Peter stared at Nick Fury, wide-eyed, and thankful his expression was hidden underneath Iron Man's armor. The disguise was better than anything he could've asked for. It disguised his body language, if he stayed perfectly still, his face, and most importantly, his voice.

He whispered a command to Karen, ordering her to initiate the voice changer, to make his voice mimic Tony's, while Bucky pretended to lose his balance and collide into Nat. Her annoyed shout, her shove at his side, was enough to cover Peter's hushed instructions to his AI.

The three of them made a good team, and when they wanted to, were able to communicate without words or even gestures. Peter wished this wasn't true. It'd be a lot easier to walk away from them if they didn't work together so nicely.

Fury's eyes went back and forth between the three of them, before settling on Peter. "Stark? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be babysitting."

"Oh, well," said Peter. He frowned at the way his voice sounded exactly like Tony's and tried to channel his vocabulary. "Pep's taking care of Morgan."

"I meant Parker," said Fury. "Who's making sure he isn't running off and doing something completely idiotic if you're here?"

Peter's opened his mouth, something quick witted and snarky and no doubt very telling on his lips, but then clicked his jaw shut. Nat cut him off before he could get the words out.

"This is an emergency," she said. "There's a situation in Russia, and it's time sensitive."

"What kind of situation?"

"Human trafficking."

Fury frowned again and returned his stare back at Peter. "Iron Man came out of retirement to beat up traffickers in Russia."

"Uh huh," said Peter. "Domestic life gets a little boring. Got tired of doing the dishes."

"Oh really?" asked Fury. His eyes were narrow with suspicion, practically just slits, but Peter held strong. He resisted the urge to shuffle his feet, to fidget, and it felt like an eternity passed before Fury's expression went neutral. "So I'm supposed to believe it's Tony Stark under that armor, and not Peter Parker?"

"Yep, just me," said Peter. "Just your friendly… i-international man in a can."

Fury looked at him in a calculating sort of way. One that made Peter feel like he was being analyzed and pieced together, and one that didn't convince him Fury didn't know it wasn't really Tony under the armor. Peter could tell by looking at Nat and Bucky that they thought so too, so they were all a little surprised when Fury cleared his throat and began walking away.

"Fine," he told them, with his back turned. "Let me know how it goes when you get back."

Peter, Nat and Bucky paused, got each other confused looks, then shook it off and continued on their way to the Quinjet. Fueled with determination, fueled with a gripping fear of burying May just like they buried Ben, Peter followed Nat and Bucky on the jet, ready to get his aunt back.


Rescuing his aunt turned out to be pretty uneventful, and therefore, frustrating.

Peter was sat, crouched down, staring at the building Natasha had told him she was absolutely certain had May inside of it. She still had connections in Russia, and all over the place, really, through SHIELD. After a conversation in Russian over her cellphone in the jet, she punched in some coordinates, and they were on their way.

He supposed Happy had been right back in Queens. Peter needed more than just the Quinjet. He had no idea where to start looking, and regard Nat's ability to snatch the information up out of thin air her own personal superpower.

Peter was grateful for that, but he wasn't grateful for his assigned role in the mission. It was one that required nothing from him. One that mandated him to stand around and wait with Bucky, while Nat went inside, took care of the problem and secured the building. This role, this order from Bucky, made Peter's blood boil.

"What?" asked Bucky, after Peter complained about their situation for the third time. "You don't think Nat can handle the heavy lifting?"

It wasn't that. Peter absolutely knew she could, and he felt a bit sorry for any of the criminals who thought they were going to stop her. It wasn't that she wasn't capable, but it was that Peter was capable. It was his aunt, his family, and more than proficient enough for some lowly, backward human traffickers.

"I should be doing something," said Peter.

He stood up and started pacing back and forth behind where Bucky sat perfectly still, giving occasional kicks to the dirt and pulling at his hair. He glared at Bucky's back while he treaded over the grass. Peter couldn't stay that still if he tried or if he even wanted to.

"You are doing something," replied Bucky. He was unflinching. He was robot, and Peter couldn't comprehend it. "You're standing guard."

"Standing guard is bullshit."

Peter clinched fists and spun around on his heel. He stopped in his tracks when his eyes wandered back over to the building looming off in the distance. This was ridiculous. There wasn't any need for them to be standing guard, not on a simple mission like this one, and Peter needed to know.

He desperately needed to know if she was okay, needed to see that she was, and most of all, needed to hear the gentle, comforting sound of her heart beating.

"I'm going in."

"No you're not."

"I don't take orders from you," said Peter. He had enough of it, of being told what to do, from Fury, from Tony, from everyone else. "I'm not in an army, and I'm not a soldier."

"Maybe it would do you some good," said Bucky. He finally moved. He straightened up, stood up all the way, and looked back at Peter. "This is the easiest, quickest way of getting those civilians out of there unharmed." He gestured at Peter, or rather, the armor that surrounded him. "You don't even know what you're doing in that thing, and you want to go in there, clank up and down the hallways and give us away?"

Peter looked down at his arms and his hands, covered in Iron Man red and gold. He supposed he wouldn't ever truly be his own person wearing. As long as he was in Tony Stark's shadow, he might as well be a soldier, waiting for orders, or more like, waiting for his life to pan out exactly the way Tony planned it.

It was so easy to agree with Tony when the man was in his proximity, so easy to go along with his plan for him to quit the Avengers while he was stuck living under his roof, but was that what he wanted? Quit the Avengers, and inherit Stark Industries? He wasn't sure, but he was sure of one thing.

He was going inside the building, but he wasn't going in as Iron Man. He stepped out of the suit, and watched it slump over to the ground.

"Parker?" asked Bucky, turning around again. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going inside," Peter repeated. "Don't worry. I won't be 'clanking' around."

"Bad idea," said Bucky, but he turned his back and didn't try to stop Peter as he descended down the hill.

He only made it half way down the hill before he stopped again, crouched down again, and strained his eyes. Two figures in the near distance moved towards a river. One of them tall, and big, dragging the smaller one along. He could hear them, and the smaller one, the younger one, was crying for his mother. In English.

Peter remembered what Happy said back at the warehouse. That one of the women had a kid with them, and that must have been him.

He didn't waste time. He was propelled forward by the kind of satisfaction that came with being right, and by at least feeling like he was doing something, even if it wasn't helping his aunt. Peter was on them in less than a minute, and without any warnings or words, grabbed the Russian, effectively separating him from the still crying child.

He gave him a few good punches, until he fell backwards on the cold, hard ground with a thud.

The wind blew, ruffling blades of grass and bringing with it stray drops of water from the river. Peter wiped the dampness from his forehead as he stared down at the Russian an extra couple of seconds, to ensure he wasn't getting back up any time soon. Once he was sure, Peter looked back at the boy.

He was trembling, cold or scared, but most likely both.

Peter crouched down, carefully put a hand on his shoulder and looked him in his eyes. They were wide with fear, and they reminded Peter of himself. He hoped he didn't wear his fear so clearly, out there for everyone to see, but he had a feeling what he saw it this boy's eyes was the same as what Tony saw every time he saved him, or woke him up from his nightmares.

Or every time the media referred to him as the Stark heir. Every time someone questioned where Spider-Man went.

"Hey," said Peter. "It's okay. You're okay now. We're going back home."

The boy frowned, tears still coming, and shook his head. "I can't go home."

Peter narrowed his eyes and removed his hand from his shoulder, while the boy looked somewhere behind Peter, somewhere near the ground. His senses flared, but they were too late. He felt a pinch at the back of his leg, and seconds later he was face planting in the dirt.

He tried to get up. He tried to move his legs and his arms, but they wouldn't listen to him. It felt like the entire atmosphere pressed against him to keep him pinned to the ground, and the only coherent thought floating around in his head was that he'd felt this way before. This uselessness. His limbs failing to obey his brain. It was familiar.

"Spider-Man," said the man. He grabbed Peter's shirt collar, pulling him up from the ground and holding him. Even half-hanging in the air, he couldn't convince his muscles to move. "Thought we might be seeing you again. Although we worried it might be sooner. I suppose we were optimistic in thinking clearing out the warehouse would throw you off our trail?"

"W-where's May?"

"Who knows?" asked the man. "Maybe she's safe with the assassin. Maybe she isn't. You won't live to find out."

Before Peter knew it, he was falling, and hitting a sheet of what felt like razors, but what he discovered, upon sinking under the surface, was just water. Ice cold water. That stabbed every inch of him, and that would kill him before the lack of oxygen got the chance. He didn't know how long he was under there before his brain stopped screaming, stopped fighting with his limbs to move.

Peter was about to let go, was about to enter a dark, quiet place, and then there was something solid under his back again. Water flew from his mouth, and he coughed. He breathed.

The world came back in noises. May's voice sounded like warmth. That same boy was still crying. Flashes of the Sergeant hovering above him. Peter still felt like he was in the water, though. Still felt like there was a million tiny razors stabbing at his skin and his lungs.

"B-bucky," Peter gasped out. "C-cold."

The edges of his vision blurred, and that time, everything did fade to black.


A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for the wait on this one! There's 2 or 3 chapters late, and I'm almost 75% sure they won't take as long as this one did! Last week was unexpectedly crazy!

I saw Endgame! Please don't post spoilers in the comments, though, in case there's people who still haven't! But if you want to discuss, feel free to PM or message me on Tumblr!