CHAPTER 10

"I'm just trying to help, Ned."

Breathe—

Breathebreathebreathebreathebreathe

What—fuck— too bright, too bright—can't—can't see—

The floor smashes into his face, tiles startling him awake.

Nose hit the hard floor; eyes wide open—SHUT—

And now he's falling again.

Falling deep.

Falling hard.

It hurts.

All spins, unforgiving. Something clogs his throat, can't scream, can't—

Breathe hard, breathe now, please—

His hands find the cold tiles and there is solid ground. The world whirls around him. Sit up, come on!

(Why?)

Feet run past him. Once, twice—and then everything at once. Stomping hard, stomping fast. Slamming onto him like a drum, hammering into everything. Beating, banging, a great consistent trembling of his whole being. Like the heart that explodes reverberating throughout his body. In the chest. In the head.

His ears burst.

He gasps, grasping at the sides of his head, touching something wet.

Nauseous, need to vomit—What's… what's happening—

Someone is in front of him, but it is the shadow of an image. The glare from the lights above are blinding and the rumbling in the floor is distracting. There is a muted sound of chaos. Faraway but reaching. Present but numb. Deep but empty.

"…ter—stand up, get up, please!"

And the throbbing in his head escalates, his heart beating, running— leaping.

His skin prickles at every sensation, itching and burning with sensitivity, hand quick to retaliate as the shadow reaches out—

SLAP!

"—uck man, I'm trying to help—"

His eyes are on fire. Blink. Water wells up and he keeps on blinking. One shadow. Two phantoms. Stop. Blink hard, dig in. Come on! Teeth gnash, lips bleed, metal on mouth, and, whimper.

"—tand up, we have to go, MJ and Ned are—"

Who?

Scream.

…where is he?

"HELP!"

What's happening—how, how did he get here?

They form with only the barest of awareness, almost there but not quite, frustrating and helpless and lost—so completely lost. It is like screaming in black water. The horrid disorientation and the increasing sense of panic, welling up in his lungs and then tearing a hole through his throat. Thrashing but never getting anywhere. Breathing, only to drown even further.

Fuck.

And the screaming—they stir a pot of fear in his stomach, a question that does not know it is a question, loud and booming in his head, echoing dread and distress and dissonance.

Another bout of BOOM— and blinding light flashes through closed eyes.

His ears trickle with blood.

The noise comes forward, incomprehensible and impenetrable. Blood drips down wet cheeks, leaving his ears raw and sensitive.

"…'sapen'in… wher'm I…"

He tries.

Really.

But it does not come across.

Bleary eyes blink once and stay shut. The sounds are muted, but present all the same. He is a floating body now, dead underwater. Every sound is filtered through fabric, passing between walls and diving in the oceans before it could reach him.

And when it does it is scathing.

"—what are we gonna do, Peter's clearly out of it!"

It leaps in and out of him and he tries to grasp it.

"—ensory overload, I think. Slap him or something—"

Come on, come on—work!

"—doesn't work…!"

Look around. Remember. What. To. Do.

"I know—!"

A cold, prickling touch pierces his skin. It is a searing, startling feeling that overwhelms his confusion, catapulting his soul out from his body. His awareness gains a sort of disassociation, his senses leaping in intense accuracy—

Peter jerks forward.

A metal clang rings through.

The tiles on his touch are soft and natural, the smoothness giving him something to ground. Hands, spread. Fingers, relaxed. Cool. Strong. Once again. Ground.

His ears twitch at every new sound that comes— precise and individual. He can hear the collective chaos, and above that, could pinpoint the slightest yelp.

Someone is yelling for "Josie!"

Another one is praying, "Our father who art in—our father who, our—" And it is a desperate attempt, one through wet hiccups.

"Mom, are you—please, when you get this, I… I love you, I'm sorry for everything."

This one sounds closer, like it could even be someone he knows. And he tries to find them all, turning and searching and trying.

But he doesn't have time to think about it, because all at once a head-piercing shriek attacked his senses, screaming at him for—

HELP—!

A deafening ring resounds.

Like a screaming telephone.

Piercing.

Unforgiving.

AGH!

It glides past him, the ringing, like a train that is zooming away until it fades into the distance. And in the absence of the sound enters a numbness that lends him solace.

The world stops.

And there is only him.

And his body.

And making sense of it all.

Sitting on the ground, with two frightened teens before him, Peter Parker regains control.

It starts with his breath, hearing it, regulating it—in, out, breathe, in, out, please, slow down. You can do this. His eyes filter in and out of focus, and the relief from the blinding light sets him free into the dark reality. His eyes begin to acclimate. Around him is darkness, and a seething, dangerous red. It takes him a minute, breathing, eyes focusing, when he realizes it, finally catches up with his thoughts, and catching up with more.

It comes with searing clarity that escapes his permission, slamming into him with a force that shakes his entirety—

He knows this.

And all the image in the world, all the sound from before—the screaming, the begging— they tell him of an experience he's lived before—lived once, twice and now a hundred couple times. But this particular moment is colored by a dark shade of red, not because of the blaring red lights from the ceiling, no. It comes from one thing, a cold fact that makes him tremble, and submits him into a more certain feeling of helplessness. Helplessness that is borne out of knowing and recognizing the deep and terrifying truth.

Because this is the first fight since the last one— since the war, since everything, and there is no one to save them all.

Not Captain America.

Not Tony.

Not… not even… him.

"Charles…?" he rasps, "Abe, where… where is…"

The two teens whip their heads to look at him, their increasingly panicked argument stopping. Peter looks up at them, squinting, and the two breathe a sigh of relief.

From afar, another explosion comes, and a bright blinding flash threatens to take Peter's sight had he not turned away. Charles is quick to pull Peter up, Abe looking around in growing alarm.

"We gotta go, come on!" Abe turns, running away from the foot of the stage where they hid. But Peter grabs his hand, forcing him to stop and look back.

"What!" Abe hisses, Charles almost running into his back.

"Where's Ned and MJ?!" Peter screams.

"Some agent dragged them away—look man, we'll explain everything later, 'kay? Cause' if it isn't obvious there are FUCKING TERRORISTS in the safest fucking place in the world!"

Abe doesn't hesitate to run after that, Charles following close behind. Peter takes a few more seconds before he catches up to both of them, mind a constant screaming madness that refuses to be silenced.

It screams out the names of all the people he should have kept safe—all the people he loved, and now, and now they're all in danger and he can't—

Every turn, every step of the way are children running away. In fear. In desperation. In tears. And there is no other time where the kids are kids again, when running away from a problem is the most sensible thing to do.

It is a horrible reenactment of the night before, and Peter wants to scream into the night.

He can feel every tremor in his chest and he wants to stop, even goes so far as try to break away from his friends, but one look at Charles eyes that speak of vivid fear makes him resolve on seeing them to their safety first.

They run and hide and maneuver around, and from the looks of it, Abe was right in his assessment. Terrorists, masked men with guns and bombs, most of them scattered to bring upon violence, but not really death.

He knows this because as he runs to the other side, a bullet whizzes past him, another hitting him right in his right arm. But it's not just one—it's a bunch of small bullets embedding on his skin.

Abe and Charles are quick to pull him to the side, hiding behind a large pillar.

"A birdshot bullet—why would they use a birdshot bullet!" is the first thing that comes from his mouth. But as Charles goes to check on him, Peter puts his hand forward, remembering to distract them from his rapidly healing wounds.

"I'm alright," he says, flexing his arm without flinching, "It was just a scratch. They barely grazed me."

Abe looks at him for a while, eyes disbelieving and totally aware of his self-sacrificing tendencies. But the urgency to be somewhere safer takes priority.

"We need to find a place to hide," Abe starts, panting, "They've got the place on lock down. Friday's been fucking hacked."

"Heard it from the agents earlier," Charles supplies.

At this, Peter turns, frantic, "Did you hear where they took MJ and Ned?" he adds, "Maybe we could go there."

"Shit man, we don't know. It was chaotic out there, especially after the first bomb."

"It was just… blast after blast after blast." Charles shivers, "They just came from everywhere."

So that's why he was rendered so goddamn useless. His greatest weapon became a double-edged sword. In any other time, Karen could have—

(Stop. Not helping. Focus.)

Peter begins to go through the catalogue of experiences that he's got from fighting crime. For the most part, he's never dealt with terrorists other than Thanos. Yet the anomaly of their behavior baffles him. Birdshot bullets are just not… efficient enough. If they wanted to cause destruction, they would have gone for real bombs, not flash bombs.

But then again these could all be an elaborate plan to distract them from a heist. Scratch that, the security measure locks everything up and sends them away before anyone could even so much as step on the facility.

This definitely isn't a one-off mission. Something is happening beyond the immediate situation. And Peter isn't prepared to get ahead of it all. His mind is too muddled.

(He feels the fabric of his mask inside his pocket. Karen should still be in there. Even after he deactivated her.

…right?)

Time ticks as fast as the screaming increases. Abe wrings his hand in obvious distress, eyes wide in a great reflection of the fear Peter feels right now. Charles is erratic and unnerved, looking around as best as he could, trying to find something useful, but failing.

"What do we do?" Abe asks, quiet and haunted.

Peter's tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, pressing his lips in a thin line. They bleed in protest. Cracked and dry and metallic.

The darkness does not help him think at all and the red only offers dim hope. It emphasizes the worried lines of Abe's face, and the sweat that runs down Charles' forehead, glowing over them all like blood and warning, and Peter doesn't know how to handle that thought.

His mind arches back and forth, blaming him for leaving both MJ and Ned on their own, and then screaming at him to find them NOW—

But he has both Abe and Charles to take care of, both of whom are also his friends. And even if they weren't, he'd be damned if he left anyone on their own.

Even if he didn't know how to help them, even if he has to do things that doesn't guarantee anything. He has to at least try.

His mind casts back to every part of the building, looking for a place that might just be remote enough to give them a blanket of safety. Instead, his mind's eye leads him to a path that is too familiar, as fresh as yesterday had been—because it is a path that he took just last night.

A sort of determined possession takes over Peter's body, and something shifts in the way he moves. Both Abe and Charles notice this, the surety with which he looked at both of them, direct and secure. He says it in a way that gets both of them hanging on to everything he says, that firm reassurance that things will be alright and he'll be the reason why.

(That way that he gets when he's Spider-Man.)

"Abe, Charles. I know where we can go."

He sees the moment that they brace themselves.

It is in the way that they stand, alert of what could happen next. It is in the way they follow his composure, reinforced by grim determination. It is in the way Abe nods to himself, and Charles tightens his fist, gathering courage and being the bravest that they can be in this time.

A scream resonates across the hall, cutting through Peter's thoughts and going over the sound of chaos. It is followed by wet begging.

Peter grits his teeth.

"Where is this place, Peter?" Abe asks.

"It's in the bathroom, stall number five. It's about a halfway across from here."

Charles' focus is entirely on him, so far from his shifty eyes earlier, "How do we get past them?"

Peter plants his back at the pillar, throwing a cursory glance at the men in the hallway who are overturning chairs and throwing flash bombs that grate on his senses.

"They're mostly focused on the people in the middle. And since they're using birdshot bullets, that means they didn't come here to kill anyone. We can get to the bathroom without much problem by going through here," he gestures to the line of pillars. "We'll stop at each pillar and move when we know no one's looking."

"We can't see, Peter. It's too dark—plus, they've probably got more some tech on them. I don't know is this worth the risk?" The hysteria in Abe's voice begin seeping, threatening to destroy his sense of rationality every second that they're here.

Peter breathes in deeply, knowing that the next few words he'll be saying immortalizes the weight he has decided to take. He puts his hand on Abe's shoulder, keeping a firm but comforting grip, "Whatever you do, whatever happens out there, the only thing I need from both of you is to trust me. Can you do that?" Charles and Abe share a look, "Can you trust me?"

He sees it in their eyes, the moment they make their decision. The way they begin to understand that there might be something more than the Peter they knew from AcaDec, with the way he so effortlessly took on the bullets and studied the enemies, like he has been doing this for quite some time now.

It astonishes Peter, because he knows he's been weak for the longest time, yet they still found it in themselves to do it. To trust him. With their lives. And their future.

And once that happens, once there is trust and recognition, there is naturally devotion.

So, from now on, they're going to follow him. Wherever he goes. And he'll make damn sure he leads them to safety.

It is in this moment of trust, and in the moment of accepting that trust, that they begin to accept that person within Peter, not knowing that he has always been someone they have always trusted with their lives.

For Peter, whose turmoil cost him Karen, it was a pledge. The recognition of that obligation brought by his ability to do more, the responsibility that always comes with great power. He's going to protect his two friends, and then he's going to find more people who need him. He'll protect them too.

And he won't stop until there is absolutely no one else.

He'll put himself on the line for another, and another, and another.

So that maybe Tony's sacrifice wouldn't be in vain.

"Lead the way, Peter."

With a nod, Peter focuses on his senses— submitting himself to every vibration that enters his ears, relinquishing control of his body to his instincts, fully submerging in the adrenaline of it all.

He could hear everything, the overwhelming beat of Abe and Charles' heart, the screams and the tears from the students outside, to the whispers underneath the chair— the accidental scraping of metal foot to cold tiles, drawing the attention away—

"Now!" he whispers.

All three of them jump into action, the pillar a few feet further, a few feet too dangerous.

Blood pumps into Peter's ears, and he breathes deep and hard in order to avoid the looming sensory overload. The flash bombs have stopped but the tormenting still hasn't. If he's not fast enough in getting these two to safety, he might not have enough time to save them all.

(But how can he even do that without his suit? There's too many of them—and—)

They arrive at the second pillar, now only a few ones left before they arrive at the one safe place in the tower.

He doesn't have to speak now, trusting the two just as much as they trust him. It is a pattern of running and stopping, waiting, bracing, and then almost leaping.

Every new pillar is another challenge for them, difficulty increasing as Peter's concentration wanes every few seconds, the screams growing stronger.

He nods ahead, knowing Charles and Abe are looking at him for a signal. He doesn't wait then and jumps ahead.

In retrospect, Peter should have expected this would happen. He shouldn't have let his thoughts run wild, leaving his body to run by itself. Because this is what happens when one has lived as a super human for a long time. They forget that normal people get tired, quicker than the average superhuman, and that adrenaline could only bring one too far before their legs give away.

Yet he should have known—should have remembered with that 'brilliant' brain of his that he should slow down, let them rest for a while. And now, because he got so distracted by his own desperation, he let them down.

Because right then and there, in the second that Peter finds himself safely behind the pillar, already looking toward the bathroom doors, Charles yelps in surprise, tripping over Abe who fell on the ground.

He hears it before he sees it, the barrage of birdshot bullets viciously planting itself to Charles and Abe. Charles lets out a muffled yelp, Abe hissing in pain.

The man is large and sadistic, the undeniable excitement present in the way he grins, "This one's mine!"

In an instant, all of Peter's senses hones in on this one man. He hears his footsteps come closer by the second. Peter hides himself deeper into the pillar. He can't reveal himself yet, even though it is tempting to, lest the man point him out to everyone else.

It has to be an attack from the shadows, and for that to happen, the man has to get closer to Peter.

And to Abe and Charles.

Peter casts his eyes on Charles who whimpers on the ground, curling in around himself. He sees it in the way he closes his eyes, bracing for the arrival of more pain and suffering. He's accepted that something worse than getting shot is going to happen to him, and that it's going to hurt.

Abe on the other hand is resolute. His arms are bleeding and his teeth are gritted. And even if he is much smaller than Charles, he moves to cover him. The guilt from tripping and exposing them both to the gunman is enough for him to think he deserved pain or even death more than Charles.

Peter thinks, bullshit. None of them deserves pain. Especially death.

The man trudges forward.

The man clicks his tongue, "The ammo is shit, but I guess I can at least have fun with it," he says to the comms.

"Hurry the fuck up, Sniper, we don't have the fucking time for your kinks."

"This ain't a kink, you fuck!" he yells, "Whatever. You're boring as shit anyways. You wouldn't understand."

The man, Sniper, is getting closer, prowling— a predator scaling his prey, teeth bared in excitement. But then, this is exactly what Peter is distracted by the sport, and he will take every advantage of it.

Peter catches Abe's eyes, and he puts his fingers out in front of his lips. Don't look at me, or even indicate that I'm here, he conveys, directing his gaze on the ground in an exaggerated manner.

Abe quietens in response, looking anywhere but at the pillar. It doesn't slip past Peter though, the way his hands trembled, and the way he so forcibly covers Charles despite the obvious fear. It infuriates something deep within Peter that begs to be quenched. A fire that could never be put down unless the right actions are done, and the wrong people are done with.

He's almost by the pillar now, towering over Abe. It's close, he can sense it. But not quite yet.

"You know, you could have run away," Sniper offers, "This is like, a fucking ant bite compared to the ones I always used. Big guns, electrocutes people and all," Abe shivers, "But, heh, it's all fine. Cause I get to play around."

He pokes Abe with the gun on his hand, sniggering as he watches Abe stiffen, shaking at sheer fear.

Peter could hear the cackle of his ear-piece, a commanding voice saying, "Sniper, finish that up quickly. Boss needs us."

"Copy, Henny."

It makes Abe jump in his bones, the surprising speed with which Sniper pulled the gun on Abe's body, fingers om the trigger.

They're not here to kill, Peter repeats in his head. They're not here to kill.

He stands behind the pillar, just feeling for the right time. There are a few more men around them, just scattered enough not to be dangerous, but close enough to hear Sniper's call if Peter were not so careful with his attack. If only he had his webs… In any case, he still has his senses. It's enough for now.

It has to be.

And now he has to disarm a man with his bare hands… better yet to riddle them unconscious. Swift and efficient, just like Nat had taught him. But now, without the protective blanket that he has with his mask.

Peter shakes his head and strains to hear any telltale signs of the surrounding men leaving. It had to be anytime now, the man in the comms were calling for them anyways.

It'll just take a split second, but waiting for that moment to come might cost Abe his peace—and anything from today will be a traumatic piece that will haunt him in his dreams.

Peter grits his teeth.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Charles whimpers, shaking harder now, pleading on the ground where he lays. Sniper himself seemed to like it, the sadistic bastard, and took time in toying with them.

"What, you think you can make me stop?"

"Please—please, I'm sorry, I- I won't do it again-!"

"Do what again?" he glowers.

"Please don't hurt us, please, I'm—I'm—"

"I want you to tell me what you don't want me to do, and I might just consider not doing it—"

"FUCK OFF!" Abe yells, voice cracking.

Sniper takes a step back and offered a murderous growl.

Footsteps, walking away, further now, further.

Peter glances at the middle of the room where the others have taken their attention at somewhere.

He looks back at Abe and Charles.

"You fucking shit," Sniper kicks Abe's back, stomping hard on his hand afterward. He leans in forward, voice low and predatory, "How bout' you fuck off?" Then he retracts, contemplating Abe with a glint in his eyes.

Peter can sense the growing distance between the others, but there's too many of them and they're taking too long—

"They say this doesn't kill anyone," Sniper starts, "but at a really close distance, like the distance of here to here," he points the space between his gun to Abe's back, nozzle digging into his flesh, "I think it's a pretty good enough distance to… say, kill you."

Here Abe whimpers, eyes closing so hard that it crumples his face so bad, lips curling into a fearful plead, praying, hoping, waiting.

Sniper continues on, a malicious streak in his voice as he imagines the next few minutes like the mad man that he is. "Slowly, agonizingly," he promises, "And it will hurt, so bloody much that you'll come crying for your mama as you go. And I promise you, I won't kill your other friend. I might shoot him in the leg for a few minutes until I'm bored. But he'd survive. And he'd have to live with the fact that you died just so he could live."

Peter is immediately behind Sniper—the vile embodiment of evil for pleasure— hands going over his neck, holding it there, squeezing with a strength that might just kill. Sniper gasps for breath, struggles under his hold, trying to speak but is already too winded to do so. Between the two of them, Peter is decidedly stronger.

He can feel it when Sniper loses his breath, slumps unconscious, but this does not stop Peter from keeping the chokehold, anger seeping through violence in a way that could have—would have killed if it weren't for Abe.

"Peter—" Abe pushes him down, the panic and adrenaline commanding his body, his bleeding hand, to protect his friend from doing something that he will regret.

Peter lies on the ground, and his breath scampers out of his body, bile crawling up his throat at the revelation—he was about to—he wanted to.

His eyes flit to Abe and then to Sniper, whose face is planted on the floor, pale and unresponsive.

Something in the words Sniper said ringing in his mind. A sinister echo of a reality that one of them is living right now.

For Charles, it is a possibility, something that he has to prevent from happening. Especially right now.

For Peter, it is.

And it possesses Peter so much—the emotions overtaking, at the way Sniper said it so gleefully that he might take pleasure in the thought of another's suffering. It overruns his morals and at that second, he wanted to pay them all back, for the pain, for the tears, for everything.

It was unfair, he knows that now. But it cautions him to ground his emotions more, especially right now.

His eyes stay on Sniper and he focuses his senses on making sure he's not dead. Only terribly, terribly unconscious.

…lub… dub…

It is almost nonexistent but it flows like horrible relief for Peter. He does not know how to take responsibility for a life that he did not intend to take. Especially for losing control. Especially in front of Abe and Charles.

Charles is shaking, just as Abe is, just as Peter is. But he is the first one to stand, and the first one to gather his bearings.

It is Charles then, who had thought himself so weak throughout the few minutes, who stands up first and holds out his hand to both his friends.

Peter takes it as Abe stands up, eyes meeting in understanding, minds thinking in singular unity. Peter nods at them both, ready and willing for the challenges that goes ahead. And together, the three of them trudge on.

"What do you really want, Mac? Tell me so I know what to do." The pause was quick but heavy, a mutter that tried not to sound too unsure but failed, "…and if I want to do it."

"It's simple math," he started, voice a deep rasp, "You give me some of your alien tech, and my partner pays you enough to flee the country. Jet, new identity, all that shit."

"I don't know Mac, you know I—"

"Scorpion," he interrupted, eyes a murderous squint.

"I think it's a set-up," blunt, reckless, "You really think they'd make you this *'Scorpion' guy after you take out Stark Tower and the Avengers Compound? They're setting you up for impossibility—he's using you as a bait, Mac, a fucking pawn."

There was a toxic silence, the kind where you knew the other was thinking of ways to torture you in front of your loved ones. That is, if they're still alive by the end of it.

But he knew it's worth a shot, to try and dissuade Mac, because while he's deluded, he's fucking good at what he does. And they've escaped the FBI for five years because of their combined talents.

Maybe they can escape this life as well.

"Come on," he sighs, "Leave this life. The snap—it happened for a reason, alright? And maybe that reason is for us to fucking start over. That, we can choose."

Mac's eyes squinted.

"The snap happened so I could take advantage of it. Now, you be smart and do what I tell you, cause' otherwise you ain't gonna survive in this world. I'm the only ally you have left. But I have other friends, and he has more power than anyone now, especially after that Stark went. My partner has everything."

"Your boss, you mean?"

Mac's grin was malicious, eyes twinkling in dangerous intent that sent shivers down his spine. His teeth were bare, a smile that is more of a threat, and his eyes promised nothing but pain. He licked his lip, hands clenching for a few seconds before relaxing exponentially.

He seemed to be contemplating something, before settling on taking something from his coat. He slapped it onto the table, a few pictures slipping from the open file.

And there, in their new home in Oregon, is Doris and his only daughter, Liz.

"I'm afraid you don't understand, Toomes. You don't have a choice."

It is the greatest relief, bursting into that bathroom door. But it is so quickly replaced with disorientation and disgust— a strong smell of blood and vomit hitting them head on.

It takes Peter a few seconds to adjust, the concentration of the smell and of the people in the room forcing him to accept the sheer volume of what's at stake right now. He gives the room a quick glance, and sure enough, all of them are students on the floor, looking at him like he'll hurt them, when it's the opposite.

"It's okay, its, it's just us," Abe placates in as soft a voice the explosions outside allow.

Peter's eyes are immediately set on stall number five, the one place of sanctuary. At least he hopes so.

"Abe, Charles," he calls, and the two are immediately by his side, the two maneuvering through the students who flinch ever so slightly at their movement.

Charles almost trips from a wet spot on the floor.

Peter tries not to think about it too much.

It is a journey that takes too long, the floor filled with students that they cannot run towards the stall even if they wanted to. The adrenaline in his blood trickles through to his fingers and his mind screams at him to hurry the fuck up! But he is determined to be careful, because he knows how vulnerable people get in these times.

It tests his patience, and his own nerves, but they eventually arrive.

Opening the stall is another problem unto its own. Because the door itself is surrounded by students, children younger than he is. Peter's eyes are drawn to a girl sitting on the floor, directly by the door, looking every bit like a freshman.

Her cheeks still hold that chubbiness that exudes youth, wide eyes holding fear instead of the wonder that they ought to have. She looks as she feels, shaken, scared and trapped.

She definitely doesn't look like she belongs here.

And it clenches Peter's heart, scratches at his chest, because it's unfair. It angers him to the very core of his being, because the world can hurt Peter Parker, he can handle it— he had to handle it—but these kids? How could they ever be ready for something like this?

(They can't. That's the thing. All they can do is accept things as they are.)

(Peter thinks that's bullshit. And that since he has some power of his own, maybe he could share some of that.)

(Maybe strength would be something they could all accept.)

Peter rests his hand on her shoulder, slowly, carefully so. He gives her a smile that he could only really muster for others.

And the way she relaxes sets off incredible warmth inside Peter, warmth that permeates within him and threatens to escape.

"Hey now," he starts, soft and warm and everything she needs right now, "I know this is rough," he gestures around them, "And it's going to be for a while. But." And he says this with such an emphasis that every ounce of her attention is onto him.

The others begin listening in as well— those who are close enough to hear hope, if they knew it.

"I'm doing everything I can right now. I've got two great friends helping me out here, so it'd just be a matter of time before we all get you out of here."

He catches her eyes and sees the way she considers. She does not react other than looking down, gaze hesitant and shy. It is not so much as she doesn't believe him, she just doesn't allow herself to, and he gets that. He understands that more than anyone in this room.

That's why he knows exactly what to say.

"And I know it's scary, and that it's easier to believe it will all go wrong," he starts again, putting his finger under her chin to try and catch her eye again, so she would know just how true his promises are. That these aren't just empty words.

"But if Ton—but if Tony believed it will go wrong, and didn't help the Avengers, we wouldn't be here right now. And if there's anyone who was probably as scared as we are right now, it'd be him. But he made it happen. He gave us this second chance. So, we'll make it matter by getting out of here, okay?"

Peter does not feel or see anything outside of this child in front of him. Somehow, it's more important to do this—to say these words first before getting them all out of here. It just felt… right.

He looks at her full on and catchers her off guard, with the intensity in his eyes juxtaposed by the warmth of his gloved hand.

"Will you help me?"

She looks at him with some sort of wonder, blinding Peter with a beautiful glow that shouldn't be here because of how pure it is. The way she gapes and clears her throat, high voice rasped by all the screaming, unused from all the hiding—

"Will… will you… really get us out?"

And the hope in her voice, the hope that pervades despite the uncertainty in the way she wavers, eyes flickering but always coming back to him.

What else is he to do but smile?

"Of course," he musses her hair. She let out a soft giggle, and holds out to it for as long as she can because of how addicting it feels— safety.

"Now, I need you to move a bit to the side, buddy. We need to get in here first," he points to the stall.

She squints at it, curious, not suspicious, "What's in there?"

"Oh, just a secret passage," Peter grins boyishly, the danger around them passing through water in his ears.

"…o-kay?"

She moves to the side, holding out a curious look at Peter who pats her head.

"Thanks, bud."

"Thanks… uh…"

"Peter."

"Okay what do we do?"

Abe is the first to join him in the stall, catching Peter as he pulls up the monitors hidden in the left wall. The blue glow of the screen illuminates Peter's face, drawing shadows on the lines on his forehead. He is tapping hard on the monitor, complicated shortcuts that leads him to a simple six-number code.

Peter is quick to enter it, fingers flying across the digital keyboard, almost as if he has used this far too many times that it is part of his muscle memory.

Abe could only guess much.

Charles is up behind him, waiting for instructions because Peter knows what to do and they trust him—they do.

Peter takes a step back from the monitor on the wall, the two moving as well. It is large enough to fit all of them but Abe thinks he needs to fall back for some reason.

And he's right, because a few seconds later, the toilet disappears into the floor, the wall behind it opening up to a dark hall that seems to go endless, only illuminated by blue lights.

"Shit!" Charles yelps, because this looks like it could belong to a space ship in Star Wars, and they're in Avenger's Compound—of course they have a secret tunnel.

His palms are sweating in a way that isn't nervous, and he allows himself to feel a little bit of excitement—not too overboard, but just there to give him courage.

Meanwhile, Peter is serious and direct, not even flinching at the hidden tunnel, and it makes Charles wonder just how much he did here in Stark Industries for an intern to have access to such places.

"Charles, Abe, I'm going to ask before you do this—"

"We're ready," Abe says calmly, his wounded arm hanging loosely to his side.

Peter looks at Charles who grins, "I've always been ready."

Both him and Abe snort at the poor attempt at a cool line by Charles and they all spend a few more seconds just shaking their heads.

It does not take him longer than that to start instructing them what to do, pointing out specific information and shortcuts, "The tunnels will lead to a safety house just far, far south. Keep walking toward the blue lights and you'll eventually get there. Charles, I want you to lead them all out of this place."

"Copy."

"There's a small clinic there, you can use the supplies there for all of the injured," Peter says, looking down at Charles' own injuries.

Meanwhile, Charles nods, hid mind on the responsibility that he is given, and how it is probably the most important thing he's ever done.

"And you, Abe, I need you to get as many students as possible to come here. Don't get caught. If you have to, then go one by one, so that no one sees you because if they do—"

"Everyone will be compromised." Abe interrupts, and then, "I'll be careful, Peter. You can count on me."

There is a moment where all three of them look at each other, recognizing the trust and bond between the three of them, and then a sudden recognition of all how far they've come. What could happen and what should happen— it all passes their minds. But it all narrows down to one thing— they have to keep everyone safe.

And it is with this recognition that Peter nods to the two of them.

"Let's do this."

"In a week."

"What?"

"It'll happen in a week. Prepare all the weapons by then."

"Seriously—you're going to attack during the tour?!"

"Well, how else do we destroy them completely? Obliterate their building, they'll rebuild. Topple them from the top spot, something that is kept only because of the people's trust and dependency on what they can give, and they're bbbggshhh," he gestured an airplane crashing down, followed by a raucous laughter.

"Honestly, Toomes. Some arrogant 'super' defeats you and you're riddled weak as shit. What happens to the cold-hard-Vulture who dominated the underground business? The one whose skills I need right now?"

"He's gone now. He's fucking dead," Toomes spat. He sighed, "Look, I just want to get this over with and go home to my family, okay? It's been five years since the snap and I—I haven't— I want to go home butshe wouldn't even look at me."

It came out broken and vulnerable, something that slipped and should never be seen again.

Especially not by him.

"Any-anyway, I will give you the tech—but."

Scorpion scoffed, "But?"

"Don't do it next week."

A raging bellow of laughter echoed in the bare room.

Darkness loomed over like a menacing shadow, threatening to eat him whole. As it went on, Toomes felt a deep surge of uncertainty, but decided to plough on. He's been through worse but he's never been quite so vulnerable, especially in front of someone who didn't have any morsel of morals.

"It takes a lot of courage to speak like that to me, Toomes." It was quiet and controlled and all the more dangerous, "That, or you're fucking stupid— and I'm starting to think that you are," he growled, the telltale of his own unbridled anger bleeding from his words, "You think you control me, Toomes? You think you have power? Remember,it was me who got your sorry ass out of that prison— I could have left you there, but I didn't. So now you do whatever the fuck I say you do—"

"It's that Oscorp who gave you that idea, isn't it?"

"Hah?!"

"It's Oscorp. Your 'partner.' I've seen them around."

Scorpion was frozen in scrutiny, and Adrian took full advantage of his silence.

"You know, if what they said were true, it would have worked by now. There were countless of others willing to take down Stark when he was still alive, and no one could. Now that Stark Tower's practically a fortress after that war-thing, it's even more difficult to attack. Why do you think it'll change with you?"

BRGKKKKK—

Scorpion's knuckles planted straight into Toomes' cheeks, the defined crack echoing through the otherwise empty room. Adrian chuckled, spitting blood. The punch was nowhere as strong as Spider-Man's, not even close. Oscorp hadn't touched him yet.

"But, see, Mac," he rasped, "you could always do it your own way. You're smarter than those creeps— better, because you're willing to put yourself on the line when they're not. And that makes all the difference, hero or… heh, villains or not.

"If we're going to be villains, Mac, I think we ought to be the best fucking villains out there."

He'd gotten Scorpion's attention. Didn't matter if he didn't quite believe in it yet. At least he's listening.

"I can get you in the building. I've always had people planted there, just waiting for my call. It helps for the Alien Tech industry, and all."

Scorpion squinted at him, trying to discern whether he'd believe Adrian or not.

"And then?"

"And I can give you the tech you need. But."

Waiting.

"But?"

Challenging.

"You will use non-lethal weapons—"

"—you gotta be fucking kidding—"

"—use non-lethal weapons on the children, just to scare them, intimidate them. I'll give you a few that could obliterate the agents. But imagine breaking into the most formidable tower in the universe and only doing it because you can. Make yourself known as the man who could've killed them all but didn't!"

At this, Scorpion settled down.

"It's a power move and you know it. It makes you look as if you're just bidding your time, and that the first attack was just a taste of what you can give. Most people would attack and kill at the first time, take em' by surprise. You, on the other hand, you'll be taking them head on. That's what you're going to tell them. If you use the non-lethal weapons."

"That's a pretty fucking stupid idea Toomes. You better have something to back it up."

"Oh yeah, I have all my best tech hidden somewhere on Earth. I'll get them all for you whenever you need it."

"Except for this thing."

"Except for the tour."

Scorpion's eyes find that of Liz Toomes' on the picture, ever so young and hopeful. He grimaces.

"This is about your kid, huh."

It is an observation that reminds Toomes of how Scorpion could so very much just have taken his family as hostages, but didn't. He was a criminal, but one that didn't kill just because he could. If he wanted to keep them safe forever, Toomes knew he was in it for the long haul, even if he wasn't physically there anymore.

"Yeah, what about it. We all have our motivations."

"It's ehhh for me. All that family shit. But you've got a mind, Toomes. The criminal mind. It's such a waste to try and escape it."

"I've got all the family shit to think of, Mac."

"Scorpion."

"Anyway, we got a deal?"

"It's all under the table."

"…Karen?"

Nothing.

"Karen—please, are you… are you there?"

Silence.

An eerie nothingness that intensifies the cacophony outside.

"Come on, Karen, please come back—I'm sorry, I- I didn't mean it…!"

The sob that escapes from his mouth breaks into something more and the fingers that hover just about the screen clenches.

He's been trying to code her back into the system but Tony's program proves to be superior than his current skill. It was one of those counter-measures that Peter never thought he'd be fighting against.

"Karen… talk to me, please…"

His voice breaks, and his heart breaks even further. Peter shouldn't have expected anything. He really shouldn't have. But the frustration sears through his anger and the desperation swallows him whole. He needs Karen.

But she's not there.

And it's his fault.

The screaming outside persists. It is loud out there, but it is louder within.

Among those outside though, is Abe. And he remembers how determined he was to go out there.

Peter had trusted that he wouldn't get hurt. Only because he'd intended to go out there to keep it that way.

He can't do that now if he sulks here, right?

A ghost of a smile escapes Peter, and his eyes flare just a little bit more alive. That's right. He flexes his fingers, digging into his jacket to find the mask. He holds it out for a few seconds, finding comfort in chaos.

When Peter looks at it, he does not see a legacy, but instead a symbol that everything will be alright.

Because this is the first fight since the last one— since the war, since everything. And while there is no Captain America, or Tony Stark, their legacy is still very much present.

And so, there is Peter.

He takes a deep, long breath that seems to lift a fraction of the weight that rests on his shoulders. His mind clears of any inconsistencies and finds peace in one thought. I'm going to keep them all safe.

(Feet find the door.)

He holds the mask with this on his mind, nothing but acceptance and a raging determination that overwhelms his resignation. He goes out here, its him between everyone he loves and those who want to hurt them.

(Hands on door knob.)

He'll protect them all, whatever it takes.

(Just one more push and he's out there.)

(And then.)

"Peter!"

Peter jumps back as the door burst open, and there, warmest eyes in the world—

Ned.

And a deep surge of relief flows through his veins, it is in the air that he breathes and in the comfort that frees him and things are just easier.

"Ned…!"

It is automatic, when his arms wrap around his best friend, and immediately he is apologizing, "I swear, I didn't know where you went, I'm so sorry for leaving you, I—"

Ned pushes him off, and Peter tries to hide the flinch that crosses his face.

"Oh, shut up Peter!" This is it. He hates me now, "I should be sorry—and I am!"

Peter didn't think he would know what relief felt like until he felt it over and over again, and it had been just a few minutes with Ned.

"Some agent took us away from you and we got swept away by the stampede, he said he'll come back for you but I doubted it," Ned explained, "So we ran off and found Abe. He said you'd be here so of course we came."

It is only then that he realizes MJ was there beside Ned.

"MJ!" Peter exclaims, hugging her next without thought. He just only realizes the awkwardness that he should have felt before doing so, but it is just another wave of relief through him. They're safe and they're here right now. She is stiff but does not protest, even goes as far as squeeze his arms.

It is a few blissful seconds that he cherishes, before she pushes him off gently.

He is about to speak, then, try to lead them to the tunnels where they could go and hide when MJ glares at him.

"No, we won't go there. Abe told us already. We came here to help."

"Yeah Peter. It won't do to turn us away. We'd find a way to help you even if you don't want it."

MJ and Ned share a look that Peter again does not understand, but is not too frustrated with no knowing. Instead, he resigns his own look toward them both, knowing it would be instant defeat if he even so much as tried to send them away.

"Okay, fine," the two of them cheer, "What's happening out there?"

An immediate sense of seriousness takes over and they are speaking strategy and urgency.

"A lot of those outside are mostly injured, but it's not… it's not as worse as we'd expect. Most of the attackers gathered in the middle."

"I think we saw Iron Patriot there as well," Ned adds.

"Is he alone?"

"Hawkeye's holding up by himself, but there are too many men. Harley, I think, is also fighting—"

And then an instant lightning hits Peter right as MJ mentions Harley. Because he's now only realized the true extent to which he's fucked up by taking this long—

"Shit— Morgan!" he cries, "How about Morgan! Where is she?"

"We don't know Peter, we didn't see her at all," MJ tries.

"Well that's probably because we're running a hundred miles from the circle and we couldn't see her if we tried!" Ned exclaims, hand on his head.

"There's no use panicking Peter," MJ glares at Ned, "We have to go through this with a clear head. We'll get Morgan, and then we'll get everyone out of here."

Ned gathers himself as he looks at Peter who had paled badly. He punches Peter's shoulder lightly, and then musters up a lighthearted grin, "Yeah, the Spider Squad will handle this!"

MJ gives him a look of pure disgust, "The spider squad?"

She observes Peter in her periphery. He is standing still with his eyes closed.

"What? It's cool!"

Ned watches as Peter's face breaks into a slight smile, regaining the previous resolve with which found approached him with.

He may fluctuate, in terms of emotions, but that's because the platform with which he stands upon was shaken so badly by the war. Ned can't expect Peter to be instantly better, but he does expect that Peter will always be climbing towards what is right, no matter how many times he falls into that pit.

Because that's what he has always done.

"You're right," Peter promises, "We will handle this."

It is subtle, the shift that they felt right then and there that will eventually have a big hand at what will happen much later on.

Peter revels in it, in the support that his friends have for him, and in the power that he still has and will always use for the people who needs it.

It is in knowing that both Ned and MJ have that power as well that he comes to trust them to be safe on their own.

"Okay," they all come closer toward each other, drawn in, "MJ and Ned I need you to help Abe gather the students and bring them here. Ned, please focus on finding Shuri and get her there with you as well. She'll make things more secure then."

"Alright," Ned says. Then, a thoughtful look crosses his face, "Peter, can you check how many students are there overall? So, we could choose the best place to start without getting caught early in the game."

Right then, Peter becomes sheepish, averting his gaze down to the floor, "Uh… I can't."

"What do you mean you can't? I saw what Karen is capable of you asked me to hack her. She can definitely do that."

Peter's hand tugs at his hoodie, "Yeah, about that…"

MJ raises her brow.

"What is it Peter?" she asserts.

"…kind of… ctivat... 'er last night…"

"What?" Ned squints.

"I said…" MJ glares at him now, ensuring he says it more clearly, "I said I deactivated her last night!"

The smack that comes from MJ slapping her face is loud as it reverberates around the bathroom. Ned's mouth is slack and his jaw falls.

"Why would you do that Peter!"

"I don't know, okay!" he says, raising his hand in the air, "I thought… I thought maybe I could… let go like you said."

MJ heaves a sigh, "My God, you are an idiot." She directs her gaze at Ned, "Ned, you know what to do. I'm going out first. I'm leaving you with this doofus."

She then catches Peter's eyes, soulful brown eyes that she loves so much, and gives him the sternest gaze that she could give him. He immediately looks away, regret seeping from the way his shoulders slacken.

"Look at me Peter," she orders in the most commanding voice that she has. He almost doesn't, but the look that he gets in his periphery makes him scramble to follow. "Whatever it is that you thought of last night, I know you've changed your mind now. It's impossible not to realize shit when it's like this," she gestures around them. "So, I expect you to get your shit together, and don't do anything stupid."

She turns the doorknob, Peter deep in thought.

And then, in a completely, wondrously precious display of emotion that knocks Peter out of his feet, MJ looks back again and then smiles.

"Be safe, losers. See you in a minute."

"Dude, the vulture was one man and it was the two of you alone. This is a rescue mission, not an ambush. You'll need your webs here. It'll be more advantageous anyway."

Peter is about to explain that yeah, he knows that but he can't actually do anything about it when Ned beats him to it with, "Come on, I'll bring it back for you. Where's your suit?"

Peter stops midway, "…even if I give it to you, we don't have anything here we can use," he reasons, hoping against hope that Ned counters, "Plus, the monitor in the bathroom isn't designed to work up this big a program."

"Cool! We have a monitor, exactly what we need."

Peter doesn't move from his spot at all. Exasperated, Ned turns to look back at him. He raises his arm— the one with the Kimoyo beads, and only then does Peter understand.

"Holy shit, Ned—" he cheers.

With a smug nod from his best friend, Peter excitedly strips off his hoodie, revealing the suit underneath.

"You've been wearing that since this morning?" Ned asks as Peter leads them into the stall, pulling out the monitor so Ned could start.

"Yeah. I couldn't take it off in time. Here," Peter offers the circuit in his suit to Ned who immediately plugs it in with the connector.

It takes a few minutes before the Kimoyo beads successfully upgrades the program in the stall, allowing Ned to do more than it was built for. Meanwhile, Peter begins remove his other clothes, leaving him with the suit.

As soon as the screen filled with codes, Ned is possessed by an intense concentration that proves formidable under pressure. His hands stop typing every now and then, and as soon as Peter tries to check what's wrong, to at least try and help him, Ned will start again, as if it was just a minor backlog when it was probably something much more complicated.

Peter stands there, just looking in pure awe at his best friend. Here he is being great at something, being the one big puzzle that helps complete this—everything— and he is left trying to think of a world, a bleak, inadequate life where there is no Ned Leeds in Peter Parker's life.

An explosion from outside rouses him from his trance, and it seems to do so for Ned too.

Ned looks up from that, just as he enters the last bit of command on the screen.

But Peter is already distracted by the monitor, frozen, as if him moving would suddenly stop it from processing. Peter is hesitant as he watches, and it makes Ned wonder just how long he had tried to program it himself without it working, failing enough times that it scares him to try again.

Ned nudges Peter, taking the connector from the suit. He nods toward the mask.

"Come on, Peter," he encourages, "We don't have much time."

Peter seems to agree, because in a few seconds, he'd tugged the mask into his head, effectively completing his old look. Ned thinks this might be the first time he's worn it all again, worn it with the intention to use it, after the last time with the sky scraper incident.

He considers this because of the way Peter stands completely still, and says, in a quiet, delicate whisper, "…Karen?"

His suit illuminates from head to toe. A sudden cry from Peter escapes him and his whole-body sags, so much so that Ned almost moves to help him before Peter leans on the wall instead.

He rests his forehead on the wall, sounding suspiciously like he's weeping, "I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am Karen—I, I won't do it again, oh my God I love you so much—"

Ned stands there, watching, so completely enamored by the realization that whatever he is seeing right now is something special. It is in humble terms, rebirth, of a hero finding himself again— of the past and the future meeting at one point in time—and that time is now.

Because Peter finally regains the thing he lost when Tony took his last breath, and is ready now more than ever to meet the person that he can be after everything.

Because this is the Peter who knew he didn't have anything but himself, but still chose to go outside and fight—to protect because it was one thing that he always knew to do.

Because it is Peter, a hero down to his bone, and he couldn't deny it even if he tried.

(And he did.)

And so, it is with these things on Ned's mind, so completely awed by the brilliance of the moment, that it becomes a matter of automatic movement, of electricity in his fingertips translating into the rapid beating of his heart— he says, genuinely, breathlessly, so,

"Welcome back Spider-Man...!"

A/N:*Scorpion is the persona that Mac takes after Oscorp experimented on him after a failed attempt at (look for what he did).

This has been long. Please tell me what you think, constructive criticism is much welcome—but please be extra kind, I am fragile and action is NOT my shit.

On a side note, the next chapter WILL mention blood and other stuff that's not necessarily detailed gore, but if you have a very vivid imagination for things like slashed flesh, then I suggest… uh, constant vigila—just be careful, please? I love ya'll and please prioritize ya'lls health.

I have a genuine question. Where did the Peter goes to Stark Tower field trip fic start? Who was the legend that started this all and I WANT to read it.