Chapter 54 - Shattered Glass

The armor that would usually make him feel powerful and in control did none of that for him now. His skin was prickling with nerves and he wanted to pace and jump and scream, give some form of outlet to his frustrations. He was confined within the armor though, nowhere to go, eyes up ahead. Estimated flight time to New York City was 1 hour and 37 minutes. He had changed his altitude twice already, flew high and high up into the atmosphere until he held the suit steady at 60,000 feet, minimizing the resistance on the suit that would slow him down. Up there, the air was so thin, that he could push the suit's speed to its maximum.

He would be alright. The kid would be alright. Again and again, Tony tried to tell himself that he was overreacting. He was making a bigger deal about this, maybe possibly once again putting a target on the kid's back when he would be fine. But his fear overpowered his sanity. He had to know. Had to make sure.

10 minutes into the flight, Natasha had pinged him their location and he had kept it up on his head-up display ever since, following their progress. They weren't traveling that much slower in the jet than he was but they were so much closer.

He should have never left New York. He should have never, never left his kid behind.

#

'With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts.'

Eleanor Roosevelt. He saw that quote every day. It was written on a postcard that hung on their fridge, bright happy letters desperate to seem cheerful. It was also a lie. It was a new day and there was no new strength to speak off that Peter could tap into. His energy level was still as flat as that cake May had tried to bake for his birthday last year. His birthday that wasn't really his birthday.

He groaned, deep guttural frustration muffled by the pillow he pressed his face into. He had tried to sleep, but his thoughts just wouldn't shut up. He just couldn't stop. He had gone through everything that had happened over the last few days. Again. There just had to be a loophole. Somewhere, there had to be a way how he could fix this, how it might just all be a big misunderstanding.

His eyes shot over to his desk where he had shoved the phone the Widow had given him into one of the drawers. He should probably take it off "do not disturb" mode. Just in case Miss Potts... Just in case Pepper Potts would try to contact him. But he didn't need it ringing when May was home. Didn't need her to start asking questions about why he had yet another Stark phone lying around. Or maybe... maybe he did. Maybe he did want her to ask some questions for he had some of his own.

Not before he had taken a look at the trackers Mr. Stark must have installed on that thing though. After a second, Peter scoffed at his own ignorance. Like whatever Mr. Stark had implemented wouldn't work even if he were to turn the phone off completely.

It took him another 30 minutes of moping about how unfair all of this was before he got out of bed. He couldn't very well keep to his room all morning and in all honesty, he didn't want to. He hadn't seen May in days and so much had happened. While he was a little scared to face her, still... it was May. He had missed her. The moment Peter opened the door of his bedroom, May was all over him. She threw her arms around him like she hadn't seen him for a month, pressed a kiss against his hair and held him close like she knew. Like she knew what had happened that weekend.

No. Of course she didn't. She wouldn't hug and kiss him, smiling. If she knew, she'd be in tears and hysterics. Out of her mind with worry. No, this was just May happy to see him after he'd been away for a couple of days. Probably the longest he had ever been away from her since his parents— well. In a long time.

"I don't like this. I want to know if you want to stay somewhere over the weekend." She pressed another kiss against his temple. "In advance. A few days, preferably a week. Not via text."

"Right," he whispered, leaning into her embrace. The warmth he felt in her arms wasn't all that different from the calming anchor Mr. Stark's heartbeat provided. Different, but still pleasant. "I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"Just... just don't again. I need to know, Peter. You can't just run off places. I..." Her breathing was deep, not troubled but definitely with an air of reaching for control. "I just really need to know you're safe, okay?"

He gave a couple of small nods. His safety again. It wasn't like there'd be a repeat of that past weekend at the Compound. All that was over. Or so Mr. Stark had said. He was supposedly done with all that. Of course, the past days hadn't been anywhere within Peter's control. He hadn't had any say about coming home or not. None of it had been planned. He wasn't all that sure what Mr. Stark had told her, other than a story about a workshop seminar and he had no interest in having to double down on the lie to her.

"When did you get home? You... you not tired?"

She shook her head, the smile on her face still wide and genuine. "Breakfast first, alright? You need some food, honey."

Right. He nodded again. Not like he had an appetite but food wasn't the worst idea. He could do food.

"Come on. How about French toast, hm? Or some bacon? What would you like, honey?"

She pulled him along into the kitchen and Peter had neither the nerve nor the strength to refuse. Refusing would mean having to find an excuse and he was all out of those. All out of ideas and tired of talking himself out of revealing his secret. Pushed onto one of the bar stools in the kitchen, he just listened as she chatted away, trivial things about work and a story about the lady two doors down that she had overheard in the elevator. Talking more for the sake of speaking than with the intent of saying something and that was fine by him. At least he wouldn't have to actually listen. He could just have the words roll over him and have his spiraling thoughts drowned out by May's chatter.

Somewhat drowned out at least. His thoughts still circled the same questions over and over again. He had been thinking of what he could say to her all night. Of what he should ask, if he should even ask her anything. Even though Mr. Stark had said that he shouldn't—

He shook his head. That didn't matter now. The man was gone, or would be soon enough. He would leave him behind in New York and it was time that Peter took his life back into his own hands. He would have to figure out the truth himself and May had to know, right? She had to know something. That his parents weren't really his parents. That he had been... what? Adopted? Practically a stranger brought into their family. That he didn't even belong.

His stomach twisted painfully and it had nothing to do with being hungry. Silently, he watched her as she cracked open a couple of eggs, pulled the bacon out of the fridge.

"May?"

"Yes, honey?"

Her back was turned towards him and that made things a little awkward. If he was gonna ask her, he would want to see her face. Would want to know if she was lying or telling the truth. Would at least want to try to read her face.

"You alright, honey?"

He nodded quickly only to realize that with her back still turned she couldn't see him. "Yeah. Yeah, 'course."

Where would he even start? The adoption? They never even talked about his— about Mary and Richard. How could he just bring that up without so much as a warning? Asking her about all that could potentially blow this whole thing up and unravel just... everything. All the secrets, not just the ones he was starting to catch up on, but also his own. The ones he had so desperately kept quiet for months. She could find out about his powers if he said the wrong thing. About Spider-Man and all the danger, he had put himself in. Even worse, she could find out about how he might have been able to save Ben, if only he hadn't been sitting on his hands like a little coward. If only he had done the right thing from the beginning, if he had worked on ways to use his powers for something good and hadn't wasted weeks amusing himself with sticking to the ceiling of his room.

He'd been a coward. He couldn't do that anymore. He couldn't shy away from the truth anymore. The consequences to his actions were his to bear but he couldn't live in this limbo any longer. Couldn't deal with all these lies and half-truths for another day. It was chipping away at his soul.

"May, I... I've been wondering erm..." Words. He needed more words, better words. He didn't know where to even begin. "I've been wondering if... if maybe we could... we could maybe, erm... I... I just got a couple, a couple of questions."

The bacon was fizzing in the pan. The eggs had broken when she had put them in the second pan on the stove and she was stirring them into scrambled eggs instead. "Questions? What kind of questions, honey?"

"It's erm..." His heart was about to explode. Without all the cooking, she would likely be onto him already, would maybe realize how his nerves were spiking. "It's... it's about my parents."

She didn't turn around then and he knew right away that this had been a miscalculation. A mistake. He couldn't see her face, couldn't see her reaction.

"What... what about your parents?"

"I... I just, the... the thing is, they— I... I mean I... I was just wondering... I... I don't really... really know much about them and I just thought that... that maybe we could, you know. Talk."

She didn't turn to him, didn't even look around, just turned over the bacon. "There's not much to talk about, Peter. They both worked really hard, came home and then... then spent time with you or.. or us and... and that's all there is to it." She pushed the eggs back and forth in the pan, eyes not leaving the food. "They loved you. A lot."

"Right." The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Irritation. Maybe she really just didn't know? Peter swallowed hard. No, she had to know. Not even turning around, not even really acknowledging his question like she did, that... that was the sign of a secret. Or a lie. "I... I was thinking more like... like do I like... look like one of them or... or maybe I kinda act like one of them? Something... something like that."

She stayed quiet for so long, Peter started to wonder if she might just ignore that he had spoken altogether.

"I'm not sure, honey, I'm sorry. I... I guess your dad, he liked cars. Liked to work on them. That's a little bit like what you do with your computers and robots, right?"

Peter swallowed hard. Was this the best she could do? It took him a moment until he realized that it wasn't nerves and disappointment that made his hands shake. He was angry. He was so angry. His hands were balled into fists. He had to get out of there or he might snap and break something. His control over his body, over what he could do was quickly slipping away from him.

He turned on his heel, determined to run back to his room and then... and then something. He didn't know.

"Peter!"

There was something in her voice that made him stop, had him frozen in the middle of the living room.

"What..." When he turned and saw her face at last, her eyes were wide and he could almost feel how fast her heart was beating, the tremor in her own hands. "What... what did he say to you?"

At that, something shattered within him. She really knew then? She really did know. Of course she would. All of them, keeping their secrets. A shockwave of emotion pulsed through him. He wrung his hands, desperate to stay in control. His whole body was shaking, overwhelmed by everything that had happened around him over the last days. What had happened to him. It was all catching up to him.

"Oh, honey..." She rushed forward and Peter had to brace himself so he wouldn't flinch away, so he wouldn't try to get away from her as her arms pulled him close. "Shh, everything will be alright. God, you're shaking. It's okay."

He was about to fall into another episode, he could feel it, the strong deep vibe that rushed through him. His senses were flaring up, pushing his body to its limits. He clung to May, closed his eyes. His breathing came in fast shallow puffs of air and his head was swimming. He had to... all he had to do was to focus like... like he'd been taught. Just focus on one thing and right there that was May. Her heartbeat, the warmth of her skin.

"Peter, honey, just... just... breathe. What... just... shh, just breathe, honey."

He gasped as another wave of emotion rushed through him and cold sweat hit him like a splash of water to his face. His eyes flew open and just like his eyes so did the front door. It didn't just fly open, it was torn off its hinges.

Peter's whole body tensed. He quickly grabbed May's arm and pulled her behind him. The sound of the gunshot gave him only half a second to duck and pull May with him, out of the line of fire. She shrieked as he pushed her back into the kitchen, then ducked away from another bullet. Not fast enough. Pain exploded like hot fire in his left arm. He pushed forward into the kitchen, sought some kind of shelter behind the door frame. His head was still swimming, not sure what to do first, what to do next. The Soldier. The Winter Soldier was in their living room. With a gun. May's frantic screams were echoing in his ears as he looked down. His arm was covered in blood, dripping from a wound just above his elbow down his forearm, flowing onto his fingers.

"Oh god, oh god, no, Peter, oh god, oh—" His reflexes still somewhat functioning, he pulled her down, out of the way of another shot that penetrated the wall where a moment ago his head had been.

They couldn't die there. Not May. He couldn't let that happen. Not after Ben. Adrenaline canceled out whatever caution would usually bind him. Ignoring May's high pitched screams, he ducked around the corner, almost ran right into the Soldier. At least he had the element of surprise on his side. Plus, he was fast. Despite everything, he was so much faster than the Soldier. Fast enough to knock the gun out of the man's hand. It slithered across the living room floor and he took a dive for it, his Spider-agility giving him an advantage over the sturdy Soldier. His hand closed around the barrel of the gun, the metal uncomfortably hot in his hand and before he could change his mind, he flung it towards the window with all the strength he could muster. The weapon shattered the glass, finally out of the man's reach.

The Soldier's hands were now on him instead. A hand on his ankle pulled Peter across the floor. All his kicking didn't do a thing. His left hand didn't find any purchase on the floorboards. It was slick with blood, his blood own. His right helped him to resist though, was glued to the floor, his fingertips not loosening. But when the Soldier gave a strong tug on his legs and the board gave way, splintering as it was ripped from the ground. Peter was pulled back, pieces of wood flying with him.

"Stop. Stop!" His voice didn't even sound like his own voice, breathlessly pleading and broken.

The Soldier bent down and grabbed him by his neck. Peter's eyes bulged as his windpipe was pressed shut by the man's hand. His legs kicked, his arms punching at the man's torso as the barrel of another gun was pressed against his temple.

A loud clung had the Soldier hiss in pain. Then air filled his lungs again and Peter found himself back on the floor. Deep breaths, oxygen for his strung out brain. His skin prickled painfully. May was just behind the man, the heavy wrought-iron pan still in hand. Hot oil and bacon had rained down on the Soldier when May had struck him in the head, some of the droplets burning the skin on Peter's arms as well. The Soldier was still bent over him, the low grunts of pain the first sounds he had made since he had set foot in the apartment.

The gun that had fallen out of the man's hand was lying on the ground right in front of Peter. Without thinking, he grabbed it and propelled it away, aiming for the same hole in the window the first one had broken through. Peter pushed himself away from the man in front of him fast enough that when he reached for Peter, the guy only grabbed at air. He kicked him in the face, back still against the floor. The crunching sound and the blood gushing from the man's nose gave Peter hope. Another loud clang rang through the apartment as May swung the pan once again, this time missing the man's face, hitting his shoulder instead. With a low grunt, the soldier turned. His hand closed around May's neck faster than Peter could change directions.

"No!" He could do nothing but watch as his aunt was thrown against the wall behind her. Motionless, she hit the ground with a low thump.

Panic surged through Peter. He jumped on the Soldier's back before he really knew what he was doing. His punches hit the man in the face fast and strong, targeting the skin burned by the hot oil. He could do it. He could stop the Soldier. He would not let him get away with this, not again. Blind rage gave him strength, yes. But it also made him sloppy. The Soldier's nose might have been bleeding, he might have grunted painfully under Peter's assault, but when the man's hand squeezed Peter's arm in the very same spot where he had shot him just minutes before, pain struck Peter so deeply, he might have even lost consciousness for a split second. Long enough at least that his passiveness allowed the Soldier to get a hold of both his wrists.

His feet had left the ground and that pillar in their living room was pressed against his back. One hand around both of Peter's wrists, the Soldier held him tightly pressed against the solid surface. His other hand was around Peter's throat. Not even the metal hand, that one was holding his wrists with a painful right grip pressed against the pillar. No, Peter could feel the warm skin of the man's human hand on his throat as he increased the pressure, cut off Peter's airway. He wanted to cough, to draw breath but he was frozen in place. He kicked his legs, braced them against the soldier. He couldn't move the man, only pressed himself tighter against the pillar. With every second his body was without oxygen, his strength weakened. He tried to make the guy move or lose his balance, something... but he wouldn't budge. Peter's vision was starting to black out around the edges, colorful dots dancing in front of his eyes.

No... no, he couldn't. He couldn't let this happen. The Soldier would not stop with him. May was lying on the ground behind the man. She wasn't moving at all. He wouldn't stop with Peter. He'd kill her as well if he hadn't already. If she wasn't already—

There was another crash and Peter twitched then groaned as he hit the ground hard. His legs hadn't been under him, he had just slumped to the ground. His throat hurt, burned like hell. His lungs were trying so hard to pull in oxygen and he coughed and coughed, trying desperately to get some air. Every cell in his body screamed with pain. But while he was still perched on the floor, the fight wasn't over. Things were crashing, two men rolling and jumping around the living room, one throwing the other into his aunt's vitrine, glass shattering everywhere.

As his vision came back to him, Peter finally realized who had pulled the Solider off of him. Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers was in Peter's living room, punching his fist into his best friend's face. The Soldier was ruthless. He certainly didn't hold back his punches against the Captain either. Peter's legs were like jello, his hands shook. Just behind the two men fighting, his eyes fell on his aunt still lying on the floor. Still not moving. Peter scrambled to his knees. As fast as he could, he crawled towards her, ducking low to stay out of the two Super Soldiers' eye lines.

He was hyperventilating, his lungs burning like fire with every breath he took. He couldn't see her face, just picked her up underneath her arms and dragged her around the corner into the kitchen, away from the two Super Soldiers. He pulled her close, cradling her upper body on his lap as he kneeled beside her.

"May?" His voice was rough, almost gone and his throat hurt with every word. There was blood on her and he didn't know if it was hers or his own. "May? Please... please, wake up. Please, May, please."

He shook her shoulders, desperate for her to move, then another loud crash made him instinctively cover her body with his own. He looked up and Barnes was looming over them just outside the doorway. He didn't say anything, he didn't even seem to have any facial expression just stared at Peter. To his shame, Peter couldn't do a single thing about it. Couldn't move, frozen. He was kneeling there on the ground, just pulled May a little tighter, shaking with... with fear. He was... Barnes was going to kill them. He was—

The soldier was pulled back away from him again. Peter still cowered on the floor, May still in his arms. He didn't know how long he stared at her. Glass shattered in the living room. It pulled him out of his frozen panic. Shaky hands checked for a pulse and once he felt her blood still rushing underneath his fingers, his nerves calmed enough for his brain to regain basic functionality. Right away he could hear the air still rushing in and out of her lungs as well.

"May?"

Her eyes seemed to move underneath the lids but she didn't open them. She was still alive, still there with him. Fear struck him at the thought of what would happen if the Winter Soldier returned. His body was buzzing with pain. If Rogers didn't manage to overthrow him, Peter would not get out of there alive. Neither would May.

Carefully, he stretched her out on the floor, body tilted to the side, head pulled back a little bit to keep her airway open. He would be back. He would be back when she wasn't in danger anymore.

Just as he was ready to turn and engage, the quiet in the apartment struck him. There were no sounds that indicated a fight coming from the living room any more. Quietly, slowly. he peeked around the corner. The window Peter had shattered with the gun, was entirely gone and with it some parts of the wall surround it. He ran across the room, looked down into the ally. The two men were fighting, exchanging punches, kicks and more. The Soldier was just about to push Rogers out into the street. Into the street where civilians were just going about their day, about to be in the way of two Super Soldiers that weren't pulling their punches.

He hung onto the edge of the broken wall with his right hand, his left arm too shaky for him to trust. His feet were braced against the exterior wall. He could simply slide down, breaking the speed with his hand. It wouldn't be comfortable but it would work. He flinched as the Captain was thrown back, the back of his head hitting the concrete. He was almost out of time. He would never be able to overpower the Winter Soldier on his own, not without his suit, not with his arm so useless.

"Don't! Stop!" He froze and so had the Widow standing among the remains of the apartment's front door. "Get the fuck back inside!"

He blinked once, then checked the alleyway below and found both men gone.

"Peter, you—" Her eyes widened, her face drained of the little color it had. "You're... you're bleeding! Get the fuck inside!"

He was so sick of it, these people thinking they could tell him what to do. Treating him like a little boy when he was stronger than they would ever be. When he could do things they would never be able to. When he could stop things, bad things when they were overpowered. Stop people from getting away with murder.

"My... May. May's hurt."

Her eyes widened even further as he slid out of view down into the ally.

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[author's note:

Thank you guys for reading and all the lovely comments! I absolutely enjoyed your reactions as the pace picks up a bit again.

I promise, I won't let you wait too long for the next chapter.]