Author's Note:

Ever have a feeling something is a bad idea? Me aiming for writing a chapter a week is probably one of those things. I can't say I'm not enjoying it, though...

Disclaimer:

While I am using MCU characters and thus pairing someone else's creativity with my own by giving them a story and a setting, that does not mean I am considered to technically have the legal rights to do so, since I do not own said MCU characters. At all.

Chapter 3:

Less than ideal was looking less and less ideal by the moment. More specifically, feeling less and less ideal by the movement. Each one was beginning to pose a greater challenge than the last.

Another five bombs had gone off. More than anticipated, and now another hour into the cumulative 3 hours since the first explosion, all bets were off as to how many there really were. Slowly but steadily, the two superheroes had been shepherding civilians away from danger, stabilizing structures where they could and doing everything possible to aid containment of destruction to those buildings that they couldn't. Screams of terror from within the flames became infrequent, but that didn't offer a tiring Peter much comfort, as he knew that meant one of two things: either no one was there anymore, or no one alive was there anymore. He prayed the former rang true more often and shuddered at the sunken realization that told him the latter was not a complete lie.

"Heads up!"

Spider-Man dodged quickly at Iron Man's warning, throwing webs at the object as it sailed past him in an assist. Deftly it was caught and with a quick few extra swings and webs, the salvaged girder was in place to brace yet another building that was near toppling. At this point the two of them were looking for something, anything to keep them busy and moving about just to be around and searching for anyone left to help. The normal emergency personnel couldn't get close enough with all of the additional explosions still taking place. City police had been doing their best near the outermost of the 15 blocks square area of destruction, but without the proper gear they went no further, constrained by the flames to only go so far from the fire department's abilities. It hadn't been long before the military police were on the scene, and they became the main task force for trying to find remaining bombs for diffusing, but they had their limitations; and in this situation they showed horribly clearly. Along with the military police, airtanker drones began deployment in an effort to get water into the heart of the destruction, but any progress made was slow and difficult to see if it indeed was there through the smoke and steam created.

"East side, Mr. Stark!"

"On it!"

An elderly woman and her granddaughter, a husband grieving over his wife's crushed body, an unconscious but breathing young gentleman who had shoved his friend away in the nick of time but then been separated from him by a large mound of brick and mortar and cobblestone; these and others Spider-Man and Iron Man continued to find deeper in than the local and military authorities' as of then current reach and pointed, guided and carried as necessary away from the inferno that threatened to take them to their grave. Most were grateful. But a few, be it the sheer terror or grief they beheld in front of them, bewailed that they were alive. Those were some of the ones that hurt the most.

"We're clear here, Spider-Man, keep moving!"

How could Peter Parker complain of a broken rib, a torn shoulder ligament and a partial knee dislocation amidst all of this? Those would be fine, but the lives and livelihoods lost here by so many would never heal as he could.

Make that a broken rib and three fractured. That fall right there hurt.

"Spider-Man, status!" Tony called quickly. He hadn't seen, but had heard the nearby collapse and crashing of lumber and broken glass, with the simultaneous grunt that accompanied through the comms.

"Ugh, good!" Peter groaned, almost frustratedly.

"Like heck." Tony muttered to himself. This time he managed to spot a glimpse of the spider-clad figure getting to his feet and inwardly cursed the mayhem around them yet again, before quickly turning his attention to what called from his field of vision in the not so far distance.

Try as they might, it seemed as if the bombs would go off out of nowhere, with no time to react. A choice few had they actually found before detonation, at which point Iron Man would either launch it somewhere clear, AKA already demolished, to detonate, or when Spider-Man found one Iron Man would tell him 'Good job, get the heck away!' and come in to take care of it in like manner as the former upon arriving at the scene per Peter's guidance to get there.

Some of the charges blew up little larger than a firework. Enough to set things on fire, but not terribly devastating. Four over the course of the night had leveled, or had been strong enough to level, entire apartment complexes in one deafening blast. They all looked the same, with the range in severity making it all the more frustrating; time spent properly handling something small out of caution took away from time to handle something that would have made a much bigger difference.

Smoke was everywhere.

"Mr. Stark, I haven't heard... any explosions for a while." Peter called. His attempts to hide how uncomfortable breathing had become were not as successful as he wanted, but it would have to do.

"Yeah, we might be almost out. I want you out of here, Spider-Man, take off."

Peter stayed silent.

"Spider-Man, confirm, I want you heading back to my place, now."

Still nothing.

He sighed. "Look, Peter, we've gotten a lot of people out. Thanks for the help, I'll take it from here. Peter? Peter, answer me." Hairs stood up on the back of his neck. "Pete, I sw-"

"Mr. Stark, there's someone over here!" Peter leaned heavily against a lamppost, muscles tense, his Spidey Sense suddenly having gone into high alert. Someone was nearby, and some danger beyond and perhaps even behind the flames and destruction to be seen all around him made him suddenly, for a brief moment, want to get away as quickly as possible. At the same time, with his enhanced hearing, the sounds of broken sobs also filtered into the corners of his mind; no matter his first instincts, he couldn't turn his back to either of these.

"Wha- still? Come on! Look, tell me where and let me handle it, you go home!"

Karen, who had kept quiet on the matter for some time now, spoke up again. "Peter, your vitals have spiked dramatically. I recommend you do as Mr. Stark has determined best."

"Something's definitely not right here." He ignored, turning to face a brick dorm a few meters away as adrenaline coursed through his legs. Fully intact, the structure stood with brush and logs piled near portions of chain-link fence. Black ivy grew to overtake the left side, and the roof was scarcely more than two feet taller than the rest of the building. Behind the large trees that canopied and concealed the right side of the yard was an unusually large satellite dish, as well as a rather tall antenna with red lights glowing at various points, ominous in the current setting where power and phones and numerous service connections were decidedly severed.

"Peter, tell me where you are." Tony was reaching the end of his patience.

The flames were more or less all around the property, but somehow none had made it within the fence. "Mr. Stark, there's a building here..."

"Is that supposed to be some sort of crummy clue as to where the heck you happen to be?" His clipped, tightlipped expression could be heard in his tone. "Peter, if you..." His words continued but fell as if on deaf ears.

Peter stared distractedly, somewhat breathless, his shoulders hunched. "Karen, why hasn't this one caught fire?"

"I'm reading unusually low oxygen levels along the perimeter of this address." Karen supplied. "It appears something is artificially creating a barrier the fire cannot survive. In fact, oxygen levels are approximately 17% less than normal at your current location."

"But there's air inside the barrier, right?" He asked, abandoning the lamppost and walking closer. He limped slightly. Still the quiet sound of sobs faintly came to attention. He was sure they were from the building in front of him.

"Affirmative."

Peter let out a breath. "Okay then..."

Iron Man's strained voice finally registered again. "Peter, I would appreciate some communication here, please."

"I'm... going to head in there, Mr. Stark."

"In- no, wait, Peter, stop it, doggone it! Where? Where's 'there'?"

"It's a building near 12th and Jamesson. I think it's got some kind of deoxygenation barrier around it that's keeping the fire away. Whoa..." He staggered a little as he went closer.

"Okay, that's a big negative on your part then, kiddo. I'm in, you stay put."

"Someone's crying in there, Mr. Stark!" His steps got clumsier. "Th' need help!" Why were things becoming so disoriented? Dang it, his ribs hurt.

"And they'll live for the next two minutes until I get there! You said the flames aren't touching it, right? Something's going on there and I don't like it, apocalypse inferno defenses don't just happen to be installed in any old random building." Tony reasoned.

"Peter, your oxygen levels are dropping. You are getting too close. You are not in well enough condition to go through this area as quickly as needed with your current equipment and need to turn around immediately." Karen said.

"...I can..."

Peter kept going. Sounds faded. A dull ringing took their place. Muffled voices came through but the words wouldn't register. A couple of blinks and everything seemed to be slower. How long had he been standing here? When had his feet gotten so heavy? He was practically hyperventilating, taking in huge lungfuls of air, so why did it feel like he couldn't breathe? Wait, where did this fence he was falling against come from? And why couldn't he breathe? He needed sleep. Was he dreaming already?

No oxygen. His brain managed to put two and two together in a lucid thought that needed to have come much sooner. His eyebrows raised beneath his mask. "Oh..." he whispered. His knees buckled under him, and he found himself lowering to the ground as his vision turned black around the edges. "Karen," he gasped. Letting go with one hand of the chain link barely holding him up he aimed a web-shooter blindly into the surrounding flames away from the property. He gulped and tried to speak again, but no sound came. His chest constricted and his heart pounded in his ears. His head swam as darkness closed in. He took one more painful inhalation of oxygenless air. "...pull me out."

He never heard the vocal response; he never even remembered firing a web, but the resulting tug was more than enough confirmation Karen knew exactly what mode to input and what was needed to forcefully yank him away from danger even as he lost consciousness.