Never Tell Me the Odds

or

A Diseased Alligator, a Misplaced "Amnesiac", and Nurse Robin (Hood), and How they meet Peter Parker.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters used in this fanfiction, or any of the Star Wars quotes. Thanks!

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August 11, 2001

Peter Parker is born.

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October 28, 2010

A couple of weeks ago, when Peter Parker was asked what he would like to be for Halloween, he confidently asserted that he would be an Ionic Pillar. They were, Peter would explain excitedly, his favorite types of classical Greek pillars. Doric pillars were too plain, Corinthian pillars too heavily ornamented.

Yes, he would nod with a smile (revealing a missing tooth, perhaps it would come back for Christmas), Ionic Pillars are just right.

The natural follow up question, of course, when a child proudly chooses to be an Ionic Pillar for Halloween is to ask if they wanted to be an architect when they grow up.

"Of course not! I wanna be a window-washer!"

A window washer?

"Yeah! Because window-washers get to see the city from the best possible view – up in the air! Architects need to stay inside all the time, but window-washers are right there, next to the sky-scrapers and the streets and the birds and stuff!"

That's very nice, dear, the questioner would say, hastily moving onto another subject. Good little boys shouldn't think about such dangerous professions, they'd think.

Of course, two weeks later, Peter Parker no longer wanted to be an Ionic Pillar for Halloween. A couples weeks ago Iron Man hadn't made his debut as a hero, using his genius to battle the evils of the world.

Peter Parker, along with youths across the country, wanted to Iron Man for Halloween.

This posed quite a dilemma for Peter, as Iron Man had only existed (for all intents and purposes) for about and week, and any available costumes were quite expensive.

Supplies, time, and available design information were limited. Peter relished in the challenge.

Peter faced trials in construction from the very beginning. Uncle Ben forbade Peter from using scrap metal ("but it's supposed to be Iron Man armor, it can't be paper!") so the young inventor was forced to substitute cardboard and aluminum foil.

"So, I'm Aluminum man?" Peter joked.

"Once I make you a hat," Uncle Ben smirked. "To keep the government from controlling you mind."

"Ben!" Aunt May swatted her husband with a smile. "You'll need a better apparatus than a foil hat to keep that from happening," she winked at Peter.

Peter discarded the hat idea, and set to work on running lights through his armor. Using a couple strings of Christmas lights, Peter crafted repulsors for his hands and an arc-reactor for his chest, using a portable battery as a power source.

As a finishing touch, Peter painted blue and red onto the armor.

On the big night, Aunt May adjusted Peter's gauntlets, while Uncle Ben checked that the lights wouldn't overheat.

Peter rushed over to the bathroom mirror to see how his armor looked.

Awesome.

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June 4, 2011

Peter's first instinct when The Abomination turned its focus onto him ought to have been to run, at the very least. But the other giant brawling on the streets of Harlem was out for the count, at least for the moment. As far as giant super-powered beings go, Peter quite liked that one.

So, Peter stalled. "Hey ugly! I'm confused about what you are, dude. I mean, obviously some sort of biped, but you have the complexion of diseased alligator. I mean, seriously, are you supposed to be a reptile or what, because I really can't tell."

The Abomination shifted its focus from its green opponent, fixing a wrathful glare on the little boy.

"You know, I don't think all that anger you have is healthy," Peter advised, dodging between cars. "Seriously, your veins are bulging out like, everywhere. Neck, chest, shoulders, even your privates! Do you even have privates? At least the other guy has pants …"

The Abominations swiped with a veined arm, nearly striking Peter.

"Touchy subject, I get that," Peter broke into a full sprint.

I am such an idiot, Peter reflected. I should have waited to confront a giant veiny-monster at least after seeing Harry whup Voldemort's butt in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2.

"Perhaps you could get a therapist?" Peter suggested. I'm going to need a therapist after this, he thought. "Talk out some of your problems. I mean, what has Harlem ever done to you?"

The giant-green-man-with-the-decency-to-wear-pants punched The Abomination square in the jaw. Peter took that as his cue to run away from Harlem.

He thought about making a quip about the Renaissance, but the moment didn't feel right.

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April 17, 2012

"Excuse me, sir?" Peter approached the stranger carefully. "Would you like some directions? You look a bit lost."

The man gaped at him.

"Scratch that, you look very lost," Peter bit his lip.

"This is all very new," the man was breathing very heavily. "How are those signs moving?" he exhaled. "And the cars…"

Peter studied the stranger more carefully. His first instinct was to assume that this was some sort of elaborate publicity stunt, and Betty White was about to jump out a window yelling about catnip, but it didn't fit. The man looked genuinely confused, as if he were about to have a panic attack. He needed help. Amnesia, maybe?

"My name's Peter, and it looks like you need a local tour guide," he smiled at the man.

"Steve," the man introduced himself, sticking out his hand.

He seemed like a very polite amnesiac, Peter reflected. "Nice to meet you, Steve! So, let's start with basics. This is Times Square, the esophagus of New York City. Queens, obviously is the heart."

Steve chuckled, almost hysterically. "What's Brooklyn, then?"

"The lungs, of course!" Peter smiled. "Now New York is on the Isle of Manhattan, in the state of New York, in the United States."

Steve looked very relieved to hear that.

"President Ellis was just elected, which is a shame, because I really did like Obama…"

"Ellis? Obama?" Steve asked, worry once more coloring his voice.

"Yeah, man," Peter bit his lip. "Welcome to 2012."

The hitch in Steve's breath did not go unnoticed.

"Thank you, Peter," Steve looked straight at the kid. "I appreciate your help. But I, I think there are some things I need to do."

Now, normally Peter wasn't one to go around hugging anybody but his Aunt and Uncle, but Steve was an amnesiac that Peter guessed didn't have a friend in the world at the moment, so Peter gave the guy a big hug. Steve hugged back like he was holding onto a lifeboat.

"You're a good kid," Steve said, planting a hand on Peter's shoulder.

Peter smiled at the amnesiac. "Hey," he fished through wallet for a scrap of paper, and found a used subway stub. He scribbled his cellphone number on the ticket stub. "This is my cellphone number. If you type it into a phone (just ask to borrow someone's, almost everybody has one) then you'll be able to contact me if you need a part two to this tour. Okay?"

Steve nodded, and accepted the ticket stub gratefully. "See you around, Peter."

"Call if you need anything, Steve!"

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May 4, 2012

Peter's phone started vibrating in the middle of his history test. He waffled for a moment, but raised his hand, was excused to go use the bathroom – "Quickly, Peter!" – and left the classroom.

The essay question on Captain America and his importance in WWII could wait.

The caller ID wasn't anything recognizable to Peter, but hardly anybody knew his phone number so it had to be something important…

"Hello?"

"Peter? Thank goodness, it's Steve," Peter heard through his phone. "Are you in New York?"

"Well, yeah, I hardly ever leave New York," Peter responded, confused. He walked down the hallway towards the bathroom.

"You need to leave New York," Steve said, his voice sounding scared to Peter. "Now."

"But I'm at school!" Peter protested. You can't just walk out of school – that's what delinquents do, and Aunt May and Uncle Ben didn't raise a delinquent.

"New York is about to be under attack," Steve countered. "A huge, deadly, alien attack right by Stark Tower."

Peter's mouth suddenly felt very dry. His Aunt and Uncle worked at a hospital within a few blocks of Stark Tower. He didn't waste time doubting Steve, Peter could already tell that Steve was the sort of man who would never lie about an alien attack.

"Where is your school? What kind of structure is it?" Steve asked.

"Um, Queens, it's a big brick building," Peter leaned his head on the bathroom door.

"Good," Steve sounded relieved. "That should be outside of the most immediate danger zone." He paused, and Peter panicked. "Apparently there are emergency procedures set up in the schools. Listen to your teacher. Call this number if…"

"If the school is attacked by aliens?" Peter finished.

"Yeah," Steve sighed. "I'll make sure you get some help."

"Thanks Steve," Peter responded. "I –" (Please keep my Aunt and Uncle safe) "Be safe out there. Or well, at least try not to be maimed. Steve."

"I'll try."

…

No answer.

Damn it all, there was no f***ing answer and now he wouldn't get to tell the perfect woman that she was worth far more than 12% and that she always had been and she always will be –

"Incoming call from Peter, sir," Jarvis quietly intoned.

Just f***ing perfect, now Spangle's kid was calling because that walking American flag couldn't be bothered to get his own phone.

"Patch him through, Jarvis," Tony directed, despite his ire, because he was a hero, damn it all, and even as he was flying a nuclear bomb (f***ing Americans) through a portal so it could blow up on a bunch of aliens he couldn't just ignore a kid in need.

"Steve?" the kid sounded scared.

That made two of them.

"Sorry, you've reached Cap's personal messaging machine," Tony joked. Joking was good. Joking wasn't worrying about how he was going to blow up in a matter of minutes. "What's up kid?"

"Um, just that a giant spiky whale alien with a temper problem just crashed into my school," Peter said, a bit shakily. "Elm Tree Elementary."

"Jarvis?"

"Emergency services and SHIELD have been notified," Jarvis informed Tony.

"Good," Tony breathed. "Help is coming. The aliens should be gone in a couple minutes, too."

"Thank you, sir," Peter replied.

"Great, now I've got a favor ask of you, kid," Tony began, very aware of every breath, every heart beat. "There's this woman, this perfect, beautiful woman named Pepper Potts, and you need to tell her that I love her."

A beat. "I promise I will, Mister," Peter promised. "And, and whatever it is you're doing, thank you."

Tony smiled, and passed through the portal.

"Mister? Mister!"

The signal cut off.

…

Three Days Later

"Ms. Potts?" the secretary asked. "There is a little boy here to see you. His name is Peter Parker? He says it's very important."

Pepper groaned from behind her desk. She really didn't have the time or energy to cope with anything else right now. "I'm currently sorting through piles of paperwork that make the whole Stane fiasco look tame."

"He brought a mug of tea and a plate of cookies for you," the secretary smirked a bit. The give had given her a couple of the cookies. "Homemade chocolate chip cookies."

"Send him in," Pepper swiftly shifted tacks. "Please." Maybe something could go right today.

The secretary ushered in a boy wearing a Pokémon t-shirt and a round pair of glasses. He held a container of chocolate chip cookies close to his chest, and had a mug, presumably of tea, in his other hand.

"Hi Ms. Potts," the kid said politely. "Um, here's some tea and cookies. My Aunt May says that some tea will make people feel better, but I asked my Uncle Ben says that chocolate chip cookies are the answer to all of life's problems so, so I brought some of them too."

"Thank you very much, Peter," Pepper smiled at the kid, walking out from behind her desk to collect the food and drink. "So, what brings you here, Peter?"

"So I was calling my friend Steve the amnesiac," Peter began, fidgeting nervously. "Because he said to call him if anything dangerous was happening, and a giant alien whale had just crashed into my school, and I thought that was pretty dangerous."

Pepper looked more closely at the boy, noting a proliferation of minor scrapes, and a couple Disney Princess Band-Aids.

"But it wasn't Steve that picked up his phone!" Peter gesticulated. "It was this guy who said he Steve's personal messaging machine, but I knew he was joking, because that doesn't even make any sense."

Wait… "What does your friend, Steve the amnesiac look like, Peter?" Pepper asked, suspicious.

"Um, he's really tall, and kind of blonde, and he doesn't look like he could tell a lie if he wanted too," Peter said. "But Mr. Not a Messaging Machine was pretty cool, when I said my school was in trouble, he had his butler send some help over."

Well, that pretty much clinched it, Pepper reflected.

"But Mr. Not a Messaging Machine needed a favor," and here Peter sniffled. "He, he needed me to tell you that he thinks that you're perfect and beautiful and that he loves you. But then the call cut off and -" Peter was crying now.

Pepper placed the tea and cookies on the ground – there was no room on her desk – and knelt and hugged Peter close. "Hey, it's okay Peter. You are great, and thank you so much for delivering Mr. Not a Messaging Machine's message. His name is Tony, and you know what?" Pepper smiled, "He's just upstairs taking a nap right now."

Peter's eyes were as wide as saucers. "Really? He's alive?" Peter broke into a wide grin.

"Despite his best efforts, yes," Pepper smiled.

…

"Jarvis, set aside a college fund for Peter Parker, please," Pepper directed the AI. "And reschedule all of my appointments for tonight. Tony's as well."

"Of course, Ms. Potts," Jarvis responded.

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August 10, 2013

11:55 PM

The time was near, the clock ticking steadily towards the ultimate branch of fate. From here, Peter Parker's life could be drawn in one of two directions – in an interesting one, full of Hippogriffs and ghosts and cauldrons, or a mundane one.

11:56

Personally, Peter Parker thought his chances of being a wizard were pretty high. He was practically Harry Potter. Sure, Aunt May and Uncle Ben aren't rubbish (yes, rubbish) caretakers by any means, but surely the powers that be could overlook that small detail.

11:57

Peter brushed a coat sleeve out of his face. He didn't normally spend much time in the hall closet, but desperate times called for desperate measures. It may not be a cupboard under the stairs, but Peter knew he at least had to make an effort.

11:58

Hogwarts had to be a pretty popular place, at this point. You can't just assume they'll hand an invitation to you on a silver platter.

11:59

(Maybe he could make some friends at Hogwarts. There weren't enough troll attacks in Queens.)

10, 9, 8, 7 …

(He already knew he was a SlytherHuffleRavenDor)

3, 2, 1.

Peter waited for the BOOM of an approaching giant.

There was no BOOM. …He knew he should have moved to Britain.

"Any luck, Peter?" Aunt May asked through the keyhole.

"The officials at Hogwarts must have their time zones confused," Peter sniffled.

"Your owl may have gotten tired while crossing the Atlantic," Uncle Ben suggested, sitting in the hall outside the closet. Aunt May elbowed him quietly.

"Yeah."

"Happy Birthday, Peter."

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May 4, 2014

There were millions of names on Project Insight's hit list, calculated by Professor Zola's algorithm, compiling all available data in order to determine the threat they pose to Hydra and the world.

Officially, the list was not ranked, but buried within layers of data so dense no human bothered to condense or understand, lay a simple fact. Of all the individuals targeted by the Project Insight program, Peter Parker was calculated to be the most dangerous.

… Meanwhile …

"Peter, could you spare a moment to take out the trash?" Aunt May asked, haphazardly opening drawers in search of a sufficiently tiny screwdriver.

"Hmm," the young man replied. "When the force, I feel, I will." Peter's voice was affected with a false, gravelly tone.

"Take out the trash, you will," Uncle Ben plopped the trash bag in front of the false Jedi master.

"PATIENCE YOU MUST HAVE!" Peter shouted, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "If I end my training now – if I choose the quick and easy path as so many before me – I will become an agent of evil."

"Chores are important, Peter," Aunt May reminded the recalcitrant kid.

"You must unlearn what you have learned," Peter nodded sagely. "What are you doing? Hmph. Chores. Heh. Productiveness. Heh."

"Being a productive member of society?" Uncle Ben joked.

"HEH," Peter coughed from the force of his adamant rebuttal. "A Jedi craves not these things."

"If now is not the time to take out the trash, when will the moment be right Master Jedi?" Aunt May asked, wielding her screwdriver deftly.

"Difficult to see," Peter pursed his lips. "Always in motion is the future…"

"You're the one who should be in motion, kiddo," Uncle Ben couldn't help but point out.

"Move, I shall not," Peter refused. Plastic touched his neck.

"Take out the trash, Peter," Aunt May ordered, wielding a newly-repaired blood red light saber with the familiarity of a master nerd. "Join us."

"I baked cookies," Uncle Ben offered.

"Defeated, I am," Peter sighed. "Take out the trash, I will."

"May the Fourth be with you on your journey," Uncle Ben smiled.

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February 26, 2015

Peter knew that the chances of him escaping unscathed were slim, at best. If he were in a Star Wars movie, C3PO would be quoting some disheartening number right now – like 5,692 to 1.

"Never tell me the odds," Peter muttered under his breath.

Peter's best chance lay in stealth, blending into the crowd. He could call on his peers to call attention to themselves with their antics – it was a constant. But the substitute gym teacher – the potentially homicidal, rude, downright frightening redhead commandeering Peter's physical education – had already verbally torn down half of the class.

The carnage began when Britney and Amanda, as per usual, refused to change into their gym clothes. Their normal teacher dealt with this by ignoring the pair, but the substitute rounded on them, describing with crazed eyes and a Russian accent exactly how she would eviscerate Britney and Amanda if they didn't fall into line and put on their shorts.

Next, Flash got it into his head that he could flirt with the substitute teacher, never mind the fact that Flash was a middle school jock with an overinflated ego and the substitute teacher was a Russian Drill Sergeant with the temper of a Wookie that just lost a game of space chess to a robot. Before Flash could even finish saying "Hey there good lookin'" she had swept him off his feet with a kick and sent him to do 100 push ups.

"You are weak, spineless, coward!" substitute Romanoff hollered at her latest victim, a guy who was far to obsessed with bases and reaching them. "You have no respect for others, or yourself." Romanoff's eyes flashed dangerously. "Ten Laps! Now!"

Next to Peter, Wilma Jones was having a minor panic attack. She wasn't particularly fond of gym class on the best of days, but Ms. Romanoff was a menace. Wilma began to breathe quickly. What if Ms. Romanoff found out she couldn't actually do a push up? She'll probably tear me limb from limb… Wilma's overactive and horror-film fueled imagination provided far too many gory images for Wilma's well being.

"Wilma, are you okay?" Peter whispered, noticing his neighbor's panicked breathing.

Wilma managed to shake her head, tears building in her eyes.

Peter steeled himself – so much for remaining under the radar. "C'mon, let's go to the nurse's office." Peter hooked an arm under Wilma's shoulder and started walking with her to the school nurse. Perhaps Ms. Romanoff wouldn't notice…

"Just where do you think you're going?" Ms. Romanoff's harsh voice followed the students.

"I, uh, I think Wilma is having a panic attack," Peter forced himself to look up from his shoes. "I'm taking her to the nurse."

Ms. Romanoff blinked. "Good," she nodded.

"Yes ma'am," Peter responded quickly, surprised he hadn't had an arm torn off by the crazed Russian exercise expert.

…

"Deep breaths, Wilma," Peter said, half-carrying the panicky girl to the nurse's office. He wasn't quite sure what the proper procedure for calming people in the midst of a panic attack was. Belatedly, Peter realized he could have asked his Aunt or Uncle at some point.

Thankfully, the nurse's office was in sight. Peter used his foot to open the door, and looked around for Nurse Belinda. Peter had had enough scrapes and bruises treated here to be quite familiar with the somewhat dotty woman. Instead of Nurse Belinda, though, there was a man wearing scrubs. His nametag read "Nurse Robin." Scribbled on the tag in sharpie was "Hood."

Robin (Hood) took charge of the situation immediately, speaking to Wilma in soothing tones and giving her a mild sedative. She fell straight to sleep. Peter stood stunned by the doorway.

"Ms. Romanoff's class?" Nurse Robin (Hood) asked wryly.

"Yeah," Peter nodded fervently. "I don't blame her," Peter gestured to Wilma. "Ms Romanoff's terrifying," he whispered conspiratorially.

Nurse Robin (Hood) laughed as if that were the punch line to an elaborate joke. "That's the fifth kid that's been sent here today because of that woman," he laughed. "Likes to keep me busy, I suppose."

"Heh," Peter responded awkwardly. "Well, I should probably head back to class…" Peter trailed off as Nurse Robin (Hood) shuttered the window and locked the door.

"Don't panic," Nurse Robin (Hood) knelt in front of Peter, displaying a badge. "My name is Clint Barton, but you might know me better as Hawkeye."

"Hawkeye, like the Avenger's Hawkeye?" Peter scrambled for an explanation.

"In the flesh," Clint smiled.

"… Why are you here? At my school? Talking to me?" Peter asked, bewildered.

"Because, Peter, as a child you were the subject of advanced genetic experimentation on the part of Hydra," Clint explained succinctly. "And they may not know it yet, because they're stupid even if they do have a lot of heads, but the second they recognize who you are, they'll be after you."

"So, you know that stuff you just gave Wilma?" Peter said. "I could use some of that."

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March 11, 2015

"What brings you folks here today?" Foggy asked Nelson and Murdock's latest clients. The Parkers seemed nice enough, though it wasn't often that people came from Queens to Hell's Kitchen for legal help. It was odd, though – usually people don't bring their kids along for a legal consultation. Karen settled down to take notes as usual, while Matt slouched in his chair. Probably got kicked in the guts by a mobster or something.

None of the Parkers seemed to know how to answer his question aloud, though the most honest response would have been:

Ben: "My sh**head d**k of a brother."

May: "Overbearing government agencies."

Peter: "Nurse Robin (Hood), an Ancient Greek monster with too many heads, terrible parenting, and the gym teacher from hell."

Naturally, none of that was said aloud. Ben, in lieu of cussing out his sh**head d**k of a brother in front of the lawyers, chose to make a dad joke. "The New York Subway system."

"Great," Foggy said. Just great, he thought. "So, um, what can Nelson and Murdock do for you today?"

The two adult Parkers looked at each other. It was intense, and deep, and painful, and Foggy felt his stomach drop. This wasn't a simple problem.

"We need help," May said, her voice cracking. "We need to keep Peter safe." Ben's grip on Peter's shoulder tightened.

Foggy noticed Matt straighten in his chair, his friend focusing intently on the family mere feet from him. Foggy wondered how much Matt learned in that moment alone, what he could feel and touch and hear. Maybe Matt could tell where the Parker's worked, or how quickly little Peter Parker's heart was beating. The kid certainly looked terrified enough.

"And we will help," Matt promised. "We'll make certain that Peter is safe. I promise." Matt had that look about him, the look that made Foggy believe that maybe having Daredevil looking out for the people of Hell's Kitchen wasn't such a bad thing, after all. Foggy felt his throat tighten and his eyes grow a little warm – god he was softy, he couldn't start bawling in front of the clients.

Hell, Matt probably just noticed that, the d**k. (He did, and was moved).

"So," the kid's voice cracked a little bit. Karen looked like she wanted to give him a hug. "Yes. Last week the archer dude from the Avenger's gave me a list of all of the legal firms that he and the scary Russian lady knew for certain didn't have any Hydra affiliations. Nelson and Murdock was the only firm in New York that made the list.

"Congrats," Peter finished a bit awkwardly.

Karen was scribbling frantically, Matt was focusing again, and Foggy found himself at a loss for words. The Avenger's? Hydra? Wilson Fisk was one thing… God, Matt was probably in vigilante heaven.

(Matt was quietly panicking.)

"Okay, we're going to need a little bit more context here, Peter," Foggy said to the kid. "Though, yeah, we can pretty much guarantee we're not Hydra. We'd probably be able to afford a working heater if we were getting money under the table from an evil Nazi organization," Foggy joked. "Speaking of, shouldn't we just be calling Captain America?"

"That's what I told Nurse Robin (Hood)," Peter muttered under his breath. May nudged him. "Right. Yes. So, I was in gym class…" Peter seemed to calm down as he told the first part of his story, though Foggy questioned the screening process for substitute teachers.

Really, though, somewhere between Peter describing his gym teacher as a Russian, female version of Chewbacca and offering an insightful perspective on the usefulness of actually using code names when doing spy work, even if it was just posing as a substitute teacher, Foggy found himself really liking the kid.

"What did the agent tell you, Peter," Matt asked, moving Peter from a tangent about archer-themed superheroes, which Foggy thought was quite a shame. Peter was giving him some really great ideas for ways to better mock his own vigilante friend.

"Right, well, this is where things get a bit hairy," Peter rubbed his head. Ben and May looked as if they were physically steeling themselves for what was to come.

"My dad, Richard Parker, was a pretty famous biologist," Peter began. "But he was also a scumbag Hydra agent, so all of his cool scientist points have been revoked. My mom, Mary Parker, was also a scientist, but she was not a scumbag Hydra agent, which really, at this point, is a bit of a silver lining.

"So, eventually Mom became pregnant with me, which got the evil scientist cogs in my scumbag Hydra agent dad's head rolling. One of his longstanding projects with Hydra was genetically altering people and animals so that they have increased strength and healing powers. Captain America super soldier type stuff. Dad figured that I would make the perfect human test subject – easy access, controlled environment, all that stuff, though he did have the decency not to tell Hydra directly about his side project.

"For five years Richard Parker subtly altered my genetic structure, weaving in some of the genes of a spider. Like, obviously, I'm still human, and I don't think I have any super powers, but I also don't remember ever being sick. I don't know. Hydra cottoned on to my dad's side project and demanded that I be delivered to them for more deliberate experimentation. I dunno, they probably would've tossed me into a vat of toxic waste or something."

Matt shifted slightly in his seat, perhaps in discomfort.

"So Dad, either because he decided to be a decent human being for once or because he didn't like sharing, refused to give me over to Hydra. Hydra, because they're a collection of Nazi jerks, sent a bunch of their thugs to the Parker residence to get Peter and all of my dad's research.

"Mom and Dad didn't like that much, so the Hydra people shot them. Yeah. Er, so it all kind of turns Harry Potter-esqu from here, with the house blowing up and the orphaned kid sent to live with their Aunt and Uncle. But what blew up the place was this agent, who, despite being a Hydra jerk, was a Hydra jerk with a bit of conscience. They didn't want to kill me. I can only imagine how adorable I was. So, the agent went a bit rogue, killing their fellow agents and blowing up my house and all of my dad's research. The agent forged a note to Aunt May and Uncle Ben and dropped me on their doorstep.

"It's kind of funny, even though I know Aunt May and Uncle Ben are my aunt and uncle, we only just learned that in the system I'm listed as being adopted from a junkie in Tucson. Which is cool, I guess. Arizona's got some nice landmarks.

"Anyway, the agent reported back in, claiming Richard Parker had blown the whole place up, leaving everybody dead and Hydra with no Peter Parker to experiment on.

"Which was fine, until all of Hydra and SHIELD's files were plastered onto the web. With a bit of digging and a couple of internet searches anybody could learn what I just told you."

"Sh**," Foggy cussed.

"That's what I said," Ben Parker agreed.

Foggy's mind was racing, attempting to formulate a solution to what had the potential to be a massive problem for the Parkers. The only thing keeping Peter from becoming a test subject for genetic experiments again was apathy and incompetence.

"Karen, could you look up those files?" Foggy asked, gaining his footing. "I need to know what sort of forums they are on, whether anybody has already viewed them."

"It's been months since all of this information was leaked onto the web," Matt was pacing. A month ago, Foggy would have been worried about his friend walking into the table or one of the Parkers. "Wait. So, this is plenty bad, but why is this an issue only now. Hydra has had access to all of this information for years."

"Oh, yeah," Peter shifted in his chair, a bit uncomfortable. "I forgot to mention that part. A few agents in SHIELD who were actually legit had been digging into this for years, uncovering Hydra's attempts at recreating a super serum. They knew about all of this, but thought the situation was resolved, because Hydra didn't know that I'm the same Peter Parker that died. Unfortunately, that puzzle piece is now hanging out on the internet along with millions of cat gifs."

"That's it then," Karen interjected. "Hydra's files on Peter don't matter nearly as much as the one SHIELD file that ties this whole mess to him. All we need to do is privatize that information or alter it just enough that it is misleading…"

"And Peter is in the clear," Foggy finished.

"Why couldn't Nurse Robin (Hood) have just done that, and not pulled us into this mess?" May asked, annoyed.

"Probably just a contrived reason for us to go Nelson and Murdock for some legal help while getting some exposition out of the way," Ben responded, shrugging. "At least the problem is solved."

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April 6, 2015

After the dinky little law firm of Nelson and Murdock fixed the whole "bad guys targeting Peter Parker issue," Peter thought that his chances of being shot had diminished.

He didn't even crack a month.

The first bullet only grazed Peter's arm, but the second and third were lodged in his shoulder. In that moment, Peter should have collapsed in shock and pain. He should have fallen from his horse on the carousel and bled on the ground.

That didn't happen, though. Peter's left arm fell to his side, limp and useless. He couldn't feel it or his shoulder. There was a kid on a horse, only a few feet from him: a little girl, probably in the fourth grade.

Peter stumbled off the horse, a deafening chorus of bullets accompanying his frenzied steps. Peter felt another bullet hit him in the back. He kept moving, tackling the little girl off of her horse.

Her head hits the floor of the carousel, hard, and Peter hoped that he didn't given her a concussion. A final bullet hit Peter, in the back of the leg, and he collapsed on the little girl.

She was crying. Peter noticed that he was, too.

He wished, suddenly and fiercely, that human's had ear-lids. Peter could close his eyes to the carnage developing around the carousel, but there was no escape from fierce clips of gun fire, the impact of metal on flesh, the wailing of sirens, the hoarse cry of a man for his wife, brutally cut short by another bullet.

It seemed to Peter as if there would always be another bullet, until there wasn't, and only the shriek of police sirens remained.

"What have I done?" Peter heard a woman say, but then all he could hear was the rush of blood, and he was lost to the pain.

…

The first visitors to Peter's bedside were, of course, his Aunt May and Uncle Ben, who scolded and cried in equal measure. Peter did not respond, because he was unconscious and about to have his appendix removed.

A small part of Uncle Ben wanted to laugh at the absurdity of being shot in the appendix, of all places.

…

Tony Stark visited next, first paying for all of the kid's medical bills because he had to do something, because Peter Parker was on a short list of people that Tony genuinely liked, at least a little bit.

"He's lost too much blood, hasn't he?" Tony asked, looking directly at the doctor.

She looked defeated. "Yes, and his body is rejecting any matches. His blood, its…"

"Give me a sample," Tony ordered. He was a genius, and a billionaire, and Iron Man, and damn it if he wasn't going to save this kid.

…

The next visitor never entered the room, but he was aware of every heartbeat and every breath Peter Parker took. Daredevil crouched on the roof of the hospital, tasting the scent of blood on the air. There was every chance that Peter could die.

Daredevil growled under his breath. He had vowed to keep Peter safe, and alive. He had failed. Daredevil left the hospital, rushing to find the answers even if he had to interrogate every gang member on the isle of Manhattan.

…

"It wasn't very long after the Battle of Manhattan. Maybe a week, I don't remember. I gave Peter a call, and you know what? He was just so happy to hear from me, to know that I was alright. Not Captain America, but Steve, the amnesiac," the soldier chuckled ruefully. "That kid talked his Aunt and Uncle into giving me a place to stay for a little bit, just enough time for me to get back on my feet. For me to figure out who Steve is, again."

"When he's not busy being a d**k in a spangly suit?" Tony prompted.

"Yeah," Steve agreed, looking from the needle in his own arm, to the pale kid tucked under the hospital sheets. "Peter helped me with that. He showed me around Manhattan, or what was left of it, at the time. We spent some time volunteering, giving lunches to people forced onto the street and such. We spent hours making little cards to put in the bags, I, I drew little sketches on them. Flowers and such."

"I'm certain they were very nice flowers," Tony rolled his eyes.

"I had to leave though. I was still Captain America, and I had – no, have, a duty to that mantle. A promise I made, and all that. So I said goodbye to Peter, saying I had some loose ends to tie up.

"Peter didn't ask me to stay, or anything. But he gave me a hug and wished me the best, and to remember that I always had a place to go back to, in the end. I've had so many chances to visit, or call, and I was just too scared…"

"And now he's been shot five times while playing on a carousel in Central Park," Tony observed. "Saving the life of a little girl. Which is absurd – he's what, eight?"

"Thirteen," Steve replied morosely.

"God," Tony felt sick to his stomach. "But, he's going to pull through. Thanks for the blood, by the way, Cap."

"Yeah, I'm still not clear on the whole 'Peter needs my blood' thing," Steve said, pulling the needle from his arm.

Bruce Banner walked into the room, bearing several beakers.

"Just the man we needed!" Tony gesticulated. Bruce and Tony quickly set up a lab station.

"Steve, do you remember how you're never allowed to compete in a sporting event because of your use of steroids?" Tony asked.

"It was a serum, Tony," Steve responded, a bit offended.

"Yes, well, your blood has a few properties that could help Peter out with his bullet wounds. Minor regenerative healing, mostly," Tony rambled, fussing with the beakers.

"Also, Peter has very fussy blood," Bruce frowned. "Not at all the usual, but yours isn't either."

"So, this will work? You can save him?" Steve asked, a pleading note entering his voice.

"Bruce is the leading expert in the world on what your blood can and can't do," Tony said. Bruce looked a bit sheepish. "Also, I hired Steven Strange to take care of any further complications."

Steve looked inquiringly at Bruce.

"He's a really good surgeon," Bruce explained.

"Peter is going to pull through this, Steve," Tony promised.

…

Peter didn't so much regain consciousness as notice that he was awake, and that there was something he had to do. His connection to any real bodily sensation was tenable at best, but Peter found that he could see, and most definitely was able to hear the soft crying next to him.

It was a little girl, and though Peter was not operating with full mental acuity, he gathered quickly enough that it was the girl he pushed off a horse. Peter felt quite bad about it, really. He hoped hadn't given her a concussion.

Thankfully, the girl was on Peter's right side, as Peter had enough awareness at this point to gather that his left arm was in a sling. Maybe Chewbacca had torn off his arm for pushing the girl off the horse? Or perhaps it was his crazy Russian substitute gym teacher …

Ah, wait, Peter remembered. It was a bullet. Though a bit disappointed that he had lost the use of his left arm in such a mundane way, Peter was glad to have solved the mystery. But to the business at hand, Peter found that he had some control over the movement of his right arm.

Peter placed his hand on the little girls arm. She looked up, eyes puffy, red, and watery.

Now for the speaking bit. "Hi," said Peter.

Success.

"Hi," said the little girl. "I'm Lisa," she said, because names were important.

"Peter," the older boy responded. He very well understood the importance of names.

Then Lisa hugged him, which Peter quite appreciated, because at that moment he couldn't move much, but he still did want a hug. She was crying again, and Peter couldn't help but cry a little, too.

…

Peter was also conscious when his Aunt and Uncle came, five minutes later, and there was a lot more crying and scolding and apologies that were both unnecessary and completely necessary, because carousels were usually quite safe and an ice cream would have tasted very good.

None of his other visitors came back, though. Superheroes, for all that they wear tights and throw punches, are really quite shy.

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July 18, 2015

"Uncle Ben, could we grab some ice cream?" Peter asked, eyeing the Baskin Robins across the street. It was a very warm day in California.

"Only if your Aunt May says it won't spoil dinner," Uncle Ben winked.

Peter looked at his Aunt inquiringly. "Calories don't count on vacation," Aunt May smiled.

"Yes!" Peter exclaimed.

The franchise looked clean and colorful, with ice cream flavors like "Green Tea" and "Wild and Reckless Sherbet." Peter assumed that was a side effect of the stores California location.

"How can I help you?" an employee asked. His nametag read Scott.

"I will have a couple scoops of mint chocolate chip in a bowl," Aunt May said. "With hot fudge, if you can." Aunt May loved mint chocolate chip ice cream.

"You know, I was going to get the "Love Potion #31" ice cream," Uncle Ben joked. "But I figured California is enough of an aphrodisiac on its own." Aunt May elbowed him in the ribs, but she had a smile on her face.

Peter quietly mimed gagging. Scott was silently laughing. "Perhaps I could recommend the "Icing on the Cake" ice cream?" he waggled his eyebrows.

"I'll take it!" laughed Uncle Ben. "One scoop, in a cone."

"And what about you?" Scott turned to Peter.

"I'll have a scoop of salty caramel, green tea, and "S'more the Merrier" ice cream in a bowl," said Peter. "With some sprinkles on top, please."

"Alright, mint chip, bad puns that'll leave you sleeping on the couch and the kitchen sink, coming right up!" Scott bounced to work.

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October 5, 2015

"You made pancakes!" Peter exclaimed, excited.

"Sure did, kiddo," Uncle Ben smiled, plopping a couple onto Peter's plate. "Though pipe down a bit, your Aunt had a late shift."

"Right," Peter said, digging through the refrigerator for some syrup.

"So, where's your field trip to again?" Uncle Ben asked. "Some company…"

"Oscorp," Peter said. "We're studying genes, y'know, Punnett squares and stuff, so Mr. Crowley managed to get our class in to look at some real genetic research."

"That's pretty cool," Uncle Ben grinned. "More interesting than going to Ellis Island again."

"Yup!" Peter smiled.

"Well, have fun on your field trip," Uncle Ben said, watching Peter gather his backpack.

"I plan to," Peter grinned.

Uncle Ben walked up and gave Peter a hug. "I love you, kid."

"I love you too, Uncle Ben.

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Author's Note: Thank you all so much for reading! This is the first piece of fiction that I've had the (probably misplaced) confidence to stick on the web, so I really appreciate you taking the time to read it. I just had a story that I wanted to tell, I guess.

A couple plot points were derived from moments in "Great-Grandpa Cap" by youngjusticefanatic and "Little Spider" by savya398.

Also, a special shout-out to the first two reviewers, who pointed out that my fic looked it had been possessed by a computer gremlin or something. There's something of a learning curve to using this site, I suppose. Thanks!