Disclaimer: I've got nothing and like it

I just have to thank all you peeps for your awesome reviews. This crazy story I've whipped up is getting more credit than it deserves XD. On the other hand, some of you people are so demanding! All you want is more more more! You know who you are :) Although the fact that you want more of my story makes me happy and always encourages me to try to write them better and faster, so please continue doing so haha. Anyhoo, enough of moi, read the chapter and be merry. It's pretty long. :)


Chapter 7

The whole unveiling of the truth happened in stages. Shock, disbelief, denial, and eventually, a whole lot of waterworks. It seemed that for hours, Peter and his aunt just held one another, bawling into the other's shoulder and crushing each other in warm hugs. Then the questions came: how, when, where, who, and why? Peter told her everything from the beginning between their bouts of sobbing, withholding no detail from his Aunt May. The spider bite at Oscorp, the powers, Uncle Ben's death, searching for Uncle Ben's killer, his late night crime fighting, Gwen, the Lizard, Captain Stacy on the rooftop, his father, and his most recent trouble with the Avengers. His aunt listened intently and silently, cradling the boy she saw as her own son in her arms. As Peter finished his rambling, a quiet fell over the room, the chirping of birds sounding from outside the window and the platter of food lying still untouched on the coffee table.

"I'm so...so sorry Aunt May," Peter suddenly choked out, staring down at his gloved hands and watching the tears drip from his eyes and absorb into the red fabric. "I'm so sorry I've kept it from you for so long. I'm sorry I've made you suffer so much every day worrying about me. I'm just so sorry..."

His aunt gently held her hand under his chin, then carefully lifted his head to make him look her in eyes. Tear stains trailed her face, and her eyes were puffy and red. And yet, she was smiling as genuinely as Peter had seen in a long time.

"I'm so proud of you, Pete," Aunt May said with undeniable honesty, her voice shaky but fiercely sincere. She gently cupped his face in her hands, wiping his tears away with her thumbs. "I've never been more proud of you in my whole life." She pulled her nephew into her arms, and the two shared in a long, restorative hug, feeling the fissure that had tangibly existed in their small family's relationship finally beginning to mend back together again.

With a few reassuring pats, they separated from each other at last, and Peter looked over at the harsh daylight that was now pouring through the curtains' thin fabric.

"I need to call Gwen, tell her I'm okay," Peter remembered, sucking in a calming breath.

"Why don't we invite her over for dinner?" his aunt suggested, placing her hand on Peter's shoulder. "I'll make some spaghetti. You can make an apple pie for dessert. We can just have a really nice evening together. Does that sound good?"

Peter nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and offering her a soft smile. "Y-yeah, I'd like that."

She patted his shoulder. "Good. Now get out of that nasty costume and take a shower. And tonight, I'll be doing the laundry. You have no idea how to separate clothes properly."

After the two of them shared in a spurt of weak laughter, she slipped the IV needle out of his hand and helped him get up off the couch. Once he was sure he could stand on his own, Peter dragged himself out of the living room and up the stairs, clutching his aching stomach, and slipped into his room. Shutting the door behind himself, he slowly slid to the floor, physically and emotionally exhausted. He had never cried for so long and so hard before in his life, and he was glad it was all over with. He closed his eyes, the back of his head bumping against the white wood. Peter was relieved that he'd finally told his aunt everything he'd been hiding from her for so long, and he was happy that she wasn't ashamed or disappointed in him, but at the same time he was troubled. The revelation of his spandex-sporting second life to Aunt May came with new risks that endangered her safety, so he had to go the extra mile to keep she and Gwen safe. They were all he had left in the world, and he'd do whatever it took to keep them out of harm's way.

Begrudgingly, Peter forced himself to his feet and hobbled to the bathroom, where he stripped out of his Spider-Man costume and turned on the shower. The warm water felt refreshing as it washed over his stinging, aching body, and helped reawaken his dulled senses.

After he was thoroughly cleaned, he dabbed a bit more medicine on his cuts, messed with his unmanageable hair a bit in the mirror, then reluctantly slipped into a pair of loose jeans and a relatively presentable T-shirt, hissing between his teeth whenever the material rubbed against his sensitive skin.

"Pie," he groaned to himself as he rubbed at his eyes, remembering his aunt's instructions to make dessert. Without even bothering to put a pair of shoes on, he limped downstairs and stumbled into the kitchen, where he found his aunt chopping up a tomato.

"Oh, there you are," Aunt May exclaimed with a smile, continuing to chop without even watching her skilled hands. "I've started boiling the noodles in a pot and the sauce is simmering on the stove. It should all be done in about twenty minutes or so." She motioned with her head towards the counter. "I've laid out everything you need for the pie over there. Hop to it, because it will take a while to bake. Although you should probably call Ms. Stacy and make sure she can actually come before you start on it."

Peter nodded absentmindedly and shuffled to small wooden desk in the corner of the living room where his phone sat charging. He was so glad he had forgotten to take it with him on he and Gwen's dinner date last night. He sat down against the wall and picked it up, clicking on the screen to find he had nine missed calls split between Gwen's cell and his aunt's phone, along with two voicemails. He cringed, well aware of the tongue-lashing that he had coming for him, hoping that his offer of a home-cooked dinner might somehow quell her inevitable rage. With a slow exhale of air, he pressed her phone number and held it up to his ear, hugging his knees against his chest with his free hand. His call was answered after the second ring.

Peter!? Peter, are you there? Are you alright?

Peter swallowed guiltily. "Yes, it's me, Gwen. I'm fine, just a little scuffed up here and there."

He could tell from her voice that she was fighting the urge to cry. II saw the news. W-what—how—why? Why were the Avengers attacking you?

"I'm not sure exactly," he answered carefully, "but they told me that S.H.I.E.L.D.—this crazy super spy organization or whatever—they think I'm a threat or something, and they were trying to capture me to turn me over to their ringleader."

A threat? she almost gasped. What are they thinking? You haven't hurt anybody. Minus bad guys of course.

"That's what I tried to tell them," he said exasperatedly, "but they wouldn't listen to me." He let out a forced laugh. "They even tried to trick me by telling me that if I came with them, I could become a certified part of their team. An Avenger." The words themselves reignited the anger within him as he spoke. He pinched the bridge of his nose and huffed under his breath. "It was rich."

Are you serious? Gwen exclaimed on the other side of the phone. I'm so sorry, Pete. That's cruel. I thought they were supposed to be all justicy and heroic or whatever.

"Yeah," he breathed, his hand dropping to his side, "me too."

So they attacked you when you said no?

Peter nodded as he spoke, ignoring the fact that he should probably have started on the pie by then. "Yep. Somebody hit me with a some sort of taser, Iron Man singed my shoulder with his laser cannon hand thing, don't even mention Captain America with his stupid shield and freaking super-strength, and I'm pretty sure that Black Widow lady slit my forehead with one of those ninja throwing knife things." He palmed his head in his hand, flinching as his fingers pressed against the stitches in his skin.

How did you get away?

"I fought back. Somehow I was able to beat Iron Man individually, then Captain America and the lady as a pair, but they were the only three who I actually had to battle against directly. I was lucky that they were all spread out—if they had been fighting me all at the same time, I think it would've been a different story." Peter closed his eyes, realizing just how close he'd come to losing everything he'd fought so long to protect and keep secret. He had to be more careful. Still, as he thought back to the fights, he began to comprehend what exactly he had accomplished. He had beaten the Avengers, "Earth's Mightiest Heroes" and all. Granted, it was in a rather scattered and ungraceful manner, but it was a win nonetheless. Maybe he wasn't giving his powers, intelligence, and enhanced abilities the credit they deserved. The idea gave him a bit more confidence with the possibility of the Avengers ever trying to beat him to a pulp and haul him off to the Helicarrier again. If he had to fight them again in the near future, he would definitely not hold back, and definitely not undermine what he was capable of.

Well, you should've called me when you got away, her heard Gwen say through the phone. A change in the tone of her voice made Peter feel uneasy.

"Yeah...I'm sorry. I sort of passed out on my way home, and—"

Do you have any idea how worried I've been!? she screamed without warning into his ear, causing him to jump. He gripped the phone nervously, twirling the charger cord between his fingers.

"I know, I know. I'm really, really sorry." He bit his lip, running a hand through his frazzled hair. "I, uh, I had something come up."

Like what? she grumbled irritably. What could be more important than telling your girlfriend that you're okay after you left me out on the street and went running into a building held hostage by a murderer all headstrong and suicidal to save the day?

Peter cupped his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. "It wouldn't be the first time, would it? Give me a little credit, Gwen."

She sighed impatiently over the phone line. Whatever. But seriously, what "came up"?

Peter's laughter stopped abruptly as he realized the weight of what he was about to tell her. He had revealed his most diligently kept secret to yet another person. Even though it was his loving and trustworthy Aunt May, he knew that this decision carried a significant price. This wasn't just your casual small talk business over the phone; this was some heavy stuff. He drummed his fingers against his jeans, wondering how to word this properly.

"Could I tell you all about it over dinner at my place?" Peter recovered coolly, avoiding the inevitable revelation with his dorky charm. "I'm making pie." Or, well, I should be.

His answer made even the hot-tempered Gwen Stacy laugh loudly from the other end. Peter smiled, which made the purpling bruise on his chin ache, admiring the beauty of the happiness in her voice. She groaned over dramatically after her giggling had subsided.

You're such a moron, she sighed, pausing before she continued as he listened to her gather up her stuff. Fine. But you better dress nice. And you better make the best damn pie I've ever tasted.

"Already way ahead of you," he assured her nervously, standing up and disconnecting the phone from the cord as he realized that he hadn't even started on it yet. An unhappy Gwen Stacy without her promised pie would go from stinging ant to raging Godzilla in a matter of moments. Peter walked briskly into the kitchen, where all the ingredients his aunt had promised would be on the counter were missing entirely. He cursed irritably and opened the fridge, snatching an apple from the top shelf. With a moment of confused hesitation, looking from the apple to the phone, Peter tried to hold the phone against his shoulder with his face like he'd always seen his aunt do while he rinsed the fruit under the faucet, but it slipped out from under his chin. Peter caught it easily with his lightning-fast reflexes, but sat unimpressed with himself. Glancing around the kitchen to make sure his aunt wasn't around, Peter quickly clipped one of his web-shooters to his wrist and fired a strand of webbing on to the ceiling, which he then connected to his cell phone and released to let dangle in the middle of the kitchen. He turned the phone on to speaker mode and went back to washing his apple.

Peter? You still there?

"Yeah, yeah. Just checking on the pie, making sure it's coming along good." Peter hastily began slicing the apple, his spidery abilities kicking in and making him chop with unnatural speed. He nicked his finger in the process, biting back a long list of colorful words from escaping his lips as he shook his hand in frustration and sucked on the bleeding skin. "W-when do you think you'll be here?"

I just got into a taxi, so probably in about five minutes or so, Gwen answered calmly. Is that alright?

"Oh, yeah. That's perfect," Peter agreed distractedly, digging around in the pots and pans in the lower cupboards. Where had his aunt put the damn pie tin? "But, y'know, take your time. No rush or anything."

Alright, see you in a little bit, she said with a tinge of confused amusement in her voice. Then she hung up.

Peter hopped up on the counter and began looking through the drawers in the high cupboards of the kitchen, where all the china was coated in a thin layer of dust and cobwebs. Becoming a bit frantic, he opened every single cabinet door until it looked like the ghosts of The Sixth Sense had pranked their kitchen. His hysterical search came to no avail.

"Peter?" a puzzled voice exclaimed suddenly, interrupting his hunt. Peter jumped with surprise and stuck to the ceiling, caught off guard by the sudden noise. He looked down, shaken, and saw his aunt staring up at him, a look of bewilderment on her face. "What on earth are you doing?"

Peter breathed restlessly, knowing he probably looked like a freak right now as he clung to the ceiling with his sticky fingers. A single cabinet door slowly creaked open, and his aunt watched its movement with a perplexed look in her eyes.

"Where's the...pie tin?" he asked breathlessly, not moving from his uncomfortable position high above the kitchen. His aunt shook her head in awed confusion, and a jubilant ping from the oven down below rang out to answer his question. Aunt May walked over to it and opened the door. The warm smell of cinnamon and home-made deliciousness met Peter's nose, and he watched as she stooped down and gingerly scooted a perfectly golden-brown pie from its position on the racks, her hands gloved in colorful oven mitts. She held the apple pie out for him to see as Peter slowly made his way down from the ceiling, snagging his hanging cell phone in his hand.

"You looked busy, so I started on it while you and Gwen were talking," his aunt said apprehensively. "I didn't know how long you'd be on the phone for, so I just finished it myself and popped it into the oven for you."

Peter dropped to the floor, awkwardly running his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, that's fine. Great. Thanks. It looks really good." He walked up to his aunt, staring down at the beautiful culinary creation before him. "Probably better than anything I could've whipped up."

His aunt smirked amusedly at her flustered nephew, glancing back up at the swinging cabinet doors. "You know, I wish you would've told me about your abilities earlier. Would've made my dusting duties for the past year a bit easier."

Peter looked down at his aunt, who he, at 5'8 feet tall, towered over, and cracked a smile. She and his Uncle Ben had always shared a dry sense of humor, that with which Peter had unknowingly adopted over his years spent with the two of them as his guardians. With this, they always knew how to make each other laugh. So, following the age-old tradition, Peter and Aunt May broke into a long bout of laughter, the kind that leaves your sides aching and your cheeks sore. Their giggling fit was interrupted by the chime of the doorbell.

"I'll get it," Peter said quickly, turning on his heels and speeding out of the kitchen, still struggling to catch his breath. Hopelessly teasing at his hair in a mirror that he passed by, he marched up to the front door, tinged with queasy excitement, and swung it open.

Gwen was not one to be easily caught off guard. After discovering her boyfriend was the masked vigilante Spider-Man, witnessing the glistening city of New York be reduced to a demolished alien graveyard during the Chitauri incident, and hearing about her father being murdered by the Lizard, it wasn't a shock that it took a lot to catch her by surprise these days. But after Peter told her about the whole cat-out-of-the-bag concerning his secret identity as Spider-Man with his aunt, Gwen couldn't help but gape silently. She turned to look at May Parker.

"You know?" she inquired quietly, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

Aunt May nodded slowly. "He showed up last night on the porch in his Spider-Man costume, covered head to toe in bumps and bruises, passed out cold in the rain." She smiled over at Peter, who flushed slightly and refused to meet her gaze. "I brought him inside and tended to his injuries. I didn't even realize it was him until the next morning."

Gwen's eyes narrowed uncertainly. "And...you're okay with this?"

May Parker palmed her face in her hands, shaking her head. "It's a lot to take in. I don't even know what to think, really." She rubbed at her temples, her eyes closed tightly. "It does give me a slight sense of relief to know why he always comes home looking like he was thrown in a blender."

Gwen giggled, her tense mood lightening a bit. "I guess it would."

"I just don't want you to get hurt anymore," Aunt May said suddenly, looking over at Peter. He appeared surprised by her words, then lowered his gaze sullenly.

"I know, Aunt May. I know." His eyes took in the two amazing people who sat before him, both of whom stared back with love and concern for his wellbeing in their eyes. It hurt Peter to know that his pain was their pain, and sometimes he wished they didn't care as much as they did for him. Peter knew that carrying out his job as the masked superhero Spider-Man would be safer for everyone if he did it alone, without any relatives or loved ones who could be placed in harm's way because of his actions. In his head, the idea seemed the most logical path to take, and many nights he had lied awake, considering abandoning his small family for their own good and living solely as Spider-Man, all alone in the big city of New York, with no one's life being endangered other than his own. But in his heart, Peter knew he could never survive like that. Without the support and comfort from the two women who sat before him, he would have lost his hope in the world a long time ago. Their lives were now permanently intertwined with his, whether any of them liked it or not.

Fortunately or unfortunately, so was his double life of being Spider-Man. It was a part of him now that he knew he could never surrender, and his internal promise to stay faithful to the words of his late Uncle Ben kept it so.

"I'm not going to give up being Spider-Man," Peter stated bluntly to them both. "I can't. And that means I'm going to keep coming home looking like death." He glanced over to his aunt, a deep pain in his big brown eyes. "I'm sorry if that hurts you, Aunt May. I'll do my best to try and protect myself, but it's inevitable. If you can't accept that, then I'll understand if you want me to leave."

Peter was expecting some sort of heartfelt reassurance from his sweet Aunt May, but instead was answered with his aunt bursting into laughter, which caught him by surprise. "And go where, Peter? I'm sorry to say, sweetheart, but you're stuck living with your crazy old aunt until the day I die."

The three of them shared a genuine laugh together, which helped alleviate the tension in the room, and with a clap of her hands May Parker stood.

"Now, let's get to eating all this good food, shall we?"

Dinner was a much-needed evening of small talk, warm food, and lighthearted humor. Peter started out highly engaged in the conversation, telling the many hysterical tales of his midnight endeavors as a teenage superhero which he had kept to himself up until this point. He hadn't realized how many hilarious moments he'd had over the past year after becoming Spider-Man until now, like the time he was patrolling an alleyway behind an extremely ghetto bar and accidentally walked in on two drunk women having a tea party on top of an overturned trash can in their birthday suits, or when his red and blue suit had caught on some barbed wire and he had to sneak home holding a dirty old pizza box over himself to cover his exposed buttocks. After telling countless of his embarrassing stories to Gwen and Aunt May over mouthfuls of unsurpassed spaghetti and apple pie, he began to feel himself fading. When they detected the slowing of his words and the glaze that had blanketed his eyes, the two women began to talk about girly things, and Peter became disinterested. He seriously needed to stop hanging out with women all the time. And he needed a moment to himself.

"I'll be back in a second," Peter said as got up abruptly and walked out of kitchen, his silverware clinking against the wooden table. Gwen and Aunt May watched him leave with concerned expressions, but didn't protest. He entered the living room and flopped on to the couch, clicking on the television with the remote and grateful for the mindless splurge of nonsense that his overcomplicated life craved. He browsed through a couple of channels until he landed on the news, where he heard his name.

An unusual and alarming series of events occurred last night in the outskirts of Queens, New York, the dolled-up woman on the screen began. In a local Yakitori Totto restaurant at the crossroad of Broadway and 2nd Avenue, a deranged man shot and killed a woman who worked there and took the entire restaurant hostage. Fortunately, Spider-Man showed up at the scene and defeated the felon, safely freeing the remaining captives and handing the murderer over to the NYPD. But after committing this seemingly heroic act, Spider-Man was spotted by several eyewitnesses on top of a McDonald's billboard, where people reported seeing the masked vigilante be shot down by an unknown marksman. Just before he could fall to his death, however, Spider-Man was saved by none other than the famous Tony Stark donning his Iron Man suit. But to the public's shock, Spider-Man and Iron Man soon began to fight each other, and the two engaged in a high-speed chase down 2nd Avenue, which ended with Iron Man crashing into a Pizza Hut, appearing unable to move because of Spider-Man's webbing encasing his armor. After the confrontation appeared to have ended, Spider-Man was unexpectedly attacked by Steve Rogers, also known as Captain America, as well as another unidentified figure. Spider-Man and Captain America were reported to have spoken briefly before engaging in an all-out brawl, and after an extensive period of fighting, Spider-Man succeeded in imprisoning his two attackers with webbing and was spotted zipping away, appearing injured, towards central Queens. What could all of this mean? Do the Avengers see Spider-Man's presence as a threat? Do they know something we don't about the true identity of New York's famous masked vigilante? Or are the Avengers not the supposed heroes we thought them to be? We want your input.

Peter buried his face in his hands, groaning. He just wanted those damn Avengers to leave him alone. If there was a way he could get them to understand that he wasn't some sort of villain plotting to take over the world or whatever without having to reveal his identity to anyone, he would've done it already, no doubt. But apparently his word wasn't enough for them. From now on, every time he went out in his late night crime sweeps, he'd have to watch his back and keep his head on a swivel in case they tried anything with him again. The idea set his nerves on edge and sent a fresh wave of exhaustion over his body. He just wanted to help people. He laid down slowly and curled up against the couch cushions, wishing for just a moment that he wasn't a spider-themed superhero, but just a normal teenager with normal teenager problems.

"He's been gone for a while," Gwen noted as she and Aunt May rinsed their dirty plates in the sink and placed them into the dishwasher. Gwen hadn't been surprised when Aunt May had informed her that she had in fact made the apple pie, not Peter. In Gwen's time spent with Peter, she had discovered that he was not exceptionally skilled in the culinary arts department. The two of them dried their hands and walked towards the living room.

"He's probably just in his room editing photos or something," May Parker assured her as she stepped through the door. Then she stopped, smiling amusedly, "or, passed out on the couch."

Despite it only being around 7:00 p.m., there laid Peter Parker, out like a light with his arms hanging loosely off the couch and his legs tucked up against his body. The dim glow of the television flickered across his snoozing self, alighting his form in alternating colorful patterns. Gwen giggled and flicked on the light switch.

"Poor Peter. He never lets on how exhausted he is from everything." She sat down beside his head, reaching over and running her fingers through his hair. She watched his thin frame rise and fall with slow, rhythmic movements and listened to the soft sound of his breathing. Gwen pushed a blonde hair out of her face, then glanced over at the glowing television as the news reporter captured her attention.

The once dormant questions of the city of New York have now been reawakened: is Spider-Man really a hero, or a menace? What are his true intentions? And what is the masked vigilante's secret identity?

Aunt May switched the TV off and sighed audibly. "I've been watching the news all this time, wondering the same things about Spider-Man." She sat down on the chair neighboring the couch, resting her chin on folded hands. "If only they knew the truth."

Gwen nodded sadly, looking down at Peter's peaceful face as she petted his soft hair. "Everyone thinks of him as some kind of immortal entity, thinking that he can take on anything unscathed. Some people even consider him to be some kind of biological weapon of mass destruction."

Aunt May's eyes softened as she stared at the fading bruises on her nephew's neck and chin. "They have no idea that Spider-Man is nothing more than a boy."

"A boy with some pretty incredible abilities," Gwen added with a smile, "whose only intention is to help people."

"He is amazing, isn't he?" Aunt May added with a sniffle, wiping her eyes and placing a hand on Peter's limp arm. "I just wish that people would see him for what he really is. He isn't some kind of indestructible super-being or whatever." Her voice shook slightly as she spoke. "Peter is only human."

"Yeah," Gwen agreed, "just a little human, in way over his head." She smiled genuinely and planted a gentle kiss on Peter's forehead, right beside his sutures. Peter stirred slightly beneath her touch, but didn't awaken. The two of them laughed softly.

"He looks so helpless and fragile. It's funny to think that someone like him could be considered so strong and dangerous. Especially watching him now, while he's sleeping."

"I think it's time we all went to sleep," Aunt May said with a yawn. "I can drive you home if you want."

"I'll be fine on my own," Gwen said, standing and giving Aunt May a hug. "Thanks for everything."

After May had waved Gwen off once she'd managed to flag down a taxi, she walked back inside and stood beside Peter's sleeping form. She tucked her hands under her nephew's limp body and, with effort, scooped him into her arms. She shuffled painfully towards the staircase, huffing the whole way, when Peter's eyes opened slightly.

"Aunt May...?" he yawned groggily. "What...are you doing?"

"You need to be in your bed. You need a good night's sleep." She sounded adamant, although he could detect the strain in her voice as she struggled to support her sixteen-year-old nephew's body upon her own fifty-seven-year-old self.

Peter squirmed out of her arms and placed his feet on to the floor, relieving his weight from her weak bones.

"I'm a big boy now Aunt May," Peter said with laughter in his sleepy voice. "Much too big for you to carry up the stairs."

Aunt May's gaze lowered to her feet. "I know, Pete. I know. You're my big boy." She rubbed at her aching arms for a moment, then stepped forward and gave him a fierce hug, slightly choking the breath from his lungs. "I just wish you could go back to being my little Peter again. The tiny boy that Ben and I could swing between our arms and toss in the air." She rubbed his back, her fingers digging into his scrapes and causing him to cringe a bit. "Goodnight, Peter."

Despite the pain he was in, he hugged her back with equal enthusiasm.

"Goodnight, Aunt May."


"No."

Four of the five present Avengers all spoke in unison.

"That's too dangerous. The military will attack you. They'll think you've gone berserk again and pump you full of lead."

"Or they might launch another nuke strike on the city."

"You might even end up smashing something by accident like you did last time. Let me think...what was it again? Oh yeah, my face."

Bruce Banner stood with his arms crossed and his eyebrows knitted fiercely, encircled by Iron Man, Hawkeye, Black Widow, and Captain America, who was still holding the ice pack against his sore jaw. Banner tapped his foot impatiently.

"It's a good plan, guys. A stupid one, but I know it will be effective. Spider-Man isn't going to simply stand by and watch with a lemonade in his hand if he hears reports of the Other Guy...I mean, the Hulk...rampaging around downtown New York. It'll draw him out, and then you guys can capture him while his guard is down."

Natasha shook her head excessively. "It would cause a panic amongst the civilians. Plus, you're more than likely to accidentally end up hurting someone. You don't want any more of that kind of blood on your hands, Banner."

Bruce felt a shiver run down his spine and his breath got caught in his throat, but he tried not to let it show. He shoved his hands in his pockets, becoming increasingly frustrated.

"I'm trying to throw out some ideas here since none of you can think of anything. Could you at least consider what I'm suggesting here?"

"We are, Banner," Steve insisted, sitting down and experimentally shifting his jaw around. "But this is just downright reckless. The possible benefits aren't worth the risks. You have to understand that."

Bruce shook his head, clearly dissatisfied, but didn't argue.

"We should call up Fury, tell him what happened," Clint suggested unenthusiastically, spinning an arrow around his finger.

"I'm pretty sure he already knows, the way the media is ranting about it," Stark said with a snort, but went ahead and dialed up Nick's number on his cell phone. The ringer buzzed repeatedly, and Stark half-hoped that he wouldn't pick up. But of course, he heard the phone click from the other end on the last ring.

So, finally decided to ring me up, the deep voice of the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. growled through the phone. Stark smirked nervously, swallowing his anxiety and replacing it with the smooth confidence he seemed able to fabricate on command.

"Yeah, how's it hanging, Patchy?" Stark asked with a laugh. Nick Fury had never been known for having an acute sense of humor.

I don't want to know the details. I've heard enough from Coulson to understand the situation. I don't care how or why it happened, but take this to heart, Stark: get this done already. The World Security Council's faith in the reliability of you and your team is already dicey as is, and they won't take another failure on your part lightly. Fury cleared his throat, and Stark could sense the seriousness in his icy voice. If you don't capture Spider-Man and bring him to the Helicarrier in the next three days, I'll be forced to send in a new team. One with a larger body count and less flexibility than the Avengers. They'll be sent out with direct orders to capture Spider-Man by the use of armed force, no questions asked. I have a feeling it will only end with either an army of soldiers having their asses handed to them on a red and blue platter, or a really pissed off Spider-Man being dragged in here against his will, so I'm really depending on you all to execute this mission without the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s armada getting involved. Inform the rest of the team. Director Nick Fury out.

The phone clicked into silence, and Tony let out a heavy sigh. "Ah, the charming Nicholas Fury. He has this fascinating ability to literally suck the joy from a room, even when he's not physically in it." He glanced over his shoulder at the rest of his team. "You guys get all that?"

The rest of the Avengers nodded, a bit stunned by the news. They hadn't considered the fact that their mission might be cancelled if they failed again. If there was one thing that all the Avengers agreed on, it was the fact that S.H.I.E.L.D. had an uncanny habit of diverting to unprecedented brutality as their first course of action, and it had a tendency to never end well for either party's liking. There wasn't any time left to squabble over the petty details; they needed a reliable plan, fast.

Bruce didn't waste a moment. "I'm telling you, my plan will work. I can control the Other Guy enough to cause a ruckus without damaging or hurting anything or anyone. I know I can do this, guys. Just trust me."

"Why don't we just jump back to plan A?" Clint proposed, inspecting the razor-sharp tip of one of his arrows and blowing off Banner's insistence. "Locate, surround, and capture. We can track his movements with Coulson's intel, just like we did before, but this time actually carry out the plan." He slightly hissed as he spoke that last bit, giving Stark a disgruntled sideways glance.

"Don't you think he'll be expecting that?" Natasha questioned warily. "And the whole 'surround' thing didn't exactly work out before. We need to take him on together, and by surprise."

"If we're stealthy about it, he'll be gagged and handcuffed by the time his expectations are confirmed." Clint's expression clearly displayed his lack of compassion for the spider guy. If he had had any previous plans on being merciful towards his prey, Hawkeye had clearly cast them aside.

"This will have to be a full-on ambush to work," Captain America stated, his fierce blue eyes growing cold. "No more good cop bad cop business. We all attack at once, throwing everything we got at him, bring him to S.H.I.E.L.D., and get this done. The sooner it happens, the sooner this whole ridiculous ordeal is over with. Sound good?"

The team nodded in agreement, glad they all had finally decided on a course of action to take. All except Banner, that is, who stood in the corner of the room with his back against the wall, fuming.

"I'll inform Coulson," Stark exclaimed, looking up at the ceiling. "Jarvis, would you kindly call up our good friend Mr. Agent and—"

But Jarvis interrupted him. Sir, there is a commotion happening outside, right beside Avengers Tower.

Tony frowned. "What? Jarvis, clarify. What exactly is—?"

Suddenly, a loud crash sounded from far below, echoing across the city and up to the Avengers' ears. Stark's artificial intelligence opened the doors to the balcony, and the team was met with an onslaught of chaotic noise. Car alarms began blaring wildly, and mingling whirls of police sirens shrieked from every corner of New York. Startled, the Avengers ran out on to the tower's balcony, looking gingerly over the edge at the streets below. The bewilderment in Natasha Romanoff's voice mirrored all of the team's thoughts at that moment as she stared down at something she couldn't find the words to describe.

"What...what is that thing?"

Something beastly and green was terrorizing the city below, creating chaos as it rampaged about, leaving massive destruction in its wake. Screams rang out from terrified pedestrians, and policemen armed with machine guns began firing wildly at the creature. The monstrosity smashed through the windows at the base of Avengers Tower, causing the building to quake slightly under their feet. All at once, the Avengers shared a knowing glance, and without a word passing their lips, the team began to suit up. Tony Stark in his flashy Iron Man armor, Steve Rogers in his star-spangled, navy blue Captain America suit and his vibranium shield secured to his back, Natasha Romanoff donning her sleek, leather and spandex Black Widow get-up, decorated with pockets that concealed a variety of lethal weapons, and Clint Barton in his maroon and black leather vest and pants as Hawkeye, his trusty bow in hand. Gallantly, they all stood together, ready for a fight.

"Guys," Steve alerted his team, his voice laced with panic. The Avengers all turned around.

Bruce Banner was gone.


Bruce you need to stop causing probs my friend. I really like what happens in the next chapter, all I'm going to say :) Rant at me in the reviews please? :D