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(Cecil: blind- dimsighted)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Avengers~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peter walks down the empty streets, getting farther and farther away from the main road with each step. The alleys grow narrower and dirtier the more he walks, and the light dims with each passing second, but being afraid of the dark is a privilege only an innocent child can afford, and Peter hasn't been neither innocent nor a child for a very long time now.

But only because Peter doesn't allow himself to be afraid, doesn't mean there aren't things hiding in the shadows that should be feared, and the teen has been crossing the same dark alleys long enough to know that better that anyone else. So, he walks with his head held high and his face blank, but keeps his eyes sharp and his body tense, because there's a difference between bravery and stupidity, and peter likes to think that he's already learned that difference.

And so he walks, and then walks some more till he's back right where he started, in the dead-end with the hidden hiding place and the torn trash bags, and only then, he allows himself to stop and relax. Because this dead-end might be just as dank and dark as the ones he just passed in the way, but it's a familiar sort of dark, and familiarity is a rare but welcomed thing to come across when you don't have a home to return to.

His footsteps echo in the silence of the dead-end, and the cat searching through the trash bags looks up and gives a loud 'Meow' when it sees him, running forward to rub its head against his legs. Peter laughs as he crouches done to pet its head, a grin tugging at his lips. "Hello Cecil," He mutters, "you hungry?"

Cecil lets out another loud Meow and rubs its head against his leg again, so peter decides that the answer is probably yes and starts searching through the bag of food for something he can spare. He knows it's wasting precious food, but to hell with it, It's unlikely that he'd starve just because he gave away some of his chicken sandwich anyway. (A voice in the back of his head reminds him that it's only unlikely, not impossible, but he shoves it back to the back of his head again and ignores it because that's exactly where it belongs.)

And besides, he likes Cecil. The cat might've scratched his face a couple of times, and it's far from attractive with its dull grey hair and one eye, but it once pushed a half-eaten apple it'd found in the trashcan they were both searching for food toward Peter when he was starving to death, and anyway, it's been on the streets for longer than even him, so he guesses that it's probably considered a senior homeless cat and probably deserves some respect (and chicken) from youngsters like peter. (Although Peter isn't a cat so maybe the rule doesn't exactly apply to him, but he thinks Cecil would probably be happy to accept him as a honorably cat -kitten?- if it means it gets to eat his food.)

"What do you think Cecil? Should I start calling myself Spider-cat?" Peter asks as he holds out the chicken for the Cecil, and smiles when it grabs the bite and runs away like the devil itself is chasing it. He doesn't blame the cat. Food is hard to come by, and it's a constant fight for survival here on the streets, so it's best to just take what you can and hope someone doesn't snatch it back from you before you can shove it in your mouth. (And besides, he nearly did the same when Dr. Banner gave him the bag, so it's not like he can really tal-

"You should've accepted that wallet." A British voice sneers from behind.

Peter slowly gets to his feet, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans. "Should I have?" He asks evenly, turning to look at the lean figure that emerges from the shadows. It's a male in his late teens, tall and thin and clad in worn but clean clothes. The newcomer takes a step forward, his unnervingly pale skin glowing in the dim light of the alley and making him look like a ghost straight out of the horror movie collection Aunt May used to hide in the right corner of the bookcase.

"Yes." The older boy says simply, glaring at him with piercing ice-blue eyes.

Peter does his best to glare back, he really does, but all of those who have ever gotten into a staring match with Thomas Silver know that it's an unfairly one-sided competition, and it doesn't take Peter long to crumble under the weight of the gaze and avert his eyes.

"Thomas-"

"Don't 'Thomas' me," The other snarls, crossing his arms in front of his chest, "We're almost entirely out. I have only about five dollars left after you went and somehow tore your suit in seven different places, and there's just three rolls of bandages left which probably won't even last till the end of the week." He starts pacing, voice getting louder and louder with each spoken word, "And then you come across easy money and give it away? Are you crazy boy? You think the ingredients of your idiotic web-fluid grow on trees? I can't believe you Peter. Such irresponsible behavior, I-"

"-raised me better than this?" Peter suggests jokingly, hoping to calm the other's rage at least a little bit. The volume is getting a tad too loud, and Peter has a repetition –and a secret identity- to keep. (And really, it might be different wherever Thomas comes from, but here on the streets, being scolded like a three year old that just broke his mother's favorite vase doesn't count as badass.)

"…-expected better of you" Thomas finishes, still glaring at him. He lowers his voice though, and gives him an 'I'm-not-sorry-because-you-deserved-that-but-still' look.

Peter waves the (not really an) apology off with a shrug, "Did you really?" he asks, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips because he already knows the answer.

The older teen continues to give him the evil eye for another solid thirty seconds before he visibly deflects, "No, not really," He sighs, bringing up a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, "But one can always hope."

"I'm sorry." Peter says as he plops himself down on the ground and empties the bag of snacks in front of him, not sounding very sorry.

"Like hell you are," Thomas bites out, but his tone is softer, founder, "I still can't believe you traded a wallet for these though." He groans, nudging some of the snacks with his foot.

"Well, yes," Peter says as he picks up each item and considers it for a moment before either putting it on the ground or back in the bag next to the others again, "But at least now we got snacks- oh look! chocolate! Sweet!"

"That's dark chocolate," Thomas says blankly, "It's not sweet."

"I didn't mean it lit - never mind, I found caramel. You can have that."

"Most gracious of you," Thomas says sarcastically, but it doesn't escape Peter's notice that he snatches the chocolate bar and hides it in his pocket. "I truly do not know how to repay such kindness, that is, if you count throwing the things you don't like at me as kindness."

"Ouch," Peter puts a hand on his heart, pretending to be offended, "On another hand, maybe you should cut down on dark chocolate. It's turning you more bitter than you already are."

"Oh please," Thomas says, finally giving in and sitting on the ground next to Peter, "It's mellowing me out if anything, you should've seen me seven years ago."

"I can't see anyway that an eleven year old kid could've been more bitter than the current you, but I'll take your word for it." Peter says as he opens a bag of chips and holds it out to Thomas.

"Oh, believe me," His friend says dryly, taking one before shoving the bag back to him, "I was much worse."

And peter doesn't know what to say to that, because the words themselves aren't anything to fret about, but there's a certain edge to the other's voice that makes him feel uneasy, and suddenly, the conversation doesn't seem like an easy banter between two friend anymore, but something much more sensitive instead; and they have a very strict rule about emotions and weaknesses not being discussed in the open and under the light of the day, where there are eyes to see the pain and ears to catch the words.

"What, did you throw tantrums because you hadn't got what you'd wanted in the middle of Walmart and screamed at your mother that you didn't love her anymore?" He jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood, because he thinks it's the only safe thing to bet on; because he knows Thomas and knows there's no way that he used to be anything but polite and charming as a child, but judging by the pained look that crosses over his friend's face, he couldn't have been picked a more touchy topic.

"Yeah, something like that," Thomas grimaces, and they fall in awkward silent for a while till Peter finally decides that enough is enough and throws a sandwich at the other's head.

It catches the older boy off-guard, hits him right in the face and then falls in his lap, and Peter is already halfway to his feet and ready to run because Thomas is nothing if not big on revenges and seriously peter was not expecting him to be so out of it to actually be hit an- shit there's the infamous dead-glare. Oh god peter is sooo dead- but this time, the other boy doesn't do more than throwing him a grateful glance before his mask finally slips back in its place and he's back being to his usual asshole self.

"What's this?" He asks as he picks up the sandwich, holding it as far away from himself as he can.

Peter is caught between relief from his friend going back to normal and frustration as he watches the familiar ritual go on, -because goddamn it if the princess doesn't pull off this shit each time they finally get their hands on some food- and somehow manages to settle on fondness.

"Beef." he answers, unwrapping his own sandwich.

Thomas makes a face, turning his nose up at the food, "I don't like beef."

"Well, that's all we have." Peter says with an eye roll, but he can't help the small smile that pulls at the corner of his lips, "But by all means, please go on and make demands. I'd be happy to go and fetch whatever unbelievingly expensive thing you're craving this time for you, your majesty."

"Hm, yes, I think I'm craving a less greasy food along with a side dish of some respect."

"I'll respect you when you stop complaining about your food like a picky five year old." Peter shoots back, throwing his wrapping paper at the other's head.

"And I'll stop complaining about my food when you stop giving all the chicken to that damn cat!"

Oops, so he saw that.

Peter shrugs guiltily. In his defense, he wasn't planning to give it all to the cat, but he might've felt bad about how skinny it looked so…

And speaking of skinny, there's Thomas. Thomas who's talking his sandwich and splitting in two and holding the bigger half toward him because he knows about Peter's super metabolism and healing factor, and pulls this 'I don't like the food' shit every time so he can pass most of it to Peter. Thomas who's skinnier than even him, skinny enough in fact, that peter wouldn't even need his super strength to crush his wrist in one hand and still refuses to eat more than half of his share so peter can eat more. Thomas who thinks Peter doesn't know all that. Thomas who is an absolute idiot.

And peter makes a face and accepts the half sandwich with an offhand 'Your loss' because he knows that Thomas is stubborn enough to actually throw it out to make a point –he knows. He has tried refusing before- and also knows that he can eat twice this much and still writhe on the ground in hunger, and feels even more guilty when the older boy give him one of his rare smiles.

So he pretends to be too occupied by his food and bites down into his sandwich hurriedly, taking a couple of chips with his other hand and shoving them into his mouth. He half expects the other to start lecturing him on his table manner, like he usually does every time he feels like Peter isn't eating like a civilized human being and making a mess out of everything (huh, like that actually matters when they're literally sitting on the cold hard ground and eating leftovers they found at a trashcan) but there's no comment as his friend just sits there and stares at him, occasionally taking a bite of his own half-sandwich.

"So," Peter clears his throat because the silence is becoming too much, too suffocating, "When you said we're out of money…"

"I did mean it." Thomas sighs, running a hand through his long dark hair, "There's exactly five dollars left, you ran out of web fluid a week ago, and we're supposed to meet your dealer tomorrow-"

Peter chokes on his food, "Can you- can you not say it like that?" He coughs, "You make me feel like a junky."

"-and if we can't make enough money for all the ingredients we won't see your dealer till at least a week later, so I guess there's no way left other than to go back to times square station." He continues as if uninterrupted.

"time square station?" Peter asks, "Why?"

Thomas gives him an 'are-you-retarded' look. "For sightseeing. For the same reason we always go there, idiot. So you can jump around like a monkey and have people throw money at you."

Peter lets out an overly insulted noise, "Okay, first of all, I don't jump around like a monkey, I do it like a spider. A jumping spider to be exact. Like a regular spider, except cooler cuz it can jump. Because I'm spider-man, not monkey-man. Secondly, they don't throw money at me. They put it into an empty tin can or something. Politely. Because I'm not a stripper. Thirdly, there's no way we make enough money with that."

Thomas clearly dismisses the better half of the speech to focus on the real problem, "Yes, we won't be making enough money with just you. That's why I'm joining in."

"That's not gonna make that much of a difference," The younger points as he takes a bite out of his sandwich, chewing with his mouth open, "And you can't do acrobatics."

"Don't talk with your mouth full." Thomas snaps automatically, then gives a tired sigh and starts massaging his temple with one hand, "And no, I can't do acrobatics, that's why I'm setting up my own show." He says, pursing his lips together, "I hate to make a fool out of myself, but a couple of tricks wouldn't hurt. I practiced a little, I'm getting better."

Peter chocks on his sandwich. Again. "Yeah, nope, not happening."

Thomas scowls, crossing his arms in front of his chest, "And why is that?"

"Because you scare the shit out of everyone!" the brunet cries, throwing his hands in the air.

The scowl gets darker, "Just because those fools can't appreciate my talen-"

"Last time you pulled out a fist-sized spider out of a little boy's pocket and he wouldn't stop crying for half an hour." The younger boy points out with a blank face.

The other doesn't seem all that apologetic as he shrugs, "I only did in honor of you."

"And the time before that," Peter says, "You threw a rope at a young woman and it turned into a snake."

"That bitch deserved it."

"The point is," he continues, ignoring the remark, "No more tricks for you."

"Fine," Thomas huffs, "Have fun being spider-man without your webs, because no more web-fluid for you."

The brunet splutters, "But- we still have a little mone-"

"Yes. For food. So like I said, no more web fluid till at least two weeks later."

"Fine." Peter snaps, "Do your tricks or whatever, but no more spiders, or snakes, or sharks that breathe fire, or any other horrific thing you can come up with. Deal?"

Thomas is about to reply when he suddenly freezes. He snaps his mouth shut and leans back, his posture non-threating and seemingly relaxed, but Peter sees something sharp flash in his eyes as he turns to look at the entrance of the dead-end, "we've got company." He says at the same time Peter's Spidey-sense starts to tingle.

"Parker!" A voice shouts as heavy footsteps near their location, "We need to talk!"

Peter sighs as he recognizes the voice. Of course, he should've expected that.

"Nicholas," He says in a fake cheerful voice, turning to face the angry man speeding toward them, "Can I help you?"

"Can you help me? Can you help me?! What the fuck were you thinking, prancing about in my streets?! You gave the boys a heart attack! I didn't make any money today because those cowards are all clustered together in the safe house, babbling about Parker coming out of his territory to shut them down! No one steps a foot outside in the fear of your righteous ass showing up and dragging them to hell or something! God knows I work with a bunch of morons, but if they're right about one thing, it's worrying about you sniffing around."

"Wow," Peter says in the flattest voice he can manage, raising his eyebrows, "How rude of me. I had no idea I had such an effect on your boys or I'd have called ahead. It's just I didn't think some of New York's toughest thugs would be afraid of a kid half their size, so…"

"Cut the bullshit Parker," Nicholas snaps, "You know your name sends gang members running after what you did to Chris and his boys."

As it should.

"Hey now, that didn't have anything to do with me." Peter says, holding his hands up in surrender. There's a hint of smugness in his voice though, and he knows the man can hear it too, "If I recall correctly, they ended up in prison because all of their clients mysteriously turned against them and turned them in."

"I don't give a shit about Chris or how you pulled that stunt kid," Nicholas sneers, "Just keep away from me and what's mine."

"That was the plan." Peter says, and this time, his tone is colder, darker, "But people have been whispering about you guys lately, saying you're breaking the contract; so I thought it wouldn't hurt to investigate."

His face is blank, but there's a hint of something dangerous mixed with the softness of his voice, and apparently the man can sense it too because he immediately tenses and takes a defensive step back, "The fuck you talking about? We haven't stolen anything from the homeless, and we haven't even crossed into your territory!"

"And you haven't happened to attack a young girl and threaten her with rape just… three nights ago, have you?"

"So what if we have?" the man sneers with disgust, "She was a rich bitch, not one of those homeless worms you're so found of. She wasn't under your protection."

"Oh really?" The brunet asks, raising his eyebrows, "Did I not mention that attacking women is also off limit? Oh well, my mistake. Add it to the list."

"But you said we're allowed to do as we wish as long as we don't touch the hom-"

"And I'm saying that you won't lay a hand on women and children now." Peter says offhandedly, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

The man's face twists in rage as he snarls at peter, "What the fuck Parker?! First you chase us off the main street and into a corner, and now you're adding new rules? What's next, are you gonna say it's forbidden to steal?"

"Of course not," Peter waves a hand, not looking up from his food, "It's not forbidden to steal, just to harm people while doing it."

"The rule stating that you're only allowed to steal from people without them noticing is only limited to your territory." Nicholas says from between clenched teeth.

"Oh really," Peter looks up to smile coldly at man, "so maybe it's time I added yours to mine."

"You little bra-" The man snarls angrily, hand going to his pocket to pull out the knife the brunet knows he always keeps there, but before he can move even an inch forward, a pale hand shoots out of the shadows and grabs a handful of his dirty mousy-brown hair, dragging his head back while another holds a knife to his neck, "Looking for this?" A cold British voice sneers, pressing the knife closer.

"Wha- my knife- how-" Nicholas stutters, gulping loudly when Thomas puts a little more pressure on his neck, "Parker- tell your dog- ouch! You crazy bitch! For fuck's sake Parker tell him to calm down before he kills me!"

Peter nods to Thomas, and he lets the man go and steps back with an eye roll. He doesn't go far though, but leans back on the wall right next to the man and starts picking at his nails with the knife. Nicholas gulps again when he sees the older boy, and Peter would bet anything that he hadn't even noticed him till now. (And really, there's no surprise, because he'd been so quiet that even Peter had forgotten his presence.)

Thomas looks up and gives the man a shark like grin, "Oh please, go on with your important territory talk, don't pay any attention to little old me." He says, and in the dim light of the alley, he looks nearly as dangerous as Peter knows (and sometimes forgets) he is. The lights catches on all of the sharp angels of his face and the curtain of his long hair falls on his face and far down his shoulders, creating dark shadows against his eyes. He is far paler and thinner than Peter, but instead of making him look fragile and weak, it somehow makes him look beautifully lethal. There's just something in his movements and the way he holds himself, the way the overly large clothes sit on his skinny frame and still don't look awkward, that screams of elegance and grace and honestly Peter is soooo jealous because why can't he look so cool while threating street thugs? (Honestly, he still isn't sure how someone like Thomas has ended up on the streets, he asked him once if he was some sort of runaway royal and Thomas looked him dead in the eyes and gave him a flat yes. Up to this day, Peter isn't sure if he was joking or not – he still keeps an eye on the news to see if England finally announce they've lost one of their princes though. Maybe they just haven't noticed his absence yet, god knows they have a lot of them to keep track of-)

He turns his attention back to Nicholas then, because he'd probably feel bad if Peter doesn't acknowledge his presence and spends the whole time giving his best friend mental high fives. "So," He coughs to gain the man's attention, because he's starting at Thomas too, "You were saying?"

The man takes a step back, "I'll- I'll look into it the breaking the contract thing. You just- you just stay away, and keep your dog on a leash! He bites!" and with that, he darts down the street and is out of sight before Peter can insult him back.

They stay in a silence for ten second before Peter finally breaks it with a whisper, still not taking his eyes away from where the man has just disappeared into, "was I cool?"

"Very." Thomas answers just as quietly.

"Thanks," Peter whispers, and after a pause: "You were cool too."

"I know."

They look at each other and burst out laughing.

"Oh my god."

"That was the best-"

"Did you see his face-?"

"I hadn't had this much in ages-"

"He nearly crapped his pants when you hold that knife to his throat-"

"I know. That was a neat trick, right?"

"The best."

They start laughing again.

"Okay," Thomas says five minutes later, trying hard to keep a straight face, "That's enough. We have things to do."

"Right," Peter says, biting his cheek to keep the occasional giggle in, "To Time square station, right?"

"No, to the library." Hid friend says, "It's getting late and you're behind your studies anyway."

"What?!" the brunet cries, "Library? Now? But what about the web-flui-?"

"We go tomorrow." Thomas cuts in, putting his hands on his hips, "Your studies are more important. And like I said, you're behind."

"I'm not behind-"

"I started teaching you Russian two weeks ago and you're still not fluent."

"No one can be fluent in just two weeks!"

"I was in less than half that time." The older boy says flatly, "Stop arguing, you're not getting out of this."

"Fine," Peter grumbles, getting to his feet and picking up the bag of the remaining snacks, "But can't we study something other than Russian? The grammar gives me headaches."

Thomas purses his lips together for a second before finally nodding. "Okay," He says, heading toward where the library is located, "How about we study some of those papers you mentioned? The ones Dr. Banner has written? Gamma radiation was it?"

"Really?!" Peter shouts, running to keep up with his friend's longer strides, "Oh my god, YES. How about we study his last pap- FUCK!" He suddenly stops, slapping himself in the head.

"What? What's wrong?" Thomas asks hurriedly, taking a defensive stance.

Peter throws himself dramatically to the floor, "I forgot to ask Dr. Banner for an autograph!" he whines.

His friend just gives him a long suffering look.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~AVENGERS~~~~~~~~~~~

It's finally done. Holy shit.

Guys please please leave a review and tell me how I did? The longer the review, the better. I was soooo nervous about fucking up now and you guys not liking this, and I rly wanna know what u think. So please please tell me how I did cuz I'm a very insecure and horrible author and abandon things when the story doesn't get much feedback because I assume it's trash.

I also hope you all liked Thomas. I know this is an avengers story too, but the main focus is peter, and I needed someone to be both his friend and his pillar of strength while he's still on the streets because for fucks sake the kid is just 14 and he needs all the help he can get.

P.S: I don't even know what a Walmart is but I heard guys on Tumblr talking about it so I just assumed it's somewhere u can throw a tantrum. Sry if I'm wrong!