A/N: Set after the events of Homecoming and before Infinity War. This story will be told from several POVs from different characters, so I hope you guys enjoy!

Chapter One: Peter Parker

"I think MJ likes you."

I shoot Ned a sharp look, heat rising to my cheeks against my will. "What?"

"I think she likes you. You know, likes you likes you."

"I heard what you said. Why are you saying it?"

Ned opens his mouth to reply but trips over the uneven sidewalk. My hand shoots out automatically to grip his upper arm, steadying him before he face plants. He sends me a grateful look and adjusts the straps of his backpack.

"Dude, she watches you, like all the time. And sketches you. And talks about you when you aren't around. Either she's planning on stalking and killing you, or she likes you," Ned nods to himself, like he has solved some great mystery.

I open my mouth to reply, then close it again, trying to will the flush on my skin away. I choose not to examine the fluttering of nerves in my stomach at his words, or the way I stand up straighter like I am pleased with myself.

Because MJ and I are just friends, right? And Ned, he's probably wrong. There's no way she likes me. She's just eccentric. I'm sure she sketches lots of boys from our high school.

I also choose not to examine the sour taste that thought leaves in my mouth.

"Peter, you're blushing."

"I am not!" I protest immediately as we pause before a busy intersection with a small group of people already gathered waiting for the light so they can cross the street. Ned is grinning at me, and I scowl as I deny again. "I'm not. It's just hot."

Ned laughs. "You should ask her out."

"Dude! I'm not- she's just-I don't know if-can we just drop this, please?"

God, even my ears feel warm.

"Ok, ok," Ned relents as the crosswalk light changes, and we head across the street. "I'll drop it for now. But I still think you should ask her out."

We reach the sidewalk, and this is where our paths diverge. Ned waves as he turns right, calling back that he will text me later so we can compare notes on our essay for English. I wave back and continue down the busy street.

I wonder where Michelle lives. She probably walks home by herself. The thought doesn't sit well with me. I should figure out her route and swing by as Spiderman sometime, just to make sure she makes it home alright, that the area is safe enough. Wait, that's not creepy, right? That wouldn't be stalking, just following, wouldn't it? There's a difference.

I'm so lost in thought, I nearly knock into someone. At the last second, I jerk to a halt, then step aside. "Sorry," I say quickly, then look up, my eyes widening slightly.

Woah. This guy is huge. Even his dark, baggy street clothes can't conceal the large muscles or hulking stature. His eyes bore into me as I side step him, thankful that I didn't actually run into him and give him an excuse to pummel me. "Sorry," I say again lamely, and continue on my way.

I can't help but glance behind me as I do so, and the man is still watching me.

Okay, that wasn't creepy at all.

My stomach growls suddenly, and I think wistfully of Mr. Delmar's new deli, which is unfortunately relocated, and nowhere near my usual way home. Instead, I've been forced to get my after school pick-me-up at Jeff's subs, which doesn't compare at all.

Something tingles at the base of my skull, sending a prickle of unease to my growling stomach. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing at attention, and I know that something is wrong. I glance around as I walk, but I see no immediate danger, no out of control car, no one getting mugged, not even anyone yelling at each other to get out of the way.

My brow furrows, and I tighten my grip on the strap of my backpack.

The unsettled feeling doesn't leave, and my senses are telling me that something is off. I can feel it, but can't pinpoint it. I would brush it off as nothing, but that sense has never failed me before.

I pick up my pace slightly, checking every face that passes me for any sign of trouble.

That's when I realize someone is keeping pace with me across the street.

I glance over at him, thinking it's probably nothing, that I am being paranoid, but the ordinary looking man seems to be watching me out of the corner of his eye. Frowning, I slow my pace ever so slightly.

My stomach tightens as the man does the same.

No way.

I pause, crouching to pretend to adjust my shoe, as the people walking behind me grumble and curse at the sudden teenage obstacle they have to walk around.

The man stops in front of a newsstand across the street, picking up and perusing one of the tabloids.

What the hell? Why is this guy following me? What does he want? Is he waiting for a quiet street to mug me, thinking I'll be an easy target?

I straighten, turning my head to look over my shoulder, and my unease increases in a sharp stab of what might be panic. The huge stranger I had almost run into was leaning against one of the store fronts, smoking, his eyes watching me.

Not good. Not good at all.

I school my expression into one of bored indifference, pretending to adjust my sweatshirt before continuing. Quickening my steps, I reach into my pocket and slide out my phone. Another crosswalk looms in front of me, but I don't want to stop moving, so instead I turn right as I dial and place the phone to my ear, suddenly conscious of every single person around me.

My heart begins to thud heavily in my chest as the dial tone rings and rings again. "Come on, pick up," I mutter into the phone. I am moving now at a fast walk, just shy of jogging, and I glance behind me to see the huge, burly guy turn the corner.

The phone clicks, and my heart leaps, but it goes to voicemail. "H-hey, Mr. Stark," I say into the phone, keeping my voice low. "I'm sorry to bother you, I mean, I know you are probably busy. But…but I think…I think I'm being followed. And they don't really look like your typical New Yorkers looking for an easy hit…It might be nothing, I can probably handle it, but I-"

A man in dark clothing just ahead, walking in the opposite direction as me, also has a phone to his ear, and his icy blue eyes are staring straight at me. Shit, shit, shit. The guy across the street is still keeping pace, and he isn't even bothering to pretend that he isn't following me.

"Shit," I say aloud as the voicemail ends and the line goes dead.

The man ahead of me, coming closer with every step is speaking into his cell phone, and my enhanced hearing picks up his words over the clatter and noise from the streets of Queens.

"Target in route. We are ready to engage."

The sound of screeching tires tears through the air, followed quickly by shouts and honking horns. The prickle of warning at the base of my neck shoots into a burning flare, and in my peripheral vision, I see a huge black van veering straight towards me.

My eyes lock onto the man's in front of me, both of us tensing as we prepare to act. He reaches in his jacket, dropping his phone, and my muscles coil, ready to bolt. The man stumbles forward suddenly, knocked off balance by a disgruntled old lady in a motorized cart.

When he looks up, I am already gone.

"Excuse me, sorry, coming through!" I apologize as I shove my way past a throng of people crowded at the next intersection.

"Hey, watch it!" someone shouts after me, but I am already bolting across the street. Cars slam to a halt, horns blaring, tires squealing, as they barely avoid hitting me. My body warns me just in time as a yellow taxi cab brakes too late, and I leap into the air, placing one hand on the hood of the car as I slide across the slick metal.

I risk a quick glance over my shoulder, and sure enough, all three of the men watching me are now racing behind with deadly intent. The black van has almost caught up with me, the windows tinted so I can't tell how many men are inside.

Ok, new plan.

I turn down an alley, my sneakers pounding loudly against the cement as I pick up speed. Footsteps pound behind me, and I whirl, kicking out at one of the large dumpsters against the wall. Metal screeches as it slides across the cement to slam into the closest pursuer and blocks the paths of the two behind him.

I am running again, jumping when I am close enough, my hands gripping the top of the chain link fence as I propel myself over it. I land lightly, racing for the opposite end of the alley and the street beyond it, when the black van slams to a halt, cutting off my exit.

Crap.

Not slowing down in the slightest, I ram my shoulder into the locked door on my left and stumble inside. I have seconds to take in the food covered shelves towering all around me as I run, and then I am bursting into a bustling kitchen, steam rising from pots and pans on shiny metal appliances and countertops.

A cook whirls, his face shocked and his hands full of just plated entrees, and I am forced to duck before twisting to the side to narrowly avoid knocking into another one.

"Sorry!" I exclaim as I sidle past them and keep running. "Smells really good!"

Their yells chase after me as I tear through the crowded restaurant, calling out more apologies as I go. Sunlight blooms across my face as I make it out the door, pausing for a moment even though I can hear sounds of pursuit coming from the restaurant behind me.

There are more dark attired men sprinting towards me at my left, so I bolt towards my right, my heart racing in time to my frantic footsteps.

Who the hell were these guys? How many were there? And what the heck did they want from me?

The dark clothes, scowling faces, and general unattractiveness of the bunch has me leaning towards bad guys. Definitely bad guys. And I decide I really didn't want to find out what they want with me.

I narrowly avoid smashing into a kid on a skateboard by spinning to the side, then quickly have leap over someone who suddenly bends to tie their shoe.

Figures, I think as I leap frog over them, ignoring their cry of outrage.

I am running so fast that wind is roaring in my ears and making my eyes water. I am running faster than I probably should be, but in this moment, I don't care. All I care about is getting away from these guys.

I see the upcoming busy intersection, and the light suddenly turns green in the direction I am running. A very expensive, brand new looking silver Porsche is revving its engine before taking off before the other drivers can even register the light change.

Seeing my opportunity, I put on a fresh burst of speed, my steps pounding on the sidewalk, then the asphalt, and then I am at the rear of the car. I reach out, my fingertips latching onto the rear headlights, and I am suddenly, immensely grateful for my spider like ability to stick to things.

I pull myself onto the roof of the moving vehicle just as it accelerates. Crouching low, the harsh wind ruffling my hair, I glance back. Five of them are still racing on foot to catch up, a few of them pressing hands to their ears and saying something I am too far away to hear.

One of the black vans is snaking through traffic towards me, nearly sending a minivan careening into the populated sidewalk. The wail of police sirens sounds off in the distance.

I can see people pointing at me from where I am crouched on the Porsche, and the speeding driver makes a sharp, sudden left turn. If it wasn't for my superhuman grip on the roof of the car, it would have sent me flying off into the street.

As soon as the car straightens, I roll off of it, somersaulting the moment I hit the unforgiving asphalt and using the momentum to shoot to my feet and sprint down another alleyway. If I am lucky, the driver's sharp turn took me out of sight for a moment before they could notice me slipping down here.

However, I am rarely lucky, and it won't take them long at all to realize I am no longer on the car, and double back to check the area.

So I jump up, my fingers catching on the bottom rung of the nearest fire escape, and pull myself up. The police sirens are getting closer, louder, but I ignore them as I forgo using the actual stairs and instead leap and clamber up the rails and poles framing the fire escape. In seconds, I am on the roof.

I head to the far side, keeping low to the ground just in case. To my right is the access door leading into the apartment complex I've just climbed atop of, and just ahead are countless large air conditioning and heating units, as well as an array of different sized satellites.

I skid to a halt just behind them and lower myself to the ground, sliding my backpack off my shoulders and pressing my body behind one of the larger a.c. units, which is thrumming loudly.

It's difficult to catch my breath, and I suddenly become aware of a massive stitch in my side. Over the din of the air conditioning units, I can hear voices, and I shrink, hugging my backpack to my chest and trying to make my body as small as possible.

I peek around the corner just as two men burst through the access door onto the roof, guns in hand. I jerk back behind my hiding place and clamp a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle the heavy breaths coming from my heaving chest. My heart is pounding so loudly, I am sure they can hear it.

Slow seconds crawl by as I wait for them to discover where I am hidden.

"Damn it," one of them swears loudly, making me flinch. "We've lost him."

"He must have doubled back. Come on," the second orders in a heavily German accented voice.

Then they are gone.

My shoulders slump as I let out a long sigh of relief. Sweat beads across my forehead, and I can feel it also trickling down my back. I let my backpack drop to the ground.

A sudden vibration in my pocket makes me jump out of my skin, and I nearly yelp in surprise before I realize it is my phone. My shaking fingers fumble for it, nearly dropping my cell several times before I see the name on the call screen. Tony Stark.

Thank God.

"Mr. Stark," I breathe into the phone, my relief palpable. I keep my voice as soft as I can make it, in case there are more of those guys nearby.

"What the hell is going on? This better not be some kind of rebellious teenage prank to get my attention, because if it is, and I stepped out of that meeting for nothing, I'm going to have Happy ground you."

"It's not!" I blurt. "I promise, it's not. I think I'm in trouble."

There's a slight pause before he finally replies, "Where are you?"

"The rooftop…corner of 56th and 137th I think," I am panting slightly. "Mr. Stark, it was the craziest thing! These guys, they started chasing me-well first I almost ran into one, but then I realized the dude across the street was watching me, and then there was the guy on the phone and the black van, and I was running, but there were so many of them and I-"

"Do me a favor. Take a breath, swallow some of that word vomit, and when you can speak in a decimal meant for human ears, you can continue, okay?" Tony interrupts. I can hear something muffled in the background. An engine?

"Yeah. Yeah, ok," I take a few breaths, glancing around me for any sign of my pursuers. There are none.

"Who were these guys? Did you get a good look at them? Any identification or insignias? A name on that van?"

"No," I admit. "No, there was nothing. Just all dressed in dark clothing."

"Well that narrows it down, doesn't it? How many are there?"

"Um…" I try to count them off in my head. "I don't know. A dozen maybe? At least two vans, but I don't know, there could have been more."

"Hang tight kid, and stay low. I'm on my way."

Despite myself, I am utterly relieved by those words. It's embarrassing, calling Iron-man for help, but I definitely feel out of my league here. And besides, it isn't Spiderman asking for assistance, it's Peter Parker.

"Ok. Yeah, I'll be here. Don't worry though. I think…I think I lost them."

"Think again."

Warning flares inside me a second before the deep, rumbling voice speaks from right behind me, and I lunge forward, dropping the phone and rolling to my feet.

It is the huge guy, the one I first almost ran into on the street. I hadn't heard him approach thanks the din of the a.c. units and my complete distraction talking to Mr. Stark on the phone.

My eyes are wide as I take in the stature of the man that his dark clothes can't hide. Holy shit, even his muscles have muscles. I raise up my hands in a placating gesture, taking a step back as he raises his weapon.

"Woah, woah, take it easy!" I say quickly. "Look I don't know what I did, but if this is about skipping school last Friday, or pirating that one copy of the new Star Wars movie, I'm really sorry. And I promise it won't happen again."

The guy's face doesn't even twitch as he pulls the trigger.

I drop to the ground as the sound of the gunshot rips through the air, and with it the feeling of something ruffling through my hair before it slams into the stone ridge behind me. "Can't we talk about this?"

He fires again, but I am already moving, rolling across the ground and taking cover behind one of the larger satellites. "I guess not," I pant, listening intently and counting his approaching footsteps. I glance back at where he'd shot at me, and see small tranquilizer darts in the half wall and ground where I'd been seconds before.

I'm not sure if it's a plus or not that they plan on taking me alive.

"Come out, little spider, and I promise I won't hurt you."

My stomach sinks at his words. Not good. Definitely not good. Whoever these guys were, they knew I was Spiderman. Well, I think to myself, at least I won't have to pull my punches.

I wait until he is mere feet away from the satellite before I leap up, gripping the top of the metal disk and flipping myself into the air. I land with my hands on his broad shoulders, and using the momentum as my feet hit the ground, I flip my attacker right over my head. His body slams into the satellite I was hiding behind, and his gun clatters to the ground.

I hurry to kick it across the rooftop and leap back as his hand shoots forward to seize my ankle. He's on his feet faster than I expect, baring his teeth as he lunges for me.

Oh man, he looks pissed.

I dodge his first two punches easily, and catch his third one in my right hand, yanking him forward and off balance for my left fist to smash into the side of his head. The man grunts, stumbles, but doesn't fall, so I put all my weight on my back leg and slam my knee up into his chest.

He's ready for it this time, and catches my leg in his massive hands. With a growl he shoves me backwards, and in an unexpectedly swift move, faster than I can react as I try to regain my balance, his fist slams into my face.

Stars erupt in my darkening vision as my head jerks back from the blow, and my body crashes onto the rooftop. Agony laces through my forehead, my skull, but I hurry to blink away the gray spots as I feel him on top of me, pinning me to the ground, a heavy hand on my chest.

My arms automatically shoot out, gripping his jacket as I prepare to flip him off of me. My vision clears for a split second, and my eyes catch on the small, dark emblem on his jacket just above his heart; a skull, with six tentacle looking things just beneath it, and my blood runs cold.

I know that symbol. Know it, because Ned and I had recently stumbled upon the files released by the Black Widow and Captain America three years ago, when S.H.I.E.L.D. went down.

My attacker is reaching for something on his belt with his free hand, and I snap back into the moment with renewed intensity. I seize the arm pinning me down, and use it to stabilize myself as I pull my knees to my chest and kick out towards where he is hovering above me.

His body shoots backwards with another pained grunt, and I am already on my feet, stumbling slightly as pain shoots through my head at the sudden movement. I lean over him, grabbing fistfuls of his jacket as I punch his face with my right hand. I draw my fist back to deliver a blow that will render him unconscious when it happens.

Something sharp stabs into my neck. My head snaps to the left, my eyes widening at the sight of another Hydra agent standing by the wide open access door, his gun aimed straight at me.

Which means that the stinging in my neck…

"Crap," I mutter as numbness begins to spread across my neck and down my shoulder, and I am immediately light headed.

There will be no getting out of this, no more running. I am caught, and I don't think Iron-man will make it in time to help. The rooftop beneath the soles of my converse is swaying and undulating, and the edges of my vision are beginning to darken.

I drop to my knees, my grip on the huge guy's jacket the only thing grounding me. With the last of my senses, I bow over the groaning man and rip the insignia from the dark material to snag it in the vents of the nearby a.c. unit.

He seems to come to his senses then and shoves me harshly backwards.

I can't tell what is up and what is down, everything is spinning so violently. I am on my back now, gazing up at the sky, at the too bright sun sending more stabs of pain into my head.

"Target is down," a voice says from somewhere to my left. At least, I think it's my left.

I am close to passing out, my rapid heartbeat beginning to slow to a sluggish pace. I am terrified as whatever drug I've been injected with tries to drag me down into darkness, terrified of what is going to happen to me now.

I can only hope that the clue I left for Tony will remain unnoticed.

That is my last thought before my eyes are rolling back into my skull, and I know no more.

HUGE thanks to PippinStrange for being such an amazing beta! Your encouragement and support mean a lot! :)