Tony arrived at Peter's apartment to find the cops already there, and the billionaire frowned. He knew he couldn't put his people on it without questions being asked, but it would have made his own investigation much easier. Thankfully, at least, they probably wouldn't be trying to contact him again, since he'd already given his statement while waiting for Peter to get out of surgery. Iron Man's stomach churned when he caught a glimpse of the blood that had pooled just inside the alley, and quickly tore his eyes away, surveying the area. He didn't notice any readily apparent cameras pointed in that direction, but he'd have F.R.I.D.A.Y. check it out. Wordlessly, the billionaire separated himself from the small crowd of onlookers and started walking, following Peter's directions. He walked back one block, then took a left, walked two blocks, and started looking at the buildings on his left. They were mostly residential, or businesses with apartments above them. He didn't know where to start, and was just about to get his suit so that F.R.I.D.A.Y. could give him a hand when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Tony checked the device and saw that Peter had texted him.

I still don't remember the address, but the apartment number was 706

Tony smiled, quickly sending a thank you text. There was only one residential building on that block with seven floors. Getting in was easy; he just buzzed a few apartments until one of them buzzed him in, and then he made his way up to the seventh floor.

Apartment 706 was on the back side of the apartment building, away from the street and in the corner. Tony hesitated in front of the door, considering what he should do or say if the door opened, before taking a breath and knocking. He waited, but received no answer, so he knocked again. Nothing. Finally, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he tried the door handle. It turned easily in his hand, and the billionaire quietly entered the apartment, closing the door behind him.

The apartment was large and spacious, but as Tony looked around, he was surprised to see it completely empty. He couldn't see a single piece of furniture in the entire space. There was no couch in the living room, no breakfast table near the kitchen, and not even a microwave. It was as if no one had lived there for a long time. Tony couldn't help but be a little disappointed; so much for his big lead.

Still, he didn't give up, making his way into the apartment to continue his search. The first door he came to led to the bathroom, which, like the rest of the house, had no evidence of anyone living there—there wasn't even a shower curtain to speak of. The last door, however, was a little more interesting. It led to the bedroom, and unlike the rest of the house, there was furniture. In this case, it was just a plastic folding table, a cheap chair, and a sleeping bag, but it was at least evidence that someone had been there. There was also a laptop on the table, which Tony made a beeline for, opening it up and turning it on. As he expected, it was password protected, but he wasn't concerned; he was sure he'd be able to get in in no time. For now, though, it would be a good idea to get out of there before the laptop's owner came back, so he closed the laptop again and picked it up hurrying towards the exit. But before he could get there, the door opened wide.

"Shit," Tony breathed, freezing in his tracks. There was nowhere to hide, and the man standing in the doorway looked right at him in confusion.

"Um...what the hell are you doing in here?" he asked slowly, suspicion making its way onto his face.

"Who are you?" Tony questioned in response, his muscles tense.

"I own the building, asshole; who the hell are you?" the man's irritation grew quickly. Tony let a little tension out of his shoulders; it was just the landlord.

"Tony Stark," he replied, a little arrogance in his voice, wondering how he hadn't been recognized. "Here on official Avengers business. Kind of. Thanks for your help."

With this, he quickly left the apartment before the landlord could ask any more questions.

"Hey, Peter, what'd you get for number seven?" Ned asked his best friend. He and MJ had come directly to the hospital after school, and the three of them were currently doing their homework. It was starting to get late, but Peter was grateful for the company; he was losing his mind trying to deal with the boredom of being stuck in that hospital bed. Aunt May had gone back to work at Peter's prompting, and he'd made her promise to sleep in the apartment that night—if what happened really was because someone found out he was Spider-Man, he didn't want her anywhere near him, and Tony already promised to have people watching the place. She'd decided to still drop by and see him after work.

"Um..." Peter checked back at his work, "2.78 meters per second. MJ? What about you?"

"Same here," MJ agreed.

"What? How?!" Ned demanded, frustrated. MJ shuffled her chair over to look at his work.

"It's an inelastic collision, not an elastic one," she told him after a moment, reaching over and underlining the word 'inelastic' in the question.

"Oh," Ned let out a breath of relief; the problem had seemed totally impossible until that point. Peter and MJ snickered as he relaxed in his seat. "Right."

"Alright, kids, I think it's time to let Peter get some rest," Kowalski said with a slight smile, adjusting some of the settings on the machines that surrounded his patient. The three teens groaned collectively.

"Come on, Doc; just a little longer," Peter begged.

"Sorry, kid, but the best thing for you right now is rest."

Peter, MJ, and Ned all grumbled under their breath irritably as Kowalski left the room, but started packing their bags anyway.

"We'll see you tomorrow, Peter," MJ promised. Ned looked over at his best friend as if to say, 'we definitely need to talk later,' and Peter nodded in understanding. He and Ned needed to talk about what happened, and they needed to do it without MJ. With this, the two teenagers left their friend in peace, passing Happy on the way out. Tony's head of security was pulling out his ringing phone as they passed, and he glanced first at Ned and MJ as they left, then in at Peter before he closed the door and answered the phone.

"Hey Happy," Tony greeted him as he paced away from the door. "How's the kid?"

"Doc says he's gonna be fine," Happy assured him. "His friends just left. What did you find on that laptop?"

"Nothing good," Tony admitted. "Pictures. Tons and tons of pictures. Other stuff, too, but I've been focusing on the pictures, because here's the thing: they're all just of Peter; there are no pictures of Spider-Man or pictures of Peter in the suit. At least, so far; I haven't gotten through all of it. So...maybe Peter was the target. Not Spider-Man."

"Maybe, but I don't see why that would be the case," Happy frowned. "It's not like he has any real enemies outside of that."

"Yeah, that's what's confusing me, too," Tony sighed. "I'm going to keep digging; you stay on the kid. I'll probably come by tomorrow to check up on him."

"You got it," Happy agreed. "Good luck."

The two of them said their goodbyes and hung up as Happy headed into Peter's room.

"Hey, Happy," Peter smiled at his handler. "Did Tony find anything?"

Before Happy could reply, they heard screaming outside. Peter quickly realized that it wasn't the kind of screaming one might expect in a hospital—the screams were full of terror.

"Stay here," Happy ordered seriously, quickly closing the blinds on the window that looked into the teenager's room from the hallway.

"But—" Peter began, but he couldn't finish his thought before Happy cut him off.

"Stay here!"

The wounded teenager watched Happy disappear out into the hallway, and as soon as he was gone, he slipped carefully out of bed, grimacing at every movement. He disconnected the heart monitor and grabbed his IV pole, shuffling carefully over to the window and parting the blinds. To his horror, he saw one of the people Tony left to keep an eye on him already on the floor—dead or unconscious, he wasn't sure. The other guy had his gun drawn and was aiming at someone farther down the hallway. Shuffling a little to the side, Peter caught a glimpse of a face he recognized. It was the man who'd stabbed him, and he wasn't alone; there were at least seven others with him. Peter quickly dropped the blinds, hustling back to his backpack on the other side of the room as fast as he could. Once there, the teenager snatched up his phone and called Tony. The older man picked up on the second ring.

"Hey, kid, you should be getting some sleep right about now," Tony began, but Peter cut him off.

"Tony, you gotta get to the hospital," Peter gasped fearfully. He felt utterly helpless, unable to protect anyone out there. "The guy who stabbed me—he's here, and he brought friends, and one of your guys is already down! I don't know if he's even alive; I don't...I don't know what to do!"

"Don't do anything," Tony ordered. "You stay in your room and stay out of sight. You can't go out there, Peter; you're not well enough to fight. Happy can take care of it until I get there."

"But, Tony, I—" again, the teenager was silenced.

"No buts!" Tony snapped. "I'm on my way. You stay out of it, Peter; this is one fight you should not take on. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Tony hung up before Peter could say anything else, and the young man groaned in frustration, putting his phone down. He heard another scream outside, and the lights above him flickered. He knew he had to do something.

Reaching into his bag again, he felt around for his suit, and was relieved when he found it. Taking a deep breath, he disconnected his IV and started putting the suit on. By the time his mask was on and he was ready to go, he'd already heard more screaming, the lights had flickered again, and he'd heard Happy's voice a few times, although he couldn't tell what was being said. The teenager quickly went over to his window, the pain from his movements getting steadily worse now that he was no longer connected to the painkillers, and climbed out, shuffling along the wall towards the window at the end of the hallway. He froze in his tracks when he heard the door to the room he'd just been recuperating in burst open. The young man edged back towards the window and listened closely, trying to ignore the pain violently tearing through his entire body.

"Where is he?" Peter recognized the voice, and his stomach clenched. "Where's the kid?"

"I told you," Happy sounded breathless and a little bit surprised. "He's not here. He was transferred as soon as he woke up."

"That's not what the nurse at the front desk said," the man who'd stabbed Peter scoffed. "Or are you telling me that she's a liar? Because if she's a liar, then..."

"That's not what I said," Happy argued, sounding frustrated. "She probably didn't know; he only woke up a couple hours ago."

Peter swallowed hard, then moved towards the window at the end of the hallway, peering in furtively. He could see the seven other men he'd glimpsed through the blinds plus another three more, all armed and guarding the other patients and staff. Several patients were on the floor in the hallway, some were bleeding, and a couple were—hopefully—unconscious. He leaned back from the window, just hanging onto the edge of the building.

"Okay, okay, okay," he breathed quietly, trying to think through the pain. "Ah...Karen, any idea how much longer until Tony gets here?"

"He just sent you a text; he's less than ten minutes away," Karen told him inside the suit.

"Ten minutes...okay..." Peter let out a shaking breath. "That is...way too long. Damn it."

Realizing that he didn't have a choice if he was going to make sure everyone got out of there safe, the teenager shot a web up to the roof directly above the window into the hallway and looked into the window one more time. None of the intruders were looking in his direction, but a couple patients had caught a glimpse of him, and he put a finger to his lips quickly, warning them to keep quiet. Then, he jumped off the wall and let himself swing into the glass window. Unlike the windows in the Washington Monument, this window broke easily, allowing him to roll right into the action. The motion made him grimace, but he quickly shot webs at the two closest enemies, both rendering their guns useless and attaching them to the walls. The other eight down the hall immediately began shooting their guns at him, and he grabbed as many of the patients, visitors, and doctors out in the hallway as he could, ushering—or, in the case of the unconscious man meant to guard him, pulling—them into the room across from the one he'd been staying in.

"Stay here, lock the door," he ordered them—there were seven or eight of them in the room, all looking at him with wide, terror-filled eyes as the gunshots continued outside the room. "Help's on the way; just hang on."

With this, Spider-Man quickly left the room, shutting the door on his way out. Almost immediately after he set foot into the hallway, he was shot in the chest with a blast from what looked and sounded like one of Tony's repulsors turned into a gun. He yelped in shock and went flying back, catching himself on the window frame. The teenager gasped, pain lining his face under his mask, both from the hit and the strain his original injury was being forced to endure. Before they could land another hit, he leapt into his hospital room, tucking into a roll before coming up shooting. His webs quickly incapacitated the second enemy in the room—not the one who'd stabbed him—as Happy lay bleeding and unconscious on the floor. The young hero's stomach dropped at the sight of his handler, and in that brief loss of focus, he was knocked into the open bathroom, his elbow shattering the mirror above the sink and his head smacking against the wall with an audible thump.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you to choose your battles wisely?" the man who'd stabbed him smirked, lifting his sub-machine gun to aim at the teenager. Peter quickly kicked the door closed and jumped to the left, out of the line of fire, as bullets began to fly.

"Karen, what's an ETA on Iron Man?" Peter asked, breathing heavily as his hand covered his original injury.

"Four minutes," Karen replied.

"Okay," Peter gasped. "Okay, I can do this..."

He waited for the gunshots to subside, then yanked open the door and jumped back into the room, launching himself feet first at his attacker and knocking him back into the far wall. The man dented the sheetrock with his body and came back swinging, as if he weren't even affected. Peter ducked and dodged the attacks as best he could, but he was much slower than he normally was, and before long, the man delivered a punishing blow to the teenager's gut, right where he'd been stabbed. He fell right beside Happy's unconscious form, gasping and gripping the wound in pain, half supported on his forearm.

"Give it up, Spider-Man," the man chuckled, hardly fazed from their fight. "Either tell me what I want to know or stay out of my way."

With this, he reached down and grabbed a fistful of Happy's shirt, pulling him up off the ground with one hand. Panic forced a rush of adrenaline, and Peter pushed himself to his feet.

"Let him go," he demanded painfully. Before the man could say anything, he grabbed Happy and kicked the man in the chest again. As their attacker stumbled back, Peter quickly put his handler on the floor in the bathroom, then pulled the door shut and kicked off the handle on the outside, effectively cutting the man off from attacking him again. But just as he was turning around to face the assailant again, he felt him grab hold of the back of his suit and throw him back out into the hallway. With a cry of shock and pain, Peter slammed hard into the door opposite him.

Groaning in near agony, Peter slowly started pushing himself to his feet, looking around the hallway. Patients and doctors were still cowering in their places, both of Tony's security people were bleeding on the floor, and a little farther down the hall, Doctor Kowalski was looking up at him from his place face down on the floor, his hands behind his head, concern and fear written on his face. A little too late, he noticed one of the other attackers take aim at him with the same repulsor-type gun that nearly knocked him out the window earlier, and his attempt to get out of the way was only marginally successful; instead of hitting him in the center of the chest, it hit his shoulder, and he fell back against the wall below the window.

"Karen, web grenade," Peter gasped painfully before quickly shooting off two of them. The grenades went off and pinned two soldiers up against the walls beside the first two, both of them dropping their weapons with a cry of surprise as the teenager struggled to recover from the blast, noticing that some of the other invaders were missing from where he'd first seen them.

Peter fought to stand up, but this time, he didn't get the chance to get up before the man who'd stabbed him was there, grabbing him by the neck and pulling him up off the floor, his feet dangling in the air.

"Next time I offer you advice," the man smirked victoriously as Peter tried in vain to loosen his grip on his neck, "I suggest you take it."

With this, he threw Peter out the broken window carelessly, effortlessly, and the teenager screamed as he plummeted towards the street below. He reacted quickly, shooting a web at the side of the building, and instead of crashing into the pavement, he swung towards it, his feet able to catch himself before he slammed into the brick. He was only a foot or so above the ground, now, so he dropped down, catching his breath on all fours behind an air conditioning unit, his limbs shaking and his body in nearly unbearable pain.

"Karen," he gasped, feeling blood leaking out of the stab wound in his stomach, only to be caught by the gauze covering it. "How much longer until Tony gets here?"

"He should be arriving shortly," his suit's AI told him. As promised, about thirty seconds later, he saw Iron Man fly through the window above and into the hospital. Relieved, Peter collapsed onto his back, gasping for air, and thought about what he should do. Every fiber within him wanted to get back up and help, but he knew he couldn't take any more hits; his stab wound was bleeding badly again, he was lightheaded, and he was pretty sure he'd broken a few bones, not to mention the fact that he was tasting blood in his mouth. Another bad hit—especially from the one who'd stabbed him, who was way stronger than he'd first anticipated—and he could be down for the count.

As much as he hated to admit it, this might have been a time when he needed to retreat, live to fight another day. Besides, they were looking for Peter Parker; it was probably a good idea to make sure that Peter Parker was nowhere near them. They'd have no reason to hurt anyone if he wasn't there.

Limbs shaking, the teenager got up again, grunting in pain, and made his way down the street, unsure of exactly where he was going, only that he needed to get away.

What's up guys? I'm back. Had a crazy last few weeks. Went on vacation, went to a Supernatural convention where I got a picture with Misha Collins (no, I don't care that a lot of you don't know what I'm talking about), and lost and then found my dog. But, long break means long chapter, so here you go. I hope you guys enjoy, and be prepared for an Iron Man fight next chapter; that's where I'm starting. Don't forget to review!