods, stealth, first aid on yourself and others, withstanding torture, and the like. The last one is never the goal but it is a likelihood that I have an obligation to prepare you for.” Fury said seriously.

Peter let out a nervous chuckle before realizing he was entirely serious. Fantastic. Torture. How fun.

Fury paced up to his bedside, standing over him. “Any questions?”

“No, sir.” Peter said, giving another mock salute. Fury didn’t look too pleased at that. Whoops.

His eyes scanned Peter’s form, taking in the bandages still wrapped around his limbs. “We’ll hold off on the physical training until your injuries are mostly healed. First lesson: first aid, how to change your own bandages and assess your injuries.”

“Technically you already said ‘first lesson’ before this.” Peter muttered, unable to help himself, but a sharp glare from Fury quieted him again. Lame. Tony would have laughed at that. Peter was suddenly hit with a pang of longing for his mentor before Fury snapped him unpleasantly back into the present.

“Bandages, first drawer.” he said curtly, gesturing to a nondescript cabinet in the corner of the room, and Peter looked at him incredulously.

“You’re making the injured person get up?” he asked. “I almost died less than 36 hours ago.” He didn’t actually know if it was 36 hours, but he was making an educated guess.

Fury raised his eyebrow (he did that a lot). “As far as I’m aware, you’re not a cripple. You can walk. Be lucky I told you where they were, and that they’re in this room. Wait until you have to crawl with a bullet hole to find the first aid kit in a maze of rooms.”

Peter stared at him, unsure if that was a joke (it probably wasn’t). Fantastic. He stood up awkwardly from the bed, limbs moving stiffly after spending who knows how long bedridden. He shuffled unceremoniously over to the aforementioned drawer and pulled it open, grabbing the rolls of bandages and gauze. He heard a click behind him before something soft hit him in the back. He turned slowly, gaze falling to the offending object– an orange foam… bullet?

His gaze traveled up towards Fury, who was pointing a-- “Did you just shoot a Nerf gun at me?” Peter asked incredulously. It was a plain black Nerf gun– made to look like a real gun (Peter had the sudden amusing image of Fury painting a store-bought colorful version black just for this purpose)-- but a Nerf gun nonetheless.

Fury looked unbothered. “You forgot your first lesson: pay attention to your surroundings. I shot you, you’re dead. Doesn’t matter that you got the bandages because I shot you in the back and now you’re bleeding all over the floor. Fail.”

Peter spluttered. “But you said we were just doing--”

Fury cut him off. “I know what I said. But I also said to always keep track of your surroundings. So. Fail. Try again.”

Peter grumbled, bringing the bandages back to his hospital bed and perching on the side, squinting suspiciously at the honest-to-god-nerf-gun Fury had been pointing at him. The man didn’t look to be trying anything now– Peter figured Fury would try again when it looked like his defenses were down. He fiddled with the bandages while glancing up at Fury frequently, determined not to get caught again. Man, it was really annoying that his spidey-senses didn’t work for things like Nerf guns.

On second thought, maybe Fury had a point about that.

Fury looked almost amused at his struggle. “You can’t keep focusing on me so much that you can’t do the task at hand.”

Peter furrowed his brow in exasperation. “But you said I have to pay attention to my surroundings, how am I supposed to pay attention to that and this?”

Fury shrugged. “Not like how you’re doing it.”

“You’re a really sh*tty trainer.” Peter muttered.

That got an unexpected chuckle out of the man. “You’ll get the hang of it eventually. And then we can move onto the real fun with actual bullets.”

Peter, who had been focusing on unraveling the bandages, startled and looked up. “What?” he exclaimed. Fury merely pointed back towards the first aid kit wordlessly.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Peter said, gesturing to the bandages and then to himself.

Fury shrugged. “Figure it out.”

“You’re supposed to be teaching me!” Peter protested.

“Yes. You do it yourself– probably completely incorrectly– and then I’ll correct you. So. Get to it.”

“This is not how Mr. Stark trained me.” Peter muttered, half to himself– though Fury was close enough to hear it. (Well. Mr. Stark had tried to teach him like that, but didn’t particularly enjoy that Peter kept accidentally blowing things up and decided he may as well just teach him from the beginning instead).

“I don’t know if you noticed, kid, but I am not Mr. Stark.” Fury said dryly.

“Yeah, don’t I know it.” Peter muttered. Fury ignored him once again.

"Now, imagine you're on the field surrounded by enemies, injured. What do you do?"

"Well, first, I'd probably wish I were somewhere else.” Peter said. “But since that's not an option, I'd assess the situation, find cover, and start patching up."

Fury's eye twitched, but he nodded. "Good, but speed is important. In the field, you won't have the luxury of time."

"Right, right, speedy Spidey. Got it." Peter muttered, more to himself.

Fury pointed to the bandages still strewn on the bed, which Peter had yet to touch. "You still haven’t shown me how you'd perform first aid on yourself. Assume you're on your own."

Peter looked at the bandages with mock enthusiasm. "Ah, the classic 'Peter gets injured, Peter tends to Peter' routine. I've mastered this one." And, well– he had, technically speaking. Just not for burns. Usually only stab wounds. (Much to Tony’s and May’s disapproval).

Fury rolled his eye. "Just do it, Parker."

Peter opened the medical kit, grinning slightly at getting a reaction out of the director. "Okay, let's see..." he trailed off, murmuring to himself as he usually did in scenarios like these. In his early days of being Spider-Man, he had been particularly well-acquainted with May’s first aid kit on the floor of his bathroom. Once Mr. Stark had come into his life, and subsequently experienced one of the more disastrous of Peter’s self-attempted medical escapades (resulting in an infected stab wound), he’d visited the Med Bay most of the time. Unfortunately, Fury was not quite as helpful as Dr. Cho usually was, even if she glared at him for his stupidity sometimes as well.

Wincing, he unwrapped the bandages from his wounds, the stinging pain breaking his train of thought. Fury just watched in silence, being notably as unhelpful as a brick wall. Actually, a brick wall would probably be more helpful, because at least Peter could lean on that.

He managed to finish re-dressing the worst of the wounds (mostly on his left arm and side) without tearing any of his skin off (thank god for enhanced healing and Cho’s regeneration cradle), which he considered a win. Apparently, Fury was not quite as impressed.

"Good. But remember, adaptability is key. Field conditions won't always be ideal."

"Yeah, because I usually deal with ideal situations," Peter retorted, securing the last bandage with another wince. "What's next on the 'Fury's Torture Fun Time' agenda?"

Fury's expression didn’t shift. "Lunch." he deadpanned.

Peter perked up. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until Fury mentioned food. Almost on cue, his stomach rumbled.

Fury raised his eyebrow, but looked mildly amused. Peter shrugged and sighed mock-dramatically.

“Guess almost dying and starting secret agent boot camp training worked up my appetite.” he said, grinning. Fury just sighed at that and opened his trenchcoat slightly, pulling a few sandwiches out and tossing them at Peter. He caught them instinctively, but blinked incredulously once they were in his hands. Did Fury seriously just walk around with sandwiches hidden in his pockets?

Unwrapping one, he took a bite. Peter almost snickered at the thought of the grumpy director standing in a deli line to bring him food (though there’s no way he would actually do that– he probably had some SHIELD minion bring something to him). But regardless, it tasted pretty good, having been dragged around in a trenchcoat for who-knows-how-long.

While he was chewing, his mind started wandering to the mission. He really didn’t know what it entailed at all, just HYDRA and a disk and some stealth… stuff. He swallowed and opened his mouth to speak. “So speaking of secret agent boot camp, do I get to use any tech on this mission?” he asked, already knowing what the answer would be. He wished he had Karen, but he knew that was definitely off the table. He wouldn’t mind having other technology, though.

Fury, who had been watching him eat (kind of creepy, if he was being honest), raised an eyebrow. "In the field, you won't usually have access to fancy gadgets. You need to be resourceful. Besides, sometimes the simplest methods are the most effective."

Peter sighed. “No Stark tech for me, then?” he asked morosely. He was mostly joking– he wasn’t surprised Fury wouldn't trust his mentor not to be nosy, even if he was only asked to produce some sort of tech for a secret SHIELD mission. His mentor was definitely not a follow-directions-and-don’t-ask-questions kind of person.

Fury snorted. "No. Stark has his uses, but subtlety is needed in a stealth mission. He tends to bring a sledgehammer to a situation that requires a scalpel." he said dryly. Peter thought back to lab time with his mentor. Yeah… the man did tend to go overboard. Normally with explosives. Or color. Or 576 web-shooter combinations.

Peter shrugged, feeling the need to defend his mentor but also recognizing that was as much of a joke he was probably going to get out of Fury. "Yeah, well, at least his sledgehammer comes with a cool AI." he said, lips tilting up slightly.

Fury didn’t respond verbally, but Peter was sure he looked somewhat amused. Peter went back to munching on his sandwich, getting lost in thought once more. He wondered what Tony was doing right now. If it were any other day Peter would say working in his lab, but he really wasn’t sure what the precedent was for when Peter was ‘dead.’ He supposed he would figure it out eventually. And May–

He heard another click, and a foam bullet hit him square in the forehead. Peter sighed and lowered his sandwich from where he’d just been going for another bite. He picked up the orange bullet and looked reproachfully at Fury, who was now holding the small Nerf gun in his hand again.

“You’re having fun with this.” Peter accused him, using the bullet to point at him with one hand. Judging by the look on Fury’s face, he didn’t look particularly intimidating or accusatory (though Peter could have guessed as much given that he was wrapped in bandages, holding a sandwich in one hand and a foam bullet in another).

Actually, Fury looked downright gleeful. For his standards, at least. Peter wasn’t sure what the Avengers would say if he told them that Fury was enjoying shooting Nerf guns at him.

Fury’s mouth twitched in a smile as he lowered the gun and deposited it back into one of his endless trenchcoat pockets (seriously, what was the man storing in there?). “Always remember the first lesson, kid. HYDRA doesn’t care if you’re on lunch break."

Peter couldn’t help but give a small laugh, surprised at his own reaction. Maybe the man wasn’t as insufferable as he seemed. "Okay, okay, you win this round. But I will get you soon."

“We’ll see, Parker.”

Chapter 2: Avengers (Days 1-7)

Chapter Text

Day 0

5:10 PM (- 28 hours)

Tony’s POV

“Boss, I’ve just lost contact with the Spider-Man suit.” FRIDAY said.

“What?” Tony exclaimed, jolting upright and banging his head on the raised arm of the suit he was working on. “ f*ck — ow, FRIDAY, explain.” he said sharply, pressing a hand to his head. He was already up and moving towards one of his suits as he tossed his tools to the side.

“It appears he was investigating an abandoned warehouse. I had full contact with Karen and the suit until they entered a room on the lower level. There appears to be some sort of interference in the walls, and I can’t get in contact or send any signals into the room.” FRIDAY explained while he was climbing into one of his suits. He relaxed infinitesimally– a lost signal because of interference was a better explanation than all the other horrifying possibilities his mind had already come up with.

“Did Karen identify any other people in the warehouse before the signal cut out?”

“No, boss. That is what ‘abandoned’ typically means.” she replied in her usual dry tone. Tony, for his part, didn’t bother with his usual snarky retort– the momentary relief he’d felt upon hearing of the signal disconnect was washed away by the deep pit of unease forming in his stomach. It was probably nothing– the kid may not even realize his signal to the outside world dropped off and would reconnect whenever he stepped back out of the room. Yet something felt deeply wrong with the whole situation– if he had time, he might be able to parse out why he had such a visceral reaction to the kid potentially being hurt.

Not that he would, mind you– reflecting on his emotions wasn’t really his forte.

As it was, though, he was already fully suited up before his logical mind had a chance to try and reason with him that there was no reason to do so. And if the kid was in trouble, he should have been en route to him minutes ago.

“Damn it kid, what have you gotten yourself into now?” Tony muttered to himself as his face mask clicked over his head and he blasted out of the Tower. “FRIDAY, what’s the ETA to the warehouse?”

“About 6 minutes, boss.”

“Make it 5.”

—

“Still no contact with the suit?” Tony asked, the feeling of unease only growing as he got closer to the kid’s coordinates. Four minutes into the flight, almost five since the suit lost contact– by now Peter should have realized that he didn’t have contact with the outside, or Karen should have told him. And exploring a single room– whatever the hell the kid could have possibly been doing in an abandoned warehouse in the first place– shouldn’t take longer than a few minutes regardless.

“No, boss.” FRIDAY said, sounding apologetic with a tinge of concern. “You’re less than a minute out.”

Tony opened his mouth to say something, but didn’t get a chance before a bright flash lit up the horizon, and an accompanying shockwave visibly rippled the trees in a wave below him.

“FRIDAY, what was that?” Tony asked. She was quiet. “FRIDAY?” he tried to keep his voice controlled, not thinking about the fact that he was still en route to that exact destination . He was still 30 seconds out, at his top speed that was still a radius of 9 miles he could potentially cover, it didn’t mean the kid was involved, even though the likelihood of an explosion and the kid’s damn Parker luck together meant–

“The explosion appears to have originated from Peter’s last known coordinates.” FRIDAY said quietly.

Tony’s ears began to ring.

No .

“Were you–” Tony choked out, unable to ask the question, hoping– praying, against all odds, against the kid’s damn luck– that he had managed to get out of the warehouse before the explosion occurred.

“I wasn’t able to reconnect with the suit before the detonation.” FRIDAY responded, already knowing what he was going to ask. He could barely hear her voice over the ringing in his ears, despite her speaking right into his helmet.

Not him. Not Peter.

Tony had been a weapons manufacturer. He still was, if you asked some people about their opinions on the Iron Man suit. Regardless, he knew explosions. He knew an explosion he’d seen from miles away was big enough to kill anyone in a certain vicinity– enhanced or not.

By the time he’d managed to finish that thought, he’d already arrived at the warehouse. Or, more accurately, what seemed to be the remains of it. Most of it was still actively burning, and steel and concrete and whatever else was all actively crumbling and falling. Smoke obscured the air, and Tony momentarily cursed himself for not wearing the version of his suit with the most fire-resistant capacities. Regardless, his suit at least had some, while the kid’s had none. Not enough for a close-range explosion. He dove into the burning building headfirst, repulsors blasting beams out of his way.

“FRIDAY, where was his last known location within the building?” he shouted over the noise of steel buckling and concrete cracking. FRIDAY didn’t respond verbally, but instead overlaid a diagram over the bright oranges and yellows of the flickering flames displayed on his HUD. His heart sank as he saw the little dot towards the center of it all, where the explosion seemed to have originated. He didn’t dare ask if FRIDAY could connect with the suit now that they were closer– afraid that it was too damaged. He didn’t want to think of what that meant for the teenager inside.

Blasting his way to the center, his eyes caught on what looked like a half collapsed door-frame, with a thick metal door still standing among the crumbling concrete walls. The flames were all traveling away from the room (or more accurately, what was left of it), meaning that was likely where the blast had originated. Tony wrenched the door to the side, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw dozens of metal scraps– remains of bombs– covered in strings of white webbing. It looked like the bombs had been coated in it; most of it had incinerated in the initial blast, but a few stubborn strands clung to the scraps.

“PETER.” he shouted, trying to be heard over all the noise– almost unaware that he was using the kid’s real name and not his alias. Not that it mattered, because nobody was close enough to hear. He strained his ears for a response, desperately hoping the kid had managed to take cover somewhere. Before he could shout again, his eyes caught on a figure slumped in the opposite side of the room, almost completely covered in broken slabs of concrete. His chest tightened, but he was moving before he even realized it– the flash of blue and red, even charred and covered in soot, was unmistakable.

Tony was grabbing the concrete and hauling it out of the way before he’d even really completed his thought. Distantly, he realized the kid had been holding onto one of the pieces of concrete like a shield, but his fingers provided no resistance as Tony flung the last of it to the side and drew in a horrified breath. The webbing and the concrete shield had stopped Peter from taking the entire brunt of the blast, but his suit was still far more blackened and charred than it ever should have been, and the kid himself was painstakingly still and silent. Tony’s hands hovered over him, uncertain if touching him would cause more damage ( unless he’s dead already, his mind taunted).

“FRIDAY?” he got out, choking on the single word for the fourth time in as many minutes. He distantly registered debris still falling around them and the heat of the flames nearby, and knew they had to get out of there, but Peter was so still –

“He is in critical condition, but I detect a faint heartbeat.” FRIDAY said. Tony still felt like he couldn’t breathe, even at the revelation that the kid was still alive. “I have alerted both Helen Cho and the medical team to ready the MedBay and be on standby with the regeneration cradle. They will be waiting for you. I have also alerted the Avengers of Peter’s status.” At that, Tony snapped out of it, carefully scooping up Peter’s body ( not dead, not yet– ) and blasting his way back out the way he came. He winced as the kid’s left arm dangled limply– his right side must have been facing the direction of the wall, as it appeared that his left arm had taken the brunt of the blast.

“Come on, kid, stay with me.” he muttered, knowing that Peter wouldn’t have been able to hear him at these speeds, even if he had been conscious. FRIDAY– bless her heart– had plastered Peter’s vitals on his HUD, and he felt like his own heart was in danger of giving out every time the kid’s heart rate stuttered or dipped dangerously. He knew that if Peter flatlined up here in the sky, he couldn’t afford the time it would take to land and defibrillate– he would just have to continue uselessly to the Tower. He was helpless to do a single damn thing to help him.

“One minute out, boss.” FRIDAY said, her own voice sounding tight with concern. “Helen and her team are waiting on the landing pad for you.”

Tony felt like he should thank her, but he couldn’t get the words out, too focused on Peter’s vitals dipping. His own heart rose in his throat and he swallowed, praying that the line on his screen would rise again, that the kid’s heart would keep pumping, no matter how weak or erratic it was. But it didn’t.

Peter flatlined.

—

Tony was pacing.

Steve’s eyes tracked him, back and forth, from where he was leaning against a wall with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring himself to– or more likely, knew that it wouldn’t have any effect on the clearly frazzled man.

Steve hadn’t seen him this agitated since– well, actually never. Not when Loki threw him out of a window, not when Ultron destroyed his beloved JARVIS, not even when the whole Accords fallout occurred. He’d been pissed, sure– some could have called it agitated. But this was… different. This was fearful .

It was no secret how much Spider-Man– Peter– meant to Tony. To all the Avengers, really. There wasn’t a single one of them that wasn’t fond of their youngest member, even if they didn’t know him to the extent that Tony did. Not for lack of trying, though– the kid was just incredibly fond of Tony, following him around like a lost, perpetually semi-embarrassed puppy dog. Most of the time he spent at the Tower was around his mentor, though he’d grown more comfortable around being near the rest of the Avengers individually over the last few months. Steve recognized how good Peter was for Tony. For all of them, really. They’d felt more like a team over the last few weeks than they’d felt in years (certainly since the Accords fallout, and perhaps moreso than they’d ever been).

Which is why, when the team received a message from FRIDAY that the Spider-Man suit had just been in close range of a massive explosion, and that Tony had already been en route and was now on-scene, he’d felt sick to his stomach. As much as he (and the rest of the team) itched to take off and help as well, it was clear that they would be no help. By the time they would all manage to board the Quinjet and get to Peter’s location, Tony’s Iron Man suit would have long made it back to the Tower.

So, they waited.

Steve didn’t think the time had ever passed so slowly.

In some attempt to feel even remotely helpful, Steve had called the kid’s aunt, who upon hearing his voice on the other end of the line, immediately knew that something had happened. He heard the moment she hardened her voice, preparing herself for the worst, as if she’d expected this phone call every second since finding out her nephew was Spider-Man. (Morbidly, Steve figured she probably had).

“What happened?” May asked, her voice rough.

“We don’t know the details yet, but FRIDAY sent us an alert about the Spider-Man suit being caught in an explosion just outside of the city.” Steve said, hesitating. “I don’t know why, but Tony had already been flying out to get him when he got the news.”

“How bad?” The tone of May’s voice was tightly controlled, as if ready to shatter at any moment at the news that her last living family member was dead.

Steve was quiet. He didn’t know, but he knew it couldn’t be good. May blew out a shaky breath at his silence, before speaking again.

“I’ll be there in less than 20 minutes.” Steve didn’t say anything else before she hung up. Natasha came up to his side and looked at his phone. Her eyes flicked up to his face and back down, and she hesitated uncharacteristically.

“We should call his friends, too.” she told him quietly, and he looked up at her sharply. Calling his aunt was one thing, but his friends, too? That meant Natasha wasn’t considering calling them just for Peter’s injuries.

That meant she was considering calling them to say their goodbyes.

Natasha saw the recognition in his gaze and jerked her head to the communal room, where they’d been gathered before this. “It’s all over the TV.” she said, her quiet tone never changing. “It… doesn’t look good.”

Steve pressed his lips together, knowing he wasn’t going to like what he was about to see, and knowing he had to look anyways. Stepping into the threshold of the common room, he saw the rest of his teammates there as well, having turned on the TV while he was calling Peter’s aunt.

And there, in bright, terribly bold text at the bottom of the screen, read the words: ‘SPIDER-MAN SUSPECTED DEAD AFTER EXPLOSION FROM UNKNOWN SUSPECT.’

Steve inhaled sharply as he realized that the headline was accompanied by shaky camera footage that must have been taken only minutes or seconds prior (the news worked disturbingly fast in the modern ages compared to the 1940s). In the video, Iron Man had just arrived, blasting into the rubble of what appeared to once be a warehouse, but now more resembled a giant bonfire. Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen as he emerged a few minutes later, carrying something– no, someone .

Peter.

He couldn’t hear much through the ringing of his ears, but he thought he heard similar exclamations of horror from his teammates, coming to the same conclusion. Suddenly he understood why Natasha had told him to call Peter’s friends. Steve had seen enough of the aftermath of explosions during the war to know when someone was too far gone.

But– Peter wasn’t just anyone . He was Spider-Man. He had enhanced healing. Not to mention the footage was grainy and blurry; maybe the suit took the brunt of it. Surely… surely he had a chance?

Steve didn’t know whether the thought was rational or merely a way to try and comfort himself. Distantly, he realized that Natasha had taken the phone from him, but she hadn’t made the move to call anyone else yet, still waiting for him to respond. He also recognized that he was in shock, watching the video loop of Iron Man blasting out of the warehouse blankly, not really seeing it.

Within seconds though, he snapped out of it, pushing it to the back of his mind. Now was no time for him to lose it. That footage was taken minutes ago, meaning Tony could be back any second or minute now, depending on exactly how long it had been. Steve took a fortifying breath before turning to Natasha and setting his shoulders. Right now he couldn’t be Steve Rogers– he had to be Captain America. He couldn’t let this get to him, especially not now. If Peter had any chance at all, time was of the absolute essence.

Natasha met his eyes and gave him a nod. When he spoke, his voice was clear and firm.

“Has Helen Cho been alerted?” he asked. Natasha’s eyes flashed with something– it was gone in a moment, but Steve had a guess as to what it was. They both knew the extent of Peter’s injuries, and what they likely meant– but they had to try. Before she could speak, FRIDAY interjected.

“I notified her at the same time I told you all.” she said, her Irish lilt seemingly holding a sense of urgency. “She’s preparing the MedBay with a group of SHIELD medical emergency personnel and the regeneration cradle now.”

Steve nodded at the ceiling. “How far out is Tony?” He didn’t dare ask Peter’s status; at the very least, the fact that FRIDAY still had Helen preparing the MedBay and not a body bag had him holding onto a faint string of hope.

“One minute and thirty-seven seconds.”

Time had passed quickly after that– it was mostly a blur that Steve couldn’t really remember now. Tony had touched down and the medical personnel had immediately rushed out, yelling something about flatlining and scrambling around. Steve hadn’t even managed to catch a glimpse of Peter close-up before he was wheeled into the MedBay, along with the cradle– though that was probably for the best.

Steve had then turned his attention back to Tony. He was still clad in his Iron Man suit with his face mask flipped up, staring blankly down the short hall that Peter had been rushed down. He hadn’t made any move to remove the rest of the suit and his arms were still semi-extended from where he’d been holding Peter’s body up before he was put on the gurney.

Steve had gone up to him and murmured a few words to FRIDAY to get her to disengage the suit, as Tony didn’t look like he was in any state to do so at the moment. As she did, Steve caught Tony when he stumbled out, still clearly in shock. He expected Tony to push him away immediately– they hadn’t been in this close proximity since the whole Accords fallout, and even before that they usually didn’t get this physically close. Frankly, it really spoke to how distracted of a state Tony was in that he didn’t even attempt to protest as Steve led him to one of the seats and helped him sit down, before retreating to a wall nearby to give him some personal space.

It didn’t take long for awareness to come back to him– he seemed to have forcibly pushed the shock back, as Steve and Natasha had done. Though it was another testament to how rattled the man was that he didn’t even make a quip about having to be helped into a chair (usually the quip would be something along the lines “you’re the geriatric patient, Cap, I should be the one helping you sit down” ). As it was, Tony merely got up from his seat and started pacing restlessly.

Which brought them back to the present.

The tap of Tony’s shoes echoed in the quiet room. Steve had gotten distracted and lost count of what lap number he had gotten up to, but he was sure it was at least two hundred and thirty by now. It was a way to keep time, at the very least. (230 laps, times 7 seconds per lap, gave 1610 seconds, which was 26 minutes. Steve was no math genius, but he did know how to do basic algebra).

Just as Tony turned to begin another circuit of the room, the doors to the waiting room slid open, and May stepped through, still in her work clothes. Her hair was twisted up in a half-bun and was frazzled, like it had once been tied properly but had mostly fallen out from her running her fingers through it. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her glasses were slightly crooked, like she’d hastily adjusted them, and the lines of her forehead were drawn in worry. The sight of her instantly drew Tony’s attention, and he froze mid-step, eyes locking onto May’s.

"May," Tony greeted, his voice slightly hoarse. It was the first time he’d spoken since bringing Peter to the Tower. He cleared his throat in an attempt to regain some composure.

May nodded, acknowledging him before her gaze swept over the room, taking in its occupants. Her eyes settled back on Tony before she opened her mouth to speak. "Is he...?" she began, her voice trailing off, not wanting to ask the question but needing to know if anything had changed in the last 20 minutes.

Tony shook his head. “No news,” he said, uncharacteristically quiet and subdued.

The faintest hint of a smile ghosted over May’s face. “No news is good news.” The attempt at reassurance fell flat, and she pursed her lips. “What happened?”

Tony pressed his own lips together, eyes flickering to Steve. “How much do you already know?” he asked, sounding exhausted. Steve stepped forward slightly.

“All I was able to explain was that FRIDAY sent an alert about the Spider-Man suit having been caught in an explosion, and that you were already en route when we got the news. I didn’t have any other information to give, other than what was on the news.” he said.

Tony blew out a breath and ran a hand over his face, pressing his fingers into the inner corners of his eyes to stave off a headache. “I was working in the lab when FRIDAY sent me an alert that the Spider-Man suit had disconnected. She said he was investigating an abandoned warehouse and that when he entered a room on the lower level, something interfered and the signal cut out. I didn’t… Something felt wrong. So I got in the suit to go help the kid out.” he quieted, and his eyes flickered away down the hallway to where Peter was being operated on.

“Five minutes.” Tony said abruptly, eyes snapping back to the waiting room and its occupants. Steve blinked.

“What?”

“The warehouse. It was only five minutes away. I had almost made it there by the time the explosion happened. If I’d gotten into my suit faster, or pushed the speed, I could have helped him before it even happened.” he said, slight bitterness leaching into his tone. He wasn’t looking at May, or any of the Avengers, like he expected them to agree with him on default. (Sometimes, Steve wondered how he’d ever gotten his first impression so painfully wrong about Tony. Even though he acted co*cky and full of himself, he internalized the blame for just about anything, regardless of whether it was actually his fault or not.)

May was looking at Tony, eyes still watery but a certain kind of exasperation in them. “Did you get in the suit the second you heard Peter might be in trouble?” she asked, simply. Tony blinked and met her gaze.

“Yes.” he said reluctantly, his own expression unreadable. “But–”

“No but’s.” May cut him off. If it were any other situation, Steve might have laughed at how easily the woman managed to cut Tony Stark off. He was pretty sure he’d only ever seen Pepper Potts and maybe Natasha successfully utilize that capability. But Tony Stark was nothing if not stubborn, and determined to prove that this was, in fact, his fault.

“The bombs were covered in webbing,” he said. “And when I found him he was holding a chunk of concrete in front of him. He was trapped in there with enough advance warning to do all of that. If I had just been a little faster–”

May cut him off again. “You went to help him right away even though you had no reason to believe there would be anything like an explosion. You did what you could. I don’t blame you, and I know for a fact Peter wouldn’t either.” she said, leaving no more room for argument. “So what happened next?”

Tony blinked in surprise, and his mouth twisted in a displeased line. Steve was sure he didn’t really believe what May was saying, and seemed like he was genuinely surprised that she wasn’t screaming at him or blaming him for the situation. As it was, he made the (wise) decision not to keep arguing, and instead started speaking again. “I was only thirty seconds away when I saw the explosion.” he swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “I hoped it wasn’t related to the kid for once, even though I knew the odds of that. FRIDAY confirmed that it had come from his last known coordinates.” he said distantly, eyes unfocused while he remembered. “I found him in the center of all of it, and started flying back to the Tower. I don’t remember much after that.”

May stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Tony, who startled slightly at the contact. He’d been unfocused, and clearly wasn’t expecting it in the slightest. If he was being honest, Steve was a little surprised too. She stepped back within seconds, before Tony had the chance to really respond or clam up as a result, and turned her attention to Steve.

“Thank you for calling me.” she murmured. Steve just shook his head, dismissing the thanks. In the grand scheme of things, calling was the very least thing he could do.

“We were going to call his friends, too.” he responded quietly, eyes flicking to Natasha. They hadn’t gotten the chance to inform anyone other than May before Tony had touched down and everything went to chaos. May pursed her lips, eyes glimmering with tears but face still somehow dry. She turned, fingers wrapped tightly around the handle of her bag as she started to reach into it.

“I’ll do it.” she said, voice warped with emotion. She was a nurse– she knew better than anyone why they were gathering all of Peter’s loved ones, and what that meant for his likelihood of survival. But she didn’t cry, or argue, or break down. Steve privately noted that Peter’s own resolution and stubbornness must have come from his aunt. He stepped towards her.

“I can call them. Or Natasha.” he offered, knowing that notifying Peter's friends of the situation was probably the last thing she wanted to be doing at the moment. They were bound to have their own emotional reactions– and rightfully so– but mitigating that while also being concerned about her child was not the best position to be put in.

As he expected, though, May just shook her head resolutely. “No, it’ll be better if they hear it from me. I can also call their parents, I have their numbers.”

One look at her face told Steve he would not win this argument even if he tried. So he nodded instead and watched as she headed out of the room into the hallway for some privacy. Steve could hear when she got on the phone, and she was close enough that if he were to focus, he’d be able to hear the words she was saying, and the reactions on the other line. He stopped himself from listening, tuning out the voices into the background in order to respect their privacy as much as he could. He could hear when the voices stopped, though, and within a few moments, she re-entered the room, face seeming more drawn than before.

“They’re on their way.” she said quietly, slipping her phone back into her bag and pursing her lips. Natasha took her elbow and gently led her to a chair, and she sunk down gratefully into one of them, resting her chin on her hand and surveying the room.

Some time passed– Steve wasn’t really sure how long. Tony continued pacing, and nobody seemed willing to break the heavy silence that was stifling the air of the waiting room. Steve was fairly sure it hadn’t been more than an hour when the doors whooshed open again and Peter’s friends stepped through.

“May.” Ned croaked, rushing in through the doors and wrapping Peter’s aunt in a tight hug as she immediately stood up from the chair. May reciprocated it, pulling back after a moment to hold Peter’s best friend by his shoulders. “Is he– is Peter going to be okay?” he asked, a quiet, earnest desperation oozing out of him. Steve felt his heart clench at the words.

MJ stepped forward from where she had been hovering, uncertain, by the door. Her face was set in a rigid, blank expression, but her eyes were unnervingly perceptive. Distantly, Steve was reminded of Natasha. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” she asked, and her voice was quiet but sure, a direct contrast to Ned. May swallowed and let go of Ned’s shoulders, tugging MJ into her own brief hug before letting go after a few short seconds.

“Yeah.” May breathed out. “Yeah, it’s… it’s really bad. He was caught in an explosion in a warehouse outside the city. He flatlined on the way here.”

Ned pressed his hands to his mouth, looking horrified and guilty all at once. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off as May’s eyes shot over his shoulder, looking at the hall that led to the operating rooms.

As if speaking it aloud had formed it into some terrible reality, the doors whooshed open and Helen stepped through. Within milliseconds, the tension in the room had amped up tenfold. All of a sudden, nobody was sitting anymore. If they even had been in the first place.

—

The silence itself couldn’t have lasted more than a few short seconds, but in that time, May was able to draw three irrefutable conclusions. One: Helen was still in her scrubs. Normally, the doctor would have changed while the others were cleaning the room up and moving the patient to a recovery room. As a nurse, May knew that meant the surgery hadn’t gone to completion. Two: Helen’s shoulders were hunched and her face was drawn. May had seen plenty of expressions on the woman’s face over the last few months– exasperation, annoyance, frustration, concern– but never defeat. Helen Cho was not one to avoid eye contact. And that meant–

Three: her baby boy hadn’t made it out alive.

She didn’t register the exact moment when it clicked, but all of a sudden she’d sunk down into a chair and was staring into Helen’s eyes, which were now trained solely on her.

“I’m sorry.” the doctor murmured, voice catching slightly on her words. May had known the answer in her gut long before Helen spoke, but hearing the apology instead of the reassurance of ‘he’s alive’ like she’d heard from the woman’s mouth so many times before–

She crumbled inwards, pressing her face into her hands as the sound of blood rushing filled her ears. She couldn’t hear much more of what was said, but she heard the sound of more gasps and cries– from who, she couldn’t tell. Maybe they were from her. She’d thought getting the news of Ben’s death was the worst news she would ever receive– she hadn’t been expecting it, and it had thrown her into the deep end of grief with no warning. She’d lived in fear every day since finding out that Peter was Spider-Man, waiting to hear the same news regarding her nephew. Expecting it didn’t make it any easier.

Peter Parker was dead.

~ ~ ~

Day 0

9:00 PM (- 24 hours)

Tony's POV

“Boss.” FRIDAY spoke softly, as if apologetic she was breaking the thick air of grief. “Director Fury is here. He’s requesting to speak with you all urgently.”

“Does it look like I give a damn, FRIDAY?” Tony asked dully. He would have snapped if he didn’t feel so numb. Everything seemed to be frozen at the moment, as if nothing were real. It hadn’t fully sunk in yet. Peter is dead .

No.

Peter is dead .

FRIDAY spoke again after a brief pause. “He says it’s about procedures regarding Spider-Man’s burial.”

That got the room’s attention.

Tony didn’t even know how Fury had gotten the official information so fast (it had been less than two hours, goddamnit)– if he cared more, he would’ve investigated it. But as it was, he really couldn’t give less of a sh*t.

Peter is dead .

“Tell him it’s none of his f*cking business.” he growled, anger finally breaking through his numbness. He saw May look up momentarily from her position in the corner, next to Natasha and Peter’s friends. Her eyes were rimmed red and tears were still streaming down her face.

FRIDAY didn’t get a chance to respond to that, before an irritatingly familiar voice spoke.

“Unfortunately, it is.”

Fury stood at the threshold to the hallway. Tony turned to look at him, anger beginning to course through his whole body. He probably should be more concerned about how the man kept breaking into his buildings (it had happened before, and he was positive it would happen again), but at the moment all he could feel was anger that Fury was sticking his nose where it didn’t need to be. He was used to the director doing that, but this was about Peter . He had successfully kept the man away from Peter while he was–

Peter is dead.

He couldn’t finish the thought. But he knew he didn’t trust the man with anything regarding the kid, even in death, where the man couldn’t technically hurt him.

“No, it’s not.” he responded coldly, drawing his spine up straight and glaring at the director with all the disdain he reserved for people who annoyed the sh*t out of him. Fury was undeterred, meeting his gaze with his own singular, irritatingly piercing eye.

“Yes, it is.” he said calmly, continuing on before Tony could say another word. “SHIELD is responsible for the proper funeral and disposal procedures for enhanced individuals in New York and other areas.”

Something ugly reared inside him at Fury’s callous use of the word ‘disposal.’ Like Peter was trash and not a person, like he was easily thrown to the side in some random f*cking place that SHIELD put all enhanced individuals. He narrowed his eyes dangerously at the director.

Peter is dead.

“Disposal?” he hissed out, his voice low and clearly dangerous as he stared head-on, daring the man to try and say something as disrespectful as that again. Fury seemed to be minorly affected by his demeanor, tilting his head in a small nod.

“Not the best wording.” he acquiesced. Tony would have snorted at the massive understatement, but nothing about this was funny.

Peter is dead.

At that, Fury heaved a sigh, as if this were all massively inconveniencing him and wasting time he didn’t have (as if Tony wouldn’t be happy to never see his smug, stupid face ever agai–). “Stark, he can’t be put in a regular grave next to his family.”

“And why the hell not?” Tony asked coldly, well aware of the fact that May and Peter’s friends were listening intently. He was almost surprised that May hadn’t interjected already– when it came to Peter, she was a force to be reckoned with. Frankly, he only hadn’t completely shut Fury down because she hadn’t yet, either– clearly she wanted to hear what he had to say.

Peter is dead.

“He’s enhanced, his body can’t just be laying in some random grave in Queens where anyone has access to it. Not to mention we don’t know how his body will end up reacting to the elements, and with radioactive blood in a public cemetery, it’s not something we can afford to mess up. It’s standard SHIELD protocol.”

Tony almost flinched at the term “body”, unwilling to come to terms with the fact that this was Peter they were talking about. Natasha spoke up from her spot in the hallway, voice rough. Her eyes were tinged red, though nobody commented on the matter– most of the people were in a similar (if not worse) state.

“He’s right, Tony.” she said quietly. “The last thing Peter would want is to potentially let people trying to recreate Spider-Man have access to his blood. We know those types of people are out there, especially because we don’t know yet who or what caused the explosion– he avoided hospitals so he wouldn’t be in that situation. It wouldn’t be fair to ruin all that now.”

Nobody said anything for a few moments, grief still hanging over them like a heavy cloud. Loss was never uncommon in their field of work, and everyone knew the risks of signing on to be a superhero. But the death of someone so young, with so much left to live for, in a senseless, targeted explosion… it hit deeper than most of them would like to admit.

Tony turned his head to May, who was looking at him. She still hadn’t spoken yet. Her eyes were red and rubbed raw, but her tears had stopped. As much as Tony despised Fury, and as much as he wanted the best for Peter, it was May who was his family. It was up to her.

“He’s right.” her voice was scratchy, rough from when she’d cried out for her nephew. “Pete wouldn’t want that.” she added on quietly. Tony swallowed (he knew she was right).

Fury spoke again, breaking the quiet, looking directly at May this time. “We have… a special burial area for enhanced people. In a secure location, guarded by SHIELD, for cases such as these.”

“What about his family and friends?” Tony challenged, unable to stop himself from interjecting. “They’ll want to visit his–” he cut himself off involuntarily, halting. “--his grave.”

Fury tilted his head down in a half-nod, eyes flicking between May and Tony. “We can put a gravestone for him in a plot next to his parents and uncle, for people to visit. His body can stay in the SHIELD burial grounds for now, and later on, if everything is cleared and safe, we can move him permanently to his family’s resting grounds.”

Tony swallowed, pressing his lips together in a thin line. He– and everyone else in the room– hated that Peter couldn’t be laid to rest by his parents and uncle right away, but it was the best option they had, and there were no other feasible routes of action. The silence hung for a few more moments, and Fury took the lack of opposition as reluctant agreement. He nodded his head once more before turning to leave, throwing one last comment over his shoulder.

“I’ll make the arrangements.”

Nobody said a word, and it seemed like they weren’t going to. But right before Fury crossed the threshold to leave, a single shaking voice broke the silence. “I want to see him. Before… before you take him.” May murmured.

Fury hesitated uncharacteristically. “That’s maybe not the best ide–”

May cut him off. “Let. Me. See. Him.” Her usually steady voice was shaking; whether from anger or grief (or both), the team couldn’t tell. Steve rose from his seat, hand extended towards May’s shoulder, face pale with momentary shock but his usual leadership instincts kicking in once more.

“Ms. Parker–” he started, before the woman in question whirled on him. ( Anger . Tony thought distantly. Second stage of grief for both of us already. )

“With all due respect, Captain, don’t ‘Ms. Parker’ me.” she said, her voice sharp. “Let me see my nephew.” her voice cracked a little on the last word, but she remained firm and unmoving. Tony could have laughed at the sight of Steve retracting from a woman a foot shorter than him, but all he could feel was a tight ball of grief in his chest at the reminder of how much love May Parker held for the kid she’d raised as her son. Steve moved his hand before exchanging a glance with Fury, who sighed and gave a single nod.

“Very well, if you’re sure.” he paused as Tony stepped forward as well, clearly intending to come along. Fury sighed, obviously not happy with this development but clearly choosing his battles (perhaps the only wise decision he’d made during this conversation). “I assume that means all of you are coming, then.” he turned and walked out of the room without waiting for an answer.

In silent agreement, the team all followed, Tony falling into step with May at the lead with his fists clenched by his side, while Steve walked a step behind them, hesitant in his actions. Tony noticed the man keeping his eyes on him, likely afraid of his reaction. Tony himself didn’t know how he’d react– it was equally likely that he would lash out or shut down at the sight of Peter’s body. Quite frankly, he wasn’t sure how the rest of the Avengers would react; they had all faced death… but this was Peter. Nothing about this was standard. Peter’s friends trailed behind, gripping each others’ hands and trudging along slowly, white-faced. Tony caught Steve exchanging a glance with Natasha, who gave a nod and fell back towards Peter’s friends while he stayed close to Tony. Tony would have been more insulted by the insinuation that he needed to be watched, except he could barely give thought to anything other than Peter right now.

They processed towards The Room, shoulders hunched and an air of grief weighing heavier with each passing moment. The room in question shouldn’t even have been a morgue, even temporarily. Because for everything Tony had added into the Tower, even he hadn’t anticipated adding a f*cking morgue to the ranks. So now Peter was all alone, in one of the medical operation rooms, with the temperature turned down to freezing to stop the body from–

When the door came into view, Tony abruptly stopped, halting the rest of them in their tracks. Steve silently placed his hand on his shoulder again, and this time, Tony didn’t resist, staring at the sliding metal door blankly. This was it. The Room. The place where Peter’s body was held. The last time he would be in a room in the Tower before Fury whisked him away to god knows where, and then eventually laid to rest six feet under.

—

Tony’s hands were white-knuckled where he clenched them at his side. Natasha stepped up to his other side momentarily, reaching out to grab one of his fists, releasing the tight grip and slipping her own hand in its place. She, too, was tense, knowing what she was about to see would destroy her inside, but she knew she had to put on a blank face, as she always did. She looked to Fury and saw something flicker in his usually impassive eyes. Grief? Sorrow? She couldn’t tell.

If she weren’t so distracted by her own impending feelings she may have recognized it for what it was: Guilt. Maybe that would have clued her in earlier. As it was, though, it was gone in a second, and she didn’t catch it. Fury merely slid open the simple lock on the door and pushed it open with a quiet creee-eak .

Natasha gave Tony’s hand one last squeeze before slipping her hand out and moving towards the back of the line again to keep an eye on Peter’s friends. She didn’t even know if Tony had processed her presence, but he and May stepped into the room as one.

Cold air blasted them from inside the room, but that wasn’t what made them shiver. It was the sight of a lone figure, laying stock-still on a chilly metal table, with a white cloth delicately placed over their body. Bandages wound around the burns on the figure’s limbs- attempts to save him that hadn’t been successful. Nobody had removed them- there was no point. They stood, white and pristine against the figure’s pale skin, a mocking sign of their failure. As if a spell had been broken, Tony rushed towards the figure, pulling away from Steve. May, for her part, stood frozen by the door as Tony moved forward.

Natasha watched, able to see the emotions flitting across the woman’s face, clear as day. As her eyes swept over the figure, she could see why May was having trouble reconciling the body with her nephew. Peter was never still.

—

Steve followed Tony quickly, unable to tear his eyes away from the gruesome sight. Tony spoke for the first time since he had questioned Fury, voice cracking on a single word.

“... Kid?” Tony whispered, reaching out a hand towards the body hesitantly. Nobody dared to move an inch or make any sound at all. The second Tony’s hand made contact with the cold, stiff body, he collapsed in on himself, resting most of his body weight on the table while his hand gripped Peter’s. Steve stood nearby, a hand reflexively reached out to catch Tony in case he fully crumpled to the floor. The room was deathly silent, save for a few sniffles from Peter’s friends.

Tony wasn’t making a sound, rather sweeping his eyes over the entirety of Peter’s still body, as if searching for any sign of life– any remaining trace of him still left. Steve’s eyes strayed away from Tony and Peter, not wanting to intrude on his final goodbyes. He glanced around the room and briefly observed everyone else doing the same– it wasn’t really privacy, not with the room as silent as it was– but it was the least anyone could do.

Steve’s eyes snagged on Fury and he almost frowned– the man seemed… antsy, almost? Antsy was not a word anyone would ever have attributed to the director, but it was the closest descriptor Steve could think of at the moment. He looked like he wanted to drag everyone out of the room as quickly as possible– like he was hiding something. That would be in-character for him, though Steve figured it probably had more to do with the fact that Fury wasn’t comfortable being in the same room as such outright displays of emotion, and probably didn’t know what to do with himself. Steve didn’t actually think he’d ever seen the man display an emotion other than disapproval.

His thoughts about the director were cut short when he heard Tony draw in a ragged half-breath half-gasp, and his eyes snapped back to his teammate. The inventor’s back was ramrod straight, no longer hunched over Peter, and he was staring down at the kid with an unreadable expression.

“Tony?” Steve inquired, taking a step closer to him. The dull look in the man’s eyes had been replaced with the sharp intelligence Steve was normally used to– the look he got when he’d just had a revelation or breakthrough. Though for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what the hell it could have been. At Steve’s query, Tony’s eyes had shot up to him, a slightly wild look in his gaze.

“I saw him move.” Tony rasped urgently.

A heavy weight settled in Steve’s stomach at the words. Whatever anticipation or hope he’d felt at the man seemingly back in his normal state for a few seconds had dissipated. He was clearly out of his mind with grief– Steve had seen this before with some of his old war buddies, where grief clouded their minds so much that they started hallucinating what they wanted to see. A cursory glance at Peter showed him just as still and cold as he’d been when they walked in.

“Tony…” he started softly, gently. At his tone, the man’s eyes hardened– Steve knew he hated it when he thought people were pitying him.

“Don’t.” he told Steve, his voice hard and brittle. His gaze swept around to the other occupants of the room, the fire in his gaze dimming when he didn’t see any faces agreeing with him. “No… I– I know what I saw.” Steve didn’t think he’d ever heard Tony Stark stammer. Normally, the inventor had the power to sway the opinion of any room he walked into, about any topic– and he knew it.

Fury spoke (looking even more… uncomfortable?). “Not possible, Stark.” he said tersely, looking like he was about to kick everyone out of the room. “Helen Cho confirmed it.”

Steve closed his eyes, focusing his hearing on the heartbeats in the room. He knew Fury was right and Tony must be seeing things… but just in case. He usually automatically tuned out the sound of heartbeats– if he didn’t, he’d be overwhelmed any time he was in a crowd. But he focused in, straining his ears towards the direction Peter was laying in, and–

Nothing.

He opened his eyes, not sure why disappointment hit him in a violent wave. He knew this. There had been no way. Helen was good at her job, and she knew what she was saying when she gave them all the news. Still… hope wasn’t rational, he supposed.

In front of him, Tony still shook his head, though with less conviction than before. “No.” he turned back around to Peter and swept that same scrutinizing gaze over him. “No, he can’t–”

Clint spoke roughly, eyes affixed to the floor (he would never get rid of the sight of the boy’s stiff, cold body from the backs of his eyelids; in his mind’s eye, he could almost see his own kids laying there, still and silent. Even the nightmarish thought was enough to make him want to completely lose it; that was Tony’s reality now.). “Tony. Tony, stop. He’s gone, man. He’s gone.”

Whether the words themselves got to him, or just the dull tone they were spoken in, all the fight seemed to leave Tony at once, crumpling like a puppet with its strings cut. Steve was immediately there to catch him as anticipated, bringing Tony up to his broad chest in an attempt to keep him upright. The man didn’t even struggle in the super soldier’s grip, a testament to how grave the situation was. Steve was at a loss on what to do– Tony was not a very tactile person in the first place, and he didn’t know how best to comfort his teammate (no– his friend ). All he could do was give Tony’s arm a small squeeze– ( I’m here. I’ve got you. ) – and keep him upright as best he could.

The entire time, Tony’s eyes had never left Peter’s body. Nonetheless, no tears had been shed (not by him, at least). His eyes were blank and horrified, but they were dry. His face was slack with shock, the full enormity of the situation not having hit yet. (Later, alone in his lab, tears would be shed and objects would be smashed in an alcohol-grief-fueled rage, but right now in front of his team, he was pale and silent).

Steve, too, was silent, still holding Tony up and staring at the body as well. His eyes weren’t dry but years of training held the tears back and kept the facade up. (Later, he would run himself ragged and go through the entire closet of reinforced punching bags until his knuckles were bloody and his body ached, but he would not be able to erase the sight of Peter laying cold and silent on the makeshift morgue slab).

Natasha was the only one not frozen, stepping quietly and lightly up to the metal table away from the sides of Peter’s friends. She rested one hand on his forehead, closing her eyes and trying to feel anything - even the slightest sign of life. She knew she would find none even before she tried, despite Tony’s insistence, but she found herself disappointed nonetheless. Her back to the rest of the team, she leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Peter’s cold, pale one. “Rest well, маленький паук (little spider).” she whispered imperceptibly. A lone tear slid from the corner of her eye, falling into Peter’s untamed curls, slightly stiff from the cold. She straightened up, stepping back from the body with her face perfectly and blankly steeled against all emotion.

(If she had waited a single second more, perhaps she would have felt the slightest puff of air as Peter imperceptibly exhaled.)

Bucky and Sam remained by the door, standing shoulder to shoulder, refusing to move further into the room by silent agreement. They had both already seen enough in the field to know that the less detail they saw in the body, the less nightmare fuel they would have (it didn’t ever work. Their brains just filled in the missing details.)

—

May finally moved from where she’d been paralyzed by the door, watching. She wasn’t sure if she was processing anything, or if this was maybe a bad dream she’d wake up from soon. Like Tony, she moved towards the body ( Peter’s body), and reached out for his hand. Her own fingers wrapped around his stiff, frigid ones, and she brought her other hand up to her mouth in a failed attempt to stifle the sob that ripped through her. She didn’t collapse as Tony had done, though she felt like she might. She barely registered out of the corner of her eye the Captain hesitating nearby, still supporting Tony but appearing ready to catch her if she did fall. All of her attention was on Peter.

One hand gripped his tightly and her other came up to brush away a strand of hair that had fallen onto his forehead. It was a move she’d done so many times over the course of Peter’s life– even when he was just five years old and had just lost his parents. Another sob wracked her body as no familiar warmth radiated from beneath her hand. Just cold, stiff, death. May sunk down slowly next to her nephew, resting most of her weight on the table that held his body.

(Steve hesitated, unsure of whether to grab and support her. Tony had regained his own balance within a few moments, pushing away from Steve’s chest. He hadn’t said anything but he spared the slightest glance at Steve– and he didn’t think he’d imagined the flash of gratitude there. But May merely rested her forehead on Peter’s chest for a few moments and Steve turned away as he’d done for Tony, wanting to let her grieve her last beloved family member in peace.)

“I love you, honey. So, so much.” May whispered into Peter’s chest, the white sheet scratchy against her face. “And I hate to lose you this way, but I know you–” another short sob tore through her. “--I know you went out doing what you loved most, and I am so proud of you for that.” she paused for a few moments, letting her warm tears fall onto the cold, cold sheet. (Peter never liked the cold.) “It was the biggest honor to be able to raise you.” she whispered fiercely. “And I will never stop loving you.” She took in a shuddery breath, squeezing her eyes shut harshly to try and stem the flow of tears. (Peter never liked it when she cried.) She lifted her head and examined her nephew’s face one final time, leaning over to press a lingering kiss on his forehead. “Goodbye, baby.” she whispered into his frosty curls.

She forced herself to take a few agonizing steps back. If it were up to her, she would stay in this room forever, and never leave Peter, never leave him for a final time. But she knew she had to. She never thought anything could have been worse than losing Ben. She loved Ben. She loved him so, so dearly. But god, losing Peter was so much worse. No parent should have to bury their child. She stepped back towards Tony, who was still standing stiffly nearby, having been released by Steve but remaining still. She slipped her hand into his and squeezed, tears blurring her eyes again as they both looked at Peter.

She wouldn’t lie, she hadn’t been the biggest fan of Tony Stark when he showed up to offer Peter an ‘internship,’ and even less so when she found out about Spider-Man. But the love for her nephew trumped all personal opinions she may have, and Tony Stark and Spider-Man made him so incredibly happy for the first time in years. She’d seen how Tony protected Peter, how much he cared for him in his own way, how much he fought to keep Peter alive. Peter wasn’t his child, but he was his kid, in all but blood. And right now, May needed someone – anyone at all, to understand even a fraction of what she was going through. She couldn’t do this alone. And if that meant doing it with Tony Stark, then so be it.

He didn’t squeeze back, not acknowledging anything or anyone, only having eyes for Peter.

But he didn’t let go.

—

The last people to say goodbye were Ned and MJ. Natasha ushered them up, stepping back to give them some space but still remaining relatively close by.

Ned reached out and gripped Peter’s hand– it was slightly warmer than the rest of his body from everyone else grabbing it, and he could pretend- for a brief, blissful moment- that his best friend was alive.

“I’m so sorry, Peter.” his voice cracked, tears still streaming down his face. He didn’t think they’d stopped since he found out the news. A thick, choking cloud of guilt settled over him. “I should never– I should never have disabled that alert. I should have stopped you from going. I should have known you’d find trouble. You always do.” ( Did .) He refused to acknowledge the echoed correction in his mind. MJ squeezed his other hand tightly, tears trailing down her face too.

A gentle voice spoke behind him. “It wasn’t your fault, son.” Steve Rogers spoke, staring intently at Ned. “Peter was… persuasive. And neither of you could have known it was a trap.”

Any other day, Ned would be freaking out over the fact that Captain America had just spoken to him. But not today. How could he be elated? His best friend was dead, and it was his fault. (He would never ramble excitedly to Peter again, never build legos with him again, never–). He shook his head vehemently.

“It is my fault. I should have known.” he insisted. Captain Rogers looked at him with something like sadness in his eyes. Ned looked over briefly to May and Tony Stark– at some point she’d grabbed onto his hand and looked like she was holding on for dear life. (If Peter were here, he’d be gawking at the scene. But he wasn’t here. Not in the way that mattered. And never would be again.) Ned felt sick to his stomach when May looked up at him, expecting hatred or disgust in her eyes. He found neither.

“It wasn’t your fault, Ned.” she murmured. Ned wanted to shake his head vehemently again. They just didn’t get it. He knew Peter. He’d been his best friend for their whole lives. He knew Peter always found himself in troubling situations, and he knew that disabling the tracker notification would probably lead to a similar one. He should have known better. He should have known better , and now his best friend was dead.

MJ squeezed his hand again, looking at him with tears brimming in her eyes. She understood. She wasn’t going to bother to try and convince him otherwise– not now, at the very least. He wouldn’t believe her.

—

MJ looked to Peter, realizing she was the last one to say goodbye. All this time and she still hadn’t figured out what she wanted to say to him. She couldn’t figure out what to say to him while he was alive, of course she wouldn’t be able to figure out what to say to him when dead, either.

“Hey, dork.” she started, wincing as her voice cracked on the familiar insult. That was… not how she intended to start it. Not in a room with a bunch of Avengers and Peter’s family, at least. Insult the dead person, why don’t you? Good one, MJ.

She felt Ned’s hand squeeze hers in reassurance, just as she’d done for him moments prior. Somehow, it emboldened her to continue, even though she was in a room with a bunch of people she didn’t really know and emotions were never her strong suit, even among family. But she could do it, for Peter. Only for Peter.

Words started spilling out of her without her own accord, and she didn’t even really know what she was saying before she said it.

“You missed decathlon practice again.” she gave a sharp, bitter laugh that sounded wrong in the cold silence of the room. “I suppose Flash will have to take your place now.” She swallowed at the unpleasant thought. Having Flash as a full-time team member and not an alternate would be a glaring, abrasive reminder every day of what she’d lost. She ducked her head, biting her lip and closing her eyes.

“I wish… I’d told you how much you mattered to me before now.” she said, her voice quieter. Never in her life did she think she’d be admitting this, but all she could do now was wish that she’d done this earlier– that she could look into Peter’s stupidly endearing brown eyes and tell him that and savor his terribly hidden look of surprise. But she couldn’t do that. She could only look at his still, cold body and say the words he still deserved to hear.

“But you do. Matter to me, that is.” she murmured. “I know you liked me. Or, well. I was 67% sure.” she let out another small hysterical laugh. “But I was too scared to do anything about it.”

Ned squeezed her hand again. “He did like you.” he croaked out. “Threatened to web me to the ceiling if I told you.”

MJ squeezed her eyes shut, tears finally leaking out. “I like you too, dork. Still do.” she said roughly, angrily swiping at the tears (betraying her emotions, the traitors) with her other arm.

Stupidly, briefly, for the faintest of moments, MJ could have sworn she saw Peter’s chest move after she said that. Barely a flicker of movement, and then it was gone again. She stared intently, foolishly hoping that maybe– maybe– his chest would start rising and falling again and he would sit up and it would all be fine–

Nothing happened.

More tears collected in her eyes- this time angry tears. Angry at herself, for the momentary pang of hope she’d inadvertently felt, at making the same mistake Tony Stark had just made moments prior. Stupid idiot. This isn’t a fairytale, people don’t come back from the dead just because you confessed your love for them. You go to a STEM school. The doctors pronounced him dead. No pulse. His chest didn’t move, it couldn’t have. It was a trick of your eyes. Can’t see straight from all these stupid tears. Besides, clearly nobody else saw it or there would be a whole lot more commotion than this.

She sniffed again, roughly wiping her face. She felt a strange tingling, like someone was watching her. Turning her head slightly to the side, she saw the SHIELD director– Fury (how apt of a name)-- staring right at her, his gaze intent and piercing. Michelle was not the type to squirm, but she felt like she was being flayed and picked apart atom-by-atom in his examination. To her credit, she didn’t move an inch, and he must have found what he was looking for because he turned his gaze away from her and broke the silence that had fallen again after her last words.

—

“We should get the process going. The Tower doesn’t have a proper morgue and he can’t stay in here forever.”

May nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from Peter's still form. Tony was silent, but he finally gripped her hand back. It was a silent acknowledgment that he understood the necessity of what needed to be done but couldn't bring himself to vocalize it.

Fury took a step forward, his eye scanning the room. "I'll make the arrangements. We'll have a team transport the body to the SHIELD facility."

May nodded again, her voice barely audible, but she fixed Fury with a steady, sharp gaze. "Just take care of him."

Fury met her gaze and was silent for a few moments before giving her a nod. The hesitance was unlike him, but then again, he didn’t usually make promises to grieving family members.

Natasha was the first to move towards the door, gently guiding Peter’s friends along with her. She didn’t want to be the first to leave, but she knew if someone didn’t move first, then everyone would just stand there in silence, and Fury was right. The other Avengers followed suit, Clint stepping up to her side with his shoulders tense. Bucky and Sam moved out of the doorway into the hallway to allow her to pass.

—

Tony and May were the last ones in the room. May hesitated, her gaze lingering on her nephew. She pressed a final kiss to his forehead before allowing herself to step towards the doorway.

The door closed behind them with a sense of finality. At the sound of the click of the lock, Tony broke away from May’s side and leaned heavily against the corridor wall. Normally he would care more about people seeing him with his defenses down, but it had just hit him that that was the last time he’d ever see the kid’s face. Besides, it was only May left in the hallway, and he knew she would understand.

May squeezed his shoulder. Tony was surprised that he didn’t entirely mind it; normally he’d have shied away or knocked her hand off. She spoke quietly. "He chose to be Spider-Man." she said quietly. “We couldn’t have prevented this.”

Tony pursed his lips. We . She was placing them on the same level, as if they had the same responsibility to keep the kid safe. She didn’t understand that he could have done more; if he was faster or better, the kid would still be alive. There was nothing she could have done to convince Peter to stop being Spider-Man; the homecoming incident had proven as much. But there was more that Tony could have done to protect him. He’d failed.

He didn’t bother to put the sentiment into words; she’d come to her senses eventually, after she had time to think about it, and realize that it was his fault. Selfishly, he wanted to preserve the little bit of comfort he had now. He merely nodded at her words.

Suddenly, he couldn’t stand to be anywhere near the room and the reminder of his failure anymore. He straightened up, and May’s hand slid off his shoulder in the process. Fury's… people would be arriving soon to take care of Peter's body, and he didn’t think he could stand watching that.

In silent agreement, they both moved down the hallway towards the elevators. Tony wasn’t really thinking about what would happen now, or what he was planning to do, or even which floor he was going to end up on when he got into the elevator. He figured FRIDAY would pick somewhere to take him and recognize that he didn’t really give a damn where that was at the moment. He figured he should tell May that she was free to go wherever she wanted to, or leave the Tower if she wanted, but he couldn’t seem to focus on forming a sentence conveying that. Only one thought dominated his conscious mind, and everything else bounced right off it to the corners of his brain.

Peter Parker was dead. And he was never coming back.

Chapter 3: ALL (Day 9)

Chapter Text

Day 9

10:00 AM

Rhodey’s POV

It had been nine days.

Rhodey had thought that time could never move as slowly as it had when his best friend was captured in Afghanistan for three months, but he was wrong. Nine days into Peter Parker’s death and it felt like everyone around him was moving through a thick slog of grief.

Well, everyone except for Nick Fury. He was business as per usual.

“Pepper is setting up a press conference for later today.” Rhodey explained, speaking for Tony, who had a distant look on his face. The same look he’d worn the entire time Fury had been in the room– he hadn’t even thrown a single jab at the director the entire conversation thus far. Rhodey was pretty sure that was a record.

“Announcing Spider-Man’s death.” Fury said, almost in confirmation. Rhodey narrowed his eyes at the director uneasily. He’d never been the biggest fan of the man. Sure, he respected the hell out of him for being the director of SHIELD, but he wouldn't trust the man with saving his life simply for the sake of life. He always had an ulterior motive. Which was why he was skeptical as to why the man cared so much about this press conference; SHIELD wasn't really one to get involved with the media.

“Peter Parker’s.” Tony interjected, in a dull tone that matched the look on his face. It was lacking in its normal confidence and snark, like all the life had been sucked out of it. Rhodey almost shivered. He’d only really seen his best friend in this state a few times before, and always in regards to his mother’s death. Though normally that was accompanied by some sort of liquor, and getting so drunk that Rhodey had to sit up with him all night to stop him from choking on his own vomit. Tony’s coping mechanisms were predictable, in the very least, and he always defaulted to anger and shouting before moving into the catatonic state of grief. In fact, Rhodey could smell residual alcohol on his best friend, no doubt from being locked in his lab all week long. Frankly, he was surprised Tony wasn’t drunk at the moment– the fact that it was 10 AM had never stopped him before. Speaking of which–

Both men’s eyes snapped over to him, surprised by the interjection. Tony met Fury’s gaze, and kept speaking. “It is Peter Parker that should be remembered, alongside Spider-Man.” he said flatly. “Not just the suit.”

Fury was quiet for a few moments, like he was carefully calculating an answer to be as vague and cryptic as he possibly could. “Releasing his identity isn’t the wisest idea, Stark.”

“What does it matter to you? You said it yourself. He’s f*cking dead!” Tony said, voice raised and eyes flashing angrily as they always did when he was challenged. “Don’t pretend like you give a damn.”

“I don’t.” Fury responded bluntly, and Tony froze at the admission. Rhodey had been half expecting it, and he wasn’t really sure whether his best friend was about to lunge at Fury and tear his throat out or whether he was about to further shut down. Luckily (or unluckily), Fury continued before Rhodey had to make a decision on whether to physically restrain Tony or not. “Do what you want, it makes no difference to me. But someone should be a voice of reason in this situation. Even I know how insistent that kid was on keeping his friends and family safe, and I’m sure you of all people know that the vultures don’t exactly respect grieving families’ boundaries when it comes to getting a story.” he said wryly. Tony’s face shuttered at the reminder and not-so-subtle reference to his parents’ deaths, and Rhodey had to stop himself from biting out his own sharp retort at the director. He placed a hand on his friend’s tense, hunched shoulder, silently offering a squeeze of comfort.

Fury examined the two of them, gaze passing over them with an unreadable expression. If he were a lesser man, Rhodey would have cowered, but instead he stood up even taller, narrowing his eyes back in silent challenge. Fury may be the director of SHIELD, but if he didn’t stop acting so callous about the kid’s death, even Rhodey wouldn’t be able to prevent Tony’s righteous anger in the kid’s name (not that he would feel particularly inclined to, either).

Fury must have gotten the sentiment, because he sighed and softened a little (though it looked like it physically pained him to do so). “The kid does deserve to be recognized for who he was under the mask.” he acquiesced, looking sour at the admission. “But letting the media spectacle settle down and waiting to release it until his aunt and friends have had time to grieve and get used to it, would be the most logical course of action here.”

If his tone didn’t sound so flat and utterly removed from the situation, Rhodey could almost pretend like the words the man had spoken were out of compassion or care for Peter and his family.

“‘Used to it.’” Tony quoted dully, eyes flashing with anger again. “I’m– They’re not just going to get used to it.”

Fury stared back calmly, not pointing out the slip-up. Even now, after Peter’s ‘death,’ the man was still having trouble admitting just how much he cared for the kid, though it was visible even to a blind bat. “You know what I meant, Stark, and you know I’m right. Give it some time.” he paused, eyes sweeping over Tony’s unkempt form. “That goes for you, too.” he said, quieter, before turning to leave, not waiting for a response. (He sighed to himself as he walked briskly through the halls. Hopefully that bought Parker enough time to finish his mission and get back to the land of the living without getting his identity outed. God knows that would make everything infinitely, astronomically worse. Unfortunately, it meant they were on yet another time crunch.)

Rhodey stared after Fury as he left, lips tilted down in a frown as he looked between the departing director and his best friend. Steve had offered to be the one to meet with Fury; he and Tony had their differences, but Rhodey could tell it was his own way of trying to minimize Tony’s pain. His best friend, however– ever the stubborn one– insisted on being the one to meet with Fury. He didn’t trust anyone else to deal with Peter. Tony had yet to admit it, even to himself, but Rhodey– and the rest of the Avengers– could see clear as day that he loved that kid as his own. He hadn’t wanted to drag May into it, fully ready to meet with Fury alone and let her grieve in peace (completely disregarding the fact that it had been barely a week and he needed time to grieve as well), but like hell Rhodey was going to let the director and his best friend be in the same room alone together in this situation. Or any situation, frankly.

Rhodey was nowhere near as close to Peter as Tony was, but he’d relished in the time he did have with the kid. It was nice to have a nephew-adjacent figure, especially one who was as polite and vibrant as Peter. He could feel the cavern of grief within his own chest at the loss of the kid, but years of practice helped him push it aside to focus on his best friend. Tony had never had the best habits for managing his grief. Peter was one of the main reasons his habits had changed for the better, and Rhodey knew that now, more than ever, Tony needed him to be strong.

In all of this, though, something didn’t sit right with Rhodey. He knew that Fury loved sticking his nose in places that he didn’t belong (he was almost worse than Tony in that regard), but he was strangely involved in this situation. Fury was the type to be nosy behind the scenes, not up-in-your-face nosy. Yet he’d been involved almost immediately in every step of Peter’s death thus far. Not that Rhodey had a baseline to go off of– this was unprecedented for the team– but it still struck him as odd. Especially Fury’s… uncharacteristic concern for Peter’s family and friends’ wellbeing. If you could call it that.

He didn’t realize he’d voiced this aloud until Tony let out a brittle chuckle. “The kid managed to worm himself even into Natasha’s good graces,” he said quietly. “Guess even good ol’ saint Nick isn’t immune to the damn kid.”

Rhodey’s heart twisted at the words and the broken look at his best friend’s face. Alone, here, with the two of them, Tony didn’t try to mask his emotions– he knew it would be a futile effort, anyways. Rhodey could always see right through him. He still tried to crack a joke, though, feeling vulnerable even in the presence of the man who had known him for the last 35 years.

“Tony.” Rhodey said quietly. Tony’s face crumpled even further at that, but he didn’t cry– instead pursing his lips tightly and turning his head to look at the wall. Rhodey didn’t say anything else, instead gripping his shoulder and pulling him into a tight hug. They didn’t hug much– Tony not being a tactile person and not wanting to show weakness in any way (which Rhodey still thought was bullsh*t)– but here, with just the two of them, he allowed himself to collapse in Rhodey’s arms, gripping him back just as tightly.

“It’s going to be okay, man.” Rhodey murmured quietly into Tony’s ear. He knew Tony would be the first to let go of the hug; he always had been– even though he very clearly wanted to stay for longer, he never let himself indulge in the comfort. So he held Tony as tightly as he could for a few moments, trying to soothe his best friend’s grief in any way he could before they reached the stage where Tony shut everyone out completely. It happened in almost all cases, but especially in the ones where he blamed himself (which Rhodey knew he did now, even if he couldn’t have possibly known). He knew he couldn’t avoid it, so he tried to give as much comfort as he could right now.

Tony didn’t say anything, didn’t make a single sound or movement, but Rhodey felt a single drop of wetness hit his shoulder where Tony’s head was placed. Privately, Rhodey wondered if Tony would ever manage to recover from this, or whether Peter Parker’s death would irrevocably destroy him. He had a terrible feeling that he already knew the answer.

—

Day 9

3:00 PM

Peter’s POV

It had been nine days since he died.

What a strange sentence to think. Peter had given a little too much thought to the topic, actually, in the last week or so– the whole ‘if a tree falls in a forest and nobody is around to see it, does it make a sound’ question. He wondered, if Fury didn’t know he was alive as well, and Peter himself was the only one to know– would be dead or not? Scientifically, no, but philosophically, he wondered what would differentiate him from a ghost at that point. Technically, what would differentiate him from a ghost with consciousness other than the fact that he had a physical body?

If you had told him a week and a half ago that he’d be stuck in an underground bunker mentally debating the merits of whether a ghost was ‘dead’ or not, he would have been concerned for your mental well-being. And his own.

The TV had been running in the background, playing a static loop of news Peter had already seen. He had considered turning it off, but decided against it, in case anything new came on. Besides, it wasn’t like he had anything else to do in here.

Suddenly, the screen flickered, and a new headline seared into his eyes. Avengers Press Conference, it read. He sat up ramrod straight, ignoring the ache in his ribs at the motion, and stared at the live broadcast intently. For a few moments, nothing happened, but then he saw a flash of fiery ginger hair come on-screen and a lump gathered in his throat.

He watched, with bated breath, as Pepper took the stand in front of the reporters in the same room of the Tower where he was once almost announced as a part of the Avengers. He didn’t know what to expect, to be honest– it wasn’t every day that he contemplated what people would say when he was dead, after all.

Pepper spoke, her voice clear and composed, as usual. If Peter were an outsider, he may have called her cold and detached– merely a voice to the announcement. But he knew better– he saw the tension in her shoulders, the way she gripped the podium as though trying to physically reign her grief in. He swallowed silently, sending a quiet mental apology to her. She was the reasonable voice to the situation, of course– her or Rhodey– but he was sorry nonetheless to put such a task on her, even inadvertently. He and Pepper were never as close as he and Tony were, but she always had a maternal air to her that reminded him achingly of May. When this was all over, he’d like to spend more time with her.

He shook these thoughts away, trying to focus on the actual announcement itself.

“As many of you have probably seen, nine days ago Spider-Man was involved in a close-range explosion that we believe was intended to target him specifically. At the moment, we still do not know the identity of the perpetrators, but rest assured that the Avengers will not stop before they are discovered and brought to justice.” Pepper took a deep breath, and Peter– and the reporters– seemed to be hanging onto her every word. “But that’s not what most of you want to know. The internet has speculated for the last week on the health status of Spider-Man.” she hesitated briefly, uncharacteristically, as if unsure to say the words they were all dreading to hear. “Unfortunately, I regret to inform everyone that Spider-Man succumbed to his injuries the day of the explosion. He never made it off the operating table. Spider-Man is dead.”

Peter wasn’t sure what reaction he was expecting with that statement. Half of him expected the reporters to surge forward, as they usually did after a massive news revelation– each vying for their spotlight feature questionnaire or five minutes of fame. But the room was silent. Nobody jumped forward. Nobody said anything at all. Peter’s enhanced senses picked up a gasp– a cry– from the group of reporters, but everything else was quiet.

Pepper, too, seemed to be surprised momentarily, before some other emotion Peter couldn’t place washed over her face. She took another fortifying breath, and her voice became softer, less detached. “I know Spider-Man was a peoples’ hero. He cared for each and every New Yorker and did his best to help, no matter how seemingly small their problem. Many people have been wondering if his identity will be released post-mortem, so that they can pay their respects to the man behind the mask. I personally knew Spider-Man, and I can say without a doubt that the person underneath the mask deserves to be remembered and respected just as much as his Spider-Man counterpart.” Pepper drew in a breath.

Peter froze, tensing up– expecting the next words out of her mouth to be “Spider-Man is (or was) Peter Parker.” He hadn’t even considered the problem of his identity– sparing half a thought to Fury, he wondered how the man wouldn’t have considered this in his whole ‘master plan.’ Of course the Avengers and Pepper wouldn’t know not to release his identity– they fully believed he was dead. He found it hard to believe that Fury would have missed such a glaring error in his set-up. To be fair, he could probably still pass as a random scrawny teenage boy, since nobody would be expecting him to be alive if they saw his face in passing– but it still was a risk Peter didn’t think Fury would have taken. He turned his attention back to Pepper as she spoke.

“However, after some discussion amongst ourselves, we also want to recognize that one of the main reasons Spider-Man concealed his identity was to, in turn, protect the identities and lives of his friends and family. This is still a concern, confounded by the fact that we would also like to respect the privacy of those close to him while they are still grieving from his death. Perhaps, in the future, he will be recognized for what he has done, but if there is one thing I know for sure about Spider-Man, it is that he would not have minded remaining anonymous to only those close to him.” Pepper gave a sad smile to the cameras. “We, of course, ask that you respect these wishes and remember what Spider-Man stood for– both with his mask and without.”

Peter zoned out again, a wave of relief washing over his body– both so that he could still have a secret identity to return to after all this was done, and so that May and Ned and MJ wouldn’t have to deal with the fallout of Spider-Man’s death on top of Peter Parker’s. The last thing he wanted to do was make this even harder on them than it had to be. Vaguely, he wondered what they would tell the school happened to him, and if anyone would connect the dots regardless. He hoped not, but he also wasn’t stupid enough to recognize that between the Washington DC incident, and Peter disappearing right when Spider-Man ‘died,’ that anyone who paid even the slightest bit of attention to him would be able to put the pieces together. He only had to hope that ‘nerdy loser Peter Parker’ was enough of a facade to keep people at bay. One of the benefits of being a nobody in high school, he supposed, was that nobody would really question where he went– people came in and out of high school all the time, after all.

He also realized that Fury was definitely behind the whole not-revealing-his-identity thing, and despite the fact that he was also only here because of Fury, he couldn’t help but be grateful. (He could pretend that it was out of the kindness of the man’s heart, but Peter knew it was really only because it benefitted the mission. Oh well. A win's a win. He could pretend for a little bit.)

He realized Pepper had started talking again while he’d been ruminating, so he tuned back in. “--and Tony has a few words he would like to say.”

Peter sat up ramrod straight, all previous thoughts abandoning him. His ribs protested loudly at the sudden movement (for the second time in the past few minutes), but he barely reacted, too focused on the TV screen. He hadn’t expected his mentor to make an appearance– after all, Pepper was handling it, there was no real reason for him to show his face. And, sure, Iron Man was seen carrying his body out of the burning warehouse, and it was general knowledge that Spider-Man and Iron Man teamed up sometimes, but the media certainly didn’t know the extent of their relationship. It wouldn’t have been frowned upon or seen as out of the ordinary for Tony to not make an appearance at the press conference. So if it wasn’t Pepper forcing him to show up for PR purposes (and Peter knew she wouldn’t have, not in this situation)... that meant Tony was willingly putting himself out there. Making an announcement to the media (who he despised). For him. Peter’s chest swelled painfully with fondness, watching the screen intently as his mentor made his way into the frame.

The second he did, Peter swallowed roughly. He hadn’t seen his mentor, not since before the explosion even happened (logically, he knew they were in the same room at one point, and Tony had carried his unconscious body from the warehouse, but he didn’t remember any of that). His mentor was a mess.

Well, okay, scratch that; he wasn’t really. He looked about as composed as he usually did on live television. Though he did show up to a press conference right after being brought home from a three month captivity stint, so that did put the situation into a little bit of perspective. He looked his-level-of-normal, relatively speaking. But just like Pepper, it was easy to see his tells, if you knew him at all.

Peter watched intently as his mentor made his way to the podium, every step looking like it took astronomical amounts of effort. He felt his heart break a little as Tony made it to his destination and stood there, jaw clenched for a few moments, staring distantly out over the crowd of reporters as if he weren’t really seeing any of them. He didn’t speak at first– didn’t throw out any funny one-liners to make the crowd relax, didn’t stare into the camera with that co*cky little smirk like he knew all eyes were on him and he was enjoying it. He just stood and stared, and the reporters remained just as silent as they had with Pepper’s announcement. To be honest, Peter was shocked. He didn’t think the reporters would have had that amount of respect for Spider-Man and his grieving loved ones– it certainly never seemed to stop them in other celebrity instances. Finally, after what felt like an eternity (though it was really only a few seconds of silence), Tony spoke.

His voice was hoarse, as if he’d either yelled it raw or hadn’t used it in some time– which one, Peter couldn’t guess. It was quiet, too, which shook Peter to his core. In all the time he’d known his mentor– and even before then when he’d just been a celebrity on TV– quiet was never a trait that was attributed to him. Tony was not a very tall man (something Peter found hilarious), but when Tony Stark entered a room, everybody knew. He made his presence known and he made it loud. Especially when talking to the media. And even more so when he was trying to guard himself and put his walls up– Peter knew he used humor as a deflection, and fell back on his loud, co*cky media personality to charm people even when he was feeling upset or anxious. He had never seen him in this state before– he didn’t even know it was one he had.

Don’t get him wrong, he’d seen his mentor upset countless times before (usually when he did something stupid), but his upset was loud. And angry. Never, ever quiet. Knowing that it was Peter’s death that brought about this change… he felt a lump grow in his throat, and had to blink back sudden burning tears.

He didn’t doubt that his mentor cared, sure– he wouldn’t get upset over the dumb, risky things Peter did if that were the case. But when it came down to it, he was still Peter Parker and his mentor was Tony Stark. No matter how much time he spent around the man, there was still a vague sense of hero worship that would never leave him, and deep down, he secretly wondered, sometimes, just how much the man cared about him. Was he just a mentee? Someone Tony felt responsible for? The lab days and nights at the Tower would suggest something warmer, closer– something Peter was always too scared to put a name to, and always afraid that it was one-sided (if Pepper was motherly, that would make Tony– he always cut that thought off before it could reach its end).

But seeing it– here, real, palpable– made his chest ache. To many onlookers, this was Iron Man grieving over Spider-Man. But to Peter… this was just ‘Mr. Stark’ grieving over ‘kid.’ And despite how much the feeling hurt, and how much he hated to put his mentor through this, it ignited something warm inside him, too– some confirmation he hadn’t even known he needed, soothing his deepest insecurities.

“Spider-Man is gone.” his mentor said, speaking his first words in that quiet, rough voice. “You all know that. I didn’t have to be here. Didn’t have to say anything. To be honest, I wasn’t planning on it.” Tony said, still with that faraway look in his eyes. “But that felt like a disservice to the kid. So I’m here for him.” he grimaced, and finally his eyes made contact with a camera– still distant, but clearer, now. If Peter crossed his eyes and squinted, he could almost pretend like the man was looking at and speaking to him directly. “There’s a lot I could say about him. I could fill pages with all the reasons the kid was dealt a sh*tty hand in life, how he still tried his very best to do good with what he had. But you don’t need me to tell you that Spidey was good. Nothing I could say here would be able to capture that- his actions speak for themselves. I’m here today to bring justice to the person Spider-Man was outside of his suit.” Peter felt a brief flash of worry, thinking momentarily that Tony had decided to reveal his name anyways. (He knew the man would have only meant well, especially if the suggestion to keep his identity a secret was one Fury had made. Plus, he did have a known penchant for going off-script in the heat of the moment).

“I respect his wishes to keep his identity secret, to protect his loved ones. It’s not my secret to share. But it is my place to remind everyone that the world lost more than Spider-Man. The world lost the kid under the mask.”

The silence was more shocked now. Peter didn’t think Tony had ever made an announcement about a public loss like this. To be fair, the people he would have perhaps cared enough to make it about– Rhodey, Pepper, or Happy– were all still alive, so it’s not like he really had the chance. But Peter would never in a million years have considered himself a part of that inner circle, not in his wildest dreams, and he was unbelievably touched by his mentor’s short speech. He could tell the paparazzi were, too– in an extremely unusual show of compassionate silence on their behalf.

Part of him felt like this was surreal– like maybe he had died in that explosion and this was all some weird hallucination-afterlife (though he’s not quite sure what he would have done so terribly to deserve being tortured by a hyperrealistic Fury). Like there was just no way people were so touched by his death that this was the outcome. Another part of him felt proud, though– proud for what Spider-Man stood for, and proud that he had made an impact on his community through even his small actions. He used to worry that if he ever died, he would just be forgotten and replaced with a new vigilante, as there was certainly no shortage of superpowered humans in the sprawling New York metropolis. He could tell, now, that that wouldn’t be the case, and he was almost speechless at how much love the city held for Spider-Man.

Tony’s gaze was locked with the camera still– it was no longer dull and distant, but burning with an intensity that Peter was familiar with. This was no longer just Tony Stark. It was Iron Man– the Avenger. When he spoke his next words, they were louder, and Peter saw a flash of his usual personality return, if only for a few moments.

“Just know that whoever set that explosion will pay. That much I can promise.” his mentor said, his eyes flashing with anger and something else Peter couldn’t quite pinpoint (sadness? protectiveness?). Even though the anger wasn’t directed at him, he remembered all too well what being on the opposing side of that glare felt like (hello, Ferry Incident), and could almost feel sympathy for the people Tony was promising revenge against. Key word: almost. They did try to blow him up, after all.

His mentor seemed to be done with his announcement, turning away from the podium and moving back off-screen. His steps seemed to have been reinvigorated by his spiel, but if Peter looked closely he could still see the tick in his mentor’s jaw and the urgency in his movements to get off screen. He selfishly wished that Tony would have stayed even a few seconds longer, just so he could bask in his comforting presence, even from afar. But he understood why, and he was immeasurably grateful even for the words that Tony had spoken. It filled him with a new sense of purpose, to get this mission done and get the hell back to his loved ones.

Pepper got up to make a final closing statement, and the press conference appeared to be wrapping up when the TV clicked off. Peter jumped in surprise, not expecting the change, and turned to find Fury standing there with a remote, eyebrow raised. Peter felt a wave of irrational guilt wash over him– like he was a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It wasn’t that Fury had banned him from watching news reports, but he got a general sense of disapproval from the man. (To be entirely fair, though, that seemed to be Fury’s default state.) Still, he didn’t let Fury see that, raising his chin defiantly (well, defiant in Peter-terms) to meet Fury’s eyes. They sat in silence for a few moments before Peter spoke.

“Thanks.” he knew the man had been standing there long enough to know what he was watching, and that he knew Peter was referring to the fact that it was Fury who was the one who kept his identity as Spider-Man a secret. The pieces clicked together in his mind momentarily– he remembered that Fury was gone this morning (he hadn’t bothered to ask where, because he knew he wouldn’t receive an answer)-- and it was clear now that it had been a meeting with the Avengers, likely about his secret identity.

Fury merely nodded (of course, picking up on what Peter meant immediately, in that super-creepy super-spy sort of fashion that Natasha did, too).

Peter pressed his lips together. “So when do I start the training for this?” he asked, shifting slightly. Frankly, he was surprised that the man hadn’t already pushed him to start– sure, Peter had almost died and it had only been 9 days since then, but the director seemed like the type to push people even if they were injured. A tough love kind of thing, if you will. Peter figured the only reason Fury hadn’t pushed him already was because he needed to actually be in the bunker to train him, and for the last week or so Fury had spent most of his time somewhere outside. Y’know, dealing with everything that entailed faking someone’s death.

The director tilted his head at him. “Tomorrow we’re doing first aid,” he said. “The rest will come after.”

Ah. Cryptic. What a useful answer. Peter tilted his head back with a sigh. Secretly, he thought that Fury was either not telling him specifics because he hadn’t figured out the exact schedule of things yet, or because he just wanted to watch Peter suffer from boredom. To be honest, the second one seemed more likely. Building character and all that.

Click. The foam bullet hit him again. Peter suppressed a groan, lifting his head back up to glare half-heartedly at Fury. Was the man seriously going to shoot him with a Nerf gun every time he zoned out? Considering the number of times a day Peter devolved on random tangents and trains of thought, he figured he should get used to it. “Really?” he asked. “That’s low, shooting me while I’m laying in a hospital bed.” he said. Truly, the term ‘hospital bed’ was a very loose term. It was moreso a glorified cot used for medical purposes.

Fury looked unamused. “Maybe you should focus on what you’ve already been taught before trying to focus on new training.” he said dryly. “Your problem is that you try and push your way into the future without having already mastered the skills you’ve started. You zone out constantly and have an inability to remain in the present.”

‘Zoning out’ felt like a glass half empty kind of way to look at it. Peter was more of a glass half full guy– he preferred to call it ‘multitasking.’ He huffed. “Jeez, tell me how you really feel.” he muttered, but he wasn’t actually all that offended by the judgment. He knew it was right.

Fury didn’t respond to the remark, but he turned around to leave Peter alone again. “First aid training, tomorrow,” he said.

“Copy that.” Peter muttered, but by the time he’d uttered the words, Fury was gone.

—

Day 9

3:00 PM

Tony’s POV

It had been nine days.

The time seemed to move by in a flash and impossibly slowly. Tony barely registered that the meeting with Fury about this very press conference had taken place a few short hours ago. He couldn’t really process time moving when all he could see was the explosion happening on repeat in his mind’s eye. Was it really nine days later if you kept reliving the same day over and over?

The press conference was underway, and Tony could faintly hear Pepper’s voice echoing through the room as he stood just outside of it with Happy. He couldn't shake the image of carrying the kid’s body from that burning warehouse– watching him flatline, and knowing that he’d died in his arms and he hadn’t been able to do a damn thing about it.

Tony's jaw clenched at the thought, and he absently traced the edge of his wristwatch with his fingers. He didn't know what he expected when he insisted on speaking at the press conference. Closure, maybe? Didn’t feel like much closure. An apology to May? ‘Hey, sorry I got your kid killed! He was supposed to be safer with the new suit, but it ended up being just as useless!’

Who was he kidding– he was never a good influence for the kid. Maybe he wouldn’t have felt like he had to try so hard to prove himself if Tony weren’t such a terrible mentor, either.

"As many of you have probably seen…" Pepper was speaking, and he couldn’t help but zone out. He didn’t need to hear the news a second time over. Once was more than enough.

He thought of the countless times he'd yelled at Peter for his recklessness, the trips to the Medbay, the battles he shouldn’t have been in. The whole Ferry fiasco. And if you die? I feel like that’s on me.

He’d tried to be uninvolved, and that had ended with a collapsed warehouse and a plane crash. So he’d tried to be involved, and now it had ended with a body bag. For the one person that shouldn’t have been in the damn bag. He’d have killed and died for the kid, but it didn’t matter. Life had a f*cked up way of showing him that.

And he was angry. Angry at himself, because he knew if Peter had survived he’d have yelled at him over his recklessness. Angry because he knew that’s exactly why Peter hadn’t come to him in the first place. Angry because what he really wanted to do was shake the kid and then hug him, and for the life of him he couldn’t recall why he’d ever avoided it, back when he had the chance.

Angry because he was a coward.

“--and Tony has a few words he would like to say.”

His mind snapped back to attention; years of being on the stage had made it an unconscious habit to know when it was his time to step in. For once, he really didn’t give a damn about his appearance. Pepper and Rhodey had tried to convince him not to push himself to speak to the media– they said Peter would understand. He could almost have laughed at the irony; he didn’t think the two of them had ever tried to convince him not to do a press conference. Usually they had to drag him kicking and screaming to every single one.

Happy pushed open the door for him, and his feet carried him to the podium on instinct. He could feel peoples’ eyes on him. He was used to that. Hell, the media played a bigger role in raising him than his dad did. But for once… he was at a loss for words. Not because he didn’t have anything to say– he had too much. But they were all for Peter Parker. All the best traits of Spider-Man came from the kid. Maybe Pepper was right. She usually was. He couldn’t possibly say anything that would put this into words, even if he had been reading straight from Pepper’s perfect index cue cards. Funny, she hadn’t given any to him for once.

"Spider-Man is gone.” he said, before he even really registered that he was speaking. Once the words came, they didn’t seem to stop. “You all know that. I didn't have to be here. Didn't have to say anything. To be honest, I wasn't planning on it. But that felt like a disservice to the kid. So I'm here for him." He blinked, and focused on the nearest camera. He wasn’t sure if the room was actually silent, or whether it was just drowned out by the ringing in his ears.

Afterwards, he wouldn’t be able to recall exactly what words he said– only that they all tumbled out, one after the other, while he stared at one of the cameras and tried to pretend that it was the kid he was talking to. If he zoned out and stared straight into the lens, he could almost pretend that the kid was on the other side of it, watching him on the sh*tty TV that he and May refused to replace in their apartment.

He came back to consciousness for a few moments, reality slapping him in the face. Peter wasn’t watching this announcement, because someone had killed him. Tony felt anger rise in his throat, and he straightened his spine. Now, he glared at the camera, imagining that he was speaking to the kid’s killers instead. "Just know that whoever set that explosion will pay for it. That much I can promise."

And he did promise it. Avengers or no Avengers, he would not stop until the people who set that trap were erased from the face of the Earth. It may not bring Peter back, but like hell Tony was going to allow them to continue living on a planet without the kid on it.

With that, he spun on his heel and quickly made his way out of the press room.

Chapter 4: Peter (Days 10-35)

Chapter Text

Day 12

Peter didn’t think a medical degree was in his future.

Well, aside from the whole being-dead-thing, that is.

“Field first aid is for when you don’t have access to a doctor or first aid kit, and the only resource you can rely on is yourself.” Fury said, walking around where Peter was seated.

Privately, Peter thought that didn’t fare well for him, because while he knew in theory how to do basic medical work and he had had a lot of practice, it always went wrong in some way. In other words, he was fairly sure nobody should trust him to treat other people when he only had about a 51% success rate in his own medical endeavors. (That 1% was very important, though– it made his success above average).

“You learned how to change your bandages on the second day.” Fury said. “And I assume you have some rudimentary first-aid knowledge from your Spider-Man outings, so this should be quick and more of a refresher.”

Right. A refresher. Peter refrained from telling him that the amount of infected stab wounds he’d developed over his Spider-Man career was far higher than it should have been. He did know how to suture pretty well, at the very least. Though he got the impression that he wouldn’t have much time for stitching in whatever scenarios Fury stuck him in.

Fury tapped a piece of cloth. “Tourniquets. When bleeding is severe, and you need to staunch blood flow, this is your go-to." He handed it to Peter. "Demonstrate."

Peter took the tourniquet skeptically. He knew how it worked, but he’d managed to escape using it during his entire superhero-ing career thus far. “Don’t these make you lose your limb if you keep it on too long?” he asked under his breath, but wrapped it around his arm nonetheless.

“Don’t get injured, then.” Fury responded dryly. Right. Fantastic advice. Peter had actually never thought of that before. Not once.

“Bullet wounds– put pressure on the wound, then dressing if you have it, or pack it if necessary. Use a tourniquet as well if it’s on a limb.” Fury continued. Peter had experience with bullet wounds (hooray!) though usually he had Karen to snitch on him to Tony and he received a prompt trip to the MedBay. Followed by an accompanying lecture.

“Stab wounds, similar procedure, and they usually require packing too. Remember these are just to get you out of the field and back to here, where you can get a more long-term solution.”

“No, really. I thought I was just going to walk around with a few extra ventilation points.” Peter muttered. He decided not to mention the fact that he had done precisely that the very first time he’d gotten stabbed (it had not turned out well). Fury did not appreciate his humor and he received a glare for his efforts.

"Focus. Imagine you've got a fracture and no first aid kit available. What do you do?"

Peter remembered the time he had broken his arm on patrol and had proceeded to swing home on it, and subsequently received a stern lecture as a result. Unfortunately, he didn’t think that was the answer Fury was looking for. He sighed.

"If I'm out in the field, I could use branches or parts of my suit, right?" he suggested. That seemed accurate enough, given the medical dramas May normally watched.

Fury crossed his arms but nodded. "Find sturdy, straight branches or something rigid. Cut or break it to the right length, and use clothing or any soft material for padding."

Peter nodded, but really he thought this lesson was unnecessary. He already knew most of this in theory; it was more the practical application that usually got him, and he doubted this demonstration was helping him much in that regard. After all, despite his repeated application errors, he’d survived this long (somehow). He figured this was one skill he didn’t particularly need Fury’s instruction on.

The director seemed to catch onto that particular memo, because he sighed. “Alright, that’s all.” he said with some reluctance. Lifting his wrist up, he checked his watch and frowned. Guess he wasn’t happy with the time. Looking back up at Peter, he waved his hand. “Look through the first aid kit if you want, change your bandages. I have to go.”

Peter opened his mouth, but before he even had time to formulate a thought, the man was out the door, leaving Peter alone. He huffed. Not even a goodbye. How rude. Shifting, he pulled at the few bandages that were still wrapped around his left arm. The burns were basically healed by now, thanks to his enhanced healing, but it was clear by this point that there would be some scarring on his left side. If Helen had a chance to use the regeneration cradle on it before he ‘died’, he might have avoided that. Though he figured it might not have mattered anyways, given that it had taken the brunt of the explosion. Regardless, it didn’t matter; his enhancements prevented him from scarring from most of his injuries, but he didn't particularly mind. At least it had a chance to heal; corpses don’t scar, after all.

When he’d finished peeling off his bandages, he hopped off the chair he was sitting on and headed towards the doorway Fury had disappeared out of.

It was time to explore.

—

Peter was bored.

Fury was still gone, out of the bunker somewhere. Doing SHIELD-director-y things. Other than faking peoples’ deaths, apparently. Regardless, that meant that Peter had time to explore and stage a jailbreak from his room. Though he wasn’t really sure whether he could count it as a jailbreak, given that all of the other rooms were, apparently, the exact same depressing shade of gray.

He’d tried twiddling with the TV that was in his ‘hospital’ room, but it must have had limited functions or not a strong enough connection because he couldn’t get anything interesting to pop up. He hadn’t quite reached the level of boredom yet to dismantle the entire thing for scraps and see what he could build from it, but he was rapidly approaching that scenario if he didn’t find something else to occupy his mind with.

“Man, Fury could really use an interior designer.” Peter muttered, poking his head into yet another hallway. “Could take some tips from Pepper. Throw some modern art up on the walls. Maybe a few posters. Ooh, a Star Wars poster would look so good there.” Peter rambled, using his thumb and index finger on both hands to make a mock picture frame and sticking out his tongue, focusing. He was well aware he was talking to himself like some crazy person, but hey– the walls were giving him about as much feedback as Fury had been when he was here, so it wasn’t much of a downgrade.

Peter sighed, turning down yet another hall and poking his head into– you guessed it– another boring room. He’d been worried at first that he’d run into other people, in case it was a SHIELD facility or something– but it quickly became clear that that was the absolute least of his worries. He was far more likely to die of boredom down here. Or go insane from no human contact. Man, if Fury was going to be out of the bunker all the time could he at least bring Peter a cat or dog or something? A cat would fare better down here than a dog would. Peter figured the director was more of a cat person, anyways.

“Of course Fury of all people has a deserted bunker on hand and drugs at the ready to fake someone’s death.” Peter muttered, scuffing his toe on the equally boring floors. Honestly, if gravity didn’t exist, he would not be able to tell up from down in this place. Whoever designed it could get an award for making the ceilings and walls and floors look exactly the same.

Peter continued his one-sided conversation, wandering through the halls some more. "I wonder if there's, like, a Secret Bunker Interior Designer Club. Like, 'Welcome to the S.B.I.D.C., where we make the end of the world look stylish!' Yeah, that'd be a hit reality show." He wished he had a fake microphone. Pretending to hold one wasn’t nearly as exciting. Actually, he just missed Karen. She would have some great responses to his amazing commentary. "Today on 'Bunkers and Beyond,' we're renovating this underground lair. Fury, take notes."

"Man, how did I even end up here?” Peter muttered to himself, trudging along, before answering his own question. “Oh right, because I got blown up. Note to self: dodging explosions = essential superhero skill. Right up there with web-swinging and enhanced strength." He poked his head around another corner. “Wow, what have we here… another hallway! How riveting !”

He did a double-take as he saw a lone door with a keypad, approaching it and giving it an experimental poke. "Huh. Wonder what this is.” he squinted, eyes narrowing at the numbers. He debated the merits of trying to punch a code in– there was a 50/50 chance it would set off an ear-piercing alarm. Peter figured he’d take his chances; maybe Fury wouldn’t leave him excruciatingly bored next time. “Hmmm… let’s try 1-2-3-4." He pressed the buttons with a smirk, fully expecting it not to work, or maybe shoot some deadly lasers at him. Anything was better than boredom at this point.

To his surprise, the door hissed open. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Who even keeps their code as 1-2-3-4?" he muttered, poking his head in the newly opened doorway. He paused at his own ramblings. “Well, actually, Happy does.” he answered his own question, feeling a pang in his chest as he thought of the grumpy bodyguard.

Beyond the door, Peter discovered what looked like a storage room, with rows of dusty boxes and crates giving him a warm welcome. Warmer than the rest of the bunker, at the very least.

Well, if he was going to be stuck here, he might as well see what Fury was hiding. Maybe there was a secret stash of Stark tech or alien artifacts. Or just a bunch of old files and paperwork. The latter part sounded more like Fury.

Peter started rummaging through the boxes, muttering to himself about the contents. "Box of outdated gadgets, check. From the 1940s? Seriously? Jeez, that’s as old as Cap. Top-secret documents marked 'classified,' double-check. And… an old sandwich. Ew.” Peter made a face, tossing the sandwich back in the box and squinting at his fingers before wiping them on the nearest table. “I’m pretty sure that counts as a biohazard.” Peter muttered, before sighing and turning back towards the doorway. He’d explore the rest of the bunker and see what other rooms there were, and if he got through all of those and didn’t find anything else more interesting, he’d come back to the storage closet. Seemed like a solid plan.

"Alright, storage room… the most exciting part of this place. Outranks its competition by so much that it doesn’t have any other competitors.” Peter said dryly. “What a sentence.”

"Maybe I should've brought a travel-sized deck of cards. I could've mastered my card-throwing skills in the meantime. Not that I need practice, but, you know, it could be fun. Or I could play Solitaire. With myself. Wait, that sounds lonely. Scratch that." he kept rambling. “Though I don’t think Fury would agree to play cards with me.”

Turning a corner, he discovered another door with a sign that caught his eye. "Physical Exercise Room.” he muttered. Now they were talking. Maybe there were some sparring bots that had more personality than Fury did. Peter pushed the door open… and was sorely disappointed with the sight of standard gym equipment. "Jeez, what was this place before Fury stuck me down here?” Peter muttered to himself again, poking a dust-covered punching bag. “It looks like it hasn’t been touched in a century.”

Sighing, he backed out of the second room, moving down the hallway again. “Okay, so the storage room officially has some competition. Not much, but I guess I could do a workout. Fury has got to have something more interesting down here, though. A camera room? A vault of classified SHIELD files? Or maybe a secret lair within the secret lair. Oh, Fury definitely has a secret secret lair. Very in character." Peter wished he at least had, like, a lego figure to talk to, instead of the cold stone walls. It was no Karen, but at least then he could pretend that talking to himself was a little less pathetic.

He continued down the hallway, still grumbling about the distinct lack of excitement. Seriously, you’d think a hidden underground SHIELD bunker should at least have a trapdoor or a secret passage. Something interesting and… spy-like. Not just boring hallways and storage rooms with biohazardous sandwiches. Well, alright, maybe he shouldn’t be wishing for excitement, considering the last time he was in an underground room in a warehouse he almost got blown to smithereens, but something a little mentally stimulating would be appreciated.

Notably, Peter Parker and warehouses had bad luck.

Pushing open the next door, Peter was delighted to see a small, outdated lab. It was decidedly janky, but was the most exciting thing Peter had seen all day. Not that that was a high bar. A rusty computer occupied one corner, surrounded by a few pieces of scientific equipment. Peter hurried over to it, poking at the keyboard. "Wow,” he murmured to himself. “I’ve seen better running computers in the dumpsters. What is this, Windows 5 or something?" He poked the side of the monitor, but in reality, he was immensely glad that there was some technology in this place. Even if it looked utterly ancient, it provided him with a challenge to fix.

Peter poked around the rest of the lab, picking up a beaker and examining it. "This is definitely not up to OSHA regulations.” he squinted at the liquid inside. Forget the sandwich from earlier, this was definitely a biohazard.

Moving back over to the computer– which had now taken the number 1 spot for the most interesting thing in this place– he poked at it again, trying to figure out which button was even supposed to be the ‘on’ button. Tapping at the keyboard, he thought wistfully of Karen. She would be such a good conversation companion right about now. “Peter, are you sure this isn't from the Stone Age? Did they even have computers back then?” If he hallucinated hard enough, he could hear it in her voice.

Which, on second thought, didn’t exactly fare well for his mental sanity.

After a few minutes of determined button pressing and keyboard tapping, the outdated computer whirred and clicked to life. "Aha!" Peter said, grinning triumphantly. So the Windows 5 did still have some life left in it, it appeared.

Clicking on the home screen, Peter squinted at the files. He would either find alien encounter recordings on this computer or someone’s favorite meatloaf recipe, and there would be no in between. (He missed his aunt dearly, but not her meatloaf recipe. Maybe he’d have better luck here).

He hadn’t quite realized how much time he’d spent clicking away at the fossil of a computer until he heard a click and a foam bullet hit him in the head, falling onto the keyboard his fingers were resting on. He sighed and picked up the bullet, turning to look at Fury who was standing in the doorway of the lab, looking decidedly unimpressed.

“Failed the first lesson again, Parker,” he said. Peter suppressed the urge to groan, but flung the bullet back at Fury. It landed at the director’s feet, and he gave Peter another unimpressed look.

“Aren’t you going to pick that up?” Peter asked innocently, and Fury’s face morphed into a scowl.

“What are you doing out of your bed?” he asked, and it was Peter’s turn to shoot him an incredulous look.

"I was just getting bored exploring the wonders of your secret lair.” Peter said sarcastically. “Not that I expected it to be this dull for an underground bunker, but hey, at least I found a sad excuse for a computer to tinker with. Seriously, would it have hurt to have upgraded to at least a Windows 10?"

Fury crossed his arms. "You're not here to 'tinker.' You're here because I'm keeping you safe."

Peter leaned his head back, deciding not to mention the whole secret-agent-taking-down-HYDRA part of it all. They could pretend that Fury was just keeping him safe out of the sincerity of his heart. "Sure, safe until I go clinically insane from boredom. This place is mimicking a mental asylum. Just with gray walls instead of white."

Fury sighed, his patience clearly wearing thin. Good, because Peter’s patience was also reaching its limit if he didn’t have something more to do. "You're here because you nearly got yourself blown up, Parker. Trust me, you won’t be wishing for more to do soon enough." he promised dryly.

“How exciting.” Peter responded. He did not mean it in the slightest. This place was actually more boring than the DODC vault. At least there he’d had his webs, and Karen, and some alien technology. He would honestly rather be there than here right now, and that was saying a lot because the whole Homecoming fiasco was a disaster and ended with him getting squashed under a warehouse.

“Back to your room, Parker.” Fury said, not responding to his comment. “You need to fully heal before we start physical training. I don’t need you getting injured past the point of medical treatment down here.”

Peter refrained from telling him that he had a special knack for getting injured. He also refrained from telling him that he sounded awfully like a parent ( ‘Back to your room?’ Seriously, what was he, a misbehaving teenager? On second thought…). He was sure the director wouldn’t appreciate his commentary. Fury waved his hand in the direction of the hallway Peter had escaped down (though ‘escaped’ was a loose term– he wasn’t sure his conditions had improved enough to call it an escape).

“Prepare yourself. We’ll start in a few days.”

Well that wasn’t ominous at all.

~ ~ ~

Day 17

Thump.

“You’re kidding, right?” Peter said, looking between the thick textbook that had just been thrown onto the table in front of him and Fury’s impassive face. The man in question merely raised an eyebrow, gesturing wordlessly at the book. Peter grabbed it, grumbling as he saw the title. Teach Yourself: Complete Russian textbook.

He decidedly regretted asking for more things to do a few days ago.

Fury did not look amused. Peter wondered if he was born with a scowl on his face. He probably was. “Your mission targets primarily speak Russian, not English,” he said flatly. “Any potentially useful information you may overhear is useless if you can’t understand a word of it. And you will not be working in a team, so you can’t have a translator.”

Peter sighed in exasperation, flipping open the textbook reluctantly. He scanned through the pages, but his eyes refused to focus on any of the words– apparently, daydreaming was far more appealing to his brain than trying to learn a new language. Though his Spanish teacher at Midtown could have told anyone that.

“I fake my own death and I still have to do homework ? This is such a scam.” he muttered under his breath, earning another stern glance from Fury.

“Your survival doesn’t exempt you from your responsibilities. Now, focus,” Fury said dryly. Go figure. No sympathy from the man.

Peter reluctantly squinted at the words on the page, trying his best to actually comprehend any of what was being said. He didn’t even make it past the first page before he sighed in frustration and sat back, looking at Fury.

“This won’t work,” he said. “Not well, at least. I can’t learn fluent Russian by reading a textbook.” (Well, he might be able to, but it would be a hell of a lot harder and more ineffective.) To his surprise, Fury didn’t look annoyed, but rather… amused?

“I wasn’t planning on that.” he said dryly. “I just wanted to see how far you could get before losing focus.”

Peter’s mouth dropped open slightly, eyes sliding back down to the textbook, where he hadn’t even gotten past the introduction. Fury gave a half smirk. “Your attention span needs some serious work.”

Peter huffed out a breath, but it came out more like a laugh as he closed the textbook and slid it away from him. “I think we already established that.” he said, slightly ruefully. “So, hit me with the basics then. How do you say 'I come in peace' or 'I surrender'? Y’know, the important stuff."

Fury raised his eyebrow. "We're not looking for peace, and you sure as hell aren't surrendering. We want you to understand their plans, not have a diplomatic tea party. And you will still be using the book for studying on your own time, I’m just going over some basics with you now." Fury said, sliding the textbook back across the table towards him. Peter let out a long-suffering sigh, accepting defeat and resigning himself to death by boredom via Teach Yourself: Complete Russian textbook.

Fury ignored his dramatics, gesturing for him to open the textbook again. "We'll start simple. The Russian alphabet. It's not as friendly as your ABCs, but you'll get the hang of it."

Peter pursed his lips as he scanned over the Cryllic characters. They were much less intuitive than Spanish was (he would have to apologize to his teacher after this was all over, for ever complaining about her class). “Isn’t immersion better for learning languages anyways?” he asked, squinting at the list of characters. “Couldn’t I just, you know, watch a few spy movies or something? James Bond was pretty good at Russian.”

“Unfortunately, Parker, you’re not starring in the next Hollywood blockbuster, and you only have one shot to get this right.” Fury said dryly, looking unimpressed. “Immersion works when you're surrounded by native speakers with constant exposure. But it’s just you and me down here, and I sure as hell am not spending hours talking to you in Russian. So, unless you can find yourself a magic genie to grant your linguistic wishes, you’re stuck with the textbook."

Peter snorted. "If I find a magic genie, I've got a few more pressing wishes than Russian literacy.” he said, before giving a mock sigh of defeat. “I guess this means you don’t think I can charm my way into Hydra's secret base with a well-timed compliment about their borscht?" he asked, mock-innocently.

Fury raised his eyebrow and didn’t dignify him with a response. “Back to the alphabet.” he said dryly. “There are 33 letters, each with its own sound. Some look like English, but are pronounced differently. For example, 'А,' pronounced 'ah,' like in 'father.' Б is 'b,' as in 'baby.' But 'В' is 'v,' like 'very.' Keep these straight, or you'll be saying ‘baby’ when you meant to say ‘very.’ I’m not going to spend time going over every single letter– you have two eyes and at least part of a working brain, enough to read letters in a textbook.”

Wow. A resounding vote of confidence.

“Now, let’s try some words. Zdravstvuyte."

Peter blinked at the unfamiliar cluster of sounds coming out of the director’s mouth, and raised an eyebrow. "Bless you?"

Fury scowled. "No, it means 'hello.' Pay attention, or I'll make you repeat it until you start using it automatically. Z-d-r-a-v-s-t-v-u-y-t-e."

“That’s gotta at least be a 50 point word in scrabble.” Peter muttered to himself. “Z..drav..st-vuy-te.”

Fury squinted at him. “Save the practice for improvement on your own time,” he said dryly. “I’d like to spare my ears until you get a better hang of it.”

Peter gave a silent huff, glancing back at the letters in the textbook. Sure, his pronunciation could use a bit (a lot) of work, but Fury certainly wasn’t winning any teaching awards, either.

Fury did not seem to take his thoughts into account, because he plowed on. "Russian follows a Subject-Verb-Object order, but word endings change based on the sentence structure. In the present tense, endings change to reflect the subject. 'говорить' (to speak) becomes 'я говорю' (I speak), 'ты говоришь' (you speak), 'он говорит' (he speaks), and so on.”

Peter squinted at the pages, brain rapidly trying to keep up with everything Fury was saying– to no avail. The man was really a terrible language teacher. Peter didn’t even know which letters he was saying, much less the words.

“There’s a lot more detail in the textbook on past and present tenses, as well as gendered endings, formal and informal, and others. Luckily, for this mission, it’s unlikely you’ll be speaking to anyone– that’s the goal, at the very least. But you do need to be able to understand them when you overhear them talking, or even if you run across labels that are in Russian inside the bases. Learn key words that could be used, or important phrases for this mission. 'I see the target' becomes 'Я вижу цель.' And ‘I need information' becomes 'Мне нужна информация.'”

He gestured at the textbook laying half-open in front of Peter. “There are plenty of exercises in there. I expect you to learn the alphabet and conjugations, and practice your sentence phrases and pronunciation. I’ll reevaluate you later.”

Peter didn’t know whether to groan with exhaustion over the fact that he had honest-to-god homework, or whether to be thankful that he no longer had to listen to Fury try to teach Russian to him. He figured he’d take his chances reading from the textbook. “Never thought I’d miss being slammed into walls so much.” he commented as he pushed himself up from the table, slightly wincing as the movement tugged on his left arm. “I think I’d prefer it at this point.”

Fury’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes gleamed slightly. “Oh, don’t worry Parker, we’ll get to that soon enough.” he promised, before whooshing out of the room. Peter had a strong feeling that he was going to regret that statement soon enough. That seemed to be an ongoing trend here.

~ ~ ~

Day 25

As predicted, he did, in fact, regret his earlier statement.

Peter was panting, adrenaline coursing through him as he knocked the punching bag off its hooks. He winced as it fell to the ground, spilling sand everywhere. “Oops.” he muttered, sparing a glance at Fury, who was watching passively nearby. He hadn’t really meant to go so harshly on the poor punching bag, but he was so used to holding back when sparring with people that it felt nice to just punch something without worrying about hurting it. Plus, it was kind of nice to show his strength off to Fury (just a little bit, of course).

Fury, however, seemed nonplussed. “Your punching form is atrocious, Parker.” he said matter-of-factly. “You leave yourself wide open for an attack.”

Peter groaned internally. Of course that’s the only thing Fury got from this demonstration. The man was more insufferable than Natasha had been when she tried to teach him proper form (she hadn’t gotten very far before the whole warehouse-exploding-death fiasco). “I’m self-taught.” he defended himself. “Plus, I don’t usually do hand-to-hand combat; I usually use my webs, and my spidey sense to tell me if someone is about to deck me across the face or something.”

As expected, Fury was not impressed with his explanation. “No excuses.” the man said. “Besides, you won’t have your webbing for this mission.”

Peter stopped moving and stared at the man. He didn’t know why he was surprised – the man had made it pretty clear that this wasn’t a Spider-Man mission– rather, a Peter Parker one. Or whatever new identity Fury cooked up for him. “But that’s how I incapacitate people,” he protested.

“You’ll have to incapacitate people with your hands, Parker. Webs will be a dead giveaway to HYDRA that Spider-Man isn’t dead and is after them.” Fury merely replied.

Peter swallowed. ‘Incapacitate people with your hands’ sounded suspiciously like the use of lethal force, and he did not like that idea. There were some lines he wasn’t willing to cross, and killing in cold blood was one of them. Even if they were HYDRA agents, and even if that’s what Fury expected of him, he wasn’t capable of that. He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. There had to be some other way… some other way to incapacitate HYDRA soldiers without killing them and without his webs. He started to get lost in thought, brain whirring with all the scientific possibilities, when Fury called his name and brought his attention back.

“Parker.” he droned, peering at Peter with his good eye. Peter snapped to attention, giving a small mock salute. Fury scrutinized him, and he shifted slightly under the man’s gaze. He knew perfectly well that the director sensed his hesitation at the situation, but he was kind enough (for once) to not mention it. Or, more likely, it wasn’t kindness, but willful ignorance (if he never addressed it, he didn’t have to order Peter to kill them, as long as he got the job done).

Fury was still staring at him, like he expected a verbal response. Peter sighed. “Fine, I understand. No webs.”

Fury still looked suspicious, but thankfully didn’t press him on it. "Good. Now, let's address that punching form. You're too focused on raw strength. You were pummeling that bag like it owed you money. We’ll work on actual hand to hand sparring later, but for now we need to fix your form with a stationary target.”

He gestured for Peter to replace the bag he had knocked off the hook. He did so, stepping closer to it once he’d reattached a new one and shoved the old broken one out of the way with his foot. "First, stance. Plant your feet shoulder-width apart. Distribute your weight evenly between both legs. You need a solid base to generate power."

Peter adjusted his stance as instructed, shifting his toes out slightly and anchoring himself.

"Good. Now, your fists. Keep your hands up, guarding your face. Elbows in. The punching bag won’t hit back, but it’s good to practice the form for when you eventually use it in sparring." Fury said, nodding as Peter adjusted himself. "Then your swing. Rotate your hips with each punch. It's not just about your arms; your whole body is involved. Twist and release, snap your punch at the end for maximum impact."

Peter followed the motion as Fury explained it (though he did not, in fact, go for maximum impact, because he didn’t think Fury would appreciate having another bag go flying across the room.)

"Don't overextend. Keep it controlled.” Fury said, and Peter realized his attention had slipped slightly. The director had been circling around him while he was lost in thought, and was now on his other side. "Don't forget to breathe." he commented, and Peter realized that he had been holding his breath. In his defense, Fury scrutinizing him in such close proximity wasn’t his natural state of fighting.

He swung through a few more punches before Fury signaled for him to stop. "Decent start, Parker. You’ll have plenty of time to practice later, especially now that you have the form down. Now, let's see how you handle some agility drills."

Peter perked up at that. One thing he was good at as Spider-Man was being agile and quick on his feet. He’d never done any drills for it since being bitten by the spider, but he was sure he’d have the most fun out of all of the things here (other than the lab, too, of course).

“Ever played any sports, Parker?” Fury asked, moving over to an open spot on the floor. He sounded amused, like he already knew the answer to that question. Peter snorted.

“If you count the three day stint in T-ball as a kid, then sure,” he said dryly. And his life-long career as a punching bag for bullies– but he wasn’t going to tell the director that.

“Well, these are all drills you’d see in athlete training.” Fury said. “Testing reaction time and how quick you can change direction. You’ll already have a higher than average ability to do these because of your enhancements, but just because you have a higher baseline doesn’t mean you can’t improve.” He tapped his toe on a piece of tape on the floor at one end of the room. “Start with quick lateral movements. Side shuffle from one end to the other, and keep a low stance. Move fast and stay controlled.”

Peter crouched, feeling a bit ridiculous as he carried out the movement– but at the very least, it felt familiar to him. They’d done a few of these drills for conditioning in gym class, and he’d seen the football team doing the same drills a few times on the fields. Fury nodded once he’d shuffled back and forth a few times.

“Now I’m going to test your reaction time. Sprint in any direction, and when I call out ‘switch,’ change to a different direction.” he said. Peter nodded, and bounced on his toes, excited.

He really wasn’t sure how long Fury had him carry out the drill; once he’d switched directions a few times he’d lost count after that. He stopped paying attention to the director, too, only listening for his voice and the ‘switch’ command. His body moved on autopilot, and he hadn't realized just how much pent-up energy he’d been holding in until he was panting for breath. He hadn’t had the ability to move like this in weeks, and it felt wonderful. Even though the drills were vaguely reminiscent of gym class, he didn’t have other teenagers to worry about, and he didn’t have to worry about hiding his enhancements in any way. It was freeing, to be able to test his limits for once.

Finally, Fury called out to stop, and Peter slowed, coming to a halt at the other side of the room. With a start, he realized he was out of breath and sweating; he figured Fury had him going at it for far longer than he thought. He never really did any workouts as Spider-Man– patrolling was enough for him as it was, but it wasn’t an unwelcome feeling. He felt accomplished, even if all he’d done was basically sprint around in a closed room for however many minutes. Maybe he would have to try doing workouts more often. His mind felt blessedly clear, a feeling he normally got from web-slinging but probably wouldn’t be able to experience for a while.

“Good.” Fury acknowledged with a nod. “You can do drills like that on your own time, to work on your reflexes and turning ability. Now, the last drill incorporates the same movements, but also tests how your reflexes fare when you simultaneously have objects being launched at you.”

Peter looked at him, incredulous. “You’re proposing dodgeball ?” he asked, unable to hold back a wide grin. He’d hated dodgeball before the spider bite– mostly because it ended with disastrous results every time. Post spider-bite, he’d never had the chance to try out his new skills in gym class– too afraid that someone would ask questions about how he’d magically gained some sort of athletic ability overnight.

Fury raised an eyebrow, pointing at a small machine in the corner that Peter hadn’t noticed when he came in. Squinting at it, he realized it looked kind of like a mini cannon, and there was a small bag next to it filled with foam balls. It looked new and out of place in the drab room, and Peter figured Fury had probably brought it back with him specifically for training. It looked far too modern compared to the other technology down here.

“That machine will shoot the foam balls at you. It can be set to do it at random automated intervals, and it tracks movement, so while you’re practicing the sprints, you can also test dodging what it shoots at you. It’s a good model for learning to avoid projectiles on the battlefield while still focusing on your original goal– which in this case is the sprint drills.” Fury said, sounding particularly unenthusiastic about the whole matter.

So, yeah. Definitely dodgeball.

Peter was unable to stop the grin that spread across his face. Fury looked more sour at the sight.

“Remember this is a drill, not a game, Parker.” he grumbled. Peter shrugged.

“Who says it can’t be both?” he asked mildly. Personally, he felt like it landed more in the ‘game’ category, so he wasn’t complaining. He’d take this over learning Russian any day of the week.

With a sigh, Fury powered on the machine with a small remote that seemed like it had manifested out of nowhere. Peter bounced on his toes again, and the director fixed him with a look. “Go.” he said, clicking another button on the remote. Peter was already moving before he’d even had a chance to finish the word– and it was only a single syllable, too.

Even though the projectiles didn’t technically pose any danger to him, his spidey sense was always more keyed in when he was in the middle of a battle or when he knew he was doing a drill. It didn’t warn him when he was in a relaxed state (like when Fury was shooting Nerf guns at him), but right now while he was on high alert, he was able to get a soft thrum of warning when a ball was coming towards him. Perhaps that was just the adrenaline speaking– Peter had never actually really tested when his spidey senses would make an appearance or not.

He lost track of time again as he sprinted around the room, twisting out of the way of the projectiles as he went. He would have liked to run on the walls or the ceiling, too, but he had a feeling Fury would stop him, and he wanted to keep going. Besides, he was still able to flip and twist plenty on flat ground, even if he couldn’t use the walls or ceiling to his advantage.

The drill ended when the machine ran out of foam balls to fire, and Fury signaled at him to stop. Slowing down, Peter came to a rest, wiping his arm against his forehead when he realized how sweaty he was.

“Alright, that’s enough for now.” Fury said. “You can do this on your own time later. There are different settings on the machine, and I’m sure you can figure out ways to make the drill more difficult with obstacles.” he said flatly. Peter shrugged and nodded. Good enough for him– he would honestly prefer it if the man weren’t just standing there watching him like a creepy sentient gargoyle.

Peter didn’t have a chance to think of a witty response before the director was turning around to leave (he did that a lot– he appeared to be very bad at ending conversations like a normal human being, instead electing to walk away without saying goodbye).

“And Parker?” Fury stopped, turning back around. Peter lifted his head, looking at him. He wasn’t sure what he expected– a comment on his performance, maybe even a good job (okay, that was a little optimistic of him). The man fixed him with a dry look, nose twitching slightly with displeasure.

“Take a shower.”

Chapter 5: Avengers (Days 10-35)

Chapter Text

Day 12

MJ’s POV

The weather was sunny.

Too sunny, if you asked MJ. Far too happy, too bright. She wished it had rained. At least then she could let her tears fall in peace.

Next to her, Ned was staring, stricken and ashen-faced, at the empty coffin that would eventually hold the remains of his best friend. (Because of course he couldn’t be laid to rest yet, with his radioactive blood and enhanced powers; even in death, the fact that he was Spider-Man took precedence over Peter Parker.)

The private ceremony took place on the Avengers compound, away from prying eyes. They would have done the ceremony in the city, at his family’s graveyard plot (far too many Parkers gone too early), but there was no way they’d be able to have the Avengers in a graveyard without calling attention to it. So Peter would have two gravestones– one with his birth family, and the other with his found family; his team. It was fitting.

The heat, too, was stifling. Wearing all black in the sun at midday– not the best of plans. But how could MJ complain? Peter had died in the heat, in an explosion. Alone and scared. She could at least stand here and pay her respects. She thought someone was speaking– probably Captain Rogers. He seemed to have the ability to talk when none of them could.

MJ's mind drifted, the words of the eulogy blending into a distant murmur and her attention remaining fixed on the empty casket. Her fingers absentmindedly traced her collarbone, the familiar rhythm soothing her. Beside her, Ned's shoulders trembled with silent sobs. She felt like she should comfort him, but she couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the blood rushing in her ears, and she was sure if she tried to speak, she would probably be too loud.

Her gaze shifted to May. Frankly, she didn’t know how the woman was still standing. First her sister and brother in law, then her husband, and now her nephew? MJ didn’t know how the woman still loved so freely, after all this. How she’d been kind and warm to her and Ned, even after just losing her child. MJ hadn’t even mustered the courage to tell Peter that she’d loved him, and she’d never lost people– not like May had. Sure, she’d lost her grandparents, but she’d been young, and hardly close to them. Plus, that was an experience almost everyone went through at some point.

Next to May, MJ saw Tony Stark. She wouldn’t pretend like she’d ever been the biggest fan of the man– quite the opposite, in fact. Even when Peter spoke of him, MJ could never quite reconcile the man in his stories with the man she saw in the media. She had thought part of it was Peter’s tendency to see the good in people. But now, standing in front of Peter’s empty casket, he looked… small. Nothing like the co*cky man she’d seen on TV. Sure, he looked the part– dressed to the nines in an outfit she was sure cost more than her family home– but he had a raw expression splashed across his face as he stared at the wood in front of him.

The other Avengers fared similarly– some hid it better than others, but when it came down to it, every single one of them were standing out in the sweltering heat, paying their respects to Peter.

As the ceremony (if it could be called that) drew to a close, May stepped forward to place a single red rose on the empty casket. A lump formed in MJ’s throat as she saw the Avengers form a line to pay their respects. It was eerily similar to when they’d all processed to see Peter’s body in the room. But this time, it was hot instead of freezing cold, and there was no Peter at the end of the line.

When it was her turn, MJ took a hesitant step forward, bringing her next to the coffin. It was nice wood– she was sure Stark had paid for it. She placed a small origami paper crane beside the rose. She’d read about it somewhere. A token of remembrance. It seemed fitting. Not nearly enough, but it was something.

The sun was shifting in the sky, beginning its slow descent towards the treetops. The rays slanted into her vision and she squinted at the horizon. The wood of the coffin let off a warm, almost ethereal glow, and if MJ were a spiritual person, she’d almost think that was a sign of sorts. But she wasn’t, and she knew the luminescence was nothing more than a result of the angle of incidence of the light off the polished wood.

Any other day, it would make her happy to remember such a random snippet of knowledge– it meant she was one step closer to being prepared for decathlon meets. But all she could think of, miserably, was the fact that Peter wouldn’t be there– and not because he was off Spider-Manning, but because he was six feet underground. Or twenty. Wherever SHIELD had whisked him off to. Her chest ached at the thought.

Distantly, she registered a soft hand gripping her shoulder, and her feet were moving– taking her… somewhere. She snapped out of her train of thought when a blast of cold air hit her face, and she blinked, realizing she was back in the blessed air conditioning of the compound. She turned, spotting Ned next to her, hand on her shoulder and a concerned look on his tear-streaked face. When she met his gaze, awareness finally coming back to her, tears filled his eyes again and he tugged her into a tight hug. She fell into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder and feeling her own tears finally leak out. They didn’t need words; it wouldn’t be enough.

Peter is gone.

~ ~ ~

Day 15

Tony’s POV

Tony stared at the notification left on his screen, the letters staring at him like an accusation.

One message available.

“FRIDAY, what is this?” he asked hoarsely, eyes flickering over to the badly damaged Spider-Man suit lying on his table. It was tattered, burnt, and in pieces from where they’d had to cut it off of the kid. Helen had given it back to him, a silent apology in her eyes. Tony knew it was likely too far damaged to get anything out of it, but he had to at least try. He had the backup code for Karen installed elsewhere as a failsafe, but he still wanted to get back the version of her that had been with Peter in his last moments. He had to see for himself what had happened.

“The suit was badly damaged, and the visual feed from the Baby Monitor protocol was destroyed, but it appears that Peter requested a voice message recording, and I was able to recover it.” FRIDAY responded quietly. Tony inhaled roughly, dragging a hand down his face.

“Play it.” he ordered. FRIDAY didn’t verbally respond, but a painfully familiar voice started filtering through the speakers, accompanied by the horrifying sound of cacophonous beeping in the background.

“Karen, start… recording a message.” Peter’s voice said, and it was wavering. “A voicemail. Something.” There was the sound of scuffling, and the beeping got louder momentarily like he’d gotten closer to one of the bombs. Tony felt his chest tighten like it did any time the kid was in danger– except this time it was infinitely worse, because he knew the outcome.

“Hey guys!” Peter let out a little hysterical laugh. “I don’t even know if this recording will survive or if you’ll ever hear this because in approximately 2 minutes and 54– oh, 53– seconds I will be blown to smithereens so apologies I didn’t get to make this a little more personal because I’m a little cramped on time here.”

Tony could feel his heart physically palpitate in his chest. Trust the damn kid to be cracking jokes all the way to his grave. He wanted to reach back in time, grab the kid by his shoulders, and shake him. This wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t funny.

The sound of a familiar thwip echoed through the speakers, in rapid succession, and the beeping in the background seemed to lessen slightly. With a start, Tony realized the kid was, in fact, spraying his webbing on top of the bombs like he had guessed when first seeing the scene; seemingly a last ditch attempt to make it out alive. He didn’t know what had stopped Peter from getting out of the room in the first place, but his heart and stomach seemed to be twisting themselves into knots at the thought of what he must have been thinking, stuck in a room knowing he was likely about to die. He didn’t speak for a few more moments, and Tony assumed he must have forgotten that the recording was on, too focused on trying any last-ditch efforts.

The sound of webbing spraying stopped before it was replaced by the sound of knuckles hitting concrete. Tony physically recoiled at the sound, knowing the kid wouldn’t have been able to keep it up for long without his hand breaking, and knowing he wouldn’t make it through the wall in time either.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call you beforehand, Mr. Stark.” Peter panted. “That was stupid of me. I should have. MJ, I should have had common sense. Sorry about that too. Happy, you would have probably said the same thing too. Ned, please don’t blame yourself. That goes for all of you actually.”

Tony made a pained noise at the apology. For f*ck’s sake. The kid was about to die and he was apologizing? And trying to tell Tony it wasn’t his fault. Like hell it wasn’t. It was his job to protect him. And he hadn’t.

“Aunt May, I’m so sorry, I’m going to have to miss dinner tonight.” he let out a little noise that could have been either a laugh or a sob. “You should– you should get a cat or something. To keep you company. You could name him Ed, because, y’know, Mr. Stark always said he would never want a pet, and he calls Ned that, and it’s his middle name shortened which is kind of funny and Ned and I always wanted to–” his voice cut out and he let out another indistinguishable noise.

Tony felt like he couldn’t breathe. He remembered that conversation, in the lab a few months back. Peter had rescued a cat on patrol and complained that their apartment complex didn’t allow pets, and begged Tony to let him keep the cat at the Tower. (“Please, Mr. Stark? I’ll train him!” “Kid, it’s a cat. You can’t train those things. The Tower doesn’t need any pets. The Avengers are wild animals enough.”)

He couldn’t remember why it had felt so important to pretend to forget Ned’s name, or tell the kid that the Tower couldn’t have any pets, or pretend to be indifferent to the days Peter would come into the lab. It all seemed inconsequential now. Like that bullsh*t saying– ‘you don’t know how much something matters until it’s taken away from you.’

He wished he’d just let Peter keep the damn cat.

“I’m sorry. There’s- there’s so much I want to say to everyone, so many things I need to tell you, and I could talk for hours but I don’t even have a minute left and all I can say is ridiculous things like how it was actually me who broke the toaster 7 months ago and I framed Hawkeye for the stupid balloon prank and- and I told FRIDAY to play the national anthem every time Cap walked into a room and-” he laughed hysterically again. “-and none of that matters anymore because I’m going to be dead in 52 seconds and I can’t even really comprehend that so I’m just sitting here rambling and punching a wall and I think all my fingers are broken but that won’t really matter soon enough and-” he paused momentarily, making a little sound of disbelief. “I can’t believe- this is the way I go out. Spider-Man, taken out in the bottom of an abandoned warehouse because he was stupid and literally stepped on a detonator.”

Tony was caught between the urge to cry and hysterically laugh himself. Nothing about it was funny, not in the slightest, but hearing the rambling train of thought erupting from the kid and knowing exactly what he was thinking, right before he died, was too much. Hysterically laughing out of utter despair seemed like a valid reaction here. But he couldn’t bring himself to have any reaction at all, cursed to hear Peter apologizing and rambling and knowing that he couldn’t do a single thing about any of it.

There was a scraping noise, the sound of concrete against concrete. “I’m so sorry. I love you all. Every single one of you.” Peter’s voice dropped down to a whisper. “Aunt May… I’m so sorry. For everything. I love you so much, you don’t deserve this. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Mr. Stark… I should have been better. This is on me.” a short pause, and the beeping grew faster. “I’m sorry, Karen.” he made the final apology to his AI. “Stop recording.”

Then the sound cut out, and Tony felt like his ribs were caving in and collapsing into his lungs. He gripped the edge of the table, and his head was spinning like he’d just tried to perform tricks in his Iron Man suit while horrendously drunk. The very thought made his stomach twist, and he had to fight back the urge to throw up. His alcoholic party days allowed him to succeed on that front. He was glad he was alone, because the thought of anyone else seeing him like this (even Rhodey) almost did make him lose his stomach contents.

At that thought, his mind drifted to the other people Peter clearly also intended his last message to be for. Privately, he wondered if they’d be better off not hearing it; knowing the sounds in the background were the beeping of the bombs, hearing the desperation creep into his voice, hearing the sound of his bones crack as he punched the concrete repeatedly–

He drew in a deep breath, shoving the thought out of the way. They probably would be better off not hearing it, but they also deserved to hear his final goodbye.

“FRIDAY, send everyone a message that Peter left a final recording and that they can listen to it if they want to.” he said roughly, forcing himself to stand up. “And play it for them if they request.” He didn’t bother to say much else– he trusted that the AI would follow his directions. She always had.

He turned, grabbing a bottle of liquor from a corner of the lab he rarely touched. He didn’t care what time it was in the day, or that he was breaking his sobriety streak– just that he could not be sober while listening to the kid’s final words echo over and over in his head. He plopped back into his chair in front of the holographic monitor, leaning back and unscrewing the lid.

“FRIDAY, play the message again.” he said, taking the first swig.

—

He was decidedly drunk by now.

“Again.” Tony said roughly, eyes glued to the distance as Peter’s last words played through his head. He’d memorized every word by now; the content of the message would haunt him regardless of whether it was playing out loud or not, so he may as well give himself the tiniest of comforts by being able to hear the kid’s voice saying it rather than his own mind’s repetition.

“Sir, that may not be the best idea—“ FRIDAY tried to state hesitantly, gently. Like she was talking to a spooked animal. Maybe she was. But Tony wasn’t having any of it. He slammed his hand down on the nearest table, not caring how it made his bones ache. (He’d defaulted to anger and drinking. Just like Howard.) He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Goddamn it FRIDAY, play it again.” he near-snarled at his AI. She didn’t say anything, but the sound of Peter’s voice filled the lab again as she dutifully played his last words— again, and again, and again. Like some kind of sick, twisted soundtrack to Tony’s own descent into madness. And he listened, for the hundredth— maybe thousandth— time as Peter spent his last moments scared and apologizing. How he tried to reassure everyone else seconds before he knew he was about to die. How he thought he’d died alone.

With that thought, Tony couldn’t take it any longer, grabbing the whiskey glass that was next to him and hurling it at the nearest wall with a rough, animalistic shout. He knew nobody would hear him through the soundproofed walls, but he was past the point of caring regardless. The kid was dead.

Peter Parker had died.

And Tony hadn’t even ever told him he loved—

He cut the train of thought off before it could lead to its end. Even now, even when his f*cking kid was laying dead and cold in a SHIELD morgue, Tony f*cking Stark couldn’t even admit how much he meant to him. Couldn’t force the words out of his throat. Couldn’t even complete the thought. It felt criminal admitting it, when the true recipient of the words would never be around again to hear them. Tony couldn’t say them now; couldn’t let them be tainted with other peoples’ ears when the only pair of ears he wanted the words to reach was gone.

Even so, the sentiment leaked into all of his actions. The strong urge to speak at the press conference, or to visit his grave and just sit there. (He could barely even do that for his own mother). It seeped into his bones, permeating every thought he had. He thought he’d known grief when his mother died, but this was different. It was always an expectation to lose your parents at some point— but never your kids. The Kid. Tony’s kid. It wasn’t his right to think that (Peter was May’s kid, Tony had no right) but his cold, twisted, broken heart didn’t know the difference. He had loved that kid.

The revelation hit him all at once, crashing into him with all the subtlety of a flaming brick. Because, well, that was it, wasn’t it? Tony Stark loved Peter Parker as his own. It was such a clear, logical revelation that once he came to it there was no going back. He’d known it already, in the sense that he would have done absolutely anything for the kid (he still would). If he’d done any amount of self-reflection, it’s a conclusion he would have come to long ago. But Tony Stark doesn’t really do self-reflection. So instead he experienced the revelation all at once, a tidal wave of fierce love and longing burning his chest worse than the whiskey had done. And sh*t, what was that stupid f*cking thing that Vision had said? ‘Grief is just love with no place to go’?

Yeah. That.

He thought of caves in Afghanistan, and hands reaching into his chest cavity, and decided he’d rather go through that pain a million times over rather than experience the sharp, burning pain of longing ever again. Because physical pain, at least, had an end. Tony didn’t ever think this ache would leave his chest. It burned like Obie yanking out his arc reactor, like Pepper falling into the flames, like Rhodey plummeting from the sky— every betrayal and heartbreak he’d ever faced, wrapped into one sickening stab to the heart.

He always expected betrayal, from anyone, at every moment. He’d never expected betrayal from the kid. He was too good, too kind— even if Tony secretly thought he would deserve it, Peter wasn’t ever malicious enough to do anything. Yet this was somehow worse. It was the one thing Peter could have done to utterly destroy him. Not on purpose, of course, but it burned nonetheless. Being betrayed would have hurt less. A stab in the back would have felt kinder than a stab through the heart.

He looked up towards the ceiling, everything spinning violently. Ah. Being drunk made him far too f*cking poetic.

Staggering to his feet, he blinked as the entire world swayed. Years of practice were the only thing that kept him upright. But he could still stand, so clearly he wasn’t gone enough. That was logic right there. Stumbling over to the same corner of the lab, he looked for more liquor and was sorely disappointed when he found none. Right. Because he’d been trying to be more responsible, or whatever bullsh*t that was. That turned out really well for him, didn’t it.

Turning, he made his way back to the desk, relying more on instincts and familiarity rather than any of his (currently extremely unreliable) senses.

“FRIDAY, can you trace where that damn cat went that the kid rescued a while back?” he slurred, smacking into the desk with his hip and collapsing ungracefully into his chair. He really wasn’t sure what the hell compelled him to request such a thing, but being drunk made him all mushy and weird, at least when he was alone. The AI obliged, probably just glad that he wasn’t asking to hear the recording again, and within moments, the website for ‘Queens Animal Sanctuary’ had popped up.

Tony squinted, turning his head to the side instinctively as the bright light seared into his overly-sensitive eyes. In an unspoken apology, FRIDAY adjusted the lights to a lower setting, and he glanced back at the screen to the picture of a small gray cat with green eyes staring back at him.

Next to its picture on the website, a label saying ‘adopted’ was printed in red block letters next to it. Tony wasn’t sure why his chest twisted painfully at the sight– it had been months, after all. He should be glad the cat hadn’t been sitting in a shelter all this time. He hadn’t even known until just now that if the damn thing hadn’t been adopted, he would have adopted it right here and now.

Really, that was far from the most impulsive drunk decision he’d ever made.

“Tell me it’s a good home, at least.” he told his AI, and his voice sounded unfamiliar even to his own ears, stretched thin and strained. FRIDAY didn’t give a verbal response, but a picture popped up on his screen– seemingly from a social media post of the kid who’d adopted him. Tony inhaled sharply at the sight– a teenaged boy, maybe 14 or 15, with brown curly hair, holding the cat and grinning widely. He shut his eyes at the sight and turned his head momentarily, image flashing behind his eyelids. If he hadn’t been so stubborn months ago, that image could have very well been Peter. Tony pushed the thought away violently, turning his head back to the monitor. Thankfully, FRIDAY knew him well, and the image was gone by the time he turned back. He pushed himself up from the chair again, unable to sit still any longer.

At least the cat got a happy ending.

~ ~ ~

Day 23

May’s POV

May was sure that Parker luck had struck again.

Not in a disastrous way, per se, but what were the chances of a Spider-Man memorial being put up right along her route to work?

The citizens of Queens worked quickly, she had to hand it to them. It had been less than a month, and they’d already somehow found the time, money, and materials to start putting up a shrine for her nephew’s alter ego. Privately, she thought it was ironic that they’d managed to choose a memorial location so close to where he had actually lived. They’d chosen Forest Park likely because it was in the middle of the borough, oblivious to the fact that May and Peter had resided in Forest Hills right nearby.

She hadn’t realized what it was, at first. It had just looked like a gathering of people on her way to her job, and she hadn’t given it much thought. But her coworkers at the hospital were all murmuring about it, and every media source she checked all mentioned the same thing: a Spider-Man memorial service, all day long today, in Forest Park.

Her coworkers blessedly didn’t comment on the fact that she was distracted all morning thinking about it. On one hand, it was all too soon. The loss of her nephew was too fresh, and to go visit a memorial that was put up honoring his alter ego– the cause of his death– felt a bit like rubbing salt in an open wound. On the other hand… it was still for Peter. Whether they knew his identity or not, Peter was Spider-Man, and Spider-Man was Peter. They were one in the same. And what kind of aunt would she be if she didn’t go to a memorial for her own nephew?

Which was how she found herself, at three in the afternoon, in a clearing in the park with people in Spider-Man regalia all around her. May was sure she had never seen this much red and blue in one place in her entire life– it almost managed to outweigh the green of the park itself. She was shocked at the sheer multitude of people that were present– parents, kids, teenagers, adults, grandparents. All of them bringing some sort of offering. Scanning the ground, she saw posters, candles, flowers, and even a few crudely-stitched stuffed animals. Her throat tightened as she saw a little kid, probably no more than five years old, wearing a Spider-Man mask and clinging to his mother’s hand as he laid down a clearly beloved action figure at the base of the stone that was currently serving as the centerpiece of the memorial.

On the stone itself, a few street artists had drawn a mural with spray-paint, of Spider-Man swinging in mid-air. With a lump in her throat, May pursed her lips and forced herself to look closely at the art. They had done a good job painting Peter’s likeness, in the way that he moved.

Funnily enough, she found her eye drawn to a few details of the suit that weren’t quite accurate; details she only knew from having to wash the damn thing (from the one time Peter had managed to get sewer water gunk on it). She supposed that didn’t matter, though. It was vibrant and bright, and though he was wearing a mask, you could very clearly tell that Spider-Man was cheerful. And that was the most important quality to show.

She swallowed and looked to the side, unable to look directly at the picture for much longer. She saw a few food tables nearby, from a few local cafes and food carts that were giving free food out to the people attending.

“Ms. Parker,” a familiar voice called out, and May was ripped from her thoughts as she turned to find the familiar face of Mr. Delmar. He gave her a warm smile and she did her best to smile back, though judging from the slight furrow in his brow, she figured she had failed to look as cheerful as normal. Luckily, a memorial was not exactly the place one went to look cheerful.

“Here to pay your respects?” he asked, and May’s chest tightened.

“Yeah,” she said, voice slightly hoarse with emotion. “I.. uh.. heard that he helped with your deli. He was a good kid.” she could barely keep her voice from shaking at that, not trusting herself to try and say more lest she have a total breakdown. And while this was a memorial, having a total breakdown as someone who supposedly didn’t personally know Spider-Man was not a reasonable reaction.

Delmar nodded, eyes softening. “He saved my life. Even made a point to go back for Murph, too.” He shook his head slightly. May didn’t say anything in response, only giving a slight nod. She was sure that even if she tried to speak, nothing would come out. The deli owner looked around briefly before re-focusing on her face with a slight frown. “I don’t suppose that nephew of yours is around here too?” he asked lightly. “I haven’t seen him in the deli for a few weeks. Murph’s been missing him.”

May’s chest tightened even more and she forced herself to keep her expression relaxed at the direct mention of Peter. She knew the Avengers had all come to the conclusion not to reveal his identity as Spider-Man, though they hadn’t really discussed how they’d get around people directly asking about Peter Parker’s disappearance.

All she knew for sure was that she couldn’t mention his death– not here, not now, at a Spider-Man memorial of all things. Especially not when taking into account her emotional reaction at Spider-Man’s death. It would be all too easy to put together. Plus, Delmar would be bound to ask how it happened, and May didn’t want to have to come up with a story or hope that it lined up with any she told in the future.

“Ah, he’s at a college… retreat.” she said, clearing her throat slightly as her voice threatened to catch. “He’ll be away for a while.” She was sure that the deli owner would be able to see right through her lie, but to her surprise, he relaxed, giving her a nod.

“Ah, so that’s why you’ve got the empty nester look.” he said, and May almost laughed at the absurdity. She supposed she did, but not in the way he meant. Regardless, it was a surprisingly useful excuse for the situation at hand. Summer break was coming up soon anyways, so people wouldn’t question a college retreat and it would give her time to regroup and think about what story she would tell anyone else who asked. The thought of a future without Peter in it made her ache, and she firmly pushed away the thought. She would cross that bridge when she got to it.

“Well, if you ever need some company, you can pop by the deli.” Delmar offered, and May gave him a small smile in return.

“Thank you.” she said, and she meant it. The man smiled back and patted her arm before turning and walking back to one of the tables. With a pang, she realized that the deli was one of the many establishments serving free food to the memorial-goers. Even though she’d already known that Peter saved Delmar and Murph as Spider-Man, it was still jarring that he didn’t know that the two were one in the same.

She wasn’t quite sure how much longer she stayed there for, but at some point she found herself sitting beneath a tree and watching people come in and out, placing their gifts and paying their respects.

At some point, when the crowds had died down and the sun was starting to set in the sky, May made her way to her feet, ignoring the way her stiff joints complained at the sudden shift in movement. She made her way to the base of the memorial, making sure not to step on any of the flowers, and bent down, dropping to one knee. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a small photo– a favorite of Peter’s when he was a kid. It was him, in his full Iron Man costume, proudly posing for the camera. Her throat tightened when she looked at it, and she brushed a finger over the image, tracing the outline of the helmet that covered his beaming face. Swallowing, she pulled out a pen from her purse as well, and after a moment of hesitation, flipped the image over and scrawled a note on the back. Carefully, she placed the photo at the very base of the stone, almost fully hidden by the flowers and other offerings.

You’ve always been a hero. I larb you.

She knew it was slightly risky to put a photo of Peter at the Spider-Man memorial, but she doubted anyone would be able to identify him as a kid with an Iron Man mask on, if they even bothered to check in the first place.

All she knew was that she couldn’t leave the memorial without putting something for Peter there, even if nobody but her knew. Tears burned in her eyes, but she forced herself to blink them back before standing up again and moving away from the stone to let someone else take her place.

Turning back, she looked at the memorial one last time. The setting sun cast a warm glow over the trees, and bathed everything in a soft orange light. She figured this would be the last time she visited the memorial, at least for a long while; visiting Peter’s gravestone next to Ben and his parents made her feel far closer to him than she did here. Still, she felt her heart twist in her chest at the sight of so many people, taking time out of their day to mourn a hero they hadn’t personally known. She wished it hadn’t taken his death to spur such sentiments, but it was still an honor to see how much of an impact he had.

May was no stranger to the feeling of bittersweetness, after all. When they’d lost Mary and Richard, but gained Peter as their son. When she’d lost Ben, but hadn’t lost Peter. And now, losing Peter, but still having people who loved him. It was a poor substitute, but at the very least, she wasn’t in it alone.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to turn back around and head out of the park. The grief felt suffocating, but it was familiar. She’d done this with her parents, with Mary and Richard, with Ben, and now with Peter. The first steps were the hardest.

She made it out of the park, and back to her apartment, which felt empty and cold without her nephew. She called in and offered to work the night shift, and tried not to sound disappointed when the hospital was actually fully staffed for once, and didn’t need her to come in until the morning. She hated being in the apartment alone, where every corner reminded her of Peter, just as it had for Ben a few years prior. But she made it through the night, and the morning came, just as it always did.

And when the sun came up, she took a different route to work.

~ ~ ~

Day 32

MJ’s POV

It had been a month. A long, excruciatingly painful month without Peter. MJ didn’t know how she was supposed to live every day, month, year, life without him, when each breath reminded her that it was one more breath that Peter wasn’t taking. She’d tried to go back to normal– go to school, coach decathlon, etc– but nothing felt real. It was all warped and fuzzy, as if sound and light were moving through a viscous liquid before they reached her senses.

She knew she was in decathlon right now, leading her teammates through practice questions as she used to do (though all her former passion for her leadership skills seemed to have abandoned her). But she had no real recollection of getting here, or of the rest of the prior school day. She knew she had been speaking, reading questions and answers aloud, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember any of them. When she snapped back to reality, she could feel Ned’s concerned gaze boring into her from where he was sitting by her side. Somehow, he was perfectly attuned to when she made her way back to the land of the conscious, because he leaned over and whispered in her ear.

“Em, are you alright?”

She swallowed and gave a barely perceptible nod on default, knowing that he saw it. She wasn’t, not really, but she was at least aware now and not dissociating from the world. Her throat tightened gratefully as she noticed the nickname change as well– she didn’t have much in her left to feel grateful, but for Ned, she was immensely so.

She didn’t know how he had noticed, but he had. The way she near-flinched every time anyone called her by her nickname. That nickname. MJ.

She almost didn’t want anyone to ever call her that again— not even Ned, who was now her closest friend. It was the last thing Peter had called her, and she wanted to only remember him, and the way his mouth curved and voice sounded as he called her name. She didn’t want to forget him. Didn’t want to forget the sound of his voice. Didn’t want it to be replaced with others calling her what Peter had called her. The name MJ had frozen in time with him, and now it was a sacred tribute, a memorial to the boy she realized she was in love with (too little, too late).

Cue, again, her immense gratefulness to Ned. She supposed it wasn’t that hard to notice, but she wasn’t used to anyone paying close enough attention to her to pick up even on moderately obvious clues. Ned had taken it in stride, though, switching to ‘Em’ instead of ‘MJ’ without asking any questions, and for that she could never thank him enough. She didn’t need to explain– he just understood. It almost didn’t feel fair, how broken up she was about Peter when Ned had known him for so much longer. But he never begrudged her for her feelings, merely serving as support for each other now that their shared link through Peter was gone.

Speaking of which, MJ was reminded of why she’d come back to attention in the first place. She hadn’t been consciously following the conversation, but it seemed that her subconscious still looked for Peter in every sentence and every location, because she’d been brought back just by the mention of him. She’d missed most of the conversation, but–

“You wouldn’t even be a full-time member if Peter hadn’t left.” Abe said, with a long-suffering sigh. “Don’t get your ego up over it.”

“Oh, please.” Flash scoffed. “Good riddance, if you ask me.”

At that statement, something inside MJ snapped. She knew Flash didn’t actually mean harm, and that he was all bark, no bite, but she was at her wits’ end. Hearing Flash complain about Peter for the last month, even after he’d ‘moved away’, but in the same breath mope about Spider-Man’s death as if he’d known him–

She couldn’t take it anymore.

She slammed a hand on the center of the table suddenly, making all of her teammates jump. She had a fleeting moment of gratitude that it was just the students meeting– without Mr. Harrington present as a supervisor to see her absolutely lose her cool. “Get out.” she hissed dangerously at Flash, who stared at her with wide eyes. She was known for her resting bitch face and abrasive attitude, but she’d never actually outright glared at someone with as much hate as she was glaring at Flash in the moment, and she had never really snapped like this either.

“Whoa, MJ, I was just–” Flash tried to defend himself, probably about to say something like ‘just joking’ as he always did. But it wasn’t just joking, not anymore. It wasn’t just joking when she walked into school every day and heard everyone talking about Spider-Man, how much they cared, how much they missed him. While not a single one of them spared a second to ask about Peter Parker. Rage at the hypocrisy boiled under her skin, bright and violent and bubbling. She hated Spider-Man. She hated him. (She didn’t, but anger was easier than the all-consuming grief). She wanted Peter back.

“Don’t call me that.” she said venomously. “Get. Out.”

Flash acquiesced, grabbing his backpack and backing out of the room like he was moving away from a rabid animal. Which, maybe she was, MJ thought distantly, feeling the weight of her teammates’ eyes on her. Maybe all of her humanity had died with Peter.

She swallowed, blinking back the sudden burning in her eyes as she looked back down at the flashcards in her hands. She used to love decathlon, used to feel pride in her job as team captain, used to relish in her abundant knowledge. Now, the flashcards felt like dead weights in her hands, and her eyes kept straying to the seat Peter once sat in. Her fingers trembled minutely as she flipped to the next flashcard, prepared to move on with the review session as if nothing had happened. Before she could bring herself to speak, though, Cindy spoke, her words soft and subdued.

“It was Peter, wasn’t it?” she asked quietly. MJ’s eyes snapped up, shock making her sit upright. “Spider-Man.”

MJ blinked. She didn’t know what to say. Next to her, Ned stammered, probably trying to come up with some god-awful excuse that nobody would believe. MJ didn’t bother. She knew that ship had sailed the second she failed to respond within a few seconds.

Abe spoke next, his voice soft as well. In any other situation, MJ would have bristled at their gentle tones, but right now having anyone to share the weight of grief was a comfort. “Him disappearing in Washington at the same time Spider-Man showed up was a coincidence, at best. So was him ditching Liz at homecoming and then Spider-Man taking her supervillain dad down just hours later. But then he disappears suddenly on a ‘college retreat’ at the same time Spider-Man dies, and you two act like you’ve just lost a loved one…” he trailed off, and the implication was clear. MJ swallowed, eyes burning again. It really was obvious to anyone with half a brain, and they were surrounded by some of the smartest young minds in the city. Peter was a horrible liar– he’d only gotten away with it so long because nobody paid attention to him. Except for his decathlon teammates, it seemed.

“Yeah.” MJ said hoarsely, not even bothering to hide it. What was the use now? Ned’s shoulders slumped next to hers, clearly coming to the same conclusion. She felt a flash of panic rush through her, at the thought that she was disrespecting Peter’s final wishes– “Don’t tell anyone.” she near-pleaded. She knew if they wanted to, there would be no way to stop them. Knowing Spider-Man’s identity would be a sure way to get money and fame, if they wanted. But Cindy was already shaking her head.

“We wouldn’t do that to him.” she said, subdued, as Abe nodded his head in agreement. “We saw the press conference Pepper Potts gave, and… we knew Peter. He wouldn’t want the attention.”

The burning in MJ’s eyes grew more intense. “Thank you.” she murmured. She wished Peter were here to see his impact, to see how many people cared about him and not just Spider-Man.

Abe hesitated. “Is there… can we visit him?” he asked, even more quietly than before, like he was worried he was crossing a boundary. “I know there’s a public Spider-Man memorial, but… one for Peter Parker? I’d like to pay my respects.” Cindy nodded in sync with him, and MJ felt like she was choking down a thick wave of grief as she gave her own nod in response. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out, the weight of a reality without Peter choking her. She paused for a few moments, clearing her throat, and then continued as if nothing had happened. Abe and Cindy were thankfully kind enough not to mention it.

“His gravestone is by his parents’ and uncle’s.” she explained, biting the inside of her lip roughly to stop her eyes from filling with tears. And the Avengers compound, of course, but that would take more energy to explain. Energy she didn’t have. “They can’t– he’s not actually there, yet. Because of his powers. They’re… keeping him somewhere else for now.” She was aware that her explanation was vague and not very helpful, but they mercifully didn’t prod her further. She glanced down at the flashcards in her hands and back up to her decathlon teammates. She knew none of them would be able to go back to practice now– not that they were really focusing in the first place. “We can go now, if… if you want?” she offered, uncertain. Abe’s eyes flickered down to the flashcards in her hands as well, and he seemed to come to the same conclusion, giving her another sad, small smile.

“We’d like that.” he said– Cindy agreeing with a small nod of her own. MJ pursed her lips and nodded. In silent agreement, they all started gathering up all their materials, shoving papers in their bags and getting up together.

They left the classroom, subdued as they moved through the now-empty hallways. MJ was glad it was after school hours, because she didn’t think she could handle the mindless chatter of her classmates for a second longer. Her breath caught as they passed his locker– because of course his locker had to be on the way to the exit of the building. It was bare and empty; to anyone else, it would have been just another locker.

Angrily, MJ thought that if people knew Peter was dead, his locker would have become a little shrine of gifts and notes– it had happened when someone else in the school had died. She felt robbed on his behalf, because of course the Spider-Man memorial had too many sympathy notes and gifts to count, but Peter Parker didn’t have a single one. She supposed she couldn’t really fault people, since they didn’t know he was actually dead. But she did. It wasn’t hard at all to figure out, if anyone paid the slightest bit of attention.

She swallowed the lump in her throat as she thought of the last time she’d talked to Peter, right by the door. He’d been telling her a story about a cat and his patrol, and she’d teased him that maybe he should change his job description to cat rescuer. She didn’t remember what his verbal response had been to that– just that he had laughed, and grinned widely, and his eyes had twinkled with amusem*nt. She wished she’d kept him there. Asked about the color of the damn cat, or how he found its owner. (Maybe told him she loved him.) Instead, she’d bumped him with her shoulder and made some dry remark, before heading home to read her newest book. She hadn’t even managed to get halfway through before being interrupted.

She wished she’d never gotten that call from May.

She was broken from her train of thought when they stepped outside and were blasted with the wind. The day itself was warm, but the breeze caused a momentary chill to run down her spine. MJ shivered, wrapping her arms around herself as they trudged their way to the subway, nobody bothering to say a word. She’d been to the graveyard once before, with Peter– visiting his uncle and parents. In the moment, she’d been honored that he wanted to introduce her. She never imagined she’d have to take the trip without him.

They eventually reached Peter's gravestone, a simple light gray marker adorned with his name and the dates of his birth and death. Beloved nephew, friend, and son. A hero to those who knew him. It wasn’t enough. MJ stared at the inscription, her heart twisting in her chest like someone was wringing out a damp towel.

Abe and Cindy stood quietly by her side, and Ned placed a hand on her shoulder.

"I can't believe he's really gone," Cindy whispered, her voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. She was staring at the words like she’d hoped it was all just one big ‘gotcha!’

MJ wondered if she regretted asking if he was Spider-Man. Sometimes she wished she could live in the blissful ignorance her classmates seemed fine occupying.

Abe just stared at the stone, too. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but snapped it back shut. Instead, he crouched down and swiped away some of the loose dirt that had fallen on the edge of the stone.

MJ swallowed hard, her throat constricting at the sight. She didn’t want to keep coming back– didn’t want to see the freshly overturned dirt slowly get packed down with time, and watch grass grow over it. Didn’t want his name to get lost among all the others.

Ned reached into his backpack after a few moments and pulled out a small Lego figure. MJ recognized it after a brief moment– a piece from the ridiculous Lego Death Star set the two of them were so excited about. He placed it gently by Peter's gravestone. "I can’t complete it without you, Peter." he whispered quietly, voice sounding choked. “So you should have a part of it.” MJ knew he’d put another figure just like it on Peter’s casket at the Avengers compound. A matching set.

The wind just rustled. Peter wasn’t around to hear it.

Chapter 6: Peter (Days 36-124)

Chapter Text

Day 36

“Today, you’re going to learn how to run an interrogation.” Fury said, hands pressed flat on the table between the two. Peter blinked at him.

“I thought this was supposed to be a stealth mission?” he asked, shifting slightly. He understood, to some extent, why Fury was having him practice his physical skills, in case of an emergency. He could even understand the Russian lessons, if he were to overhear important information or warnings. But interrogation definitely did not fall into the category of sneaking in and sneaking out unnoticed.

“It is.” Fury said, nonplussed. “But say you’re staking out a base with potential information and you’re able to catch a HYDRA guard on their own outside. Or if for some reason you had the opportunity on the inside. It’s a useful skill to have for any field agent, no matter the target, and it would compromise the mission if I didn’t at least give you a baseline on how to act if you do encounter it.”

Peter tried to suppress a sigh. The more he was learning about this supposed ‘mission,’ the less and less appealing it became. And it was not appealing in the first place.

Besides, he’d already tried interrogating someone once before, for the Ferry Incident, and that had gone disastrously (both the interrogation and the event itself). He was not too keen on repeating that.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to train me to keep me around for other missions after this one.” Peter muttered. It was a joke, but also not really. He wouldn’t put it past the director.

Fury scoffed. “You hardly have to worry about that, Parker.” he said dryly. “I would pick someone who was better at following orders.”

Peter refrained from pointing out the fact that Fury had in fact already picked him. He also did not exactly trust the director to stick to his word. Maybe if he pinky promised.

This time, he was not able to suppress his sigh. “Alright. So what’s the plan? Can’t exactly do good cop, bad cop with one person.”

Fury raised an eyebrow. "No, you can’t.” he said dryly. “I'm going to show you a range of approaches because not every subject responds the same way. But first, show me how you would run an interrogation right now.”

Peter blinked. Great. He just loved when he had the chance to embarrass himself with his nonexistent interrogation tactics. He waited for the director to say more; maybe even give him a starting cue if he was lucky. Unfortunately, the man did neither, merely sitting in the chair across from Peter and staring at him impassively.

Fantastic.

“Um… what do you know about HYDRA?” Peter said, twisting his hands. It was a nervous tick he’d developed from wringing his mask in his hands. Fury snorted, giving Peter an incredulous look.

“Kid, who’s getting interrogated here?” he drawled sardonically.

“It’s kind of feeling like I am.” Peter muttered in response. He couldn’t even interrogate people properly as Spider-Man; what on earth made Fury think he could interrogate someone as Peter Parker?

Fury sighed and dropped his head into one hand, massaging his temples. “We have a lot to work on.”

Peter said nothing. In his defense, he’d never claimed to be good at interrogation. He didn’t even want to be here. So really this was all Fury’s fault.

“Alright. We'll start with the basics.” the man in question said, looking as if Peter’s inexperience physically pained him. “Non-verbal cues, body language, and making the person feel off-balance. You'll have to learn to read between the lines, catch the twitch of an eye, or a shift in tone."

Peter huffed. “If I wanted a job as an FBI profiler I’d apply to the academy,” he muttered.

Fury shot Peter a stern look, his one good eye narrowing. "This isn't about profiling criminals, Parker. It’s for your survival. In the field, information is your lifeline. You don't get to pick and choose your skills; you adapt or you die."

“You should be a motivational speaker.” Peter said flatly. “I’m really feeling inspired.”

"Save the sarcasm for your Spider-Man antics.” Fury responded in the same tone. “This is serious. Now, let's start with a simple scenario. You've got a HYDRA guard in front of you. He's not giving up anything willingly. What do you do?"

Peter leaned forward, distinctly ignoring Fury’s warning to ‘save the sarcasm.’ “I don’t know, offer him a sandwich? Y’know, good cop approach.”

Fury looked unimpressed. “Parker.” he said warningly. Peter wondered how the man would react if he told him that he’d heard Tony use the exact same tone on him before. Probably not well.

“Fine.” Peter sighed. “Enlighten me on how you’d do it, then.”

He refrained from mentioning that someone offering him a sandwich would probably work on him.

Fury leaned forward as well, meeting Peter's gaze. "You use their emotions against them. For an angry type, you remain calm and collected to make them slip up. For a nervous type, you apply gradual pressure. Make them doubt their own resolve."

Peter nodded thoughtfully. "So… like being a therapist but without hazard pay."

Fury sighed, as if he figured it wasn’t worth trying to win this particular fight with him. "Sure. Simplify it like that." He leaned back again. “There are several types of people you’d run into in an interrogation. Nervous, silent, angry, arrogant, and deceptive. With any of them, you want them talking, so ask open-ended questions. Also, body language. Watch theirs, control yours. If they lean back, you lean forward. Mirroring makes them feel a subconscious connection."

Peter had a flashback to MJ talking about that, from one of her true crime books. His chest ached at the thought. Fury continued speaking.

“Nervous types are easier to break if you’re softer with them and ease their nerves. Building rapport works well with them, and you can apply more pressure as you go. The angry types get riled up the calmer and more collected you appear. The more unaffected you are, the more likely they are to let things slip in an attempt to agitate you. The silent types are the ones you’ll dislike the most.” Fury said, shooting a wry glance at him. “Ironically, being silent and patiently waiting is the best way to crack them. They expect the interrogator to fill the silence on their behalf, and if you don’t, they may feel compelled to fill it themselves.”

Peter almost groaned at the thought. He was terrible at staying silent. He hated the silence. He would sooner talk to an inanimate object than stay quiet with his own thoughts.

Fury looked amused for a moment, as if he knew exactly what Peter was thinking. “Arrogant types will underestimate you very easily. Use that to your advantage, and make them spill information they think they’re providing to you willingly. And lastly, the deceptive type. Body language is very important in this case, as well as asking the same question in different ways. Liars tend to be unable to keep track of their own lies. Eventually they’ll slip.”

He leaned back, appraising Peter like he was gauging whether any of his explanations had actually sunk in. "Now, let's put it into practice. I'll play different characters, and you try to get information out of me. We'll start with the silent type."

Peter sighed inwardly. Of course they were. "Alright, shoot."

Fury’s face settled into its usual scowl, and he stared straight at Peter, looking like he wanted to make him into a spider shish-kebab and roast him on a spit.

Peter shifted uncomfortably in his chair, glancing around the room to avoid looking at Fury. The silence rang in his ears, and he could feel Fury’s gaze boring straight into him. It was not a pleasant feeling. He cleared his throat. "So, uh... how's the weather?" He knew he wasn’t supposed to be talking, but he could try and create rapport, at least.

Fury raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Alright, maybe not.

"Okay, not the weather. How about your favorite color?" Peter attempted, grinning sheepishly.

Fury continued staring at him. Rather disturbingly so.

"Right, we're not here to discuss colors," Peter muttered to himself. "Look, I get it. I'm not good at the whole silence thing. Can we move on?"

Fury shook his head, breaking character. "You lasted less than thirty seconds. You've got to work on that. Now, onto the nervous type."

He shifted gears, adopting a fidgety demeanor and avoiding direct eye contact. Now that was a disturbing change. Peter hadn’t realized the director was capable of some Oscar-worthy acting.

Peter decided to go the ‘softer’ route, like Fury had told him to do. At least he was better at this than being silent. He had plenty of practice with reassuring little kids as Spider-Man. Though he didn’t think Fury would appreciate being likened to a five-year-old. "Hey, no need to be nervous. We're just talking here. So, tell me, what do you know about HYDRA?"

"Good," Fury said, reverting to his usual demeanor within seconds.

They shifted through a few more of the roles before Fury waved his hand to signal to stop. “That’s enough for today. You’ve learned the basics, at the very least. Your main issue isn’t with saying the wrong words, it’s with your delivery. You’re not adjusting your body language or controlling your emotions any differently with each personality change.”

Peter pressed his lips together. “It’s not like I’ve ever had any reason to need that.” he defended himself. He’d never been a particularly good liar as Peter Parker, and one of the main reasons he wore a mask as Spider-Man (other than to protect his family) was to hide his emotions.

Fury peered at him with his good eye. “Well, you have a reason to now,” he said cryptically. Honestly, Peter would love to get better at controlling his body language and emotions, if it would get Fury to stop staring at him like he knew exactly what he was thinking at all times. “Your stress test training will help with your emotional regulation and terrible poker face, so we won’t need to practice much more of the interrogation until we revisit it at the end.”

Peter couldn’t help but sigh in relief. Whoops. Guess he’d already failed at controlling his reactions. Fury looked mildly exasperated, but waved him out of the room. “Dismissed for now. Don’t be late for your next session.”

~ ~ ~

Day 44

10:00 AM

The room was fairly unobtrusive– gray stone walls (just like everything else in the damn bunker) and sharp fluorescent lights. In other words, utterly boring and nondescript. Well, except for the very large table of weapons situated in the center of the room, as well as an arrangement of practice dummies placed against one wall.

Peter stared at the array of weapons in front of him. He could see a few handguns, lots of knives, and various assorted other dangerous objects. He couldn’t help but grimace a bit at the sight– especially the guns. Peter had never been a fan of weapons. Especially not since Ben. There was a reason his webs were non-lethal and he pulled his punches– he didn’t want to hurt anyone more than necessary to stop them, and he most certainly didn’t want to kill anyone.

Fury must have seen the expression on his face because his own expression seemed to soften. Though, that might have just been wishful imagination– if so, it certainly wasn’t by much (Peter did always try to see the best in people). “Even if your goal is stealth and avoiding conflict, you still need to know how to manage weapons, especially weapons of opportunity. We’ll touch on that particular skill soon enough, but for now we’re starting with the basics of how to use each one. You may find yourself in a situation where you have no choice but to defend yourself using one of these weapons. Even as an enhanced person.” he tacked on, before Peter could protest. Not that Peter could have put up much of a fight here– arguing with Fury was like arguing with a brick wall ten meters thick.

He looked down at the weapons table, and Fury pointed at a handgun first, holding up a pair of ear mufflers and safety glasses for the shooting. Peter was reminded, briefly, of a memory of his mentor– holding out a pair of safety glasses and grinning (right before they blew something up). He pushed the memories aside and grabbed the protective gear from the director– he almost wanted to deny it out of spite, but he knew especially with his enhanced senses that denying ear protection in an enclosed room would not be a good idea. He slid the mufflers over his ears, the world quieting even more than it already had been– being an underground bunker, after all.

Peter reluctantly picked up a handgun first, feeling the cold metal in his hands. He hesitated for a moment, glancing at the weapon with a mix of apprehension and distaste. Fury didn’t seem too sympathetic.

"Stare at it all you want, Parker, but it won't change the fact that in this case you need more than just webs and acrobatics," Fury grumbled. Peter bit back his own retort at the gross generalization of his fighting style. "Now, let's start with the basics. Hold it firm, aim straight, and squeeze the trigger."

Peter took a deep breath and followed Fury's instructions, surprising himself with the accuracy of his first round of shots. The gun was heavy and unyielding in his hands, and made him feel vaguely sick, but the aiming and firing action itself was eerily similar to that of his web-shooters.

He couldn’t help but wince every time his super-hearing allowed him to hear the sound of the bullet scraping through the metal barrel (even with the mufflers on), or the sound of the bullet tearing through the paper of the target. (All he could hear was the sound of a bullet tearing through Uncle Ben’s flesh in front of him).

He’d gotten good at controlling his reactions around guns– after all, as Spider-Man, he couldn’t exactly go into a full-blown panic attack any time he heard a gunshot go off. But it was different when he was the one holding the gun. It made him feel sick to his bones. Fury may make him train with the weapons, but Peter was sure he’d rather be shot himself than ever shoot a gun at another person, even in self-defense. The second Fury reluctantly nodded his approval, Peter dropped the gun like the metal was scalding him, and tore the mufflers and safety glasses off. He was breathing harder than he should have, given that he was enhanced and had also been standing still the whole time. He was certain Fury had noticed, but mercifully, he didn’t say anything, only gesturing to the next set of weapons on the table– knives, in all different shapes and sizes.

Snatching the first one up, Peter looked down at his hands. The cold metal of the combat knife felt just as foreign in Peter's hand as the gun had, but it put him at ease. He knew, logically, that it wasn’t necessarily less dangerous (in the right hands, at least), but, well– there was a reason the saying goes ‘don’t bring a knife to a gunfight.’

Which should probably not be putting him at ease, given that he would in fact be the one bringing the knife. But the saying didn’t take super-spider-powers into account, so Peter figured he was covered on that part.

Still, he’d never really handled a knife before– aside from his disastrous kitchen pursuits, and his veins thrummed with unease. He was honestly probably as much of a risk to himself as he was to someone else right now. Fury, clearly recognizing that Peter had not a damn clue what to do with himself, sighed and started speaking.

"Alright, Parker, let's start from scratch. You’ve experienced defensive skills against knives while being Spider-Man, though I’m sure a large majority of your defensive strategy involved use of your sixth sense and webbing. You don’t have that here, so I’m going to teach you how a normal person would go about a defensive strategy, while still holding a knife and looking for breaks to launch your own attack. First, stance is crucial. It’s the same stance we went over when you were going at the punching bags, except now you have an opponent and will be moving with them. Keep your feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent. You want a solid base, something that keeps you grounded but mobile."

Peter adjusted his stance, falling into the same position he’d been using for the punching bags for the last two weeks. Fury continued, "Now, hand positioning. Keep a firm grip on the handle, but not so tight that you lose flexibility. Your free hand should be up, protecting your face. And keep that knife close to your body, not waving it around like a flag."

As Fury explained, Peter twisted around, trying to mimic the defensive posture Fury demonstrated. It felt unnatural, even with his enhancements and spider-y flexibility. Quite frankly, he felt like he was five years old again, playing a game of freeze tag and getting frozen in an awkward position.

"Protect your weak points. Chin down, shoulders up. You don't want to give your opponent an opening," Fury emphasized, circling Peter and adjusting his form, poking certain parts of him with the hilt of his own knife.

"Now, defensive mode. When you're facing an opponent, focus on dodging their strikes, not just blocking. You don’t want to open yourself up to getting sliced if you can help it. Move with purpose, not recklessness. You've got more agility than the average person and you should capitalize on that."

Almost without warning, Fury swung his own knife at Peter. He, of course, reflexively jumped away– his spidey-sense blared and he reacted to it almost instinctively, as he was used to. Unfortunately, that meant that he’d just completely abandoned everything Fury had just told him, in favor of his old strategies. Fury sighed– though he didn’t look particularly surprised– and brought his knife up again.

"Don't just rely on your enhanced senses, Parker. Anticipate. Learn to predict their movements before they even know what they’re going to do.”

Wow. Real helpful advice there. What the hell else did the man expect from trying to make Peter into a glorified shish-kebab?

Peter just barely refrained from holding back a scoff. Fury started swinging his knife again, though this time through a series of slower, more controlled strikes, allowing Peter more time to practice evasive maneuvers rather than just go on instinct.

Once he was satisfied enough (for the time being, at least) with Peter's defensive stance, Fury shifted the focus to offense. "When you need to strike, make it count. Aim for vulnerable spots. The throat, the kidneys, the groin. But keep your guard up. You're not throwing caution to the wind; you're creating openings strategically."

Fury swung the knife again, and Peter blinked as he watched the offensive movements. It was almost jarring to see Fury fight– logically, Peter knew of course he’d have training; after all, he didn't manage to become the Director of SHIELD by sitting on his ass all day. But he’d only ever seen the man standing in his trenchcoat glaring at people in a room. It was shocking to see how lethal he could be on the field. The man in question spoke again while he was moving.

"You don't need to be a killing machine.” he said, with a meaningful look at Peter, who pursed his lips at the reminder. “A well-placed strike can neutralize without resorting to lethal force." Peter was sure that Fury wasn’t just saying that to make him feel better (it was more likely a manipulation tactic to make Peter feel more comfortable with the mission), but it still felt nice to have his wishes (somewhat) recognized.

With a gesture of his hand, Fury indicated for Peter to start practicing. He did, trying to incorporate Fury’s words but hesitating too much and second-guessing his movements. He couldn’t seem to find the right balance between going on the offensive and listening to his instincts. Fury was also being irritatingly persistent– Peter would dodge too much and Fury would say ‘go on offense more’ but then when Peter swung his knife out Fury just told him his defensive form was sloppy. Peter sighed at the umpteenth correction from the man, before he spoke again gruffly.

"Move from defense to offense seamlessly. Don't let your opponent dictate the pace."

Peter was struck, suddenly, by a memory of Natasha saying almost the same thing. He’d been baffled by how she could use a knife like it was an actual appendage (some days he wasn’t entirely sure that she hadn’t just spawned out of the womb holding a knife). She’d just laughed at him– one of her rare ones, before speaking. ( “It’s like a dance, little spider. Fluid, but purposeful.” she’d grinned. “You just don’t want to let your partner set the pace the whole time.” ) He knew that Natasha and Fury had known each other for years, and that they’d undoubtedly trained together to some extent, so it shouldn’t have shocked him as much as it did, but regardless. It was like a slap in the face from his past (the one he tried so hard not to think about down here).

They spent longer on the knives than they did on the guns. Surprisingly, by the time Fury allowed him to stop, he’d gotten pretty good at holding up his form. It didn’t feel as unnatural now; his enhanced agility helped him with the twists and turns, and his sticky feet let him keep a stable base even while attacking. Once again, Peter was left breathing heavily– though this time not due to barely-restrained panic, but actual physical exertion. Sure, he was enhanced, but he wasn’t used to constant fighting; his usual fighting style was bursts of high-energy followed by quick rests on ceilings or walls.

Fury gestured at Peter to drop the knife back on the weapons table and he did, though he almost groaned in exhaustion when he noticed how many other weapons there were (a lot of them he didn’t even know what they were). It wasn’t that his body couldn’t keep up– he had super strength and stamina, and his body was a lot more capable than he often gave it credit for. But mentally Peter was already over these exercises, and if Fury was going to be as picky with the rest of the weapons as he was with the knives, Peter was going to be in for a long afternoon.

"Now we're going to mix it up a bit. Let's see how you handle some diversity," Fury announced, gesturing to the assortment of weapons at Peter's disposal.

Peter's eyes darted from one weapon to another, uncertain. He didn’t even know the names of some of these things. He was probably more likely to accidentally smack himself in the face with them rather than successfully hit a target. Fury, however, was undeterred. "First up, batons. Compact, versatile. Extend it and show me what you've got."

Peter fumbled with the expandable baton, extending it with a snap. It seemed similar to the weapons Natasha sometimes carried. He swung it a bit, getting a feel for the motions. Since he hadn’t been given any specific instructions, he assumed his form should be the same as the knife fighting, just now armed with a very big stick. Fury, surprisingly, nodded approvingly as Peter demonstrated a series of strikes and blocks similar to that of the knife attacks. (Well, he thought it was approving– Fury’s face didn’t actually change from his resting scowl so Peter couldn’t really tell.)

"Good. Now, tactical flashlight. May not seem useful, but you can blind your opponent and then strike hard, like with the baton."

Peter gripped the flashlight, flashing the beam in the direction of the poor dummies lined up against the wall nearby. (He made sure not to shine it in his own eyes, because that would be decidedly Not Pleasant with his enhanced senses). After he clicked it on, he quickly smacked the handle against the training dummy’s head, the plastic making a loud thudding sound.

He almost laughed as he did it. Whacking mannequins with flashlights. Definitely not what he pictured when Fury originally mentioned training. (It was also decidedly easier because they were dummies and not people – though Peter did his best to not think about that at the moment). He dropped the flashlight back on the table without a word as Fury beckoned him onto the next weapon.

"Next, tasers. Non-lethal, but effective. Though unfortunately loud, if the person manages to shout. Aim for the chest," Fury instructed.

Peter hesitated for a moment, then discharged the taser, sending a surge of electricity through the dummy. It convulsed, and Peter couldn't help but wince at the sight, imagining an actual person instead (so much for not thinking about it ).

"Pepper spray. Aim for the eyes, and follow through with a strike after disorienting. Create distance," Fury continued, tossing Peter a canister barely a second after he’d set down the taser. Now that he’d gotten the basics down for aiming (with the guns) and hand-to-hand positioning (with the knives), the rest of the weapons weren’t taking nearly as long to get through. Peter wasn’t sure why he felt surprised by how much overlap there was. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the task at hand.

Carefully, Peter sprayed the dummy before kicking it in the chest, holding his breath so that the pepper spray wouldn’t irritate his own sensitive nostrils. It didn’t really work– his own eyes burned mildly from the small amounts in the air (he missed having an air-filtering mask), and he quickly moved away, preparing for the next weapon.

"Kubotan.” Fury said, pointing at a small black pointy thing on the table. Peter picked it up gingerly. It was almost like a knife, but not sharp on the edges. It more resembled a pencil, or a rod sharpened to a tip. It looked vaguely similar to one of the (many) self defense weapons MJ carried with her. “Use it to attack vulnerable pressure points and joints, or to strengthen a punch by bracing your fist with it," Fury directed.

Peter twirled the small rod between his fingers. Unlike a knife, he couldn’t just slash at the dummy– he knew Fury intended him to stab the dummy in the face or something (mimicking attacking the weak point of an eye), but that felt… unnecessarily violent. Even just on a mannequin. He braced the rod in his fist instead, using it to brace his punch and knock the dummy over. He heard Fury sigh behind him.

“I meant practicing the stabbing motion,” he said. Peter felt his eyes bore, scrutinizing, into the back of his head. He hauled the dummy back up but dropped the kubotan back on the weapons table, not going for another round.

“Kubotan, stabbing.” he said tersely. “No need to stab the dummy, I got it.”

He almost expected Fury to put up a fight about it and tell him to just practice stabbing the f*cking mannequin, but to Peter’s surprise, he didn’t. He just shook his head and pointed to the next item.

"Now, nunchaku. Or, nunchucks, as you’ve probably heard of.”

Looking down at the weapon in his hands, Peter almost laughed. He felt ridiculous holding nunchucks like he was straight out of the Lego Ninjago movie or something. He tried to imagine a HYDRA agent coming at him with a pair of nunchucks, and almost actually did burst out laughing at that imagery, but managed to barely restrain himself only because Fury was still speaking and he had a feeling the man would not appreciate being laughed at.

“Slightly different from the knives, since there are two of them attached together. They’re not actually intended to be used as weapons– they’re moreso used for training, to develop quick hand movements and good posture, which is why I’ve included them for you to practice with anyways. Unlikely you’ll end up encountering them but if you need to make a weapon of opportunity and something you find resembles them, it may be useful.”

Peter gingerly held the nunchucks, running his fingers over the metal links. In another time, if he were with Ned, the two of them would be giggling over how they had a pair of nunchucks, and would probably try to do some stupid tricks with them. But his best friend wasn’t here, and he wasn’t playing games. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. He looked up at Fury again.

“So… how do I use them?” he asked, holding one in his right hand and allowing the other part to swing free. He felt like if he tried to whack the dummy with them he had a higher likelihood of smacking himself in the face– and while he’d definitely been through worse, he would rather skip the experience if he could.

Fury stepped forward and reluctantly grabbed Peter’s hand to move it to the correct spot. (A sharp pang of longing for Tony rushed through Peter as he remembered his mentor doing the same motion when they worked on his suit together).

“Place your hand here. You need a loose but controlled hold, so you can swing it but not allow it to go flying.”

With his hands in the correct place, Peter gingerly swung the nunchucks forward, still quite afraid of hitting himself in the face with it. After a few more tries, he got more comfortable, until Fury eventually motioned for him to stop.

“You’ll have plenty of time over the next few months to practice on your own, for all of these. Today is about me teaching you the basics, so you don’t have any egregious errors in your form. So, onto the next one now.” Fury gestured at the table. Peter reluctantly set the nunchucks down. They were kind of fun, once he started to get a hang of the movements. It helped that they were more of a ‘training tool’ rather than a weapon intended to hurt people.

Plus… they were nunchucks .

"Escrima sticks." Fury said next, and he pointed to what looked like a light wooden stick. Peter picked it up with a raised eyebrow. It looked out of place among all the other sharp metal weapons– it really just looked like a harmless bamboo pole.

“Those can be very useful in blocking bladed weapons, or even mimicking them. A very thin one can act like a knife and cut people, if enough force is put behind it. It’s good to practice with to figure out the fundamental concepts of weapon combat, as well as what motions to do when you’re empty-handed.”

The sticks felt light and unfamiliar in Peter's hands, but he gave a few gentle experimental swings, and heard the whoosh of the wood cutting through the air. Fury intervened again after a few attempts. (Unsurprisingly so– Peter had been swinging it like he would with a baseball bat, and that wasn’t saying much, because Peter’s little league baseball career had been depressingly short). He adjusted Peter's grip like he had on the nunchucks and knives and pointed to different positions on the dummy that would be the best angles for effective strikes.

Once Fury seemed satisfied, Peter dropped the wooden stick, panting a bit. Fury glanced over the remaining weapons on the table that they hadn’t gotten to yet– there were quite a lot, but all of them looked fairly similar to ones Peter had just gotten acquainted with. He spotted some brass knuckles, another staff that looked like the escrima sticks, and some sharp star things that looked like honest-to-god shurikens . Along with many, many more knives. Fury nodded to himself, as if he’d read Peter’s thoughts (sometimes, Peter was pretty sure he could ).

“Alright, that’s enough for this session.” he said, and Peter breathed an internal sigh of relief. “You have the basics down, the rest of these you can figure out on your own. Practice these every day on your own, and I will stop by occasionally to see if your form needs more touching up.”

Peter did sigh in relief at that. He’d almost worried that the man would be there every single day, scrutinizing him. In hindsight, he realized that thought was pretty stupid, because he was certain that Fury did not want to be here training him just as much as Peter doesn’t want to be here getting trained. But it was still a relief to know he could learn on his own, without Fury’s freaky mind-reading in the same room.

Fury (damn him) only smirked at Peter’s relieved sigh. “Don’t get too comfortable yet, Parker. You’ll use these skills in a final test when I think you’re ready, and you may have to utilize these skills with weapons of opportunity.”

Peter grimaced. That sounded distinctly unappealing. “Weapons of opportunity?” he inquired, against his better judgment.

Fury shrugged, moving towards the door of the training room. “Pencils, zip ties, anything and everything you can use as a weapon from these base skills,” he paused. “I’ve seen Widow take out a room of twelve armed men with only a fork.”

Peter just barely held back his shudder and another grimace. As much as he admired Natasha, he did not want to imagine that certainly gory scene, and he was sure he was nowhere near capable of that. (Mentally, at least– physically, well… he tried not to think about that). He didn’t want people to be afraid of him like that. He would never judge Natasha for her methods, but he knew it wasn’t who he was and he wouldn't be able to come back from something like that.

Fury, almost out the door by now, turned to peer at him with his single eye. Peter looked up at the scrutiny and felt like he was being flayed apart– piece by piece. Uncomfortable, he shifted on his feet before Fury finally spoke. “This training isn’t about turning you into a ruthless killer, Parker. Remember the mission is primarily intended to be stealth and reconnaissance based. Everything I teach you is just about ensuring you can adapt to any situation.”

Peter blinked. How the hell had Fury realized what was going through his head before even Peter himself had put it to words? On top of that, it was almost… encouragement? reassurance? coming from Fury.

Fury gave a wry smile, continuing before Peter even had a chance to reply to his first statement. “And no, I can’t read minds. You just really need to work on your poker face.” And with that, he was gone, leaving Peter standing there, befuddled.

Yeah…

He could definitely read minds.

—

Peter flopped onto his bed (moreso a glorified cot, but he had to look on the bright side here). He brought his knuckles up to his temples and rubbed fiercely, pressing until he saw stars, in a vain attempt to banish the raging headache pounding against his skull. Fury had made him stay in the weapons room for hours after he finished teaching the basics, with the insistence that Peter try all the weapons on his own, again and again and again and again. And again. Peter knew part of Fury’s strategy was to make him so exhausted that it desensitized him to his obvious reluctance in using anything other than his web-shooters. Especially the guns. (Exposure therapy, and all that.)

Ironically enough, though, reflecting on it now, the guns were the ones he was most adept at using. It had only taken him a few shots to start hitting the target head-on, the aiming and firing motion vaguely reminiscent of his web-shooters. The key difference, though– and one Peter couldn’t ever forget– was that one was used to kill.

Out of all of the weapons (not including the not-really-weapons, like the nunchucks) Fury had him train with, Peter was most partial to the knives. Ironically enough again , they were the ones he was not the greatest at using. The reason for their appeal was the same reason he was not the best at using them– they required up close, hand to hand combat.

Of course, Peter still preferred incapacitating people with his web-shooters from afar rather than being up close and potentially hurting them with his enhanced strength. But it was still more preferable than shooting someone with a gun. And out of all the weapons Fury had shown, Peter didn’t really see how some of the other non-lethal ones would actually be viable in the field– like the wooden sticks and staffs. He supposed the flashlight and pepper spray were small enough to carry and work, though Fury would not let him go into the field only armed with those. So knives it was.

Peter almost groaned in frustration as he ran through all of his options again. Really none of them were good (in his eyes), and with every single one of them, there still came the issue of incapacitating the agents fully so they couldn’t call out or sound an alarm. Peter never really mentioned this obvious issue to Fury, terrified that the man would order him directly to kill the HYDRA agents (even though he did say the point wasn’t to make him a lethal killer, Peter knew that Fury fully expected HYDRA casualties on this mission). Peter knew he wouldn’t be able to recover or ever forgive himself if he did kill someone on purpose. Even if it was ‘for the mission.’ Even if they were HYDRA agents.

But in the same vein, even if he were to injure an agent with any of the weapons Fury had him use today to incapacitate them, they could still potentially raise an alarm or call out for help. (The thought of injuring someone on purpose still made him queasy, but it was better than the alternative). If Peter had his webs, he’d be able to tie them up and web their mouths shut. But Fury had expressly forbidden it, and Peter knew it was too risky and too close to Spider-Man. Plus, if the Avengers caught wind of it, all hell would break loose. So webs were a no-go.

Peter gnawed at his lip, thinking about other non-lethal incapacitation methods. His mind strayed to the Avengers, and their main modes of taking people down. Tony obviously had his repulsors, and Cap had his shield. Bucky used guns and his (still super cool) metal arm, and Sam had his wings and laser-things. All of those were loud, and not very stealthy either. But the two main spies of the team– Clint and Natasha– had quieter methods. Clint obviously had his arrows, and Natasha usually used guns but also had her widow bites, which were similar mechanistically to his web-shooters but shot electric prongs like tasers.

He hummed, deep in thought. He would need something like his web-shooters or Natasha’s widow bites, just for ease of use and quick access. He would also need something very quiet, which meant electricity was off the table. Clint’s arrows, though… he knew the man had a variety of different arrow heads… including a tranquilizer. Peter sat up ramrod-straight in his bed.

“That’s it.” he muttered to himself excitedly. Tranquilizer web darts. It was a perfect solution– now that he’d thought about it, he was shocked he hadn’t considered it before. Non-lethal but kept the HYDRA agents out of the picture and quiet until he did what needed to be done. And untraceable back to Spider-Man.

~ ~ ~

Day 63

“Well this is a downgrade.” Peter said, looking at the unassuming black fabric in his hands. It was a simplistic version of his Spider-Man suit, but without all the key features he’d gotten used to. The body was more of a tactical SHIELD uniform- the types he’d seen Natasha and Clint dressed in before- and the mask was ski-style. He missed the suit Mr. Stark had made for him, with the sensory-filtering eye lenses and web-shooters and Karen. He missed Mr. Stark. And Aunt May. And Ned. And MJ–

“It’s not meant to be flashy, Parker, it’s meant to be practical.” Fury said. “Now hurry up, you’ve got a sparring session planned.”

Peter looked up from his hands. “What? With who? I thought you said nobody could know I was alive?”

Fury gave him a dry look. “With me. How on Earth did you think you were going to practice hand to hand combat training? On a wall?”

Peter blinked. “With… you?” he really didn’t mean to sound so incredulous, but even after Fury trained him with the weapons, Peter never actually thought the Director of SHIELD would do hand-to-hand combat with him.

Fury gave him a dry look. “Don’t sound so surprised, Parker. This old man can still knock you flat on your ass.”

At that, Peter grinned. “Is that a challenge?” he asked. “Sir.” he added cheekily at the end.

Fury looked amused. “Given that you’re not allowed to use your enhancements, and this is purely a test of your hand to hand combat abilities, are you sure you want to take the challenge?”

Peter sighed. He’d been practicing his weaponry skills for about a month at this point, so his hand-to-hand skills had definitely improved, but he was hardly an expert at it. Plus, sparring may have similar tactics, but there were no weapons involved, so it would be a slightly different experience anyways.

“I should feel more surprised by that, but I kind of expected it coming from you.” he muttered.

Fury looked unapologetic. “Good. You’re learning. This is a good opportunity to learn how to perform hand to hand combat without relying on your enhancements.”

Peter scuffed a toe against the floor. “Not that I don’t see your point, but in the field, I will have my powers. I know you said I need to get better at my actual skills, but how am I ever supposed to know how to act using my powers if I’m never using them here?”

“You will, eventually.” Fury reassured him (well, reassuring for Fury’s standards. Not particularly reassuring in normal-people standards.) “We’re setting the baseline now, with non-enhancement training. Eventually, we’ll incorporate your powers into your routine. You’ll see– you’ll have much more control and won’t take your enhancements for granted after you train like a normal agent first. Now, enough chit-chat about future issues. Right now you have a training session. Hurry up and change.” With that, he spun on his heel and left the room, giving Peter a few moments of privacy.

“Yes sir.” Peter intoned with another salute as he left– it had become something of a habit after that first day in the hospital room. As the days and weeks (and now months) passed, Peter found himself more and more relaxed around Fury, allowing himself to be more sarcastic than he ever would have imagined being around the hardened SHIELD director. After all, if you spend all of your time with one person, you’re bound to become more comfortable with them, no matter how scary they are. Peter would like to think Fury had grown a soft spot for him.

After all, he hadn’t been killed yet , no matter how annoying and sarcastic he’d been, so that had to count for something.

However, no matter how hard he tried, Peter couldn’t stop himself from desperately missing his friends and family. He knew what he was doing was necessary to protect them (and the rest of the world), but he couldn’t help but wonder what they were doing, and if they were thinking of him. Sometimes Fury would say something, or he’d roll his eye a certain way, and Peter would be reminded so much of Mr. Stark that his chest would physically ache. And at night, alone in his room, he dreamed of Aunt May’s hugs and the warm scent of her vanilla shampoo. And he thought of Ned’s laugh and MJ’s humor… in those moments, he would have given up everything just to see their faces for even a second. But of course he couldn’t do that. Fury would never allow it. Even when Peter practically begged (not his proudest moment), all he got in response was a spiel on how it was better if he just focused on the mission and got it over with. And though Peter contemplated it, he would never put his friends at risk by trying to sneak out to see them (as Fury so kindly reminded him, anyone– including HYDRA– could potentially see him, and that could put them all in danger and jeopardize the mission). So as much as he hated to admit it, Fury was right.

Peter was shaken out of these thoughts by a knock on his door. Fury. Speak of the devil.

Oh, right. The training.

He hurriedly pulled the mask over his head (it was basically a glorified ski mask– no Spider-Man lenses for him) and scurried over to the door, shouting out a “Ready!” as he went.

He opened the door to Fury’s moderately displeased face (so basically just his resting appearance). Fury gave him a once-over and a short nod, seemingly satisfied by his appearance, before turning on his heel and heading down the hallway towards the training room.

Peter hurried after him, not even bothering to make his usual quips. The longer he spent in this bunker, the more he found his habits changing. He no longer cracked jokes as frequently, and the ones he did tell were delivered in a deadpan, not in a light-hearted tone as before. (Being around Fury’s nonplussed expression and tone deliveries 24/7 were to blame for that factor).

Peter couldn’t tell whether he was changing, or whether it was just due to his current circ*mstances– after all, the only person he could tell his jokes to was Fury, and after over two months, it got exhausting trying to constantly crack jokes around someone who didn’t tend to react. But that meant he must be changing if his actions were changing. Peter tried not to think about it too much. He didn’t feel all that different– at his core, he would still try and save everyone he could, and his morals were still the same (as far as he could tell).

But as much as he tried to avoid it, Peter knew the truth– he wasn’t coming out of this ordeal the same person as he was coming into it. Being isolated for months on end without seeing anyone he loved, and being trained for a mission he may very well die on… it would take its toll on anyone. Even without the isolation factor, he was being drilled in training constantly ( poker face, back straight, blank stare- take up space, Parker. Not like that. More natural. Confident. You have to be able to talk your way out of a situation if possible ).

Even if it was all just for his ‘agent’ persona and not for Peter Parker, at the end of the day, the two were one in the same, impossible to separate. Peter knew he was quieter, more serious and reserved, less expressive. All good aspects for an in-training agent, but… Peter was scared that by the time he’d be able to go back to his family and friends, he’d be so changed from the person they used to know that they wouldn’t be able to recognize him. Logically, he knew they’d just be glad to have him back, but a nagging voice in his brain was terrified for the moment they would inevitably realize that he wasn’t who he used to be.

—

Fury led the pair down the hallway, and Peter assumed they’d be going into the weapons room where he’d been doing all of his other training. But instead, Fury pushed open the door directly adjacent and walked inside. Peter followed, taking note of the mostly bare room. The first thing that caught his eye were the foam mats on the floor, clearly intended as a sparring area. Other than that, the room was completely empty aside from a few shelves against a wall with boxing gloves and chalk, and one measly punching bag hanging in the corner.

Peter had never actually been in this room before– he’d poked his head in when giving himself a tour, but it was depressingly bare (even moreso than the rest of the bunker– Fury really could take some notes on interior design). The weights room with the treadmill had more punching bags than this room, so he spent his time split between there and the weapons room.

“Alright.” Fury said, stopping in the center of the room on top of the mats. “Let’s get started. Hand to hand combat is benefitted by having someone to spar with, but even without me here, you can still practice the moves on a punching bag or a training dummy.” he gestured to the one in the corner of the room. “But for now, let’s see what you’ve picked up from the weapons training.”

Peter stepped up on the mat, twisting around experimentally to test his range of movement. The suit Fury had given him was a little stiffer than the material Tony had made his Spider-Man suit out of, but it wasn’t so restrictive that Peter couldn’t move in it. He figured once he got used to it, he wouldn’t even notice the difference (hence why Fury was likely having him train in it). Speaking of Fury and training attire, though– the director was still dressed in his usual outfit, which seemed generally inadvisable for a sparring session. Seriously, what was it with the man and his trenchcoats?

Fury’s fist came swinging without warning and Peter’s spidey-sense blared. However, the director was deceptively fast, and Peter was slower than usual because he was trying to think about what moves to make and how to incorporate what he learned. As a result, he froze, and lifted his hand, instinctively pressing two fingers into his palm like he would have if he had his web-shooters. Criminals rarely got close enough to him to land a punch, but when they did, he normally just fired his web-shooters right in front of him and they’d be incapacitated. Of course, that did little to help him at this moment, and by the time his brain caught up with his mistake, Fury had already landed the hit to his solar plexus, knocking the breath out of him.

Peter doubled over, letting out a gasp. He sucked in little gasps of air, struggling to catch his breath again, yanking off his mask in order to let more oxygen into his poor abused lungs. When he’d mostly recovered, he tilted his head up to glare at Fury, still panting a bit.

“You.. couldn’t have.. aimed for the face or something?” he got out as he finally straightened back up. Fury just smirked back at him. Smug bastard.

“Your defensive form is better than before, but your movements are all over the place. Hand-to-hand combat is more than just throwing punches and hoping for the best.” Fury said.

“Maybe you should have taught me a few moves before throwing punches at me, then.” Peter muttered.

Fury looked amused. “That’s what I’m about to do now. You do it wrong, I tell you how to do it right.” He took a step back, assuming an offensive stance. "Alright. Let's start with a basic block and counter. I'm going to throw a punch, and I want you to block it and counter with a move of your own. Got it?"

Peter nodded, still slightly winded but able to move. He shifted into a defensive stance, trying to mimic the one he’d been practicing in the weapons room. Fury launched another punch, and Peter clumsily attempted to block it while keeping his feet in the right place. The director easily deflected Peter's weak defense and sent him stumbling backward.

"Come on, Parker. You can block better than that," Fury chided.

Peter gritted his teeth, readjusting himself. As Fury threw another punch, Peter successfully blocked it and followed up with a kick aimed at Fury's midsection. The director sidestepped the kick, leaving Peter off balance. Fury capitalized on the opportunity and delivered a swift sweep, causing Peter to lose his footing and fall to the mat.

"Better, but you need to maintain your balance. Try it again," Fury instructed, waiting for Peter to clamber back to his feet. He didn’t offer Peter a hand to help him up. Rude. They went through the movement again, and this time he didn’t end up on the floor, but he didn’t take down Fury either. He didn’t want to hurt the director with his strength, and he usually relied on his webs for easy incapacitation. It was hindering him more than he thought it would, if he was being honest with himself. It certainly didn’t help that Fury had absolutely no qualms about going the dirty route.

“Alright. You’ve already tried some of these next moves on a punching bag. Strikes – hooks, jabs, uppercuts. A jab is a quick, straight punch, perfect for creating distance. You can use it to set up more powerful strikes. A hook comes from the side, generating more power. An uppercut is an upward punch, and can catch your opponent off guard. Aim for the chin or solar plexus. Keep your elbow tucked in, and protect your ribs."

Peter felt a little bit relieved at the familiar movements– at the very least, it would take less focus since he’d practiced a bit with them already.

“For defense, you’re used to primarily dodging. That won’t work in this scenario, as you have to incapacitate them as quickly as possible to keep noise to a minimum. Blocking and parries are important for this, and joint locks and headlocks can get you close enough to put pressure and switch from defensive to offensive.”

Within seconds of finishing his explanation, Fury was moving again, lunging forward with a swift jab. Peter instinctively sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the blow. Fantastic. Looked like Fury had decided it was time to throw punches again.

“A warning would have been nice.” Peter muttered. He got no response (probably for the better, because he already knew what the man would say– There’s no warnings in the field, Parker ).

His only response to Peter's muttered complaint was a raised eyebrow, before he was launching an offensive again and forcing Peter back into his defensive stance. He gauged Fury's patterns, searching for an opening. He’d managed to escape being thrown to the floor so far, but that was only because of his spidey senses and enhanced reflexes, and less because he was getting better at the movements.

Suddenly, Fury feigned a right hook, only to switch to a spinning kick aimed at Peter's midsection. He was getting more used to his defensive stance, though, and was able to catch the shift in Fury’s weight distribution and anticipate the kick before it came. All of his senses aligned for a moment like they did in the middle of a battle, and he ducked under the kick and countered with a sweeping leg motion that brought Fury off balance– though he recovered quickly.

Alright, Fury, if you want to play unpredictable we can play unpredictable. Peter thought, getting low. He feigned a lunge, prompting Fury to parry, only to retract and deliver a quick and hard roundhouse kick to his chest. Fury blocked, but the force of the impact reverberated through his arm, and he stumbled ever so slightly. Peter felt a flash of pride at the look on Fury’s face, but couldn’t revel in it for long.

The director retaliated with a rapid series of jabs and hooks. Despite his improvements and momentary win, Peter was still woefully underprepared for the whole situation. Fury was deceptively fast, considering his age (though Peter figured if he ever said that he probably wouldn’t keep his head on for very long), and while Peter could definitely overpower the man based on sheer force, he knew that wasn’t the point of the training, and he also didn’t want to risk hurting him. Or worse, make him angry. It seemed generally inadvisable to make the one person who knew he was still alive upset. Especially when that person was also the head of a global defense organization. And the one who brought him food. That last one was most important.

Losing his focus again, Peter lowered his hands momentarily, and Fury feigned a jab. He lifted his hands back up to defend himself, but at the last moment the director shifted into a sweep, knocking Peter's legs out from under him.

Peter hit the mat with a thud, momentarily winded. Fury stood over him, a stern expression on his face.

"Better," Fury acknowledged. “Work on not daydreaming while you’re fighting.” he added dryly, as an afterthought. Peter grimaced. He’d hoped Fury hadn’t caught his slip in consciousness, but of course he had.

The man gestured toward the sparring area. "We'll try again soon enough. For now, practice those moves on your own."

Right. Because practicing jabs and hooks on the air was definitely what Peter wanted to be doing.

“Aye, aye, sir.” Peter muttered, but the director had already turned and left the sparring room, not waiting for a response.

Man, Fury could really use a crash course on manners.

~ ~ ~

Day 87

“Parker.” Fury snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Peter winced, fully expecting to be chewed out. Which, okay, was maybe a little bit deserved– he knew he hadn’t been putting as much effort into learning Russian as he should have been. It was just that the only way Peter was keeping himself sane in this bunker was by reminding himself that the mission would be over soon, and he’d get to see his friends and family when he was done. Even with his training, it didn’t seem like a long-term thing, since he’d trained with the Avengers even as Spider-Man. It was comfortable, familiar. Somehow, learning an entirely new language made it all seem so much more real and long-term, and Peter really didn’t know how to cope with that train of thought so he just… avoided it altogether. He would never admit as much to Fury (it felt too much like a weakness), but he had a feeling the man knew somehow already.

Also, doing homework just sucked.

Fury leaned against the table, fixing Peter with a stern look. "Parker, your Russian comprehension is abysmal. You can't afford to ignore this any longer. Language is a crucial tool in espionage, especially when operating undercover. It's been 70 days, and I've given you more than enough time. From now on, I'm integrating Russian into your daily routine."

Peter frowned. He did not like where this was going. "Wait, what do you mean, 'integrating Russian'? I've been studying the textbook, memorizing vocabulary. Isn't that enough?"

Fury raised an eyebrow. "Memorizing isolated words won't cut it. You need to understand the language organically. So, here's the deal. I'll be giving you instructions randomly in Russian. You'll have to figure out what I'm saying and respond accordingly, no matter the situation."

Peter's eyes widened. "Are you serious? That's... What if I mess up, or don’t even know in the slightest what you’re saying because I misunderstood something?"

Fury raised an eyebrow. "Then you address it and correct it. Better you make mistakes here than out in the field. Understanding the language is a main part of this mission. You can't exactly carry your textbook around and look up words as you hear them." he said dryly.

Peter sighed, realizing there was no way out of this. Now would be a really helpful time to have Karen. Or FRIDAY. Or any tech created by his mentor. "Fine, I'll do my best. But this feels like a bit much, even for you."

Fury smirked. "Espionage is a ‘bit much’.” he said, his tone wry. “Now, let's begin. Что вы делаете (What are you doing)?" he asked.

Peter blinked. "Uh, I... What exactly do I do?" he asked, buying himself some time to try and figure out what the hell the man just said.

Fury raised an eyebrow. "You respond, Parker. In Russian."

Peter scratched his head. "Uh, Я, uh, делаю... homework? (I’m, uh, doing… homework?)"

Fury leaned back, unimpressed. "Not even close. Let's try again. Где ваша цель?"

Peter frowned, racking his brain for the correct response. "Uh, цель... That's target, right? So, uh, my target is, um... somewhere?"

Fury sighed. Again. Peter would have felt bad for him if he weren’t the one who brought this on both of them. "Close, but not good enough to actually get useful information. 'Где ваша цель' means 'Where is your target?' You see the difference? Now, try to respond appropriately. 'Моя цель в лаборатории.'"

Peter took a moment, recalling what little he knew. "Uh, your... uh, target is in the lab?" He had memorized the word for lab– fairly early on. He told himself it was because all the HYDRA evil scientists definitely had evil scientist labs, but in reality it was because he missed working in the lab with Tony. It felt silly, but even the mention of the word ‘lab’ made him feel closer to his mentor.

Fury nodded, slightly more satisfied. "Better. Now, let's step it up. Как вы попали в эту комнату?"

Peter blinked. "Uh, как... How? How did I get into this room?"

Fury's expression didn’t change. "Close, but not quite. It means 'How did you enter this room?' Watch the details."

Peter sighed, realizing this was going to be tougher than he thought. Which was already a high bar, because he thought it was difficult enough already. "Yeah, yeah, stupid conjugations and tenses.” he muttered. “Keep going. I'm ready." He wasn’t, but he wanted to get this over with.

Fury kept quizzing him (if he were to call ‘quizzing’ throwing rapid-fire Russian phrases at him), and both of them seemed to get more and more frustrated the clearer it became that Peter did not know a majority of the words Fury was using.

At some point, Fury stopped, sighing and crossing his arms. "Parker, these are basic words for the mission. You sound like a tourist trying to order coffee in Moscow.”

Peter huffed his own sigh. “It’s not like I’ll be aiming to speak to people,” he muttered. Fury shook his head.

“No, but if anything, HYDRA soldiers will speak much quicker than I’ve been speaking to you. You’ll only have one shot at hearing what they’re saying. I’m going to bring you some Russian films to watch for more immersion. And most of your instructions will now be in Russian.”

Peter almost dropped his head on the table and groaned. Fury’s instructions were already hard enough to follow in English. He really wasn’t looking forward to the added difficulty of having another language. Though he didn’t want to admit it, the director did have a point. Peter had been distinctly putting off studying as much as he should have for the last two months, and he doubted he would learn much better if left to his own devices. It was just so much more appealing to hit a punching bag or fiddle in the lab rather than figuring out which verb conjugation or Cryllic letter to use.

“Alright.” he sighed, knowing there wasn’t much point in arguing anyways.

Fury narrowed his eye at him before giving a half nod. “A few more phrases before we finish. Я вижу двух охранников."

Peter racked his brain. "Uh, я... I see two guards."

Fury looked more pleased. "Not bad. Я вижу вход."

"I see the entrance." Peter said, surprised that the translation came to mind much faster than the others. He supposed it wasn’t that surprising, considering most of the phrases he was using started with ‘I see’ so all he really had to do was recall the word for entrance– but still, he regarded it as a win.

Fury nodded approvingly. "Better. Now, let's wrap this up with one last harder one. 'Твоя цель – высокопоставленный офицер. Как ты подходишь?'"

Peter squinted his eyes and pressed his lips into a line. "Uh… Your target… is a high-ranking officer. How… do you approach?" he asked, hesitantly.

Fury's expression softened, if only slightly. Maybe he was imagining it. Peter relaxed, feeling like he at least slightly redeemed himself since the start of the session. "There you go. Progress. Now, remember these phrases. Keep your vocab fresh.”

Peter huffed. It didn’t sound like he would have much choice in the matter regardless. Fury stood up and headed out of the door, probably to leave the bunker and go manage whatever SHIELD stuff he dealt with while Peter was left alone.

“Keep practicing, Parker. Ты будешь готов.”

Peter blinked, but Fury was out of the door by the time he’d processed the Russian statement.

You’ll be ready .

~ ~ ~

Day 99

Let it be known that Peter was not– and never has been– good at meditation.

To be honest, when Fury mentioned undergoing ‘psychological training’ for the mission, he almost expected something like torture training, not meditation.

Though, to Peter, they were nearly one and the same.

He shifted uncomfortably, knowing Fury had told him to keep still but unable to help himself. He was used to constantly moving, constantly talking, constantly thinking. Sitting in silence like this with his enhanced senses was hellish, especially when it was for extended periods of time. (He remembered how excruciatingly bored he’d been locked in the DODC vault, and that was while he had both Karen and his webs to keep him entertained).

After a certain amount of time passed, his senses got accustomed to the complete silence, trying to strain themselves farther than normal in an attempt to hear anything. That meant when the quiet was inevitably broken, it was always louder and more painful than it should have been, had his hearing been at its normal level. The same went for all of his enhanced senses, frankly.

His thoughts were rather rudely cut short when his spidey-sense blared a warning. (It wasn’t a oh-my-god-you’re-going-to-die warning, but more like a oh-my-god-a-brick-is-about-to-hit-you type of warning). He was so focused on his thoughts and the painfully loud silence that he didn’t react as quickly as he should have, and within milliseconds there was a sharp pain in his side followed by an electrical current that made him yelp instinctively and rip the offending object out of his skin. He whirled around and glared at Fury as the man stood behind him.

“Did you just f*cking tase me ?” Peter asked, glancing at the prongs in his hand that he’d just ripped out of his ribs. It wasn’t unbearably painful– Peter had certainly had worse, and it didn’t even last that long– but it still certainly wasn’t pleasant, especially due to his dialed up senses.

Fury– the annoying f*cker– grinned. Of course he loved tasing people. “I told you we were doing psychological training,” he said. Peter continued to glare, rubbing his side at the reminder of the phantom electrical current.

“Yeah, and then you said we were doing meditation . Before you tased me .”

Fury shrugged. “You should have expected something other than meditation by this point. All I had to do was wait for your defenses to be down.”

Peter scowled, mostly because he knew Fury was right and wasn’t happy about it. It was true that he knew by this point that meditation was not going to be the extent of the exercise. He also knew of his habit to zone out when bored– it had been one of the biggest points of contention between him and Fury since the very start.

Peter would like to think he’d gotten better at not zoning out of his surroundings, but it was still hard. And he knew Fury had a point– for this mission, he couldn’t afford to zone out while doing reconnaissance on a HYDRA base. If he did, it could either mean he lost valuable information– or worse, get shot and killed. Or blown up (like he had in the first place). Or something along those lines.

Fury didn’t bother waiting for a response (not that Peter really had one to give). “This is one of your most important aspects of training. On this mission, you will have to be doing a lot of reconnaissance. That means lots of staying still and listening, and being aware of your surroundings at all times. Your senses are both a help and a hindrance here. On one hand, you’ll have a lot more warning from further away. On the other hand, say you’re sitting in silence and there is a loud noise that may seem fine to the normal ear, but painful to your own hearing. You have to learn not to react, lest you give your position away.”

Peter grimaced at the thought. “Great, what’s next, an air horn?” he grumbled to himself. Ugh. He wished he hadn’t said that out loud. No need to give the man any more ideas.

Fury smirked, clearly enjoying Peter's discomfort. "Not a bad idea, Parker. But for now, we’re focusing on refining your senses. We're not done."

Peter sighed inwardly. Of course they weren’t. Parker luck strikes again.

Fury continued, "You need to control your reflexes. You can’t jump at every unexpected noise or sensation. You're like a spring-loaded trap."

Peter rubbed his temples. "Okay, I get it." he muttered.

Fury nodded. "Good. Now, let's try something else." He gestured to a nearby table where a series of small objects were laid out.

"Ever played Operation?”

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, but I don't see how that's—"

Before he could finish, Fury interrupted, "It’s not."

Peter scrunched his nose. “You didn’t even let me finish.” he grumbled. The director ignored him.

Fury pointed to the tools; what looked to be a pair of metal chopsticks, surrounded by a bunch of tiny mechanical parts. "You’ll be using those tools to put all the parts together. No using your fingers; only the metal rods provided. You’ll need to maintain enough focus and precision to put it all together, but also keep an eye out for any surprise I might spring on you.”

Peter looked at him incredulously. “You’re kidding.” he deadpanned. Putting something together with chopsticks ? Smooth metal chopsticks, trying to pick up tiny metal parts while trying to keep his attention split on Fury? “I could just watch a horror movie with some jumpscares in it, you know.”

Fury gave him a look and Peter sighed, waving his hand. “Yeah, yeah, not real world experience or whatever.” he muttered, quoting the sentence the director had already told him at least seven times over. In his defense, practicing staying still with jumpscares probably would be decent training. But of course that would be too much fun in Fury’s eyes.

Squinting, he started fiddling with the metal chopsticks, trying to pick up the parts and put them in the right places. He knew how to use chopsticks at the very least, with the frequency he’d eaten at Thai and Chinese places with May. And putting all the little pieces together was kind of like fiddling with all the small parts of his webshooters. He found himself quickly immersed in the work, completely forgetting the fact that Fury was standing nearby.

Suddenly, a loud blaring buzz cut through the air, and Peter reflexively jumped, dropping the chopsticks with a clatter and clapping his hands over his ears. His enhanced hearing complained violently at the onslaught of sound. Opening his eyes from where he’d reflexively scrunched them shut, he found Fury looking at him, holding a small remote. Gingerly, Peter removed his hands from his ears, relieved when the sound wasn’t present anymore. His entire head was ringing and he glared at the man.

“You missed the part in Operation where it buzzes when you hit the wrong thing.” Fury said dryly. His tone sounded about as disinterested as he possibly could, but Peter was positive he was enjoying this. He glared, rubbing his right ear.

“Yeah, but I didn’t hit anything wrong.” he grumbled, barely able to hear the words Fury was saying over the echoing in his head.

“Hence why it’s not Operation.” the man said in what was a borderline-cheerful tone for him.

“So then what, exactly, was the point of potentially causing me hearing damage?” Peter asked.

“I did warn you earlier.” Fury mentioned mildly. “Not reacting to any uncomfortable sound or feeling you may experience, lest you give your position away.” he said, pointedly looking at the chopsticks Peter had quite loudly dropped. Or so he assumed– he couldn’t exactly hear anything over the loud blaring of whatever hellish device Fury was holding.

“Right.” Peter said flatly. Fury just gestured back to the metal chopsticks on the table.

“Get back to it, Parker.” he said, folding his hands behind his back so Peter couldn’t see the ear-destroyer device in his hands. He sighed and picked the utensils back up, resigning himself to a fate of hearing loss by the end of this exercise.

Yeah… he would definitely have preferred the horror movie jumpscares.

~ ~ ~

Day 112

2:00 AM

Peter couldn’t sleep. That, in and of itself, was not a rarity, especially not these days, but for some reason on this particular night he couldn’t stand the thought of being locked underground for even a second longer.

Hence, he was currently breaking out.

He knew Fury was going to chew his ass out for the unnecessary risk of going outside, though to be entirely fair, he’d never been explicitly prohibited from leaving. Fury had just made it clear that everything he needed was supplied to him and that leaving posed unnecessary risk. To be honest, Peter didn’t even really know the location of the bunker, and was sure Fury wouldn’t tell him if he asked.

Which left Peter currently creeping along the ceiling to where he’d seen Fury exit a multitude of times. He wasn’t a prisoner here– he could probably just walk through the door without the creeping and crawling. But he kept feeling like he was going to run into Fury, and frankly, he didn’t feel like explaining himself to the man. (Any other reasonable person would be asleep at this hour, but Peter could not actually imagine the director sleeping. He tried to envision it, but all he could think of was Fury sleeping while standing up. Like a horse.)

He crept to the doorway and slowly pushed it open– there were no guards or anything, at least on the inner door, since nobody was supposed to know he was alive. He was sure there would be guards later on, as there was no way this place was completely unprotected, but he was sure he could avoid them easily. Sure enough, as he crept along the ceiling silently, he passed by a few SHIELD agents who were standing guard and who looked to be half asleep. (Peter pitied them, to be honest– it wasn’t like he ever had any visitors, so their job must be awfully boring, especially if they didn’t even know what they were protecting.)

The scent of fresh, cool night air hit his nostrils as he slithered his way out of the exit, careful to stick to the shadows to avoid being seen. Nobody shouted or raised an alarm, and soon he twisted around the corner and was met with a final doorway. He pushed it open silently as well, and was met with the soft glow of moonlight.

Peter sat still for a few moments, relishing in the smell of fresh air and not musty underground bunker (it got really old after a while– to be entirely honest, Peter was surprised he’d lasted four months without staging a jailbreak). Carefully, he poked his head out first, surveying his surroundings. Everything was quiet– even his spidey sense– so he slunk out of the door and into the quiet of the night.

Twisting around, he looked at the building he’d been living in for one hundred and twelve days. From the outside, it appeared to be a small, quiet one-story building– nothing belied the large network of underground rooms just beneath them. The building was set in a small clearing in what looked to be a forest (Peter had no idea which one, or even which state he was in).

Carefully, he climbed the short wall up to the roof of the building, tilting his head back to see the stars scattered across the dark sky. He’d never seen them so bright before– even when he’d look at them from the roof of the Avengers compound, they weren’t as bright as they were out here, in the middle of nowhere. A pang gripped his chest as he thought of the Avengers, and subsequently, his mentor. He wondered if Tony was awake right now (he probably was), and if he was looking at the stars as well (he probably wasn’t).

Peter pursed his lips, thinking about his mentor after all this time. It had only been four months, and he’d of course thought of Tony and May and the Avengers all the time, but here in the quiet, the thoughts seemed louder, and gave him more time to reflect on everything. Including things he hadn’t thought to reflect on before this entire… ordeal. Tonight, he couldn’t stop thinking about the people he left behind, and how his time in the bunker had completely changed his perception of his old relationships.

Peter seemed to have a penchant for having… complicated relationships with adult guardian figures. Aunt May, for all intents and purposes, acted more like his mother than an aunt. He was closer to her than he had ever been to his mother, and she’d raised him, been there for him at every step in the way. Yet he’d still never call her his mother— not because she could never replace her (though that was an aspect of it), but because the term ‘Aunt May’ had evolved into its own meaning for the two of them. She wasn’t just his aunt in the traditional sense, and she wasn’t his mom, she was just… his Aunt May. The words came in a bundle package, and they felt like warmth and safety and love to Peter. And that was good enough for the two of them.

And then Mr. Stark had come along. And he’d filled a gap in Peter’s life that he hadn’t known he needed. Their relationship was… complicated, to say the least. Peter didn’t know what he was to the man, and he didn’t know what the man was to him. ‘Mentor’ seemed the most apt description, at least at first, but it had evolved into more than that. But ‘surrogate father figure’ didn’t seem to cover it, either.

Tony had taken residence in his life in the same capacity that his father and Uncle Ben once had. But he hadn’t replaced them— of course, he never could, just as May could never replace his mother. It’s part of why Peter had insisted on still calling him ‘Mr. Stark’ despite his mentor’s insistence to call him ‘Tony.’ (Even if he did call him Tony in his own head– like he sometimes called Aunt May just ‘May’.) Mr. Stark, to him, was its own term of endearment— mentor, surrogate father, adult-guardian-figure-thing all mashed into one. He was just…. Mr. Stark. And Peter was just ‘kid.’

Even now with Fury, too, Peter could sense some sort of strange guardianship-thing developing. His relationship with Fury was definitely more of the mentor-type situation (which was also why he felt like calling Tony just his ‘mentor’ was not an apt descriptor anymore, given how different their relationship felt compared to the one Peter currently had with Fury). But he did sort of act like a disgruntled uncle-figure thing, if he were to put a name to it. A really f*cked up, totally manipulative one. Peter almost laughed out loud at the thought of telling Fury that, or the disgust on both Tony’s and Fury’s faces if they ever found out Peter placed them that closely on his little cobbled together f*cked up family-not-really-family-it’s-really-complicated tree.

Not that Peter would ever say any of this to their faces (not while in a reasonable state of mind, at the very least).

But nevertheless, the point stood that he had a terrible habit of picking up complicated guardianship-adjacent relationships. Maybe that was just the side effect of being an orphan. They should do scientific research on that.

The effects of orphanhood: a study on collecting all the guardian figures.

Peter would have snorted at his own train of thought, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flicker of movement. He didn’t turn his head, instead using his senses to listen carefully to the new presence approaching him. He was almost prepared for an intruder of sorts, until his hearing recognized the familiar pattern of footsteps. He internally relaxed, recognizing Fury’s gait (and boy, wasn’t that a bizarre sentence– that he was so familiar with the director at this point that he relaxed in his presence).

He still didn’t turn his head or acknowledge the man in any way, but he knew Fury would be able to tell when Peter clocked his presence. He was uncanny like that. They stood in silence for a few moments (well, Peter was sitting, and Fury was standing, but who cares about the details).

“Late night.” Fury finally spoke, voice calm and collected. Peter didn’t startle as he might have used to. Instead, he shrugged.

“Decided to take it upon myself to practice my newfound espionage skills. Late night training.” he said with the faintest hint of sarcasm. Both he and Fury knew the reason was a lie, but he wasn’t about to have a heart to heart with the director of SHIELD. He doubted the man wanted that either, so he took the small blessing at face value.

“I doubt the guards put up much of a challenge.” Fury responded dryly.

Peter huffed, still not turning to look at Fury. "Nah, they looked half-asleep. Probably dreaming about better job assignments."

Fury crossed his arms, his gaze directed towards the tree line. The night sky stretched above them, and the forest surrounding the facility was dead-quiet. For a moment, neither of them spoke, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Are they okay?” Peter asked, abruptly. He hadn’t meant for it to come out, really, but the quiet and too much time for self-reflection let the question slip out. He didn’t clarify– it was obvious what he meant. May, Ned, MJ, Tony, the Avengers. How they’d been coping with his ‘death.’ He hadn’t seen anything from them except for the press conference Tony had spoken at months ago. He hadn’t asked, figuring Fury wouldn’t give him any answers, or would say he didn’t know. Peter was sure he did know, and he knew that the director had been out of the bunker and meeting with the Avengers frequently enough over the last few months.

He’d also been afraid to ask. Afraid Fury might tell him that they were doing fine, that they’d moved on. It had been almost four months, after all.

Even as he asked, he hadn’t actually expected an answer from the man. But yet again, Fury was full of surprises. He sighed, unfolding his arms and leaning against the building. "They're managing. It hasn't been easy for any of them, but life goes on. Stark's been working on a few projects, keeping himself busy. Persistently hunting down HYDRA with the Avengers, to catch your would-be killers. Your Aunt May, she's been holding things together too. She’s picked up more shifts at the hospital. Your friends went with two of your other decathlon teammates to your gravestone. I assume they must have made the connection."

Fury sounded vaguely displeased that more people had found out about Peter’s ‘death’ without his permission, but clearly his decathlon teammates had kept the secret. Peter felt like he should be surprised by the fact that the director was keeping such close tabs on everyone, even down to knowing that they were decathlon teammates rather than just classmates, but he really wasn’t that shocked. He was pretty sure the man would have all of their legal information gathered within seconds of finding out.

I miss them . He didn’t say it out loud, but he was sure the sentiment could be read on his face. He was glad they were (relatively) okay, but it made his chest ache in a strange way to think about them moving on and living their lives without him.

"I can't stay hidden here forever.” Peter said. “What's the point of all this training if I'm just going to be stuck in this bunker?"

Fury's gaze bore into Peter, scrutinizing him. "I wouldn’t waste my time training you if I didn’t think you would survive this mission." His tone was flat, and to anyone else it would have sounded cold and distant, but Peter would like to think he’d gotten pretty good at reading the man. It was as close to reassurance as he was going to get– and surprisingly, it did make him feel a little better. Guess they were having a heart to heart tonight after all.

“Hoping for a good return on your investment?” Peter asked with a faint smile, breaking the moment.

“I’m trying my hand in the business department.” Fury responded dryly. “Never been one for gambling.”

Peter snorted slightly. “Really? I would have thought you’d love poker.”

Fury merely raised an eyebrow. “Who said poker counted as gambling?”

Peter chuckled. "Well, technically, it does involve wagering money on uncertain outcomes, so it fits the definition."

Fury's lips twitched into a half-smile. "It’s more of a strategic investment."

"Ah. Calculated risks," Peter said mildly. They’d moved into a double-meaning conversation, now. Dangerous territory.

Fury shot him an unreadable look. “You’re catching on.” he said in the same tone. Peter shrugged but didn’t respond verbally. He supposed he was.

They stood in silence on the rooftop for a few more minutes, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, and he didn’t feel the need to fill it with chatter. With a start, Peter realized that Fury had successfully distracted him from his thoughts. He couldn’t stop a small smile from tugging at his lips. The director could act cold and grumpy all he wanted, but when it came down to it, he’d followed Peter up onto the roof in the middle of the night; not to berate him, but to make him feel better. In his own strange, cryptic way.

“Don’t look so happy, Parker, you still have to be up at 6 AM for your daily physical conditioning before you move onto the next learning topic.” Fury said. Peter suppressed a sigh. There goes the moment .

“Right.” he said, infusing as much sarcasm into his voice as he possibly could. “Looking forward to it.” He was not. Regardless, he took the words as his cue to go back to his room and try and fall asleep. “I would say goodnight, but I don’t think you ever sleep.” he tossed over his shoulder as he turned to scale back down the wall. He heard a small huff of amusem*nt, but didn’t stay longer to drag out the conversation. Neither of them were particularly good at finding a way to end a conversation without literally walking out of the room (or in this case, climbing down from the roof) they were in. Fury’s voice spoke just as he clambered over the rail.

“Night, Parker.”

~ ~ ~

Day 124

10:00 AM

“Alright. We’re going to do a training exercise with this.” Fury said, holding up a small device that resembled a compact motion sensor.

Peter brightened slightly. “Like a game?” he asked with a cheeky smile. Fury shot him a mildly annoyed look.

“Not a game . Very important training that you should be taking seriously.”

“Who says I don’t take games seriously?” Peter asked, being annoying on purpose. “You should see me play UNO.”

Fury rolled his eye at Peter’s comment but continued with the training. “This device will track your movements. Your goal is to navigate through the room without triggering it. You have quite a bit of experience with this already, but no crawling on walls or ceilings this time.”

Peter feigned disappointment, though he’d already expected it. Call him a quick learner. “No wall-crawling? That's like taking away my favorite toy.”

“Try not to throw a temper tantrum.” Fury responded dryly. “You’re used to hiding on the ceiling and walls where nobody thinks to check. If you can manage to hide and sneak around on the floor, you’ll be even more effective when you move back to the ceiling.”

Peter nodded, though he couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. He really did quite miss his wall crawling. It had been four months; he thought he’d be able to use it again by now. Crawling around on his bedroom walls just didn’t hold the same excitement. He pointed to the device. “So how does that work? Does it not register movement below a certain speed threshold?”

Fury shook his head, placing the device down on the ground and pressing a button on it. “No, it’s a Stark tech device that’s used in the SHIELD training rooms. It has a camera sensor only on one side of it, and rotates at randomly timed intervals, so you never know when the sensor will be pointed at you, just like if you were to encounter a guard patrolling. If it detects movement, it beeps, and you have to restart and try to get across the room again.”

“So… like freeze tag.” Peter said with a wide grin.

Fury scowled. “That’s what Stark originally made it for.” he grumbled. “We adapted it for training sessions.”

“And you said it wasn’t a game?” Peter murmured, knowing Fury heard his remark because his scowl deepened. He picked the device up and walked over to a table in the corner of the room that was covered in a few tools and what looked to be padlocks.

“Next part of the lesson.” Fury said, disregarding his remark and beckoning him over to the table. Peter frowned.

“I don’t get to try out the freeze tag?” he asked. Fury shot him a look at the name, grumbling under his breath (something along the lines of ‘don’t call it that’) before shaking his head.

“You don’t need me here to supervise that.” he said dryly. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out fast enough. Now, onto lock-picking.” he pointed at the tools on the table; Peter had been right earlier about the padlocks.

He squinted at them before picking one up and flipping it around. It looked kind of like a screwdriver. Suddenly, a buzzing sound cut through the room, coming from one of Fury’s many trenchcoat pockets. Peter raised an eyebrow as the man scowled and pulled a phone out, looking at whatever message he’d gotten like it had personally offended him. He shook his head and shoved the phone back in a different pocket again. Peter almost made a remark about the fact that of course he was using the default ringtone, but decided against it at the last moment.

Fury, for his part, pretended like nothing had just happened. “Don't tell me you've never picked a lock before,” he remarked dryly.

Peter shot him a pointed look. “Well… no. I usually just kick things down. Or break the lock. I do have super-strength, you know.”

Fury sighed. “Kicking things down and being on a stealth mission don’t exactly coincide. And neither does breaking locks, depending on what alarms are set in place. Lock-picking is a fairly simple task to learn, and it may be helpful at some point. Watch.”

He grabbed a padlock and a set of lock-picking tools, spreading them out on the table.

"This here is a tension wrench," he pointed to a flat, L-shaped tool. "It applies rotational pressure to the lock. And these are your picks." Fury gestured to a collection of slender, hooked instruments. "They manipulate the individual pins inside the lock, allowing you to set them into place and open it."

Peter studied the tools, as Fury continued, "The key to lock-picking is to apply tension with the wrench while manipulating the pins. Once you practice enough, you’ll get a feel for where the internal mechanisms are and how to move the tools best."

Taking a padlock, Fury demonstrated the process he’d just described. Tension wrench… applied pressure… maneuver the pins… click . The padlock popped open.

Peter tilted his head, eyeing the padlock in front of him. He selected the tension wrench and a pick, attempting to mimic Fury's movements. It proved to be more challenging than it looked; it was almost like fiddling with his web-shooters and the scrap parts he sometimes picked up from the dumpster, except he couldn’t see what he was doing and didn’t know what the inside looked like.

After several failed attempts, Peter finally felt a subtle movement inside the lock. He concentrated, sticking his tongue out as he carefully held the tension wrench in place and twisted the pins around slightly. With a satisfying click, the lock popped open. Peter grinned, holding up the now-open padlock. Bingo.

Fury gave him a short nod. “Now, onto disguises. Should a spy have brightly colored hair, or darker, normal hair?” Fury asked.

“Uh…” Peter started, blinking in surprise. He hadn’t expected the question at all– it felt like a total non-sequitur to jump from lock-picking to the color of someone’s hair. Plus, he hadn’t even gotten a ‘good job’ for his newfound lock-picking skills. How lame.

Regardless, his first instinct was of course to say dark hair— it seemed like a no-brainer. Why would a spy of all people, have brightly colored, noticeable hair? Peter knew enough about psychology to know that people noticed things that were out of place; they’d likely find it easier to remember someone who stood out than one who looked normal. He frowned. But the fact that Fury was asking such a simple question seemed to mean it was definitely a trick question.

Fury, probably sensing this and wanting to save himself from waiting on Peter’s indecisiveness, sighed. “Think of Romanoff. What color hair do you think of her, instinctively?”

“Red.” Peter answered easily. Fury nodded, as if to prove his point.

“Red is a noticeable color— especially her shade, but she wears it anyways. Why?”

Peter wracked his brain for any reasonable explanation. “Well, people know her face from being an Avenger anyways, so I just assumed she kept it like that because it was tied to her identity as an Avenger, and the fact that she doesn’t need to be secretive anymore.”

Fury inclined his head. “That’s part of it, but you’re missing the bigger picture. You’re right in that her bright hair is tied to peoples’ perception of her as an Avenger— she keeps it that way because she could use that to her advantage if need be. If she ever needs to be more hidden, changing her hair is a very fast way to change that perception of her. Even if she does nothing to her face, people are still less likely to perceive her as being Natasha Romanoff because their eye will not be as drawn to her automatically for her hair. Combine that with other disguise tactics and it doesn’t matter that her face has been plastered everywhere— she can still hide in plain sight.”

Peter nodded. He didn’t have anything to say in response, but Fury continued speaking, so he didn’t need to.

“Now, you don’t have the issue of everyone knowing your face, but it is still useful to keep this in mind in case you need to change identities very quickly. It’s unlikely for your particular mission, but say you were trying to create a distraction, and you needed an eyewitness to confirm they saw you in a specific place at a specific time. Or if you need a diversion, and want them to think you went in one direction when you actually went in the other direction. You use tactics to catch their eye, and then you switch quickly to a more discreet identity. If you do it fast enough, and make a big enough difference— well, you can’t be in two places at once.”

“I’ve always wondered what I’d look like if I got a buzzcut.” Peter commented. Fury raised his eyebrow at him.

“Luckily for both of us, I don’t think you’ll ever have to find out.” he said, tone dry. Peter squinted at him. He couldn’t tell if that was meant to be an insult or not. Fury continued, ignoring Peter’s look. “Unless something goes horrendously wrong, nobody will even see you on any of your missions, much less get close enough to take your mask off and see your face. But it is a note for you to consider, just in case of emergency. We won’t practice with it.”

Well, looks like he’d get to keep his hair after all. Lucky him.

Fury’s phone rang for the second time. An unpleasant scowl warped his face as he ripped the offending device from his pocket.

Peter raised an eyebrow, leaning against one of the walls. “Trouble in paradise?” he asked cheekily, unable to restrain himself this time. He would have been more serious about it, but the director looked more annoyed than concerned. Fury shot him a glare that would have made him cower a few months ago, but now only caused his grin to stretch even wider. He didn’t think Fury actually had a partner or anything like that (he tried to imagine him being affectionate with another person and almost laughed at the image), but it was still funny to get a reaction of any kind out of him.

“Can it, Parker.” the director muttered, pocketing the device again. “It’s the Avengers. They’re causing trouble by not following orders. As per usual.” he grumbled. Peter straightened, a thrum of excitement running through him at the mention of his team.

“What are they getting involved in this time?” he asked, trying his best to keep a casual tone. Fury shot him a suspicious glance, gaze sweeping over him critically. Peter did his best to look relaxed, keeping his face schooled to the best of his abilities. He wasn’t fantastic at keeping a poker face by any means, but it was a far cry from when he started, at the very least. Fury must have decided that telling him wouldn’t stir up too much trouble, because he sighed and ran a hand down his face.

“The Avengers found out it was HYDRA behind the warehouse explosion, and have taken it upon themselves to take down any bases they can get their hands on. Normally, I would be all for taking down the bastards, but there’s only so many HYDRA bases we’ll have access to, and we need to get you in there and get information before the Avengers storm in and blow things up. Not to mention if HYDRA thinks the Avengers are onto them or the disk, they’ll pull back, and that’ll make your mission unnecessarily harder.” Fury explained, mouth set in a displeased line. “Can’t exactly explain that to them, though, and hell if they’ve ever listened to me, especially when it comes to you.” he grumbled, more as an afterthought.

Peter kept his expression schooled, but felt a rush of warmth fill his chest at the thought of the Avengers still fighting for him, even four months later. He remembered the press conference he’d watched, right after the explosion, and how Tony had sworn whoever set it would pay. He really shouldn’t be glad that they were getting involved, given that it made his own mission that much harder, but the fact that they were doing it for him made his heart swell with gratitude. He swallowed minutely, focusing his attention on Fury.

“So how are you going to get them to stop?” he asked, and Fury scrutinized him. A few moments of silence passed before he shook his head.

“I’ll figure something out. Never been able to stop the stubborn bastards completely, but I’ll delay them long enough for you to get what you need.” he said resolutely, face settling back into its usual unreadable expression. He turned on his heel and strode towards the door, coat fanning out behind him. “Keep training. If nothing else, this gives us another time constraint.” he tossed out the words over his shoulder, and then he was gone.

Peter pursed his lips, thinking wistfully of what would happen if he tagged along and revealed he was alive to the team and his family. He dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, knowing the last four months would have been for nothing, and they would never let him continue with the mission. He shook his head, pushing the fantasy to the far corners of his mind. Fury was already gone, and he would find some way to deal with it. Speaking of which… his face slowly stretched into a grin.

At least he could try the freeze tag now.

Chapter 7: Avengers (Days 36-124)

Chapter Text

Day 36

Steve’s POV

Steve should have known it would be HYDRA.

After FRIDAY had managed to recover Peter’s message from the Spider-Man suit, Tony had been locked in his lab tracing back the kid’s steps and trying to figure out how he’d even gotten to the warehouse in the first place. Peter had apparently been tracking down a drug ring, but when Tony ran the info back through FRIDAY, she couldn’t find any validity in the tip. So, it was a trap. And after more digging (Steve was sure Tony had probably broken a few privacy laws getting the information, but he wasn’t going to question the matter), he’d come to the conclusion that it was HYDRA. Because of course it was.

Tony was not taking it well.

Not that Steve could blame him. He, himself, was angry– at HYDRA, at himself, at the situation as a whole. It seemed no matter how many times Steve fought them, they always managed to pop back up. And now Peter had gotten dragged into the mix, and hadn’t made it out. Steve knew that Tony had specifically kept Peter away from Avengers missions like HYDRA takedowns for this exact reason (much to the kid’s annoyance). He hadn’t wanted to paint a target on Spider-Man’s back. In the end, his efforts hadn’t mattered, and Peter had gotten caught in the crossfire just trying to help people.

Privately, Steve wondered if things would have been different had the kid hadn’t been so desperate to prove himself. None of them had even known that he was trying to track down a drug ring. He figured in the end, it probably wouldn’t have changed things, and he could hardly judge Peter on his choices when Steve himself had pulled those very same stunts multiple times before. Nevertheless, none of the Avengers were particularly taking the news well. In fact, if there was someone who was taking it worse than Tony, it was Bucky.

“Buck…” Steve started, leaning against the doorframe to the gym. His long-time best friend just shot him a dark, glowering glare. If he’d been anyone else, Steve would have cowered, but he was well familiar with Bucky’s moods by now.

“Don’t, Steve.” he warned, voice tight. “Just… don’t.”

Steve didn’t know what to say, at a loss for words as he scanned his friend’s figure. He was hunched over, shoulders tight and body coiled defensively. There were deep eyebags marring his features– deeper than normal, at least. Steve opened his mouth, not really sure what he was going to say but going for something regardless.

“I said don’t.” Bucky snapped, not even looking at him but recognizing his hesitation, and Steve held up his hands.

“I didn’t say anything.” he responded mildly. This could go two directions– Bucky would either get more defensive at his non-confrontational tone, or he’d relax. It seemed the latter of the two was the option today, because he sighed and slumped onto one of the benches lining the wall. Steve walked over to him quietly, sitting next to him as he dropped his forehead into his hands.

“Why is it always f*ckin’ HYDRA?” Bucky asked, voice slightly muffled by his hands.

Steve pursed his lips, taking a chance and reaching out to place a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. He wasn’t shrugged off immediately, so he took that as a win. He sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly.

Bucky let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah, well they got what they wanted this time, didn’t they?” he asked sourly. “A way to break the Avengers.”

“No.” Steve said firmly. “They didn’t.” At that, Bucky did raise his head to look at him, eyes dark.

“You can’t sit here and tell me we’re going to be the same after this,” he said. “Not even you and your hopeless optimism can believe that.”

Steve knew the words weren’t meant to sting, though they did regardless because he’d asked himself the same question lately. He shook his head. “No, we won’t be,” he admitted. “But we have a goal to work towards. We’re not just going to sit by and let them get away with it.”

Bucky sighed, turning his head back away from his friend. “You know, I really wish I could believe that, Stevie.” he said, the old nickname slipping out. He sounded tired, and Steve was reminded of both of their ages for a moment. Bucky continued, staring at the wall on the far side of the gym. “I’ve escaped HYDRA more times than I could count, over a whole damn century, and the kid has one encounter and doesn’t make it out. How is that fair?”

Steve didn’t have an answer to that. Bucky didn’t seem to expect an answer from him, because after a moment, he shook his head and stood up from the bench, knocking Steve’s hand off his shoulder in the process. Steve knew his best friend well enough to know that this was a dismissal– he wouldn’t be getting anything else through to him, and it was best to leave him alone to ruminate. For now, at the very least.

Frowning slightly, he watched as Bucky moved towards the punching bags again, where he’d been stationed before Steve came in. Steve couldn’t really judge him for the coping mechanism, given that he used the exact same one. Instead, he made his way to the doorway, hesitating before he stepped out as he heard the rhythmic punching of fists against cloth and sand echo behind him.

“It’ll be okay.” he murmured, sure that Bucky could hear him with his enhanced senses, even over the sound of the punching bag. He wasn’t sure whether the reassurance was for his friend or for himself, and as he stepped outside of the gym, he wasn’t even really sure whether he believed it or not.

~ ~ ~

Day 44

Natasha’s POV

“You’re sure it’s HYDRA?” Fury asked, eyebrows raised. His expression was impassive otherwise.

“You know I am.” Natasha said, staring back at him. Her eyes flicked over his face, but he was controlling every microexpression. “I wouldn’t tell you otherwise.”

At that, Fury inclined his head in half a nod. “And so you’re coming to me to see if I have any information.” His voice was still carefully controlled, and Natasha had had enough. She huffed.

“Come on, Nick.” she said, staring him dead in the eye. She rarely called him that, but when she did, he knew it was serious. “You may not have a personal investment in this like the Avengers do, but I know you haven’t just been sitting on your ass for the last month and a half when a well-known superhero is killed. You know something.”

At that, his eye narrowed, and his gaze swept over her, scrutinizing. “I knew it was HYDRA.” he acknowledged, and Natasha’s lips pursed. She had suspected as much, and while she wanted to be angry at him for keeping the information from them, she knew why he had. His eye bore into hers. “You know as well as I do why this is such a delicate situation.” he warned.

She did know. She knew about the disk. The one thing that had the information that could take down HYDRA for good.

“Tony won’t care about that.” she said. “He only cares about justice for Peter.” So do I.

She didn’t say it, but Fury knew her well enough by now to read it on her face. She– and the rest of the Avengers– weren’t willing to let Peter’s killers go unpunished over a hypothetical disk of information that had never been recovered in over a century. They weren’t called the Avengers for nothing.

Now, if she were 100% confident that the disk did exist, then her answer would change. It would complicate things. That kind of information… well. No better way to punish Peter’s killers than by taking down the entirety of HYDRA with that information. But if that were the case, it didn’t make sense that Fury wouldn’t just tell her that right now. It would get her to convince the other Avengers to back off– at least to some extent. So what was he hiding?

Unfortunately, for as good as Natasha was at reading people, Fury was equally good at deflecting– when he wanted to. She didn’t stand a chance at reading him right now; her only shot would be to catch him off guard.

“I can practically hear you conspiring, Widow.” Fury said dryly. Natasha tilted her head.

“We could save the back-and-forth and you could just tell me what you’re hiding.” she replied evenly. At that, he huffed, looking amused.

“Not a chance.” he replied, and despite the situation, her own lips twitched in the faintest of smiles.

“I always enjoy a good challenge.” she shot back, standing up. Fury mirrored her.

“I know you do.” he said wryly. “Is that all?”

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. She was smart enough to know that anything the man was going to offer her willingly, he'd already told her, and she didn't have a chance right now to analyze him when he was controlling himself so tightly. But that, in and of itself, told her something: that he was determined to hide something, but was unconcerned about concealing that fact. If he was planning on keeping a long-term secret, he would have done a better job of concealing its existence altogether. That meant she was on a time crunch to figure it out before he decided to willingly reveal whatever it was.

She didn’t let these thoughts show on her face, instead nodding slowly. “That’s all.” she said coolly, turning around to head out of his office. “See you around, Fury.” He knew as well as she did that it was only a matter of time before she figured it out. Consider it a promise and a threat all in one. Her specialty.

~ ~ ~

Day 63

Tony’s POV

The sun shone bright in the sky, throwing sunlight over the nondescript gray headstones scattered throughout the cemetery around him. It was past midday already, and the gravestones were all casting long shadows behind them.

Tony knew he was taking a risk, visiting the kid’s grave in the city rather than at the compound. If anyone realized who he was it wouldn’t be hard to put together the dots– Iron Man visiting a random person’s grave so soon after Spider-Man died. But he needed to see the kid. Be near him. Even if he wasn’t really here.

He wondered whether it would have been too on-the-nose to make the kid’s headstone a little bit more colorful. Maybe some red and blue accents. Something other than the terrible slate gray that blended into all the other crumbling markers scattered around him.

The dirt crunched behind him, and he forced himself to stay still with his head down. If it was a stranger, he’d have a better chance at not being recognized if he stayed still. But in his gut, he already knew who it was.

His intuition was proven correct when the footsteps came to a stop directly beside him, and his nose could detect the faint smell of cheap vanilla shampoo. May.

He felt like he should turn around and leave, to give May time with her nephew– she probably wanted time to herself, and the last person she’d want to deal with is Tony. But something kept him rooted there. He couldn’t leave yet.

Tony remained still, pretending to be absorbed in the gravestone even though he wasn't really reading the words. He already knew what it would say, anyways. He had ordered it. Well, Pepper had, but he’d been present. And paid for it. The silence stretched between them for a moment, and he could feel May's gaze on him.

"Tony," May's voice broke through the quiet. Her voice wasn’t angry (he always expected it to be, when she spoke to him. But it never was.)

He finally turned to look at her, and her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. It hit him harder than he expected, seeing the grief etched on her face. He had tried to avoid everyone connected to Peter (in other words, literally everyone around him), trying to keep his own grief at bay. Now, facing May, he pursed his lips, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

"I didn't expect to see you here," she admitted, her voice soft.

Tony swallowed the lump in his throat, attempting a small smile. He was sure it came off more as a grimace. "Yeah, well, I needed a place to think. This seemed as good as any." He knew the words sounded dismissive, but for some reason May never seemed to take them at face value. She could always tell what he actually meant. It was really uncanny, actually. Reminded him a lot of Pepper, except May only had the misfortune of dealing with him for a year instead of ten.

May nodded, her expression open in a way Tony knew he didn’t deserve (she should blame him). She gestured to the grave. "I come here every day. It's the only way I feel close to him."

Tony nodded in response, his gaze returning to the gravestone. He didn’t have any words– what would he say to that, anyways? This was his first time visiting the kid, and he probably would have avoided it for months more if he hadn’t felt the visceral need to go today, of all days.

There was a brief silence.

“He was your kid too, you know.”

Tony’s head whipped around to her so fast he was certain he’d given himself whiplash, and his mouth was already half open forming protests before his brain even had a chance to catch up. It felt wrong coming from her mouth– not because it wasn’t true, necessarily, but because Peter was her kid long before he was Tony’s. It didn’t feel right that she was trying to reassure him, that she was placing both of them on the same pedestal in Peter’s life. As if Tony’s grief could ever compare to hers. He’d only known the kid for three years, and only gotten close enough to consider such a relationship in the last year. May had known Peter his whole life. She was his mother in all but name.

Before he could put words to his protest, May was raising a hand, gesturing him to stop. “Don’t.” she said, and her voice was still gentle but firm. “The Tony Stark you claim to be on TV wouldn’t be standing alone, disguised, at Peter Parker’s grave. Whether you put a name to it or not, I know you cared about him, and he cared about you. That’s all that matters to me.”

His mouth was dry as he forced himself to look at her. Normally, this is when he’d put on a pair of sunglasses and play up the Tony Stark charm, to get peoples’ attention away from his emotions and vulnerability (weaknesses). But after everything May had offered him– was still offering him– he owed it to at least give her this. Meeting her gaze, his breath caught in his throat; her eyes had the same earnestness and sincerity that Peter’s did when he was talking about his Spider-Man duties. She genuinely believed what she was saying; she wasn’t trying to minimize her own importance, but rather acknowledging his.

“I’m not here to assign blame or responsibility.” May said, still speaking, but her gaze had drifted to Peter’s gravestone again. “We both loved him. He got to expand his family with you, and the Avengers, and with all that he’s lost, I’m grateful he at least got that.” she said with a faint, sad smile.

Tony could feel his heart physically convulse at the L-word being mentioned out loud. The one he never dared to admit for just about anyone that got close enough to him (hell, it had taken him nearly a decade to say it to Rhodey). But he supposed May was right. First the kid’s parents, then his uncle– before the Avengers, it had really been just him and May left.

The silence carried for longer, but May seemed satisfied with her piece, and Tony knew he’d have to speak eventually. “He... uh. Had a college fund.” he said quietly. He wasn’t really sure why that had been the first thing to slip out, but thinking about Peter’s friends starting their senior year without him– he swallowed roughly, feeling May’s gaze on the side of his face again. “I was going to donate it to his friends’ college funds, but they already have one too. I was thinking about donating it to a burn survivor hospital.” His throat caught on the words, and he cleared it roughly, trying to maintain his composure. His eyes burned and he blinked rapidly, forcing the tears back in their tear ducts where they belonged and letting out a slight sniff. He may have let down his mask slightly around May, but he was decidedly not going to cry around her. She didn’t need that burden.

If he’d had less practice controlling his emotions, he was sure he would have failed in that endeavor, but by some miracle, he kept the tears at bay. He realized that May hadn’t spoken yet, and embarrassingly realized that was probably to allow him to collect himself without drawing attention to it. Before he could further make a fool out of himself, he felt a small, cool hand slip into his own, squeezing it. If he hadn’t already been so focused on controlling his emotions, he would have startled at the feeling, or jerked his hand away instinctively. Tony Stark was not exactly in the business of holding hands with anybody. Except sometimes Pepper. But this was different. This was a desperate, clinging kind of hold– an attempt to tether themselves in the grief. He heard the message in it, more than what words could convey.

He didn’t pull his hand away. He squeezed back.

“Did you know he had an Iron Man costume when he was 8?” May asked suddenly, breaking the quiet again. Tony blinked and looked over to her, but her gaze was distant, like she was remembering something.

“No,” he said softly, in a tone that he didn’t even really know he was capable of using. May’s gaze refocused on him, and she gave him a faint smile.

“He had an Iron Man helmet, wore it to the Stark Expo. The year with the Hammer drones. Scared the sh*t out of Ben and I when he disappeared, but when we finally found him again, he wouldn’t sit still and could barely speak an intelligible sentence. It took hours before we could get the full story out of him, about how Iron Man had landed behind him and how he’d blasted the drone with his repulsor.”

Tony’s hearing fuzzed out, and he could remember drones, and explosions, and dying from palladium poisoning, and through all that– a little kid, in an Iron Man mask, about to get blown to pieces by a Hammer drone.

Nice work, kid.

“You saved his life even before you knew him.” May’s voice filtered back in, and her eyes were on him again. A startled laugh fought its way out of Tony’s chest before he could stop himself, and he blinked, surprised at the noise.

“Of course that was him.” he said roughly, an aching sense of fondness wrapped around the words. Because of course it was.

May’s lips twitched in a smile. “Always finding his way into trouble.” she agreed softly.

Taking his mind off of his failures by telling him a story of how he’d saved Peter long before he knew him. Clever woman. Tony was frightened if May and Pepper ever decided to join forces.

“Did he ever tell you about the fire extinguisher incident?” he asked, and May looked sideways at him, eyes still red-rimmed but twinkling with curiosity.

“No,” she admitted. Tony’s mouth flickered in a smile.

“Well, he was trying to make his webbing…”

He wasn’t sure how long the two of them stayed there (it wouldn’t be hard to figure out; he could ask FRIDAY in seconds), but by the time they both fell silent again the sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows over the cemetery. With a start, Tony realized this was probably the longest he’d gone while genuinely talking to someone (not schmoozing for business, or flirting with women, or sitting through an excruciating board meeting, but just… talking). Granted, May had done more of the talking than he had– she had more stories to tell that didn’t involve Peter ending up in the MedBay– but he had a few things to add here and there.

“I should get back.” May admitted, voice soft now that the silence had fallen again. “Early shift tomorrow.”

Tony nodded in agreement. Frankly, he should have been back hours ago, but he’d never followed timing recommendations and he certainly wouldn’t now. He turned to face her fully, wincing slightly as his legs complained at the rapid shift in position. Man, he was too old to be standing for hours. “You should come to the Tower sometime,” he offered. His usual mask was back on, and he felt more like himself now than he had in the last two months. Maybe talking did help (not that he would ever tell Pepper or Rhodey). He was sure it wouldn’t last, but it had been… nice to talk about Peter, with someone who knew him so well. It beat sitting in his lab getting drunk, at the very least.

Ironically, he figured it would have been worse if it were Pepper or Rhodey who found him here. They would have been looking at him like they expected him to have a breakdown (which was not entirely invalid on their part, but still). But May just understood, and made it easy. He could see where Peter had gotten it from.

She smiled at him, expression warm. “I’d like that.” she admitted.

Tony returned the smile, and he felt it reach his eyes for perhaps the first time since Peter had died. "Great. Whenever you're ready, just let me know. The Tower's always open for you."

May nodded, her gratitude evident. "Thank you, Tony. For everything."

He waved it off. She may be easier to talk to, but he had a limit on his yearly heart-to-hearts. And it had already been filled up by today’s conversation. Frankly, his decade-ly quota was filled. "Just take care of yourself, May. And if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to reach out."

She nodded, patting his shoulder in nonverbal thanks, and leaned down to brush a kiss against the smooth, cool gravestone, murmuring something too quiet for Tony to hear. With that, she left, footsteps light on the path she’d come in on. Tony stood there for a moment longer, staring at the gravestone illuminated by the fading sunlight. It had almost set fully by now, and soon the moon would wash the graveyard in silvery blue light.

“Hey, kid.” he murmured. “I’ll be back soon. Know you’re really concerned about that.” he paused. “If there is some way you’re listening, then you’ll already have heard everything May and I said.” he swallowed. “I’m not good at all… this. But I’ll miss you, Underoos.” he admitted, sniffing slightly and looking up at the sky to school his expression (sue him, it was a habit, even though there was nobody in front of him to read his expression). “Take care of yourself, kid.” he murmured, lowering his eyes back to the gravestone and brushing his fingers across the top.

He turned and walked away from the gravestone just as the moon came out.

~ ~ ~

Day 87

MJ’s POV

MJ couldn’t sleep.

She flipped over in her bed for what was probably the 30th time and squinted at the red numbers of her alarm clock. 3:17 AM. Sighing, she sat up straight and ripped her blanket off, tossing it to the side. She’d been trying to sleep since midnight, and had made no progress. She doubted she’d be able to sleep at any point before her alarm went off, and she didn’t fancy lying in bed for three more hours until she had to get up for school anyways.

Padding over to her desk, she picked up her phone and looked at the lock screen. Briefly, she contemplated texting Ned, but dismissed that thought almost as quickly as it came. He was probably asleep, and she didn’t want to risk waking him up with her problems. She wasn’t even sure she could describe to him what was keeping her up if he asked.

Suddenly, she was hit with the urge to get out of the apartment. She couldn’t stand to stay in her room alone any longer. Looking around, she grabbed her backpack and shoved her school materials inside, and tugged on a pair of jeans that seemed clean enough along with an oversized sweatshirt. Her dad was out on the night shift tonight and wouldn’t be back until after she would have left for school, anyways, so she didn’t bother trying to sneak out. She didn’t quite know where she wanted to go, only that she needed to get out.

The common sense side of her brain told her that she was an idiot for going out alone at 3 AM as a teenaged girl in New York City, but for once, she couldn’t muster up enough energy to care. All she could focus on was that she couldn’t stay in the familiarity of her room any longer. Stepping outside of her apartment, she started walking towards the subway, the warm spring breeze blowing through her messy hair. She knew she looked like a walking disaster, but maybe that would help keep people away from her. Not that there would be that many people out at 3 AM anyways.

Her feet carried her to the familiar route that she usually took every morning three hours later, and before she knew it, she was outside the back doors of Midtown, near the rickety ladder that led up to the roof. MJ blinked at it, remembering the first time she’d shown it to Peter, who had proceeded to complain about its structural instability and insist on climbing the wall with her on his back instead. For safety reasons, he’d said. MJ called bullsh*t– she’d climbed that ladder plenty of times and been fine– but she hadn’t minded his concern. Or feeling his muscles move under her arms. She shook that thought off as quickly as it came, trying to banish it to the corners of her mind. Suddenly it made sense why her subconscious had brought her here– it was Peter’s favorite place, once she’d shown it to him.

Climbing the ladder, she found herself perched on the highest point of the roof, legs dangling over the side as her back leaned against the concrete. She’d sat here with Peter, admiring the view of the city. It wasn’t the most stunning view she’d ever seen, but it had been with him.

Sighing, she pulled out her sketchbook and started to draw the view. She didn’t normally draw landscapes, but there was nobody else here to draw a portrait of, and the familiar weight of the pencil in her hand made her feel calmer than she’d felt in hours. She could feel her body relaxing involuntarily, and she let out a yawn, blinking when she realized that she felt tired now. Because of course she felt tired now that she was on a concrete roof rather than her own bed.

Closing her sketchbook and setting it back in her backpack, she leaned her head against the concrete and shut her eyes, letting the warm breeze lull her into a semi-sleeping state. Suddenly, she heard a scraping sound, and almost fell off the ledge she was on, sitting bolt upright.

“What the–” she muttered, before realizing it was the ladder that led up to the roof. Someone else was climbing it. Adrenaline flooded her veins, and she suddenly wished she’d listened to her common sense and not gone out in NYC at 3– now 4– AM.

Just as she was debating the merits of jumping off the ledge and taking her chances with the two-story drop rather than some creep climbing the ladder at 4 in the morning, a familiar figure came into sight, and all the adrenaline rushed out of her.

“Ned?” she asked incredulously. The figure in question yelped in surprise, jumping into the air and spinning around, dropping the backpack he was holding. MJ held up her hands and moved into the light of one of the few lamps, and Ned relaxed.

“Em, you almost gave me a heart attack.” he muttered, leaning down to pick up his bag. MJ scoffed and moved towards him.

“Consider it payback for the one you almost gave me a minute ago.” she said, reaching his side and taking in his appearance. In the harsh glow from the lights, he looked terrible, like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks. MJ was sure she didn’t fare much better. “Speaking of which, what are you doing here?” she asked after a moment of silence, though she was certain she already knew the answer.

Ned shrugged. “Same reason you are.” he said quietly, sounding tired beyond his years. “Couldn’t sleep.”

MJ’s eyes caught on the outline of his half-open backpack, his laptop half-sticking out of it. “Brought your computer all the way here?” she asked, and to anyone else it may have sounded offhandish and snide, but Ned just gave her a half-smile.

“You bring your sketchbook?” he asked, and MJ just shrugged, knowing he already knew the answer. He sighed, moving back towards where she’d been sitting before he climbed up on the roof and scared the sh*t out of her. “Normally I try to distract myself with coding or something fun, but I couldn’t focus and couldn’t sleep. So I figured I’d try it here.” Closer to Peter.

“Yeah.” MJ agreed, voice quiet as she settled on the ground next to him. “Me too.” The conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, Ned typing away at his laptop and MJ pulling open her sketchbook again to work on a new page. Some time passed, and she realized Ned had stopped typing, the faint clack of the keyboard no longer running in the background of sounds. She looked over at him, and his eyes were fixed on the skyline, gaze distant. She hesitated, unsure if she should say something or whether to leave him be, but he spoke before she could make up her mind.

“I miss him, Em.” he said, and his voice was rough like he was on the verge of tears. “So much.”

MJ looked down at the fresh page on her sketchbook, where the outline of an achingly familiar face had started to form from memory. “I know.” she murmured, tracing over the outlines of Peter’s face with her index finger. “I do too.”

Ned let out a sigh, shoulders slumping, and his gaze shifted up to the few stars that were visible, even with the light pollution of the city. “He was my best friend. There’s just… I keep thinking of things I want to say to him, and then I turn to the side or pull out my phone to text him and suddenly remember that he’s not there for me to tell it to anymore.” his voice caught on the last words, and MJ swallowed. She didn’t know what to say to that. Ned had been friends with Peter far longer than she had ever been in the equation. She knew Ned would never minimize her own grief, but she was never particularly good at helping people with their emotions, or even showing her own. Ned was the one who was good at that. But she had to at least make an effort.

She shifted closer to him, putting her sketchbook by her side, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. It was an awkward angle, and she wasn’t sure that her long and lanky arms could provide as much comfort as Ned’s own arms or even Peter’s, but it was an effort. It seemed to work, and Ned let out a little sob and leaned into her embrace, wrapping his own arms around her. MJ wasn’t a big hugger, but at that moment, it didn’t matter. Ned was her best friend, now, and he’d comforted her plenty over the past three months. Anything she could do to help him was worth it, even if that meant keeping the awkward position until her arms went numb.

She wasn’t sure how much time eventually passed, but at some point, she noticed the sky getting lighter and the hum of the city getting louder around them. Ned had stopped crying and was now just still leaning against her, their arms still entangled together. MJ was surprised she didn’t feel the need to pull away– even though she couldn’t really feel her fingers anymore and she would probably have a crick in her back when she untwisted, it was strangely comforting to have Ned’s presence so close nearby. They didn’t speak on the matter, even when the sky went from a light shade of indigo to blinding shades of pink and orange as the sun rose above the tops of the buildings around them.

Below them, MJ could hear the faint chatter as the early risers arrived at Midtown, and knew that their time on the roof was coming to an end if they wanted to get to class on time. Part of her didn’t care about her attendance record much anymore, but another part of her– the rational part– told her that grief was temporary and that messing up her future was permanent. She hated that she listened to that rational side of her; irrationally, it felt like a disgrace to Peter to be worrying about her attendance and grades when he was dead. But she knew he would have disagreed with the sentiment and would want her to keep going. So she supposed she would make a slight effort for him.

Ned seemed to come to the same conclusion because he sighed and pulled away slightly, wincing at the change in position. MJ shifted too and made a face as her neck and spine made a series of cracks. She glanced at her phone, noting with surprise that the time was 7:23 AM. She truthfully didn’t know how she’d spent almost three hours on the roof, but it still beat tossing and turning in her bed for that same time frame.

Ned picked up his laptop and slid it into his backpack, movements slow. “We should head down there.” he said, voice reluctant and hoarse from his crying session. MJ nodded, though she wished they could stay up here for longer. Even though Peter wasn’t there, it felt nice to be in their own little secret place. She stuffed her sketchbook back into her own backpack and stood up, trying to get rid of the stiffness in all her muscles.

They made their way to the ladder together, and MJ braced herself for yet another day of school without Peter to make it more tolerable. She could do this. She’d made it three months. It could only get easier from here. (She’d been telling herself that since the first day. It hadn’t quite worked.)

Before she stepped on the rickety ladder, Ned reached out and touched her arm, stopping her.

“Thanks for…” Ned trailed off, waving his hand in a way that mimicked her hugging him. MJ gave a faint smile in response. What she had done up there was hardly close to everything Ned had done for her.

“Anytime.” she murmured back, and she meant it.

~ ~ ~

Day 99

May’s POV

It was a busy day in the hospital. One of those days where she didn’t have time to think in the slightest– patient after patient, constantly moving. She liked it, in a way. She knew she was helping people and she didn’t have to sit with her thoughts; she could just move on instinct.

“Burn victim in room 16– Parker, you got it?” someone shouted at her, and she shouted back an affirmative. Rapidly, she headed to the room, mind and feet on autopilot– grabbing her clipboard as she went to scribble notes on. Her eyes flicked up as she got to the doorway, and her mind registered a mop of brown hair, burns on the left side of the body. A teenage boy. She pushed all personal thoughts out of her mind, firmly focusing on the job. This was her patient. The boy’s eyes were closed until she stepped into the room, and then they flickered open.

May’s breath caught in her throat.

He had Peter’s eyes.

She was out of the door before she could even really register moving, brain fuzzing out and mind playing the moment on repeat. She knew, logically, it wasn’t Peter. She knew how trauma worked. She knew that she’d been working just fine for months now, and had treated other burn victims during that time. She knew that sometimes even the slightest thing could set a flashback off. She knew all of that. But nothing could have prepared her for the reality of it.

She felt gentle hands on her shoulders, leading her to a chair, and she sank down gratefully. A cup of water was pressed into her hands, and she drank it on autopilot. The sounds of the hospital muffled in May's ears as she sat in the chair, and her hands trembled from the shock. The familiar surroundings became a blur as she tried to process the unexpected surge of emotions. The gentle hands belonged to Sarah, her co-worker, who had followed May out of the room, concern etched across her face.

"May, are you alright?"

May took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regain her composure. "Yeah, sorry, I–” her breath caught, and she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. She hadn’t even told her coworkers that Peter had died, afraid that it would bring too many questions around the time of Spider-Man’s death (it had been a running joke among her hospital friends that she was glued to the TV every time the young hero was featured). And truth be told, she didn’t want to tell them. Everyone else in her life knew that she was the last surviving Parker, and when she was outside the hospital, she could openly grieve Peter.

But inside the hospital, inside her job– it was like its own little bubble. It felt so normal, that sometimes, for a few moments, May could almost forget what laid outside of it. She could almost pretend that it was all how it used to be, and that Peter would be there when she got home.

May pulled herself together, taking a deep breath again and forcing herself to meet her friend’s eyes. “I’m fine.” she said, and miraculously, her voice didn’t crack. “Sorry, I don’t know what that was, I just…” she trailed off, hoping it was enough to ward off any questions. Everyone had their cases that freaked them out in hospitals, after all.

But Sarah was not a dumb person. She had made it through med school, after all. And she knew May. Evidence #1: she’d freaked out when a teenage boy burn victim came in. Evidence #2: she’d been overly concerned about Spider-Man every time he was on the news. Evidence #3: Spider-Man had died in an explosion from bad burns. Evidence #4: she hadn’t talked about Peter since Spider-Man died. Put all of that together, and…

Sarah studied her, and May felt like she could see right through her. She placed a hand on her shoulder gently. “May, you know you can talk to me, right?"

May sighed, knowing the gig was up. She’d been able to bury herself in work for three months– it was frankly a miracle that something hadn’t given before now.

"He had Peter’s eyes." May said, quietly. She didn’t know how much Sarah had figured out. It was clear that she’d associated the boy to Peter– anyone who knew she had a nephew could probably piece that together. The unspoken question was whether her friend had figured out the connection to Spider-Man. She figured it wasn’t a large jump, if you paid attention. Neither May nor Peter had ever been particularly good with keeping secrets.

Her prediction proved correct. Sarah’s eyes flicked around them momentarily to ensure that they were out of hearing range of everyone, before her gaze landed back on May, giving her shoulder another gentle squeeze. “Peter… Spider-Man?” she asked, quietly. A lump grew in May’s throat, and tears came unbidden to her eyes at the very mention of those two names in the same sentence. She didn’t know why it was hitting so hard here and now, but the mere mention of his name, by someone who had thought he was still alive up until now, felt like it was killing him all over again. She knew it was irrational, but she also knew it was grief.

All she could do was nod and look away, a tear slipping down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away; she was still in work, she couldn’t afford a full breakdown. Within seconds, she felt Sarah tug her into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around her midsection. May allowed herself to crumble, crying silently into her friend’s shoulder in a way that she hadn’t allowed herself to do except in the comfort of her own bed. She felt like she had to be strong, for everyone else who had lost Peter, too– but with Sarah, it wasn’t quite like that. She could cry on Sarah without feeling like she was further burdening someone’s grief. In any other instance, she might have been embarrassed about crying into her friend’s shoulder in the hospital hallway, but hardly anyone spared a glance. Hospital walls were no stranger to tears, after all.

After a few moments, May pulled back, swiping an arm over her eyes. Her mascara was waterproof, but she was pretty sure it had taken a beating from the heavy crying and eye-wiping. She looked up at Sarah, feeling like she needed to explain why she kept such a big secret from them. "I didn't want anyone's pity. I didn't want people treating me differently. And here, in the hospital, it felt like things were normal again, just for a little while." It felt stupid, saying it out loud– even now, Sarah wasn’t looking at her with pity, just with gentle understanding.

“I know.” she said quietly. May knew it went without saying that she would keep the secret of Peter being Spider-Man, too. She managed a small, grateful smile.

"Thank you," she murmured, unable to put it into words how nice it had been to cry on someone’s shoulder for once.

Sarah returned her smile and stood up, offering May a hand. "Come on, you should take a break to collect yourself.” she said. May opened her mouth to protest, but Sarah cut her off. “Just for a little bit. I can handle things until you’re ready to get back to work.”

May hesitated for a moment before nodding. She knew arguing with her friend was a pointless endeavor. At the very least, she could go check how badly she’d smeared her eye makeup and maybe grab a cup of cold water. She started moving towards the bathroom and break room, while Sarah turned and headed the opposite direction– towards the room with the boy in it. May turned around and called out.

“Wait!” she said, and Sarah turned to look at her. “What’s his name?” May asked. She didn’t need to elaborate– her friend knew exactly who she was talking about.

“Alex.” she said, softly. “I’ve got him until you’re ready.” And then she turned and headed towards the burn unit.

Alex.

~ ~ ~

Day 124

Tony’s POV

9:00 AM

Tony Stark was not a forgiving man.

Least of all when it came to getting revenge on behalf of people he cared about. He was sure the HYDRA goons in the base they were currently invading were regretting their career choice at the moment. Not that they were able to regret it for long, because they were dead within seconds of seeing the Iron Man suit. It was a far kinder fate than they deserved, really.

Tony knew that train of thought was a dangerous one to go down. He couldn’t help but think of Peter and his insistence on always taking people down with his non-lethal webbing, and holding back his strength at every turn. But the thought of Peter only fueled his anger– at the thought that these people had taken the kid away from his family and friends. He doubted these particular goons had made the call to make a trap for Spider-Man, but he found that he didn’t really care.

It had been almost four months, by this point, and yet Tony could count on one hand the number of times he’d put the suit on since carrying Peter out of that explosion. Every time he’d looked through his HUD since then, all he’d been able to see was the jittery line of Peter’s heartbeat, and the moment when it had flatlined. He’d had his fair share of PTSD (thank you, wormhole), so he knew damn well that what he was experiencing every time he put the suit on was a flashback. He also knew that avoiding the problem by not wearing the suit was not the way to manage it properly. But he was getting really f*cking tired of dealing with things ‘the healthy way.’ It hadn’t saved the kid, so what did it matter?

His therapist would definitely have something to say about that.

Tony ignored the thought and blasted another HYDRA agent so hard that he flew 30 feet in the air and slammed against the opposite wall of the hallway.

Normally, when the team received intel on a possible HYDRA base, they’d wait, and do reconnaissance and collect information first to see if they could get more info about other bases. Or, more accurately, Rogers and Romanoff were usually the ones to do the reconnaissance, and FRIDAY would sneak a bug in to listen to whatever was happening in the base. Tony himself had never been the type to sit and wait, but he had seen the reasoning in letting his teammates attempt it.

That ship had sailed the second HYDRA had targeted Peter.

Logically, Tony knew it would probably still have been wise to wait and try and do some amount of intel. But the thought of letting HYDRA agents sit around and keep breathing for a second longer than they had to be– well, he didn’t stick around for much longer after FRIDAY informed him of the situation. He was surprised Steve hadn’t put up more of a fight; he was more of the type to play it safe at first. But clearly he recognized that if the team didn’t go with Tony, then Tony would just go without the team.

Frankly, Tony almost wished that they hadn’t come along, if only so he could drop an unholy amount of explosives on the base and watch the entire thing completely crumble. But whatever. He supposed it was more satisfying blasting each individual agent, anyways.

He wondered what Peter would have thought if he saw his mentor like this.

The unwelcome thought made him falter momentarily, and one of the few remaining agents took the opportunity to spray his suit with a hail of useless bullets. Tony barely looked in his direction before blasting him into a wall as well, just like his buddy a moment prior. He scowled under his mask, realizing there were no more agents in his vicinity for him to take out his frustrations on.

It didn’t matter what Peter would have thought, because Peter was dead.

It was that thought that carried him further into the base, where there was a disappointing lack of further agents to take down. They were so clearly underprepared for the force of the Avengers that he could have laughed, if the situation had any humor in it. As it was, he could only feel himself scowling further underneath his mask as he made his way back to the front of the base, where the rest of the team had started to gather.

Natasha waved a flash drive loosely in her grip. “I got whatever info was on their computers.” she said, looking over at Tony as he approached. He flipped his faceplate up and held out a hand wordlessly for the small, ancient little device. He could have had FRIDAY scan the computers manually without needing an external flash drive, but he had been too occupied using the HYDRA agents as target practice. Clearly, Romanoff had picked up on that fact, and had taken it upon herself to do the technology part of the takedown, for which he was surprisingly grateful. Any other day, he would have made a quip about the uselessness of an external flash drive, but as it was, he just stood there silently as she dropped it into his outstretched palm.

“I’ll have FRIDAY scan it.” he said flatly, tucking it into a small compartment of his suit.

“Tony–” Steve started, but Tony cut him off before he could continue. His obligatory talking quota for the day had been used up already, especially if he was about to get a lecture or a concerned comment from good ol’ Captain America. They’d gotten better around each other, but Tony didn’t trust himself to not throw a punch or start an argument if he had to deal with concern at the moment. He was taking the healthy choice here. Removing himself from the situation. Following his therapist’s advice.

“Good fight.” he interrupted, and then his faceplate slammed back into place. “See you all back at the Tower.” he said, the metallic voice of his suit ringing through the speakers, and before Steve had the chance to open his mouth again, he had taken off. He knew they’d have to debrief as a team, and he’d likely have to face Fury again, but he couldn’t stand the thought of sitting on the Quinjet in silence with the rest of them. He knew he’d concerned some of them with the fact that he’d hardly uttered a single quip the entire battle (if it could be called that), but he couldn’t bring himself to particularly give a damn in the moment.

Frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised if Fury was waiting for them when they got back, ready to stick his nosy little eyepatch-face into matters that didn’t concern him. If he were still a gambling man, he’d bet half of his Iron Man suit collection that the director was gearing up to order the Avengers to do something that would fit his own slimy agenda. On second thought, Pepper would definitely have something to say on the matter (something about responsibilities, not gambling his things on a whim, yada yada), but regardless. Tony scratched the thought out and mentally revised it to raise the bet to two-thirds of his Iron Man suit collection. Yeah. That was more like it.

—

Day 124

3:00 PM

Steve’s POV

Fury swept into the room at exactly the agreed-upon time; not a moment early or late. Sometimes Steve wondered whether the director stood out in the hallway and waited until he was right on time, or whether he just had an uncanny timing ability. Probably the second option, if he had to guess.

Steve glanced around the room, seeing everyones’ faces set in stoic or blank expressions as they waited for the debrief. There was no joking, no usual laughing and silly one-liners that usually accompanied the victory of winning a battle or taking down a HYDRA base. Clint wasn’t flicking paper straw wrappers at Natasha, and Sam and Bucky weren’t having a silent staring contest across the table from each other. It didn’t really feel much like a victory, after all– Peter’s chair sat vacant and empty on one side of the table where he used to chatter excitedly on the rare times that Spider-Man was called in to join in a fight and the resulting debrief.

Tony glowered at the director, arms crossed and standing near the door like he was ready to bolt at a moments’ notice. He refused to sit down, next to the empty seat that Peter would have been in. Steve knew the only reason he was even here in the first place– or willing to get back in the Iron Man armor– was for Peter’s sake, to take down the people who had killed him. He also knew that Tony still hadn’t quite forgiven the director for sticking his nose into the business regarding Peter’s burial– even if it had been SHIELD standard protocol for enhanced individuals.

Steve felt the weight of everyones’ eyes turn on him as the silence settled over the room, and he realized they were waiting for him to speak and take the lead. He cleared his throat, focusing his gaze on Fury and banishing all other thoughts from his mind as he ran through the mission debrief just as he always had.

When he was done, he waited for Fury’s response, as the man took it all in with that uncanny silence of his.

“I’m ordering you to hold off on storming further HYDRA bases for now.” Fury said, staring directly at Steve, shifting in his chair and crossing his arms.

“What?” Steve was pretty sure the exclamation had been Barton, or maybe Sam, but he wasn’t sure, too preoccupied from staring at the director like he’d gone crazy. Holding off on the bad guys– HYDRA, and Peter’s killers, no less– was not exactly in their job description.

“You know the saying– cut off one head, two more take their place.” Fury said, as he stood up from his chair and placed his hands flat on the table. “We’ve tried for over a century to spot-target HYDRA bases, and it hasn’t worked. They’ve come back every time. We’re trying something new by collecting further intel first to get information from within their servers and take out as many bases in a row as possible.”

“That’s bullsh*t.” Tony spoke for the first time, eyes burning angrily and voice rough. “I’m not sitting back so you can run some little experiment with those bastards.”

“I assure you, Stark, it is in SHIELD’s best interests to get rid of HYDRA as well. But you of all people should know that trying the same tactic over and over again with no result is stupid. They will pay for Spider-Man’s death, but I am ordering the team to fall back on this for now.” Fury said authoritatively.

Steve tensed at the mention of Peter, almost expecting Tony to get furious, to snap and argue back and insult Fury in some very creative Tony-Stark-esque way– but instead, Tony just turned on his heel and swept out of the room. Fury’s gaze tracked him as he left, and then he turned his attention back to Steve, narrowing his eye at him.

“I know better than to believe Stark will stop looking for intel on HYDRA, or that I can control him even if it didn’t have anything to do with the kid. But the Avengers are not to focus on HYDRA for now, not until we can try and collect intel to give us a better shot at taking them down once and for all.”

Steve clenched his jaw. He saw the reasoning behind wiping multiple bases out at once, but leaving Peter’s killers roaming free for a second longer than they had to– “Is that an order?” he asked stiffly.

Fury regarded him carefully, expression guarded. “That’s an order, Captain.”

—

Natasha’s POV

Natasha felt like she’d been kicked in the gut. She’d just seen Fury shift his posture in the chair- cross-armed with one leg kicked out slightly. It looked wrong on the director– it was a posture shift she’d never seen him do, not once in all the years she’d worked with him. But that wasn’t why it looked so wrong. It looked uncanny because it wasn’t unfamiliar… it was a posture shift she had seen countless times. In Peter.

Just as soon as it occurred, it was over. Fury stood from his chair, placing his hands on the table. He said something– probably concluding the meeting and saying something that she should almost definitely have been paying attention to, but her ears were ringing and all she could think of was Peter. She’d successfully blocked out almost all of her grief until now, bracing herself in an expert manner whenever the topic of Peter or Spider-Man came up. But she wasn’t expecting it– not here, not now, not like this, and it caught her completely off-guard.

People started moving around her but Natasha felt like she was frozen in place. Get it together, Romanoff, it was a coincidence. All he did was shift in the chair. He didn’t even do it consciously. It’s not exclusive to Peter. Her usually well-calibrated instincts were going haywire.

On one hand, her decades of experience told her that nothing was a coincidence, especially not when it came to Fury. On the other hand… she couldn’t trust her instincts anymore. She knew what grief could do to people- how it could warp their perception, make them go crazy based on even just a glimmer of hope. She couldn’t base anything off of one second. Maybe her mind made it up, and put something there that didn’t happen, just for a moment of comfort.

She shook her head rapidly, noticing a new presence beside her. She looked up into Clint’s worried eyes. “You good, ‘Tasha?” he murmured, only for her ears. She looked up at him, eyes scanning his face. There was nothing there except concern for her– he hadn’t seen what she’d seen, then, or he’d have recognized in an instant why she reacted like this. Maybe she had been hallucinating. She hesitated uncharacteristically for a few seconds before shaking her head.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, Clint.” she murmured back. Her response only garnered a suspicious eyebrow raise– he knew she was lying, he would have been able to read her even if she weren’t so visibly shaken (for her standards, at least). He didn’t push her, though, knowing if she wanted to tell him she eventually would. She wasn’t used to this– this… doubt. Normally her instincts were sharp, precise, and trustworthy. Even in the Red Room, when she couldn’t trust anyone else or even her own conscious mind, she could trust her instincts. But it seemed even those were failing her now.

Natasha shook her head again, dispersing the last of her thoughts. She probably made it up– she wouldn’t tell anyone about it, for now. If it happened again maybe she would revisit, but for now she pushed all thoughts to the very back of her mind, firmly shoving them into the mental box titled ‘Peter’ and locking it tight. She finally stood, looking back to Clint with her face carefully schooled again. “What did Fury say at the end, there? Kinda stopped paying attention.” she said nonchalantly, starting to walk out.

Clint didn’t mention it (she was forever grateful that he understood her so well), matching his pace to hers as they moved out of the room, shoulder-to-shoulder. “Something about staying away from HYDRA for now until we have more information from their servers– apparently he thinks that storming HYDRA bases on a get-to-know basis like we have been will only make them retract more and make it harder to get rid of them permanently. I, personally, think that’s a load of bullsh*t. Taking down a HYDRA base is taking down a HYDRA base. It would be stupid to wait to take down a base that we know of. Who knows what kinds of nefarious sh*t they could get up to in that time frame.”

“Hm.” Natasha murmured noncommittally, thinking. Her mind went back to the conversation she’d had with Fury months prior, when they first figured out it was HYDRA who’d killed Peter. She could see Fury’s point, sort of– if “the disk,” with supposedly all of the base information on it needed to take HYDRA down, actually existed, it would be an invaluable piece of intel. But nobody had ever successfully retrieved it (even the best of the best), or even confirmed that it actually for sure existed.

Fury was a very calculating man; with the intel they currently had, he hadn’t risked sending more agents after it, recognizing that it wouldn’t work. And even when he seemed like he’d been hiding something months ago, he hadn’t ordered them to stay away from HYDRA until today. So what changed? There had to be some new development– new information, a location, a new agent who’d decided to risk a suicide mission for whatever reason. The question was: why was Fury withholding it from her, when she knew the other details of the mission? She’d made the guess months ago that whatever Fury’s secret was, it was time-sensitive, and would be revealed eventually. She didn’t like feeling like she was behind schedule, and she certainly didn’t like feeling like she was losing to Fury.

“There’s something he’s not telling us.” Natasha murmured.

“Nat, are you kidding? It’s Fury, he has like an infinite stash of sh*t he never tells us.” Clint said in response. Natasha frowned. This was different– she could feel it. Things weren’t lining up. The frustrating thing was that she couldn’t tell what wasn't lining up. Everything had felt wrong for months, but she’d chalked that up to Peter’s death. It was a reasonable explanation– it still was. But her instincts were going haywire, and it was driving her crazy that she couldn’t figure out why, or even be sure that it wasn’t her going crazy.

She shook her head firmly, pushing the thoughts out of her head for the moment. There was nothing she could do at the moment to pry into Fury’s business without getting called out on it– the man was on high alert and clearly watching his boundaries. But Natasha Romanoff was not one to give up. She would figure out what Fury was so insistent on hiding, and she’d do it on her own schedule, not on his. She wasn’t the Black Widow for nothing, after all.

Chapter 8: Peter (Days 200-220)

Chapter Text

Day 200

Peter’s POV

Today marked the 200th day of Peter’s death.

Six and a half months.

Fury finally thought he was ready– or at least, as ready as he could be given the time limit. Diminishing returns and all of that.

Peter hated to admit it, but the man was right. He’d improved drastically in the months he’d spent here. It was almost laughable, looking back to the day he’d arrived here, and how he’d balked at the thought of training. He had thought he was already prepared, just by being Spider-Man. It was painfully obvious, even to him now, how naive that thought was.

Regardless, it was now time for his ‘final exams’, so to say. He was never going to be able to see finals week the same way after all this.

“Your first test,” Fury started, walking in front of him. “Is integrating your aim and agility skills. You have to hit the targets with your weapon of choice while dodging the balls launched at you from the machine.” he said, tapping his foot against the Dodgeball Machine (as Peter had so aptly named it in his mind) that he’d used for his agility drill training the past few months. He gestured to the table in the middle of the room, scattered with a various assortment of weapons Peter was also now quite familiar with. Scanning it, Peter saw a variety of throwing stars, an assortment of knives, and a few guns. He immediately took the guns out of consideration, deciding to go with the knives.

“You can use any surface available to dodge.” Fury added, peering at Peter with his good eye.

Peter brightened, a little flash of excitement running through him. “I can finally use the walls and ceiling again?”

“Don’t look too excited, Parker.” Fury said dryly. “It won’t be any easier for you.”

“Wouldn’t expect it, sir.” Peter just responded with a cheeky grin. Fury shot him a look.

“Remember, you may be able to climb on other surfaces and can use that to your advantage, but you have to ensure nobody sees you, or that part of your cover gets blown.” Fury warned.

Peter almost rolled his eyes at the reminder. He did know what the word stealth entailed, thank you very much. He’d passed third grade English class.

Striding over to the table, he picked up a few of the smaller throwing knives and tucked them into the spaces on his toolbelt. Turning to look at the targets, he saw ten dummies lined up, with different markings designating where he was supposed to hit. His gaze swept over to the dodgeball machine in the corner, and he figured that based on the angle, it would be easiest to go for the targets on the left first. The machine would have to shoot further, and Peter needed a few throws to really get into a good rhythm. Once he got closer to the machine and the final targets he could use the ceiling and walls to his advantage, too, since the machine would have to take a few seconds to adjust the velocity of its aim.

Looking over at Fury, he gestured to the targets. “Do I have to wait for a countdown, or can I go?” he asked, sarcasm dripping from his tone. Fury raised his eyebrows, and instead of a verbal response, pressed a button on the machine to start it. Luckily for Peter, he knew Fury’s tricks by now, and was expecting an action of the sort (he’d come to find out that the man was surprisingly predictable). He was already moving towards the left side before the machine was fully on, running up the side of the wall and throwing his first knife at the target. He felt a little thrill of excitement as it hit its mark exactly, and then he was already moving onto the next one, weaving his way up and down the walls and ceiling to avoid the projectiles being shot at him.

Frankly, it felt fairly similar to his Spider-Man days– being able to use his sticky powers, dodging things, and hitting targets. The only difference was using knives instead of webs, and dummies instead of people, but it was all just physics. And he was fantastic at physics.

He fell into a rhythm fairly quickly, not even looking at the target once he’d thrown the knives; he heard a dull thunk and assumed they’d hit their mark. One thing he was good at was his aim; he’d had to adjust slightly at the start since knives didn’t have the same velocity as webs did, but once he got the hang of it he trusted himself to hit the intended target. It felt like only milliseconds by the time he reached the end of the line and leapt down next to the dodgeball machine, out of its range of vision so it couldn’t shoot any more projectiles at him.

To his surprise, when he landed back on the floor, he was barely out of breath. He pulled off his mask anyways, glad to breathe in fresh (not really fresh; underground-bunker-levels-of-fresh) air. He remembered at the start of his training, he’d been out of breath by the time he finished all the drills. Granted, his enhancements allowed him to go even longer than a normal human would in the same situation, but it still appeared that he’d managed to improve his stamina over the course of the last year. He supposed working out still helped in muscle growth, even as an enhanced individual. Scientifically fascinating, if he were to look further into it.

Glancing back at all of the dummies, he felt a smile twitch at his mouth when he saw his knives had hit every target dead-on. Glancing over to Fury, he received a nod of approval for his efforts, and if he were to look very closely, he could almost see something like a gleam of pride in the man’s eyes. Perhaps that was a reach, though.

“For your next test, you’ll be sparring against real SHIELD agents.” Fury said, breaking his train of thought.

Peter looked over at that, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Not much of a secret mission, then.” he commented dryly. Fury merely co*cked one of his own eyebrows and shot a pointed look to the mask Peter held loosely in his grip.

“Hence the mask, Parker.” he commented back in the same tone. “I want you to be tested with more than one person, and with people other than me. I haven’t told them who you are, or what this mission entails– they're SHIELD agents, they know their job is just to come in and spar, and not ask any questions. Regardless, it goes without saying that you should refrain from any wall-crawling.”

Peter just snorted. “Sparring doesn’t normally entail ending up on the ceiling.” he commented easily. “What are the rules, then?”

Fury didn’t comment on his snarky jab. “It’s a combination between your sparring and weapons training final test. There will be six agents in the room. You will have the first pick of the weapons on the table, based on your own judgment of which will be most suited to the situation. The agents have been instructed not to use real guns, since the intention is for testing your hand to hand contact and you’ve already had experience dodging bullets as Spider-Man. However, they will have access to any of the other weapons on the table once you take your pick.”

Peter listened intently, narrowing his eyes when Fury finished his explanation. It seemed simple enough– at the very least, he was familiar with all the weapons on the table and the room itself. “What do I have to do to win?” he asked. “I assume you don’t want your agents to undergo any severe bodily harm.” he said in a wry tone. He was joking, of course, and Fury knew it, but Peter felt a flash of victory when the director’s mouth quirked up in a faint smile.

“No, I would appreciate it if they didn’t.” he replied, equally as dry. “Your goal is to incapacitate them by getting them flat on their back or in another vulnerable position, like a headlock. Any position where it would be clear that you could incapacitate them within a second if need be, and they’ll tap out. Obviously, it’ll get easier the more of them you eliminate, and at the start you’ll have to deal with all of them still attacking you, even if you’re attempting to incapacitate one of them. HYDRA isn’t big on the whole saving their comrades thing– a human shield won’t work with them. They’ll just kill you both.”

Peter kept his face impassive even as his gut twisted uncomfortably at the thought of using anyone as a human shield. Instead, he nodded. “Always wanted to be in a room with six people pretending to try to kill me,” he said brightly, tone ever-so-slightly mocking. “Can’t wait to cross that off my bucket list.” he paused. “Oh, wait. I already have.” Multiple times, in fact.

“You’ll get far more than that soon enough, Parker.” Fury just responded, turning around. “Get ready, we’ll start in a few minutes.” At that, he strode out of the door, and Peter was eerily reminded of the very first time he’d had a training session with the director. He was far more ready now, and actually a little… excited? He wanted to show everything he had learned, and the fact that he wasn’t actually harming anyone took away most of his concerns. Plus, the sooner he got to the actual mission, the sooner he got to go home.

He fiddled with the modified web-shooter tranquilizers on his wrists. He had yet to test them in combat– technically because he hadn’t told Fury about them– and he didn’t plan on using them here, but they were nice to have regardless. He was confident that they’d work; he’d kept the shooting mechanism the same as his web-shooters, just modified them to eject darts instead of webs. He was fairly sure the tranquilizer would work as intended, too– biochemistry was his specialty, after all. And he’d had plenty of free time on his hands.

Once he had everything secured, Peter made his way over to the training room, feet taking him along the familiar route. His enhanced senses picked up on six more heartbeats than usual– frankly, it was a little surprising hearing the sounds of so many other people. He’d gotten used to the sheer silence of the bunker, and at the most, the sound of Fury’s heartbeat.

As he stepped inside the room, he was immediately on the defensive– he wouldn’t put it past Fury to not tell him about a surprise attack he had planned (first lesson, of course). But the agents didn’t all converge on him when he stepped in, and he was able to take account of everyone he was about to fight.

The familiar scent of metal and sweat lingered in the air– though the addition of six new body scents caused his nose to twitch. He hadn’t smelled this many new… things from the outside world in months. The guy to his left had a hot dog for lunch. With dijon mustard.

He tore his focus away from the agent for now, eyes sweeping over the room. Nothing had changed from its usual orientation– the weapons table was in the middle of the room, with the same assortment of weapons that he was used to laying out on it. The guns had been taken away, and the arrangement was in a different order than he was familiar with, probably in an attempt to level the playing field for the other SHIELD agents. Peter took mental notes of their placements, already flicking through the options in his mind.

Once he assessed the weapons, he turned his attention to the agents. Six of them, clad in standard black training gear like his own, awaited him. They weren’t masked– if they were surprised that he was, they didn’t show it. Their stances varied– some leaned casually against the wall, while others paced in their respective corners.

Peter’s gaze flicked over each agent individually, noting their potential threat levels within seconds. The one with a faint scar running across his cheek seemed confident– he likely had extensive hand-to-hand combat experience. Another looked younger, and was one of the ones pacing– he was likely less experienced, easier to take out first before going for the older ones.

Scar-face (as Peter had now nicknamed him) was stationed near the weapons table, and seemed like the one who would give him the most trouble. He seemed eager to get to his pick of the weapons first, before the others.

Peter’s gaze flicked over to the other four agents in the room. There was a tall, burly man by the entrance he had just walked in through. If Peter weren’t enhanced, he’d be more worried, but he figured he would do best with a straightforward, overpowering approach. Someone who relied more on brute strength probably had less hand-to-hand skills than Scar-face, and Peter was confident in his ability to overpower someone based on pure force.

There was a small woman on the right side of the room, near the punching bags. She, too, was pacing like the younger nervous one, but hers didn’t seem to be from anxiety. Rather, she moved in a calculated fashion. Peter watched her for a few seconds, examining her gait. He tilted his head, focusing his hearing and was only just barely able to make out the sound of her footsteps. So that meant she was light, and agile. Probably preferred quick evasive maneuvers as opposed to brute strength.

His eyes narrowed as he took in the last two agents, standing next to each other in the back of the room. They were of average size– though Peter knew that could be entirely misleading. They were slightly facing each other, and mirroring each others’ movements. A team, then. Likely would try and increase their individual chances by overwhelming him with coordinated strikes. (Briefly, his mind flashed to Natasha and Clint, and Bucky and Sam, but he pushed them out of his mind just as fast as they came in. He couldn’t afford to be distracted right now.)

Peter took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes. His whole assessment couldn’t have taken more than a few moments, and within seconds, Fury was stepping into the room. His gaze swept over all of them, and without another word, he gave a nod to Peter.

His signal to start.

Quickly, Peter made his way over to the table, knowing that the second his hand touched the weapons, the SHIELD agents were allowed to charge at him. He’d already made his weapon decision the moment he assessed his opponents, and when he reached the table, he reached out and grabbed the dual combat knives. He’d spent the most time practicing with them, and they were the most versatile of his options.

The moment his fingers grasped the handles, he dodged out of the way as all hell broke loose. Scar-face moved forward with an overhead swing and grabbed one of the several blades available. Peter sidestepped and delivered a swift jab with his left knife at the agent's side. He knew it wasn't enough to incapacitate him, just enough to make him move, but he didn't want to dwell on Scar-face right now. He needed to prioritize getting everyone else out of the way first.

The wiry agent charged at him next, brandishing her weapon of choice– batons— and launching a rapid series of jabs. Peter went on the defensive, falling into the familiar stance and using his knives to parry the attacks. He twisted to the side to avoid the head-on attacks, while she pushed forward, attempting to shove him up and block him against one of the walls. However, she turned too quickly, leaving her side vulnerable. Peter quickly spun and drove his foot into her ribcage, causing her to stumble backward. Before she could recover, he jabbed at her arm, causing her to drop her baton, and he took the opening to grab her around the midsection and throw her to the ground– careful to only use a fraction of his strength.

By the time her back hit the floor, Peter had already turned around to face the next person rushing him. The huge burly agent had chosen to forgo any of the weapons, instead charging for Peter, most likely in an effort to grab him and toss him to the ground (as Peter had initially suspected). Lucky for him, he was considerably faster and more flexible than the other agent, and he waited until the last second to dive out of the way, sweeping his leg under the other's and slamming his shoulder up into the other man's midsection, knocking him flat on his back.

That was two down, four to go.

The nervous one was next closest, now armed with escrima sticks. Peter rushed him, swiping with his knife in an attempt to knock one of the sticks out of his grasp. Surprisingly, the agent seemed to have better reflexes than Peter had originally given him credit for, and he blocked it, swinging one of his own sticks and catching Peter in the ribs with it– hard. The breath was knocked out of him momentarily, and he saw the moment that the agent hesitated (aha– there was the hesitance he’d originally profiled when he walked in). He feigned a stumble, playing into it, before quickly lashing out and knocking the sticks out of the other agent’s grasp, driving him to the floor in the process. He drew in a few short, quick gasps of air– a stick to the ribs really was not pleasant.

He didn’t have time to dwell on the state of his ribs much longer, because his spidey senses blared a warning at him. He ducked and rolled, popping back up again in a defensive position, knives out in front of him. From the looks of it, he’d just narrowly missed a baton to the head from the good ol’ dynamic duo.

Well that wasn’t very nice. Peter noted to himself. The woman in the duo (who was wielding knives) made the first move, trying to knock him down before he had the chance to recover fully and launch his own attack. Luckily for Peter, he had enhanced reflexes, and was able to avoid getting a foot lodged in his solar plexus. She faltered momentarily when the swing of her foot caught her off-balance, and he took the opening, countering with a low sweep. Within seconds, he had turned his focus to the man using the batons (aka the one who had just attempted to give Peter another concussion).

The man lunged forward, aiming to capitalize on Peter's distraction, like his partner had so rudely done. Peter twisted to the side, deflecting with his blades and striking the agent as he passed. It wasn't enough to knock him down, but his partner had recovered by that point and they had regrouped.

Peter took the opening, going on the offensive rather than the defensive this time. He targeted the woman first (she seemed to be the leader of the two of them), striking repeatedly with his knives and forcing her to go on the defensive with her own. Her partner tried to take the opportunity to flank Peter while he was focused on the attack, but his spidey senses warned him and he struck out with one hand, knocking one of the batons out of the agent’s hand and jabbing his other hand at the female agent simultaneously.

With the man now unarmed and vulnerable, Peter took the opportunity to sweep his leg and topple him over before he had the chance to re-arm himself. Now without a partner as a distraction, he was able to take down the female agent as well.

Five down, one left.

Within seconds, his spidey senses blared again, and he automatically ducked and dodged to the side, narrowly escaping an impromptu haircut (well, he was wearing a mask, but the knife could definitely cut through it). Or worse– an impromptu beheading. Seriously, what was up with people and targeting his head today? He needed that, thank you very much.

Turning rapidly, he was met with Scar-face. Last man standing. How delightful.

Peter didn’t get much chance to dwell on that for longer before the agent was lunging, brandishing his own combat knife and forcing Peter into a defensive stance. As he suspected, the other agent was skilled– dangerously so. Even with his spidey senses and enhancements, Peter was barely able to dodge the onslaught of attacks, and he was moving too fast for Peter to launch a counter-defense.

He knew there was no way he’d be able to keep this up– even with his stamina and endurance, he’d make a slip in his movements sooner or later, and Scar-face would not hesitate to take the opening (unlike the nervous agent from earlier). The older agent pushed forward with a flurry of strikes, and Peter parried his opponent’s knife, deflecting it off to the right side. Capitalizing on the opening, he swiftly shifted his weight, bringing his left knee up and driving a kick to the opposite shin. The impact disoriented the other agent, disrupting his rhythm. Seizing the opportunity, Peter twisted, slashing his right knife across Scar-face's arm in an attempt to get him to drop his weapon.

Unfortunately, the move didn’t quite work, and the other agent retaliated with a swift jab aimed at Peter's midsection. On instinct (bless his spidey senses), Peter sidestepped, avoiding another painful hit to the ribcage. He used his momentum to pull a sweeping kick to unbalance his opponent. Surprisingly, it worked, and the older agent stumbled momentarily. Peter used his knife to slash his opposite side, unbalancing him even more.

With the opening, he was now able to go on the offensive. He hit the other agent’s right arm again– much harder this time– and he was unable to keep the grip on his knife, dropping it. Now weaponless, he attempted to counter Peter’s attacks with hand-to-hand combat. Unfortunately for him, hand-to-hand combat was not nearly as effective when fighting against someone armed with two knives, spidey-senses, and enhancements. Within seconds, Peter had driven his shoulder into the older agent’s, using sheer strength and a twist of his arm to knock him to the ground.

When his back hit the ground, Scar-face relaxed, knowing he’d just lost. He gave Peter a nod of acknowledgement, and Peter felt his chest swell in pride as he nodded back. He dropped his knives on the nearby table and held his hand out to help up the older agent. He winced a little internally when he saw the crimson line of red streaking the other man’s arm and side from Peter’s own knife, but Scar-face didn’t seem to be bothered in the slightest, instead patting Peter on the shoulder once he was upright.

“Nice sparring, kid.” It was the first time any of them had spoken in the room, and Peter almost started in surprise. His voice was deep and gravelly– fitting of his appearance– and it reminded Peter achingly of Tony. He had to swallow the lump in his throat, and he was glad he had a mask on because Fury was still in the room and he did not need to be having a breakdown over three words from an agent that reminded him of his mentor.

Not trusting himself to speak, he gave another firm nod, hoping it conveyed his thanks. Scar-face just gave a slight smile and headed out of the training room with the other SHIELD agents– presumably to leave the bunker and never speak of this occasion again. Not that Peter was surprised that they didn’t stick around, but it did feel weird to be alone again with Fury after having more human contact.

Speaking of which…

He turned to face the director, who was leaning up against one of the walls, watching him with an unreadable expression. With a glance at the door to ensure that all of the agents were indeed gone, Peter pulled off his mask, ruffling his hair with his fingers. “So did I pass?” he asked dryly, eyebrows raised.

Fury huffed. “I’ll say.” he drawled, matching Peter’s tone.

Peter’s mouth twitched in a faint smile. “You don’t seem too happy about the fact,” he said lightly. “Thinking about the fact that I could totally beat your ass now?”

Fury's eye narrowed, but he couldn’t stop the faint smirk turning up his own mouth. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Parker. Beating a couple of agents in a controlled environment doesn't mean you can take on the Director of SHIELD."

Peter just chuckled. "Sounds like an excuse to me. Lucky for you, I’m not after your job, or you’d have to duke it out with me fight-club style.”

“I think I’d just use a gun.” Fury deadpanned.

Peter huffed. “How old-fashioned and boring of you.”

Fury shrugged, not rising to the bait. "It gets the job done. But let's not get sidetracked. You've got more tests to pass, and your little victory here is just one of them."

Peter mock saluted, "Aye, aye, Director.” he drawled. “I'm ready for whatever else you've got up your suspicious trenchcoat sleeves."

—

The file fell to the table with a heavy thud. Peter stood, straight-backed and expressionless, as Fury sat in the interrogation chair in front of him, once again pretending to be his “captive”. He almost cringed as he remembered the first time he’d tried an interrogation. He’d been about as threatening as a drowned subway rat. This time, though, Peter didn’t stutter, or twist his hands awkwardly, or avoid eye contact. Instead, he stared levelly into Fury’s single eye as he squinted right back.

Fury’s voice echoed in his mind as he ran through his options. The Reid interrogation method: seven different techniques. Direct confrontation, dominance, deflection, address objections, empathy, intensify moral justification of the crime, or alternative choices. Which one are you going to pick, Parker?

Think, Peter, think.

Peter didn’t let the conflict show on his face; he still stared Fury down with an air of indifference. The goal was to interrogate about the disk.

Direct confrontation. Assert dominance by establishing prior knowledge. Takes pressure off the suspect… leads them to believe they’re not the first to betray HYDRA by giving away this information– feels like a lesser crime. Depending on their response, either double down, or…

Sometimes HYDRA recruits people who don’t fully know the extent of what they’re doing. Civilians. Unassuming people. In those cases, use empathy and offer protection.

Peter leaned forward, getting into Fury’s space. Intimidate. Assess what kind of suspect you’re dealing with. “Look, we know you have the disk. We just need to know what’s on it. You’ll only make it worse for yourself the longer you withhold the information.”

Fury looked away, playing his part, feigning nervousness. It was a little funny to see such an act on the normally stoic SHIELD director, but Peter refrained from focusing on that. Get into the mindset. Pay attention to detail. Don’t miss anything. “I... have no idea what you’re talking about… I don’t have a disk of any sort.”

“Let’s not play games here, mister.” Peter said calmly, raising his eyebrow and examining Fury’s movements. Nervousness… tends to lend itself to someone who’s either new to HYDRA or doesn’t fully understand what they’ve gotten themselves into. Experienced HYDRA agents wouldn’t show emotion. “SHIELD has evidence that you’re in possession of classified files, and have been for months. We’ve been monitoring your movements.” Name drop SHIELD. Normal people get frightened when the word ‘classified’ and the government comes into play. They feel caught red-handed in a crime.

Sure enough, Fury hesitated, playing the role of someone who was double thinking their loyalties and the best course of action. Bingo. “I… I can’t just give you information like that.”

Peter leaned back. Give the suspect space to breathe. They’ll feel more open and willing to talk. Feign nonchalance. Start empathizing. “Look… can I let you in on a little secret?” Make them feel they owe you something– a secret for a secret. “We don’t really care what’s on the disk.” A massive lie. But makes it easier to ‘betray’ HYDRA by handing over useless information rather than important information. “We’re interested in catching the people behind it. We believe they pose a national security threat. You can help us stop them.” Appeal to their emotions, make them feel important and useful.

Fury paused, hesitating again. Peter could feel he was close to a break now. “I don’t know who they are. I was desperate, in a tight spot with money. They offered me funds and protection… all to just keep ahold of a disk. It… seemed like a good deal at the time.” Hm… lying. Knows it was HYDRA but wants to have plausible deniability. Everyone knows HYDRA is bad– saying they didn’t know takes the pressure off of them as a criminal.

Peter leaned forward again. Reassure. “You don’t have to lie to us, don’t worry. We know it’s HYDRA. You won’t be in any trouble.” Establish yourself as a friend. Act like you’re doing them a favor, letting them off easy. Implies that their punishment could be worse… makes them more inclined to rat other people out to save themselves. “We just need that disk, and we can protect you and give you all the things they promised. We can put you in a safe, secure location, but we need you to provide us with any information you have about their operations, network, plans– anything.” Unnecessary if we get the disk itself, but don’t say that.

Make them feel useful.

Don’t make them feel like they’re handing over their only bargaining chip.

Make them feel like they still hold the upper hand.

People don’t like losing control.

De-emphasize the importance of your actual target.

“I… I can tell you what I know, but you have to promise me you’ll protect me. Once they find out I’ve turned on them… they’ll try to kill me.”

“No worries, mister.” Peter reassured Fury. “We have years of experience protecting people from HYDRA. You’ll be safe as long as we have your full cooperation.”

Reassure, establish yourself as an expert.

Don’t let them catch any whiff of doubt or they may back out.

Focus on your target.

Get that disk.

Fury leaned back, finally breaking character. A faint, pleased smile curled at the corner of his lips. “Good job, Parker.” he praised. Peter felt a flutter of pride in his chest. Fury’s praise was scant to come by and very difficult to get– this was the most he’d ever gotten out of him (and likely ever would).

“Now, in all likelihood, you won’t encounter this scenario. Ideally, you’ll get everything you can from breaking into their servers and won’t come face to face with a person. But–”

“--Just in case, you’ve trained me to adapt to every situation.” Peter finished, rolling his eyes. “I know, Fury. You’ve said so no less than 700 times while I’ve been here. It would have to be pretty dumb, even for HYDRA, to leave enough information to take them down in the hands of a random recruited civilian.”

To his credit, Fury didn’t look surprised by the interruption, only standing up from the small table. “I didn’t think you’d get more like Stark the longer you spent down here.” Fury grumbled.

“The only person I’ve been around is you.” Peter shot back just as quickly, ignoring the familiar pang in his heart at the mention of his mentor. “Maybe you should do some self-reflection on the similarities between you two.”

Fury shot him a glare. “Watch it, Parker.” he warned, but Peter just grinned, unfazed. Spending his every waking moment around the man meant his intimidation tactics were now horrendously ineffective on him. Truthfully, he was all bark, no bite. To him, at least. There were actually far more similarities between his mentor and Fury that he was sure neither of them would appreciate him pointing out. Besides, if Fury did for some reason go crazy and actually try to kill him, Peter was pretty confident he could handle his own, purely from the fact that he knew as much as he did about the man’s fighting style, not even taking into account his enhancements as well.

Seeing Peter’s complete lack of reaction, Fury sighed and waved a hand at him. “Listen up. You’ve got one more test to finish.”

Peter felt a thrum of excitement run through him, and he straightened his back, face falling immediately into a more neutral expression. Finally. He was so close to getting out of here. Fury peered at him closely, and Peter stared back just as calmly, meeting the director’s gaze head on. He was ready for this. He knew he could do it.

"Your final test," Fury said, breaking the staring contest, "is breaking into this bunker from the outside, sneaking your way to your target, and retrieving fake information from the computer mainframe before sneaking back out.”

Peter fiddled with the mask he’d been holding loosely in his hand. "Oh, goody. I finally get to smell fresh air again," he quipped. His voice was steady but he felt anything but relaxed– his entire body was vibrating with nerves and Fury suddenly being even more serious than usual was not helping matters. The man in question shot him a glare at the interruption (in Peter’s opinion, it was a rather mild glare. Not frightening in the slightest).

“This is not a test on your strength or fighting skills– I’ve already assessed those. This is your assessment on your stealth skills, and it is arguably your most important one, as it will mimic your actual mission most closely. There will be fewer SHIELD agents pretending to be guards here than there would be in a HYDRA base, so in the actual mission, getting in and out unnoticed is your best chance at keeping yourself and any information you gather safe. If someone sees you, you have to take them down silently before they can call out an alarm. You cannot fight your way out of hundreds of armed HYDRA soldiers.”

No, but I could tranquilize them. Peter thought to himself. He didn’t dare say it out loud– he had a feeling Fury knew about the tranquilizers (the man had given him a lab to fiddle around in, equipped with materials and chemicals, for heaven’s sake), but neither of them had acknowledged it aloud. Besides, they were only a last resort. Best-case scenario, he’d sneak in and out without a single soul seeing him. Mediocre-case scenario, he’d have to tranquilize a few guards, but be long gone with the information before anyone noticed long enough to pull an alarm.

Worst-case scenario… well. He wasn’t going to think about that. Power of positivity and all that.

Positivity aside, he had already made sure that his suit’s toolbelt and numerous pockets were well-equipped with plenty of tranquilizer darts.

He didn’t say any of this to Fury, and he kept his expression carefully controlled– the last thing he needed was Fury doubting his readiness, not when he was finally close to actually finishing this mission. Instead, he nodded. “Got it.” he said. “Anything else I need to know before I go in there?”

Fury gazed at him for a moment before he shook his head. “Just remember your lessons, Parker. You’ve already encountered everything there is to know. Trust your instincts.”

“Don’t think, just do?” Peter asked innocuously– even now, he was unable to restrain himself from making a movie reference. He wondered if Fury had even seen Top Gun.

Fury gave him a dry look. “Don’t you dare pull a Maverick on me, Parker.”

Ah, so he had seen Top Gun. Peter just grinned mildly. “Wouldn’t dream of it, sir,” he responded. Fury gave him a look that practically screamed you’re full of sh*t, Parker.

Without another word, Peter pulled on his mask, the black fabric as worn and familiar as his Spider-Man one used to be (though this one was regrettably still lacking his beloved Karen). He knew he was ready, knew he had the training and was capable of this final test. But he couldn’t help but feel nervous– it was his final final exam, after all. The last culmination of the almost seven months he’d spent training. Despite how annoying Fury could be, Peter couldn’t help but desperately want to impress him, to show him that he was ready and that he could do this. More than that, he desperately wanted to prove his worth because that meant he was so much closer to finishing the mission as a whole and getting back to his family.

Seven months.

It almost felt surreal, thinking that. It was an impossibly long period of time while simultaneously passing by in a flash. It was almost a full school year.

He almost laughed at the thought. School. He’d been near the end of his junior year when this sh*tfest began– he didn’t even know whether he’d make it back in time to start his senior year properly. (The thought of doing college applications after all this almost made him laugh). His thoughts strayed to Ned and MJ, and the achingly familiar sense of longing hit him like a freight train. He was used to it, but putting it into perspective now– thinking about Ned and MJ going to school, and their classes, for months without him (thinking he was dead) got him choked up. He shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts. He couldn’t think about them right now– he had to focus on this mission, and get back to them as soon as possible.

Fury spoke one last time as Peter made to leave the bunker. “Once you leave, spend at least thirty minutes before you attempt to enter, to let all of the agents get here and into their positions. Then make the decision to enter whenever you judge it to be most fitting.”

—

Peter waited for forty-nine minutes.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the trees that surrounded the hidden bunker. Peter was crouched amidst the foliage, breathing in the night air and relishing in the feeling of the slight chill that came from the wind, not from cold stone walls. He told himself that the extra nineteen minutes were to throw Fury off guard (he wasn’t sure how much the director told the agents about the job), but really he just didn’t want to go back inside. At some point, he convinced himself to make a move, just to get it over with.

Silently, Peter scaled the shadowed side of the bunker, fingertips gripping the rough concrete. He vaulted over the short wall on the edge of the roof and slid over to the vent grate that was placed in the corner, lifting up the cover and lowering himself inside.

As he descended through the vents system, his enhanced hearing picked up on the fake-HYDRA-SHIELD-agent guards’ chatter. He sifted through them quickly, ignoring the useless ones (he did not want to hear about what that guy and his girlfriend did last night–) and focusing in on any that could guide him to where Fury had set his ‘target.’

"Никто не должен войти," one guard said quietly, and he snapped to attention. Peter would have huffed out loud if it wouldn’t have risked his position. Of course Fury made the SHIELD agents speak Russian for this, too. Luckily for him, he’d done his homework. Guess the vocab flashcards paid off.

No one should enter.

And as it just so happened, Peter was never good at following warnings in English– he certainly wasn’t any better at it in Russian.

Straining his hearing further, he focused on where the guard who had spoken was positioned. Outside the lab. Made sense. He slithered through the vent, using his sticky powers to crawl along the top part of the vent so he wouldn’t make as much noise. When he reached the right vent, he peered through the slats down into the space below. Nobody was in his direct line of sight, but he could hear a lone heartbeat nearby– closer than the pair of heartbeats that belonged to the ‘guards’ standing outside the closed door.

Peter paused for a moment. The mock ‘scientist’ agent that Fury had placed inside the room wasn’t standing under the vent, and didn’t seem to be moving near it anytime soon. Unfortunately for Peter, that meant he couldn’t just shoot a dart through the slats and then slide into the room once the guy was knocked out. He’d have to lift up the vent first and manage to shoot a dart at the scientist agent before he noticed and had a chance to call for the other two guards outside.

He double-checked his wrists for the tranquilizer shooters. Tranq-shooters? Didn’t have quite the same ring as web-shooters. He was still workshopping the name. Hopefully he wouldn’t be on this mission for long enough to come up with a better one.

Slowly, he used the sticky pads of his fingers to lift up one of the sides of the vent grate, careful to not let it make a sound. He peered into the room, eyes searching the area where his ears could hear the singular heartbeat. With the new angle, he was able to see his target, and he smiled slightly under his mask.

Gotcha.

Within seconds, the man was crumpled to the floor, knocked out cold and probably having a very nice nap.

Moving the grate to the side, Peter dropped to the ground, landing silently on his toes. Listening briefly, he heard the guards’ heartbeats still thrumming steadily outside– they hadn’t gotten faster, which meant they hadn’t heard anything. The coast was clear.

He swept over to the computer, tapping away as he hacked into the mainframe. It obviously didn’t have any HYDRA information on it, and he was familiar with this particular computer because it was what he had been practicing his hacking and coding skills on for months– but he still had to check.

—

“I’ll give you a task.” Fury said. “Stark hinted at putting a backdoor in the SHIELD systems he designed.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “And you just allowed it to exist?” He knew there was no way Fury would have allowed it to exist– if he could find it, that is. Which means if he was starting out his statement like that, it meant that his SHIELD engineers couldn’t find it, and he didn’t want to admit defeat to Tony. Peter knew this, but he also wanted to hear Fury say it.

The man in question just scowled at Peter, knowing full well Peter understood what he was asking, and Peter’s face split open in a cheeky grin.

“You’re just saying that because you couldn’t find it yourself and you want to exploit me in the name of training.” Peter mocked mildly.

Fury shrugged, but the corner of his mouth twisted slightly. “Technically, it was my engineers that couldn’t find it.” he sniffed. Peter still felt a swell of pride in his chest for his mentor for his brilliance, followed by a deep pang of longing. He knew Tony didn’t need a backdoor– even if he’d never put one in, he could hack into the SHIELD database with no problem. The backdoor comment was purely to annoy Fury, though it was probably also true. Fury continued speaking with a sigh. “Regardless, if you can manage to find that, of all things, you’ll certainly be prepared against whatever you may need to hack regarding HYDRA.”

Peter refrained from pointing out that HYDRA hadn’t upgraded their technology very much from the 1920s, and that he was sure most of his high school classmates had the capability to hack into their databases if they were on-site. Not that they ever would be on-site at a HYDRA base, but it was the sentiment that counted. Besides, he wasn’t going to argue with a chance to finally do something he liked. Sure, he had always been more about biochemistry rather than coding (that was Ned’s forte), but he loved poking around in things his mentor had created, and he could use a little mental stimulation that wasn’t trying to decipher the Russian language. Peter never would have guessed in a million years that he’d miss Spanish class for its simplicity, but compared to Russian? Well… he was pretty much convinced at this point that the Russians had purposefully made the language difficult to decipher.

—

He shook his head, trying to physically smack his thoughts back on track. Right. The files. He figured Fury probably had stuck a fake encrypted file somewhere on the server and was expecting him to find it. Not that he would have told him such a thing– that would be far too easy. It still paled in comparison to digging through Tony’s coding for months on end, trying to find the backdoor. (He had in fact found it, after nearly three months. He had not told Fury. In his defense, the man hadn’t asked.)

Rapidly, Peter clicked through countless useless files. Seriously, couldn’t this be organized better? Maybe have a label saying ‘super secret info on which HYDRA officials hold the disk information’? Perhaps even a file with a star marking it as important?

Regrettably, that did not seem to be the case.

Eventually, Peter stumbled on a cluster of files that could resemble floor plans for some unknown HYDRA base– he doubted Fury actually bothered to put real floor plans on here for him to find, but he clicked on them anyways. A list of names also popped up in a separate file, and Peter moved them both to the side of the screen, checking that he’d gone through all the folders.

Reaching down, he rummaged through his toolbelt, slipping out a small flash drive that he was supposed to put any potential pertinent information on. He hadn’t had the chance yet to practice with the code he’d also installed on it– he’d been a bit too afraid of totally corrupting the old decrepit computer in the bunker, and he didn’t think Fury would bother to replace it for him if he did. But now that he wouldn’t be spending all his time in the bunker, anyways, he figured it was a good time for a test run. And, well, if it did cause the computer to explode, at least it wasn’t real information and he wasn’t actually in a HYDRA base with people trying to kill him. Not yet, at least.

Small victories.

Plugging the flash drive in, he held his breath as the screen flickered, before moving the files he’d just opened onto the drive. Then came the special part of the experiment. It was courtesy of Ned, actually– Peter was nowhere near good enough at coding to come up with the idea himself. His best friend had created the program when he was originally hacking Peter’s Spider-Man suit, in an attempt to scramble the coding path he had used to make it impossible to trace exactly how he got in. (“I mean, Mr. Stark can probably figure out some way to reverse it, if he tries.” Ned said offhandedly. Peter shot him a look. “I thought you said it was irreversible?” Ned just looked at him like he was crazy. “I mean, yeah, in theory. But it’s Tony Stark.”) Lucky for Peter, he didn’t think HYDRA had a Tony Stark at their disposal to try and figure out his scrambling code. If they did, there were much bigger problems at hand.

Peter had mostly just watched as Ned did it– at the time, he’d been far more interested in the actual Spider-Man suit, and regrettably had not asked as many questions about the code as he should have. In his defense, he wasn’t expecting to fake his death and go undercover, either– but regardless. He’d at least remembered enough of the code to make the bare bones, and spent the last few months struggling through the finer details of it. It had taken him ages, but he was pretty sure he’d successfully replicated the effect, at least well enough to use on the HYDRA computers. (When he got back from all of this, he was profusely thanking his best friend and never taking his coding skills for granted ever again.)

The second the code was done running, Peter pulled it out of the computer (no explosion– hooray) and moved back towards the vent. Pausing, he turned and went to check on the downed ‘scientist.’ When his fingers found the other man’s neck, his pulse was strong and he was even snoring slightly. Peter let out an imperceptible huff, relaxing. Forced naptime wasn’t too bad of a fate. Quickly, he made his way back towards the vent again, jumping up and sticking to the ceiling before crawling inside and gently moving the cover back into place again.

He crawled towards the way he had entered– from the vent cover leading to the roof of the bunker. He’d almost made it when he heard voices, and he froze. There were agents on the roof, right over the vent. Peter cursed internally, counting the number of heartbeats. Five. He scowled, sure that Fury had stationed them there precisely so that he would have to find a different route out. He could take on five people without a problem, but not without causing a scene and drawing more guards to the area. If he were actually on the mission and had made it this far with the information, he wouldn’t risk it. He’d have to find another route out.

He crept back through the vents, listening closely to see where there were no guards so that he could slip out and crawl on the ceilings instead. There was only one door out of the bunker, and one vent exit on the roof, so he’d have to make his way to the door and get out that way.

Peter stopped at one of the vents that led into the hallway. None of the guards were anywhere near him right now, so he pushed the cover off and slipped out, putting it back into place once he was standing in the open. He felt strangely exposed– even knowing that there was nobody within his immediate vicinity, he felt outnumbered. It was a strange feeling. He’d almost always been outnumbered as Spider-Man, but he’d never had his success be reliant on staying quiet. In fact, staying quiet was one of the things Spider-Man was known to be incapable of.

Spider-Man would decidedly not be suited to this job. Good thing Peter Parker was.

Carefully, Peter leaped up to the ceiling, crawling over to one of the more shadowed corners in an attempt to blend in more. (Ironically, he felt the most like a spider at that moment.) He crept his way along the edges of the ceiling, making his way towards the entrance. Every time a guard walked in the hallway underneath him, he’d freeze and hold his breath, pressing himself as far into the shadows as he could go and watching them sharply until they left his line of sight. It was slow-moving because there seemed to be a guard walking past every 10 seconds (Fury was definitely at fault for that), but it was working.

At some point, Peter made it to the last hallway, leading to the door that led to the outside. Four guards flanked it– which was definitely overkill– but it also made it exponentially more difficult. If it were one agent, or even two, Peter could knock them out before they could sound an alarm. If it were only three, he probably would have still tried it. But four was too much of a risk. Peter pursed his lips. This was his only way out of here. That, or he could try to go back to the vent and wait it out, but he had a feeling that Fury had ordered the guards to stay there. And, well– four was less than five. He learned that in kindergarten. He had better chances here.

He examined the doorway, and the guards stationed by it. The door frame was taller than average, and there was just enough space for Peter to slip above the tallest guard’s head if he crawled from the ceiling. Of course, that meant that he had to not only make it all the way to the doorway without any of them noticing, but also slip above their heads with less than three inches between them– and just hope and pray that they didn’t look up or feel him brush past.

Seemed like fantastic chances.

Pursing his lips, he made his decision, and started slowly making his way along the ceiling, afraid of even breathing too loud in the quiet. He knew it was far less likely that they’d be able to hear him over the sound of their own breathing (and the other guards’), but he was hyper-alert, ears straining to catch the slightest uptick in heartbeat or breath that could signify that they’d noticed him.

Suddenly, a shrill, piercing whine cut through the air. Peter almost flinched back at the sound, wanting to reflexively clap his hands over his overly-sensitive ears to block it out. It was only his training that kept him locked in place, not moving a muscle– fully aware that there were agents less than five feet below him. Speaking of which–

They didn’t react. They held their positions and didn’t even jump at the onslaught of sound, or make any indication that they even heard it. Belatedly, Peter realized the sound must be so high pitched that a normal human couldn’t hear it– only him. Which also meant that they’d still be able to hear Peter if he made the slightest sound in pain or breathing or movement.

Fury, you son of a bitch.

Thankfully, the sound ceased after a few excruciating minutes, and Peter let out a silent sigh of relief. He couldn’t afford to relax, still clinging to the ceiling above the guards, but he was able to start moving again, blending into the shadows and slowly making his way to the door (he had never been more thankful in this moment that his suit was black and not vibrant red and blue). In one swift movement, he darted through the gap and out of the door, sticking to the wall on the outside of the bunker and holding his breath in case one of them called out. Nobody did, and he was able to crawl down the side of the wall and slide back towards the underbrush without being caught.

As expected, Fury was waiting for him outside, a couple hundred feet from the bunker along the line of trees. Peter approached him, scowling under his mask.

“Appreciate the attempt to blow my eardrums out.” he muttered, pulling his mask off to give the director an unpleasant look.

“You survived.” Fury responded dryly, looking unapologetic. Peter wished he’d waited more than forty-nine minutes to start, if only to leave Fury standing out here for longer.

With a huff, he turned his back on the man to look at the bunker where he’d spent the last seven months, breathing in the smell of the fresh air and trees around him. Yeah. He’d survived.

Faintly, Peter registered a familiar click, and within milliseconds, he’d stepped fluidly to the side, pivoting and holding his hands up in a defensive stance. Nothing further happened, and he lowered them, looking up to the source of the sound.

Fury, with his hand raised, holding that damn Nerf gun.

Despite his prior grumpiness, Peter was unable to suppress a smile at the sight of the orange foam bullet that hadn’t even grazed him and was now lying innocuously on the dirt a little ways away. Even Fury wasn’t able to contain his own faint smile and approving nod, lowering his arm. Peter jutted out his chin, head raised high. He was proud of himself. He’d just aced every single test Fury had set for him, and he’d worked damn hard for it. He hadn’t even needed his spidey senses to move out of the way of the Nerf gun bullet– just his training and developed instincts. Fury seemed to share his sentiment, because he inclined his own head and spoke the words Peter had been waiting months to hear.

“Now you’re ready, Parker.”

Chapter 9: ALL (Day 220)

Chapter Text

Day 220

Steve’s POV

Steve never thought he’d be wishing for a world-ending event, but here he was.

He had never felt as useless as he had in the last three months, since Fury had banned them from going after HYDRA bases and they’d effectively been milling around with nothing to do for weeks on end. To be entirely fair, he didn’t think Tony had actually stopped looking for information about HYDRA bases just because Fury said so, but whatever the case may be, there was no new information to be found. He knew he probably should not be wishing for disaster to strike, but at least it would give them all something to do . Turns out when the Avengers don’t have the ability to avenge, they don’t know what to do with themselves.

In fact, he’d been seeing less and less of his teammates recently– each falling into their own self-isolated routines, with no reason to spend much time together. Team bonding didn’t feel quite right when Peter was missing from the mix. Steve knew eventually they’d reach the point where they’d have to go back to a ‘new normal’, but for now it was still too fresh. Regardless, this was the first time he’d seen all of them together in the same place for a while now– not on purpose, but somehow they’d all ended up in the common room independently.

Which is why he didn’t know if it was lucky or unlucky when FRIDAY decided to break the silence with news.

“Boss.” FRIDAY started. Steve wondered whether she’d purposefully waited until they were all in the room before speaking. He wouldn’t put it past her; the AI was deceptively intelligent and knew her creator well. “Per protocol, I’ve detected new information about a HYDRA base.”

Everyone in the room looked up sharply at that, before their eyes snapped to Tony, who had stood up. His whole body was tense, like a live wire. “Do you have a location, FRIDAY?” he asked, in a strange tone. His eyes were bright, but not with joy (they hadn’t been for months, not since Peter died). Rather, they were lit with a rage that Steve had rarely seen in the man.

“Yes.” FRIDAY responded, and at the confirmation, Tony was already moving before Steve stepped in front of him, effectively blocking his exit from the room.

“Tony–” he said, reaching out to press a hand against his shoulder. He knew Tony had all intentions of suiting up and blasting off solo to whatever new HYDRA base this was, but they had to think logically for a moment here.

“Don’t touch me, Rogers.” Tony all but snapped, whipping his arm away from Steve, who raised his own hands in a placating gesture.

“Tony, wait.” he said. “I’m not arguing with you.” At that, Tony scoffed, and Steve had to bite back his own reaction at that. He knew by now that the man argued with everyone when he was feeling defensive, as an instinctual reaction, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with. They had a better relationship now than they ever had before, but it was easy to fall back into old habits. Regardless, arguing with each other like old times wouldn’t help anyone here. He took a deep breath, continuing. “I’m just asking for you to think for a moment before jumping in. Fury warned us to stop going after new bases.”

He fully expected Tony to snap back at that, to try and continue riling him up in hopes of distracting himself from the root of the issue at hand by making an argument. Instead, he sighed.

“Cap, do what you want.” Tony said, anger seeping out of him and shoulders dropping from their hunched position. He sounded tired. “If you don’t want to disobey Fury, whatever. But I’m going. I don’t give a damn what eye patch has to say about it.”

Steve felt the weight of the eyes of the other Avengers on him, waiting for his response. He hesitated for a moment. On one hand, Fury had explicitly ordered them to stand down, and while Steve had no issue disobeying orders if someone was in danger, the director of SHIELD was not someone you should piss off.

On the other hand, this was Tony. His team member, and friend. He’d sworn after their fallout that if the man ever needed him, he’d have his back. And this was as much for Tony’s sake as it was Peter’s.

Steve looked at Tony, face set. His teammate stared back, eyes unreadable. But he was still here, waiting for Steve’s opinion– he hadn’t blasted off solo yet. Steve nodded at him. He’d made his decision; it wasn’t even really a question, when it came down to it.

“We’ll be right behind you.”

—

Steve kicked the door down and Tony moved in tandem, arms swinging up and repulsors at the ready. But instead of being met with gunfire, as they usually were, they were met with complete silence.

“What the–” Tony said, flipping up his faceplate with a frown. His arms lowered back down to his sides, the repulsors charging down. Steve came up to his shoulder and looked into the hallway, face morphing into a frown as well. They weren’t met with silence because the base was abandoned– rather, stretching down the entire hallway were collapsed HYDRA agents.

“Looks like someone beat us to it.” Steve said, hooking his shield back on its holster.

“Yeah, no sh*t.” Clint snorted, re-holstering his arrow as well with his eyebrows raised. “The question is who?” he asked, looking over at Natasha reflexively, in case she knew anything. But she wasn’t even looking at him. She was approaching one of the fallen HYDRA soldiers with a frown and furrowed eyebrows.

Tony shrugged noncommittally, still looking down the deserted hallway. “HYDRA has plenty of enemies.”

Natasha finally spoke up from where she was now crouched by one of the agents. “Yeah, but not many who refuse to kill.” she said, holding up a tiny dart for the team to see. “They’re all alive. This is a tranquilizer dart.”

If possible, Clint’s eyebrows raised even higher. That’s what had been so eerily wrong about the scene. He had assumed it had felt weird because they didn’t usually stumble on a base full of downed HYDRA agents– but now it hit him that it wasn’t that. It was because of the lack of blood that usually accompanied such a scene. Every single agent was alive, just knocked out.

Steve shifted uneasily, hand reflexively reaching for his shield at the revelation that they were still in a base filled with alive enemies. Natasha waved him off.

“Relax, Cap. They're not waking up anytime soon.” she said.

“We don’t know that.” Steve rebutted, still tense.

Natasha rolled her eyes in response and gave the face of the HYDRA agent she was crouched next to a hard poke. The team stiffened, half expecting the man to jump up and start firing at them, but nothing happened. His head just lolled to the side, limp.

“They’re not waking up soon.” Nat reiterated, now that her point had just been proven. “But that means that whoever did this to them was just here. We need to find whoever it is.”

Tony shrugged, clearly not thinking this was as important as Natasha felt. “So HYDRA has another enemy who doesn’t want to kill them for whatever reason. Who cares.”

Natasha tried to suppress a sigh, eyeing the man out of the corner of her eye. “Look, Tony. I know you want justice for Peter. But you can’t dismiss the fact that this person could be helpful in the cause. Or even worse, dangerous, if they’re doing it for their own individual gain. We can’t just ignore this,” she said, her voice bordering on impatient.

Tony stiffened at the mention of Peter, and the team went silent. Natasha knew she had crossed some sort of unspoken line, by speaking about him in the middle of a mission. She knew the way Peter’s death had affected him, and that it was honestly a miracle he was in the field with them at all rather than out there destroying HYDRA bases on his own. And she really didn’t mean to be impatient. She had tried as hard as she could to keep the impatience out of her tone the last couple of weeks.

It wasn’t that she didn’t miss Peter– she did, immensely. So much her chest ached with the weight of it nearly every night. But the bigger part of her– the trained assassin– was so used to pushing down those types of feelings when on a mission that she couldn’t help but feel frustrated when other people weren’t capable of the exact same emotional self regulation.

Everyone had been affected by Peter’s death, and Natasha tried to bring the grief she felt while alone in her room at midnight into the field with her in order to understand why and how her teammates were so distracted by their own grief that they couldn’t see what was in front of them. But it was near impossible to beat out decades of training to not feel anything when in the field, and when it came down to it, it was a useful aspect to be able to compartmentalize for a mission. Healthy? No. Useful? Quite.

As much as she hated to admit it, her instincts were being thrown off by Peter’s death, too. She knew something was wrong about this situation. Nothing was lining up. Fury’s over-involvement, HYDRA, this new potential ally or potential enemy— it all painted a picture that would normally be easy for her to put together but was near impossible to in her current state. And it was nagging the hell out of her. She hated not being able to trust her instincts. It was all too coincidental– the explosion, Fury conveniently showing up and already having plans for the body and arrangements. She was sure the man had ears everywhere, and contingencies for his contingencies— so it wasn’t that surprising, not enough for her to really have anything to go on. It just nagged at her. Even more so because she truly believed that Fury didn’t have anything to do with the explosion— he was a cold hearted man, but he wouldn’t have sat by and let Peter die if he had known about it beforehand. That much she was sure of.

But everything else? Including this… new person that suspiciously managed to find and attack bases before the Avengers did? Fury ordering the Avengers to back off on destroying HYDRA bases to ‘collect intel’? She wouldn’t be surprised if Fury had his nose stuck in that. In fact, that much she was also sure of. But she couldn’t figure out how, or why he wouldn’t tell her. Especially if it had to do with the disk– it wouldn’t make sense not to tell her when he’d told her everything else. It was driving her insane, and she knew Fury wouldn’t tell her jack sh*t even if she shoved a knife into his other eye. So to get answers… she had to find the next best solution. And that would be tracking down and talking to this freelance agent.

Steve was the first to speak, trying to dissolve the tension that had arisen after Natasha’s statement. “We should at the very least check out the rest of the base, and see what they were here for. Given how skilled they appear to be, it’s likely they were in and out before we even set down here, but it won’t hurt to see if we can find out what they were after.”

Tony still hadn’t said anything, and was decidedly not looking at Natasha, but he gave a curt nod at Steve’s suggestion and started making his way down the hallway, not bothering to wait for the rest of the team to get moving.

The rest of them started moving as well, with Steve moving up to take the lead next to Tony. Clint hung behind and fell into step with Natasha in the back. She was grateful that he didn’t mention her somewhat callous remark– he knew her well enough to know that she was still grieving Peter, too, and that she got hyper focused during missions.

Following the trail of knocked out HYDRA soldiers deeper into the base was an uneasy feeling. They’d all drawn their weapons again, just in case they came across someone that hadn’t been knocked out, or one who had woken up– but the base was silent. Even though Natasha herself knew they weren’t waking up soon (and even if they did, they could certainly all get out before the soldiers were in any shape to fight), it put her on edge.

“This smells like Fury involvement somehow.” Clint muttered. It wasn’t meant to be spoken to the team, or even Natasha in particular, but in the silence it carried. She let out a noncommittal hum, having had the same thought herself just minutes earlier. Natasha knew the rest of the team had heard his remark, and likely agreed, but there wasn’t much to say in response.

Within a few more minutes of silently traversing the hallways, they came to a large room deep in the center of the base. Steve and Tony, still in the lead, pushed open the door in the same way they’d blasted into the base in the first place. But yet again, they were met with a significant lack of gunfire. Rather, all they found was a room containing old-style computers up against the walls and two downed HYDRA agents on the floor, with the hum of quiet machinery in the background.

“Tony, can you see if there’s anything on the computers that the freelance agent would be after?” Steve asked, slipping his shield back into its harness.

“Already on it, Cap.” Tony muttered, having already ejected himself from the Iron Man suit and typing away at one of the computers. “Always love fiddling around with their jurassic-aged technology.”

Natasha felt a pang in her chest at the offhand comment– if you asked her a year ago whether she’d miss his constant chattering on the comms, she would have responded hell no. But after months of tense silence, hearing a familiar offhand joke made things feel normal, if only for a few moments.

The rest of the team hovered around the room uncertainly– they’d never had this issue before. Usually, they were all off fighting HYDRA agents while Tony was using the time to hack into their databases, and he was always much faster than they were. They’d never encountered the issue of having nothing to do and no one to fight.

Steve was standing by the door, keeping watch even though Natasha was quite certain they didn’t need it. Sam was pacing around the room, and Bucky was observing one of the computers that Tony wasn’t working on with a furrowed brow. Clint was standing next to her in the corner, polishing one of his arrowheads.

A few minutes passed as Natasha kept sweeping her gaze around the room before her eyes landed back on Tony, still typing away at the computers. He was frowning. Not in the I’m-concentrating way, but in the something-is-confusing-me-and-I-don’t-like-it way. Really, it was more like a scowl.

Natasha hesitated for a moment before speaking to him, still unsure if he was intent on ignoring her for her earlier remark about Peter. “What is it?”

His eyes flickered up to hers for a brief moment, and a beat of silence passed. She was almost sure he was going to ignore her again, before he spoke. Obviously whatever he’d found had perplexed him enough that he didn’t bother to continue his ignorance charade. “This… can’t be right.” he muttered, frown deepening. “All this data has been scrambled.”

“Someone from HYDRA?” Sam suggested, looking at one of the computer monitors, where lines of code were rapidly moving across the screen. “If they heard an intruder coming, maybe they released a failsafe to scramble whatever they’d been working on to hide it.”

Tony shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I mean, yes, they have a failsafe like that in place, but it wasn’t HYDRA who triggered it. They didn’t see anyone coming.” he scoffed. “If they had, I’d have been able to reverse it because it’s usually horrendously simple. This is an outside code, from our solo guy.” he hesitated, fingers pausing above the keyboard.

Steve looked between Tony and the computer, clearly confused as to why Tony had stopped. “So can’t you unscramble it? Surely it can’t be that complicated.”

Tony looked at him critically out of the corner of his eye, like he was a particularly dense brick. “Yeah, about as well as you can unscramble an egg once you put it in the pan.” he said roughly, a spark of his old personality coming back again. “You can try and separate it bit by bit but you won’t have much success overall.” he paused as he got several raised eyebrows from his team members. “Not my best analogy, but it’s accurate.” he defended himself.

His face twisted in a sour expression as he turned back to the screen. He never did like it when he came across something he couldn’t fix. “It’s not overly complicated, but it’s arranged in a way that’s impossible to undo. I may be able to uncover some of the original HYDRA data, but there’s no way I’ll be able to find out what the solo agent took, or even looked at. He’s covered his tracks perfectly.”

Steve looked shocked, and even Natasha herself was surprised. It was one thing to be skilled enough to take down an entire base of HYDRA agents (non-lethally, too), but to also be fluent enough in computer skills to fully cover his tracks?

“Maybe he’s part of a team, then?” Sam suggested, looking between the team members. “He could have gotten the scrambling code from someone else.”

Bucky spoke for the first time since entering the base. “No, he’s solo.” he said quietly. “Or at the very least, knows enough about the code to work it himself.”

Steve looked at his friend. “How are you so sure?”

Bucky moved towards the computer, tapping the side of it with his metal finger. “I don’t know a ton about HYDRA’s computers, that wasn’t my area, but I saw enough of it. It’s not advanced technology, and a lot of it is manual. You wouldn’t be able to just insert a code and let it run, you’d have to manually start the process from the computer, and search through the files at the same time to find what you’re looking for. Not necessarily overly complicated but still requires some level of tech knowledge.”

Natasha nodded, holding up the same dart from before. “Plus, these are all the same darts. There isn’t evidence of more than one weapon being used, and the darts suggest it was at least intended to be a stealth mission, which is a lot harder to do with two people. I can’t figure out what these would have been fired from, either– they’re far too small to have been from a gun, but I can’t tell what else could have fired something at such a high velocity.” she paused, looking at her own wrists. “The most similar thing I could think of is my widow bites, if they fired tranquilizer darts instead of electric ones.”

“So we may have an ally.” Sam said, looking between them.

“Or an enemy.” Natasha said. “Just because they’re an enemy of HYDRA doesn’t mean they’re doing it for good. Freelance agents usually go for the highest bidder. Plus, whoever it is had to get this type of training from somewhere, and that isn’t usually a good sign.”

Privately, she thought that it was entirely possible that Fury was the highest bidder in this case, but she didn’t say it out loud. She didn’t have enough evidence yet, and the same issue was nagging at her– if it was Fury, there should be no reason for him to separate his agent and the Avengers. If anything, they’d have a higher chance of success working together. Even if he thought the Avengers were too unsubtle for the mission, he wouldn’t have had to lie about it, or conceal his involvement. Something bigger was going on here.

Tony huffed, leaning back from the computers. “Well, I had FRIDAY export the data I could find as well as some of the code, to see if I can find a hacker signature on it, but I don’t know how much luck I’ll have with that. Either way, there’s nothing more we need here.” He said, making his way over to his suit to get back into it.

—

Steve glanced at Natasha, and she shrugged. It had been an unconventional mission for sure, but if there was nothing left to do then there was no real reason to stick around.

“Alright then.” Steve said, brow furrowed. “In that case, let’s get back to the QuinJet.” He made his way out of the room into the hallway, and the rest of the team followed suit. It was a strange feeling, to be just as refreshed going into a HYDRA base as they were coming out of it.

“What do we do with them?” Clint asked, waving an arrow at the still-downed soldiers as he and Natasha were the last to step out into the hall.

Steve frowned. They couldn’t just leave a bunch of HYDRA soldiers alive, but at the same time… it felt wrong to kill people who were unable to defend themselves, even if they were the enemy.

Tony paused, suit coming to a halt, mask still flipped up. “I have plenty of explosives. They seem to take a particular liking to those.” he said, face twisting into a bitter half-smile.

“Tony…” Steve started, half-hesitant, half-warning.

“They’re not civilians, Cap.” Tony said bluntly. “They signed up for this. Besides, we were intending to come here to kill them anyways, so the only other alternative is to wait for them to wake up so you can kill them then. That would be highly inefficient.” he said.

Steve sighed. He knew Tony was right, and that they would likely have blown a lot of them up in the first place if Tony had been shooting repulsors at them. Really, he should be glad that none of them got injured and that they’d have a 100% wipe-out rate for an entire HYDRA base. But he wasn’t one to kill unarmed people, no matter who they were. It was different killing people who were shooting at you as opposed to shooting people who were already on the ground. Regardless, he knew there was really no choice here. Tony was going to bomb the base the second they got out of here, for Peter’s sake, and Fury would definitely agree with his course of action of not leaving any survivors (once he got past being mad at them for directly defying his orders, of course).

“Alright.” he acquiesced, meeting Tony’s gaze, silent agreement passing between them. “Your call.”

—

Day 220

Peter’s POV

Peter heard the QuinJet.

His head snapped towards the ceiling, almost in disbelief. For a few short seconds, he was sure he was hallucinating it. But the sound only continued to get louder, and though it had been eight months since Peter had last heard it, the sound was unmistakably familiar.

“sh*t.” he muttered, grabbing frantically at the flash drive that he’d brought to collect the information on. He was mostly finished scrambling the data and collecting what he needed, but he hadn’t totally finished his job without a trace. That was a moot point, though, because he knew he couldn’t afford to stay here any longer. If he did, the Avengers would stumble on him and there’s no way he would be able to get around all of them without blowing his cover. For a brief, irrational moment, Peter wondered what it would be like to not flee, to stay and reveal himself to the Avengers. Almost as quickly as the thought came, it left, and Peter shook his head firmly. He was so close to finishing this mission. He couldn’t give it up now.

With that, he grabbed the flash drive and started sprinting full speed down the hallway he came through, jumping over the bodies of the unconscious HYDRA soldiers as he went. This particular mission had already been a disaster– he’d had to start knocking out agents because he’d been spotted early on. He was already frustrated with himself for getting sloppy, but he’d managed to salvage the situation by tranquilizing all of the guards (luckily for him, it was a small understaffed base on the outskirts, and had nowhere near the protection and number of people a normal base would have). And now the Avengers were showing up, too? What a disaster. He definitely blamed his Parker Luck for this one.

A minor blessing, he supposed, was that he had forgone the idea of using his webs– even though they would be quick to dissolve, it would be a dead giveaway to the Avengers. The tranq darts worked perfectly, as he’d hoped. He knew Fury had trained him in using all the weapons with the intention of using them on the HYDRA soldiers and killing them if need be, but Peter just… couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Even though HYDRA were the bad guys, and even though the Avengers may kill them anyways.

Peter had changed a lot in the last eight months but one thing he couldn’t change– no matter how stupid it may seem for this particular mission– was his inability to kill people in cold blood. He and Fury had never had an explicit conversation about whether Peter was going to kill the agents or not, but Peter had a feeling that the man already knew what his stance would be.

The roar of the QuinJet was getting louder and louder as he approached the front door, and a brief flash of worry coursed through him that he might be too late to get out. He skidded to a halt next to the door and poked his head out. The QuinJet had its cloaking technology on, and was quiet to the regular human ear– but to Peter, he could see the shimmer in the air and hear the roar of the engines clearly in the silence. To his relief, he could tell they were planning to land a little bit away from the base, on the opposite side of the building from the front door. He waited until it had dipped down out of the range of sight before making a dash out of the door and towards the bushes and trees a short distance away.

He dove into the shrubbery, heart pounding and chest heaving, straining his ears in case they somehow caught a glimpse of him in the few short seconds he was out in the open. He tried to slow his heart and breathing down, but it was proving to be more difficult than usual because of the close proximity of the family he’d missed for almost a year now. He contemplated fleeing, but decided to wait until they made it into the base– that way, they’d be more preoccupied with what they found there and less likely to hear anything going on outside. (He wouldn’t admit it, but that was only part of the reason– the bigger reason was the intrinsic pull he felt, a desperate need to see them for the first time in months.)

An eternity seemed to pass while Peter sat still and silent in his hiding place, eyes fixated on the door. Irrationally, he feared that they’d be able to hear his heartbeat pounding loudly against his ribcage, though he knew that wouldn’t be the case– even with Steve and Bucky. Neither of their senses were as strong as Peter’s, and he was too far away for it to matter even if they were listening specifically for him.

Finally, he spotted movement, and his throat tightened. Normally the Avengers would send Tony in first to blast out the big guns with his repulsors, but he could tell that they were thrown off by the fact that nobody had fired at them yet (entirely due to the fact that Peter had knocked everyone out inside of the base, but they didn’t know that yet). Steve had obviously decided to go with a more stealthy technique since they weren’t actively being shot at, and Peter swallowed roughly at the sight of his mentor’s painfully familiar red and gold armor at the front of the pack next to Steve. His eyes rapidly scanned the rest of the group and he spotted Nat and Clint off to the right, while Bucky and Sam were off to the left, making sure they didn’t miss anything.

He watched, quietly, as his mentor and Cap headed towards the front door carefully, preparing for a trap. It was a strange sensation, sitting in the brush watching them. They thought he was dead. He wasn’t (clearly), but seeing them when they couldn’t see him made him feel… strange. Like a ghost among the living. Like maybe he had actually died in that explosion and had hallucinated everything from the last eight months.

Peter almost snorted reflexively at the thought. He would have hoped that if he were a ghost, his brain would come up with a better hallucination than Fury, of all people. Well technically if he were a ghost, he wouldn’t have a brain. Theoretically speaking.

Peter tried to shake his head briefly to erase the distractions from his mind, but he immediately froze when his head brushed one of the leaves and made a very faint rustling sound. His heart rate increased tenfold, and he forced every muscle in his body to lock up so he wouldn’t make another sound. Eyes wide, he searched the group of Avengers, praying they didn’t hear anything or that they’d play it off as the wind or an animal.

Steve seemed too preoccupied with the front door, and the rustle hadn’t been loud enough for a regular human’s ears to pick up on, but Peter’s blood ran cold as he saw Bucky tilt his head minutely to the side. He held his breath, willing his heart rate to slow down too– hoping that if Bucky could somehow faintly hear his heartbeat, he may pass it off as an animal if he didn’t hear the sound of human breathing too.

The man’s head turned more towards Peter’s hiding spot, eyes sweeping over the brush and trees. For one brief, heart-stopping moment, Peter was sure that Bucky’s eyes landed right on him. He waited for the man to call out, or worse– to point his gun right at him and fire it. But neither happened. The super soldier’s eyes continued sweeping over the landscape past Peter, and he eventually turned back around to the base right as Steve was getting ready to bust the front door down.

Peter almost collapsed in relief, his muscles feeling like they turned to jelly. His training was the only thing that kept him rigid and unmoving. He didn’t dare move or release his breath until Steve kicked down the door and rushed into the hallway with Tony right next to him.

He vaguely registered their exclamations of surprise, not focusing on their actual words. The second he saw the rest of the group make their way into the base as well, he started moving, trying to get as far away as he could before he could take a break and rewire his frayed nerves. Even though his legs felt like jelly and he was sure he was violently shaking, he made his way through the forest and away from the HYDRA base silently, his instincts and speed carrying him. Once he was sure he was a far enough distance away and he hadn’t heard their voices or the QuinJet for some time, he collapsed near a tree, dropping his head into his hands. He knew he should activate the beacon that Fury had given him, signaling that he was ready to be picked up– he’d already spent longer than he should have here, and the man was probably starting to think something went wrong. But Peter… had to take a moment to regain his bearings. He thought if he had to face Fury right now he might burst into tears and that was not a situation he wanted to find himself in.

It wasn’t even just that Bucky had almost caught him– though the resulting adrenaline rush from that certainly hadn’t helped. It was the emotional whiplash of seeing the people he cared so desperately about, and knowing that he couldn’t let them see him. Of course he’d thought about them every day, and he hadn’t thought that seeing them in person would be so emotionally draining for him. He hadn’t thought he could miss them any more than he already did. But boy , was he wrong. The adrenaline crash paired with the fact that they had been only a few hundred feet from him– they had been so close , and he still missed them with every fiber of his being– that particular combination brought his nerves to their limit.

He’d still complete the mission, still would be Fury’s perfect little agent, still would do what he’d promised and trained to do for months. But seeing the Avengers had brought back such an intense wave of longing that Peter felt it down to his very atoms. And he really did not feel like facing Fury when he was still recovering from it, especially because he knew the man would be able to see right through him (Peter had gotten better at hiding his emotions, but not quite good enough to fool Fury. Yet.)

Peter sighed and lifted his head, reaching for the transmitter on his belt. Unfortunately, he never really got what he wanted when it came to Fury, and the longer he waited, the more insufferable the director would be. Grimacing, Peter pressed the button on the transmitter and stood up again, still feeling slightly shaky but having mostly regained his bearings. He set his jaw and started moving again, heading in the direction of their prearranged meeting spot and mentally preparing himself for the director’s tirade.

Fury was not going to be happy.

—

“Are you out of your mind?” Fury asked, not quite shouting but certainly on his way there.

Before having spent eight months practically living with the man, Peter would probably be shaking in his metaphorical boots. Now, he was mostly just annoyed that Fury was blaming him for this, of all things.

“I didn’t do anything to compromise the mission.” Peter replied sharply. “It’s not my fault I didn’t know the Avengers were going to be there. If anything, it was up to you to warn me of that, as I had no possible way of knowing.” Peter said, a somewhat sour expression on his face. That was another thing that was different– old Peter would have never told Fury that a mistake was his fault. Nevertheless, the man looked almost impressed with Peter’s guts, before letting out a sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Alright.” he admitted begrudgingly. “They weren’t supposed to be there. I told them a while ago to stop going after the HYDRA bases. I figured they would have listened.” he grumbled the last part.

Peter shrugged, relaxing slightly now that he wasn’t being blamed. The slightest of smiles pulled at his face. “That was your first mistake.” he said casually, even though Fury shot him an annoyed glare.

“I don’t make mistakes.” the man said stiffly in response, even as Peter’s face twitched in amusem*nt again. Fury rubbed his jaw, staring into the distance as he weighed his choices. Peter didn’t bother chatting as he would have in the past, knowing he wouldn’t get a response and not particularly feeling like it. He used to chatter in any sort of silence, because he was uncomfortable with it, but while down here in the bunker he’d grown accustomed to appreciating the quiet. It was nice sometimes.

Fury sighed again, evidently having come to a decision and clearly not happy about it. “They’re not going to stop going after the HYDRA bases. I did my best to hide the fact that it was HYDRA who set the original explosion, because I knew there would be absolutely no chance of stopping them from going after bases if they knew it was HYDRA who supposedly killed you. But that ship has long sailed, and apparently even the Captain is defying the direct order to stop going after them.”

Peter felt something warm glow in his chest at every mention of how hard the team still fought for him, even in death. He shrugged again, feigning indifference. Fury had stopped explaining, still deep in thought. “So how are we going to get them to stop? You said so yourself, they won’t stop for anything, but I can’t keep having run-ins as close as we had today. And we can’t just rely on getting the information before they do– FRIDAY is ridiculously good at finding things, and if SHIELD is able to find it, so will Tony.”

Fury didn’t say anything to that, his piercing gaze staring straight at Peter. Peter narrowed his eyes back, having a feeling that whatever the director was about to propose, he was not going to like it.

The director huffed out a breath that was a mix of a half-laugh half-sigh (he’d been doing a lot of those lately). “That’s the problem. We’re going to need to throw them off so much that they won’t even attempt to get back on track. We need something so shocking that they either have no ability to search for HYDRA or no need to. Or both.”

Peter stared back, not at all liking the direction this was going in.

“You’re going to need time to get into those bases and do what you’ve trained for, including time to infiltrate and interrogate suspects if ever needed. There are only so many HYDRA bases we’re able to uncover in a certain time frame, so every single one the Avengers get to before you sets us back. Especially if HYDRA thinks the Avengers are onto them and makes an attempt to hide– or worse, destroy– the disk. And we can’t afford that.” Fury said, still staring at Peter like he was supposed to already know what the director was thinking. He really didn’t, but he didn’t like the feeling he was getting from it.

“So… what are we going to do?” Peter prompted when Fury fell silent again, clearly thinking through all the details of this last-ditch plan that had disaster written all over it.

Fury looked right at him with his piercing gaze. “We’re going to reveal to them that you’re alive.”

Peter’s jaw dropped.

“Are you certifiably insane?” Peter near-shouted, looking at Fury like he’d just transformed into an alien before his eyes. “Need I remind you that you were the one who insisted for the past eight months that I couldn’t let them see me, or even know I was alive, lest I put them in danger, and now you’re telling me that all of that was for nothing?” He took a deep breath in, trying to reign in his emotions, but it was proving to be difficult, especially after this morning’s encounter at the HYDRA base. He was high-strung and his nerves were frayed, and this was not going well.

Fury was infuriatingly calm in the face of Peter’s anger (this was why Peter hated showing any emotion around the man– he was irritatingly stoic about it). “Not for nothing, and you’re smart enough to recognize that, Parker. It was true that it would have put a target on those close to you, especially eight months ago when your death was still fresh. Now that so much time has passed, HYDRA won’t be as wary of Spider-Man’s return from the dead, especially because they don’t know your identity, and hopefully it will remain that way until you can get to the disk. It’s not like the Avengers will go broadcast that you’re alive the second you pop back up.”

Peter sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. There was still a colossal problem they would run into, in case Fury had somehow forgotten, and that was the matter of– “They won’t let me go through with it if they know I’m alive. If anything, they’ll be even more overprotective after believing I was dead for so long.”

Fury merely looked at him for a few moments, as if Peter were missing some big revelation. He probably was, but he was too tired and emotionally wrung out by the whole situation to play Fury’s mind games at the moment. “What?” he near-snapped at the man, who didn’t even flinch at his tone.

“You’re going to have to convince them that you blame them for letting you die and that you want nothing to do with them.” Fury responded, matter-of-fact as if he hadn’t dropped the most… mind-boggling sentence Peter had heard from him as of yet today. And that was saying a lot .

Speaking of which.

Peter stared at him, slack-jawed for the second time in three minutes. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly.” he said, a calm and almost dangerous tone leaking into his voice (a tone he hadn’t used since months earlier, when he’d first woken up in that hospital bed and Fury had implied a threat on his Aunt). “Because I am not going to put them through that when you and I both know damn well they already tore themselves apart with grief.”

Fury shook his head– if Peter didn’t know any better, he’d have said the man seemed almost remorseful (unfortunately, he did know better– and he knew, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that no matter what he said right now, Fury would end up getting his way. And Fury knew that too.) “Think about it, Parker. There is nothing else in this world that would possibly keep them away from you, unless you are convincing enough and use their guilt to keep them away from you. Even with such a powerful motivator, I doubt they could leave you alone for long, but it may just work long enough to keep them away until the mission is completed. They’ll know the truth eventually.”

Peter’s stomach twisted harshly at the sickeningly familiar phrase– but it only served to remind him how deeply entrenched he was into this mission. He’d already spent months of his life on this– let his family and friends grieve for months – and the end was finally, finally in sight. Everything he had worked for up until this point would be for naught, and HYDRA would still be out there, and the chance to get the disk may slip away, all if he didn’t do this. And it had to be done now .

Painfully, he knew the truth in his gut even before his brain had come to the same conclusion. Nothing else would be a strong enough motivator to keep the Avengers away. He had to convince them that there was nothing left of Peter Parker, nothing they could possibly rescue, and he had to play on their massive guilt complexes to do so, even if it sickened him to his core. And once he did that, he could slip away and track down the disk– with the Avengers too preoccupied about the revelation of his non-death to botch his missions anymore (not to mention losing the motivation of Peter’s ‘death’ to go after HYDRA). And then he could finally come home.

Slowly, Peter’s eyes traveled up to Fury’s, where he found that Fury, once again, already knew what his answer would be. This was the only way.

God, Peter hated it when the director was right.

He sighed one last time, bracing himself, and he opened his mouth to speak. “Alright. I’m in. What’s the plan?”

Chapter 10: ALL (Day 223)

Chapter Text

Day 223

Tony’s POV

It was quiet.

It had been as such for the last few months. Tony had thought maybe things would be easier by now, that the weight of grief that pressed on his chest would have lightened some, but it hadn’t. He numbly made his way through the kitchen, barely acknowledging the other Avengers that were gathered there. He should probably acknowledge their presence, given that it was one of the first times in months that they’d been consistently around each other for three whole consecutive days, but he couldn’t feel particularly bothered to do so either way. Whether they were all there or not, the silence pervaded the room regardless.

He knew he should feel something– feel some sort of excitement at the thought of a new coding challenge that the supposed ‘solo agent’ had left behind. It really was a brilliant piece of code, not that he ever would have said so. But he couldn’t really feel anything, not without Peter there to be excited with him. He could imagine the kid’s voice in his head, rambling about anything and everything. He swallowed, unable to bear the thought of working in a quiet lab without the accompanying chatter. He could put on a facade and participate in the team when they were out in the field, hunting down Peter’s killers– but the second they all made it back to the Tower, the quiet fell again.

Nobody spoke, merely continuing their own activities– a habit, one they’d started while Peter was still alive and maintained even after his death– as if maybe going through the motions would keep a part of him alive. As if he was just away in his tiny little apartment in Queens with May, and would step through the door any moment. But the silence belied the truth– Peter wasn’t there. He was cold and stiff and dead in some SHIELD morgue, and he would never walk through that door again. All the routine in the world wouldn’t change that.

Tony stood at the counter, one hand on the coffee machine, the other reaching for a mug. He barely spared a glance at it, shoving it in the cupholder and turning the machine on. The soft whirr of coffee grinding broke the silence, and he tapped his finger on the counter as he waited, eyes boring a hole in the wall, gaze distant and unfocused. He could feel someone’s eyes on him, but he didn’t have the energy to check who– once they were off the field, nobody on the team really had the energy to talk these days. Or, if they did, it felt too wrong – forced, stilted, off.

The silence in the tower was almost a ritual in and of itself at this point; one nobody dared to break. Tony knew it would come to an end eventually– someone would intervene and try and force them to move on (he’d seen Natasha already making attempts at it)-- but he knew it wouldn’t be him. He didn’t think he would ever recover from this. Hell, he damn near drunk himself into oblivion after his parents’ deaths, and didn’t get over it for years (if he ever really did). Losing the kid…

He shook his head minutely, overcome with bone-deep exhaustion all of a sudden. Not that it was an uncommon feeling, at this point. He’d been momentarily invigorated by the ability to take down another one of HYDRA’s bases, but now that he was back, the energy seemed to abandon him like a particularly bad caffeine crash. Not even being in the lab could give him the same thrill it once had; not when he kept expecting to see the kid, or reached to work on the Spider-Man suit only to crash into the realization that nobody was around to wear the damn thing. Not that that had managed to stop him– some kind of twisted grief coping mechanism kept him working on the suit, creating improvements as he thought of them. The first thing he’d added was increased fire resistance. He tried not to dwell on that for too long (he failed).

“Boss?” An Irish lilt broke the silence. Tony jumped, almost dropping his mug at the abrupt and unexpected sound. He cursed incoherently as some of the hot coffee sloshed onto his hand, raising his eyes to glare at the ceiling ( “You know she’s not actually installed in the ceiling,” Tony had once told Peter in amusem*nt. “You don’t have to look at it when talking to her.” Peter had merely shrugged with a small smile. “Yeah, but it feels more polite to give something my attention.” Tony had merely ruffled his hair in exasperation at the time, but found himself unconsciously mimicking the kid’s behavior the more time they spent together ). Grief welled in his throat again at the unwanted intrusion of routine and the memory that came along with it, and he clenched his fist.

“What, FRIDAY?” he snapped at his AI, knowing he was being irrationally angry at her but feeling upset nonetheless.

“I’m sorry for interrupting, Boss,” she said softly, sounding genuinely apologetic. “But I think there’s something you really need to see.”

Tony sighed and ducked his head, roughly scrubbing a hand down his face in an attempt to push any moisture back into his tear ducts. He was not about to start crying in front of his team. He wasn’t . Not over something as stupid and irrational as an interrupted routine ( Grief isn’t rational. his own voice echoed in his head– another thing he’d told Peter). He tried to push the thoughts of Peter out of his mind- at least until he was alone in his lab and he could get drunk and cry without anyone seeing him, 11 AM on a Tuesday be damned (he didn’t actually know what time it was. He couldn’t be bothered to check anymore).

“What is it, FRI?” he asked, less rough and more tired.

“According to Protocol ‘Whoopsie Daisies’ I’m supposed to alert you if any of the Avengers’ biometrics or fingerprints show up in the police system.” she informed him, and he dropped his head as Steve shot him a questioning glance. More eyes were on him, now, and he spoke quietly.

“That was… originally a protocol for Peter.” he admitted, almost whispering when he said the kid’s name. “In case he accidentally left a fingerprint or DNA somewhere as Spider-Man, so that nothing with his identity could be linked back to him. But I ended up expanding it to include the whole team later on anyways.” he murmured as an afterthought, shaking his head. “Why was this urgent, FRIDAY? It could have waited.”

If possible, FRIDAY almost hesitated. “Because… I ran the biometrics and they were a match. To Peter Parker.”

Silence.

Tony’s mug slipped out of his grasp and shattered on the ground, coffee spilling everywhere. He was frozen in shock, ears ringing. Distantly, he realized his teammates were moving, standing up, starting to ask questions, but all he could do was stare. “...What?” he rasped, hands starting to shake. “FRIDAY, this has to be a mistake–”

A hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing tightly in reassurance and grounding him before his mind had a chance to spiral out of control. He glanced to his left to see Steve, shock echoed in his own expression but eyes set in resolve.

“FRIDAY, explain please.” Steve requested. His voice didn’t shake, but it had a certain tone to it– a cautious hope they were all trying to beat down. Tony had built FRIDAY to always be correct, and he knew she would have run all the scans possible to confirm repeatedly that there was no mistake. But… they’d all seen Peter’s body. He’d been dead . Those two facts were not able to coexist– one had to be false.

“According to the police report, there was a young man arrested for drunk and disorderly conduct two nights ago, after getting into a bar fight. The file was just uploaded this morning. He spent the night in a jail cell, but that’s the protocol they have to follow for that complaint until the subject sobers up. Nobody was seriously hurt other than a few bruises and nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so they fingerprinted and released him the next morning, under the name ‘Miles Miller.’ It didn’t immediately register in my system because of the name, but once the fingerprints were in the system I ran them against the personal Avengers medical records, as per protocol. Peter’s file has not yet been disabled, so it was still run with the others, and it was a match.”

Whatever the team was expecting to hear from FRIDAY, it wasn’t that. Sam found his voice first.

“Drunk… and disorderly conduct? Peter?” he asked quietly, incredulously.

“According to the report, Miles Miller is 22 years old. They wouldn’t have known he’s a minor.” FRIDAY responded.

Sam shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant.” he murmured, voicing what they were all thinking but too afraid to say out loud. “That’s not… even if he somehow were alive, how would he end up in that position? With those records? Why wouldn’t he have come here? It doesn’t make sense.”

FRIDAY was quiet for a moment. “There’s a mugshot, if you wish to see further confirmation. I have run it against facial scans for Peter and they are a match as well.”

Tony inhaled sharply. “Show it.” he demanded, before he could further overthink on the matter. FRIDAY did as she was told, a flatscreen flickering to life in the adjacent common room. Tony started moving out of the kitchen into the room, feeling the team do the same behind him.

The mugshot popped onto the screen and the air was immediately sucked out of the room– Tony felt like he couldn’t breathe. It was Peter , but so clearly not with the countenance they were used to seeing from him. In the photo, he was glaring, head ducked and eyes dark with simmering anger. His left eye was darkening with what seemed to be the beginnings of a black eye. The corners of his lips were tilted down in a glower, frown lines etched into his expression, and his hair was unruly and long, dangling into his eyes.

Tony’s eyes swept over every inch of his face, taking in every detail, and he didn’t need FRIDAY to show a comparison photo to know that that was his kid. Every proportion and little detail of Peter’s face had been seared into the backs of his eyelids the second Tony had seen him lying still and cold in the morgue. To see him so lifeless and pale had been wrong , shaking him to his very core, and this photo was evoking the same feeling in him. Peter had never made that expression; it was as if he were being puppeteered, controlled by a completely new person.

But with each of these thoughts, Tony didn’t even hesitate a second before speaking again. “FRI, do you have an address on file for him from the report?” He was already moving before FRIDAY gave the affirmative, intending to put the Iron Man armor on and blast the f*ck out of here as soon as humanly possible, but he was stopped by Steve.

“Move, Cap.” he said, trying to shove past the far taller and stronger man.

“Tony.” Steve said, in that stupid Captain™ voice of his. “I know you want to go to him– trust me, I do too– but we have to think this through.”

“Like hell, Steve.” Tony practically snarled. “I’m going to talk to my kid. Now move .”

Natasha stepped up too, gaze unwavering, and Tony knew he wouldn’t be getting through them. Sometimes he really hated being around enhanced people. “Tony, stop.” she said seriously. “We have to make sure this isn’t a trap. It could very well be– your connection to Peter wasn’t well known, but it wasn’t impossible to find, and if someone figured out he was dead they could very well be doing something to try and trick you. For all we know, it could be HYDRA, or someone who knew they set the explosion for Peter.” she said, staring straight at him.

Now, Tony Stark was not a stupid man. Quite the opposite, in fact. He knew what they were saying was valid, but every cell in his body itched to get to Peter. He didn’t think he could handle another excruciating moment of not knowing. He opened his mouth to try and argue– to say something, anything– but Natasha wasn’t done speaking.

“I’m going to call Fury.” she said, gaze piercing him. “He’s the one who manages the facility where Peter’s body should be. All I’m going to do is ask him if Peter’s body is still there– if it is, we’ll know it’s a trap, and may be able to gain the upper hand on whoever it is.” she paused, voice going quieter, softer. “And Tony… if he’s not there, if this is really Peter, I promise I will be the first to go with you to his apartment. All I ask is that you let me do this one check.” They both knew it wasn’t really a matter of asking for his permission, but Tony appreciated the sentiment nonetheless, nodding jerkily and stepping back.

“You have five minutes.” he said roughly, and she merely gave a short, sharp nod in return before leaving the room to call Fury. Tony’s mind was racing, but he felt mentally clearer than he had felt in months. Tension crackled in the room, everyone fearful of what the result would be, but having something to do , some hope to cling onto, some action to take– it was enough to kick them all out of the stagnant state they’d been in.

It felt like a small eternity (two minutes, twenty-three seconds, and fourteen milliseconds–) before Natasha hurried back into the room. Tony searched her face for any signs, but her mask was perfectly steeled other than a brief flicker of something in her eyes that he couldn’t pinpoint before it was gone. She nodded her head jerkily in the direction of the Avengers conference room, speaking as she was already moving back out of the common area.

“Fury’s on the line. You need to hear this.”

—-

“What the hell do you mean, he’s not there?” Tony asked, voice sharp and brittle enough to cut glass, leaning over the table where the director’s hologram was projected. Fury merely met his gaze evenly, his eye flickering briefly to the team gathered behind the billionaire before returning to his face.

“You heard me, Stark.” he said calmly. “His body is no longer in the facility.”

“You said it was a top-notch security SHIELD facility.” Steve interjected before Tony could go off again, and even his normally perfect level voice was tight with anger and barely contained emotion.

Fury didn’t flinch. “Yes, from the outside. The facility is designed to keep people out , not lock people in. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but dead bodies don’t exactly have a propensity for getting up and walking away.” he mentioned dryly, ignoring the subtle reactions that always came up when referring to Peter as a ‘dead body.’

If possible, the tension in the room increased tenfold, the weight of that remark and what it meant at the forefront of every Avenger’s mind. The silence laid, heavy and suffocating, before Natasha spoke, eyes searching Fury’s face.

“So you do think that it’s him.” she murmured, looking for any signs to the contrary in the man’s face. Fury merely tilted his head in a nod.

“You have the biometrics in the system.” he said calmly– that was as much of an agreement from Fury as a resounding ‘yes’ would have been from anyone else. Someone inhaled shakily. The silence permeated the room again.

Peter was alive.

Peter was alive .

It sounded too good to be true. Any moment, Tony was expecting the universe to pull a ‘haha, just kidding!’ and everything would come crashing down again. Despite this, and despite his better judgment, he couldn’t stop the hope bubbling in his chest, battling with the grief that had clamped down on his lungs for the last eight months. He turned on his heel, ready to leave the conference room and get his kid, but Fury spoke again, stopping him in his tracks.

“It may not be the best idea to go after him.” The man spoke lowly, and Tony pivoted slowly to face his hologram, looking at him as if he had gone insane.

“If you think I’m just going to sit there while Peter is out there, alive, and not go see him, you’ve actually gone off the rails.” he informed the director incredulously. The man in question merely shrugged, as if expecting this response.

“Oh no, Stark, I know you’re going to go see him regardless, I’m just offering you a warning.” he said. “Whatever his reasoning, the fact of the matter is that the kid didn’t come back to you willingly. He went out, assumed a new personality, and the only reason you even know he’s alive is because he showed up in the police system by getting arrested, under a completely new identity.” he shrugged. “I think he’s made it pretty clear that he doesn’t want to be found.”

Tony grit his teeth, hating that the man had just spoken aloud what had been weighing on every single one of them since Peter’s face first popped up in that mugshot as ‘Miles Miller.’ The harsh set to his face, the glowering expression, the steel cold eyes– not to mention the very presence of a mugshot itself– all pointed to this not being Peter. Or, at the very least, not the Peter they once knew. The relief at the knowledge that he was alive had overshadowed everything else for a few blissful moments, but deep down, Tony was absolutely petrified for who they’d find. He swallowed roughly, meeting Fury’s gaze again, hating how the man seemed to see right through him.

“Even if that’s the case… we have to try. He deserves to come home.” Nobody in the room dared to mention that he may very well not want to come home. Tony himself couldn’t think of that fact, lest he break down. “He has to come home.” he murmured, more to himself, but he knew everyone heard him. He turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the heavy silence behind him once more.

—

Day 223

Fury’s POV

Fury sighed as the hologram turned off, rubbing the side of his temple. Everything seemed to be going to plan so far… but now for the riskiest part: Parker actually interacting with the people he hadn’t seen in months, who he deeply cared for and held guilt over letting them grieve for him.

Fury knew that Peter knew the importance of keeping up the lie, but there were so many things that could go wrong. Parker had gotten considerably better at acting and controlling his expressions and body language (there’s no way Fury would have orchestrated this if he hadn’t), but Romanoff had unfortunately insisted on going with Stark to the apartment. There was no feasible way that Fury could convince her to not go without them becoming even more suspicious of his involvement somehow.

Frankly, it was a miracle none of them had put it together yet, and Fury chalked that up to the fact that the kid’s death had rattled them. But Romanoff’s perceptiveness, paired with the emotional stress put on Parker by having to lie face-to-face… well, let’s just say Fury was not the most confident in this decision. It was a risk, but he had grown to trust the kid. He only hoped this trust wasn’t misplaced.

Reaching out, he dialed another phone number, hearing it ring once before a familiar voice picked up.

“The plan is in motion.” Fury said. “I sure hope your acting is as good as it seems, because you’re about to have to put on the biggest performance of your life.”

~ ~ ~

Day 223

Peter’s POV

Peter was sure he was going to have a heart attack and die at the ripe age of eighteen.

Alright, maybe he was exaggerating, but it felt like his heart was palpitating violently in his chest. Really, Fury could use a few pointers in the ‘how to reassure someone’ section, because he had spectacularly failed in that department.

Every time Peter tried to calm his own nerves, he remembered the fact that he’d be seeing his family for the first time in eight months. Not only that, but he had to act well enough to fool his mentor and a trained super-spy, of all people. When Fury had elaborated that Tony and Natasha were the ones coming to the drab, run-down apartment he was currently pacing back and forth in, he hadn’t been all that surprised. That didn’t make him feel better about his acting skills, though. He was not exactly confident in his ability to spin a believable story on why he’d magically woken up from the dead and decided to go off the deep end (Fury had been no help in that department, which really felt like a poor decision on his part).

Oh, and not to mention, the fate of a mission to take down an entire evil villain organization all rested on this encounter. One that he’d already spent eight exhausting months of his life on.

So, all in all, no pressure.

A sharp knock came from the door to his apartment, and Peter nearly jumped onto the ceiling. He was supposed to have more time than that– he wasn’t ready to face them yet. He was still unsure of whether he’d burst into tears the second he saw them face-to-face, and was even less sure of whether he’d be able to convincingly lie to them.

Regardless, he knew why they’d gotten here so fast; they’d have gotten here as soon as they physically could, the second they found out he was alive. It made his gut twist into uncomfortable knots even more at the thought of the act he’d have to put on to pull this off.

The sharp knock came again, and Peter inhaled roughly, steeling himself. That was his sign. If he didn’t answer the knocks he knew his mentor would just blast the door frame in. And while this wasn’t even his apartment, he didn’t want to deal with Fury chewing him out for such a thing. On second thought, he wondered whether Fury had even legally acquired this apartment, or whether it was just some empty space. He didn’t want to find out.

He straightened his spine and walked over to the door, forcing his shoulders to relax slightly, and schooling his face into a neutral expression. He swallowed twice, trying to get rid of the dryness in his mouth, before fiddling with the knob and pulling the door open a few inches.

“You have the wrong apartment. Go away.” Peter said in a thick Russian accent through the crack of the door, feigning irritation at the disruption. He started to push the door closed, but didn’t put his full strength behind it, leaving an opening for a few seconds. As anticipated, Tony’s foot lodged in the crack before he could shut it.

“Peter, we know it’s you.” Natasha spoke quietly from behind Tony, who seemed to be at a loss for words.

“I do not know a ‘Peter’.” he said indifferently, still keeping the accent (he’d gotten pretty decent at imitating the accent while he was learning his vocab words). “Try somewhere else.”

“You’re Peter Parker.” Natasha said again, her gaze narrowing. “Your biometrics from the arrest two days ago matched in our system.”

Peter had to admit, Fury was smart for that. The fake ‘arrest’ had been painfully easy to set up– round up a few drunk guys and tell them that they’d had a fight with ‘Miles Miller’ in a bar, in which they were too drunk to remember. Falsify a few records, take a mugshot, and boom. Character witnesses, records, a mugshot– and Miles Miller had his own criminal charge. Send it all out in a perfect little file in the police system for FRIDAY to find, link it to an address, and plant Peter there in wait for the Avengers.

Peter was silent, not saying anything but not shoving the door shut either.

“Peter, please.” Tony said softly. Peter had already been planning to let them in after their next insistence, but at the sound of his mentor’s soft plea, he felt his heart crush in his ribcage. He showed no outward signs of it, though, instead narrowing his eyes at the two Avengers on his doorstep as if they were inconveniencing him.

“Fine.” he said stiffly, sliding the chain off and opening the door. He dropped the thick accent but opted for a harsher, colder tone instead, with the faintest hint of a southern drawl. Just enough to seem out of place, but not so much to seem exaggerated. “Come in. I don’t want the nosy neighbors to hear this conversation.” He didn’t hold the door open for them or wait for them to step inside– that would be too chivalrous for Miller. Instead, he turned on his heel and stalked inside, heading towards the living room. It was an open floor plan, with the front door heading down a short hallway into the living room and kitchen.

He’d been wearing a ‘disguise’ to mostly cover his face and outfit– easy ways to change his appearance within seconds. He knew Natasha would catch onto it as a method of changing identity, usually for people who had criminal records or were involved in fishy things. All subtle methods to truly convince them that he was no longer Peter Parker.

Peter could feel their eyes trained on his back, burning at an uncomfortable intensity, but he forced his posture to remain calm and relaxed as he whipped off his disguise, throwing the glasses and the jacket onto the end table beside the couch. He was wearing a tank top underneath, and he could feel their focus shift to the numerous scars he’d collected in the last 8 months, including the rough burn scar snaking up his left forearm from the original explosion (the others had all mostly healed, but his left arm had taken the brunt of the fire and hadn’t quite healed right– he had ‘died’ before Dr. Cho had a chance to use the regenerative cradle on it). He thought he heard a sharp, small intake of breath, but as his back was still facing them, he couldn’t tell who it came from.

Sauntering over to the bar attached to the kitchen, he grabbed a Capri-Sun and finally turned to face them. They were both still standing there, still as statues, frozen with looks of shock on their faces as if they couldn’t believe he was standing there, alive. In all fairness, they had only found out he wasn’t actually dead a few hours ago, so he could cut them some slack. He held up the children’s juice pouch, quirking his eyebrow. “Capri-Sun, anyone?” he asked, the edge of his mouth pulling up in a small smirk. Tony still stood, stock-still, in his living room, but Natasha shook her head slightly. Well, it was better than no response.

Peter merely shrugged– the universal gesture for “suit yourself,” before turning back to the bar to also grab a bottle of vodka. If he was going to really play into how much he had supposedly changed as a person (and the drunk and disorderly conduct charge), he had to put on a very convincing act. Natasha was not going to make this easy, and Tony wasn’t half bad at calling out his bullsh*t either. He felt both of their eyes narrow in on the bottle as soon as he picked it up, but he’d made it halfway to the couch before Tony finally spoke, breaking the silence.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, his tone harsh, obviously referring to the alcohol gripped in Peter’s scarred left hand. He felt bad, knowing Tony’s background experience with underage drinking and knowing full well that he had never wanted the same fate for Peter, but he needed to play this up as much as possible. Plus, holding it in his left hand brought more attention to his scars and would give more credibility when he tried to finally push them out for good (well, until the mission was done, at least. Peter took small comforts in knowing it would only be a short deception period. They were so close .)

These thoughts all flitted through his head one by one in rapid motion, but on the outside, all Peter did was raise his eyebrow and the hand holding the bottle, and deadpan: “Vodka.” He waved his other hand holding the Capri-Sun and let a smile stretch across his face. It was his fake smile, all sharp white teeth and practically dripping with mockery, and not a single bit of an actual smile was reflected in his eyes. It was meant to unsettle, and he could tell it was working. “The Capri-Sun makes a great chaser. You should try it.” he said, sending another unnerving smile in their direction.

Tony, looking more bothered than Natasha (at least outwardly, though Peter was hardly surprised by that), growled. “You’re underage, what the hell are you doing drinking?”

In response, Peter merely barked out a bitter and surprised laugh, wiping a fake tear from his eye to play it up.

“Wow, that is rich comin’ from you.” he drawled, feeling a pang in his chest at the brief hurt that flickered across his mentor’s face. He knew his drastically different behavior was affecting them both (though Natasha was better at hiding it); he would never have mentioned such a thing a year ago. But it was a necessity for the plan, and he could tell it was already working.

Outwardly, he merely kicked up his feet on the end table, unscrewing the vodka cap and flicking it somewhere before taking a giant swig. Peter wanted to make a face as it went down his throat– his enhanced senses honestly made drinking vodka taste like straight rubbing alcohol– but he managed to keep a straight face as he followed it up with the Capri-Sun. He hadn’t really been lying, it was a great chaser. Regardless, he sat there for a moment, looking unbothered as they both stared at him, unsure of what to say or do in response. He merely rolled his eyes at their behavior.

“Oh please, get over it. You both have done worse and besides, I assure you, drinkin’ alcohol underage is the absolute least of my worries. Besides, according to the law, Miles Miller is 22, which last I checked, is of legal drinking age.” he quieted with a snort. “I doubt I’ll live long enough for the alcoholism to have much of an effect anyways.” he said as if it were a joke and he was unbothered, seeing their horrified faces out of the corner of his eye as he took another swig. Natasha was the first to gather her nerve to speak.

“You’re not Miles Miller, you’re Peter Parker.” she said quietly into the living room. Peter made a face, letting another bitter snort escape.

“Oh please.” he drawled. “If that’s what you were comin’ here to tell me, you’re wastin’ your time. Peter Parker died in that explosion months ago. I’m not him.” he saw their faces flicker with confusion and he waved his hand dismissively. “Sure, biologically, I guess I’m him. But mentally–” he tapped the side of his head with his index finger, taking another swig from the bottle while maintaining direct eye contact. He swallowed, giving them an acidic, sharp, borderline dangerous smile. “ that Peter Parker died 8 months ago. I’m not him, not anymore, and frankly, I have no desire to be.” he said, dismissively.

“You don’t mean that.” Natasha said, eyes piercing his, searching for any tiny sign he could be lying. Tony sat uncharacteristically quiet, watching the exchange with pain rolling off his posture in waves. Peter ignored him, knowing if he stared at his mentor he might cave and start apologizing. Instead, he stared back calmly at Nat, meeting her sharp gaze with his own.

“I do,” he said confidently. “I have no interest in being a hero again.” he spat the word out as if it were poison, seeing the two people in front of him reel back (if only slightly) at the venom in his voice. “For years I gave the world everythin’ I had, and what did I f*ckin’ get in return? Nothin’ but pain and too many dead people to count. No matter how many I saved, people were always focused on the ones I lost, and to top it all off, I was targeted and blown up in an attempted murder scene and woulda died alone in some basem*nt somewhere.” Peter ground the words out venomously, glaring at the two people sitting in front of him and gesturing to his burn scar. He paused, pretending to be thoughtful.

“Y’know, they do say that almost dying tends to put things into perspective.” he drawled. “Managed to wake up in a morgue of all places– still alone, by the way– and guess what happens when I crawl my way out? Some mugger f*ckin’ shanks me!” he barked out a laugh, lifting up the corner of his shirt to show a knife scar on his left ribcage (that was actually from sparring with Fury, but they didn’t need to know that). “I could barely move, begged people to help me for days, but nobody spared me so much as a glance.” he scowled, pausing again as he tried to come up with a logical sob story that would somehow get him from the pipeline of Peter Parker, Spider-Man, to Miles Miller, a drunk and angry criminal.

He had to pretend like it was something big that happened, otherwise there was no way they’d believe that he just woke up in the morgue (somehow alive) and didn’t come straight to them. There had to be some sort of in-between, and Peter was honestly really stretching it to try and make it convincing, because he was pretty sure that even if he had woken up in the morgue and gotten shanked by someone immediately afterwards, he still wouldn’t turn into a teenage alcoholic delinquent.

Though, that experience didn’t actually happen to him, and psychology was weird sometimes, so maybe he would have snapped. (He did also get a head injury from the explosion, so perhaps that would have rattled his brain enough for a drastic personality change. Peter decidedly did not want to go down that route of thought.)

Honestly, if he wasn’t doing this at the cost of his team’s feelings, he would be almost impressed with himself at his improv skills. They hadn’t called him out on his bullsh*t yet, at the very least, so clearly something was working. He pushed those thoughts away fiercely and started speaking again, continuing the act.

“Learned nobody was comin’ to save me, and that the city pretty much is a sh*tty place not worth my energy. You always told me to get more self preservation skills, and go f*ckin’ figure, now you’re upset because it’s not the way you wanted. Pick a damn side.” he said, taking another gulp of vodka. Ugh . Perhaps the most impressive part of his acting was not making a face or shuddering at the taste. Neither of them responded, so he just rolled his eyes and kept on drawling. If he had to sit in silence with them just staring at him he was absolutely positive he would crack. Mission be damned.

“Managed to patch myself up. Barely. Some guy offered me money and some food to make a delivery– first damn person to pay half a second of attention to me for days. So I did.” he shrugged. “Didn’t ask any questions, and he was a whole lot nicer to me than the ‘perfect civilians’ of our dear city.” Peter said icily, lazily using the hand not gripping the vodka for air quotations. “Frankly, I have no f*ckin’ interest in going back to investing my energy saving people like them, or even bein’ around people who are just going to constantly judge me against how I used to be.” he spat. Natasha opened and closed her mouth, looking at a loss for words for a few seconds until she regained her composure again.

Peter felt a small flicker of satisfaction that he’d gotten such a reaction– it meant the plan was working and his acting hadn’t failed him yet. Most importantly, it meant that his story was relatively believable. Or that he was selling it well enough. One of the two.

“We wouldn’t do that.” Nat said, gazing at him again. “We just want you back.”

Peter barked out another laugh, throwing back his head to play it up. “ Really ?” he drawled, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Don’t lie to me, Widow.” he said, staring straight back at her. “I’m not daft, I know you all would constantly be comparin’ me to how I used to be. I have no interest in bein’ held to that standard again, or hangin’ out with people who insist on holdin’ up a stupid f*ckin’ moral code or whatever.” he infused as much disgust in his tone as he could, voice dripping with disdain. “And frankly, I don’t give a f*ck what you want, because I don’t want to come back.”

Tony spoke up again, looking visibly shaken at Peter’s open hostility but still holding it together. Peter had never actually seen him look shaken– his mentor was usually very good at hiding his emotions. Though, to be fair, he had never seen Peter in this state, so he supposed it was a first for both of them. “Well you’re going to have to, because we’re not just going to leave you here on your own, kid.”

Ah, there it was. Peter knew his response here was crucial and determined whether they would leave him be to finish his mission or not. He mentally steeled himself and silently cursed his mentor for caring so much about him. It was going to make this a whole lot more painful than Peter would have liked… but there was more at stake here than either of their feelings. Peter couldn’t afford to be gentle. Miller wasn’t supposed to be gentle, and that’s who he was trying to convince them that he was. If either of them caught wind of the fact that there was any little amount of Peter left in him, they’d grab on and wouldn’t let go, and all of this would be for nothing.

Peter let out a dark, bitter laugh. “I’m not a kid anymore, Stark .” His mentor’s name was said with so much hatred and venom that part of Peter wondered whether, even after all of this was said and done, he would be able to erase the damage he’d just done with those few words. Nevertheless, he continued. “Legally, whether you consider me as Miles Miller or Peter Parker, I don’t f*ckin’ care, but you wouldn’t win either way considerin’ both are legal adults now. Or, well, Parker would be, except he’s dead in the eyes of the law, isn’t he?” Peter let a cruel smile stretch across his lips, though he felt disgusted with himself as he did. His 18th birthday had come and gone just about two months ago; if it hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been able to pull the adult card. He didn’t know whether dead people could actually have birthdays, but still. For the purposes of the argument it worked.

“Now let’s imagine you tried to reverse that, hmm? You really think that wouldn’t get into the public? How the Avengers tried to resurrect some random person from Queens who, by the way, ‘died’ at the same time Spider-Man did? As if they wouldn’t be able to connect the dots? Would you be able to live with yourself if someone tried to kill your precious Peter Parker again?” Peter finally stood up from his chair, stepping forward with every venomous word. “Because I assure you, someone would try. Maybe even HYDRA again. And they would succeed. And you would have to live with the fact that you dragged your precious little Peter Parker , your goody-two-shoes-Spider-Man, kickin’ and screamin’, to his own demise.”

By now, he stood directly above the two, hands tucked behind his back and face set in a hard, unwavering glare. He’d always had a well-muscled frame, but he’d never particularly carried himself in a threatening manner, even as Spider-Man. Fury had taught him to carry himself differently– more assured, straight-backed.

Between his posture, the scars that littered his visible skin, and the harsh set of his face and eyes, he knew he played the part of a teenage delinquent perfectly. Not that the act would be particularly threatening to Iron Man and Black Widow, of all people, but in regards to just Tony and Natasha , in this situation– it did the job.

He spoke again, driving his final point home. “You try and take me, and I assure you that I will fight you every f*ckin’ step of the way.” he said, glaring. “You aren’t savin’ me, you’re taking me to my death, and for what? Your own f*ckin’ hero complex ?” he sneered. “Because you selfishly want me for your own? To assuage your guilt at failing me so badly in the first f*cking place? It’s your fault I’m like this. If you take this path, Miles Miller will meet the same fate Peter Parker did, and you’ll be personally responsible, twice over, for his death.” The last words were low, and dangerous, stabbing into the two like blades that Peter himself was personally wielding.

He felt sick to his stomach at the expressions on their faces– he knew he had just won this argument, but at what cost? Weaponizing the guilt that he knew they felt at his “death”? He’d heard from Fury how Tony and the rest of the Avengers had nearly destroyed themselves after the whole ordeal. He’d seen it himself, in the press conference that Tony had shown up to.

If they were thinking rationally, they’d call him out on the fact that there was no possible way to have known that the warehouse was a trap– not to mention Peter had snuck off to explore it alone and it was 100% his fault. He’d said as much in his final recording, and if they had any rationality, they’d quote his own words back at him. But one thing that remained consistent about all of the Avengers were their massive guilt complexes. They’d already believed it was their fault, and him saying it wasn’t wouldn’t have changed their minds. But him coming back from the dead just to say that it was , well…

He felt disgusted at his own words, but they were already out there, and they had done their job. He could only hope now that it was worth it, and that they could eventually forgive him (though he wasn’t sure he would ever forgive himself).

All because they cared so much about him that they would jeopardize an entire population– hell, even the world– just to have him back. Peter couldn’t do that. Not for him. He wasn’t worth that. HYDRA had to be stopped. If they wouldn’t choose everyone else over him, he would have to make the choice for them.

He whipped around, swinging away from the two and stomping towards the bar under the pretense of getting more alcohol, but in reality he was screwing up his face to prevent tears from falling. He bit his tongue harshly. Dozens of apologies rested on the tip of his tongue, the remnants of his hateful speech leaving his mouth tasting sour and rancid.

He was sure that the expression on his mentor’s face when he said those last lines would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life. He despised Miles Miller to his very core, despised him with every fiber of his being. Even if Miller and this entire persona was fake, the hurt he was causing was very real, and Peter would never forgive himself for that, no matter how necessary.

It’s for their own good. I’m saving people. I’m taking down HYDRA . I’m keeping them safe. I’m keeping them safe. I’m keeping them safe. He recited desperately to himself.

He fiddled with the alcohol as he heard the two shuffling up off the couch, still likely in a state of shock and grief. His heart panged as he realized he had basically just killed Peter all over again for them. They’d found out he was alive and came, hopeful, to bring him home, only to find out that he was no longer anything like the kid they had lost. He listened to their footsteps head towards the front door, before one stopped, turned around, and headed back towards the kitchen where Peter was currently standing.

It was Tony.

Peter mentally begged his mentor to turn around, leave without saying anything. He was sure if he had to continue speaking this way to them, he would burst into tears. No amount of training could make that go away. Peter listened as the man’s footsteps came to a halt at the threshold of the kitchen. He heard Natasha waiting by the front door, her heartbeat normal, if a bit fast. Tony was so close to him now that Peter could hear the man’s irregular heartbeat thundering in his own ears. He wanted nothing more than to turn around and rush the few steps in between them to give the man a fierce and unyielding hug. He had missed him so much these last few months, and even now, when he knew Peter wasn’t dead, he still couldn’t know the truth.

It was infinitely worse.

Peter’s hand tightened around the glass he was holding so tightly he feared it would shatter, just as his heart was in peril of doing. His back was still facing Tony as the silence stretched between them, and Peter felt his shoulders grow more and more tense under the scrutiny. Finally, just as Peter was about to snap and ask him– beg him– to say something, Miller persona be damned, Tony spoke.

“If you ever change your mind… the Tower will always welcome you.” he sounded subdued, grief-stricken, and Peter felt his heart rise in his throat and his guts twist into knots. f*ck Fury for making him do this. This was the worst experience of his life, standing here, helpless to ease his mentor’s grief; grief directly caused by him . Tony, obviously not expecting a response, turned to leave, before hesitating and turning around again, speaking lowly so that Natasha couldn’t hear him, but Peter still could.

“And no matter what you say about being an adult, or how much you rightfully hate me… you’ll always be ‘kid’ to me.” Tony said, his voice pitching so low and choked at the end that Peter could hardly make out his words. When he did, he couldn’t stop the tear that slipped out of his eye as he heard the message behind it, echoing in the space between them as Tony turned around to leave– for good this time. You’ll always be my kid .

Peter stayed frozen in his position, even as Tony’s receding footsteps joined Natasha’s in the living room, and even as the front door clicked shut, leaving deafening silence in its wake. Finally, after what felt like an eternity but may have only been a few minutes, Peter was able to unfreeze, letting out a choked sob that he immediately stifled with his hand.

He stumbled back into the living room, back to where he had been so close to them, yet so far, and he crumpled, allowing himself to cry without abandon. He made no noise, yet found himself on the couch his mentor had occupied not 10 minutes prior. For the last 8 months, he had dreamed of the day he would reunite with the Avengers and proudly explain everything he had achieved. Thinking back on it, it was perhaps a bit juvenile, like a child seeking validation from their parents that they’d done well.

Yet Peter had never felt more juvenile than he did now, hit with a horrendous sense of deja vu, seeking out the cushions that faintly smelled like his mentor the same way he sought out his parents’ bed sheets when Ben and May told him that they would never be coming back. The scents were nowhere near the same– his parents’ were that of clean laundry and faint antiseptic treatment from their lab, while Tony’s was tinged with motor oil and expensive cologne– but the sickening feeling of wishing with everything in his heart that they would walk back through the front door, yet knowing they wouldn’t, was all too familiar.

And just like that horrendous night thirteen years ago, Peter pressed his face into the cushions… and he cried.

Chapter 11: ALL (Days 223-236)

Chapter Text

Day 223

Natasha’s POV

They came back without Peter.

Natasha felt the moment that their teammates registered the lack of a third person, and the clear defeat on both hers’ and Tony’s faces. Her eyes sought out Clint, whose face twisted into a frown when he saw her, and she just shook her head. Bucky’s head turned to the side, and Sam heaved out a breath and stood up, pacing around the room.

“What happened?” Steve was the first to break the silence, his blue eyes tinged with disappointment but pushing back his emotions to take the lead, as per usual.

Tony scoffed, moving towards the kitchen on default to make himself a drink. Natasha stepped into his path, and he glared at her before turning around with a huff, clearly not thinking fighting with her was worth his effort at the moment. Natasha knew it was a temporary solution– there was nothing to stop him from getting drunk the second he was alone again– but for now, she could do her best to curb his habits.

“Well, I don’t know Rogers, the kid hates us and is drinking and probably transporting drugs and who the hell knows what else.” Tony said bitterly, waving his hand. “Go f*cking figure.”

“...what?” Steve asked, blinking slightly in shock. Natasha sighed, stepping in between the two of them and pushing Tony down onto one of the common room couches. Surprisingly, he didn’t put up much resistance, too focused on replaying the scene in the apartment in his head rather than focusing on retelling it to the team. Natasha went through everything as clearly as she could, leaving out Peter’s exact words but figuring it would still be effective enough at getting the message across regardless.

When she had finished, the rest of the team looked almost as rattled, if not disbelieving; Natasha figured she would probably have trouble believing it too if she hadn’t experienced it.

“We should still tell his Aunt.” Sam said hesitantly, being the first to speak up. Natasha supposed it wasn’t that surprising; being a grief counselor ensured he had the ability to compartmentalize and think rationally in situations like this.

“Tell her what?” Tony asked dully, his tone rough. “That her nephew is drinking himself to death in a random apartment and hates us for letting him ‘die’?”

A few of the Avengers winced at the harsh words. Natasha stared into the distance, eyebrows furrowed as she replayed the conversation. “It doesn’t make sense.” she murmured, voicing the thoughts that had bugged her from the very start. The more she thought about it, the less it tracked. “It can’t have just been the explosion.”

Steve turned to look at her. “Why not?” he asked.

Nat shook her head. “He was too…” she hesitated. She couldn’t tell what was bothering her, only that something was. “That wasn’t Peter.” she said. Steve opened his mouth and she shook her head. “Not like that. It was him biologically. But the way he held himself, some of his mannerisms– if all he’d been through was the explosion, and he somehow… woke up, or however that happened… even with the story about the stabbing and ‘delivering packages’… he wouldn’t develop those mannerisms. Someone had to teach him that.”

“Who?” Sam asked, and Natasha moved her gaze to Clint, who was scrutinizing her.

“When he first opened the door… he was speaking in an accent. A Russian accent.” she said. “And he had a disguise on, like he’d been trained to be able to switch his looks quickly and effectively.”

“You think someone from HYDRA got to him?” Bucky said quietly. Natasha pursed her lips. The rest of the Avengers looked horrified at what Peter could have gone through at the hands of HYDRA.

“No. I don’t know.” she said, a faint tone of frustration leaking into her voice at the admission. “It doesn’t make sense. When he was talking, he said something that implied that HYDRA doesn’t know he’s alive, or that he’s Spider-Man. And I don’t think he was lying about that.” she shook her head. “It wouldn’t make sense for them to try and kidnap him after trying to kill him. Or how he would manage to walk free even if they had been able to catch him. But clearly he had to go through something to be trained like that, and from what I gathered, it probably wasn’t a very good experience. And I doubt common drug ring criminals could have taught him tactics like that.” She couldn’t help but think of her own Red Room experience, and could only pray that Peter didn’t have to go through something similar.

“Do you think he’s still affiliated with whoever did it?” Steve asked. She felt all of their eyes on her, even Tony’s. She clenched her jaw, thinking back to Peter’s mannerisms, expressions, body language. She sighed, slumping down slightly in her seat.

“No, I don’t.” she admitted. “He seems to have gotten away from whoever it was, even though he doesn’t want to be affiliated any more with helping people after what he’s gone through.” Even as she said it, it was hard to believe it was Peter she was talking about. Peter, the kid who was so insistent on helping people every day, who truly loved his job as Spider-Man. She couldn’t reconcile the image of that kid with the image of Miles Miller in the shabby, run-down apartment today.

“You can’t really blame him for that.” Clint said softly. “As much as we may want him back, if that’s the path he wants to be on, after everything that’s been dealt to him… maybe we should leave him be. He’s not hurting anyone.”

As much as Natasha hated the thought, she had to admit Clint was right. Peter was technically an adult now, and after all he’d gone through, she supposed even someone as good as Peter had his breaking points. It didn’t make sense, how much he’d changed, but Natasha couldn’t detect him lying in the apartment, and she didn’t know what he’d gone through in the last eight months.

“Maybe he would be more receptive to his Aunt, though.” Sam suggested quietly. “It’s possible he just blames us for not saving him, but he wouldn’t put that expectation on her. Plus, she’s known him for longer.”

Natasha shrugged. “That’s true, but it may be worse for her to see how much he’s changed. Maybe it would be kinder to let her keep the image of Peter she still has.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s not our choice to make,” he said firmly. “She has the right to know, and make that decision herself.”

The team’s eyes turned to Tony; it was no secret that he’d grown the closest to her over the past eight months, and he’d be best suited to the call. He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair before dropping it at his side.

“Fine.” he agreed, tone sounding defeated and unlike him. “I’ll call her.”

—

May was not expecting a call from Tony today. She’d like to think that she had gotten better at reading the man’s tone, but for the life of her, she couldn’t identify the reason for this call. He sounded urgent, but his voice was hoarse, like it got when he was trying to hold back his emotions. She wasn’t sure what could possibly get him in such a state, but she trusted him when he said it was important, and left work early to head to the Tower.

When she got there and took the elevator up to the penthouse, an uneasy feeling only grew inside her. FRIDAY wouldn’t tell her any details, either. She almost came to the conclusion that something bad had happened to one of the Avengers, though she couldn’t figure out why it would be so important for Tony to tell her that. When the doors to the elevator slid open and she stepped into the room full of the team, her theory was disproved anyways. Her gaze flickered to each team member, and most of them were avoiding her gaze. What the hell was happening here?

She turned to Tony and walked up to him. “Tony, what is this about?” she asked, trying to get him to look straight at her. His eyes flickered to her face and then away again, and she frowned. Tony Stark was not one to avoid eye contact. He made a point of that. It was Steve who broke the silence first.

“Ms. Parker…” Steve said. “It’s about Peter.”

Whatever she had been expecting to hear, it wasn’t that.

“Peter?” May asked, her voice wavering slightly even as she turned and fixed him with a steady gaze. “What is it?” She’d already been given the worst news she could have gotten about him– his death. She didn’t know how it could get worse than that.

“Peter is alive.” Tony said hoarsely, finally bringing himself to speak.

“... what?” May asked, face shuttering. “Tony, what are you talking about?” her tone grew more desperate against her will, and she turned and faced the other Avengers when Tony didn’t seem able to speak. “Someone tell me what’s going on.” They couldn’t just drop a bombshell like that and expect her to keep her cool. She was a very easygoing person normally, but hearing that her nephew was apparently not dead after eight months was a very good reason to lose her sh*t.

Natasha stepped forward. “Peter is alive.” She repeated the statement. “But he’s… different.”

May collapsed into a chair that had been ready nearby, perhaps for this exact purpose– her legs seemingly were unable to support her any longer at the revelation. But when she spoke, her voice was steeled, not shaky. Years in nursing gave her that particular skill. “Different how?”

“We found his identity when FRIDAY matched his biometrics in the police system to a recent drunk and disorderly arrest. The name on the police file was 22 year old Miles Miller, but his biometrics and mugshot matched Peter’s. We went to his address and he made it… very clear that after whatever he’s gone through in the last eight months, he blames us for what happened and wants nothing more to do with any of us, and that he wants to be left alone.”

May drew in a shaky breath as Natasha finished. “Can I see the mugshot?” she asked quietly, unable to focus on any other factor of that equation. There were too many variables to focus on at once, but the fact that there was a picture –

FRIDAY complied, and a hologram popped up in front of her. She inhaled sharply, tuning out the rest of the room, and raised her hand, tracing over the harsh planes of her nephew’s face. Tears started collecting in her eyes and she forced herself to push them back, swallowing roughly.

“We thought he might be more receptive to seeing you, rather than us.” Sam suggested gently. “And you had a right to know.”

“Thank you.” May murmured after a pause. She chewed on her lip, thinking. “You said he wanted to be left alone?” she asked quietly, still staring at the projected hologram. Her Peter was alive . Blessedly, wholly, alive. Every instinct in her screamed to see him immediately, to touch his skin and have it be warm instead of cold, to look into his eyes and have them look back at her.

But years of raising Peter Parker told her to ask more questions about the situation first. There was something else going on here, something that had stopped her beloved nephew from coming to her himself. Disregarding the entire fact of how the hell he’d managed to come back from the dead in the first place.

Natasha nodded. “Yes, but he said that to Tony and I. You raised him, and you’re not an Avenger. He would have no reason to be upset at you.”

May chanced a glance at Tony. He’d been unnaturally quiet, not contributing to the conversation. She could see that however much Peter’s death had destroyed him, whatever conversation he’d had in that apartment with ‘Miles Miller’ had shattered him even more.

Her eyes returned to the screen, looking into her nephew’s dark ones. “Is he in any danger?” she asked softly.

“Not that we know of.” Steve replied, shaking his head. “He seems to have separated himself from whatever situation led to this in the first place.”

May drew in a deep, fortifying breath, heart crushing in her chest in preparation of her own words. “Then it’s his decision. I can’t force myself on him.”

Whatever response the Avengers had been expecting from her, that wasn’t it.

“But you’re his Aunt.” Sam probed, though not harshly. May nodded.

“I am, and I miss him deeply.” she admitted. “But one thing I know for sure about my nephew is that he is stubborn like no other. If he’s decided on something, he needs to change his own mind. I’ve never been able to force him on it. And him turning away even Tony tells me that he’s set on it. If he’s not in active danger, and his wishes are to be left alone, then… that’s his right. If he’d wanted to see me he would have come to me already. Whatever his reasons are, I’ll love him regardless. He’ll come around when he’s ready.” If he’s ever ready. Was left unspoken.

She could tell the Avengers were shocked by her decision, and even she was somewhat shocked at herself. Making this choice wasn’t easy– it felt like she was carving her heart out of her chest with a burning knife. And maybe some would say it was the wrong decision, to not even try.

But deep down, May knew her nephew. She didn’t believe this whole ‘Miles Miller’ persona, even if she hadn’t been there to witness it. She knew that Peter, no matter what he’d gone through, wouldn’t just change like that. She knew whatever he was doing was to protect his family, however unlikely it may seem. She didn’t know what he was trying to protect them against, but she knew it was something.

The Avengers clearly hadn’t come to the same conclusion, but May wasn’t going to be the one to tell them (she did have the advantage of knowing her nephew better than anyone else in this world). They wouldn’t understand it, and they’d just try and go after him and force Peter to change his mind.

If it had been a year or two ago, or perhaps even eight months ago, May would have let them. She would have marched to that apartment herself and talked some sense into her nephew. The thought of Peter putting himself in danger to protect others shattered her bit-by-bit, at the knowledge that he put himself at risk and that one day he may not come home.

And that day had come. No matter how much May had fought tooth-and-nail against it– grounding Spider-Man, implementing rules– Peter always found his way back to trouble. It was in his nature. He had died . The worst had come and gone, and somehow Peter was back. She knew she wouldn’t be able to stop whatever he was doing– no matter how much she wanted to grab him and wrap him up and never see him in danger again, that just wasn’t feasible. God knows she’d tried. So she’d support him instead. And if that meant respecting his wish to be alone and loving him from afar, then so be it. She would do anything for her nephew.

“I quit my job.” May said, all of a sudden. Several pairs of eyes snapped to her, and she was surprised by herself that of all the things she could continue with, her mouth chose that to blurt out.

“What?” Tony asked, blinking in surprise but seemingly not questioning the tangent she was going on. “When did you…”

May shook her head tiredly. “A few months ago.” she said tiredly. “One patient reminded me too much of Peter, and from there I couldn’t stop seeing him in every kid I treated. It wasn’t fair to my patients to keep working like that. So I quit.” She wasn’t really sure where she was going with this line of reasoning, but she felt like she needed to try and explain it to Peter’s team members, to have them see it from her perspective. She didn’t think she was succeeding.

Tony frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, looking at her with furrowed eyebrows. “I could have set you up at a different hospital–”

She shook her head firmly, waving her hand slightly to cut him off. She knew he would have offered her a job in an instant, which was part of the reason she didn’t go to him in the first place. As much as she appreciated everything he did, she was perfectly capable of getting herself a job, thank you very much. “No, I have a new job now, working as a nurse at FEAST. It’s a homeless shelter and outreach center.” her mouth flickered in a smile. “It’s good, I like it there. We do good work.” she shook her head slightly. “Point is… I’ve managed this long, thinking he was gone. Knowing he’s alive, and has a chance to make his own choices…” she trailed off slightly. “Just give him time.” she said quietly. “I have to trust he’ll come back to us.”

~ ~ ~

Day 236

3:00 PM

Peter could hardly believe his luck.

And for once, he meant that in a good way.

Frankly, he thought he deserved some good luck after the series of bad luck sh*tshows that kept getting thrown his way. It had barely been a week since the disastrous apartment confrontation (it wasn’t actually disastrous, it was actually perfectly executed, but the sickening feeling that Peter got from it certainly made it disastrous in his eyes).

Regardless, usually it took much longer than a week to get intel on another HYDRA base, but they’d gotten lucky this time. SHIELD had intercepted a message from another small base, and when Peter had gone to perform reconnaissance, he’d managed to overhear a conversation about a big gathering of higher-up HYDRA officials, scheduled for today. God bless overly chatty HYDRA guards.

Fury had been skeptical, at first, wary that it was another trap that Peter was falling into. Truth be told, Peter was unsure of it himself, at first– his notoriously bad Parker luck didn’t exactly line up with the intel. But they’d double and triple and quadruple-checked the information as best they could, and Peter had been positive that nobody spotted him at the base he was spying on. They decided it was worth the risk. The potential benefit was far too high to give up.

“So this is it.” Peter said calmly. He was as sure of it as he possibly could be, and something in his gut was twisting in painful excitement at the idea of all of this finally being over, paired with the usual nervousness over solo-storming a HYDRA base. On the outside, though, his countenance didn’t reflect any of his inner thoughts, and he instead met Fury’s eyes head-on. Of course, there was a possibility that it would all be a massive bust, and nothing would come of it, but Peter was trying to think on the positive side here. Fury inclined his head in a nod, and Peter suppressed a faint smile.

Through the last eight months their relationship had developed from some sort of mentor-mentee bond to one of more mutual respect. Fury trusted him, and trusted his judgment, and it was his call to make on this base.

“You’ll have me in your ear through the comms as extra support.” Fury said in response. How delightful, Peter refrained himself from mumbling. “Since this base is more high stakes than any of the other missions you’ve done, I’m risking bringing in a few SHIELD agents to perform scans to show where large groups of guards are, so I can warn you if needed. It runs the risk of the Avengers tracing it, if Stark’s AI manages to catch on, but the trade-off of having extra support is worth it.” Fury said, eye boring into him. “But remember, this is still intended to be a stealth mission, if you can keep it that way.”

Peter knew that, but privately, he doubted the likelihood of it staying one. The intel he’d overheard seemed to suggest the disk was near or in the presence of a higher-up HYDRA official. Which was just fantastic, really. Even with his training, the officials were bound to be very well protected, especially because this was such a high profile meeting (in terms of underground villain lair meetings, at least).

Regardless, he didn’t say any of this out loud, instead looking down at his suit and double-checking that he had everything he needed. Knives? Check. Toolbelt? Check. Tranq-shooters? Check. (He still had yet to come up with a better name for those). Back-up darts? Check.

Looking back up at Fury, he gave a short nod and a mock salute to the director in response.

“I’m ready.”

~ ~ ~

Day 236

4:00 PM

“Boss, I’m detecting activity at one of the potential HYDRA base locations. There appears to be an active attack by an unknown assailant.”

Steve stood up sharply. “The solo guy.” he said.

“We have got to come up with a better name than ‘solo guy.’” Clint muttered.

“Are we sure this isn’t a trap?” Natasha asked, already on her feet, looking over at Tony.

“FRI, honey, what channels did the alert come in from?” Tony asked, already making motions to suit up.

“Through one of the SHIELD backdoors you installed, boss.” she replied. “It appears that Fury ordered scans of a new base, one that is not in our system, and tried to cover it up from the main system. I was able to trace and detect it, and it appears that whatever activity is going on is still currently happening.”

“So Fury is involved with this solo agent.” Clint muttered. “Of course he is.”

Nobody bothered to add onto that comment, because everything was happening too quickly and they still didn’t know who this agent was, or even that he (or she) was for sure affiliated with Fury. But it was certainly looking more and more like that by the second. (To absolutely nobody's surprise).

“FRI, send the coordinates to my suit and the jet.” Tony said, moving towards the lab to get his suit.

“Already done, boss.” she replied instantly.

Steve nodded at the rest of them, already making their own moves to get suited up. “Meet at the QuinJet. We leave in three minutes.”

—

Peter really wished he had his team right about now.

Turns out, when things went to sh*t, it was a whole lot easier to fight your way out of a HYDRA base with an entire team of superheroes instead of just one.

Things had been going splendidly, at first. In fact, it had been going so well that Peter should have guessed that his good luck streak wouldn’t last.

He’d managed to miraculously make his way into the base without being noticed, and crawl his way through the very small air vents (seriously, couldn’t they be even a little bit bigger)? He followed the instructions from Fury in his ear, telling him where the highest concentration of people were gathered; they both figured that was likely where the most important information was.

As he got closer to the location Fury had been directing him towards, he heard the sound of intense Russian arguing, and carefully peered into a room through the slats of the air vent. His breath caught in his throat, and he forced himself to remain perfectly still as he scanned the room below. It was a fancy-looking room, equipped with an oval-shaped wooden table surrounded by plush black chairs with the HYDRA symbol stamped in red on the back. How original. His gaze drifted to the people arguing– even if the room’s decor hadn’t given it away, their uniforms certainly did.

Seven HYDRA officials.

Well that was just fan-f*cking-tastic.

Suddenly, his eyes caught sight of what they were arguing about.

Right there, in the middle of the table, lay a small innocuous disk, complete with the HYDRA insignia and all.

Peter was sure his heart rate tripled at the sight. He forced himself to stay perfectly still and silent, not willing to jump in just yet until he was absolutely certain this is what he was after. He tuned into their conversation (in Russian of course), but they were speaking slightly too fast and with words that were probably the English equivalent of saying super pretentious long vocabulary words to sound smart. He was fairly sure he heard the word ‘disk,’ ‘attack,’ and ‘Avengers’ in there somewhere, and really, what were the chances that seven HYDRA officials would be arguing about a disk that wasn’t the one Peter was after?

On second thought, given his luck, he figured he shouldn’t ask that question.

Regardless, there was no way to prove for sure, but Peter was at least 79% sure this was the disk he was after. Not fantastic chances, by any means, but it was far closer than he had ever been, and he doubted he would ever get a chance like this again if he didn’t take it. Exhaling slowly, he tried to form a plan in his head. Truly, he had never wished more in this moment that he had his web-shooters. It would make it simpler to grab the disk from the table before worrying about the other people in the room. Of course, then he’d have to deal with seven very angry HYDRA officials, along with the multitude of guards he could hear right outside the door, but at least he’d have the disk in his hand.

As it were, he didn’t have his web-shooters, so he’d have to make do with what he had. Ideally, he’d be able to take everyone in the room down with tranq darts, get in, get the disk, and leave through the air vents without the guards outside being any the wiser. Unfortunately, with seven people all facing each other, that was an impossibility. Peter figured he could maybe knock four of them out before one of the others managed to shout for help, and then he’d have to deal with the guards and whoever else came running. Not to mention what was going to happen if someone managed to pull an alarm, alerting the entire damn base.

Peter was trying not to think of that.

He was spectacularly failing.

Unfortunately, he was also out of options, and rapidly running out of time. He figured they wouldn’t sit here arguing for much longer, and he didn’t want to wait until one of them picked up the disk and pocketed it– or worse, called even more people into the room. In other words, he had to act now, no matter how horrendous his chances seemed. As long as he could get his hands on the disk, all he had to worry about was getting out alive. Should be a piece of cake.

With a deep breath, he braced himself, double checked his tranq-shooters, and exhaled slowly.

Then he made his move.

In one quick motion, he tore the air vent cover off, not bothering with stealth as he dropped down onto the table, right over the position of the disk, firing darts as he fell. He managed to hit five of them (above average, go him) before the other two’s instincts kicked in, and they were shouting and pulling their own weapons on him as he grabbed the disk off the table and rolled off to the side, narrowly avoiding getting shot as he used the table as a shield. Tucking the disk into his pocket, Peter rolled again, hearing shouts and commotion as the door opened and guards rushed in.

And so it began.

The next few moments were a whirlwind as Peter shot as many darts as he could, dodging the bullets that were also being fired at him every millisecond. By some miracle, he managed to make it out of the room and into the hallway, sprinting as fast as he could away from the shouts and sounds of rapid gunfire behind him. He didn’t know where the hell he was going, but there was no way he was going to be able to take all those guards down to climb back into the air vent. Not to mention they now knew that’s how he’d come in, so they were likely sending out orders to block every air vent exit possible. So he’d have to find a different way out.

He continued sprinting through the halls, tapping his comm as gunfire ricocheted after him. “I’ve got the disk, Fury, but there’s a bunch of guys on me and I’m not armed to take on people with guns.” The most he had been armed with in the first place were his emergency tranq-shooters and a few knives, and he’d just used up the majority of his darts getting out of that room with the info. After all, the goal had always been stealth, not brute force– that decision wasn’t exactly working well for him at the moment. There were far too many guards; even with his skills and enhancements there was no way he could take them all on at once. (He really should have heeded the 'don't bring a knife to a gunfight' adage).He needed to hide and take them out strategically, and he couldn’t risk the disk in doing so.

Within seconds of him saying that, alarms started blaring in every direction, and Peter winced at the onslaught of sound, forcing himself to tune it out to focus on Fury’s response. At the very least, the man had scans of the bunker, and could tell him where to go on the path of least resistance.

Speak of the devil– Fury’s tinny voice came through the earpiece. “You’re going to want to turn right and go up, Parker, that’ll lead you to an escape route– oh, motherf*cker.”

“What?” Peter demanded a bit breathlessly, still sprinting. The comms were silent and Peter was about to ask again before they crackled back to life.

“You have company, the Avengers are here. They must have followed their own tracking or traced the SHIELD activity and got a hit here. This will be fun to explain.” Fury muttered wryly. Peter said nothing, still sprinting towards the direction he’d been originally directed in. He wanted to make a remark along the lines of ‘great, so I emotionally traumatized my mentor and team just for them to crash the HYDRA base anyways?’ Because of course that would be his luck. Suddenly Fury spoke urgently.

“Parker, stop.” he said sharply, and Peter skidded to a halt.

“What?” he asked breathlessly, gripping the pocket holding the disk and scanning his surroundings.

“Scans show men converging from all directions towards you. Similar ETA. There’s no way you can take them all at once without backup and ensure the safety of that disk. The only way out is back the direction you came.”

Peter was already turning and sprinting back that way. “What do I do after that? Is there another way out?”

Fury growled in frustration. “No. I’m going to have to send the Avengers to you. Get as far from the action as possible, I will tell them I have an agent they need to rescue and they’ll come get you. Keep your face covered and don’t speak to them.”

“What? Why?” Peter said, indignantly, panting slightly as he ran.

“Parker, if you think the best time to reveal to them that you’re a SHIELD agent and that this was all a setup is right in the middle of an active combat zone, I am severely concerned for your psychological state. They’ll be thrown off their game if you drop that on them. Keep your identity protected and for the love of god, do not lose that disk.”

“Believe me, I have no intention of doing so.” Peter muttered bitterly, more to himself than to Fury, but he knew the man heard him nonetheless. He kept running, and when he rounded a sharp corner, he knocked into a lone HYDRA guard running in the opposite direction, knocking him out almost immediately with how fast he had been going. He paused, checked the man’s pulse, and pulled the man’s gun and knives out of his belt. He really did not want to use the gun, but he would also really rather not die in the final minutes of this 8-month stint. Double checking that the disk was secure in his zippered pocket (bless whoever invented zippers), he continued his sprint down the halls. He supposed one benefit to going this way was that they expected him to try and head out of the base, rather than deeper into it.

“Have my mask on. Picked up a gun and more knives.” he informed Fury shortly.

“I’ve told the Avengers about an agent stuck inside. I have your live location but you should find somewhere safe and settle down to wait for them if you can.” Fury replied, and Peter gave a grunt of acknowledgement. He slowed down, looking for any abandoned rooms he could hunker down in for the time being. Any other day he would trust his training to take down agents and make his own way out, but… not at the risk of the disk. He’d spent almost an entire year lying and inadvertently hurting the people he loved for this information; if he lost it now, it would all be for nothing. It was too great of a price.

He came across a large room with heavy steel doors that were slightly ajar, as if whoever was inside had fled without bothering to close the doors properly. Gingerly, he stepped inside, checking his surroundings (first lesson, Fury’s voice echoed in his mind)-- but his Spidey sense and regular senses were silent, and he allowed himself to rest for a few moments.

—

Peter was getting restless.

He’d appreciated the reprieve for a few moments, but now he was itching to be moving again. He felt exposed, stuck here in the basem*nt. He and basem*nts didn’t have great track records, after all. Plus, every second he spent here meant one more second the disk could be reclaimed by HYDRA, and Peter would quite literally sooner die than have that happen.

“Fury,” he hissed into his comms. “Can I go now?”

“No,” the man snapped back irritably. “I told you already, there’s no clear path. Do not compromise the disk. Stay put.”

“This is what you trained me for.” Peter hissed back. He didn’t actually know if he had to keep his voice lowered, but he didn’t want to take any risks. “If the Avengers weren’t here I’d have to find my way out on my own regardless.”

“But the Avengers are here.” Fury snapped. “It would be stupid to not utilize that. Stay. Put.”

In the midst of the arguing, Peter didn’t hear the sound of the gun click, and his Spidey sense blared just a second too late (stupid, STUPID– lesson number one–). By the time he realized and whipped around to face his assailant, the man was pulling the trigger, unloading several bullets right through Peter’s abdomen in a frenzy, at the very same time Peter raised his wrists defensively to fire the last of his tranquilizer darts.

Peter froze, the sharp, fiery pain barely registering in his shock. However, his darts hit their mark, and the man grunted as he hit the floor, gun clattering to the ground. Now that the spell was broken, Peter felt the hot, violent pain of the bullets, and he dropped to the floor quickly, groaning in pain. Fury was shouting in his ear, but all it was doing was aggravating his already overloaded senses, so he yanked the comm out of his ear and dropped it near him.

He remembered something Fury had said on the very first day of training– something about dragging himself through a maze of rooms while riddled with bullets– and he almost started hysterically laughing at the coincidence. On second thought, maybe that meant he was losing too much blood. Peter glanced at the ground next to him, seeing a pool of rapidly spreading dark liquid.

…. sh*t. Yeah. Definitely losing too much blood.

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Peter repeated breathlessly. “Just.. gotta… wait for the Avengers. Yeah. They’ll… they’ll rescue me.”

Peter wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he heard two pairs of footsteps running rapidly towards his location. He knew those footsteps. Tony and Steve. He felt his body sag in relief as the two burst into the room, making dual sounds of shocked horror.

“Jesus, Fury, you said your guy had been shot, not that he’d been riddled with bullet holes so he’s a lookalike to Swiss cheese.” Tony swore. Peter faintly registered that they didn’t know it was him, yet, as he was still wearing the mask. He remembered Fury’s instructions to not take off his mask… but if he was going to die, he wanted to at least apologize for everything first. He couldn’t hear Fury’s reply, but he put all his effort into raising his hand to weakly pull the fabric off his face and look his former teammates in the eyes. The second he did, he heard dual choked gasps.

“...Peter?” Tony whispered, horrified, while Steve’s mouth hung open in a similar expression of shock and dread. For a second time, there were a few moments of absolute stillness, before Peter shifted and let out a hacking cough that brought up concerning amounts of blood. Tony and Steve raced to his side as he continued coughing, his lungs unable to work as they filled with blood and who knows what else. God, being shot five times by a rookie-HYDRA agent sucked. Who knew.

Still, Peter was determined to apologize for everything.

“I’m– I’m sorry,” Peter choked, coughing. By the horrified looks on Tony’s and Steve’s faces, he guessed the extent of his injuries were severe. Well, he knew that much when Tony made the swiss cheese comment, and also it hurt like a bitch, but nowhere near the extent that five bullets should have. He guessed shock was helping him out a bit there.

Tony fell to his knees next to Peter’s prone form, hands hovering, uncertain, over his body, unsure of what to treat first or even if his help would be welcomed. Peter vividly remembered their last, terrible conversation, in that ratty old apartment, with Peter as Miles Miller. He didn’t know yet whether Fury would approve of him spilling the secrets now, since he hadn’t officially delivered the disk yet, but to be honest, Peter didn’t give a damn about Fury at the moment. He knew his injuries were bad, and like hell he was going to die (again) without letting Tony hear words of explanation from his own mouth (he didn’t trust Fury to deliver it in a manner Peter would agree with). He reached out and grabbed one of Tony’s hovering hands, trying to pull himself up a little bit. His mentor automatically shifted to support his head, as if on instinct, and Peter ended up half draped across him, head cradled in his lap. Peter felt tears well in his eyes at the familiar and warm touch, and he gripped his mentor’s hand even tighter.

“I– I’m– I didn’t mean–” he coughed, feeling warmth pooling in his mouth and tasting the copper tang of blood. Tony shushed him, though he was white as a sheet and looked terrified, eyes flickering between Peter’s face and the injuries littering his midsection. Peter shook his head in determination. He was going to tell them everything he could before he passed out.

“No, you don’t understand, Mr. Stark.” he rasped, gripping his mentor’s hand fiercely, making eye contact. Out of his peripherals he could see Steve paying attention as well, hovering and standing guard while they waited for a clear path to evacuate. He could tell Tony wanted to take him and blast him off to medical right f*cking now, but he also knew that they had to wait for a clear path or it’d be putting him in danger of becoming more swiss than cheese (that really didn’t make sense… man, he must really be losing concerning amounts of blood). “It was all… Miles Miller was all set up.” he got out, with difficulty. “HYDRA set the original explosion… but Fury… made my death look real.” With each word Peter got out, Tony’s face morphed into something different.

“That son of a– I’m going to kill him with my bare hands–” he started, before Peter cut him off, voice growing weaker as it took more and more effort to speak.

“There… was no other choice. They’d keep trying unless…. they believed. And someone needed to take them down.” Peter was breathing heavily at this point, blood seeping underneath him in a pool. Tony looked to where one hand was gripping Peter’s and the other was pressed against a wound, and then he looked down the hall, desperately checking for evacuation routes. Steve shook his head; they couldn’t go until the other Avengers and SHIELD cleared a path. Tony looked back at Peter, cradling him even closer and looking devastated.

“That someone shouldn’t have been you, kid.” he whispered fiercely. “It should never have been on you.”

Peter merely gave a faint, crooked smile. His mentor knew him well enough to know what it meant. Peter would never have allowed someone else to take his place. His grip had loosened on Tony’s hand as he got weaker, but he gripped it tighter again, feeling his consciousness start to slip. He knew he very well might not wake up from this, and though he knew Tony was smart enough to connect the dots of why he acted the way he did in the apartment, he also knew his guilt complex was the size of the goddamned milky way and it would help to hear forgiveness from Peter’s own mouth.

“Mr. Stark…” he whispered. “The apartment… I didn’t mean any of it. Not a single word.” he rasped out, and his mentor’s eyes flickered in recognition. “I knew… you guys wouldn’t leave Peter Parker there to finish the job. So… I had to not be… Peter Parker.” he forced out the last words and watched his mentor’s face– usually so well controlled– crumple in pain.

“I know, kid.” Tony said gruffly, quietly. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Peter’s body had given all it could at this point, and blackness was starting to fade in and out of the corners of his vision. Urgently, he gripped his mentor’s hand once more, slipping the disk out of his pocket and closing his mentor’s hand around it tightly.

“That’s… what it was all for.” he rasped out. “HYDRA bases. All… of them. Don’t let me… die… for no reason. Protect it.”

“You’re not dying, kid.” Tony said fiercely, but he gripped the disk tightly nonetheless, knuckles white and fingers stained crimson with Peter’s own blood. “Not again.” Those last words had a tone of desperation in them, and Peter hoped he would wake up– if only so they didn’t have to experience his death once more.

Peter couldn’t muster up a response anymore; his body had given all it had left in the tank. It was up to everyone else whether he would make it now. Sounds turned to rushing water in his ears, and he felt his eyes start to flutter close and his body go limp. He felt someone shaking him and vaguely saw a familiar figure in his blurry, darkened vision. He heard the desperate shout of “kid!” that could only have belonged to his mentor. A half formed apology rested on his lips, and the last thing he felt before he slid into unconsciousness were warm, unyielding arms wrapping tightly around his prone form.

Then everything rushed in and the world went black.

—

Day 236

Tony’s POV

The last few minutes had been a complete whirlwind of emotions—relief, horror, terror, anger. Seeing the kid crumple and go unconscious without knowing if he would ever wake up again was one of the most terrifying things Tony had ever experienced. Second only to watching the kid die for the first time. He looked up at Steve, who looked equally horrified, and an understanding was passed between them in a single glance.

“I have to get him back, Steve. We can’t afford to wait any longer.”

Steve merely nodded, his captain’s tone kicking in as he fought to banish the sight of Tony—Iron Man—carrying Peter’s motionless (not lifeless, not yet) form once again. Last time it hadn’t turned out well. It had to turn out well this time. Steve didn’t want to think about what would happen to Tony (and to the team) if it didn’t. “I’ll cover you two, Tony. Get him to the QuinJet.”

Tony gave a single jerky nod, his helmet snapping back over his face as he gathered the kid up in his arms. Ideally, they would have waited for the all-clear, but they couldn’t afford that now, and Tony nor Steve were about to sit by and watch Peter bleed out without even trying to save him. Tony trusted Steve to have his back for this—to cover Peter by any means possible. Though he’d never admit it out loud, Tony trusted Steve with his life, and even more importantly—he trusted him with Peter’s life.

The comms re-engaged as soon as his helmet came back online and he was immediately hit full-force with the sounds of Fury and the other Avengers demanding updates. Oh, right. He’d flipped up his faceplate right after he whispered Peter’s name, and then had gone silent. The other Avengers didn’t know what had just gone down.

“We’re coming out,” Tony said brusquely, not sparing any platitudes or greetings, his boot jets firing up to blast him through the hallways. He could feel more than see Steve sprinting full-speed after him— which for his superhero serum-boosted self, was fast.

FRIDAY was auto-piloting him through the twisted hallways of the underground bunker, weapons at the automatic ready as well, and he’d never been more grateful for all the contingencies he’d placed throughout the years. If he didn’t have FRI to fly him right now, he’d probably have crashed headfirst into a wall already, unable to focus on anything but the bleeding figure cradled against his chest. He could hear the comms burst with chatter at his statement—probably the team demanding updates and Fury telling them not to come out yet, but he couldn’t hear or process any of it through the high-pitched ringing in his ears.

“Pete’s hurt. Get the MedBay ready immediately; he’s lost a lot of blood. We can’t afford to wait.” Immediately after barking the words out, he switched his comm off, unable to handle the sounds coming from it and not having the ability to explain. He trusted if there was anything dire in need of explaining, Cap would have it covered.

C’mon Pete, just a little longer. Please. Please hold on. He wasn’t a religious man by any means, but he found himself praying to anyone and everything out there that he wouldn’t lose the kid again.

—

The entire escape out of the bunker was a complete blur, full of shooting guns and HYDRA agents going down left and right, falling victims to FRIDAY’s precise targeting and Cap sprinting full-speed at them with a giant metal disk. The Iron Man suit had a few more (read: a lot more) bullet holes to show for it, but each time, Tony had curled protectively around the kid and prevented any further damage.

The whole time, Peter’s vitals were front and center on his HUD display– the only thing keeping him sane was the jumpy line of his heart rate. It was a sickening parallel to eight months prior, and Tony could only pray with every fiber in his being that it didn’t have the same outcome. The entire ordeal and flight couldn’t have been more than a few minutes, if that, but it felt like an eternity and a half every time Peter’s heart rate dipped or stuttered.

Cap was shouting something by the time they got out of the bunker– probably telling the team and Fury that they were out and everything was clear. Tony’s eyes zeroed in on the QuinJet, doors opened and engines already fired up, ready to take off the second they all made it back inside.

He blasted his way inside, FRIDAY’s control the only thing stopping him from stumbling at the abrupt halt. Before his boot jets had even fully powered down he was moving- running to the medical table where Sam was waiting, his own skin a shade paler at the sight of Peter laying unmoving in Tony’s arms.

“FRI said he’s got five bullet wounds and has lost a pretty significant amount of blood, but there are no other major injuries to be aware of.” Tony spoke, voice tight and rushed, as he laid the kid down gently on the stainless steel. He could see the moment Sam’s paramedic training kicked in, pushing aside his emotions and focusing purely on saving Peter, grabbing gauze and dressings and IV materials. Tony barely noticed when FRIDAY retracted his suit, eyes glued to Peter’s lax face before glancing at Wilson. “What can I do to help?” he asked, already moving as Sam started to instruct him on staunching the blood as he hurriedly set up a transfusion.

More people ran into the QuinJet– Cap, Barnes, Nat, Barton– the ones who hadn’t seen Peter yet having horrified reactions of their own, but all Tony could focus on was controlling the bleeding. More hands joined his– Steve at his side, pressing down as well. Tony spared a single second to glance at him– a wordless thanks– and found Steve already looking at him, steady and reassuring as always. He’ll make it. His eyes seemed to say, full of that Captain America™ certainty. He’ll be okay.

Tony looked away, eyes refocusing on his own hands, pressed against Peter’s stomach. He felt the QuinJet rise in the air– distantly, in the back of his mind, he recognized Nat and Clint were probably piloting– but all he could focus on was the kid, his wordless response to Steve hanging in between them.

I hope you’re right.

—

It took a heart-palpitating twenty-three minutes and seventeen seconds for the rush to calm down and for Peter to mostly stabilize (stable was a loose term, but he at least had a normal amount of blood in his body now. Tony had never been more thankful that his paranoia kept the QuinJet fully stocked with IV and transfusion bags).

The jet was silent and tense, everyone staring at Peter in a sickening mirror image of the day in the morgue. They had to focus on the rise and fall of his chest– though shallow– that marked the difference. Sam was still rushing around, cleaning the wounds and doing his best to stop the remaining blood flow with layers of gauze and bandages, setting up another IV of blood and fluids to replenish what Peter had lost in the base.

Tony, surprisingly, was the one to break the silence, hand gripping Peter’s, his thumb on the kid’s pulse point. “I am going to throttle Fury when we get back.” he said stiffly, angrily. He hadn’t heard from the man since he’d first turned his comms off in the base– probably for the best, since he’s not sure he could restrain himself from yelling at the Director at the moment. He was sure Fury hadn’t backed off and was keeping an eye out on the situation somehow, but so long as Tony didn’t have to actively hear or see him, he had other priorities to focus on rather than Fury’s snooping.

Natasha looked to him sharply, tearing her own eyes from Peter. “He said Fury was involved?”

“Yes.” Tony practically growled. “Kid couldn’t speak much before he passed out from blood loss, but he was going on about how HYDRA caused the original explosion, Fury faked his death to use him as a SHIELD agent, and how ‘Miles Miller’ was made up to get us off his trail because Fury knew we wouldn’t allow Peter to continue being an agent.” he opened up his left hand, still tightly clenching the disk Peter had thrusted at him. Natasha's face turned a few shades paler at the sight of it. “He said it was all for this information about HYDRA bases.”

“The disk.” Nat said, voice holding an uncharacteristic waver. “It’s known by all upper-level SHIELD agents– it’s supposed to have all the information about everyone in the HYDRA network, which would be integral to take them down fully, once and for all. We’ve sent in some of our best agents after it but all of them failed… None of them even confirmed that it existed. Fury said he was working on it, but I didn’t think- if I had known–”

“It’s not your fault, Nat.” Clint cut in. “Fury is Fury, he’s got secret agendas for his secret agendas. You couldn’t have known, and besides, it’s obvious that Pete and Fury were willing to do almost anything to get you off their trail regardless.”

“I just don’t understand.” Tony spoke up, staring at Peter’s lax face, anger still simmering at the director but not even really sure of what to be mad about. “Why… why would he help Fury? He’s helpful by nature, but not to this extent. He wouldn’t let May or his friends– or us– grieve like that for no reason. What did Fury say to him to get him to go undercover for months on end? Why wouldn’t he come to us? We could have helped.”

The jet was silent for a few moments before Natasha spoke. “To protect us.” she realized. “His friends and family. HYDRA set the explosion. They were after Spider-Man. By getting rid of HYDRA, Peter would ensure that they wouldn’t find out who he was and come after him or anyone close to him. And so he was willing to do as Fury said.”

“Fury is looking more and more punchable by the second.” Tony muttered. He opened up his hand to look at the disk again, afraid to even put it down before all the information was copied to one of his servers and the stupid thing didn’t spontaneously combust or something. “FRI… can you scan this? What information does it have on it?”

“The information inside is heavily encoded.” FRIDAY responded. “I can get through it, but it will take a while. I will let you know when I am finished.”

“Atta girl.” Tony murmured. “For Pete’s sake… I sure hope what was on that disk was worth it.”

“If it is… he’ll have single-handedly contributed the most important tool to take down HYDRA.” Natasha murmured. “He’ll have done in one year what most agencies haven’t achieved in decades.”

“Yeah, sounds like the kid.” Barnes murmured almost imperceptibly, with a small snort. It was the first time he’d spoken since takeoff, leaning against one of the QuinJet walls with his eyes trained on Peter’s form. His gaze was distant, not really focused on Peter, as if he were seeing something else.

Steve straightened up from where he’d been standing. “One of us needs to call ahead and alert Cho,” he said, his leadership instincts kicking in. “The MedBay needs to be prepared before we get there.”

All of them glanced between each other for a moment– none of them particularly wanting to be on the end of the rapid-fire questions that would no doubt come from the doctor. Natasha stood from her own position, moving towards one of the more private areas of the jet. “I’ll call her.” she said, and Steve nodded gratefully.

After a few long moments, she returned, and her gaze focused on Peter’s form as she spoke. “We land in five minutes.” she said. “Helen is preparing the MedBay now.”

—

Tony found himself pacing again.

Truthfully, there were all too many parallels between the original explosion and the horrendous waiting that had followed it, and the waiting that they now had to go through again. Everyone else seemed to be having similar thoughts, because the room was tense. None of them wanted to speak their worries into the air– too afraid that if they voiced them, they’d have to mourn Peter’s death a second time around. Tony didn’t think any of them would survive that. He sure as hell knew he wouldn’t.

May was watching him from a chair, hands folded across her lap and watching him with a dark gaze. She’d been notified immediately after Cho, and had been already waiting in the MedBay area when they’d arrived. Tony was glad that they had chosen to tell her beforehand about Peter’s status in the land of the living, because trying to explain everything now would have been a disaster. But he wondered if she wished she hadn’t made the decision to leave him alone— it was clear that it wouldn’t have mattered regardless, but the sentiment was still there. Tony was still kicking himself over the whole situation, too. How the hell had the kid managed to trick both him and Romanoff? He didn’t like that implication, that the kid could actually successfully lie to him now.

That is, of course, if he survived.

With that morbid thought and perfect timing, the MedBay doors slid open, and Helen stepped through. All of them stood within a heartbeat, waiting to hear the news that he was dead, again —

But Helen just smiled tiredly. “He’s going to make it.” she said, and all of the tension drained out of the room in one swift wave. Tony felt light-headed, the words not fully hitting him yet. He was a little afraid to celebrate, feeling like it would be snatched from him at any moment.

He met Helen’s gaze, giving her a nod. “Thank you.” he said, and for once, he didn’t bother to mask the raw earnestness in his voice. The doctor’s gaze softened and she gave him a nod, before pointing a finger at all of them.

“Don’t think I’ll be letting this go that easily.” she warned. “I expect a full explanation on how the hell this happened later on.” she said in a stern voice, before softening again and gesturing to the Medbay doors. “But for now… you can go see him.”

Tony was through the doors before she’d even finished speaking.

—

The relief at seeing the kid alive and breathing was short-lived, because a certain Nick Fury decided to make the very unwise decision to show his face.

The second he walked through the door to Peter’s room, most of the team was on their feet. And Tony certainly wasn’t the only one glaring at him.

Regrettably, the man looked nonplussed at the glares, eyes sweeping over Peter’s prone form in the bed. Tony fought the urge to step between the director and the bed, knowing it was irrational– Fury wouldn’t try to move closer into the room anyways, not with the rest of the Avengers between him and Peter.

“I see he made it.” Fury commented.

Tony scowled at the flat tone, even though it was far more concern than he’d ever seen the director show for anybody. “No thanks to you.” he said, and the man raised an eyebrow. He wisely chose not to argue that it had been him who had told the Avengers about Peter’s location, because were it not for him, Peter wouldn’t have been in that position in the first place.

“I’m not here to quarrel, Stark.” he said flatly. “Blame me if you want, I don’t give a damn. I’m just here for the disk Parker left that HYDRA base with.”

“And why the hell should we give you the files?” Tony challenged, ignoring the first part of the director’s comment. They all knew damn well Fury was deserving of the blame in this situation. “You lied to us, you made us think Peter was dead, and you forced him to be your agent.” He paused. “In fact, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t punch you in the face right now.”

He half-expected Steve to reprimand him for threatening the Director of SHIELD, but for once, the man seemed to share his sentiment.

“I didn’t force him.” Fury said dryly, not bothering to respond to the threat. “He could have gotten out if he really wanted to. He chose to continue. But to answer your question, you’ll give them to me because otherwise Peter will have wasted a year of his life and made countless sacrifices for absolutely nothing. You don’t have the resources to utilize a massive take down of HYDRA simultaneously like SHIELD does. Do you really want that?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Tony glowered at him, knowing he was correct and absolutely despising it. This was Peter’s work. A year of his efforts. The Avengers didn’t have the resources SHIELD did (not when it came to sheer manpower and coordinated attacks), and when it came down to it, taking down HYDRA was a necessary step, and the disk had the info to do so. Really, there was no other option. With an annoyed glare, Tony slapped the disk into Fury’s outstretched palm. “Stay away from Peter.” he warned. “You’ve done enough.”

Fury inclined his head, turning to leave without saying a word. When he reached the door, he paused and turned slightly. “When the kid wakes up… tell him good job. And to remember the first lesson. He’ll know what it means.” He turned and swept out the door before Tony could refuse to deliver his message.

Bucky snorted. “Fury’s got inside jokes with the kid now. He grew on him.”

Tony sighed, anger dissipating now that Fury and the stupid disk were gone. He was angry, of course– so incredibly furious (ha) at the director that he actually probably would throttle him if given the chance. But it was hard to spare a single thought about him when Peter was laying in front of him, blissfully, wonderfully alive. “Of course he did.”

Maybe he would sic Pepper on Fury. He doubted the man would escape unscathed from that.

Within moments, though, all thoughts of the nosy director were pushed out of his mind as his eyes landed on Peter once more. The kid looked relaxed, sleeping peacefully in the bed that seemed to dwarf him. Tony never thought that the sight of him in a hospital bed would put him at ease (the damn kid was going to give him gray hairs), but he looked far better than he had at the HYDRA base (or in the morgue, his mind echoed). Though there were white bandages wrapped around his midsection, his face had a tinge of color to it, and his chest was moving up and down in a soft rhythm. Tony would have been content to sit here and watch it forever, because it meant the kid was still living, still breathing.

He shook the thought aside and went to sit next to the hospital bed, May already at his side. In unspoken agreement, they sat on either side of the bed, closest to Peter. The rest of the Avengers took their positions in various chairs around the room, settling in wordlessly. They all knew that none of them would move from their assumed positions until the kid woke up.

May had reached out and was grasping one of Peter’s hands, rubbing her fingers over his knuckles in a reassuring motion and watching the rise and fall of his chest. Tony pursed his lips and stared at the kid’s other hand, on his side of the bed, splayed palm-up and fingers relaxed. He felt like holding the kid’s hand was a little too personal– not necessarily too personal between him and Peter, but too personal in front of the entire team. He knew it was slightly irrational, and he’d already promised himself that he wouldn’t just slip into his old habits of not showing the kid how much he meant to Tony– not after almost losing him twice.

So, instead, his fingers found the pulse point on the inside of Peter’s wrist, and he felt his shoulders relax at the steady thu-thump he could feel through his fingertips. The lull of the heart monitor and the feel of the kid’s pulse under his fingers blurred together, and before he knew it, he was out like a light.

—

Natasha watched as Tony slumped over on the side of Peter’s hospital bed, mouth flickering in a slight smile at the sight of him finally getting some sleep. Frankly, they could all use the rest.

It all fit together, finally, she realized. Months of grief, of being unable to trust her own instincts– it was finally over. And she hadn’t been wrong– even though it all never fit together in her conscious mind, her gut knew something wasn’t right. Peter’s ‘burial,’ the insistence on not releasing his identity when normally Fury didn’t give a sh*t about such things without an ulterior motive, the unconscious mimicking of some of Peter’s mannerisms.

In fact, it was so obvious now that she had all the details that she wanted to smack herself for not catching onto it sooner. Frankly, she would have put it together almost immediately if she hadn’t seen Peter’s body with her own eyes (though even that shouldn’t have tricked her, given that Fury had pulled that exact same stunt on her and Steve before). That one, stubborn detail had blocked out any and all choices of the ‘Peter is alive’ category. And then, of course, the storming of the HYDRA base so soon after the sh*tshow that was the Miles Miller apartment scene hadn’t even given her the opportunity to re-open that pathway and consider what Fury’s involvement could have been about, now that Peter was alive. Not only his strange involvement, but the solo agent? The one who shot tranquilizer darts of all things, with strength and smarts all in one? It should have been obvious. She had to hand it to Fury, for concealing it so well. Even if she was currently f*cking pissed at him.

He would have let her in on all the details, had it been an adult agent other than Peter. She would have even kept it from the team, had she deemed it necessary for the success of the mission. Would have helped train the agent, and helped on the mission. But a child ? That was where she drew the line, and Fury knew it. She didn’t do child soldiers, and though she knew Peter technically had a choice, and was also now technically an adult, both her and Fury knew it was no choice at all.

But, even as angry as she was… she understood why he did it. Peter was smart, strong, stubborn, and capable. Natasha had never viewed him as dangerous, but purely because of his personality. She knew that with the right training and situation, Peter could be lethal. Fury made a gamble and it worked (Natasha didn’t want to think about what would have happened if it hadn’t, and Peter had died for real). When it came down to it, she was glad she didn’t have to call that shot– Peter had grown on Fury, she could tell, and it must have pained him to some extent to put him at risk after all those months. But Fury, first and foremost, was the director of SHIELD, and the risk of one person’s life at the gain of taking down all of HYDRA… the choice should have been easy. It was only because it was Peter that it wasn’t. But it was a choice he’d made nonetheless.

Settling into her chair, she watched as the teenager’s chest rose and fell, eyes closed and a relaxed expression on his face. The rest of the team was scattered around the room, all occupied in their own minds, some of them well on their way to being asleep like Tony. The adrenaline and action of the day was starting to catch up to her as well, and she felt her eyes closing for longer and longer with every slow blink.

With one last look around the room, at her team and at Peter, lying safe in the bed, she finally allowed her eyes to close and drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 12: ALL (Days 237-264)

Chapter Text

Day 237

Peter opened his eyes to a hospital room.

There were several markedly different things about it this time, though. For one, he remembered everything in vivid detail (so, no concussion this time– hooray). Secondly, his senses told him that Fury was not, in fact, lurking in the shadows like he had all those months ago ( first lesson, his inner Fury smugly reminded him).

And thirdly, it wasn’t even remotely quiet in this room– looking around, there were Avengers jam-packed into every corner, and Aunt May at his side gripping his hand tightly, with Tony at the other. Glancing around, he realized that nobody had clocked his return to consciousness, and he tuned into what appeared to be a very animated debate between Tony and Steve (and by animated, Peter was really just talking about Tony, who was waving his arms around as he usually did when trying to make a point. Steve, on the other hand, was merely sitting there, looking bemused).

“- no, Cap, your taste in classics doesn’t count, you’re from an entirely different era.”

Peter’s eyebrow raised almost involuntarily. Were they… arguing about movies? While he was laying here in the hospital bed? In their defense, he clearly wasn’t actively dying, but he did wonder how it had even come up in the first place.

“All I’m saying, Tony, is that Casablanca was undeniably a massive cultural phenomenon during the war–” Steve said (sounding remarkably patient, Peter had to give it to him. Also he sounded like he was reading straight out of a history textbook.)

“Yeah, during the war .” Tony emphasized with a minor eye roll. “When someone asks for your favorite movie they’re thinking of something a little more modern, like Pulp Fiction or Titanic or something.”

Peter tried to choke back a laugh and he couldn’t keep himself from interjecting any longer. “Sorry, Mr. Stark, but neither of those movies are modern.” Everyone in the room whipped around in surprise at the sound of his scratchy voice, but he continued. “Also I can’t believe you’d list those two movies over the original Star Wars trilogy. I’m insulted.” he said, teasingly.

Hey, he may have been hidden in a bunker with only Fury for human company for eight months but he still had taste .

“Peter!” Aunt May’s hands flew to her mouth, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. Peter turned his head to face her and met her eyes for the first time in almost a year. Against his will, he felt a lump of emotion get caught in his throat, and it took all of his power and training to speak without his voice cracking.

“Hi, Aunt May.” it came out softer than he intended, an apology and a greeting all in one. Aunt May was the one person that truly made him feel like Peter Parker again– who reminded him of the life he’d had before this whole clusterf*ck. She was the one person he wouldn’t have been able to lie to, back in that apartment– the only one who would have been able to see through his facade and recognize the scared 5 year old little boy she’d taken in after his parents died.

He hadn’t realized, until that very moment, how terrified he had been that he wouldn’t be the same. That he’d be so far changed that he couldn’t even pretend to be the Peter he once was. He was afraid that he wouldn’t be the Peter that she lost, and that she would realize that and resent him for it— and he recognized in that very second, how stupid that thought was. Aunt May didn’t care how he’d changed or what he’d done– she was just glad to have him back.

She opened her arms and Peter fell into them without another word. The movement tugged at his stitches and he was lying at a slightly awkward angle, with his torso resting against her chest and his legs splayed out on the hospital bed, but he couldn’t care less. A single tear slipped out of his eye as he buried his face in her neck and relished in the scent of her warm vanilla shampoo. God, he had missed her. A few more tears slipped out silently– he knew May could feel the dampness on her neck, but she didn't say anything, merely holding him tighter.

Within a few moments, Peter scrunched his eyes shut tightly, pushing the tears back into his eyes and carefully schooling his expression before he pulled his head back up. His team was all staring at him like he was a ghost– which, to them, he essentially was. They may have known he was alive (had it really only been four days?) but only Tony and Natasha had seen him face-to-face since they buried him.

Speaking of which– his eyes flicked to Natasha. He should apologize to her for his behavior in the apartment. She was smart enough to have put all the pieces together by now, but he still felt like he needed to apologize. Before he could open his mouth to break the silence, Clint beat him to it.

“So our secret agent solo guy who broke into the HYDRA base and tranquilized every single guard was actually you, huh?” he asked, and he sounded impressed. The rest of the Avengers blinked, like they hadn’t quite gotten past the whole Peter-being-alive-in-the-first-place thing, and certainly hadn’t reconciled the fact that he’d apparently been a secret agent for the last eight months.

“Ah.” Peter said, remembering the moment he’d heard the QuinJet. “Yeah, that mission was a disaster.”

Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You call knocking out an entire base of HYDRA agents and hacking into their computers a ‘disaster’?” he asked skeptically. Peter huffed.

“Well, given that my goal was to sneak in and out without being seen, yes,” he said drily. “Besides, I didn’t have a chance to fully go through their mainframe before you guys showed up.” he grumbled. It hadn’t mattered in the end, the mission was still a success, but he would have liked more time to do a thorough sweep of their files.

“You were there ?” Steve’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Right. They didn’t know about that fact. Peter winced internally, but kept his face neutral. He hoped they weren’t too angry with him for sitting and watching them from a few hundred feet away and doing nothing about it. He tilted his head.

“Not ‘there’ inside the base,” he clarified. “I heard the QuinJet and got out before you landed. But ‘there’ outside, yes. I left the second you all went inside.”

Bucky was staring at him, eyes narrowed critically. Peter met his gaze. “You almost spotted me,” he admitted. “Thought I was toast when the leaves rustled.”

A flash of recognition crossed the other man’s expression, and he gave a faint smile, nodding his head slightly. “You’re good at hiding,” he acknowledged. Peter snorted. Clint looked between the two of them, shaking his head.

“I’m missing something,” he said. “Why are we talking about leaves?”

Peter and Bucky shot him near-identical looks, eyebrows raised. The archer lifted his own hands in defeat. “Okay, okay, keep your enhanced hearing super-spy secrets.” he grumbled.

“That’s why Fury tried to get us to back off on the HYDRA bases.” Steve said, looking at Peter like it all made sense now. He had to hand it to him– the captain had managed to put it all together fairly quickly. He was smarter than he let on.

Peter sighed. “Yes, and because you all didn’t listen to his orders the first time around, and it was jeopardizing the success of my mission, he set up the fake police arrest. And then revealed the fact that I was alive and apparently wanted nothing to do with you to throw you off your game and force you to stop.” he turned to Natasha. “Sorry about that, by the way. I had to sell it.”

She inclined her head in a nod, eyes scanning over him—not dissimilar to how they’d scanned over him in the apartment, except this time, he had nothing to hide. He met her gaze, an apology in his own eyes, and she softened.

“Your acting is… impressive,” she conceded, and Peter relaxed, recognizing it for what it was—a forgiveness. He gave a soft snort in response.

“You can thank Fury for that.”

At the mention of ‘thanking’ Fury, the tension in the room amped up—not to a necessarily uncomfortable level, but recognizing that there was an elephant in the room that nobody wanted to address.

Tony sighed, rubbing his temples. “Speaking of Fury, he said to tell you ‘good job.’ And to ‘remember the first lesson.’ Whatever the hell that means,” he begrudgingly grumbled out Fury’s parting words. (Because though the last thing he wanted to do was follow Fury’s orders, Peter somehow managed to get approval out of the man, and, well—that was a feat. One that Peter deserved to hear, at least.)

Peter barked out a laugh. “Of course he did.” He knew the man would see the same parallels he had to being back in a hospital room—under wildly different circ*mstances, but still the same teachings. Plus, Peter would like to think it was the man’s own strange way of expressing affection and pride in what he’d achieved.

Bucky raised an eyebrow at the kid. “Do we get to know what the ‘first lesson’ is?” he asked in a low rumble, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, voicing one of the many questions the team still had.

Peter sighed. “Let’s just say I’ve had quite enough of Fury and his Nerf guns.”

“That… cleared absolutely nothing up.” Sam said from his position next to Bucky. Tony merely stared blankly at Peter, unable to gauge whether he was joking or not.

Peter shrugged in response, not really knowing how much detail they wanted him to go into—or how much they even knew about the last eight months. Probably nothing, given that the only other person who knew was Fury, and he… wasn’t really the information-sharing type. To say the very least.

Natasha was the first to ask the inevitable follow-up question. “So what are the ‘other lessons’ that Fury elected to teach you?”

Peter hesitated but decided he may as well be truthful. They probably wouldn’t be happy to hear about all the sh*t he had to go through, but maybe it would give them some relief to know that he wasn’t thrown into a mission completely untrained. “Well, let’s see: first aid, intensive physical exercise, obstacle courses, hand-to-hand combat, weapons training—with actual weapons and weapons of opportunity, interrogation, Russian language immersion, stealth techniques, disguise, hacking security systems, and torture training,” he listed, ticking off each one as he remembered them. “I think those were the main ones. I don’t know; he kept me busy.” he looked up from the fingers he’d been counting off, realizing that everyone was… staring at him.

“Torture training?” Steve frowned, obviously disturbed and snagging on that one detail. Peter almost rolled his eyes in exasperation, though he did feel a warm wave of fondness at the clear concern.

“Yeah, Fury tied me to a chair in a white room and waterboarded me.” Peter joked—or, well, he tried to. Judging by the horrified faces surrounding him, his deadpan delivery was too believable. He sighed. “Guys, relax. I was joking. It was just psychological training. He didn’t actually torture me. Unless you count the assigned Russian textbook readings.” he tacked on at the end, trying to change the tension in the room to a more light-hearted tone to salvage the situation. (He decided not to tell them that Fury had tased him. He didn’t think they would find it as funny as he did.)

He would have wriggled uncomfortably in his bed at all the attention if that hadn’t been thoroughly trained out of him. He kept forgetting—even if for a few seconds—he was back around the Avengers and not alone with Fury. More than that, they didn’t have time to adjust to his personality change. He had a feeling he would keep miscalculating the situation and continue to make jokes that they clearly were not taking well to. He wasn’t the Peter they were familiar with.

He felt Natasha scrutinizing him intensely. He met her gaze silently, as if issuing a challenge he wouldn’t back down from. She was the first to relax, giving him a barely perceptible nod. He wasn’t entirely sure what she meant by it, but it felt like he had passed some sort of test. She then spoke, blessedly saving him from the uncomfortable tension.

“Насколько эффективным было языковое погружение? (How effective was the language immersion?)” she asked, watching his reaction.

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Довольно эффективно. Вы знаете, какую занозу в заднице может доставить Фьюри из-за подготовки. (Quite effective. You know how much of a pain in the ass Fury can be about being prepared.)” he responded easily.

His response got a small smile out of her. “Yes, I do know. In this instance, I am glad.”

Tony was watching the entire exchange with an unreadable expression on his face (Peter was avoiding meeting his eyes, still feeling guilty about what he’d said back in the apartment. Even with his near-deathbed apology he felt like he couldn’t truly ever take back what he said).

Next to Bucky– who looked amused at the exchange– Sam muttered: “Great, there are three of them now.”

The weird tension was still palpable in the room as multiple people looked at them like they’d never seen him before. Peter shifted slightly in his bed before speaking. “I know it’s a shock and you’re all not particularly happy with Fury right now–”

“--not particularly happy is an understatement.” someone muttered.

“--but Fury made sure I was as prepared as I could have been. He didn’t let me go in without seven months of training, and he made sure I was ready.” he said firmly. Peter wasn’t really sure why he was defending Fury (it wasn’t like the man really needed it, or would even appreciate it), but he felt some sort of strange loyalty to the man who had spent eight months with him, trained him, and helped him. Sure, he was kind-of-sort-of forced into the position, and sure, Fury got something out of it, but… still. He’d grown kind of fond of the director. (And he was sure Fury had also grown a soft spot for him, but he would never say that out loud).

The room was silent for a few moments before Steve spoke, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “I’m glad you were trained, but this was never a job for a kid. It was never a job for you.”

Tony’s voice echoed in his mind, from back in the bunker, saying almost exactly the same thing ( “That someone shouldn’t have been you, kid. It should never have been on you.” ).

Peter merely gave a crooked smile in return. A year ago, if someone had called him a kid, he would have bristled at the suggestion– that he was too immature, incapable. Now that he knew he was capable, it didn’t sting as much. “But it was me.” The truth weighed, heavy, in the silence. Nobody knew what to say to that– to the new Peter, the one who had changed so much from the one they once knew. He tried to lighten the mood a bit, speaking again. “And hey, it worked, didn’t it? I got the disk, mission accomplished, HYDRA gets eliminated, hooray for everyone. Eight months of my life is nothing, compared to that.”

Tony got up abruptly, at that, staring down at Peter with that same unreadable expression. Peter opened his mouth to say something (though he wasn’t even sure what he would have said, had Tony stayed to listen), but the man turned and hurried out of the room with a short muttered apology. Peter stared after him, at a loss for words. His eyes moved to Aunt May’s, at a loss. Her eyes glimmered with sympathy and an understanding that Peter hadn’t yet reached.

“Those eight months were not nothing, baby.” she whispered, cupping his face. “Tony and I– and all of us– it was hell, every single moment without you. He nearly tore himself apart looking for the people who set the explosion.”

Peter felt a stab of guilt and he opened his mouth to try and defend himself. “I didn’t mean– like that.” he tried to say, the words dying on his tongue. May just gave him a sympathetic smile– she understood. She always understood what he was trying to say.

“I know,” she said softly, drawing him into another hug as he glanced helplessly back towards the door Tony had just left out of. “It just hit a nerve, the way you phrased it. He still blames himself.”

“It wasn’t his fault.” Peter mumbled, from where his face was pressed into May’s chest, feeling a pang in his chest at the thought that he’d reinforced that guilt. “Everything that happened was a result of my decisions.” He could hear shifting in the room where most of the remaining Avengers were starting to get up to give him and May some more privacy. He looked up and made eye contact with Steve, who gave him another sympathetic smile.

“Just give him time.” he said, patting Peter’s shoulder gently before giving May a nod and heading towards the door where Bucky and Sam were still hovering.

“Хорошо, что ты вернулся, малыш (Good to have you back, kid.)” he heard Bucky murmur before leaving with them.

“He’ll be back, don’t worry.” Clint said, giving Peter a friendly hair ruffle as he left. “You two will be back to blowing things up in the lab in no time.” Natasha rolled her eyes and started to follow Clint out as well, hesitating by the door.

“He’s proud of you, you know.” she said, making eye contact with him. “We all are. You just also scared the sh*t out of him and he doesn’t know how to handle the fact that you don’t seem to need him anymore.” Peter blinked, and she was gone before he even had a chance to process what she said, much less respond. He pulled back to look at May.

“ That’s why he was being so weird about the training?” he asked incredulously. “He thinks that I don’t need him anymore?” It was such a ludicrous conclusion, but at the same time he wasn’t at all surprised that his mentor could have come to it.

May sighed and cupped his face again. “From how Tony sees it, he failed to protect you, so you had to learn to protect yourself. He thinks if he had protected you better you wouldn’t have to know all these skills. And now that you’re not the same eager, leap-before-you-think teenager, he doesn’t know what his position is in your life. Not that he would admit any of that.”

Peter blinked. “That’s bullsh*t.” he said bluntly. May let out a little laugh, brushing some hair out of his eyes.

“Peter, honey, one thing I’ve learned after spending the past eight months around that man is that he has a guilt complex to rival yours.”

Peter grimaced. Yeah, he knew that much– even before this whole fiasco, even well before he’d ever gotten close to his mentor, it was clear that he had a crippling sense of responsibility. Peter could even see it in the way Stark Industries always paid for the damages and cleanup of Avenger battles, long before he even met Tony Stark. He could see it in almost any news article, and it only became more evident the closer he got to his mentor. Anyone who said the man didn’t care at all clearly had the reading comprehension of an illiterate snail or the brain capacity of one.

With these thoughts, he started to get out of his bed. “I’m going to see him.” he insisted stubbornly against May’s futile attempts to get him to sit back down. “I’m not going to let him just sit there and ruminate.”

May sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Peter, please get back into your hospital bed.” she said, in a tone of voice that was sweet but offered no room for suggestion. “I’ll just have FRIDAY call him in here.”

Peter slumped back into the bed, a little bit embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of that. “What if he doesn’t come?” he asked. The tone of his voice didn’t reveal any anxiety to an outside bystander, but May saw right through him, and gave him a fond but exasperated look.

“Honey, if FRIDAY says you asked for him, he’ll come running.”

Peter didn’t really know what to say to that, so he sat there while May talked to FRIDAY. He zoned out, listening to the steady beat of the heart monitor next to him and counting the rhythm.

One, two, one, two, one, two-

His count was interrupted by the sound of scuffling at the door, and Peter and May looked up at the same time as Tony stepped foot inside. He looked relatively normal at first glance, but upon further inspection Peter could see his hair sticking up at different angles from where he’d run his hands through it. He didn’t have time to further scrutinize him, though, because May gave a brief clap of her hands and moved towards the door, grasping Tony firmly by the shoulders and pushing him further into the room as she stepped out herself.

Peter was briefly drawn from his worry when he observed this interaction– last time he’d seen them they were not this comfortable with each other. Clearly they’d changed during these eight months, too. He didn’t know how to feel about that.

“You two sort things out. I’m going to get coffee.” she said, before shutting the door behind her, leaving no time for any argument.

For a moment, Peter and Tony just stared at each other. Peter was reminded of the moment in the apartment– the words he had spoken lay heavy in the air between them. Then, in one fluid movement, Peter slid off his hospital bed (injuries be damned– sorry May) and rushed towards Tony, closing the few steps in between them to wrap his arms around his mentor the way he had wanted to do months ago.

His mentor stumbled back, clearly not expecting the sudden movement, hands reaching up to steady him. “Whoa– kid–”

“I’m sorry.” Peter said into his chest, squeezing his arms tighter. “I know I already apologized but I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean– I didn’t mean any of it.” A tiny part of him expected the man to shove him away, to make him hurt like he’d hurt him back in the apartment. He knew his mentor would never do that to him, but no small part of him thought he deserved it.

Instead, he felt Tony relax and his arms come up around him, squeezing him back just as tightly while being mindful of his injuries. “I know, Pete.” he murmured back. “I’m not mad at you. I know why you said it.”

A few beats of silence passed. “I don’t mind being called ‘kid’ by you.” Peter whispered, almost afraid to reference what Tony had said in the apartment, but needing him to know. He knew his mentor would remember every word in crystal clear detail, and would recognize exactly what he was referring to. ( You’ll always be my kid .) He felt Tony freeze, and was about to pull back and apologize again, before his mentor gripped him tighter, moving one hand up to cradle the back of his head in an even fiercer hug.

“Good, because I wasn’t about to stop.”

Peter let out a choked laugh in response. The silence fell again, a lot more comfortable this time. Peter pulled back, needing to look Tony in his eyes (though he did mourn the contact of the hug, if only for a moment).

“Mr. Stark… You know I still need you, right?” he asked, looking at his mentor head-on. “None of this changes that.”

Tony didn’t say anything for a long moment– if Peter didn’t know better, he would have said he was at a loss for words. Just before Peter was about to say something else (anything else– just to break the extended silence), his mentor pulled him back into a hug.

“Still calling me Mr. Stark, huh?” was all he said, but his voice was rough with emotion, and Peter was sure that he was pulled back into the hug so that he couldn’t see his mentor’s eyes. (Not that he minded, though).

Peter merely smiled into his chest, soothed by the loud thu-thump of his mentor’s heart in his ear. “I’ll stop calling you Mr. Stark when you stop calling me kid.”

Tony laughed, and Peter moved with the vibration of it, still tucked into the man’s chest. “Guess I’m taking that name to my grave then, hm?” he said in a soft rumble. Peter shrugged, the movement slightly hindered by the hug but clear nonetheless. Tony was the one to pull back this time after a few moments, pointing a finger at Peter’s sternum with a stern look on his face.

“But if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’m selling your Spider-Man suit on eBay.” he threatened, though there was no heat behind the words and Peter could see him fighting back a slight smile. Peter returned his own cheeky grin, perking up at the words.

“Great idea! I could get so much money from that.” Peter said, grinning.

“You little sh*t.” Tony said, but he couldn’t hold back a smile at that, or the relief infusing his words.

Peter gave his own grin, mouth stretching widely– but it wasn’t the mocking smile he’d given back in the apartment. It felt like the first, real genuine smile he’d had in months. His cheeks hurt with the force of it. He was happy. He was home .

“So... how long do you think May is going to take to get that coffee?” he asked cheekily.

Tony chuckled, but gently turned Peter back towards the hospital bed, pushing him slightly. “Hopefully long enough for you to get back into bed, because you should not be standing up right now and I don’t feel like being chewed out by her.”

Peter scoffed. “Oh, please, she wouldn’t chew you out. You two are as thick as thieves, I can see it.”

Tony blinked in surprise as Peter sat down on the bed. “What are you talking about?”

Peter gave a half laugh, half scoff and stared at his mentor with his eyebrows raised. “Mr. Stark, I’ve been stuck in a bunker reading only Fury’s mannerisms for months. Compared to him, you two are an open book.”

Tony’s expression twisted into an expression that would have been unreadable in the past, but Peter hadn’t been lying when he said everyone seemed a lot more expressive than Fury was. Plus, it wouldn’t have been hard to guess his expression based on the context; every time Peter mentioned something that he used to be bad at, it threw his mentor for a loop and he looked like he’d swallowed a lemon.

“Mr. Stark,” he said softly, keeping his body language open. He had no reason to hide things now, and it seemed to put his mentor at ease. “I’m still me. Even if I’m way better at poker now.”

His mentor sighed, looking surprised again before his mouth twisted into a wry smile. He ran a hand down his face. “Yeah, I know, kid. It’s just going to take some getting used to.” he huffed. “ You’re supposed to be the one with the terrible poker face, not me. Also you’re like 12, you shouldn’t even be playing poker.” he tried to joke slightly, and Peter had to stop himself from raising an eyebrow at the terrible attempt to deflect with humor. He didn’t think his mentor had gotten worse at masking his emotions, which just meant that Peter had just gotten much better at reading them.

Which meant that he had been absolutely terrible at it in the first place.

“Kid, you’re looking at me like Fury does. Like you’re trying to figure out fifty-seven different ways to kill me and dispose of my body. It’s very uncanny.”

It was Peter’s turn to blink in surprise. He hadn’t realized he’d been near-glaring while lost in thought; he guessed he really had spent too much time around the director. He recovered in milliseconds and gave his mentor a faint smile. “Fifty-eight, actually.” he joked, making sure to keep a smile so it didn’t come off like an actual threat. Luckily, his mentor stayed relaxed.

“So which option is the most appealing?” he asked wryly. Peter pretended to think, squinting at him.

“Hydrochloric acid is a good method. Dissolves everything completely.” he said casually. He’d actually learned that one from MJ, long before this whole sh*t show.

“I leave you two alone for five minutes and you’re discussing how to murder someone?” May asked, sounding amused as she stepped back into the room with two coffees in hand.

Peter shrugged. “We wouldn’t have gotten to that point if you didn’t take so long to get the coffee.” he pointed out like a smartass.

“Yes, the brewing time was suspiciously longer than usual.” May said, keeping a straight face, but her eyes were twinkling. “Machine is probably broken.” She passed one of the coffee cups to Tony, who took it and raised his eyebrows.

“I’ll have to look into it.” he said dryly; all three of them knew damn well the machine was working perfectly fine. Peter frowned as he noted the distinct lack of a third cup.

“I come back from the dead and I don’t even get any coffee?” he asked, sounding affronted. For a moment he worried the joke was too soon, but luckily, neither of them freaked out. Instead, they both looked at him with near-identical expressions, eyebrows raised in an ‘are-you-serious’ look. Wow. They really had been spending too much time around each other. He scrunched his nose at the thought. He really hoped May hadn’t told any embarrassing childhood stories at his funeral to try and lighten the mood (and man , that was a weird thought).

“Helen said no caffeine or strenuous exercise until your body has a chance to recover.” May said sternly. Peter huffed but didn't argue. He figured telling them that he survived Fury’s physical training while recovering from the explosion probably wouldn’t reassure them like he intended it to.

“Kid, you’re doing the murder scowl look again.” his mentor’s voice filtered in, and he refocused on their faces. Both of them were looking at him strangely again; Peter supposed it was as weird for them to see Fury’s expressions on his face as it was for him to see their expressions mirroring each others’. He forced a slight smile, shoving back his thoughts and schooling his expression.

“No murder for me, I promise.” he said, holding up his hand in a scout’s honor. “Though, if I’m not supposed to have caffeine or strenuous exercise, then Mr. Stark shouldn't either. I’ve heard it’s bad for old people.” he paused, pretending to think. “Though you sure don’t act older than a child.”

Tony scoffed. “Watch it, kid.” he warned, but he couldn’t keep a straight face. "I'll have you know I'm a very emotionally mature adult."

Peter raised his eyebrows at the same time May did. "Mature adult? I don’t even need to be able to read expressions to know that you're lying." he said, amused. May hummed in agreement, sipping her coffee as Tony turned a betrayed gaze on her.

Peter’s mouth turned up in a slight smile at the sight, before he turned his attention back on his aunt. He hesitated, wondering if now was the best time to bring it up.

“Alright, kid, spill it.” his mentor’s voice caused him to look back over at him, and his face instinctively fell into a neutral expression at the sight of the scrutinizing look Tony was currently giving him.

—

Tony watched as the kid physically schooled his expression; it was uncanny, how fast he could control his micro-expressions. In fact, if Tony hadn’t been watching closely, he wouldn’t even have been able to spot the switch. He sighed, and he forced himself to meet Peter’s gaze, even though it felt a little too much like looking at Fury or Natasha. He did not like that comparison.

Peter tilted his head in response to the gaze Tony was currently giving him, but his face remained infuriatingly blank.

“Spill what?” he asked, and Tony huffed in response.

“I don’t know, that’s kind of why I was asking you, kid.” he said, a faint tone of sarcasm leaking into his voice in hopes that it would cause Peter to break from that neutral-looking stare into something more amused. “You looked like you were doing grade-A psychoanalysis on your aunt over there. Whatever it is, just ask it.”

The kid’s face didn’t betray any readable emotion, but his eyebrows did relax slightly, and his gaze flicked between his mentor and aunt. “I was wondering if I could see Ned and MJ.” he confessed, and his voice finally broke into something more soft and familiar. Tony felt his shoulders relax. There was the Peter Parker he knew. Despite the facial expressions, the training, the dry sarcasm– he was still thinking first and foremost of his friends.

Next to him, May softened and approached Peter to tug him into yet another hug. “Oh honey, of course.” she said. “I’m sorry we didn’t think of it sooner.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed at that. “Gee, I don’t know why you didn’t think of everything while dealing with the shock of me coming back from the dead.” he said in a deadpan, and May huffed and pushed his shoulder gently in exasperation, shaking her head. She got a smile out of Peter for her efforts, and she was unable to stop herself from pulling him into another hug before stepping back and reaching into her pocket for her phone.

“I’ll call them right now.” she said, checking the time and walking over to the doorway. As an afterthought, she spun around and pointed a warning finger at the pair. “I’d better not come back in and hear you guys discussing fifty-seven murder methods again.”

“Fifty-eight.” Peter and Tony corrected in unison, before glancing at each other in surprise as May huffed a laugh and left the room.

Tony felt his mouth stretch into a smile. Yeah. There was his kid.

~ ~ ~

Peter felt his heart fluttering in his chest nervously as he eyed the doorway. It was only his friends, he shouldn’t feel nervous; he’d already had the reunion with the Avengers and it was fine. Though, he’d also been actively bleeding out when he revealed everything, so he supposed they got past the initial shock while he was passed out on the medical table. He didn’t get that option here, unfortunately.

Tony had left his room when FRIDAY said that his friends had arrived, squeezing his shoulder gently and giving him an encouraging smile. Peter was like 97% sure that the man was going to talk to Fury while Peter was otherwise occupied, and his attempts to convince him otherwise proved futile. Regardless, he had explicitly implored his mentor not to try to kill the SHIELD director– he really didn’t need an attempted murder case on his hands here (jokes aside). His mentor had grumbled something vaguely like an agreement in response, but Peter knew he wouldn’t actually go directly against his wishes.

May had left his room a few moments later to get his friends– Peter wasn’t sure whether she was taking an eternity or whether he just was unable to process time properly at the moment. Either way, if she didn’t show up soon, he was going to go into heart failure and die from the stress. And that would be a rather disappointing way to go out, after all of this.

Just as he thought it, he heard three heartbeats come into range of his hearing, heading towards his room. Frankly, it was a miracle he could hear anything with the sound of his own heart galloping 100 mph in his own ears, but he could hear when they reached the outside of his door. He assumed May had told them at some point (either on the phone or when they got here) that he was alive. At least, he certainly hoped so, because he really didn’t want them to start screaming or thinking he was a zombie corpse or something.

He didn’t get to continue that train of thought (probably for the better) before the door swung open. The thumping of the heartbeats became much louder– one was at a normal speed (May), and two more were distinctly racing. He sat up straighter and swung his legs over the side of the mattress, eyes trained on the doorway as his aunt stepped in first with a soft smile. She turned slightly and beckoned behind her, and Peter’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of his friends. He clocked the moment they saw him– Ned’s face seemed to crumble and MJ’s went still in shock. He felt something painful twist in his chest at the clear pain on both of his friends’ faces. For a moment, everything was still, until Peter opened his mouth to speak.

“Hey guys.” he said quietly, afraid to move towards them. At the sound of his voice, though, Ned immediately broke away from the small group and rushed towards him. Peter, having expected this, stood up quickly to receive his best friend’s bone-crushing hug.

“Oh my god, Peter .” Ned whispered tearfully. Peter felt his own eyes burn at the words, though he didn’t cry, instead squeezing Ned back just as tightly. He glanced over at where May still stood with MJ, and he saw MJ’s hand pressed against her mouth, tears gleaming in her eyes. He pulled back from Ned and looked him in the eye.

“I’m sorry, Ned,” he said. For everything . There was so much to apologize for, Peter didn’t even know where to start. But Ned– dear Ned– his best friend since middle school, understood him immediately, shaking his head and yanking Peter back in for a hug.

“Don’t apologize, man.” he said, voice shaking. “Just don’t you ever pull something like that again.” his voice cracked on the words, and Peter was already nodding, squeezing him tighter. He would agree to almost anything at this point to stop the pain his best friend was going through, even make promises they both knew he wouldn’t be able to keep.

This time, it was Ned who pulled himself away, though it seemed like it took a great effort on his part. He sniffled, and nodded back to where MJ was still standing. Peter understood the message, moving across the room to her. May made her way over to Ned, giving them both some room, while Peter came to a stop in front of MJ. She still hadn’t moved, and though her eyes were glistening and tears were running down her face, her expression was stoic and unreadable.

He hesitated, unsure of what to say, but luckily, MJ spoke first. Or, well, moved first. He felt more than saw the punch to his arm coming, and he had ample time to dodge, but he forced himself to stay still and accept the hit to his upper arm. (It wasn’t hard enough to hurt but it definitely was no light slap, either). “You idiot .” MJ started in a near-snarl. “I’m so going to kill you for these last eight months.” She started moving again, and Peter braced himself for another hit (perhaps a well-deserved one to the face this time), but instead she yanked him into a hug just as tight as the one Ned had given him.

He blinked in surprise, unable to register the motion for half a second (MJ was not big in the hugging department), before instinct took over and he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing back and tilting his head into her neck. “I’m sorry.” he murmured lowly in her ear, quiet enough that May or Ned wouldn’t hear him. She didn’t say anything in response, but squeezed him back in acknowledgement, and he felt warm tears drop onto his neck from where her own face was buried.

In that moment, he wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, how much he liked (loved?) her, and had thought of her over the past year. But now wasn’t the time– she deserved something better than that, not here, in this quiet hospital room. He would tell her– he’d spent enough time running from the truth, and had learned in his eight month stint not to take anything for granted.

Instead, he held her tightly, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other coming to grip at the base of her neck, pressing her close against him. She sniffled quietly, gripping him even tighter, and he rubbed circles with his thumb in the place where her neck met her shoulder line. He’d be content to hold her like this forever, if it made it easier for her.

—

MJ wasn’t quite sure how long she spent gripping Peter tightly, but it was nowhere near long enough. She forced herself to step back after some time, recognizing that it had already gone on for far longer than it probably should have (certainly longer than Ned had hugged him for). Pulling back, she looked into his face closely for the first time, eyes flicking over all the miniscule changes. There were a lot– almost too many to count. She’d have to categorize them later (to make her drawings more accurate, of course; no other reason).

But the way that he looked at her was painfully familiar. “MJ.” Peter said softly. The nickname she hadn’t heard in months flooded her ears, and she was filled with warmth. It felt like a rebirth. Like salvation and love, all tied into one. MJ had died with Peter and she’d come back alive with him, too. (Ugh. Maybe she understood all the mushy stupid cheesy love stories now. She’d have to issue an official apology to her English teacher.)

She cleared her throat, swiping an arm across her eyes. “Dork.” she said, and she was proud of herself that her voice didn’t crack. She grabbed his arm and tugged him over to where Ned and May were standing by his bed. She was well aware that he could easily resist if he wanted to, but he was pliant to her guidance, allowing himself to be pushed down into the bed. She then grabbed Ned by the arm and pulled him into the chairs that were pulled up by the side of the bed, and pointed a finger at Peter.

“You have a lot of explaining to do.” she said, and despite the fact that her face was tear-stained, she knew her voice was as stern and intimidating as it usually was. To her great annoyance, Peter didn’t seem to have the same reaction to it as he used to; he almost looked amused . Regardless, he glanced over to his aunt for help, and she raised her hands and backed towards the doorway.

“I’ll leave you three to it.” she said gently, and MJ was hit with another reason on why she was eternally grateful for May Parker. Peter sighed, turning his attention back to Ned and MJ, who were both looking at him with expectant expressions. He was not getting out of this one.

“So you know Nick Fury…”

~ ~ ~

“Fury.” Tony said, stepping into the room, gaze sharp and piercing.

Fury turned. If he was surprised to see Tony there, he didn’t show it. He just met his gaze calmly. “Stark,” he acknowledged. A few beats of silence passed, and Tony assessed the director. It may have been his mind playing tricks on him, but he could have sworn a few of Peter’s mannerisms had rubbed off on the other man.

“I’ll skip the pleasantries.” he said abruptly. “We both know I’m here because of the kid.” he leaned forward, pressing his hands against the table that separated them and staring Fury right in his eye. “If you ever use the kid like that again, I will kill you, and bury your body so deep that archaeologists hundreds of thousands of years from now still won’t come close to finding your bones.” he promised, voice low and serious.

“Parker got something out of it, too.” Fury said, seeming unaffected by the threat. “It was a mutual agreement.”

Tony grit his teeth. “Don’t bull sh*t me, Fury. You took a seventeen year old kid, made his entire family believe he was dead, and used his protective tendencies to manipulate him into thinking that there was no other way to deal with the situation than to become your little secret agent.”

He was fully aware of the irony, coming from him– the man who had recruited a fourteen year old to fight with him. And maybe he was so angry because he saw the parallels– when he’d first recruited Peter, he’d done it fully for his own benefit, had kept May in the dark, and had provided him with a new suit in the name of ‘keeping him safe.’ In the same way Fury had trained Peter for months. It could be argued that what Fury did was a more extreme version of what Tony had done just three years prior.

The main difference now was that Tony had truly grown to care about the kid, and would sacrifice damn near anything for him. Though he didn’t doubt that Fury had grown somewhat of a soft spot for Peter, he also couldn’t trust that the man wouldn’t make the decision to use Peter as a pawn again, if he thought it needed to be done. And that wasn’t acceptable.

“You will stay away from him, and let him be a kid.”

“He’s eighteen.” Fury responded, staring back with an unreadable expression. As if that made all the difference.

“Yeah, teen.” Tony said, clenching his fist at his side to stop himself from raising his voice. He wouldn’t give Fury that satisfaction. “He’s a teenager. He should be worrying about college applications, not how to fight HYDRA guards and sneak around and control his emotions like a trained super-spy.” he paused. “You know exactly how Romanoff feels about child soldiers. And if I for some reason couldn’t get to you, she damn well would.”

Fury’s expression did flicker at that; briefly, but enough for Tony to know he’d won. Because it wasn’t a lie. Frankly, the only reason Fury wasn’t already dead and gone was because Peter had pointedly warned him (and the rest of the Avengers) not to do anything nefarious to the director on his behalf. And he’d somehow retained the ability to do puppy dog eyes, even if he could also now glare like he was about to commit a murder. The duality was actually quite unfair. But regardless, if Fury pulled a stunt like this again, even Peter couldn’t stop him from sealing his fate.

Fury straightened up, placing his hands behind his back. “Well, if Parker does ever decide he wants to work for SHIELD, let him know he’ll have a position.”

Tony straightened up as well, baring his teeth in a fake smile. “I won’t.” he said. He was sure Fury didn’t actually expect him to relay the message, and that he’d probably get it to Peter some other way– if he hadn’t already. But the director needed to save face somehow; it wasn’t really in his nature to let someone come into his space and threaten to kill him.

Satisfied that he’d gotten his message across, he turned on his heel and started to walk out of the room.

“Stark.” Fury called out. "You can't protect him from everything. He’s always had the will, he just has the skills now to go along with it. You’re not the only one looking out for him.”

Tony scoffed but kept walking. Trust Fury to say something cryptic that sounded both like a threat and an encouragement. “No, I’m not.” he agreed, nearly out the door. “He’s got an entire family who would lay down their lives for him.”

He didn’t bother to wait for the director’s response.

~ ~ ~

Peter sighed as Tony stepped back into his room in the MedBay, eyes sweeping over his mentor’s form. “Please tell me you didn’t just go threaten Fury.”

Tony almost startled in surprise. Really, how the hell did the kid decipher that from just looking at him? Peter gave him a wry look, like he could tell exactly what he was thinking. “You looked guilty, like you were trying to hide something from me, and now you look surprised, like you didn’t think I would guess.” he said, eyebrows raised. He paused. “Also, I could tell that’s what you left earlier to do.”

Tony pursed his lips, shaking his head and walking over to pull the kid into a side hug. He elected not to answer the question– they both knew the answer anyways, and Peter would be able to see right through a lie. “You know, I liked it better when you let me keep an air of mysteriousness about me,” he said. Peter huffed, but he didn’t resist being pulled against Tony’s side.

“You’ve never had an air of mysteriousness.” he said bluntly. “You revealed to the world that you were Iron Man after, like, a day.”

“Well, if we’re being technical, it was more than a day.” Tony said, but he supposed the kid was right. He looked around, seeing that two chairs had been scooted forward towards the side of the bed. “Where are your little nerd friends?” he asked. Peter waved his hand.

“They left a little while ago, it’s getting late and they both have to get home,” he said. “They promised to visit soon.”

Tony had no doubts that the kid’s friends would be keeping that promise. Frankly, he was surprised Peter had managed to get them out of his room before midnight. Though perhaps he shouldn’t be– the kid had gotten quite persuasive.

Checking the time, Tony raised his eyebrows. “That means it's your bedtime, too, then,” he said, and Peter rolled his eyes with a huff.

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me do anything else?” he asked wryly, and Tony shook his head.

“Nope.” he responded faux-cheerfully. “You heard Helen and know the protocol by now: plenty of rest to counteract whatever injuries you’ve put your body through.”

“Yeah, yeah, and no caffeine. No fun as usual.” Peter grumbled. Tony raised his eyebrows.

“I’m sure you can take that up with Helen, if you prefer.” he suggested, and at that, Peter raised his hands in defeat.

“I think pissing off the woman who regularly has me at her mercy is probably not the best idea.” he acquiesced, and Tony just snorted.

“Growing some self-preservation skills at last?” he asked, chest warming at the familiar banter between the two of them. God, he’d missed this.

Peter just laughed in amusem*nt. “Not a chance.” he responded with a grin, and Tony pretended to sigh dramatically.

“Ah, well, one can hope.” he responded, and there was more than a grain of truth in that statement. He did hope that if Peter got anything at all out of this whole sh*tshow, it was better ways to protect himself. He had a feeling the kid could tell what he was thinking, because his eyes softened in that annoyingly perceptive way. Tony sniffed and moved towards the bed, gently poking a finger into Peter’s sternum to get him to lay flat on the bed. “Bedtime for you.” he said, changing the subject. He ignored the fact that the statement sounded disgustingly paternal even to his own ears.

Peter, mercifully, didn’t press him on the topic, just rolling his eyes instead and flopping down. He rolled to one side, shifting under the blankets slightly. Tony fought the urge to pull the blankets up for him. He was not going to do that. Decidedly, definitely not. Instead, he settled for patting the kid’s shoulder once more and getting up to move out of the room and actually let him rest. As he got to the doorway and reached the light switch, Peter’s voice echoed behind him.

“G’night, Mr. Stark.” he said quietly, voice already half-disguised with a yawn.

“Night, kid.”

~ ~ ~

Day 256

Peter was woken up by the smell of pancakes.

Blinking in surprise, he rolled over in his bed, realizing that he’d slept in for once. He had finally been allowed out of the MedBay and back into his room at the Tower; he’d forgotten how comfortable the bed was here compared to the sh*tty cot in the bunker.

Sniffing the air, he realized that it was probably communal breakfast time, and his stomach rumbled hungrily at the thought. He yawned as he pulled a sweatshirt over his head and shuffled out into the hallway, ruffling his hands through his hair and rubbing his eyes to make him look more alert.

As he got nearer to the kitchen, the aroma got stronger, and he sniffed the air appreciatively. Straightening his back and blinking the last of the sleep out of his eyes, he shuffled into the kitchen and was greeted with a familiar sight that made his chest ache. The Avengers were all gathered in the room, doing their normal morning activities. Steve was making pancakes, and Natasha was perched on a barstool observing and sipping a cup of coffee. Clint was seated next to her, half-draped over the counter (not nearly as alert; clearly the coffee hadn’t kicked in yet). Sam and Bucky were dressed in gym clothes (like Steve), sitting at the table and arguing over something. Tony was sitting at the far end of the table, closest to the door Peter had walked in, drinking coffee and staring at some project on his tablet.

It was all achingly familiar to the before that he could almost pretend it all didn’t happen. Nobody had noticed his arrival yet, and he was able to soak in the atmosphere for a few moments more. He glanced at the clock on the wall; Ned and MJ were at school right now, and May had probably headed off to work, so it would just be Peter and the team.

Peter cleared his throat, shuffling further into the room and getting their attention. The Avengers looked up one by one, their expressions shifting from their morning haze to varying smiles and murmurs of greeting as they spotted him (Clint didn’t move much; the man needed almost a whole pot of coffee to get him going, and clearly he was only one or two cups in).

"Aw, would you look at that. Sleeping beauty has arrived.” Sam said, grinning. Peter huffed, giving him a look.

“Actually, I’ve been up since 6 AM.” he said airily, making his way over to his mentor.

Sam scoffed. “You have not.” he said, peering at him closely. Peter kept a neutral expression. He actually hadn’t, not today– he’d slept in for once. But he’d woken up every day at 6 AM over the entire course of the last nine months; Fury’s habits were hard to break. So he figured it averaged out. Besides, he just liked his newfound ability to lie to Sam about absolutely meaningless things. Consider it payback for all the times he’d messed with Peter.

The man huffed, unable to read Peter’s expression and not quite willing to call him on his bluff. Man, it was so nice having a good poker face. “FRIDAY?” Sam asked, peering at the ceiling.

“I am not at liberty to discuss Peter’s sleeping habits with you.” FRIDAY said in a sh*t-eating tone, and Peter grinned smugly. There were pros to being the AI’s favorite.

He waved his hand. “Anyways, I couldn't resist the smell of Steve's pancakes." Now that wasn’t a lie.

Steve chuckled, flipping a pancake and setting it onto the impressively large stack next to him. Granted, it would not last very long at all– not with eight of them, and three enhanced individuals. "Well, you're just in time. Breakfast is served."

Peter grinned and inhaled the aroma, his mouth already watering. The food in the bunker hadn’t been quite as terrible as some of May’s more disastrous recipe attempts, but he had most certainly missed these pancakes.

Settling in, he started shoveling pancakes into his mouth, hearing sounds of amusem*nt from his teammates but not bothering to check who. It was a well-deserved reaction on his part; they were some very good pancakes.

At some point, Tony’s phone buzzed next to him on the table– probably Pepper, or some other notification about the company. Peter glanced at the screen instinctively as his mentor flipped it over, and suddenly it felt like a sledgehammer had just knocked all the air out of him (and yes, he did unfortunately know what that felt like).

October 23rd.

It had been 256 days since he’d been Spider-Man.

Logically, he had already known that, but seeing it written out was jarring. It wasn’t like he’d had any calendars or anything in the bunker, after all. He’d kept track of the days, but in tally marks, not in the month, day, year format. The last time he’d seen that was before all this. In February.

A comfortable quiet had fallen over them as they all ate their breakfast, but suddenly Peter couldn’t think of anything other than that fact, and he couldn’t go any longer without asking.

“What am I going to do about Spider-Man?” Peter asked suddenly, poking at his food. The room somehow got even more silent, as if everyone had thought of the question privately but were too afraid to be the first to bring it up, and certainly hadn’t expected it at this moment. Tony drew in a breath.

“Well, that’s up to you, kid.” he said. “We didn’t tell the school that you had… died,” he paused, as if the word was still painful to say. “only that you were ‘away.’ You could go back to being Peter Parker without having to be Spider-Man. You… don’t ever have to be him again if you don’t want to.”

“No one will judge you if you don’t want to go back.” Natasha said, and her gaze was piercing, examining Peter for any uncertainty. He knew it was a reference to what he’d said back in the apartment– even though he’d established that was to sell his whole story about being Miles Miller, she was looking for some truth in it. She wanted him to know that the Avengers would support him regardless even if he wanted to live the rest of his life out as just Peter Parker.

He shook his head firmly. “No, I don’t mean that. I do want to be back. I have all these skills now, and I can use it to help people.” he said quietly. He couldn’t just stop helping people; his city still needed someone to look out for them. His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “I just meant in terms of the whole resurrecting Spider-Man from the dead thing. I don’t know if there’s a precedent for that.”

He glanced up after he said that and found everyone watching him. Steve was looking at him with something like… pride? in his eyes. Which didn’t really make sense to Peter; he’d never questioned whether he would go back to being Spider-Man after all of this. He supposed it was more of a whiplash for everyone else though.

Tony waved away Peter’s concerns. “Oh, don’t worry, Pep can set up a press conference announcing that you’re back.” he said, lightening the tension in the room.

“Yeah, compared to all the sh*t Tony’s put her through with press conferences over the years, this should be a piece of cake.” Natasha said wryly, mouth twitching in amusem*nt when Tony shot her an affronted look.

He scoffed, electing to ignore Natasha’s comment, instead focusing back on Peter. “Point is, kid, we can deal with the media. There have been worse sh*tstorms. The choice is up to you.” Tony said, and his eyes met Peter’s, searching for any hint of uncertainty. Peter just smiled reassuringly back at him.

“Yeah, I’m sure the people of New York will be excited to see you and all your bug-like glory.” Sam said, flicking a piece of paper at Peter. He caught it and scoffed, flicking it right back.

“Spiders are arachnids,” he said flatly.

Sam sighed melodramatically. “Yeah, but it doesn’t roll off the tongue as easily. Arachnid-like is such a mouthful.”

Peter sighed. "Как скажешь, летучая птица." ("Whatever you say, Flappy Bird.")

Sam squinted at him, then to Bucky, whose mouth was twitching in an amused smile. He huffed. “Fine, be all mysterious.” he pointed a finger at Peter warningly. Natasha cleared her throat.

“Children, children. Can we get back to the topic at hand?” she asked, but she looked more amused than anything. Peter waved his hand in agreement, getting back on track for the conversation they were having before.

“I just want to be a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, y’know?” he said, mouth flickering in a smile. “I think I’d rather go back to the days when busting drug rings was my most exciting activity.” he said wryly. Tony shot him a look, pointing a finger at him.

“No more warehouses for you. And I swear to god, no more messing with your suit.” he said it in a joking tone, but Peter could hear the tension underneath it. Truth be told, he wasn’t really a fan of warehouses anymore himself. And he didn’t think Ned was ever going to agree to hack his Spider-Man suit ever again; not that Peter was planning on asking him to. He’d already put his friend through too much. Besides, he’d figured out enough coding by now that he could probably figure out how to hack it himself if he needed to. He didn’t think he would, though. He wasn’t desperate to prove himself anymore– there was really no reason to be hiding things from his mentor. He was well and truly capable of handling things on his own at this point.

He held up his hands in defeat. “It’s not like I go looking for the warehouses.” he paused, correcting himself as he got pointed looks from his team members. “Well, actually, I do. But it’s not my fault evil supervillains seem to think they’re the best place to set up.”

Tony sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just… call for backup, okay?” he said, lifting his gaze back up to look at Peter intently. “I mean it. Any one of us would come out to help you, even if it turns out to be nothing.”

Peter glanced around and saw the rest of the Avengers giving their own nods in agreement. A warm feeling swelled in his chest. He wasn’t glad that he’d put them through almost a year of thinking he was dead, but in some ways it made him feel far more secure than he ever had. He didn’t have to worry about earning his spot on the team; he knew he already had the skills for it. He could trust them to have his back.

“Alright, I will.” he promised, and he met his mentor’s gaze. He wasn’t lying; frankly, he had no interest in repeating either of the warehouse incidents. And spending eight months as a solo agent made him wonder why he’d ever craved independence so badly. Working with a team was far more enjoyable, and practical. “Though I think I’ll avoid the warehouses for now and just stick to helping cats get out of trees.” he said lightly.

Clint huffed in amusem*nt. “Yeah I don’t think that’s going to last. You’ll find yourself in trouble soon enough.” he said wryly. Peter shrugged, mouth twitching in a smile, but he didn’t exactly have a rebuttal; the archer had a point. Trouble seemed to find him even when he wasn’t looking for it.

Revision: especially when he wasn’t looking for it.

“And on that note…” Tony muttered, pulling his phone out. “I’ll tell Pep to call a press conference.” he shot a glance at Peter. “Unless you want to hold it off?” he asked.

Peter shook his head, straightening up in his chair and taking a deep breath. “Let’s do it.” he said firmly.

~ ~ ~

Day 260

Peter watched from a TV screen as Pepper stood in the press conference room. It was eerily reminiscent of watching the announcement of his death, nine months ago. It had been a few days since he decided to announce his return as Spider-Man, and he was already desperate to be swinging over the city again. The only thing that had stopped him from doing so was that he was quite literally dead to New Yorkers at the moment, and he really didn’t feel like causing mass hysteria over zombie-Spider-Man rumors or something like that. Though that may happen regardless.

“The Avengers have a very important announcement to make.” Pepper started, standing at the microphone. “Please keep in mind that the news I am about to deliver was as much of a shock for us as it will be for you all.” she took a deep breath, and Peter could barely hear her over the blood rushing in his ears. This was it. His last moment as a dead man. The last piece of his identity being brought back to the land of the living. Tony squeezed his shoulder from his place next to him, and Peter breathed in a deep breath of his own, focusing on the grounding hand on his arm.

“Spider-Man is alive.”

The room erupted into chaos. It took several minutes before Pepper could manage to get a string of uninterrupted words out, even with a microphone. Cameras were going off every second, and all the reporters were barely able to restrain their chatter long enough for her to speak.

"We understand that there will be questions, speculations, and concerns. Believe me, we had them too when we found out. We're here to address them to the best of our ability. What's important now is that he is alive."

A reporter shouted a question from the crowd, and Pepper pointed towards them, granting permission to speak. "How did Spider-Man survive? And why was his survival kept a secret?"

More chattering and camera flashes broke out, but Pepper raised her voice above them. "The circ*mstances surrounding Spider-Man's survival are complicated, and as of now, we're not at liberty to disclose all the details. His survival was kept a secret for the safety of his loved ones, to protect them from the people who set the explosion. Nobody knew he was alive."

“Does Spider-Man’s resurgence have anything to do with the recent takedown of HYDRA?” one reporter shouted, and Pepper’s gaze was drawn to him as the room fell silent other than the clicking of camera shutters, everyone waiting for her answer with bated breath. She seemed to calculate the answer in her mind for a moment before speaking.

“HYDRA set the original explosion.” she confirmed. “I am not privy to the details, but I have heard that Spider-Man played an integral part in getting the information to take them down.”

Even more voices broke out at that news, and Peter felt his heart thumping painfully in his chest. They hadn’t known if the public would piece together the recent takedown of HYDRA with his reappearance, but he supposed the press was smarter than they’d given them credit for. Peter didn’t necessarily mind that they’d now know that he helped take down HYDRA, but he also didn’t want to be known just for that. Spider-Man was still for the little guys. Just because he’d had a brief stint as a super-spy didn’t mean he wouldn’t still help old ladies with their groceries and little kids get their cats out of trees. He hoped they’d realize that.

Through the chatter, a reporter’s voice broke through again. "Is Spider-Man back for good? Will he resume his duties as a hero?"

Once again, the silence fell as everyone waited with bated breath, but this time, Pepper nodded within moments. "Yes, Spider-Man has returned, and he’s looking forward to protecting his city again as he used to. None of this changes that." she said firmly. More reporters surged up with questions, but Pepper waved a hand, speaking over all of them. “Thank you for your time. That concludes our announcement.”

With that, she stepped away from the microphone, unbothered by the slew of shouted questions and reactions left in her wake.

~ ~ ~

Day 264

Jim Morita did not quite understand why Tony Stark, of all people, was sitting in his office right now.

Though, as usual, most of the perplexing cases that he had to face as principal involved Peter Parker in some way, and this instance was no different. His gaze flickered between May Parker and Tony Stark, and if he didn’t know that this was Iron Man, he would just assume that the man was Peter’s other guardian. At least, the fact that he was currently in the principal’s office discussing Peter and his eight-month hiatus would seem to imply as much.

Frankly, he’d been shocked when he’d gotten the email from May that Peter Parker was on a hiatus, leaving Midtown for an undisclosed amount of time due to an emergency. He hadn’t pried too far into it– the poor teenager had also been out of school for a long while when his Uncle had gotten shot a few years ago. He just hoped the universe had given the kid a break for once. Though he sincerely doubted it.

“You know.” Tony Stark said thoughtfully, sharp gaze piercing Morita. “I’m sure you’ve seen all the news about Spider-Man recently.” he waved his hand vaguely as the principal slowly nodded, unsure of where this was headed or how on earth it could possibly relate to Peter. Of course he’d seen the news about Spider-Man; it was almost impossible not to, with the media covering it nearly every day. He didn’t say any of this, though, merely tilting his head to the side and uttering two words.

“Of course,” he said, waiting for the man to continue.

Mr. Stark nodded. “My good friend Cap put in a word for your trustworthiness. I understand he was war buddies with your father. Peter himself put in a good word, too.” he said nonchalantly, and by now, Morita wasn’t following him at all. His gaze shot to Peter’s Aunt May, who looked… a little exasperated? A little fond? A mix of both. Tony Stark hadn’t stopped speaking, though, so Morita refocused his attention on him.

“Yes… my father was war buddies with the Captain.” he said slowly, hesitantly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, I’m not really following where you’re going with this.” ‘Not really following’ was an understatement– he’d been utterly lost the second Spider-Man was brought up, in a meeting that was supposed to be about Peter’s break from school.

At that, the man leaned forward in his seat, elbows on his knees and his sharp, piercing gaze seemingly scrutinizing every aspect of Morita’s soul. He tried not to squirm, meeting the other man’s eyes head on instead. There were a few tense moments, but whatever Mr. Stark had been looking for, he must have found it, because he gave a single nod of his head and leaned back into his seat. His gaze was still piercing but it was less harsh.

“What I’m saying , Mr. Morita, is that you give a little thought as to why Peter Parker personally knows so many Avengers– why he has Tony Stark and Captain America vouching for him. And perhaps as to why Peter Parker was gone for the same undisclosed time period that Spider-Man happened to be gone, for the same reason. Or so that’s what the high school rumor mill says.” At that, he stopped talking, as if he’d said all that he needed to say and it was up to Morita to put together the final pieces. Morita was about to open his mouth and say that he still didn’t understand when it hit him like a sledgehammer and he gaped. The connection with the Avengers. The Stark Internship that seemed to show up out of the blue with no mention of an application or request for teacher recommendation letters. Peter’s drop in attendance right when Spider-Man showed up. The numerous encounters of Spider-Man near Midtown. Peter ‘leaving’ for an emergency retreat right when Spider-Man supposedly died (his friends’ reactions made a lot more sense now). The emphasis on Peter vs Spider-Man.

It was a conclusion that honestly made so much sense, Morita was baffled as to how he hadn’t come to it before. Peter Parker was Spider-Man. One of his students was Spider-Man. His brain glitched as he tried to place the Peter he knew in the situations Spider-Man had been known to be involved in, and he found that he couldn’t stomach it. He felt two pairs of eyes on him, gauging his reaction, and he turned his attention to May Parker with a newfound respect. She stared at him with defiance in her eyes, as if challenging him to say something. He merely gave her a nod, and her gaze softened, giving him her own nod in return. No words needed to be exchanged– he understood.

At that, Mr. Stark clapped his hands once, standing up. “Excellent. I trust we’re done here, then?” he asked, scrutinizing Morita one last time. “I hope the analysis of your character was accurate.”

It was a subtle threat, but Morita wasn’t offended. He understood the weight of what they’d just entrusted him– of what Peter had just chosen to entrust him with. He merely nodded and stood, gripping Mr. Stark’s hand in a firm handshake and meeting his gaze head on. “You have my word.” he promised, and he meant it. “Peter will get a reduced workload and general template of assignments to complete so he can be caught up to his classmates, and I will ensure his teachers give him leniency.”

At that, May also stood, clasping his hand in a much warmer and gentler handshake. “Thank you, Jim.” she said. Morita shook his head with a small smile, brain still glitching out at the bombshell of information but sure of his words when he spoke them.

“All the thanks should go to Peter. He’s earned it.”

Chapter 13: ALL (Day 279)

Chapter Text

Day 279

7:00 AM

“Alright kid, you ready?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Mr. Stark, it’s just high school, it’s not a big deal.” he said, mildly exasperated. The ‘I’ve dealt with worse’ was unspoken. But it was for that exact same reason that it was a big deal. Alone in that bunker, training with Fury, Peter thought he would never get to go back to the mundane life of high school. And for Tony and May and the Avengers, they thought he was dead and would never get to complete high school. It wasn’t a big deal in the sense that it was a challenge, but it was a big deal in the sense that Peter had the opportunity to be a kid again (well, a ‘kid’ with superpowers, of course).

Tony just gave him a look– one Peter was familiar with, catching his mentor glancing at him every so often like he wasn’t sure Peter was real, or a hallucination. The moment was broken when Tony reached out to ruffle his hair, and Peter ducked away with an affronted squawk (he could totally have dodged long before his mentor’s hand got anywhere near him, but he secretly enjoyed the physical contact, even if it made him look like he’d freshly rolled out of bed).

“Mr. Stark.” he complained with a huff, no bite in his tone. The man in question merely gave a small grin, knowing damn well Peter could have avoided it if he truly wanted to. Tony didn’t reply verbally, but he did slide a full plate of breakfast over to where Peter had perched on one of the kitchen chairs. Peter gave it a suspicious sniff and critical look, and his mentor just rolled his eyes.

“Relax, kid, I didn’t poison it or anything.” His tone was light, but there was a slight tension behind his words at the reminder that Peter had been trained to observe first, almost as an instinct now. He no longer instinctively trusted things in front of him, even from familiar and trusted people. Peter picked up his fork and shoveled a bite of the eggs in his mouth with a snort.

“I don’t know, Mr. Stark, the amount of time you’ve spent around Aunt May and her cooking may suggest differently.” he said in a light tone, purposefully bringing his mentor back to the present. He knew Tony didn’t like thinking about the skills and habits he’d developed during his secret agent training stint, so he did his best to bring it back around to familiar traits– ones he’d had long before this past year. And to be entirely fair, it was true that Peter had to be suspicious of any food from his Aunt. He loved her dearly, but cooking was not her forte. Nonetheless, he saw his mentor relax at his retort and roll his eyes.

“Trust me, I wasn’t taking cooking lessons after that date loaf incident.” he said wryly, and Peter grinned at the reminder, mouth still full of eggs.

“What, you don’t want May to make us a celebratory date loaf for all of the holidays?” he teased, and Tony grimaced at the thought. He narrowed his eyes at his protege, giving a half stern finger point.

“Don’t you dare, Parker. And swallow your food before speaking.” he added the last part as an afterthought, and Peter almost choked on his food, letting out a surprised laugh.

“Yes, Mom.” he snarked. “You really have been spending too much time around May,” he said with a grin. His mentor merely rolled his eyes once more.

“Actually, you have Capsicle to thank for that particular sentiment.” he said, waving his spatula in Peter’s direction.

Peter raised his eyebrow. “Does Cap burn his eggs, though?”

Tony spun around back to his pan, expecting to see burnt and crispy eggs, but they were still almost raw, still perfectly fine. He turned back to face Peter, who now had a sh*t-eating grin on his face.

“You’re a menace, kid.” Tony said with a huff and halfhearted eye roll.

“Gotcha.” Peter said smugly, shoveling more food into his mouth. Tony opened his mouth to say something else, but at that moment, May strolled into the kitchen, dressed in her work outfit. She smiled at Peter and gave him a kiss on the cheek, ruffling his hair as Tony had done.

“Good morning, baby.” she said to him while making her way over to Tony. Peter smiled back at his aunt.

“Morning, Aunt May.” he said, mid-bite again.

She gave him a half glance as she moved towards the stove. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.” she chided gently. Peter gave his mentor a triumphant grin over May’s shoulder, and merely received another exasperated eye roll in response. May looked between the two of them with a raised eyebrow.

“I don’t even want to know.” she said with a wave, grabbing a plate and taking some of the already-prepared food for herself.

“Your nephew is a menace.” Tony said, reiterating his previous statement, while Peter still had the sh*t-eating grin on his face.

“Mr. Stark just can’t handle the fact that I’m right.” Peter said, still smug as his aunt settled into the seat next to him with a bemused smile.

“Tony Stark is never wrong, kid. You might have to rethink that statement.” Tony said with a mock-haughty sniff as he tilted the scrambled eggs out of the pan and onto another plate for himself. He couldn’t stop his eyes from crinkling in amusem*nt, though, and it was very clear he didn’t give a damn what he was saying. He was too glad to have Peter back, too ecstatic to have the kitchen filled with three people rather than just him and May alone in their grief.

“Sure, Mr. Stark.” Peter said in amusem*nt, tone soft as well. The three fell into a comfortable silence, reveling in each others’ presence, before May spoke.

“Are you ready for school?” she asked, turning to face Peter and examining his face for any hesitation. He kept his expression open, knowing he could shut it down if he needed to and lie, but there was no need. He nodded his head.

“Yeah, I’ve got everything ready. Is it weird that I’m looking forward to it?”

Tony snorted. “I don’t think that sentiment will last long.” he said, but his eyes were soft with unspoken understanding. May merely gave a smile of her own, nodding at her nephew.

“It’s not weird, I’m glad you’re looking forward to it. Ned and MJ will be there, right?”

Peter nodded. He’d arranged to meet his friends outside of school so they could walk in together. He doubted an abundance of people would really care that he was back, and he was certainly more than capable of going in alone, but it felt nice to know that he had backup. “Yeah, we’re meeting outside 30 minutes before classes start so I can drop off all my work as well.”

“Happy’s picking you up after school.” Tony said, too, and Peter didn’t bother to argue. Usually– in the Before , at least– he would patrol after school, unless he had decathlon practice. But he had neither of those today and he knew that nobody was particularly keen on letting him out of their sight after this whole sh*tshow. Eventually he’d go back to normal, back to Spider-Man and decathlon and hanging out with friends, but for this first day back to school at least, he was alright following his mentor’s newfound (and probably deserved) slightly overprotective tendencies. He shrugged in agreement, noticing the time. He started to get up and move his dishes to the dishwasher, not wanting to keep his friends waiting. He heard Tony murmur something to FRIDAY, and when he turned back around, his mentor was looking at him.

“Speaking of which, Happy is in the garage now, he’s ready to take you there.” Tony said, giving Peter another one of those unreadable looks (hardly unreadable if Peter really looked into it for more than three seconds, but he was trying not to over-analyze everything). Peter could tell he almost wanted to be the one to drive him, rather than Happy– he never liked not being able to control a situation, and still had that whole guilt complex about thinking Peter’s protection was completely on him. But Peter could tell he also didn’t want to be too overbearing on him, especially considering all of his new and old capabilities.

Peter gave his mentor a reassuring smile. “I’ll see you later, Mr. Stark.” he said, knowing Tony would hear the underlying message. I’ll be alright, don’t worry about me. I’ll be back soon. His mentor pursed his lips but nodded.

“Have fun with the rest of the nerds, kid.” he replied, and Peter heard his own message within it. You’d better be.

He turned his attention to May as she cupped his chin with her hands and gave him one of her own smiles. She tried to hide it like Tony did, too, but he could see the worry in her gaze as well. Last time she’d said goodbye to him it had almost been goodbye for good. She kissed his forehead and brushed his hair out of his eyes (a flash of emotion crossed her gaze when she did that, but it was gone within a few seconds).

“Have a good day at school, honey. I larb you.”

Peter smiled again, leaning slightly into the warmth of his aunt’s hands. “Larb you too, May. Have fun at work.” With that, he grabbed his backpack and ran towards the stairs to the garage, where Happy was undoubtedly grumpily waiting.

“Bye! Love you!” he called once more over his shoulder as he left, hearing the farewell echoed behind him. He almost snickered at the thought of his mentor’s face upon hearing those words– he knew the ambiguity of May still being in the kitchen wouldn’t cover up the fact that he meant it for both of them. He hadn’t ever explicitly said it, and Tony had never said it to him either, but his actions more than showed it, and Peter didn’t need a verbal confirmation. Still, the farewell rolled off his tongue naturally, and he had a pep in his step as he made his way to the garage.

“Hey, Happy!” he called out as he entered. After several unfortunate instances where he’d startled people with his trained quietness, he’d taken to announcing himself as he entered, making sure his presence was indeed known (it seemed to put them at ease, too, being very similar to his old rambunctious self).

The man in question grumbled out a hello (living up to his nickname, as usual), but didn’t put up a fight when Peter slid into the front seat instead of the back, as he used to.

“Buckle up, kid. Tony will have my head if your scrawny little ass gets injured.” he grumbled, and Peter grinned.

“Are you admitting that your driving skills need work?” he asked cheekily, and Happy gave him a short glare, backing out of the garage.

“Watch it, or you’re being demoted to backseat again.”

The grin never left Peter’s face. “Missed you too, Happy.”

—

Happy drove up to the steps of Midtown, and Peter glanced out the window to see Ned and MJ waiting on the stairs for him, with a few other students milling about. It was still relatively early– more students wouldn’t be coming in for another 20 minutes or so. He unbuckled his belt and grabbed his backpack, reaching for the door handle.

“Remember, I’m picking you up here too.” Happy reminded him gruffly, peering at him. Peter gave him a reassuring smile.

“I know, I know. See you this afternoon.” he said, tugging on the door handle and sliding out of the car.

“You’d better not keep me waiting, Parker!” Happy called out after him as the door shut, and Peter couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Same old Happy. He was glad that him doing the whole dying-and-coming-back-to-life thing hadn’t changed the man’s attitude towards him. He made his way over to where his friends were standing, doing his handshake with Ned in greeting and smiling at MJ (he definitely did not get butterflies when she smiled back– nope, not him).

They chattered as they made their way through the empty hallway towards Principal Morita’s office, to drop off his work and pick up his schedule. Soon enough, they’d made it, and Peter glanced at both of his friends and then to the closed door of the office. He wasn’t sure why he felt nervous– Morita knew about his Spider-Man situation, and wouldn’t hold his absences against him. (He still wasn’t sure what strings Tony had pulled to excuse his months-long absence, but he wasn’t going to ask). Still, Peter supposed that was what he was anxious about– not knowing what Morita’s reaction would be to seeing Spider-Man in person instead of just Peter Parker. He really hoped it wasn’t weird.

“Hey dork,” MJ said, shoving his arm and breaking him out of his thoughts. “While I’d love to stand around outside here all day and sulk, we do have to get to class soon.” she said, and Peter huffed, shouldering his backpack. Ned gave him a reassuring smile.

“We’ll be right outside when you’re done.” he said, and Peter raised his eyebrows.

“Guys, I’ve faced worse than Principal Morita.” he said wryly, but he was secretly thankful for their reassurances nonetheless. MJ wasn’t having any of his sh*t, and she rolled her eyes.

“Then maybe look like it.” she responded in her own deadpan, and Peter smiled, reaching for the outer door and stepping inside. Inside, there was a short hallway with chairs, and at the end was Morita’s office. The door was propped open, so Peter made his way to the opening, popping his head inside and rapping on the doorframe with his knuckles.

“Mr. Morita?” he asked, and the man’s head popped up, relaxing into a smile when he saw Peter at the door.

“Ah, Peter, come in!” he said, waving his hand in a welcoming gesture. Peter mirrored his smile slightly, stepping into his office and pulling his backpack off his shoulder to rummage through it and hand the principal the folder of all of his assignments. The man took it without question and shuffled through the papers on his own desk for a moment before handing Peter a copy of his schedule.

Peter glanced down at it, surprised that the exchange was that simple, before looking back up at Morita. “Do I need to do anything else?” he asked. He was fairly sure that he didn’t, but it felt rude to just walk out without an explicit dismissal. He may have faced HYDRA, but he still wasn’t sure what the protocol was for the principal’s office.

Morita waved a hand in response. “No, no, that’s it.” he paused slightly and Peter raised his eyebrow, not leaving the room yet. It was clear the man wanted to say something else. Just before Peter was about to tell him to spit it out, the principal opened his mouth. “I don’t want to make it weird for you.” he started. “This is a place for Peter Parker, and I intend to treat you as a student because that’s what you’re here for. But I did want to address it at least once. I already made the promise to Mr. Stark and your Aunt May, but you deserve to hear it from me directly. Your secret is safe with me.” he said, gazing intently at Peter. “And I know I’m probably the last person you’d want to talk to, but if you ever do need anything, my door is always open.” he said.

Peter was momentarily shocked– of all the responses, he hadn’t quite expected this. He recovered quickly, though, and smiled at his principal. “Thank you.” he said genuinely. Then, trying to make the room lighter, he added: “I don’t suppose this means I get to escape being called to the principal’s office again for having too many absences?” he asked hopefully, referring back to the many times before he had been dragged into the man’s office to get lectured about ditching school.

Morita laughed and shook his head. “I promised to treat you as a student, Peter, so you’re out of luck there.” he said, but he didn’t sound annoyed, and Peter counted that as a win.

“Ah, it was worth a shot.” he said with a shrug. He nodded to his principal, and then to his schedule. “Well, I should probably head to class. My friends are waiting for me.” Morita was nodding before Peter had even finished his sentence, waving him out.

“Yes, my bad, I didn’t mean to keep you for so long. Have a good day, Peter.” he said, returning to the papers on his desk.

“You too,” Peter called out as he turned and made his way out of the room, back down the short hallway, and out of the outer door. His friends were still waiting, and they turned towards him with raised eyebrows.

“Wow, would you look at that. You survived.” MJ said in a deadpan, and Peter smiled slightly and nudged her. She wasn’t able to stop the twitch of her own lips as she nudged him back.

“Barely.” he joked, before turning to Ned, who had scooched closer to him.

“What’s your first class?” Ned asked, peering over his shoulder at the schedule still gripped loosely in his hand. Peter glanced at the printout, letting out a small huff when he saw the writing in the first block.

“Spanish,” he said dryly. Maybe it was time for him to offer that apology to his teacher.

—

“Oi, look who’s back!” someone shouted when Peter stepped into the room. “Parker!”

He heard multiple exclamations of surprise from his classmates, along the lines of “Peter!” or whispers of “no way” or something like that. Someone– he couldn’t really tell who– shouted out.

“We thought you’d died or something, man!”

Peter almost snorted. They had no idea. Casually, he grinned. “Nah, I’ve been alive and well, just off on a retreat.” he said easily, using the excuse Tony and May had come up with. A Stark Industries college retreat. Not technically a lie, if you considered rooming with Fury for eight months a ‘retreat.’

He heard a chuckle. “Getting ready for college early, I see.”

This time, Peter did actually snort. “Yeah, something like that. Preparing for the real world.” MJ rolled her eyes next to him– she fully understood the double meaning behind his words and was clearly unimpressed. Some of the people who had figured out or previously knew his secret identity (consisting of Ned, MJ, and some of his decathlon teammates) looked somewhat exasperated at his easy dismissal of the last few months. He heard a few more people in his grade call out ‘welcome back’s before the short commotion that had resulted from his return dissipated, and everyone went back to the activities they were doing and pretty much ignored Peter and his friends.

Peter almost grinned. What he used to hate about high school– the fact that nobody really noticed him– he now relished in. The fact that nobody paid even remotely enough attention to him to figure out that he was Spider-Man, and so easily accepted the excuse of an almost year-long ‘college retreat’, was a breath of fresh air after the intensity of the last nine months.

Well, metaphorically speaking, at least. The smell of a high school packed with sweaty teenagers was a far cry from a breath of fresh air to Peter’s poor enhanced senses.

After class, as he made his way down the packed hallways, chatting with Ned and MJ, he savored the familiar feeling of bumping through crowds of students and the mindless chatter that filled the air. Now that he was back, the rumor that he had ‘died’ would dissipate immediately, and the throngs of high schoolers would move onto the next juicy piece of supposed drama.

In the past, Peter would have been bothered, annoyed that they treated him like a regular old loser while they gawked over Spider-Man, but now, he could only enjoy the calm that anonymity without expectations brought. Sure, he was perfectly anonymous as Fury’s solo agent, but he had expectations placed on him and people to hide from and an entire evil organization to bring down. Here, in high school, he couldn’t believe he’d ever been stressed over his grades and lack of social life and school drama. It all seemed to pale in comparison, and he could only find enjoyment in the simplicity of it.

Someone rammed into Peter’s shoulder, cutting his thoughts short, and he caught sight of the familiar black curly hair and short stature of his high school bully. He fully expected Flash to say something along the lines of ‘well look who’s back– Penis Parker!’ but the teen didn’t say a word. Rather, he blinked a few times as if his eyes were deceiving him, flickering over Peter’s form, before scurrying away without another word. Peter blinked, staring after him, as Ned and MJ stopped beside him as well.

“What was that about?” Ned asked, eyes moving between Peter and MJ.

MJ shrugged. “Probably not happy that Peter is going to take his spot on decathlon again.”

Peter didn’t say anything, still looking down the hallway after Flash. He knew it wasn’t that– he’d seen the recognition and shame flit by in his former bully’s gaze, and how his eyes lingered on Peter’s burn scar, poking out of the sleeve of his shirt. Plus, if it had been about decathlon, the teen would have been more likely to poke fun at Peter (not that it would have affected him). No, Peter was pretty sure that Flash, like his other decathlon teammates, had figured out that he was Spider-Man, and didn’t know what to say to him now that he was back.

He shrugged, turning back to his friends. “Who knows?” he said noncommittally, starting to walk down the hallway again. He did know, but it wasn’t his place to say, and it didn’t really matter regardless, anyways. Flash would either talk to him or he wouldn’t. Peter wasn’t about to spend time thinking about him– he’d talk when he was ready.

Ned, bless his heart, shrugged as well and jumped right back into conversation. “So, like I was saying–”

—

Flash pushed through the throngs of students, trying to ignore the fact that he’d just bumped into Peter f*cking Parker in the hallway. He’d been trying to avoid Parker ever since he heard people exclaiming his name and the whispers that followed. They’d died down pretty quickly, and Flash had made a break for it the second he didn’t see Peter in his line of sight anymore, but of course his luck made him bump right into his former victim. He’d tried to make a snarky comment, a stupid quip like Peter was clearly expecting of him, but the words had died in his mouth, and all he could feel was guilt looking into the eyes of someone he thought had died. He’d turned and hurried off without a word, feeling Peter’s eyes burning into the back of his skull. He needed to think, and watch, and make sure he wasn’t hallucinating things before he came to the conclusion that he’d royally f*cked up.

—

Yeah, he’d f*cked up big time.

Look, Flash wasn’t stupid, all right? He could connect the dots to see what was right in front of him– something his decathlon teammates had seen, months prior. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen it, per se– more that his mind was too afraid to make the connection, to admit that the teen he’d been bullying for years was actually Spider-Man, and that he’d never be able to make amends. So, he ignored it instead, hoping to assuage his deeply buried guilt under his arrogant exterior. Even he could admit when he went too far, though, and he’d cut it back after MJ had kicked him out of that one decathlon practice for being a dick. (He’d deserved that one.)

Still, he had never really confirmed his hunch. Not until Peter came back. (And Spider-Man as well).

Flash was observant, too, as much as he’d pretend he wasn’t. Even just over the course of one day, he’d seen the new way Peter carried himself, the scars on his arms that showed when his sleeves rode up. He’d heard the new, faint (Russian?) accent, and seen the easy fluidity of his movements (a stark contrast to his prior clumsiness). He’d seen the way MJ and Ned transformed, practically overnight. Seen the way they looked at him, like he would disappear in front of their eyes if they blinked.

The biggest, though, was Peter's personality change. He was quieter, less chatter-y, more sarcastic, less naive. A hell of a lot more observant. In a few of the classes that they shared that day, Flash would feel a burning gaze boring into the side of his head and know it was Peter. It wasn’t that Flash was intending to go back to bullying Peter– he wasn’t that much of an asshole. But even when he got the urge to poke gentle fun at his classmate, he found that the words dried up in his mouth before he was able to speak them. Peter was intimidating now. It was actually rather disturbing. He didn’t look mean, but he had a new intensity to his gaze that hadn’t been there before.

The funny thing was that Flash didn’t think Peter was even trying to intimidate him, but he found himself squirming internally nonetheless every time Peter’s piercing gaze swept over him. He didn’t even think it was specific to Flash– Peter just had this new habit of surveying everything in the classroom like every twenty seconds. As if he was expecting someone to jump out of thin air and shoot him. (On second thought, he probablywas.)

Eventually, he couldn’t take it. (And didn’t that speak volumes of Parker’s new character– that Flash had caved in less than a day). In a very uncharacteristic manner, he cornered Peter a few hours later in the hallway when they were both on a bathroom break.

“I’m sorry.” he blurted out, shifting uncomfortably as Peter raised an eyebrow at him. He scanned his classmate’s face, trying to read his expression, but it was carefully blank. He really preferred it when Peter was an open book. He sighed, giving up on trying to gauge his response. “I know it’s kind of sh*tty of me to only apologize now, after… everything, but better late than never.” he said, shrugging half heartedly.

When he still received no response from Peter, he dropped his eyes to his shoes and scuffed one toe against the tile floor (his father was going to kill him for messing up these shoes). “I know you’ve been through a lot, and that this is probably the last thing on your mind, and that I shouldn’t be apologizing only now, after I know that you’re… you know. But you didn’t deserve how I was before all that. So. Yeah. Sorry.” he trailed off uncertainly, face going redder with each passing second that Peter didn’t respond. This was a terrible idea. Of course Peter wouldn’t take well to his apology– it was too little, too late, and it was super sh*tty of him to only apologize after he found out Peter was actually Spider-Man and had ‘died’ and taken down one of the most infamous criminal organizations of the world.

His spiraling was only cut off when Peter spoke, his tone gentler than Flash had heard it since coming back. “It’s okay, Flash. I forgive you.” Flash looked up in surprise, not expecting that response, and was met with the softer Peter, the one who used to be an easy read. He felt a rush of relief– maybe Peter hadn’t changed that much.

Just as he had that thought, Peter’s mouth twisted up in a cheeky grin, and he shoved Flash’s shoulder gently. “You don’t need to walk on eggshells, though. You can tease me a bit, I can take it.”

Flash snorted. “Are you really asking me to bully you again, Parker?” he asked, a little bit incredulous that Peter had even accepted his apology and not bitten his head off.

Peter grinned with all his teeth (and there he was again with the seemingly unconscious intimidation– Flash had the urge to scurry away at the sight). “Well, I don’t think we should go all the way back to calling me ‘Penis,’ but how about Peter?” he asked, holding out a hand. Flash gripped it, smiling back.

“Peter.” he agreed, accepting the olive branch for what it was. They both dropped their hands at the same time, and Peter jerked his head in the direction he came from, offering Flash a chance to walk back with him.

“I could still beat you in dodgeball, though.” Flash challenged, testing the waters, and Peter let out a surprised chuckle, amusem*nt gleaming in his eyes.

“Oh, you’re on, Flash.”

(Flash had the distinct impression that he wouldn’t win, but for once, losing to Peter Parker didn’t sting. Rather, it felt like warmth. It felt like– just maybe – having a new friend.)

~ ~ ~

The end of the day came far quicker than Peter expected. He always remembered it dragging on for eternity, constantly anxious to get out and be Spider-Man. He’d never actually just sat here and enjoyed his classes. It was a strange feeling.

His teachers all seemed happy enough to have him back, and so did his classmates. He was surprised that even Flash seemed to come around (apparently all that it took was Peter’s death and resurrection to stop the name-calling). All in all, he’d had a really good day.

Of course, that was always when Parker Luck decided to make itself known.

Peter was walking down the steps of Midtown with Ned and MJ, making their way to the car that Happy was in (no doubt grumpy as usual). All of a sudden, Peter heard a faint shout, and his entire body went ramrod straight, head twisting to the side as he tried to figure out where the sound had come from. He didn’t realize he’d stopped in his tracks until Ned and MJ turned to face him, twin looks of concern on both of their faces.

“Peter, what–” Ned started, but Peter raised a finger to quiet him, still straining his ears to listen.

“Did you hear that?” he asked, and the two exchanged glances.

“No, what–” MJ was the one to speak this time, but before she could finish her own sentence, Peter heard the shout again, and was already booking it in that direction before he registered his friends’ shouts behind him. His senses carried him to an alleyway, where he heard scuffling, and a woman’s voice arguing with a man. He skidded to a halt at the entrance, and rapidly took in the scene. A young woman, in her 20s, was backed up against the alley wall, clutching her purse and arguing with a scruffy young man (about the same age) who was brandishing a knife in her direction.

“I said, gimme the purse–” he growled, reaching for the bag in her grasp.

“Hey!” Peter called out, stepping into the poorly lit alleyway. “You’re forgetting the magic word.” he said cheerfully as the scruffy man balefully looked him up and down. Peter was well aware that he didn’t exactly make a very intimidating image right now– in his Midtown pullover sweater and jeans, with his backpack still slung over his shoulders.

“Get outta here, punk.” the man sneered, still pressing his knife towards the direction of the lady. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“Ah, but you’re talking to a teenager here.” Peter said, inching closer and evaluating his choices. “We’re the best at sticking our noses where they don’t belong.” Before the man had a chance to respond, Peter lunged forward, making use of the split-second distraction to drive his foot into the other man’s knee. Within seconds, he was stumbling, and Peter was easily able to elbow the knife out of his grip and punch him in the temple with his other fist. He made sure it was enough force to knock the man out, since he didn’t have anything to tie him up with, but not so hard that it would cause permanent damage.

The fight (if it could be called that) barely lasted a few moments, and Peter watched as the man crumpled to the ground soundlessly, knife clattering on the concrete nearby. Just to be safe, Peter picked up the knife and tucked it into the side of his backpack, though he doubted the man would be waking up anytime soon. He turned to the woman who was still cowering in the corner, and approached her with his hands up.

“Hey, are you alright?” he asked. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” He scanned her for injuries as he spoke, but relaxed when he didn’t find any and she shook her head. He placed a hand gently on her upper arm and started to lead her out of the alleyway. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, there was the sound of running footsteps, and Happy skidded into sight, out of breath like he’d just run from the car. With a start, Peter realized he had– he must have started running after Peter the second he took off, and had only now just caught up.

“You alright?” he asked gruffly, still panting as his gaze swept over the scene. Peter waved his hand and nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, I just thought I heard a shout and came over to help. That guy–” he gestured at the fallen man. “Was trying to rob Miss–” he paused, realizing he hadn’t gotten her name yet.

“Caroline.” she filled in, her voice slightly shaky but seemingly more stable than it had been moments prior. “Thank you.” she said, turning to face Peter gratefully. He just smiled and shook his head.

“It was nothing, I’m glad I could help,” he said earnestly. And really, it was nothing. Fighting that guy was nothing like fighting Fury or HYDRA agents. Frankly, he was on the worse side of attempted muggers, too.

Happy stuck around to call the police, and Peter sat on a nearby bench with Caroline and talked to her about her cat while they waited for the cops to arrive to pick the would-be mugger up and take their statements. Peter shot a quick text to his friends letting them know not to worry and that he was fine and with Happy. He received various responses (notably from MJ) of ‘you’d better not be lying or I’ll-’

He figured he shouldn’t repeat that one.

Once everything was wrapped up, the two of them started back towards the direction of Midtown and the car– walking instead of running this time. Happy seemed distinctly grumpier, and Peter knew his chances of this incident not turning into a big deal were fairly low. Still, he had to give it a shot.

“Happy, really, I’m fine,” he insisted. “I didn’t get hurt, the woman didn’t get hurt, and the guy is in police custody. Win-win-win.” he said, ticking each word off on his fingers for emphasis. Happy shot him a side eye, and Peter knew he was not getting anywhere with this.

“Yeah, we’ll see what Tony has to say about that.” Happy said, climbing into his seat and starting the car.

Peter sighed. He was distinctly not looking forward to that.

—

“What’s this Happy told me about you facing a mugger with no suit and no protection?” Tony asked, the second Peter had stepped into the penthouse. He had to resist another sigh at the sight of the Avengers present for this confrontation too. Seriously, couldn’t he at least have an afternoon snack first?

He turned to face his mentor and spread out his arms, doing a full circle in the middle of the common room. “I am not harboring any life-threatening injuries. I am fine. The guy was a rookie.” he said in a deadpan.

“You went into a fight without any protection.” Tony near-snapped, and at that, Peter did sigh.

“I am a trained super-spy with enhanced senses, reflexes, and strength. He was a 20 year old homeless man with a knife.” he said flatly. “He was on the ground before he could blink.” Alright, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but really it was close enough. If Peter hadn't spent time chattering, it would have been even faster.

At that, it was his mentor’s turn to sigh, dragging a hand down his face. Peter could see the tension drop from his shoulders, and knew that Tony was at the very least listening to his argument, which was more than he could say from previous incidents. The sight made his own shoulders relax– he knew the man was just saying it out of concern, and he really was trying to adapt to Peter’s new abilities. He supposed it was a learning curve for them both.

“Really, I didn’t mean to make anyone worry,” he said truthfully. “I just heard a woman in trouble and knew I couldn’t just sit by and do nothing about it, suit or no suit.”

His mentor gave him a look, lips pursed and eyes shadowed. “Yeah, I know, kid.” he said, and he sounded resigned, before glancing over to the other members of the team, who were all doing a very poor job at looking like they weren’t listening to the conversation. “Come on.” he said, getting to his feet and beckoning to Peter. “I have something to show you. Now seems as good of a time as any.”

Peter blinked in surprise at the change of topic— really, he had expected more of an argument, but he was glad that he didn’t face one. He much preferred it this way.

Wordlessly, his mentor led him to the lab, and Peter’s curiosity piqued.

“FRI, open up cell 31A.” Tony said, and Peter spotted a flash of familiar red and blue come out of one of the cells of the wall of the lab. His chest tightened at the sight of his Spider-Man suit– or, rather, a new Spider-Man suit, since he was fairly sure his last one was burnt to a crisp.

With his mouth slightly open in shock, he approached the open cell, hand hovering over the achingly familiar suit. His gaze cut back to his mentor, who was standing with his hands behind his back, watching Peter’s reaction.

“The suit’s been ready for… a while.” Tony said when he noticed Peter’s attention on him. “I’ve been putting off giving it to you. I guess I thought it would keep you out of danger for longer.” he paused slightly, a wry smile twisting his face. “I should have learned my lesson the first time I assumed that.” he said dryly, and Peter thought back to the Homecoming incident. Things were different this time, though. Peter was far more experienced, and he and his mentor were far closer. They were still working on the communication thing, but they’d gotten better at it– Tony was listening to him, and trusting him more, and Peter was in turn taking his advice and being more careful (within reason, of course).

Without even really thinking about it, Peter moved towards Tony, wrapping him in a tight hug. His mentor’s arms came up around him, squeezing him back, and Peter smiled into the embrace. That was another difference that Peter wholeheartedly was in support of– the whole hugging thing. Who knew Tony Stark would be so good at giving hugs?

He pulled away, smiling at his mentor. “Thank you.” he said earnestly, turning back to the suit. “I love it.”

Tony let out a huff of amusem*nt. “You haven’t even tried it on yet, kid.” he said. Peter shrugged.

“I don’t have to,” he said honestly. “You made it.”

At that, his mentor sniffed and looked away slightly. Ah, well. They were still working on the emotions part.

“Yeah, yeah, kid, don’t get all mushy on me.” he muttered, but Peter saw him fighting back a smile. “Just try the damn thing on.”

Peter grinned, bounding over to the adjoining bathroom of the lab and quickly peeling off his sweater and jeans, tugging the suit on and pressing the center to compress it, just like in his old suit. He hesitated for a moment, staring at himself in the mirror– the sight of him in the colorful red and blue regalia rather than all black was a startling adjustment, but one he’d sorely missed.

After a moment more of hesitation, he pulled the Spider-Man mask over his face, and his HUD lit up with activity. An achingly familiar female voice flooded his ears, and he couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across his face at the sound of his beloved AI.

“Welcome back, Peter.”

~ ~ ~

Peter whooped as he swung from building to building, relishing in the familiar feel of the Spider-Man suit against his skin and the sound of Karen in his ear. He had already known he’d missed this feeling, but he had forgotten just how alive it made him feel. And how much it made him feel like himself again. Even though he wore a mask as Spider-Man, there were far more Peter Parker qualities that carried over into his alter ego than he’d originally believed. Frankly, though he appreciated the skills he’d gotten from Fury, he was so incredibly glad to be out of that bunker, away from the black stealth suit and the Miles Miller persona.

He had been pretending, of course. It was only a front. But then again, if you pretend to be someone for long enough… you eventually become them. Peter wasn’t sure at what point he’d crossed that line; he was beginning to suspect there wasn’t really a line. Moreso, the longer he pretended, the more he picked up from the thing he was pretending about, until it no longer became pretend.

That was a lot of ‘pretends.’

There were some aspects of Miles Miller that would never be incorporated into Peter Parker; his cruelty, or his proud abrasiveness. But there were other aspects that had become part of Peter’s identity; his independent skillset, some cynicism, a different worldview. And perhaps those weren’t bad changes– losing a more innocent mindset could be a sad development, but not necessarily a bad one. But they were changes, no matter which way he looked at it. Peter had changed.

Most notably, going back to high school was… quite the experience. They were reaching the point in their senior year where college applications were coming around, and it was nice to have such a mundane thing to worry about. Well, perhaps he shouldn’t refer to it as mundane, given that it would dictate where he’d be spending the next four years of his life, but he figured it would sort itself out. Most surprising, though, were the rumors that his classmates had somehow come up with to explain his eight-month disappearance. Really, it was baffling how they managed to come up with more absurd ones than the actual truth (which really wasn’t all that hard to figure out, if they had spent even a few moments looking at it. But maybe he was biased).

Someday, they would all know the truth. They’d know what Peter had done, not as Spider-Man, but as himself. But for now, he was content in letting the rumors run their course. As it turns out, spending eight months isolated from everyone you know, going on a suicide mission to take down an evil organization, and faking your own death really makes high school struggles seem inconsequential. Spider-Man’s identity would come out eventually, and maybe then he’d expand on the whole HYDRA takedown thing, past what they’d told the media.

Much to his surprise, the city had been almost entirely receptive to Spider-Man's return. There were haters, of course– those who decried him for ‘manipulating the city’s feelings’ or something like that. Or those who were suspicious as to what his ‘secret mission’ entailed, thinking he was a spy for the government now. But most were just happy to see him back.

He thought fondly of the middle-aged lady at the food cart who had always given him a free churro– her name was Maria. When she’d spotted him back for the first time, she’d squealed and wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug, berating him in rapid-fire Spanish and stuffing three whole churros into his hands. He’d tried to protest and pay her back with a sad crumpled $5 bill he had in his toolbelt, but she had shook her head adamantly and insisted. Really, Spider-Man was no match for an insistent hispanic grandmother. So instead he’d sat by her cart and munched on the churros happily, listening to her speak and doing his best to respond in Spanish. (He was still not very good at it– Karen had to help him with most phrases– but it was certainly much easier than Russian.)

Really, if you’d asked Peter a year ago whether he’d be perfectly content with saving cats from trees and rescuing balloons for little kids and helping old ladies with their groceries, he would have said absolutely not. Now? He was beyond glad he didn’t have any all-important global evil organization takedowns relying on him. It felt nice to help the little guy again.

With a whoop, he flung himself into the air again, swinging as high as he possibly could before letting go of his web and allowing himself to fall, the warm wind rushing past him.

It was finally over. He’d made it. He was home.

Spider-Man had returned, and he was here to stay.