When Director Fury walks through the halls, eyes are casted down away from him. If an agent is in his way, they hurry and dolphin dive out of his way. He doesn't stomp, but his footsteps leave a big enough tremor to shake the stares off of him.

For those who don't know any better, they would stare. Who can blame them? Director Fury is one thing, but the scrawny kid glued to his side is another.

The two contrast each other when they walk. Fury is confident in his strides. Shuffled feet follow him.

If one ever visits the science lab, one has probably seen him around at one point. He never leaves the lab and never talks to anyone else. He has a name tag on his desk, one that reads "Parker."

So to see him out of the lab is a shocking sight. Even more so, it's slightly humorous how attached he is to the director.

Someone starts snickering suddenly, and Parker stopped in his tracks. He stared at the floor. Fury didn't stop walking. "Get back to work, agents," Fury growled, and the snickering stopped abruptly. "Come along, Parker." Reluctant feet picked up again.

Parker's knuckles are white from his tight grip on the brown files in his hand. He's cradling them to his chest when he follows Fury to the bay.

A bag is pushed into him. "Put this on," Fury ordered.

He tilted his head to the side but did so anyways. Fury walked to the edge. He looked back to Parker and made a gesture.

Then, without warning, Fury took a dive off of the helicarrier. Stunned, Peter jumped right behind him.

They neared the ground before no time, and Fury gracefully used his jet pack to pull to a stop. Parker, well, not so much. "Parker, use the parachute!"

He did no such thing. He crashed into Fury and tumbled.

"Get off of me," he snarled, pushing the teenager away. He scrambled to his feet, and Fury jumped up.

The kid raised his eyebrows suggestively, as if it say 'Hey, you could've moved out of my way, but you didn't.'

"Come on," he demanded, and Fury disappears into a building. He scrambled after him.

Parker's never been forced to go to the meetings. Fury was always fine with him just making files and documents. Today, however, Fury demanded that Peter tag along.

Now, Peter was hurting his neck, trying to stare at the tower in front of him.

"Hurry up," Fury said harshly. Peter nodded and trudged his feet. They entered through the door and carried on to the elevator.

Peter was flipping through his files nervously. He had checked and checked again to make sure they were perfect, as he always does. He was checking again for maybe the thousandth time when he noticed a yellow paper stuck to the back. He had started to read through it, but Fury stopped him. "Don't," he warned. The door opens. He shuts the files and carries forth.

Peter stopped in his tracks.

The Avengers are stood in front of him. Tony Stark is heading towards them, with a coffee cup in hand. "Fury, why are you here so early?" Tony groaned.

Fury swatted at him, and Peter handed the files. Tony accepted them. "Oh, okay," he mumbled, "But, seriously, why are you here? Where's the nice girl who usually drops files off?"

"Not here," Fury replied sharply.

Steve Rogers approached. He took the files from Tony.

"Here, take this," Fury said. Peter looked over, assuming he was handing him another file. Instead, Fury stepped behind him and pushed Peter forward. Then, Fury simply stepped back into the elevator and left.

Peter was quick to pound on the elevator, but it was too late. Fury had already left him behind.

He could feel the stares stabbing him in the back, digging into his skin. Hesitantly, he turned around to face an entire team just staring at him.

Steve's mouth opened to speak, but Peter was already off. He was opening a window to jump out of when Tony yelled, "We're on the seventieth floor!" Peter didn't stop. He was putting his other leg out the window when a man came up behind him, grabbed his leg, and yanked him back in.

"JARVIS, lock all the windows," Tony sighed. Peter was thrown on the couch by Sam Wilson, who still held a tight grip of him.

Hawkeye stood before him, squinting his eyes. He had a cell phone pulled up to his ear. "Fury is not picking up," he groaned.

Natasha held the yellow paper in her hands. "Read this," she said, pulling the others closer. Peter stood up to look at it, but Sam sat him back down.

Bruce's eyebrows furrowed together. Tony started laughing. "This is great," he said sarcastically. "You know what I wanna do while Fury goes and parties on some island? Babysit a kid," he snorted.

Peter scrunched his nose. "Who're you, anyways?" Stark continued. Peter shrunk in on himself. "The note didn't leave a name." At the mention of the note, Peter peeked up to catch a glimpse, but Tony snatched it away from him.

"You're mad," Natasha observed. "At Fury."

Peter looked up at her. He nodded. "Aren't we all?" Stark groaned. "Are you his son, or something?"

"Wow, Stark, cause you know they look so similar," Clint retorted.

Stark shrugged. "He could be adopted!"

"And Fury is the parenting type," Clint mused. "Kid, what'd you do?" When Peter didn't reply, he continued. "Did you try to kill someone?"

"Clint!" Steve hissed.

"Well, he's clearly not his son," Clint defended. "Think about it. What else would Fury be doing if he dropped him off here with a note that says, 'don't let him out of your sight.'"

He took a step back. "Yeah, okay, that's suspicious," Stark said. He stared at Peter for a moment. "And he hasn't said a word. Okaaay, enough of this, uh, hey, kid, I'm just going to put you in here for a bit."

To say Peter didn't put up a fight would be an understatement.

He's been thinking about this for a long time.

Peter's brain is a dangerous place, but he already knew that. It didn't take a mutated lizard monster to put two and two together. He knows he shouldn't do this. He knows sitting here, his head spinning, thinking.

It's been a long time. He revisits his thoughts sometimes, as most people do. Maybe it's a favorite daydream about showing off, maybe it's a story idea, or a photo idea. Peter's been thinking about the different ways to kill himself for a very long time.

His entire body is shaking. His feet are the only thing keeping him grounded on this bridge. There's a long drop before him, before he gets taken away by the water.

It's always been small in the back of his head. With everything that happened, it's just grown and grown over time.

He never did anything though. Not even after Ben, not after May, but now it's after Gwen and Harry. Now, Peter doesn't know what he's doing.

He figures he could keep it up for Spider-Man.

"Kid, go home. The Avengers have it handled," Iron Man had said.

"Your gig is petty theft," Hawkeye had called. "Go home before you get hurt."

Peter feels useless.

He tore himself out of bed every single day, even though his mind was screaming at him just to disappear without a care. He worked so hard to just live all for one reason: Spider-Man could help people.

He can't. Not anymore.

Those comments aren't new. People tell him he's just doing the police's job. And he was okay with that. He was okay with taking down small time criminals, if it meant he could keep people safe.

He thought he was helping. He really did.

Peter's playing a dangerous game now.

He wished he had some music playing.

Should he have written a note?

He ponders.

He doesn't have anyone to write to.

He doesn't know if the city will notice when Spider-Man is gone. He knows no one will notice Peter's gone.

Maybe the teachers won't call his name anymore. Maybe his desk will be kept empty. He knows. That empty desk, similar to the ones next to him.

He's laughing suddenly. It's loud and obnoxious when he hears it in his own ears. It's hysterical. He bunches over, his head off the bridge.

There are cars buzzing past him. Not a single one stops.

He doesn't realize he's crying until his vision is blurry.

Peter jumps.