Author's Note: Annnd, at last! We have finally reached part #3, the conclusive section of this little one-shot story unless I'm hit with a desire to write another, which I kind of doubt. :)

Thank you so much for your support, I hope you enjoy this! =D

PLEASE READ THE FOLLOWING:

1) This story takes place almost immediately after "Summer Vacations With A Chance of Death", and I did my best to explain what happened so you can just join in in the middle of the series, but it will make more sense if you've read that one at least. :)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Discussion of mental health issues, such as suicidal thoughts, a suicide attempt, and PTSD, implied/referenced torture, some violence, injuries, and paranoia on my part.

Summary: In the midst of an emotional mess that puts a strain on Peter and Loki's friendship, SHIELD decides this would be the perfect time to figure out Spider-Man's real identity.

Pairings: None

Rated for: Discussion of mental health, some violence. No slash, no smut, no non-con, no incest. Language is all K.

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

Semi requested by Tamuril2. =)

For your information, this is cross-posted on Archive Of Our Own under the pen-name of "GalaxyThreads".

Just a personal note, if you could refrain from using cussing/strong language if you comment (no offense to how you speak! Promise! =) It just makes me uncomfortable) I would greatly appreciate that. ;)

The Art of Manipulation:

This year has been filled with many firsts, and Peter's not really sure how he feels about that. If someone had told him in January of last year that he would have split his skull open, been publicly attacked near small children, his secret identity shared with the Avengers, and be friends with Loki, he would have slapped them.

Probably.

Then he would have demanded how they know that, and it would have led to some awkward questions. But yes. That's what it is now. The first time that he split his skull open—hopefully the last—first time that he's befriended a super villain, first time that the Avengers took such an active interest in a freelance superhero…

Yeah.

Firsts.

It's also, unfortunately, the first time he can recall having to teach someone how to make s'mores, and he is an awful cook. Like—really.

After everything that happened with Dr. Octavius, Peter forced—semi forced—Loki into agreeing to make s'mores over his gas stove with him, and it all went pretty okay at first. Loki was patient as Peter explained how to properly cook the marshmallows, mildly interested when Peter taught him the proper amount of chocolate-marshmallow-to-graham cracker ratio, and partially amused when Peter complained loudly about marshmallows getting stuck all over his fingers. Because—gross.

All went well until...it didn't.

In the midst of their s'mores, Peter accidentally sets Loki's stove on fire and that's pretty much the end of that idea. It didn't burn down the building or anything—Peter's unlucky, but not, apparently, that unlucky—instead, Loki had merely reached his hand forward, scooped the flame into his palm, and extinguished it before giving him a look.

"We agreed no more disasters in my kitchen," Loki says thinly, and Peter grimaces in response. Yeah, he's never going to live that chemistry assignment down.

"Sorry."

Loki rolls his eyes and waves a hand, sighing deeply, "No matter. I've learned better than to expect our encounters in this space to end well."

Well. Okay, ow, that's a painful truth if he's ever heard one. Peter gave him a thin lipped smile, and only picked at the graham cracker mess after that. He doesn't like marshmallows anyway, despite his insistence that Loki try them, and there's a weight settled a little to heavily in his stomach to get anything down.

Loki openly gags when he bites into his, and looks up at him, "What is in this?"

"You put it together," Peter reminds, a little flabbergasted at how pale Loki's face is draining to be, "I really would think...um, are you okay?"

Loki grabs his chest, gasping like he can't get full breaths, and looks up at him sharply, "Milk, was...there…there...?"

A little lesser known fact that Peter's quite proud to have become privy to over the last near eleven months since they met: Loki's body can't process milk. Period. The reaction, he was told, was always violent and exhausting, and that had completely slipped his mind.

S'mores have milk in them.

Do graham crackers have milk?

Oh, Parker, you idiot.

He just, unintentionally, poisoned Loki.

Peter's eyes widen and he swears sharply, "Crap, oh my gosh, yes, I totally forgot you can't eat that. What do I do?" He scrambles to his feet as Loki reaches his fingers into his mouth, feeling utterly helpless and disgusted at the same time.

Loki rapidly moves across the kitchen, reaching the end of the counter, and leans over the rubbish bin before stuffing his fingers down his throat and Peter's sarcophagus clenches with discomfort at the sight. Loki vomits and coughs several times, landing on his knees, hard. He heaves several more times, and Peter moves forward slowly.

Idiot.

Idiot!

He's supposed to know this!

"I'm so sorry," Peter scrambles out, "I swear it wasn't intentional, I just completely forgot that it had dairy, and it—" Loki vomits again, and Peter cringes, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm sorry. Oh, man, I don't know anyone with allergies as bad at this. Do I call poison control—no, that's stupid. Um—" He stops, scrambling to come up with something less asinine.

He can't call the local authorities unless he has to risk Loki getting put in prison.

He grips at his hair, "What is that shot-thing that they're always shoving into people's arms in movies? What is its name and do you have any?"

Loki grips at the rim of the rubbish bin, staring into the plastic with a distant, almost hazy expression.

Words keep falling from his mouth, but he doesn't know what most of them are as he scrambles to find anything that will assist. He's searching for the first aid kid that he knows is in the cabinets when Loki's gravelly voice finally sounds: "Get out,"

Peter looks up at him, "...what? I'm only trying to help—"

"Get. Out."

"Loki, really, I swear that I didn't—" Peter tries again, but Loki's pale, sweaty face looks up at him and his expression fixes with a scowl. There's a desperate sort of panic to it, too, though, and Peter doesn't understand that at all.

"Spider," Loki presses the back of his hand against his mouth as if to hold back additional vomit, "please."

Every instinct and thread of common sense within him insists otherwise. Loki was just poisoned—by his hand—he can't just leave him here without any help! What if he starts to suffocate, or the allergic reaction gets worse, or— "No." Peter shakes his head, "This is my fault, and I promise that I'll make it better, just give me a little time."

Loki swears under his breath in his native tongue. His chest is heaving, and he looks like he's going to panic. "Spider—" he starts, but a frenzied look feels his face, "shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" He grabs at his hair sharply, and Peter's eyes widen.

His spider sense is beginning to ring dully in the background of his mind.

Loki's eyes meet his for a fraction of a second before he outstretches a hand and Peter feels something forcefully shove him in the direction of the door. He staggers, wanting to stay, but not wanting to push the boundaries any further than he already has.

Loki dry heaves again, and his mouth opens in a wordless scream.

Peter's faced off gunshots, stabs, a freakin' cracked skull, a murder attempt, a handful of super villains, and much more, but, instead of drawing up on some of that bravery, Peter flees. He books it for the door and rips it open, disappearing outside and trying to ignore the overwhelming guilt that flushes through him.

He doesn't stop moving until he's out of the apartment building, and lands on his hands and knees, trembling. The location of the complex is pretty out of the way from the population, and Peter has never been more glad for this. There isn't anyone to watch him descend into a panic like a six-year-old child.

What does he do?

What did he do?

His eyes are beginning to water, and he clenches his fists, muttering a curse under his breath. "Get it together, Parker," he hisses. He runs a hand through his hair, pulling his phone out of his pocket and rapidly scrolling through the contacts until he finds Thor.

First things first: Loki, then he can descend into the panic attack.

Yep.

Priorities.

He hits call, drumming his fingers anxiously as he tries not to vomit, biting at his fingers. Come on, come on…

Finally, after what must be an eternity, Thor answers on the other line, "Peter? Are you well? Did something happen?" His accented baritone has never sounded so relieving, and Peter gasps sharply. Thor says something else, but he hardly hears it.

"Listen," he says, softly, quietly, and he's suddenly taken back to when he was six and had to admit to his aunt that yes, I did pet the stray kitty again even though you told me not to. The same guilt. Shame. "I...I did a stupid and I need you to come fix it."

Will Thor even know what to do?

He has to.

Right?

Thor is quiet a moment, "This concerns Loki, doesn't it?"

Peter cringes. Is it that obvious? "Yeah," he breathes, "oh, gosh, Thor, I don't even know what I did. I swear that I didn't mean to poison him on purpose, but it just happened and now—"

"Poison?" He can hear Thor moving in the background, and Peter bites sharply on his finger.

"Yeah. I gave him something with dairy on accident," like an idiot, "but he just...exploded. I don't know, he looked like he was having a panic attack and chased me out of the apartment. Please, you have to come fix this because I don't know what to do."

Thor breathes out slowly on the other line, "I'll be there shorty. Call Tony."

Peter ignores that last part, "You know where he lives?" As far as he was aware, Peter has been under the impression that the location of Loki's homestead has been a secret the Avengers halfheartedly look for when S.H.I.E.L.D. bullies them into it enough.

"Yes, the other Avengers are not, but Loki shared the location with me a few months ago." Thor explains quickly, "You should go home, I'll text you when I arrive at his apartment, deal?"

Peter doesn't know if he can move without face planting, but he gives a nod, "Yeah...yeah," he agrees, "I'll go."

Because he's unhelpful.

And he created a huge mess that he's incapable of fixing.

Way to go, Parker.

Thor offers a few more pleasantries before hanging up, and, it's as Peter's holding his phone in his hand that he realizes that Thor didn't even seem surprised. Like this happens all the time. Or maybe that he's just reading this wrong.

Peter scrambles up to his feet, lifts up his web shooters and fires, snapping himself away from the floor towards the adjoining buildings.

There's the strangest sensation of being watched that tingles down his spine, but he chalks it up to the guilt and doesn't think twice on it.

000o000

He escapes as Spider-Man for hours until his mind is buzzing too much for him to do anything other than panic, and finds a clear roof when it does.

Tony finds him there a little under fifteen minutes later, sitting on the edge of an office building while glumly looking down at the city below. The city smells like smog and the air isn't very clean, but it's a comfort. It's familiar. Tony lands the Iron Man suit with ease, and sits down next to him; quiet for a second. "I, uh, heard about your milk incident tonight." He starts, breaking the silence between them.

Oh marvelous.

Peter visibly cringes, "Please don't bring that up," he breathes. "Do you know if I killed him?"

Tony sighs, rolling his eyes, "Gosh, you're dramatic. I always forget that. No, you didn't kill him, but, uh, I think it's time we have a talk."

Peter clenches his sweaty palms and looks up at him sharply. The joke comes pouring out of his mouth before he can stop it, per usual when his anxiety elevates like this: "May already explained the birds and bees to me."

Tony's eyebrows shoot up and he makes a disgusted noise. "Oh, gosh, no. Not that talk," he visibly gags—maybe for show, but it's hard to tell—and shakes his head, "No. Okay, mentally removing all images of trying to explain that to you from my head, I mean a talk. Not The Talk."

"Oh," Peter breathes, "what talk?"

Tony blows out a breath and drums his fingers for a second, "For the record, I don't have permission to be telling you this, so I'm going to be vague, alright? How much do you know about PTSD?"

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?

What does that have to do with this!?

Something in his stomach coils, and he worries his lip between his teeth, "Um...there's nightmares?" He offers, "It happens to people in the army?" At Tony's disgruntled look, he hastily adds, "I'm excelling in my science classes, Mr. Stark, but I'm not a physiologist."

Tony rolls his eyes a little, "Yeah. Clearly. And it's Tony, we've been over this." Blowing out a breath, Tony shifts to face him better, "I have PTSD, kid. I didn't serve in the army."

Peter feels his face blanch a little with surprise. He stares at the multi-billionaire and tries not to let his jaw drop, "You…?"

Tony sighs, rubbing under his eyes, "Listen, the point I'm trying to get at is that it reacts with everyone differently. Yeah, there's basic criteria that you need to fall into, but you can be depressed without trying to off yourself, right?"

"Yeah," Peter agrees.

This conversation topic is making him uncomfortable.

"Alright, good," Tony anxiously fidgets with his hands, "do you remember when you got shot by that guy last year? The one after the walking demonic fish?"

"Yeah."

"Bruce told you that we looked at what happened and found out that Loki helped you, right?"

Yep, but that was after he reassured Peter that his "all so secret friendship" with Loki wasn't secretive at all. It was a bit of a bummer, honestly, but he shouldn't have expected more than that.

Its the Avengers.

Very little escapes their notice.

"Yes," Peter affirms.

"And that I talked to Loki?" Tony says, and Peter gives a hesitant nod, trying to recall that small detail. It sounds familiar, but faint, like it's his memory, but not his. Probably all the drugs he was on. That was after the skull incident.

Tony nods, "Alright," he agrees, "good. Um, right. Listen, I wouldn't be sharing this if we hadn't agreed it's probably best for you to know now. The incident in the kitchen hasn't been the first Thor's been summoned to, but usually Loki's calling us."

There is something here that he's missing. A dark coil that's whispering in the back of his head, and Peter would much rather remain quiet ignorant of it.

Peter's eyebrows meet, "He's...does he eat milk that much?"

"No, kid, I mean the flash back," Tony's voice is gentle, "I know you didn't miss that."

Kind of hard to.

Tony makes a slight face, and sighs, "How do I explain this, but not explain it?" He questions aloud, "Just...okay, okay. Me and Loki's conversation wasn't exactly sit down and have tea then discuss the weather. I attacked him, and in the midst of our battle, he, uh, said some things."

"Like…?" Peter presses, a horrible curiosity burning in him, stifled only by growing dread. He hasn't heard details about this before. Loki's never brought it up, nor the other Avengers.

"Nothing I'm going to say," Tony says, biting on his lower lip, "not exactly. If you want to know, ask him. But I do need you to be aware that he has severe PTSD from the New York invasion. He had the scepter used on him, Peter, he wasn't doing it of his own free will."

That—

It—

What?

Oh.

Oh.

The scars. The scars all over his chest and back. Peter's seen the deformed skin a few times as he's helped patch the Asgardian up from battles, but it had never even occurred to him to ask where they came from. It was just something that was.

Like the sun rising every morning, or having an elbow. He didn't question it.

Mind control. Tony's saying that Loki was under mind control during the whole thing, and it makes an awful sense. He's seen some footage of Loki in Stuttgart, and his school did frequent service trips to help pick up the little bits of rubble they could in the aftermath.

The damage was not small.

But nothing Loki did after that, after he left Asgard, was to that extent. It was more of an annoyance than anything else, save the few where the body count was higher than any of them would have liked to admit, and that was pretty much that.

Loki has always acted so much different than Peter was expecting him to be, and...maybe this is one of the reasons why.

"Oh," he breathes softly, "I didn't know."

Tony nods, "Yeah, for a guy who likes to talk as much as he does, it takes a bit of focusing to realize that he rarely talks about himself." He rubs his temples a little, but Peter quietly huffs at the statement's truth, "Thor has, with effort, managed to get Loki to discuss a little bit of what happened before he arrived in New York two years ago, and it wasn't pretty. Just...something that happened was he was fed a lot of poison, and you need to be careful about that in the future."

Peter's stomach ties a knot of awful dread and sickness. "...Poison. Like real, legit poison?"

Tony makes a face, and that's enough of an answer. Peter swears sharply, suddenly furious, "Who would do that? I'm going to kill them, and I don't even feel bad about that. I've seen how deformed his skin is from scars, Mr. Stark, and if they did that, too, I swear that—"

Tony grabs his shoulders, "Whoa, before you go invested on your thirst for revenge, please remember that nothing can be done. They're on the other side of space."

Point.

"NASA has spaceships," Peter mutters darkly.

Tony stares at him. "It would take you decades to get there with NASA, kid, and I don't know if you'll be that dedicated when you step off."

Peter blows out a sharp breath, "Fine," he grits between his teeth, clenching his fists. "Fine." As quickly as it grasped him, the fight suddenly vanishes, leaving him oddly drained. He looks up at Tony, biting at his lower lip, "What am I supposed to do? I made a mess."

Tony gives his shoulder a squeeze, "Start cleaning now. It's easier than letting it fester."

000o000

He goes home, he sleeps, he wakes up with a trepidation so intense it leaves him ill, and is throwing up before he realizes he's awake.

May finds him huddled on the bathroom floor, and wraps him in her arms, "Honey, what's wrong?" She questions, "Are you sick?"

"I poisoned him, May, I didn't mean to," Peter murmurs into her shirt, "but I poisoned him."

000o000

Unsure of how to even begin to pick up the mess, Peter avoids it. He goes out as Spider-Man, avoiding anywhere that he knows Loki might be. He doesn't answer the Avenger's calls, and only texts them back when Tony promises they're going to storm the doors of his apartment.

The persistent feeling of being followed goes everywhere with him, but he doesn't breathe a word of it.

He barely talks to his aunt, and can hardly stuff down food.

He poisoned Loki like his previous captors did. He was the leading cause of Loki's flash back and panic attack.

Peter's well worn with anxiety two weeks later when May arrives in the apartment, looking frazzled. He's working on writing up some of the summer assignments that the most evil of his teachers gave when she comes in, and the sense of "wrong" follows.

He looks up from the laptop screen, "Are you okay?" He questions.

May waves a hand, dropping her purse onto the table and pulling her glasses off, "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine Peter, I just thought that maybe…" she trials, and then shakes her head, "it's stupid, and I don't really want to share."

Peter lifts an eyebrow, "If it's bothering you its important," he counters.

May sighs, "I thought that someone was following me home. I mean, I've thought so the last couple of nights and I just...I don't know, it seems silly, because it's not even the same guy."

Peter's stomach clenches, and a dull, familiar ache of panic begins to thrum beneath his fingers. May laughs, waving her hand again, "It's probably just nothing. Sorry to dump that on you. What are you working on?"

"School," he answers thinly, still studying her. Her shoulders are tense and her fingers clammy. She isn't nearly as lackadaisical about this as she's trying to be. She really does think that there's a problem, and that's...not good.

May nods slowly moving to the kitchen to wash her hands, "Yeah? Anything interesting?"

"No."

"Okay," she runs her hands under the water and returns to sit next to him on the couch. She has one of those faces on, and Peter quietly sighs as he wonders what he's done wrong now. "Listen, Pete, I hate to nag, and I know that you don't want to talk about the...friend that you accidentally triggered the reaction with, but it's been two weeks and I think—"

Peter's stomach clenches with guilt, "No, it's fine," he snaps, "I have it under control." May looks doubtful, and Peter bites sharply on his inner gums. "Sorry," he mutters.

His aunt sighs, "It's fine, Peter, just...maybe try and talk to them, okay?"

Nope.

Nada.

He's far too much of a coward for that.

000o000

Later that night he stares at his phone for a little under an hour as he tries to build up the courage to call Loki.

He doesn't, and goes to bed after screaming into his pillow in frustration.

000o000

The next morning there's a notification that Loki texted him to greet him on his lock screen, and Peter squeezes his eyes shut as an overwhelming need to throw his phone in panic overwhelms him.

This is Loki.

It shouldn't be this frightening.

But that was before all of this.

Peter doesn't open the message.

000o000

He follows his aunt to work without her knowledge that morning, keeping a careful eye out for any tails without trying not to be obvious about it. He doesn't spot anyone obvious, and no one at all comes up by the time she's at the clinic.

A little breath of frustration escapes him, but he doesn't give it up all together.

May saw something the last few days, and he can't just ignore that.

As he waits for her shift to end, he helps out around the city by stopping a few petty crimes, one kidnapping, helps a woman locate her lost cats, chats with an older man for a little, and basically hangs around the surrounding blocks. There isn't anything dramatic today, for which is quietly relieved.

He doesn't really want to deal with more demon piranhas, nor evil Octopus men.

May's shift ends, and they're almost home when Peter notices a man subtly following her. He's tall with a large frame and long dark hair falling over his shoulders. He has a faint tan line, and it makes Peter pause for a second.

He looks like one of those Australian surfer dudes portrayed in movies.

Huh.

Peter moves forward slowly, trying to determine the best course of action from here. Does he let the man follow May home? Confront him? Turn him into the Avengers and let them deal with it? The last one he's less inclined to, and the first seems stupid. He's not going to let him harm his aunt. Although, this does beg the question of who he is. New villain?

How did they learn his identity?

...Did they? (Why else would they be stalking, May, idiot!?)

Are they waiting for him?

What's going on?

This can't wait.

Not anymore.

Peter spots a nearby alley way and silently drops onto the ground behind the man in the busy streets. The people make little jumps of surprise, but he hardly pays them mind. Instead, he walks up behind the man and grabs his arm, shoving him, hard, into the alleyway. The man stumbles at the force of Peter's tug, but when he turns around he's lifting a gun.

Peter inwardly sighs a little.

He thinks that's a bad sign when, rather than panic at being held at gunpoint, all he is is faintly annoyed.

Nonetheless, he doesn't have time to contemplate this. "Why are you following that woman?" Peter demands harshly. The dark-haired man holds a level stare with him, eyebrows flickering a little. He doesn't look familiar, which discounts his previous-villain-come-for-revenge theory. That's somewhat of a relief.

"You know her, then?" The man questions, and, lo and behold, he has an Australian accent.

"No," Peter denies quickly, "I've just got an eye out for creeps who stalk people," he counters, and then flicks up a hand to point at him, "Ding, ding, ding! I have a winner on that scale!"

The man doesn't lower his gun, "Funny." He grinds out,"I'm acting under government authority to watch that woman, Spider-Man."

What government authority!?

Peter feels his eyebrows raise a little with disbelief, and he makes a little noise of disagreement. "Riggght," he draws out slowly, "maybe try that again on someone who's actually gullible, mate." He says the last word in a terrible mockery of his accent, and smirks behind the mask.

The man's lip quivers up for a second, "Don't need to, you'll be answering to them soon enough," he says and Peter's spider sense gives a loud trill in the back of his head before the man fires his gun. It isn't a bullet, and he should move.

He should move.

Move.

Move!

His limbs feel strangely frozen and tight, but he manages to scramble somewhat out of the way before the dart can impact his skin. There isn't a need, however, because ice shoots up from the ground in front of him, grabbing hold of the dart and encasing it. He has a brief moment to ponder the oddity of that before Loki jumps on the man.

The man immediately struggles, firing his gun again, but Loki ducks out of the way and grabs the weapon. The metal makes a loud hissing noise, clearly frosting before snapping into thousands of little pieces. Loki doesn't let up the advantage of surprise, and grabs the man in a choke hold swiping his feet out from underneath him.

"What do you want with the Spider, Man?" Loki questions, his voice is thin, and Peter realizes then that he's dressed in his leathers, rather than attempting to blend into normal society. Human society.

Anxiety hums beneath his fingertips, along with a dull embarrassment.

He should have seen the dart coming, he's been Spider-Man for almost two years now, and it's his responsibility to be able to look after himself first. If he can't, he can't help others, and then he's useless. He shouldn't need a rescuer.

He doesn't want to talk to Loki.

The man laughs a little, squirming in the grip, "I had no idea that you took interest in small time heroes, Loki, maybe we'll use that as bait next time. Wave a small child out of a window and you'll come to be their saving grace?"

Loki's eyes flash and he tightens his grip on the choke, "Think about your next words carefully," he suggests, "you would not be the first man whose blood I've split."

"Couldn't...couldn't tell by New York."

"What. Do. You. Want with the spider?" Loki demands.

"I don't want anything with 'im, mate," the man counters easily, seeming a little dazed, "my employers do."

"Who hired you?" The Asgardian's voice is losing patience, and Peter takes a small step forward should the need to interfere arise.

"I'll die before I talk," the man spits, "rot in h—" Loki's eyes flick up to the sky in brief annoyance before he rests a hand on the man's face murmuring a word in his native tongue. The man slumps to the ground a second later.

No.

Peter's eyes widen, "Did you kill him!?" He demands, rushing forward to take a pulse, "You didn't need to kill him!"

"I put him to sleep," Loki explains with frayed patience, "he's unharmed."

Peter still checks for a pulse anyway. There is one, steady and rhythmical. Undamaged.

His own heart is beating wildly inside his chest, and it feels like it might burst out of his ribcage and scream for vengeance. Against what, he's really not sure, but the sensation is still very there. He forces out a breath, and slowly lifts his head up towards where Loki is stiffly standing a few feet away.

The unspoken question floats between them, and Loki sighs, "You didn't answer my text. I thought that…" he waves a hand, "stupid, I know, but I've been tracking you across the city for the past hour."

The text. The text that he ignored because he didn't want to talk with Loki, and look what good that did. Peter's shoulders raise a little, "You can do that?"

"Yes," Loki answers, clipped.

The silence grows heavy.

Uncomfortable.

Peter slowly straightens. Fumbling over himself, he starts to try and apologize, "Listen, about two weeks ago, I really am sorry. I didn't mean for it to end like that and I swear I wasn't trying to poison you like the Chitauri did—"

Loki's eyes flicker, but his face loses all color, "Who told you that?"

Peter chews on his inner lip, "No one," he reassures quickly, lifting up his hands in a defensive position, "I...uh...put two and two together. Tony told me about the mind control," he admits after a second, because he can't just say the idea stemmed from no where. And, besides, it is the truth. No one mentioned a word about the Chitarui, but he's not stupid.

Who else would it have been?

Loki looks drastically uncomfortable, and fidgets a little, "Yes...I assumed he would," he admits.

This is so awful. Peter broke something between them that he didn't mean to—the trust. It's the trust. He broke that with his stupid actions, and now he's made a mess of everything and Loki hates him—with good reason!—and they're going to force him to stop being Spider-Man because he's such and idiot and, and, and, and—

Hands grab his shoulders, and Peter snaps back into attention, looking up at Loki. His mouth slides open to apologize again, but Loki presses a finger to his lips, "It is fine. You didn't know. I shouldn't have been as harsh with you as I was, but when these happen...I'm...unpredictable. I had to risk your feelings over your life, and I'm selfishly more partial towards the latter."

And—oh.

He'd...he'd just thought that Loki was...he doesn't know what he was thinking, but he didn't really think it had anything to do with protecting him. That notion seems silly, but so like Loki. Overprotective is far to simplistic a word choice for what he does.

"But, still, I—" Peter starts.

"For the love of the Norns," Loki sighs, "will you stop apologizing? It was bound to happen at some point. It was truly a matter of time."

That doesn't make the guilt lessen any.

Or the sickly feeling of knowing what he did halt.

How could he forget about lactose intolerance in favor of s'mores?

Loki releases his arms, and moves back to squat beside the man. He flicks open the wanna-be-Australian-surfer-guy's jacket and tilts his head a little. "Might I ask why you were seeking this man out?" He questions, digging a hand through his jacket pocket.

What is he looking for?

Peter clenches his jaw, "He was following May. I was trying to figure out why." And he failed in that aspect. Miserably. A damsel in distress and a hopeless interrogator.

Loki's lips thin sharply and Peter realizes that he's come to a conclusion about something, and he isn't happy. Great. "...Do you know who he is?" Peter questions hesitantly. He flicks his gaze across Wanna-be-Australian-surfer-man, but he still can't place him.

Loki's fingers tighten to fists. "I have a theory. Spider, how often have you interacted with S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

Peter's lips thin tightly. Oh.

Curses.

This is...this is not good.

He's—it's—ergh.

S.H.I.E.L.D.? Now?

"I…" Peter draws out carefully, "not often. Except Phil. But he doesn't count...Are you sure that Australian-surfer-guy is S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

Loki looks up at him, bewildered, "Australian-what?"

"He looks like one of those Australian surfer dudes," at Loki's blank looks, he fumbles out: "You know, the ones with the long hair and the surf boards...they're usually pretty buff? You haven't seen many movies, have you?"

Loki shakes his head, "No, most are crass, predictable, and dull."

"Rude," Peter sniffs, but gestures back at the man, "he could just be...like an evil businessman or something."

It's weak, and denial is for children, but Peter can't help it. Not S.H.I.E.L.D., not now. What would the organization even want from him!? He hasn't done anything wrong. Except for the whole illegal vigilante-thing, but S.H.I.E.L.D. supported the Avengers when they told the police to stop trying to shoot and arrest him.

He thought they were on his side.

"He's in a suit, carrying at least three guns, attached to a wire and his shoes—it's a given. He might as well be walking around with his identity plastered to his forehead." Loki counters, blowing out a breath, "Trust me, I've spent a great deal of time ditching their tails. Did you do something that would anger them?"

"...No?" Peter offers, slightly confused. He can't think of anything, but that doesn't mean it isn't there. S.H.I.E.L.D. is ridiculously nitpicky like that. They have about a dozen laws that are invisible that they refuse to tell people, so then when they come to arrest them and everyone is indignant they don't understand why. The organization has always been a little...testy, to say the least.

He looks towards Loki, who's eyes have darkened. Peter's lips thin tightly beneath the mask and he wrings his hands, "I don't...what do I do?"

Loki glances towards him. "Nothing. I'll handle it."

Peter shakes his head, "No, I want to know what they want with me. I can put it together, I'm not stupid. I mean...I need to do something. I can't just sit here while you run around through S.H.I.E.L.D., they kind of try to arrest you on a monthly basis."

The reminder, not that Peter was expecting much else, is ignored. Loki shakes his head, rising to his feet, "Spider, they prey on surreptitious. What is the largest secret you are hiding right now?"

His first thought it to blurt out that he once let Flash cheat off of his paper in first grade, but that doesn't seem relevant. His second is more sobering, and he pinches his nose tightly, a low expletive escaping him. "My identity."

"Exactly," Loki agrees, "they were following your aunt. They think that you know her, which means that they've gained your name from somewhere."

Peter shakes his head, "But the only people who know are you, May, Ned, Michelle, the Avengers, and Phil. Who would tell them?" None of them would tell S.H.I.E.L.D.

...Right? No. That's stupid of him to doubt them. He knows them. They wouldn't betray his trust. Not like that. If they thought his name needed to be told to S.H.I.E.L.D., they would have asked his permission first.

Loki stands still for a long second, as if waiting for Peter to put something else together, but when he doesn't says: "And Dr. Octavius, who, need I remind you, is currently in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody. Perhaps, for your name, he bargained less time on his sentence."

Peter feels himself pale.

Magical poof butterflies.

This sucks.

000o000

They end up leaving Wanna-Be-Australian-Surfer in the alleyway, and Peter calls Tony to explain the situation. The call involves a lot of berating on the part of the multi-billionaire and Peter cringing and trying to explain himself without much success.

Despite this, Tony asks to speak with Loki, and Peter hands the device over obediently.

Loki lifts it up to his ear, "Stark," he greets cryptically, and the conversation rapidly alliterates with there, involving a lot of hand gesturing from Loki and rapid speaking. Peter stands to the side, trying not to feel like an idiot and failing miserably in that department.

He doesn't really pick up much context on the conversation.

Loki sighs under his breath and rolls his eyes for the final time before pushing end-call on Peter's phone and hands the device back to him. "I've managed to convince him from declaring outright war on S.H.I.E.L.D., you're welcome. He's going to look into why they've taken a sudden interest in your alter ego. Perhaps we'll get some answers in a few hours."

Peter gives a small nod.

Loki returns it and turns to walk off, but Peter's mind catches up to him. "Thanks." He says suddenly.

Loki looks back at him, eyebrow raised a little, "Beg pardon?"

"For not letting that guy shoot me," Peter explains, wringing his hands anxiously, "thanks."

The Asgardian waves a hand, but looks—as is normal when Peter thanks him for doing something—uncomfortable. "Answer me properly next time," he instructs briskly, and raises his hands to snap his fingers.

He vanishes in a blur of blue light and faint cinnamon smell a moment later.

000o000

Peter goes home, explains the situation with only about half a brain to May—the story probably involving more details on shoes than what's actually helpful—and then goes to bed.

He really wasn't sure what he was expecting the Avengers and Loki to do...but this wasn't really high on his list. He knows that it's them because it makes no sense for anyone else to be doing this, but a little bit of a warning would have been nice.

He saunters into the kitchen the next afternoon, content on finding a late breakfast and still blissfully oblivious because of his sleep-induced hazy state, until May turns to him from where she's seated at the couch with wide eyes.

"Did you go out in the suit last night?" She questions.

Peter blinks a little, looking up, "Um, yeah, but not past like, nine," he reassures. Did he have some sort of early curfew? Did she say something about that? Crap. He should have been paying more attention, but he wasn't and—

"What the heck?" Peter hisses out, walking towards the screen to get a better look as he sees the headline for the news story; MORE THAN TWENTY SPIDER-"MEN" SPOTTED LAST NIGHT. ALL CLAIM TO BE AUTHENTIC.

He blinks slowly.

"Am I dreaming?" He questions desperately, "Because I swear that I didn't split my soul twenty ways, May."

Not even once.

This makes...no sense.

His aunt looks back at him, shaking her head softly with confusion, "I...don't know what's going on. This wasn't you?"

"No," Peter breathes out slowly, "I'm not that tall," he gestures towards one of the pictures showing on the TV, and then makes a little hand movement, "or that broad."

"Call Tony?" May suggests, eyes still fixed on the screen. Peter nods, wordlessly, reaching for his phone.

After an initial greeting and explanation of the situation, Peter feels himself pale as words keep falling from Tony's mouth. There is no way that they—

"What do mean that you found twenty amateur volunteers to run around as me for the evening!?" Peter demands, trying to keep the hysteria from his voice. "How is that supposed to solve anything!?"

"For the record, they were actually pretty good," Tony counters over the line, "and they weren't random. Clint and Nat knew some people."

"That doesn't make it any better!"

"Listen, kid, we know what we're doing," the multi-billionaire promises, "well...Loki does. This was all his idea—" of course it was his idea "—so if you want to yell at someone, yell at him. His thought behind this was that if S.H.I.E.L.D. has Spider-"Men" to bully, they'll eventually label finding your identity a lost cause."

Because this is clearly the first solution to fixing that.

Peter releases an agitated sound, and paces back and forth across the living room again. The lumpy rug keeps poking at his bare feet uncomfortably, but he's not in favor of standing still. "Are you going to keep this up forever, then? You have to back off at some point or they'll be back to searching for my identity again."

Tony snorts audibly, and Peter feels frustration rouse in him at that, "Kid, this is phase one of the plan. We'll keep it up for a little, yeah, but Loki didn't go halfway."

"I can't believe you agreed with him," Peter grumbles, "you guys hate him."

"We don't hate him," Tony corrects patiently, "we just don't like him; it's really more of 'the enemy of my enemy' kind of thing. But trust me, he's got this handled. Just relax."

Easier said than done. It's really not that he doesn't trust them to get this done. He does. It's just that the whole how they go about doing it that's concerning him.

000o000

Over the following few days, the reports of Spider-Men grow the point of ludicrous.

Peter really has his doubts that they found over a hundred volunteers, and it's a little frustrating to go out in the suit and help only to have people ask him if he's the "real" Spider-Man or one of the hobos running around with socks over their hands.

He is one hundred percent unfortunately authentic, thanks.

000o000

He has no idea what Loki did to S.H.I.E.L.D., but on that Friday when the Wrecking Crew shows up to rob the same stream of banks that month again, they avoid him like he's carrying the Black Plague. Someone actually squeaks when he asks them a question.

Squeaks with terror because of him.

These are some of the most highly trained professionals in the world, and their running in terror from a sixteen-year-old.

000o000

"Spider-Man, Spider-Men—who cares!? They're all menaces here and it is our duty, people of New York, to rid the city of them all for good! Start now by reporting in the identities of anyone you can unmask. A thousand dollars for every phony you turn in!"

Thanks J.J.

Reeeally appreciate that.

000o000

Peter's helping an older lady with her groceries when two guys walk up with guns, grab him in a choke hold despite his surprised protests and rip off his mask. His face blanches and he grabs at it, but one of the two snorts.

"This ain't Spider-Man. Look at that—he's just a kid,"

Are they—?

Anxiety releases his shoulders at that, and Peter grabs for the mask in irritation, pulling it away from the man angrily. "Uh—rude. I am clearly an adult." He sniffs.

One of the men rolls his eyes, "Yeah, sure, whatever kid. What's your name? I'm gettin' me one grand."

Peter pulls his mask over his face and lifts his finger to shake it, "Nnn-mm." He denies, "It's called a secret identity for a reason, silly."

He helps the old lady with her groceries, ignores others like those two men, goes home, and laughs until he cries.

000o000

Much of whatever Loki does is behind the scenes, but it's there enough that May happily declares to him one morning that her stalker hasn't followed her for three days, and the knot of worry about that releases.

S.H.I.E.L.D. is giving up.

They're backing off of him.

000o000

'Have you seen this?' Ned's text is followed by an alarming amount of following question marks, and Peter blurry wipes sleep from his eyes. There's a link attached to the first text, and Peter clicks on it trying to wake up.

An internet tab loads on his phone slowly, and Peter's stomach drops as he sees the headline for the news story.

They wouldn't.

They—

It—

How could they!?

PETER BENJAMIN PARKER IS SPIDER-MAN. DETAILS BELOW.

Peter drops his phone and it lands with a loud smack against the floor. "Holy—"

000o000

"What am I supposed to do?" Peter demands in panic from Ned as he paces rapidly back and forth across his bedroom floor. "I mean, they know. S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Avengers or whoever it was revealed my identity to the world, Ned."

"Maybe start with breathing," Ned suggests, and there's a sincerity behind the sarcasm.

Peter exhales, unaware that he'd been holding it for so long. "They have my High School picture in the newspaper. I can't go walking out into public unless I get plastic surgery!"

"Peter, calm down," Ned instructs calmly from the other line. How is he so calm!? Peter wants to hit something while simultaneously break down into a feet of gasping sobs. "There's no need to go that far."

"I have every need to go that far!" Peter exclaims and releases an agitated noise. "This is a nightmare," he breathes, "I have never wanted summer to be over faster. I have hated every stretch since the beginning of July."

Ned is quiet a second, "Good things happened, too, Peter," he murmurs, "you aren't going to help anyone by only focusing on the bad."

"Nothing is happening but bad!" Peter hisses, tugging sharply at his hair. "I hate this!"

"Breathe," Ned instructs, "you're panicking, I know that you know the wisdom of my words. I'm the guy in the chair, remember? I have a significant source of wisdom to pull from."

Peter rolls his eyes a little, but exhales stiffly, "Spitting out Yoda quotes from the Clone Wars really doesn't count, I think."

He can almost see Ned's shrug, "It's something."

True.

Peter glances at his bed and considers sitting down, but the thought makes him slightly ill. There's too much energy buzzing through his limbs for him to even consider sitting still for longer than a few seconds. He begins to walk forward, blowing out a sharp breath. "You...you don't think it was the Avengers, right?" Peter questions.

Ned snorts openly, "Don't be stupid. Why would they go to all that work to protect your identity to drop the bomb of it, like, a few days later? That would be super stupid, and they aren't super stupid."

Peter slumps a little with relief, "Yeah...I guess." He agrees, worrying his lip between his teeth. "But that means that S.H.I.E.L.D. did, and...I have no idea what to do." He admits, "I really don't know what I'm supposed to do from here."

Ned makes a thinking noise, silencing for nearly a minute. In the background, Peter can hear the sounds of a keyboard clicking. Ned snickers, "Well, I wouldn't worry too much about it. The Avengers threw a press conference to address this."

Peter's eyes widen.

"They—?"

"Told you that they didn't do it," Ned says smugly, "it's live streaming right now, but what from what I'm gathering, they've pretty much thrown down the theory under the mud. Give it a few hours, I'm pretty sure that S.H.I.E.L.D. is going to lose this one."

Yeah...but what if they don't?

000o000

He receives dozens of texts from the Avengers throughout the day, mostly reassurances, and a few queries of how he's doing. He answers as best he can, but doesn't have the courage to leave the apartment building quite yet. May's shift began early last night, so he's completely alone.

Which is totally fine.

He's cool with that.

(He spends most of the following hours trembling and trying to breathe like a normal person without much success.)

000o000

Despite reassurances, the Avengers do not immediately disband the theory completely within the following four days. They try, but their claims that "we know Spider-Man's identity, and it isn't a teenager" don't really derail the reporters.

Or the country.

But Peter is going stir crazy, and the idea of staying confined to the apartments walls for the next who-knows-how-long makes him feel oddly sickly.

Karen's disapproval is loud and pointed when he dons the suit, but he ignores it in favor of climbing out of the window.

000o000

The night is...good. For a little bit. He ignores a majority of the jibes asking for his name or and interview, and has to do his utmost not to slam face-first into a wall when someone yells out "Peter Parker!" at him. It does unsettle him, honestly, but he manages to catch himself and return with a "leave that poor kid alone!".

Referring to himself in the third-person will never get any stranger.

But he's never had to do it to Peter before.

It's a little past midnight when Karen—she had, after a significant amount of complaining, grudgingly agreed to help him—notifies him about a gas line explosion in a residential area. Mostly apartments, but the fire's spreading quickly and the firemen helping people escape are thinned.

Peter takes in a deep breath and nods, "Yeah, okay; give me the fastest directions."

He hates fires.

Especially since the stupid s'mores.

000o000

"I have arrived!" Peter announces loudly as he lands on top of a police car some seven minutes later. The police officer, chief, if Peter was guessing right, looks up at him. His expression is surprised before it narrows.

"What are you doing here?" He demands.

Peter tries not to rear back at the hostility present in his voice, but it's a little harder than he cares to admit. Since the Avengers stepped in, his relationship with the NYPD has been...better. Not quite "good", not to the point he'd willingly spend time with them, but enough that he hasn't had to worry about them shoving him off when he tries to help.

Until now.

Curse you, S.H.I.E.L.D.

"I'm here to help with the fires," Peter says and points up towards the buildings. "You know, those ones."

Karen's description of the fire was a little lacking. It's consumed one apartment building completely and those beside the rubble are aflame. Despite the sheer amount of water and whatever else firemen use on fire—Peter's really not sure, it hadn't occurred to him that firemen might use something else until about two seconds ago—it hasn't helped much. Containment seems like a distant dream, and extinguishing ludicrous.

The police chief huffs, scowling a little, "I don't have time to be dealing with children, Spider-Man." When Peter doesn't shift, he adds, a little harder, "Go home, Peter Parker."

Peter forces himself not to rear back.

He hates this.

He hates that his identity is everywhere.

Oh, gosh he hates this.

"Who?" Peter questions when he's gained his voice back. It sounds weak.

The police chief scowls at him, and looks prepared to say something, but one of the buildings gives a loud creak and several people give warning shouts as his spider sense blares. Screams that building is going to fall rouse from several people and Peter dives forward.

"I got this!" He shouts, diving forward and firing a web to attach himself to a nearby building as he mentally calculates the weakest points on the structure, "Karen, run me an analysis!" He commands, firing several webs to catch a majority of the weight.

His arms immediately strain and he groans audibly. Catching buildings sucks. He really shouldn't be doing this in his free time, but what choice does he have? He can't let the building fall over, and it's not as though he's supporting the entire frame.

"Running," the AI assures.

Peter grunts and attaches the weapons to the side of the building he's present on before diving forward and beginning to fire around the falling structure, both where Karen suggests and where it visually looks like it needs it.

The save takes a little under a minute and a half, but it leaves him drained and anxious as he lands beside the mean police chief.

"Ta-da!" He says, but it feels strangely out of place here.

The firemen proceed into the building slowly, but Peter caught a majority of the upper half—past story ten, he thinks—so the weight isn't straining the bottom as much. The mean police chief turns to him, expression something Peter can't quite place.

Unwillingness?

Grudging respect?

"I've still got a hundred people estimated trapped in between these buildings. Think you can do something about that?" He questions, and Peter clenches his fist.

Yes!

"Absolutely, Officer," Peter assures and gives him a slight salute, "you won't regret this!"

000o000

Fifty people, burning lungs, and exhausted limbs later, Peter nearly topples down the stairs he's guiding a small family towards. The windows in this area are blocked, and at the distance of ten stories, Peter doesn't want to risk dropping them anyway. His web fluid ran out about five minutes ago, and he's already used the spares of his spares.

Peter grabs at the railing tiredly, looking back at the family. A mother, a father, and three small children held between them. Their faces are covered in ash and eyes wide with fright.

"This way," he says, his voice hoarse. He tries to bite back a cough, but a wheezing noise escapes him instead. Smoke inhalation wasn't on his to-do list today. The family moves forward steadily, and Peter points in the direction of the elevator shaft, "there's firemen awaiting to help you get down. Follow their instructions…" he coughs and lifts a hand to his mouth, "sorry. Um," clearing his throat he continues, "you'll be safe now."

The five walk forward stiffly, but slowly, and Peter watches them move towards the awaiting firemen.

His vision blurs, and he grips at the railing tighter. He needs to breathe something that isn't filled with dust. Or ash. Preferably both.

"Karen," Peter croaks.

"Yes, Mr. Parker?"

"Text...Loki," he rubs sharply at an area he smacked against an aggressive door frame earlier, and hobbles back towards the hall to search for more humans. Karen's sensors are a mess from the extreme heat, and all they do is give him a vague idea of where the other life is located, not exact destinations. "And the Avengers." Peter adds after a second, "We need assistance."

"Done," Karen assures. "Mr. Parker...your lungs can't take the strain of this for much longer. Perhaps you should—"

"Can't," Peter shoots down, "there's still people here."

A search of the hall and surrounding rooms is fruitless, and, as he starts to make his way back to the stairway, he staggers forward and leans against a wall, coughing sharply. Ugnh. That one felt weird. He tugs up the lower half of his mask in and effort to breathe, but it doesn't help anything.

A hand grabs at his shoulder, and Peter's hands raise in half defense as he stops himself from jumping before he recognizes Loki's pale face. Green eyes meet his, "What on Helheim are you doing?" The Asgardian hisses.

Peter blinks at him.

Um…?

Good...good question. He thinks...maybe...no that one doesn't sound quite right. "Helping people," Peter blurts out, "they're stuck in the building and I'm getting them out. I thought...thoughtest? That you would help me."

The flames are so loud.

Loki's eyes narrow a little. "You need to get out of here."

"No!" Peter protests, but his voice slurs, "I can still help them. I'm not a...I'm helpful. I promise."

Loki drags him forward, towards the stairs, and Peter goes without resistance. He grabs at Loki's forearm, trying to stifle another cough, "No—wait! There isn't time for you to drag me out of here and save the people. Get them first."

Loki hesitates, "I could just—"

Peter shakes his head, "I'll meet you on the bottom floor, okay? Someone has to save them. There's about five more from what I understand."

"I know, my sedir said as much," Loki admits, and his face flashes with something Peter can't quite place before he releases a heavy breath through his nose. "Fine. Fine. Go. I'll meet you there." He releases Peter's shoulder and turns sharply, lifting his hands as if gathering something from the air before flicking a hand out.

Water splashes on top of the flames blocking the doorway to the hall, and Loki storms inside vanishing from Peter's view a second later.

000o000

He doesn't remember much of the journey from the tenth floor to the first, but he knows that he's shoved all the firemen towards the door as he does, reassuring them that there aren't any more people in the building. He's fairly certain that Loki will find some way to get the other life outside the building sans assistance, so he's not too concerned.

He's still hacking up smoke when the last fireman leaves the building after Peter's continuous bullying.

"Whoa!" Tony's voice sounds on his comm, and Peter loudly jumps, "You have been busy!"

The Avengers are here. Loki is here. They'll deal with this and get the remaining people to safety. Oh thank all that is good in this world.

Peter can rest now.

He mumbles out a response he doesn't understand, but hears the reassuring flood of voices from the other Avengers as they get to work. He's pretty sure that Tony asks about his location, but he either doesn't answer or does and can't remember what he said.

His vision is blurring and he has to keep shaking his head to focus, but there's only a two minute waiting period between the last firemen and Loki's arrival on the ground floor. Loki's face is drained of color and his lips are chapped giving his face a new level of white, but he still gives a reassuring smile as he reaches him.

"I got them all out," he promises, "we can leave."

"Okay," Peter agrees as they walk towards the door, his voice small, "the Avengers are here. They're helping with the other buildings."

How bad is the fire now? Peter's only been in two buildings thus far, and the first was his webbed mess that—

The building gives a loud crack, and both him and the Asgardian flick their heads up. His spider sense gives a loud scream, and Peter's mouth parts with a warning as he dives forward and forcefully pushes Loki to the hard ground.

The floor above them collapses. Bits of wood slam into his back, but he ducks his head as best he can to block most of the wreckage. The smoke makes it harder to breathe, but Peter's fairly certain that they've avoided the worst of the damage until his spider sense gives another shrill cry, more debris slams into them, and Loki releases a scream.

The noise is absorbed as the rest of the building tumbles down on top of them.

A dull, white-ish orb wraps around them, blocking the worst of the dust, but water leaks around their feet. The orb is only protecting them from the air, and nothing else. The weight of the building slams into Peter's upper body and he grasps at it, shoving it upwards.

The strain immediately makes him cry out, and he has to shove to keep himself semi on his feet.

Wood debris and bits from apartment rooms are spread around them, and Peter hastily flicks his gaze down towards where Loki is laying at his feet. Rubble has buried the lower half of his body, and Loki's hands are straining to lift up. Blood is smeared across his forehead, and he meets Peter's eyes desperately.

"I can't…" Loki coughs sharply and tilts his head to spit out blood. "Take the weight," he finishes breathlessly, "I'm sorry. Something is...my sedir is strained. The heat is stifling. I can't...I can't help you carry it."

"It's okay," Peter soothes through gritted teeth, "I can hold it."

No, he can't!

Someone help him!

The sounds of the flames and dripping water are so much louder than they were before. Loki makes a pained noise, and Peter lowers his gaze towards him. Panic is beginning to overwhelm him, but he shoves it down in favor of...of...of? What is he doing? Trying to focus on something else. That's what it is.

"I can't hold this," Loki whispers, and the bright-orb vanishes a moment later, bathing them in darkness. The smell of smoke, ash, and dust penetrates his nose immediately, and Peter hacks until his lungs hurt.

A smaller flame raises in Loki's hands, and their eyes meet for a terrified second as Peter's grip slips slightly.

"I'm sorry," Loki gasps, his breaths sound erratic, "I'm sorry. I'm meant to look out for you, and I didn't. I'm sorry, bróðir,"

Peter shakes his head, wincing as the wood digs into his fingers painfully. "Don't be," he whispers, "we're going to get out of here. The team will find us, I promise. We'll be fine."

The Avengers will fix this. They have to.

The strain in his shoulders suggests otherwise, and Peter's lower back is compressed so much it feels like it might snap. Maybe it already did, there's something wrong with it. He knows that much. His legs are starting to go numb.

"We're going to be fine," Peter whispers again.

Heat licks at his face, and Peter coughs sharply. There's silence for almost another minute, the only thing being Peter's straining groans and breaths. Loki murmurs what Peter is fairly certain a prayer in his native tongue, and they listen to the moans of the building around them, straining for the familiar noise of the repulsers, Mjolnir, a shield—something.

Nothing comes.

Peter hears something snap in his spine, and a loud cry of pain escapes him as the sensation ripples up through his body. He bites sharply on his tongue to withhold a scream, but an agonized hiss still follows.

God, please, he could use an angel. A miracle. Something!

"I was going to jump," Loki's weak voice says suddenly, and Peter looks up at him through the murky light, trying to focus on anything but his burning arms. He can't get his lips to form a response, but Loki doesn't need one, "that night on the building last year. When we met." He appends quietly.

Peter's stomach does something funny.

"...what?" He breathes, "You were…"

Going to jump.

That...makes an awful sort of sense. Loki had been standing on the edge when Peter arrived to talk to him, dressed like it was a funeral, and his expression had been distant. What was it that he'd said? Something about regrets...and Peter had delved out that line about science experiments needing to fail before finding success.

Peter hadn't thought about that in months.

His body strains, and he gasps as he falls onto one knee. His back takes some of the pressure, but he feels like everything is on fire. A harsh sob escapes his throat without consent.

"Why are you telling me this?" Peter questions desperately. His voice is small. Focus on the smell. The darkness, Loki's small light—something, focus on that. Not the burn. Not the ache. Not the desire to vomit everywhere.

"I was dying, Peter," Loki whispers, "I was dying, and I was going to end it. But you talked to me...and I…" Loki coughs harshly; it's wet, Peter squeezes his eyes shut, "it...gave me hope. You saved my life, Spider, and I am forever indebted to you."

Peter gasps out sharply, and feels himself give another inch, "You saved my life a ton, I think we're even," he whispers.

Loki gives a little laugh, "Yes...but I'm...you didn't save me because of who I was...it was because of who I could become. You know, you said...you asked if I was okay. And you said...said that 'sometimes we have to fail in order to find results'...and I'd never...thank you, Peter."

"We're going to be fine!" Peter insists, gasping, and slumps forward further, "Don't say this! Please! We're going to be fine. They'll come before it falls."

His mind, stupidly, logically, says otherwise, and his body wholeheartedly agrees with that assessment.

Loki gives him a sad, bloodied smile. He reaches a shaking hand up and gently grips his forearm, "It's okay, Peter...It's okay,"

"I'm not going to let you die!" Peter insists, and feels hot tears falling down his face. "I already got my uncle killed! I'm not going to lose my brother, too!"

Loki's face opens with a raw agony, and he gives Peter's forearm a squeeze, coughing softly, "Spider...not, not your fault...and it's time...I'm-I'm dying anyway...it's okay. We're going to be okay, alright?" His voice is deceptively steady, and Peter barely withholds a loud scream.

Another inch gives.

"Y-y-you can...let go," Loki whispers, "You can let go; I'm ready."

He's not!

Another inch.

He and Loki are almost touching now.

A foot.

He can't...he can't lift his anymore...it's too heavy. Far too heavy, and he wants to let it drop. Peter's shoulders strain with the burden for a long moment, his breaths gasping and pained before he tilts his head forward and rests his forehead against Loki's. "I'm sorry," He murmurs, "I'm sorry, bróðir,"

Loki closes his eyes softly and exhales.

Peter inhales deeply, steadily, before he lets the weight drop, and collapses on top of his older brother's broken form, the building burying them completely.

000o000

"...found..."

"Broken—"

"...get them..."

"..ki!"

"...kid, please, I can't..."

"...er...!"

"—stopped..."

"...my kid, that's..."

"...paralysis..."

"...life support with..."

000o000

Gradually, slowly, Peter awakens. He doesn't really process much of anything at first. A hand gripping his own, a few murmured words, soft humming in Russian, fingers stroking his hair, faint hisses of medical equipment...not much, but enough for him to realize he really would like to wake up. His entire body is achy, and his toes are tingly and oddly itchy.

When he finally manages to find the strength to open his eyes, May smiles back at him weakly, "Hey, sweetie," she greets softly, leaning to the side to dim a light as Peter squints.

He makes a little croaky noise, and May gives a sad smile, "You've been out for a while. I'll see if I can get some water."

She rises to her feet and Peter watches her leave the room. This is a Stark Medical, he recognizes the layout and the color scheme easily enough, and that's probably not a good sign. He's been in here a lot. His eyes begin to slip shut, but he hears a page turn and freezes.

Pages.

Books.

What—?

He turns his head towards the left and sees Loki sitting on the chair next to him, nose hidden behind a book with runes Peter can't read on the front. His hair is cropped short, and it's the weirdest thing to notice that, but he does. He looks a little different, too, cleaner, maybe. He looks healthy. Whole. Fine. Peter feels awful, and it seems a little unfair.

Peter makes a noise, and Loki looks up at him, smiling faintly. "Spider," he greets, "did you sleep well?"

Peter blinks and nods dizzily. He parts his split lips, and through his dry throat questions: "You...okay?"

"Perfectly," Loki assures, but Peter can tell he's lying, "though I'm not meant to be in here." He lifts a finger to his lips with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "Shh. We're alright, yes? You can sleep, we'll both be here in the morning."

Peter nods, already drifting off, but the feeling of wrong persists in his feet. The tingling was painful, but feels almost final. Everything hurts to much, and he's mildly afraid that he isn't going to wake up at all. His head is roaring again, and his entire body aches.

He falls asleep despite his mental protests, and it's to May's tears.

000o000

Loki's promise holds true when he wakes up again again, and it's a relief. He feels himself getting stronger every day, though it's mostly through the haze of painkillers and sedatives. But he still wakes up. He survived, and that he clings to with both hands.

He survived.

He's still alive.

There's still hope.

000o000

Later, he learns from Ned that the Avengers did win the small war waged with S.H.I.E.L.D., and everyone is now convinced that Spider-Man is an old man who plays guitars with a mustache.

He has no idea where that identification came from, but he's pretty okay with it as long as it isn't his own.

000o000

Two months, and a grueling hospital stay later, Peter sits beside Loki on the edge of Avengers Tower, wordlessly looking down on the city.

Loki hums softly and Peter looks up at him. His face is relaxed, and he looks oddly content. The difference between who Peter found on the building that day, and who's sitting beside him now is stark. Loki looks...happy.

"You good?" Peter questions anyway, and Loki looks over at him, a faint smile on his lips.

"I am," He reassures, looking back over the city, "I am."