Ugh, guys, this is so sad. I thought my idea was original but then I came across a story published before mine in which Peter also uses the infinity stones! Then again, I am writing fan fiction, ergo, nothing is original. Thank you so much to everyone who reviews, it means the world to me. A couple of people guessed at who the mysterious figure is, if you're right, well, you know who you are. Here's chapter eleven. Enjoy!

"Woah there Pete!" exclaimed the mysterious figure, pulling down the hood that shaded its face and holding up his hands in a clear gesture of surrender. Peter was confused for a moment before realising one fist was still raised threateningly at the man. He lowered it immediately. Actually, scratch that, he was still really confused.

"Clint? What are you... wait, are you the person that's been following me this whole time?"

Obviously Peter was a bit suspicious, but he hadn't meant for the words to come out sounding so accusatory. Clint looked affronted, and said with indignation

"Of course not! Well," he amended, "I was following you, but not in a creepy way! I need to talk to you."

"...You know you could have just said hi?"

"What, right in front of your school? Yeah, cause that would have done wonders for your secret identity."

"Well you could have texted."

"I did, actually."

"...oh."

Peter pulled out his phone to confirm, and sure enough, there was a text from Hawkeye requesting a meeting after he had finished school. Feeling well and truly chagrined, he slipped the phone back in his pocket. He could feel his cheeks warm up and was reluctant to meet Clints' eye, but managed it eventually, feeling more than a little foolish.

"Oh gosh, I'm sorry. I was so out of it today."

Clint shrugged and grinned easily. "That's ok. My fault too. I would have waited for you to reply, except that I was in the area anyway and I needed to speak to you pretty urgently."

The last part of his sentence flew right over Peters head as another thought occurred to him. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"Hang on... how do you know what school I go to?"

Clint rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation.

"Peter, do you honestly think Tony would pass up an opportunity to brag about the fancy school his ridiculously smart protege goes to?"

Now it was Peters turn to blush and stare, embarrassed (and just a little pleased) at the ground. Mr Stark thought he was ridiculously smart? Nah, Clint was probably exaggerating.

"Great, now that we've established that I'm not out to kidnap you and sell you on the black market," Said Clint impatiently, "do you have a minute to talk? Like I said, it's sorta urgent."

Mr Stark and May were both adamant that Peter not get involved in any more Spiderman activity for a while, at least. And although it might irritate him beyond belief, Peter knew they were probably right. There was only one possible answer.

"Yeah. Of course. What can I help with?" As if he would even think about saying no! Anyway, it was just a conversation, so what harm could it do? Although actually, he did have to be home before six, or May would have a nervous breakdown. But Peter had a hunch about what- or who- this might concern, and if his hunch was correct there was no way he wouldn't at least stick around to find out what was happening. He owed her that much. "This is about Nat, isn't it?"

Clint nodded, his face graven. When he spoke next, he stuttered over the words in a way that seemed out of place in his usually calm character. "Look Peter- I know it's a lot to ask, in fact I probably shouldn't even be asking you... but- well I have to try. I just have to. Can you understand that?"

Peter nodded slowly, trying to make sense of the grabbed words he had just heard. "Yeah, sure... but what is it exactly you need from me?"

"I'm not even sure myself, yet. But Doctor Strange is doing some research into this...place that you ended up, to see if there's a way... a way to bring her back, and he says he can't make any progress without speaking to you first. He said we might not even be able to do anything without your help, Peter. I understand it's a big ask, especially on top of everything else you have to deal with, but Peter... she didn't deserve this."

Something in Peters gut felt like it was ripping. All he could think of was something Nat had said, a phrase half remembered from that odd, dream like place. "In my experience, fate doesn't deal in fairness." She was right, but that didn't make it any less frustrating. How was he supposed to say no? He didn't want to say no. He agreed with Clint, and he knew that if he was in the same position he would want someone to be working this hard to bring him back. How could he possibly refuse when Clint and the other avengers, and Nat herself actually did work this hard to bring him back, harder even. Yet still...

"Mr Stark... and my aunt May... they don't want me doing Spiderman stuff for a while."

Clint looked at him, and suddenly Peter felt like such a child for having said that.

"Then don't tell them." Stated Clint matter-of-factly . The words would have seemed blunt, harsh even were it not for the muted desperation that clawed at the back of Clints' eyes like a wounded animal trapped in a cage from which there was no escape.

"It's the only way. Please."

This time, Peter didn't hesitate. He gritted his teeth and nodded, resigning himself to keeping yet more secrets from his friends and family. But he was certain he had made the right decision by the look on Clints' face, and the fervent thanks he gave to Peter.

"Can you come tomorrow? Well, what about this weekend? Shall we say, nine am Saturday? I'll text you the address." It was agreed. Hawkeye said goodbye with another earnest thanks, while Peter began to work his way out of the labyrinthine maze of side streets he had somehow ended up in. Yet even as he found his way out through the dingy back alleys and into the brighter environment of the main streets, he felt as though he was delving deeper and deeper into a twisted maze from which there was no way out.

He was on edge for the rest of the week. Paranoia had set in, and Peter was constantly checking over his shoulder. It was turning out to be harder than he had thought to keep the different layers of his life separate. Like that one time May had tried to make trifle- he shuddered just thinking about it. The layers of cake, cream and jam- all good things- and somehow merged together to create an unholy mess that somehow managed to be completely and utterly inedible. Honestly, he was often quite impressed at Mays' ability, and reckoned it would be a pretty good offensive weapon if she could manage to get someone to sit down long enough. Speaking of, things between him and May had definitely improved as of late. Peter knew he'd been acting like a jerk, and had been making a pretty big effort to communicate more. So he and May had finally begun to settle into what felt like a slightly different version of their pre-snap routine. Peter would come back from school. May would come home from work. One of them would attempt to cook, but more often than not they'd end up going out for dinner, or ordering takeout. Still, they had started talking again, discussing the possibility of returning to being Spiderman, maybe once his arm had healed properly. May was still reluctant, but Peter had been slowly raising the subject, just once or twice, and her reaction had not been as adverse as he had expected. This was encouraging. And because the peace they had established was still fragile, Peter hadn't risked bringing up the subject of Tony. May still turned off the TV whenever anything concerning the Avengers came on, which was frequently. Peter could tell she just wasn't ready yet, and... he understood. At least, he was trying. But it did make things harder for him, and keeping secrets had never been his forte, which probably explained why so many people knew about his 'secret' identity. Whenever the Avengers were mentioned in conversation (which was rare), Peter took great pains to ensure he never lied outright. He also never left his phone lying about, just in case a text from Mr Stark should appear. Their contact had been pretty minimal, but regular: a couple of texts a day, sometimes a link to a funny video. Tony had even called once, after checking to see if it was safe. That wasn't so great. Tony had asked about school, and Peter had asked if Bruce had made any progress on the injury front (no) and they had laughed a bit, but Peter still felt like there was a distance between them, greater than the phone line. He remembered when he had first come across Tony after the second snap, on the battlefield near the remains of the Avengers compound. It was strange, but when they had met there, despite the horrific conditions of the encounter, Peter had felt absolutely secure in the knowledge that everything would turn out ok, because Mr Stark- Tony- was there. And against all odds it had been. Except now Peter was keeping secrets again, and it was harder than he had thought to keep forcing all the lies through his teeth. It left feeling queasy.

Anyway. He had made it to Friday night without slipping up. Tomorrow he was meeting with Clint and Dr Strange. Peter was lying in his bed, analysing the patches of flaking plaster on the ceiling and dreading the next day. It wasn't that he didn't like the doctor. He did. But Dr Strange was just so intimidating, and Peter always got the impression he was holding back. Granted, Peter had heard that the doctor knew all the secrets of the universe, so that was probably to be expected. It was just a little unnerving. The last time he had seen the Doctor it had been from the confines of a hospital bed.

And as if all this wasn't enough to keep on top of, there was that press conference tomorrow night. Peter had to get home in time to watch it. Tony had even asked if Peter would like to come visit on Sunday, but Peter had had to refuse. He was already going to be away for most of Saturday, and he didn't want to push his luck where May was concerned. It was nice to be invited though. With this in mind, Peter pulled up the covers and turned his lamp off. He closed his eyes. He could hear the traffic outside his room. The faint sound of a siren cutting through the air. Someone was yelling in one of the apartments above. He zeroed I'm on a better sound, the sound of May reading in the living room. He could hear the regular rustle of the pages, and it was comforting to be reminded of her presence. He listened to this, and he must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing he knew it was morning, and someone was shaking him.

"Umph"

No...ugh, he was so cozy...why did he have to get up..."ten more minutes" he mumbled into his pillow, but the phantom shaker was persistent and forget about ten minutes, within ten seconds he was staring up at the vaguely concerned face of May.

"Um, Peter?" She asked with a frown. "You know your alarm has been going off for the past half hour right?" She jerked back in surprise as Peter practically fell out of bed.

"Wait really? Oh shit! Sorry! Shoot?"

He was going to be late. Late for a meeting with an Avenger and a wizard. An Avenger. And a wizard. This was bad, this was so, so, UGH! Why was everything in his room so neatly packed away! Peter scrambled about the room, hunting out items of clothing, tipping out his entire underwear drawer when he couldn't find a matching pair of socks. May retreated wisely, closing the door behind her. It shouldn't have taken as long as it did for Peter to get ready, but it was pretty hard to hurry whilst using only one arm. He gave up on tying his right shoelace, and took the stairs to the street four at a time, using his left arm to swing round the landings, almost knocking over Mrs Goldstein in the process. He could hear his frantically shouted apology echo through the building as he continued his mad dash, proceeding out into the streets. He went as fast as he could, yet by the time he reached 177A Bleecker street it was closer to Ten o'clock than nine. Peter stood outside the door panting for a minute. Ugh, he was all sweaty. Gross. Normally he would have dithered outside for a bit before knocking, but he was definitely too late for that, so took hold of the large, old fashioned door knocker and gave a few sharp raps. Immoderately it swung open, yet there was nobody there to greet him. Peter walked into the building, thinking that if this was a horror movie he would probably be laughing his ass off at the idiotic decisions of the main characters. Yet here he was. The room he was in appeared to be some kind of a lobby, though in some disrepair. The ceilings and windows were high, and a grand staircase swept through the middle of the room, but the air was dimly lit and thick with dust.

"Ah, Mr Parker. You made it."

Peter couldn't see where the voice was coming from. He glanced around in search of it.

"Um. Dr Strange, sir?"

"Over here."

A strange shape began to descend- or rather- float down the large staircase. As it made its way down, the shape coalesced into the unmistakeable figure of Dr Stephen Strange. As usual, he was wearing the snazzy red cloak that Peter secretly coveted. Strange's thin face was stern, but Peter couldn't be sure if it was because of something he had done, or if the doctor just always looked like that. He gulped, and began to apologise.

"Sir, I'm so sorry I'm late, honestly I don't know how it happened, I would have been here on time, early even, but my alarm, well-" Strange raised a hand, and Peter trailed off. The doctor moved forward and put out his hand. Peter stared at it blankly before realising what it was for and shaking it.

"It's good to see you." Said Strange. "Thank you for coming."

"Uh... anytime." replied Peter. "Is, uh, is Clint here as well?"

Strange nodded. "Yes, we'll be meeting him shortly." He gestured briefly with his hands, and a large glowing portal appeared. The doctor motioned for Peter to go through, and so he stepped through the portal, emerging on the other side followed closely by Doctor Strange. Peter watched in awe as the portal disappeared in a shower of golden sparks. "Cool." He breathed. Strange strode purposely forward while Peter gazed at his surroundings. It was like a cross between a study and a museum, and it was awesome. Glass cases full of suits of armour, weapons, some of what could only be described as instruments of torture, and others that Peter couldn't even begin to guess at the nature of. The room would have been stuffy were it not for the large windows. Honestly, Peter could have happily spent hours examining all this cool stuff, but instead he trailed the doctor to the far end of the room, where Clint was standing, leaning against a chair in a nonchalant pose. Well, it would have seemed nonchalant to anyone else, but Peter could see the tendons standing out in his neck, and the grim set of his mouth. The latter relaxed slightly when Clint saw Peter.

"You came."

Relief was plain in his voice.

"Won't you sit down?" Asked Strange. Peter obliged, taking an overstuffed armchair in a pleasant green shade. Clint took a grey one opposite, and Strange retreated to a brown leather chair, crossing his legs and surveying Peter with uncomfortable intensity.

"Tea?" Asked the doctor. "Soda?"

Was it a trick question? Some kind of test?

"Umm... tea, please?" Peter waited to see if he had passed or failed, but to his surprise, a large steaming teapot appeared floating in mid-air, along with a patterned china teacup. The teapot proceeded to pour the hot beverage out, and when it was finished, the cup floated over to Peter, who stared at in amazement. "Is this for me? Oh, uh- " he reached out and grabbed it swiftly from air, praying it wouldn't fall and smash. It didn't. He wrapped his left hand around the delicate handle, before meeting the steady gaze of Doctor Strange.

"Tell me Peter," said the doctor, reclining in his seat. "What do you know about the infinity stones?"

Peter paused for a moment to gather his thoughts, racking his brains for the few facts he had picked up during his battles with Thanos.

"Well, um, I mean... I used them? So, I know there's six of them, they all do different things-"

Strange cut him off mid flow. "Perhaps I should have been more specific. Tell me. What do you know about the soul stone."

Terribly sorry guys, turns out when I posted this chap I wrote five stoems instead of six. Stupid mistake, now fixed.