Dearest Readers,

Your reviews gave me so much joy and life, I am afraid I did you a discredit by taking way too long to write the new chapter! Actions scenes are very hard for me so I do hope the wait is worth it, haha. Please enjoy and leave comments if you do! Thank you for your continued follows and favorites. You guys have no idea how much those little email notifications cheer me up when they pop up in my mobile inbox while I'm at work. I truly hope you have a great time with this chapter, I know I giggled a lot while writing it ;) And as always - happy pre-birthday, Crystal! :D

Love, Pip


PART ONE - REALITY


Chapter Four

Fake It Till You Break


...

There's no hesitation as I dash headlong for the car, legs still twitching with slight jolts of electricity running through my joints. I shake out my hands as hard as I can, grasping the door handle and jumping in.

"Whoa, jeeze," I exclaim, falling back into a very reclined seat of a much taller person. I fumble for the controls to adjust the seat, twisting this way and that, impatiently bouncing up and down as the seat moves forward with a gentle whirrrrr.

I twist the key in the ignition and the engine comes to life with a chill-inducing purr. "Oh my, okay, okay, okay," I say to myself. "Don't forget the - uh - seat belt. Right. Gotcha." I click the seatbelt and pound my foot down on the accelerator.

The engine revs like a delighted autobot ready to do my bidding but - no go. Why no go?

I'm still in park.

I'm such an idiot!

I've - I've driven… some. Not much. I crashed Flash's car. I failed my driver's test. I've had a few lessons in Aunt May's car in a grocery parking lot in the burbs.

I slam my foot on the brake, shift into reverse, and then release. I start to roll back a little, not enough, hit the accelerator again while cranking the wheel - and the car jolts back so fast I nearly slam my own face into the wheel.

"Holy shit, I'm so bad at this," I moan, braking - at least now I'm facing the same way the other car went. I can still see it - tearing down the industrial wasteland of a waterfront, the bumper disappearing between huge boxcars stacked on top of each other like a terrifying game of jenga.

"YOU GOT THIS, YOU'RE SPIDERMAN!" I shriek at myself, hitting the accelerator again, tearing down the cement causeway after the bad guys.

The boxcar and oil drum and pipe stacks swoosh by me, my hands grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles whiten and my palms sweat. It's weird how much the vehicle feels like a live thing, one false move and it'll turn on me.

I'm definitely not a confident driver yet, Aunt May would say. Or I guess maybe my mom or dad would say it - in this universe.

I have to slow down, reaching a sort of dead end, I know they turned around here somewhere - I saw their bumper disappear around a corner just about -

There!

I hear the tell-tale POP POP POP of gunfire, and the horrifying realization that the following PINK-PINK-PINK sounds are shards or hits somewhere near the nose of the car I'm in.

I shift gears into reverse and slam on the accelerator, driving backwards away from the sort of corridor formed between two stacks that they had been hiding in.

With a roar and scream of tires, they shoot out from between them, turning towards me, speeding right for me -

There's a guy standing out of the sunroof with a massive gun aiming right for me.

I speed up my reverse, screaming curse words incoherently, retracing my entire journey here only backwards and without really being able to see -

See - I need to -

"Come on, spidey sense," I beg, "HELP ME OUT HERE?!"

I turn the wheel slightly and just avoid plowing backwards into a stack of pipes stacked twenty feet high, the car nearly fishtailing as I avoid them narrowly.

Still the car is dive-bombing straight for me, the gunfire from the sunroof unceasing, the guy holding it looking all too happy to take me out with a huge grin and a fur hat with ear flaps sticking out too far on either side of his head. Luckily he has the aiming capabilities of a stormtrooper.

I can't drive backwards forever, not at this speed, I'm going fifty something, and they're catching up, the front bumper of their car getting frighteningly close, then withdrawing again, then plowing towards me again - they're playing with me, I realize with horror, they could easily go way faster and just crunch me right in here -

I look out the driver's side window.

Show me a construction crane. Ten stories high.

Those cranes are all over.

Show me a good one -

There.

Keeping one foot on the accelerator and still flying backwards, and gaining speed, I use my left foot to lift up, and out, kicking the driver's side door so hard that it breaks right off. The door flies out into the air like a crazy flying movie prop, bouncing off the cement a few times. Now the wind and smell of the river screams into the car, making my eyes water.

That's when I shoot a string of web out, the strand long and epically singing out into the air till it connects with a lower rung on on the bottom of the yellow iron cross-hatch shapes at the bottom of the crane -

I see the gunman and driver both look over, confused.

Then I slam my foot on the brake as fast as I can and put the car into park -

With the tires screaming into the brisk, sunny weather, the horrible smell of burnt rubber rises, but I'm flying out of the open door and into the sky -

Just in time to see the two cars come together, nose to nose, and bursting into a giant

Effing

Fireball -

The wave of molten heat and sheer crazy pulse of massive flames roar towards me.

"SHIT!" I shriek, still in mid-swing, but miscalculating the height. Instead of bringing me up to the rungs, the swing sent me up, and then too low…

I take a running start in the air, my feet already kicking when the slack launches me right for the asphalt. My feet pound into the cement, sending jolts of burning pain into my heels, as I take off running down waterfront plaza, determined to get out of eye sight -

I mean, in case those guys survived the explosion -

Does it count as killing in an alternative universe?

Are there alternative spouses and mothers waiting for them to come home in Sokovia?

I shake my head fiercely at myself.

No, no, no no no no - Not today, Spiderman. You're a freaking Avenger and they are collateral damage. That's how we do this now.

I'm already dead, right, so there's no point in crying over anyone else dying.

"STOP RIGHT THERE, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

At least six - no, ten - damn - no! Twenty guys come at me from different directions - one from the car, his hat literally on fire and he's not paying any attention to it - six from ahead, coming between me and the crane, four on my right from behind the boxcar stacks, five on my right, a few of which I recognize from the warehouse, another four backing up the guy from the fiery car crash. They all have guns trained on me at once.

I could send another strand up to the crane -

Reel myself up -

They can't all shoot up at the same time, can they? Someone would miss -

Someone might not.

"Oh boy," I whisper. I slowly hold up my hands. "You guys looking for the one who stole your fancy car?" I ask sheepishly. I point slightly with my right hand without lowering it. "He ran THAT way. He was ALSO dressed in red, but like, way bigger and way scarier than me…"

"SHUT UP!" barks the guy closest to me, in front. "Maybe we'll just make this go nice and quiet like," he says, "You have a few choices. Try to fight your way out, we kill you. Let us take you with us, we won't hurt you."

"What if I stand here and think about those choices for an awkwardly long time?" I ask.

He blinks. "You have three seconds to make your choice."

"But what if I…"

"One."

"Oh, you were serious about three seconds?"

"Two."

"Are we fighting ON three or AFTER three?"

"THR…" The guy doesn't even have a chance to decide to do anything at all, because Black Widow steps in front of him from out of nowhere, shoving his gun up so its pointing to the sky.

"Kross doesn't want him dead," she says shortly.

"What the hell?" he responds angrily.

"Yeah!" I chime in, acting just as surprised. I imitate the man's accent. "VHUT ZHEE HEHLL?"

The man glares at me with a smoldering rage only in check because Black Widow steps in his eyeline. "If we kill the kid," she says smoothly, "We won't just be a crew that short-changed the Avengers and walked away with their money. We'll be obliterated. Trust me. They like to live up to their name."

She rather seductively runs her hand down the barrel of the gun, touching the man's hand. "Kross says don't leave a martyr," she croons quietly. "But he didn't say anything about leaving him unscathed."

I feel my stomach constrict. "How scathy are we talking?" I chortle nervously.

Black Widow turns towards me and moves her head from side to side, her neck making loud, audible cracking sounds, shrugging her shoulders as if to work up to a difficult exercise.

"You owe me for that little shit show in the warehouse," she growls, bracing herself slightly with her arms reaching behind her - grabbing a pair of batons from her back, a blue, electrical light crackling with energy from the tips. She gives them a powerful punch, punch, once in each hand, and the light flickers loudly.

"You don't get to just barge in here and give us orders," the man finally comes to his senses. "How do we know you're not just double crossing us?"

"Or double crossing Kross?" I squeak goofily, backing up slightly. There's nowhere to go. I'm surrounded. "How much ops can you double Kross cross, if Kross can't double cross ops?"

One guy starts laughing loudly, and instantly shuts up when everyone glares at him.

Black Widow only smiles slightly, like she's hungry and I'm toast.

"You're mine," she says.

Then chaos erupts.

The others caught up to us. Yellow rapid-fire pulse beams are shooting out of Falcon's recovered gauntlets. Looks like the the electro-pulse from Stark that stopped the gun earlier has a recovery time limit. I scramble away from the middle of the crowd, though it's nearly unnecessary, they're all aiming and pointing up and around, trying to figure out who to shoot at - none of them me, apparently.

There's a huge, jet-engine rush of wind as Falcon, Patriot, and Iron-Man all fly overhead, picking their targets, letting loose repulsor beams and dropping down onto victim's heads.

Well, I guess SOMEONE decided to finally suit up!

"Nice of you to join us, Iron Man," I call up jokingly.

"I've been here the WHOLE TIME," I hear Mr. Stark exclaim, his voice sounding metallic from inside the helmet.

"Yeah, kid, I'm the one that just got here," I hear Colonel Rhodes' voice replying snarkily, his huge, dark gray suit slamming down into the cement beside me, nearly causing a crater. For a moment, his little visor pops open, and he smiles at me with a warm expression. "By the way, you owe me ten bucks."

"You've got to be KIDDING me!" I exclaim.

No time to argue what piss-poor team I had supposedly felt twenty bucks was worth - My spider sense blares a warning, and I duck under a winding kick from Black Widow. She'd been perfectly seriously about not leaving me unscathed, despite her supposed moment of double-agenting in the warehouse.

Just whose side is she on, anyway?!

Rhodes unleashes a blast of energy from his jets, launching himself off the plaza again, the hot air slapping both Black Widow and I and knocking ourselves off our feet. I recover faster, jumping up and shoving her back before she can regain her footing. She flips backwards instead in an almost kiddie-style somersault.

Well, I guess you can't be choosy with how you get out of range -

I glance over at the warehouse again, approximately a hundred yards away, where the van Bucky had been hiding out in comes bursting through the dark opening. It's going so fast that it looks like it's going to tip over, definitely not the type of vehicle built for high speeds -

But the funniest sight of all is Captain America running beside it, keeping pace. They're neck in neck like it's a contest and Cap looks like he'd better win or else -

I glance back at where I fully expected Black Widow to be launching herself for my face, all punches and claws -

Nowhere.

A couple of goons, instead still trying to aim - I leap for them, slamming both of their heads together like an angry mother in a stooge cartoon. They collide and let out groans of pain, sliding against each other for the ground.

The van squeals up to where the two other black cars still sit crunched bumper-to-bumper, the flames high and shimmering in the air, and screeches to a halt beside them. Captain America runs right past it and drive himself, fist first, into a man who was shooting crazily at the sky yelling "TAKE THAT, BIRDMAN! TAKE IT!"

The driver's door pops open, and Mr. Bucky steps out, looking pleased with himself.

"Just as fast," he says to me, with a wink, but his eyes grow wide as Black Widow's arm collides with the side of my face. I'm stumbling out of her way, trying to gain my bearings, not really sure how she managed to circumnavigate the whole group and creep up behind me again -

But just as I wind up to punch her good - just enough to get her out of my zone -

I notice we're winning -

Like, we're really winning. Captain is literally grabbing two guys by their jackets and throwing them like their only footballs. Rhodes is backing three guys against a boxcar, their dropping their guns and raising their hands - Stark is setting off more beams, the squeal and crash sounds of his repulsors like music to my ears. Falcon has landed and is engaged in an intense hand-to-hand fight -

And Mr. Kross is watching me, his head tilted, a smile on his face as he nods to someone behind me.

I feel the baton clobber on the back of my head, and I'm down like a sack of potatoes.

Oh no you don't!

I manage to fall right onto my back, but I kick my legs out and catch myself, launching myself back to my feet - despite the blossoming dizziness and feeling woozy, I whirl around and face her again, and this time I fly at her without hesitation.

She is caught off guard for only a moment, kicking out, her foot catching me in the chest, and it pummels me right back again.

"That's enough!" I hear Mr. Stark shout. "You've lost, Kross! Just take your remaining entourage and go home! We've had enough of you!"

I duck under another punch, giving her one of my own, one - two -and three, right in the stomach and ribs, trying too hard to catch her off guard but not enough to cause any real damage. I certainly don't break anything, but she gasps, the wind knocked out of her, and she twists away from me, stepping on the body of one of her fallen comrades, using him as a three step ladder to one - two - three -and jump onto my shoulders, her thighs squeezing the daylights out of my neck and head, using her body weight to jerk me down to the ground. She catches one arm around mine, pulling it back to try and dislocate my shoulder. The other hand - no, she has that too.

She's got me completely locked.

But I'm stronger.

"Don't make me hurt you," I gasp hoarsely, lying on the ground, with her dumb muscular legs actually beginning to choke me -

"I don't think we need to worry about that," she says in a syrupy tone. "Tap out."

"I'm not going to tap OUT!" I gasp, I bring my leg up as hard as I can, using my knee to knock one of her legs off my shoulder. It sends a jarring pain that I can FEEL through the bottom of her foot, and she lets out a cry, but it dislodges the hold on my neck just long enough for me to twist out, taking her with me from the arm she was trying to dislocate, slamming her onto the cement and THIS time -

But her baton catches me just under the ribs. My full weight coming down on top of her and she stops me from totally body slamming her with just one, small bar of thick, blue-pulsing metal -

Where it hits, I feel the instant strain, and the sudden loss of breath. The rib groans in protest, nearly breaking, not quite there yet though -

She takes this opportunity to flip me on my back, then she jumps on top of me, three solid punches to the face - one, two, three, each on a different side, my head snapping back and forth - I've lost too much breath, I can't concentrate - where are my arms at?

I look past her at Mr. Kross.

He smiles a little, then turns and starts to walk away, but then rethinks this, and looks back.

"Come, Romanov," he says, in that creepy accent. "You've had your fun."

Black Widow looks down at me, her eyes blazing, lip bleeding, forehead wrinkled in anger and something like… a sort of sarcastic expression.

"Let the kid go!" I hear Mr. Bucky yell, and I hear his footsteps start to run towards us.

Black Widow is suddenly ducking her head down slightly, just so that Kross can't see her lips moving.

"I have to make this look good," she says quietly.

"Please," I find myself saying desperately. "Listen… I don't know - whose side you're on - but make it look as good as you want. But. Please… don't knock me out. Please. I don't know if I'll wake up. Please. I might not wake up."

Suddenly Black Widow doesn't really look like Black Widow.

She's Natasha Romanov. Deadly assassin… reformed Agent of Shield… Avenger.

"Make it look good," I repeat.

And an all-around nice person - who looks worried. And kind.

"If you say so, kiddo," she says, and she gives me one last hard punch in the jaw. My head snaps to the side, but I don't get knocked out. She pulled her punch.

It still hurts like a son of a bitch, but she pulled it.

She gets off me and runs, sidestepping and running in a serpentine sort of fashion, and Rhodes and Stark fire at her, making it look good - but missing.

Always missing their shots.

They know.

They totally know she's a double agent.

Mr. Kross is getting into the third and last vehicle, pulling up to the scene. Black Widow jumps into the back seat, and a few other guys cram themselves in.

Suddenly another one is jumping into Mr. Bucky's van, and six other guys are rushing it, diving into the open sliding passenger door. The tires squeal and rubber burns as they peel out, driving away like another Furious movie.

"You alright, squirt?" Mr. Bucky is at my side, grabbing my elbow and pulling me up into a sitting position.

One of my eye lenses is broken, cracked, and fizzling. I reach up and pull off my mask, blinking at blood in my eyes from a cut above my forehead, working my jaw from side to side to try and make sure its still attached.

"I'm okay," I say slowly. "Sort of."

Mr. Bucky helps me the rest of the way up, keeping a firm grip on my elbow to keep me from toppling over.

There are several people lying around us, dead, or unconscious. Rhodes is on like a communications device, explaining the situation.

"We need clean up on aisle nine," he says dryly, looking over at us and giving us a smirk.

"Did ya'll forget the bad dudes took our damn van too?" Sam exclaims, pushing his goggles up over his head. "Why are we not chasing them down?"

"We don't need to engage them any further," Steve says. "Not without blowing Nat's cover."

Mr. Stark is slowly sitting down on top of a shorter pile of stacked, wrapped planks next to the first of a long line of boxcars. Sitting looks really weird and wrong in his suit.

I detach myself from Mr. Bucky's grasp and start trotting over to him. "You okay, Mr. Stark?" I ask, tentatively.

Iron Man waves his hand at me, as if to say, there there, young one.

But when his visor pops up, I know he's not doing too well.

I remember the way he twisted, just briefly, when the fight just started as if something at caught him in the side at just the wrong angle.

His face is dirty and pale inside the mask, and he's breathing heavily.

"Immokay," he spits out, giving me a thumbs up. "Just - a flesh wound. Promise."

"Just sit right there, Tony, and don't move," Steve says, coming up beside us. "We'll get you back. I'll get the copter warmed up," he takes off at a run back for the other side of the warehouse.

"Mr. Stark," I say worriedly, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, squirt," he says hoarsely.

Rhodes hangs up on whomever he's talking to. "We got an injury?" he asks with concern, running to his best friend's side. "What have you got, man?"

"Jesus, you're all my grandmothers or something, I'm fine, just caught in the side," Tony exclaims.

"Caught or shot?" Rhodes asks.

"Okay, yes, shot! Skimmed me. But I'm good."

Rhodes and I grasp his elbows and help him to his feet. I hear the THWOP THWOP THWOP of the helicopter blades beginning their spin.

"I rigged the van to die in about eight minutes," Mr. Bucky suddenly exclaims, looking up from the tablet he pulled out of his jacket. "Just enough time for them to get on the freeway."

Sam gives him a priceless expression. "Dude, I asked about the van like, ten years ago."

Then he looks at me. "Hey," he adds. "And you - YOU, you little bug-eyed narcoleptic piece of spandex. I owe you fifty bucks."

...


...


Coming Next: Peter narrowly keeps avoiding those white doors until they make it safely back to the Avengers complex upstate...


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Dear readers, I just HAVE to tell you that I met Crystal IN PERSON (to whom this birthday fic is for) my friend and beta and fellow-writer-whom-I-beta-for - and she's just AMAZING in person as she is on the page! I am so blessed to have this person in my life! Here's to you and your continued birthday shenanigans, Crystal! You're a bright and shining star!