Hi everybody! So this is a story I've been working on for a while, and am very excited to finally be able to publish! Any comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated! I hope that you all enjoy :)

That evening had looked like it would be a normal one. But of course, Peter's definition of 'normal' had changed a lot in the past two years. First, he was bitten by a radioactive spider and, well… You know the rest.

He was still getting used to the later patrols- Now that he was situated in New York City instead of Queens, there'd been a lot more crime to stop. (Especially with the police force so busy with all of the missing citizens.)

That night alone, Peter had stopped two robberies, three muggings, and returned a lost dog to his owners. Normally, he would be feeling exhausted right now. It was more than his usual. But for some reason, Peter had the incessant feeling that he wasn't doing enough.

He'd been swinging crime-free for about a half-an-hour, enjoying the calm wind in his face and newly familiar sound of cars whizzing below, when he got an alert from Karen.

"It is now eleven P.M; The time at which Mr. Stark had requested you return home."

Peter let out a heavy sigh. "Thanks, Karen." He grumbled. The night had passed by fast, (although Peter had been feeling that way every night recently) and he wasn't ready to head back just yet. He knew that over the past few weeks, Tony had been pretty understanding if he was "in the middle of a fight" and ended up back at the facility a half hour late or so. Peter remembered how surprised he'd been the first time he'd returned late to the compound, and Tony had let him off the hook with a simple warning… Other times when he'd been late while under Tony's care, even by a minute or so, he'd be in for a lecture.. But it seemed as though now that Peter and Tony's arrangement was more 'permanent', Tony had loosened up a bit.

Key word- Bit. Peter knew he'd be in big trouble if he didn't head back soon- Especially if Tony decided to check his tracker, which would lead him to Peter's old apartment in Queens; miles away from where he was actually swinging around.

Peter missed the days when he could sneak out, back when nobody knew he was Spider-Man. On those nights, he would stay out as late as he wanted. He'd patrol until midnight or three in the morning and nobody would tell him otherwise. He'd wake up the next morning feeling like hell, but with a sense of accomplishment. If he'd helped even one person that night, it was worth it.

And even on the hellish mornings, when keeping his eyes open felt like lifting one hundred pound weights and the bags beneath them were dark as soot, things weren't so bad. Aunt May would make toaster-waffles and the pair would eat breakfast together. She'd wish him a good day at school and he'd wish her a good day at work. They'd reflect that evening about how good (or crappy) their days had turned out. They'd laugh. Tell stories. Later that evening Peter would sneak out and start the cycle all over again. He'd get the chance to help more people.

But then Mr Stark had flown him to Germany, and Ned had found out, and next May had found out-

Peter shook his head and flung out a web. He tried to wash away the memory of Aunt May's fear when she found out what he'd really been sneaking out to do, despite all the times she'd told him to do the exact opposite.

He knew in the end she'd accepted it. She knew what he did was important to Peter- But that didn't do much to lessen Peter's guilt.

Emotions at a high, Peter decided he'd do one last scan over the perimeter and then return to the Avengers facility. He needed the calm that wind blowing over his suit brought him, the easy feeling of swinging through the streets of New York. He knew Tony would be upset, but he simply couldn't head back to the compound yet.

His thoughts drifted back to Aunt May… Her funeral was four days away.

Peter had known it was coming for weeks, set the date a week ago, and repeated it to himself over and over and over- yet it still didn't feel real. Even when the same thing had happened before Uncle Ben's funeral, and he knew that had been real, this still felt like some crazy realistic fever dream to Peter. Like when he was a kid; he'd have a terrifying dream, but he knew that soon Aunt May would wake him up to bring him some tea and a blanket. She'd run her hands through his hair soothingly and tell him that everything was going to be alright.

But it wasn't alright. Aunt May wasn't coming- And she never would again. Because she was gone. Even after moving in with Tony, looking everywhere for her himself; retracing the steps, trying to connect the dots, being unable to find patterns after months, realizing that it was no use- he'd never find her-

A flashing light caught Peter's eye from a nearby alleyway.

He knowingly let himself be absorbed by the distraction, pushing his thoughts about May as far back in his head as he could. Peter swung over to a building close by to get an idea of what was going on, but made sure that he was far enough that he wouldn't blow his cover.

"Please," Unfortunately, another building was blocking his view, but thanks to his advanced hearing, he could still hear what was going on. "I-I'll give you my money. Here! This is my wallet- Look, all my cards- Credit, Debit- Two hundred dollars cash- Take it! Take it all, just-" The man's voice cracks "I have kids. And a wife- I just want to go home to them."

It sounded like a mugging. Peter hopped to another spot where his vision was a little better, but he still couldn't make out the details.

"Karen, could you zoom in on those guys over there?" He asked, making sure to keep his voice low.

"Yes, Peter. It appears to be two males, although I cannot scan them for matches past the times Mr Stark set-"

"Yeah, yeah, alright." Peter had to call up Ned to disable what Tony called the 'Bedtime' protocol. It was meant to keep him from staying out too late, but all it actually did was keep Peter in the dark about the identities of the criminals he fought. If Peter saw a crime happening and knew he could stop it- Then he would. No matter how late at night it was.

Trying his best to be stealthy, Peter swung down from his current scoping point and onto one of the buildings beside where the mugging was taking place. He climbed a little further downwards to get a closer look.

"I'm sorry sir, but I cannot let you blow my cover-" The muggers British accent set him apart from others Peter had stopped before. Maybe this guy was new to crime; He was clad all in black, everything covered except his eyes, and he had a small knife at his side- So, basically what all robbers looked like in movies.

He was about to grab the cash from the man when Peter swung down and flung a web towards the knife. With one fluid motion, he brought it towards himself and threw it into a nearby dumpster.

"-And I'm sorry, but I can't let you take things that aren't yours. You do know that's illegal, right? Also rude, if I'm honest."

The black-clad man growled, but before he could retaliate, Peter had flung a web onto his hand and twisted the man backwards. With another well placed web, he managed to web the man's hands together behind his back.

"Now, let's wrap this up- I can't stay for long, I have a physics test first period."

With a few more well-timed jumps and thwips, Peter had the man wrapped completely in webbing in under a minute. Peter had to admit, it had been unusually easy; This guy was definitely new to the crime scene. Peter almost felt bad. Maybe he was poor and didn't see a way out and had turned to crime in desperation.

But he was going to hurt somebody; and no matter the motivation, that wasn't okay.

"Thank you!" The civilian said, his voice filled with gratitude. Peter turned to face him, a quirky response on the tip of his tongue, but paused when he met the man's eyes. His blood seemed to run cold.

He didn't know why- The man was tall, with a fairly lanky physique and messy red hair. Nothing about him would've stood out if it weren't for his eyes.

They were a piercing gray, with a calculating sort of gaze that seemed to see right past the suit and into Peter's own eyes and soul. Something about them seemed malicious despite the grateful smile on the man's face.

"Uh, you're, uhm- You're welcome." He said. A dark, shaking feeling had developed in his gut- a feeling that he needed to get out of there, fast. But before he could web away, the man had wrapped his arms around Peter in a tight hug, and Peter felt his hair stand on end and mental warnings explode in his brain.

His Spider-Sense.

It was sharp and rapid, and felt as though someone had slipped a piece of ice down his back. But as soon as it had come, Peter felt a sudden prick on the side of his neck- The one place on his suit where the mask could easily be pulled away to reveal bare skin. "Thank you-" The man repeated again, but this time his voice was cold and silky, like that of villains you see in old-timey movies telling their victims they were killing them for their own good.

"-For making that so easy."

The man pulled away, and Peter reached his hand up towards his neck, where he'd felt the prick. Sure enough, there was a small patch of exposed skin. He moved his hand away, but found no blood. He looked towards the man's hand, which was closed in a fist. Peter couldn't see it, but he was damn sure there was an empty syringe in the man's palm.

Peter felt his knees buckle. His limbs turned to led. He fell to the ground, breathing heavily. He opened his mouth to speak and felt as though he were suffocating. The man was standing right above him, and the two met eyes once again. It felt impossible to look away; the man never even blinked.

Peter felt smaller in that moment then he had since he'd been bitten by the radioactive spider.

He'd been drugged. He couldn't fight back- Another minute and he might be unconscious. He had to call Tony.

With massive effort, feeling as though his lungs were filling with fire every breath he took, Peter managed to choke out the words; "Karen- Call-"

But it was no use , and everything faded to black before Peter could finish giving his request. The last thing he saw before going unconscious was the grey-eyed man's mouth curling into a smile.

Beep.

Beep.

Peter's senses gradually began to return to him. First, a buzzing in his ear. Next, he heard the whizzing of cars from a nearby street. He slowly opened his eyes and was greeted by near-darkness. His limbs ached as though his bones had turned to brick and his muscles to gelatin. The last thing he remembered was deciding to do one last patrol-

"It is now 3 A.M- Four hours after Mr Stark requested you return to the Avengers Facility."

Peter shot upwards and was instantly filled with regret. His limbs screamed in protest and pain began to shoot through his head with so much intensity that he that he could barely think. He let out a groan.

Karen beeped at him again. Peter flinched at the sound. It was right by his ear, and-

"You have fourteen missed calls and five messages from Tony Stark."

He forgot the pain for a moment, overcome with panic. "Oh- Oh shit-" Despite his aching body, Peter managed to get onto his feet. He reached out a hand and shot a web towards the nearest building, ready to swing, but his balance was off and he undershot the distance. He fell to the ground with a thud that shook him to the core. The ringing in his ears intensified.

"This should not be that hard…" He muttered bitterly to himself. What the hell had happened? The only explanation he could think of was he overshot a distance and rammed into a wall. But not only was that unlike him, the chances that he got knocked out from that was slim to none- When he'd first gotten his powers, he'd hit a lot of buildings, and only once had he gotten knocked out. And even then it was only for about ten seconds- Not four hours.

"Incoming call from Tony Stark."

Based on how much it his head ached simply hearing the alert from Karen, he wasn't feeling exactly up to listening to Mr Stark yell at him. He dismissed the call, but knew he had to contact Tony in some other way.

"Karen, text Tony telling him I'm okay...ish, and I'm on my way back."

"Yes, Peter." The A.I responded.

Peter took a few deep breaths and decided to climb up a building to get some height before attempting to swing again. "Karen, could you be ready to activate my parachute with a safeword?"

"Of course, Peter." Peter winced at the sound. "What would you like this 'safeword' to be?"

Peter paused, thinking it over. "How about 'Code Red?'" He'd always wanted to use code red for something- It would make him sound like a spy from all those movies he'd loved so much as a kid. "And uh, could you maybe turn down the volume a little bit, please?" Peter asked, finally extending his hand and webbing onto a nearby building. This time, his distance was fine, and he was able to swing with relative ease. His muscles still ached, but swinging at least felt easy again.

"Yes, Peter." Karen said, her automated voice coming through much softer this time. Peter sighed with relief, and began making his way towards the Avengers facility.

While swinging back, he thought about how he'd arrived in this predicament- Truth be told, he had absolutely no idea what he'd done to end up in that alley. Last thing he remembered, he was swinging through the streets of New York, Karen had reminded him it was eleven- Had he even been in this part of the city at the time? Peter couldn't remember.

He kept on trying to figure out what had happened to him, but nothing made much sense. His mask had still been on and intact, so he didn't think somebody had tried to knock him out to find out his identity- And even if they had, wouldn't his spider-sense have alerted him earlier on? As he mulled over the possibilities, Peter found himself even more perplexed as more questions plagued him. Why didn't Karen's alarms and alerts wake him up earlier? Did nobody stumble upon him in the four hours he'd been unconscious and call the hospital? Why didn't he feel any external injuries, like bumps or bruises, yet still feel as though he'd been through a beating? (He'd even asked Karen to check to make sure he hadn't just missed them- No injuries were present except for a migraine, which Peter had figured out for himself.) And why didn't Tony try to come and find him?

Oh. Wait. He knew the answer to that one. Ned had helped him ditch the tracker last week-

Peter cursed under his breath. Mr Stark was going to kill him.

After approximately ten minutes of swinging, Peter had to start the rest of his trek on foot. Unlike the rest of New York, the new Avengers facility was fairly secluded from other buildings, and Peter couldn't web himself all the way there. He hated the walk, even though it usually only took him about five minutes, and hated it even more now. His brain felt full of fog, and while his suit was great for swinging around the city, it wasn't the most comfortable outfit for a casual stroll.

"Karen," He asked his AI, "Could you please turn on the heaters in my suit?"

"Yes, Peter."

In response, the suit began to warm up against the frigid air. Peter sighed in relief, happy to relish in some comfort. Halfway through the walk, he spotted a seemingly deserted outhouse and stepped into it. He flicked on a light and grabbed his backpack. Although from the outside it looked like a run-down port-a-potty, inside this little building doubled as Peter's personal changing room, so that any paparazzi or Ross' double-agents couldn't figure out Spider-man was with the Avengers and force him to sign the accords. If that were to be discovered, he'd be pressured (even forced) to reveal his identity, and Peter didn't want Ned or anyone else he knew to become potential targets.

With a sigh, Peter slipped out of his heated suit and into his regular clothes before continuing the walk. Even though it took him double the usual time to arrive at the compound, he almost wished it had taken longer, despite how mad he was certain Mr Stark already was at him.

Not feeling like entering through the front door, and knowing there were no cameras near his room for this exact reason, Peter grabbed hold of the wall and crawled up towards his bedroom.

As Peter neared the window, he spotted Mr Stark sitting on his bed, rubbing circles on his forehead with one hand and holding his phone up to his ear with the other. His eyes were red and puffy, and the bags underneath them seemed larger than usual (if that was even possible). His hair was a mess, probably from running his hands through it (something Peter knew was a nervous habit of his) and there was a cup of coffee on Peter's bedside table beside him. It almost looked like there were tear stains under Mr. Stark's eyes, but Peter dismissed it as a trick of the light.

As quietly as he could, Peter opened the window, and guilt swarmed in his stomach at the sound of Mr. Stark's voice.

"Yeah, he texted me- I have no idea if he's okay or not, Pep, he just told me he's on his way over. He said 'he's okay-ish,' but you know the kid, if he said 'ish' then chances are something is seriously wrong."

Peter was suddenly filled with regret. He should've answered the call. He knew Tony better than this- He should've known how worried sick he would get-

Wait, what? He knew. Mr Stark better than- What? The two had only met- Wait...How long ago was it again-?

It was during his confusion that Mr. Stark finally spotted him, and Peter felt surprised to see relief rather than anger flood his features. Without a word, he slipped his phone in his pocket and dashed towards the window.

"FRIDAY, scan Peter for any injuries."

"Peter has no external injuries, but does appear to have a minor headache."

Peter was surprised. He'd thought for sure he'd had a migraine, but he supposed it must've just been lack of sleep.

"Oh, thank god-" Tony heaved a large sigh and momentarily buried his head in his hands. As soon as Peter crawled into the room, however, he was wrapped in a warm hug by Mr Stark. He was surprised by how tightly Tony was holding onto him. Peter slowly returned the gesture, feeling confused but not uncomfortable. The two stayed that way for about a minute before Mr Stark released Peter, his features filled with a new frustration.

"Where the hell have you been?" Peter flinched. He had known this would happen, but that didn't mean he'd felt prepared for it. "Oh, and don't tell me your old apartment in Queens, because I already checked there to find out that I'd been tracking agoddamn bookshelf."

Peter's cheeks flushed crimson. He moved his gaze downwards, unable to meet Mr. Stark's eyes. "I-"

"What were you thinking? Ignoring my calls, removing your tracker- For the fifth time, by the way- I left you alone, for a while, thinking maybe you were grieving and needed some time- But after an hour I finally decided to check up on you myself- Only to find that you weren't even there, still refused to answer my calls, and could've been seriously hurt or even dead for all I knew-"

"Mr. Stark-"

"Oh, Oh, I see how it is, I get mad at you because you were irresponsible as hell, and it's back to 'Mr. Stark.' Do you know what time it is? It's three in the morning, four hours past when you were supposed to be home-"

Suddenly, Peter's 'minor headache' transformed into a sharper, white-hot shooting pain. It was worse even then when he'd first woken up. He let out a gasp, and then a whimper, falling to his knees as more pain shot through his head.

Tony's anger melted immediately into concern. "What the hell? Kid, are you okay?" Tony kneeled down next to him, hands pressed gently on Peter's shoulders. Peter barely processed that, clawing at his head.

"I don't- I don't know what's happening-" He managed to say, screwing his eyes shut.

"Hey- Hey, it's okay kid- J-Just breathe, breathe-"

And Peter tried. He focused on his breathes, hearing Mr. Stark bark out commands to FRIDAY but not processing what they were.

"It's okay Peter- It's gonna be okay- Stay with me-"

Mr. Stark placed a hand firmly on Peter's left shoulder to ground him. His fingers graze against the left side of Peter's neck, which flared up in discomfort. It came and went in less than a second, and, focused on the pain in his head, Peter didn't dwell on it for long.

Peter didn't know how long they stayed like that- Hours, minutes, seconds- until the pain finally began to recede, leaving behind a dull aching. His chest heaved, up and down, then up and down again, Peter finally feeling like he was getting a breath in. And god, he felt exhausted.

"Hey, Pete, can you hear me?" Mr Stark's voice was soft, and filled with concern. Peter nodded a little, and he heard Mr Stark let out a sigh of relief.

"Jesus, kid, you're going to give me a heart att-"

Before Mr Stark could finish his sentence, Peter had slipped into unconsciousness.