Silver Webs in a Starlit City

by Goldenwriter17

He was twelve when his family's perfect picture cracked down the middle. His father and older brother were lost to the sea in a storm that could have been avoided. He lost a part of himself to the tumultuous sea—the part that believed, hoped, dreamed. And now, he is seventeen and his brother returns a changed man. And, he changed too, notable when Peter Queen is bitten by a spider.

12. Chapter XI

Silver Webs in a Starlit City

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Summary

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He was twelve when his family's perfect picture cracked down the middle. His father and older brother were lost to the sea in a storm that could have been—should have been avoided. His twin sister couldn't handle the distance and escaped from their home as often as she could. His mother lost herself in her grief—becoming a ghost that wandered the mansion hallways, pale and wane.

He had no one to tell him that everything was going to be alright.

He lost a part of himself to the tumultuous sea—the part that believed, the part that hoped, the part so inflated with light that the silver lining was ever-present. And now, at seventeen—almost eighteen—his brother returns home a changed man from an island of horrors. And, he cannot say that he remains unchanged either, especially when he is bitten by a radioactive spider.

Now, Peter Queen has to find a way to tame his newfound abilities while trying to reconnect with the shell of his brother and their broken family. Though, there are secrets at the very root of his family that threaten to destroy what remains until it is unrecognizable.

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Chapter XI

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Finding a parking space in the parking garage across the street from the courthouse, Peter pursed his lips as he flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror. Though he had elected to go to the highest floor—mostly to avoid the cramped parking of the bottom floors—the parking spaces felt tiny. It had taken more than a few embarrassing attempts to ensure that he was inside the white lines and not in danger of someone parking next to him and swinging their door open wide enough to hit the side of Uncle Ben's car.

After his chat with the Hood, Peter had snuck into the clinic and claimed a few hours of sleep on the sofa in his office—before being shaken away by Aunt May, who had surveyed him with pursed lips, though she refrained from questioning why he was there. He didn't know exactly what she might make of it. Maybe she thought he was there because he had used the clinic as an escape from thoughts about Thea's pending trial in the morning for the DUI—it wasn't like her arrest had been made private. Or maybe she thought it had something to do with Tom Edwards' arrest last night. Aunt May had given him a phone charger—which he used to charge his dead phone and he had checked the time on his watch, cringing at the slightly late hour as he waited for his phone to turn back on.

Peter had slept through Thea being released from police custody—and has awoken to increasingly concerned text messages from his twin sister and older brother. Moira had left him alone, aside from a singular text about the time of Thea's hearing. Much to his surprise, the hearing was less than twenty-four hours after her detainment, implying that someone behind the scenes had muscled it along. He didn't know if that meant for good news or bad news. Shaking his head at himself; he unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his car door, retrieving his phone and wallet before exiting the vehicle.

His thoughts were twisting and turning as he headed to the elevator, sticking close to the walls and only crossing with several glances to make sure that there were no cars coming. Peter had, around five in the morning—in the few minutes before he completely crashed with a piece of paper sticking to his face—made a bulleted list. First was to deal with the repercussions of Thea's trial—which could truly be anything, although Peter didn't doubt that Moira would try the same method she had done for the larceny. Second was Tom Edwards and proving his innocence, though Peter had gone to the Hood for help with that.

Peter still couldn't quite comprehend what he had been thinking when he had gone to the Hood for help—it had been a desperation-filled moment and even, still, felt like he was completely betraying everyone in his family. He had betrayed Oliver and Thea. And, though, the Hood had indicated that he would show mercy, Peter didn't know how much stock to put into that. He had lost too many people: Dad, Walter, Uncle Ben, Mother. He had even lost Oliver, though the other had returned, and he didn't know if that still managed to count as a loss.

If the Hood went after Moira—and anyone found out that Peter had been involved in that, which he wasn't sure he could keep secret his entire life—then Peter would lose Thea and Oliver. The latter would be lost to him for a second time, and it would be worse than the first because it would be Oliver's choice to walk away from him—something that Peter wouldn't even be able to fault Oliver for.

With his mind twisting, Peter felt a lump reform in his throat that left him to forcibly swallow because if he completely lost it now—it wouldn't help anything. In fact, it would make everything even worse. He pressed the button with a black arrow pointing downward, eyes briefly lifting to check the current floor of the elevator. Peter pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocking the device to check his messages. He had texted both Oliver and Thea back once to inform them that he would be in front of the courthouse in time—though he mentioned nothing of where he had been the night before.

Exiting the chat, he went to his group-chat with his friends. Peter hadn't been incredibly vocal in that conversation since Uncle Ben, though his friends carried pieces of the conversation without him. It was mainly comprised of Miles updating their friends with random memes he found online while scrolling through Pinterest. Peter could feel a corner of his mouth curl into a ghost of a smile as the doors of the elevator finally slid open, checking the time on his watch. He had arrived at least twenty minutes early, giving him no specific sense of urgency.

If he managed the time, maybe he would buy a bagel from the stand he had spotted on the street near the courthouse. Peter had changed when he woke up into his back-up school uniform—deeming that to be the only formal thing he had at the clinic. Tommy had his own back-up clothes though Peter wasn't even going to attempt to pull on the taller man's own back-up suit. Though, he had changed and returned to his searching and trying to outline a plan—Roy hadn't sent anything, leaving Peter to believe the other was either asleep or not going to bother with the rich-kid. His increasingly frantic planning had been interrupted by the realization of the time as well as the gurgling of his stomach as it angrily protested the lack of food.

Peter scrolled through the messages he hadn't quite read over in the group chat, before reaching the bottom. He thumbed out a response, before hesitating, and hitting the back button. Eventually, after a few more attempts, he just settled for a simple word: hi.

Almost immediately, there were the tell-tale dots from Miles, and he sent out a message too: hey Petey, what's up? Ned also joined the conversation: dude, u r missing the weirdest physics lessons I think has ever been experienced. Peter leaned against one wall of the elevator as the machine slowly lowered to the street-level floor. There was also a basement, but that floor was full of the parking spaces set aside for those who actually worked in the courthouse across the street.

Peter: Lucky—I've got to make an appearance in a court-room 2day.

Miles: oof, I heard abt that…

Miles: how's Thee holding up? Also, was it rlly Vertigo?

Peter: Yup.

MJ: So, how'd sleeping on the couch treat you last night?

Peter: …

Ned: ?

Peter: …Aunt May told you?

MJ: Yes.

Ned: Hold up—u slept on the couch? Y?

Peter: …

MJ: You do realize that … is not an answer

Peter: …

Ned: Well, now he's just sending it to annoy u

Peter: …

MJ: Peter!

He glanced up from his phone as he entered the street, navigating the bottom floor of the garage easily and paying without thinking for his parking space with a quick swipe of his card to the computer system before the exit. Peter took an obligatory step backwards when he was nearly steam-rolled by a cluster of people in business suits. His phone buzzed insistently in his hands as he let the screen darken, and he glanced across the street—inwardly cursing when he spotted the beginnings of the media loitering around the steps, hoping to get something that might get them a pay-raise.

Peter decided that he could waste a bit of time to grab his biscuit from the stand as he strolled to the crosswalk; flattening a hand against the large, circular button for the sign attached to the corner light post across the street. He pulled his phone once more from his pocket—the ghost of a smile on his lips resembling an expression that was a bit more genuine. Peter felt awkward, bare, standing on the street without Uncle Ben. It had only been two weeks—but his mind kept making attempts at convincing himself that Uncle Ben was just on a trip, that he would come back.

It was cruel—but it made it significantly easier to get himself through each day. Being without Uncle Ben—even with the suit that the man had left behind for him—was like missing an arm. Like his arm had been chopped off or amputated and he missed it too much so he avoided looking at the damage because maybe he could function without it if it didn't occupy his thoughts every single moment of every day. It didn't work—because everything he looked at reminded him of Uncle Ben.

Uncle Ben had been a constant presence in his life—becoming his rock, a strong part of the core of who he was—and he had been there in almost every moment of the day-to-day, which made it even more difficult. Peter had to keep moving—he knew that much is what Uncle Ben would have wanted for him—but it was so much more difficult to put the thought in practice.

Pressing his thumb over the scanner, he unlocked his phone and flicked his gaze up to the white, walking man that appeared on the sign and merged with the crowd across the street. He used his peripheral vision to make sure that he didn't chance running into anyone—dragging attention to himself was the last thing he wanted because people would either ask his opinion on his sister's DUI or his opinion on Tom Edwards' arrest. He still remembered the media showing up his first day back at school and pandering him for his comment on Uncle Ben's death—it had been only thanks to Ned that he hadn't had a panic attack in the bathroom after he finally managed to escape the horde of reporters.

Ned: Now he's just ignoring us…:(

MJ: The next person who sends three dots is going to get a milkshake to the face.

Miles: Y would u waste a milkshake like dat?

Miles: not right

Ned: He's right

Peter: Yea

Peter: …

MJ: You better have a place to hide, Queen

Peter: It's not a threat…until there's a period at the end of it.

Ned: What song would u like played at ur funeral?

Peter snorted, approaching the few-person line for a bagel. "Good morning, what kind of bagel would you like?" The man behind the small, rectangular table questioned. He had an assortment of bagels laid out around the register and card-reader.

He glanced down at the selection. "Chocolate chip, please." Peter pointed to the one he wanted as the man wrapped it with a napkin and then handed it to Peter once he had paid for it. Peter accepted the receipt, stuffing it in his wallet. "Thank you, sir, have a good day." Peter wished, before striding over to a bench and taking a seat as he slid his gaze with some level of consideration to the front-steps of the courthouse. The reports milling around were too focused on looking for one of the Queen cars to drop them off that none of them had noticed Peter's far-off figure.

Peter placed the napkin in his lap with the bagel resting on top of it, snapping a picture.

Peter: …a tribute to the bagel

Ned: Dude, wtf

Miles: lol

Peter: *image attached

Ned: O

Ned: Makes sense, I thought u had developed a crush on a bagel or something

Peter: You can't see it but I'm face-palming right now.

Miles: I want a bagel.

Miles: Gwen—u should totally get me a bagel…

MJ: dots

Gwen: I feel like u all are giving MJ an aneurysm

MJ: More like a migraine & stroke.

Gwen: U poor thing

Gwen: …

MJ: GWEN!

Ned: That was savage

A cacophony of noise heralded the arrival of Thea and the remainder of his family, and he flicked his gaze up, finishing his bagel quickly and tossing the napkin into a nearby trash bin before creeping up the side of the stairs to walk inside. Peter exhaled, relieved that he had managed to avoid the vultures so far. He folded his arms across his chest as Mr. Diggle hustled everyone inside. Thea was the first to spot him and hurried over to him, flinging her arms around his neck. "Where the hell were you? You just disappeared." His twin sister pulled back to smack him on the side of his head.

Peter grimaced, rubbing the spot she had hit. "Sorry—if I had known your reaction would be violence I would have been there when you got home." He offered, glancing over her shoulder to spot the reporters that were clustered around the doors, some doubtlessly waiting till the end of the trial to be the first to receive the verdict.

She frowned at him, straightening her skirt. "That doesn't answer my question: where were you?" Thea questioned.

He glanced over his shoulder to view the time on the large clock that stood centered on the wall just beneath the banister of the second floor. "Maybe we should focus on your hearing—I'll tell you later." Peter remarked, tugging her towards the front desk while their lawyer led them to the reception desk where they would receive the number of the room as well as the name of the judge.

Thea thinned her lips. "You better." The gaze she cast at the back of their lawyer's head was apprehensive. Though, Peter guessed that the DUI would be dismissed and tossed under the rug, it was still nerve-wracking—at least, to him—to be inside a courtroom and subjected to a stoic judge. Peter forced down the rising memory of how painful it had been to be inside the room when Oliver returned to the land of the living legally.

Oliver, sensing their sister's rising concern and apprehension, approached with a thin smile. "Don't worry, Speedy. Everything's going to be fine." Oliver assured her.

Peter winced. "Don't jinx it." He warned. The glance Oliver tossed him was distant, at best, and Peter found himself frowning at his brother. He then remembered his promise to be there when Thea got home and how he had slept through it with an inward cringe. Thea, less perceptive than usual as she was focused on being in front of a judge, walked over to speak with the lawyer and Moira. Peter flicked his gaze at the woman, but couldn't keep looking at her, so he returned his attention to Oliver. "Ollie? Everything ok?" Peter questioned, outstretching a hand to place against Oliver's arm.

His older brother met his gaze, something shadowed in his eyes, though there was a placating smile on his face. "Yeah. Just concerned for Speedy." Oliver answered. Oliver cleared his throat a second later, "So—do you want to tell me why you and Mom were fighting last night?" His older brother changed the subject.

Peter shrugged. "Nothing major." The lie left a horrible after-taste in his mouth. "You know—just got a little bit snippy, everything's fine now." Peter folded his arms across his chest, the smile on his lips falsely bright.

It might have given away how not fine everything was—seeing as Peter had not managed a complete grin in weeks, not without the muscles on his face aching. Oliver glanced away from him after another moment of intense staring and Peter gathered that the answer was not one that appeased his older brother. "Yeah—I guess we're all a bit stressed with everything." Oliver finally spoke after several, long heartbeats of tense silence. Peter could not understand where exactly his brother was coming from, though a long-put-to-rest suspicion reemerged.

He had thought that his suspicions of Oliver being the Hood had been given up on, but it was a horrible reason to think of—if he had, in an attempt to avoid hurting his family, gone to someone in his family unknowingly. Peter inwardly hoped that he hadn't. "Yeah. It's been a long two months." Peter remarked, injecting a hint of exhaustion in his words.

Last night, his sleep had been just a bit of mild dozing—nothing deep enough for dreams, which he considered a relief in the fact that dreams normally gave way to nightmarish retellings of that night, though it had also left him fighting the urge to yawn widely. He sighed, "I'm sure it'll get better." Oliver spoke.

Consideration in his gaze, Peter glanced towards his older brother. He wished that he could believe those words, but—he didn't have any sort of feeling that things would somehow get better. He was still as backed into a corner as ever by people he didn't know while everyone was under threat. "I hope." Peter exhaled. He didn't have much room for hope inside him, leaving the words feeling ingenuine. "Come on—everyone's heading inside." He remarked, "And, by inside, I mean to the room number—considering we're already inside." Peter added unnecessarily.

Oliver's lips twitched upwards as he steered Peter towards the courtroom, Mr. Diggle shadowing them silently. "You know—one of my friends counts down from three when they get into massive rambling mode." Oliver accepted the switch in topic rather easily, the tension draining from his frame, though Peter still glimpsed in his blue eyes.

"I don't know how much counting is going to help with the permanent foot-in-the-mouth disease going on here." Peter countered; eyebrows hiked high on his forehead. "And—you have friends beyond Tom-tom and Mr. Diggle?" Peter noted.

His older brother mimicked offense. "Why does that surprise you?"

Peter shrugged. "Because you're a bit prickly, Ollie."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "I should have known the cactus comment would have been brought up." His older brother sounded resigned, though Peter detected amusement in his expression.

He opened his mouth to respond, but clamped it shut when the doors to the room opened. It was mostly empty, and Peter followed Oliver to a seat on the bench behind Thea. His twin's posture mimicked confidence, though he could detect the lingering nerves in the sporadic movement of her fingers. "Docket ending 1-10-5-6, People vs. Thea Dearden Queen." One of the suited men read loudly for the courtroom to hear, his voice echoing long after it had actually finished echoing in Peter's ears.

The judge's expression was placid as she arranged her papers neatly. "Possession of a controlled substance, driving under the influence of a controlled substance." The judge clarified, "Counselors, I understand you have reached a plea agreement." She turned to the respective lawyers.

Their own lawyer nodded. "We have, your honor. Given that this is my clients first offense, and she has no priors, the people have generously agreed to probation as well as a fine of $2,000 dollars." Their lawyer replied, tone completely respectful. Peter dug his fingernails into his khaki pants, having a feeling—from the slightly disgruntled expression that crossed the judge's face—that it would not be so simple.

"Well, just because Ms. Queen's family sweeps her priors under the rug, doesn't mean they don't exist." The judge remarked; tone firm. Her gaze as she regarded Thea was sparking and Peter wanted to rise defensively, though he was kept seated by Oliver's hand landing on his arm as well as Mr. Diggle's presence on the other side of him. "You get your client off, and you help your boss avoid dealing with the drug that's sweeping across our city like the plague. Everyone wins, except us, the people of Starling City."

Peter watched the judge's face apprehensively. "Your honor, with all due respect—" Their lawyer started, a hint of something a little bit more than frantic entering her voice and the gestures of her hands.

The judge ignored their lawyer, addressing Thea. "Ms. Queen, like it or not, you are now the poster child for this menace. Maybe if people see that the Queen family can't get away with using Vertigo, they'll think twice before using it themselves." The remark was met with dead silence as Peter held his breath, aware of his brother mimicking the gesture to his right. Mr. Diggle's lips were pursed, thinned into a straight line. "The plea agreement is denied." The judge banged the gavel, "This case will proceed to trial."

A collection of noise responded to the announcement and Peter pursed his lips as the man made a quick exit from the room, robes swishing with the movement and leaving a room filled with chaos in his wake.

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"They can't do this." Moira insisted, her voice echoing in the mansion as Peter entered the front foyer. He kept the keys to Uncle Ben's car tightly gripped in his hand—jaw clenching, Thea might be sent to jail, there had to be a solution so that his twin sister wouldn't be sent to prison or be in prison around the time of her graduation. Seeing as the judge had rejected their plea agreement, he would doubtlessly not be sated until the full penalty was seen—which could be months.

If they were anyone else, he had no doubt that the probation wouldn't have even been considered an option. Peter exhaled, entering the front room where the rest of their family was strewn about. Thea still seemed to be in a state of shock, though she had recovered most of her composure. Moira was attempting to negotiate with their lawyer; her expression a concoction of worry and frustration—he supposed that though she was a liar, the only redeemable thing might be the fact that she clearly loved them.

Peter chewed roughly on his lower lip, his own betrayal twisting like an ugly, dark thing under his skin. He folded his arms across his chest, pasting a concerned expression on his face, though he knew his face had expressed his guilt for a split—unnoticeable—second. "That man cannot send my daughter to prison." Moira continued; her eyes were frantic as she made the insistence once again. "What are our options?" She queried.

The lawyer bit her lip roughly. "An interlocutory appeal." She suggested, speaking more to herself than to anyone else. "But trial judges have discretion to reject plea agreements. I think you might want to prepare yourself for the possibility that this isn't going to go our way." The words lingered in the air, a harsh, factual declaration. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Queen. I'll get to work on the appeal." The woman made a quick exit.

His twin sister was the first to speak, the tense silent temporarily broken. "Well—so much for the best criminal defense attorney in the city." Thea spoke dryly, studying her nails critically as she adopted a leaning position against the couch.

Moira took an aborted step towards Thea. "Thea—we will handle this, I promise."

Thea regarded her coolly, one eyebrow arched. "Like you promised Walter you'd always stay faithful to him? I feel better already." Thea remarked sarcastically; the words cutting. Peter bit the inside of his cheek to refrain from adding onto the harsh words—not even look at the hurt painting across their mothe—Moira's face.

Oliver exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That's enough."

Peter's gaze remained focused on his twin, so he easily spotted the betrayed expression that surfaced, before it was hidden beneath a demeanor of carelessness. "Don't worry." Thea responded, "Sounds like you won't have to be putting up with me much longer." His twin delivered the parting shot, exiting the room afterwards with her head held high. Peter flicked his gaze to Oliver, jaw clenched tightly.

"What? Does she not realize how serious this is?" Oliver started, running his fingers through his hair, in response to Peter's look. "She took drugs. She drove. She could have killed someone—or herself." His brother continued, pointing out the offenses like Peter didn't already know them.

Moira placed a calming hand on Oliver's arm and the man took a step back. "I know." She responded softly. "All that judge is looking for is someone to make an example of. Why does it have to be her?" Moira seemed to be asking herself the question.

Oliver's expression was far-off, the expression he got when he was deeply thinking. Peter wondered what thoughts were circling through his mind, though he considered simply walking away. He had other things to do than to deal with Moira. "Maybe it doesn't. Listen, I have to go do something. Are you going to be ok?" Oliver tossed a quick glance towards Mr. Diggle—who nodded and disappeared to go retrieve the car.

She nodded. "I'm not the one facing prison."

Oliver glanced to Peter, and he mimicked Moira's nod. "I'm fine. Just concerned for Thee." Peter assured him. Oliver tossed one last, contemplative glance at them, pausing in the doorway.

"Petey—I could actually use your help for something. Could you meet me out front in ten?" Oliver questioned and Peter blinked, surprised by the offer, before nodding with a wisp of a smile forming on his lips. His older brother offered him one last smile, before disappearing into the foyer. Peter would have followed him, though he was stopped by Moira resting her hand on his arm.

"Peter, please—" She started.

He shook her hand off, not even sparing her a glance. "I have nothing to say to you, Moira." Peter got out through gritted teeth. "You might want to focus on fixing the relationship you haven't completely destroyed—with Thee." For every bit of anger, he had in his voice, it softened around Thea's name.

Moira's eyes were pleading, he could see that much in his peripheral. "I am still your mother." She remarked quietly.

He tossed her a glare. "I think I've made it plenty clear that you aren't—not unless you find a way to get Tom Edwards out of jail for the crime your allies were involved in." Peter muttered the last part in a low, furious voice. "And—even past that, the fact that you've even considered letting an innocent man pay for your crimes—" He shook his head at that, "—I don't think that I will ever be able to trust you."

She looked stricken, "Peter, I promise that I'll do whatever I can to get him out of prison." Moira promised and Peter cast her one last, considerate glance, before heading to his room to collect a few things. He grabbed the black bag he kept his suit in as well as a few changes of clothes and a few personal thigs in an overnight bag. Pausing, he ran his fingers through his hair—casting one last glance around the room. He didn't know what he was thinking—but he knew that he had spent ten minutes tops in the mansion and already, he wanted out.

Peter couldn't bring himself to stay in a place that reminded him so much of loss. The clinic made him think of loss, too—the face engrained in his mind—but Peter thought that the clinic felt more like a sanctuary. "So—are you going to stay with a friend or something?" Thea's remark was not unexpected—if Peter were inclined to be less selfish right now, he would have been offering her comfort, but he couldn't help but think that, even though she was his sister, she had made her own choices.

Her accident could have ended a lot worse than it did. And, he knew why she was so enraged. Walter—their step-father—was missing. She suspected their mother of having an affair less than two months after he went missing with Malcolm Merlyn. Their family was falling apart, and Peter knew he carried some fault for that—his avoidance of their mother since Christmas Eve and now, his leaving. "Or something." Peter answered after a few seconds of consideration, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

Thea's eyes jumped down to the bag, brow pinching. "You think Mom's having an affair with Malcolm Merlyn, too?" She questioned, taking a step in to the room. The open door behind her caught Peter's attention, temporarily. "Or is there something else going on, here? You've been avoiding her since Walter disappeared—I'm not blind, Petey, and even a blind person could see that." His twin sister stated, folding her arms across her chest and regarding him with determination.

Peter had a feeling that she wouldn't let him leave till she got her answers. "I know that she's a liar—Thee. And maybe not about an affair with Malcolm Merlyn of all people." He trailed off, shaking his head to himself with a small shudder at the thought. "But, about so many different things—too many things to count." The statement hung tensely in the air for several long minutes, Thea's arms falling to her sides as she took a few, hesitant steps forward.

Something greatly resembling hurt crossed her features. "If it's not about an affair—then what? If there are other things she has lied about—then I have a right to know." His twin sister insisted, looking like she wanted to stomp her foot childishly.

He wouldn't have put the movement past her. Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek, "I know you do, Thee. But, once you know the things I know—you think that you don't trust her now—it'll be worse, Thee." Peter remarked, snatching his phone charger and laptop and holding them in his arms. "Right now—you still have hopes of a relationship with her, believe me, you want that. I don't—she has destroyed that for me, I don't want to see the same for you." He concluded.

"So—you're not going to tell me?" Thea inferred, her voice raising. "Peter—"

Interrupting her with a look, Peter gently moved her to the side. "Thee—trust me, you don't want to know." He moved past her, heading for the stairs. She grabbed his arm before he could descend the staircase, nails digging into the fabric of his sleeve. "Don't worry, Ollie will find a way to make sure that you don't end up in jail." Peter assured her, gently prying her fingers from his sleeve before descending the stairs two at a time.

He hurried to the car that Mr. Diggle had pulled up to the front and threw himself bodily into the back of the car. Oliver arched an amused eyebrow at him at the movement. "What happened to ten minutes?" Oliver questioned as Mr. Diggle started driving, shifting gears and applying a bit of pressure to the gas.

Shrugging, Peter tossed a glance out the window. "Ran into Thee." Peter answered. He twisted his fingers together roughly, feeling the press of Uncle Ben's keys in his pocket. No one—but him—would be able to drive it, Peter ensured that he had all of the back-ups as well as the main key. "I slept at the clinic last night." Peter tossed out there, "I think I'm going to do it again, tonight." He added.

"You really think spending all of the time at the clinic is going to make any of this better, Petey." Oliver contested, "You're running away from your problems—it's not healthy." His older brother reached across the seat as Peter whipped around to glare at him with burning, angry eyes.

"Do you honestly think you have any room to lecture me on running?" Peter countered thinly. He ran his fingers through his hair, returning his gaze to the view the window presented. He counted to ten in his head. "You don't understand, Ollie." He stated simply. "I still want to have a relationship with you and Thea—but there's nothing left but distrust for Mothe—Moira." Peter corrected himself with a grimace sliding across his face.

His older brother fell completely silent at the words. "Peter—" Oliver started, again. "—I know that you're upset about Mom potentially having an affair. I know that you don't trust Malcolm Merlyn—but—"

Peter clenched his jaw, unwilling to meet his older brother's gaze. A part of him wanted to shout at his brother, tell him the truth, but he couldn't. Oliver and Thea couldn't find out—it would break their hearts, maybe even more than it had already broken his. "Look, I'm not saying I'll never come back—but, for right now—I need to do something for myself." Peter finally met Oliver's gaze. "I just need a little time to sort through everything in my head." He added, attempting a weak smile.

The fingers on Oliver's right hand curled into a fist, one that he thumped against the seat in between them. "So—now what? What exactly is it that is in your big plan? Spend every night at the clinic? Come home on holidays? Maybe take us out to lunch like a distant relative?" Oliver countered; voice tight. His expression, when Peter glanced at him fully, was void of any emotion, completely deadened to the world—though his eyes sparked with fury so poignant that Peter was momentarily scared.

He shook his head, aghast. "No—of course not." Peter denied vehemently.

Oliver outstretched a hand, gesturing emphatically. "Then what?"

Peter chewed roughly on his lower lip. "I don't know. It's not that." He wrinkled his nose at the thought of pushing himself fully out of his siblings' lives. It might be better for them, he realized. It might be better for them if he was a distant relative. Peter had read enough comic books and seen enough movies to know that vigilantes made enemies. He might not have any, yet, being as new to the scene as he was, but he would. It would be naïve to think otherwise, and it might be safer for the people he loved if he wasn't in their lives.

It was another leg of being Spiderman to explore—but not one he wanted to consider right now. Oliver exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose in a move that Peter recognized that his older brother showed when he was extremely frustrated. "What about Speedy? What about me? Are we just supposed to be ok with the fact that you're going to move out? You haven't even graduated yet!" Oliver pointed out.

Lowering his gaze to study his fingers in his lap, Peter considered what his older brother was saying. "We were always going to move out of the mansion, Ollie. It's not like we're all going to be living there our entire lives. I've just started a bit early in that department." Peter spoke; voice quiet. "Moving out doesn't mean that I'm never going to be in any of your lives. I'm just—not always going to be in the room down the hall." He added, cringing slightly at the words.

Even as they escaped his mouth, he knew that they did exceedingly little to appease Oliver. "So—that's it, then. There's nothing I can say that will change your mind." Oliver thinned his lips. Peter reached over, pulling Oliver's fingers back—knowing that his brother was too angered to notice that he was leaving half-moon bloody imprints on his palms—uncurling his fist patiently.

"You could always visit me." Peter remarked, "It's not like I'm leaving for NYC."

Oliver exhaled, exchanging a glance with a characteristically silent Mr. Diggle. Peter absently mused that Mr. Diggle must always here the best things, must always have the most interesting stories to tell. He would be more worried about it, but he knew that the man wouldn't breathe a word to anyone outside of their small group. "Maybe you should think more about it. It's not a small, spontaneous decision." Oliver finally spoke and Peter felt his lip curl, ire rising a small bit, but he smothered the immediate response.

Peter nodded, "Ok—so was there actually something you needed my help with?" He switched the topic, regarding Oliver with an arched eyebrow that expressed his skepticism and curiosity.

His older brother glanced out the window, looking contemplative. "Not really, no." Oliver answered carefully. "Do you need me to drop you off at the clinic?" Mr. Diggle flicked his gaze to the rearview mirror questioningly.

Chewing on his lower lip, Peter considered the suggestion. There was nothing available at the clinic that would help him with freeing Tom Edwards. And, unfortunately, it was a school day so Miles was busy, and Peter couldn't just yank him away from class to help him with his method of looking into it. That left him with Felicity Smoak. "No—could you drop me off at QC, I need a bit of help from their IT department for my laptop." Peter held up the laptop he had clasped in his arms pointedly.

Mr. Diggle snorted, muttering the words under his breath: "I've heard that before."

Oliver flicked his gaze at his bodyguard with an arched eyebrow. Mr. Diggle met his gaze in the rearview mirror with his eyebrows lowered and mouth twitching innocently. "You heard him, Dig." Oliver leaned back in his seat; arms folded across her chest.

---

Lifting his hand in a wave, Peter felt his lips curl up on one side—the half-smile on his face an exhausting task to maintain—before he turned to the QC building in front of him, frowning when he spotted the few reports milling around. One spotted him and hurried over and Peter lifted his eyes skyward, asking the question of why me? "Mr. Queen. Mr. Queen. Any comment on the trial of your sister?" The reporter was soon joined by another, and Peter felt a bit overwhelmed, before he steeled himself and moved forward, pushing them reporters away from him.

"Can we get your opinion on Tom Edwards' arrest?"

"Mr. Queen!"

"Please, just a moment of your time."

Peter ignored all of them, keeping his eyes trained on the doors. One of the reporters—a male that was clearly desperate—grabbed his arm to stop him from entering through the automatically opened door. "Do you have anything to comment on—" The man started, and Peter attempted to yank his arm back. He didn't let go and Peter considered his options carefully, before he began prying the man's fingers from his sleeve.

He threw the man a withering glare, before entering the office and letting the door slide closed behind him, straightening out his sweater that went with his school uniform. His bag and satchel were both slung over his shoulders, knuckles white as he gripped tightly onto the straps. Peter bypassed security, his face enough to get him to the elevator, and he folded his arms across his chest, drumming his fingers against his sleeve after he had pressed the button for the elevator and waited for the doors to slid open.

Peter pulled his phone from his pocket, checking the news outlets for information on Tom Edwards, the man had his first hearing in two days, less than forty-eight hours—and Peter worried over whether the man would take a plea bargain. If he did, then there might be nothing that Peter could do for him and he couldn't let an innocent man—well, maybe not innocent, thieves could hardly be considered innocent—be sentenced to prison-time for a crime he didn't commit.

Refreshing the page, Peter clicked on the top article and began reading quickly. In his peripheral, he noticed that the doors opened—emptying two people onto the ground floor and leaving four still inside the elevator. Peter entered, aware of the whispering voices as he pressed the floor for the IT department and adopted a position in the corner of the elevator, eyes on his phone screen. Being on his phone did not equate being unable to hear the conversation, though he forced a perfectly bored expression on his face.

One of the women whispered to another—both with varying shades of brown hair, one a dark cinnamon color and the other a tree-bark brown. "Isn't that Peter Queen?" The woman whispered, though her voice was loud in Peter's ears. "The son of the CEO." She continued.

"Yeah—I wonder what he's doing here." He didn't have to be glancing up to see the surveying, critical gaze the opposite woman scanned him with. Peter pinched the skin of his side to prevent himself from cringing away from the other woman. "He's gotten cute over the years." Peter felt his ears pinken slightly at the tips, he hadn't been anticipating that.

The first woman elbowed the second. "You probably shouldn't say that. He's only eighteen." She remarked. "Besides—pretty sure the unstable Queen isn't someone you'd want to go for, Debby." She added; words particularly cutting.

The second woman—Debby—looked curiously towards the first. "What do you mean, Ems?"

Ems shrugged. "I'm guessing you haven't seen the video that was circulating YouTube a few weeks back. Kid had a total breakdown in the middle of the street." She answered. Peter flicked his gaze upwards, though he refrained from commenting vocally, instead settling with directing an unimpressed glare at Ems.

She froze and Debby tossed her a glance. "Teaches you both not to gossip during work." One of the businessmen commented. Peter pursed his lips, returning his attention to his darkening phone screen. "You should get going—pretty sure accounting is about to start its meeting." The man continued, arching an eyebrow at the two, sheepish-looking women. Peter checked the time on his watch, eyes flicking up to the numbers above the elevator doors as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

Debby nodded, "Right—um—sorry." She grabbed her friend's arm and they both fled from the elevator once the doors slid open. Peter flicked his gaze to study the remaining man and woman, who clearly worked on different floors of the building.

"Do you think she was apologizing to me or you?" Peter questioned rhetorically.

"Could be either one." The man replied, flipping through his files. The doors slid open a few minutes later and Peter exited the elevator on the floor for the IT department. He knew that Miles might obsess over the entire space—wanting to touch basically every device he could locate. He turned to express gratitude towards the man, but the doors had already slid shut. Peter stuffed his hands into his pockets before turning on his heel to head to where he remembered Felicity's office to be.

She seemed hyper-focused on her laptop, fingers flying rapidly across the keys, at a rate that prevented Peter from deciphering exactly what she was typing. Felicity was wearing her hair pulled back into a high ponytail and Peter watched as she lifted two fingers to press her glasses up her nose. "Hey Felicity." Peter greeted and the woman jumped, flattening a hand to her chest—where her heart was doubtlessly racing. He could feel a small curl of amusement forming in his chest, "Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." He added.

Felicity offered him a smile. "Well—at least you apologized." She remarked.

Peter's eyebrows were hiked high on his forehead. "Mysterious friend of yours, I'm guessing." He inferred. Peter flicked his gaze around her office and then listened for approaching footsteps—knowing that he didn't need anymore heat for being there then he had already received.

She lowered her computer screen. "Yeah. Right. My friend." Felicity spoke the words slowly, a small line developing between her furrowed eyebrows. "Anyways—what can I help you with? Unless you're just here for conversation—which would actually be nice, since I worked through lunch and could use a bit of a break. Although, then again, you don't really need to have a reason for being here as it's your family's company so of course you are more than welcome to—" She rambled.

He chuckled and the woman clamped her mouth shut with a hint of pink developing across her cheekbones. "Sorry. I'm not laughing at you." Peter apologized; a bit surprised that the sound had ripped from him so suddenly. The amusement in his chest dampened as he moved his weight from his heels to his toes and then back again. "I was actually wondering if you could help me—and, don't worry, it's not about Walter, but—um—something else." Peter quickly interrupted his own thoughts when he noticed that she was opening her mouth with her blue eyes turning slightly shadowed.

Felicity drummed her black-painted fingernails against the desk. "Ok—so what can I help you with, then?" She questioned, chewing roughly on her lower lip in a move that Peter suspected was to prevent herself from rambling.

Tossing a glance around for a chair, Peter opted to stand in front of the desk instead when he found that the only chair in her office was the one she was seated on. "Um—how would you feel about looking at a few traffic cameras for me?" Peter asked. Felicity blinked, clearly taken aback. "It's not—um—ok, it might be a bit illegal. But, it's for a good cause, I swear." He added, waving his hands emphatically.

"What kind of good cause is this? Passing interest in traffic patterns?" Felicity raised her eyebrows. "I'm not even sure what you would need to know something like that for—not that I wouldn't be partially willing to do it." She added when she read the hesitancy in Peter's expression as he considered rescinding the request.

"Ok." Peter exhaled, "There's—have you heard about Tom Edwards?" Peter questioned and confusion flickered across her features, before being chased away by understanding and comprehension. "He was arrested just hours after my sister's—um—incident." He cringed at the mention of his twin sister—knowing that he was being entirely selfish in not doing more to help her, but he had a feeling that there wasn't much he could offer. Peter made a mental note to maybe approach Aunt May for suggestions—not that the woman had much experience with it, herself—but she might add another perspective to it.

Felicity flicked her gaze down at her laptop, chewing even more on her lower lip—looking somewhat nervous. "So—what do you need me to do?" She glanced at him in askance, fingers twisting.

Peter flicked his gaze over his shoulder. "I need your help to prove that he's innocent. I don't know who it was that—that shot Uncle Ben—" His expression twisted, and Felicity looked like she wanted to offer him her condolences, though he shook his head, indicating that he didn't want to hear it. "—but I know that it wasn't Tom Edwards. No matter what motive people want to pretend he had—it wasn't him." Peter concluded.

She adjusted the screen of her laptop, minimizing something with a few clicks and movements of her mouse, before pulling something else up—he could see the reflection in her glasses, though it wasn't entirely visible. "And your thought is that if you look at city cameras, you might figure out who it was instead?" Felicity queried; a concentration-filled look appearing on her face.

"My thought is that if we can track Tom Edwards throughout the day, we can place him elsewhere when Uncle Ben was shot and deliver it anonymously to the police." Peter clarified, biting his lip.

Felicity flicked her gaze up at him. "If it was that easy—wouldn't the police have located it?" She countered. "I'm not trying to poke holes exactly, but I just want you to see that—if Tom Edwards is being set-up—which we both suspect—then it might not be so simple to prove his innocence." Felicity explained.

Peter nodded, mulling the thought over in his head. He exhaled, "I know. I've thought of that, too. But—it's the only place I can think of to start." Peter remarked. "Unfortunately, I'm not exactly an unrecognized face in the Glades so I couldn't just poke around his friends and see if any can provide him an alibi." He wrinkled his nose at the factual thought. His recognizability normally had a way of coming back to bite at him, demonstrated in the reporters out front and the fact that it—along with his shoe preferences—was the sole reason for him being jumped by Tom and his friends.

Felicity resumed her speedy typing. "It might take a while to cycle through all of the footage." She cautioned, she leaned back in her chair and turning the computer slightly so he could see the files she was in the process of downloading from the city servers. Peter tried not to show his surprise at how quickly she had hacked into the cameras. "Do you have any friends that could do the poking around for you?" Felicity asked.

He grimaced. "I have friends that live in the Glades—though, I'm a bit apprehensive about asking them to approach Tom Edwards' friends. It's not like he was friends with a whole bunch of teddy bears." Peter shrugged. He didn't mention Roy—as the other had still yet to send a peep regarding whether he could help at all.

"That would probably be a bit more awkward." Felicity mused. She flicked her gaze to the black and white clock on the far wall. "How about this? When I get off work—I'll clock out early today—I'll head to May's Clinic, and we can start looking through some of the footage with your friends with a program of mine that I've designed to look for specific faces. I've got a time frame of a week both before and after that day." A hint of sadness appeared in her gaze as her lips shaped the words.

"Thanks." Peter expressed gratefully. He shifted his weight a bit awkwardly. He figured that he'd probably hail a cab out front and ask it to take him back to the house so he could retrieve Uncle Ben's car as discreetly as he could. Peter had no intention of running into Thea or Moira—both conversations would be awful. He paused, glancing over Felicity's expression with burning curiosity. "So—why are you helping me? I get the feeling that this is more than a bit outside of the job description as a QC employee." Peter questioned.

She sighed. "It's the right thing to do." Felicity spoke decisively. "Besides—it might make up for the fact that I couldn't be of much help with finding Walter." She continued, a grimace sliding across her features.

Peter bit his lip. "It was probably for the best that you stayed out of it." The woman blinked up at him a couple of times, her expression showing surprise. "The people who abducted Walter clearly have no problem shooting innocent people—it was safer for you to have avoided letting on what you knew to anyone." He concluded. "Unless you were feeling inclined to share—in that case, disregard everything I just said and spill." Peter added, injecting a hint of light humor in his voice.

Felicity shook her head. "Nice try, Mr. Que—Peter." She corrected herself mid-name. "Ok, so I have a burning curiosity—why don't you suspect that Tom Edwards did it in a move unrelated to everything else. Like, you seemed to be behaving extremely carefully when you approached me—though I guess not, because I was a complete stranger. Like, stranger danger. Not that I mean that in like I'm dangerous, because I'm not. A paperclip would probably be more of a threat to you than me." She rambled and Peter felt his eyebrow climbing higher and higher on his forehead as he shook his head in baffled amusement. "Ok—sorry, um, babbling will end in 3—2—1."

He froze at the counting backwards counting. Peter pointed a finger at her, "Oh my god. You know my brother." Peter remarked, completely surprised. He had not suspected that his older brother was making friends in the IT department—people in that nerdy group were more Peter's speed than Oliver's. "Wait a minute—is he the one with the awful excuses? Because, ok, yeah, that actually makes sense. Oliver could write and publish an 800-page novel on the world's worst excuses." Peter mused.

Felicity ducked her head. "How did you guess that?"

Peter bit his lip. "Because he mentioned the counting backwards to me because I was coating everything in the general vicinity in word vomit—which, wait, doe it actually work?" He deviated from his general explanation to ask her if the method might actually work. If he remembered to try it out when he got into a very long ramble—though he doubted it might work for him because he would probably attempt to count backwards in fractions out of boredom and just to see if he could.

It might be the same reason he had learned to say the alphabet backwards—boredom. "I'm still lingering on the fact that Oliver mentioned me to you." Felicity shook her head, pushing her glasses up her nose.

He arched an eyebrow. "Why? We've already covered that you're pretty in an embarrassing ramble last time." Peter gestured and the woman rolled her eyes. "Besides, he said that he had a friend that counted back from three when they got into rambling. Unless he has another friend who does the exact same thing you do—which I highly doubt. Ollie's not good at making friends." He rolled his eyes fondly. "I thought you'd be happy to know that he considers you friends given your crush on him." Peter teased.

Felicity smacked a stack of papers onto the floor. She was sputtering a bit as she glanced up at him with wide eyes. "I don't—I don't have a crush on your brother. No way." Felicity denied vehemently. Peter arched an eyebrow at her. "I just—admire his face a bit as well as his arms." She muttered to herself.

Peter chuckled. "Aw—Lissy and Ollie sitting in a tree—"

She flicked a pen in his direction. "I've only met you twice—how exactly are you teasing me about this?" Felicity questioned.

He shrugged, stooping to pick up all of the papers that she had ignored when she waved her hands around. "Probably because we have eerily similar methods of rambling or babbling that somehow meshes well." Peter answered; voice dry. "Or maybe you're just overly susceptible to the Queen-family charm." He added.

"I'll find something to tease you about and we'll see how you like it." Felicity muttered warningly.

To his surprise, he could feel a bubble of laughter forming in his chest. It was a nice feeling, one that he enjoyed a bit and made him feel a bit lighter than he had felt in weeks. "I have no doubt that you will." Peter remarked, "After all—you're going to be heading to the clinic after work and my friends will want to even the playing field a bit." He clarified, "Also, you might end the day with a bit of a groupie. Miles—one of my friends—is our resident tech-nerd and he's going to obsess over discussing coding with you." Peter added.

Felicity chuckled. "I can't wait to meet him."

---

When he entered the clinic, he couldn't help the slight break in the tension lining his shoulders. The muscles on his neck and shoulders ached from the stress of everything he had to do and figure out and all of it almost felt overwhelmingly exhausting. Peter had, after leaving Felicity's office, taken a cab to the mansion gates and then jogged up the driveway to collect a few more things—if he snuck into his room through climbing up the wall, then that was his prerogative—as well as Uncle Ben's car. From there, he had drove around the city absently—knowing that he should probably go collect his schoolwork for the day, though Ned had gotten rid of that necessity by texting that he had already gotten the assignments from all of Peter's teachers.

After that, he had stopped by the Starling City Library to look at some textbooks—trying to find a loophole for his twin sister beyond the google searches and coming up empty-handed, as well as looking at how long it might take for things for Tom Edwards to go to trial if they did and if there was a loophole to accepting the plea bargain. He found that a plea deal could be overturned if the defendant can prove that their lawyer did not give wise counsel and it can be rescinded if the judge has not already accepted the plea deal. There was also a bit of wiggle room to withdraw the plea deal before the sentencing—only if a good and justifiable reason is provided.

Peter also found, much to his relief, that if new evidence was found to suggest innocence, then the plea deal could be overturned. That gave him a bit less concern, but he still had to get everything together before sentencing because the appeal process might take longer—if the man does not get the death sentence, which Peter sincerely hoped the state wouldn't push for. The fact that the crime had been carried out in broad daylight with plenty of civilians around could be grounds for them to seek the death penalty.

He spotted MJ almost instantly. She was at the bedside of an older man—checking his blood pressure—while giving the man a kind smile that made her face all that bit softer. Her curly hair was held up in a bun, though there were the stubborn curls of chestnut brown hair that escaped and framed her face, though the sunlight caught on the somewhat golden sheen to the ends of her hair. "You're staring." Ned teased, patting Peter's shoulder.

Peter glanced behind him, ears pinkening when he spotted Ned and Miles behind him. "I wasn't staring—ok, maybe I was, but it's my clinic, I'm allowed to look around the room." He protested. Rolling his eyes, he followed Ned and Miles to their hangout station by the front desk.

Aunt May walked over to them almost immediately, followed by Gwen. "Peter—it's good to see you." She enveloped him into a full-body hug, her arms wrapping around his shoulders and Peter felt a small smile forming on his lips as he returned the embrace gratefully. "Are you here to volunteer? I would have thought you would be at home." The woman gently picked her long, dark hair off of where it clung to Peter's outfit—he had also changed when he got home, needing to get out of the school uniform that he had been wearing practically the entire day.

MJ strolled over, finished with the older man that she had been working with and handed the clipboard over to Aunt May. "You'd think so, right? Though, he slept here last night and didn't tell us why." She gave him a patented stern look complete with folded arms and an arched eyebrow.

He toyed meaningfully with his watch and MJ's gaze flicked downwards at the gesture, before she nodding quickly. Ned caught on, frowning. "Hey—wait a minute, are you two having secrets? No. Not aloud. Secrets are no fun unless you share with everyone." His best friend insisted.

Peter furrowed his eyebrows in consideration. "Secrets stop being secrets if you share with everyone—they become common knowledge." Peter corrected. "Don't worry, Ned. I'll explain later." Peter assured his best friend when Ned's expression twisted with slight hurt becoming prominent.

Gwen cleared her throat, disposing of her pair of gloves and grabbing a new set. "You never did say if you were here to volunteer." She drew the topic back to Aunt May's original question. The woman flicked her gaze up, expressing her interest in the answer, from reading over the clipboard, before she signed something with a pen and placed the pen back in the cupholder on the upper lip of the desk.

Peter shook his head. "Sorry, no. I actually might need to borrow Miles for something." He jabbed his thumb at Miles, who blinked with his eyebrows raised high on his forehead in surprise at being brought up. Peter gave the other a meaningful look and Miles nodded understandingly. He suspected that the other might think that Peter was pulling him aside for knowledge on Walter's disappearance, though he supposed freeing Tom Edwards could relate to that in the way that the same ghost-like people were behind it.

Ned pouted. "Well, I'm coming with you." He declared stubbornly.

MJ nodded. "So am I." She hopped on board.

Gwen exchanged a glance with Aunt May, before sighing heavily. "Someone has to keep you all from doing something chaotic or illegal." Gwen spoke, retrieving her textbook from behind the desk and flipping it closed.

"I'd probably keep us from anything too illegal." MJ protested.

"They'd use the 'you're outnumbered thing', though." Gwen remarked and MJ nodded her agreement with the assessment. "Or—it might end up being a tie, thing. In that case, we've got to have someone to break the tie." She added.

If he were being completely honest with himself, a part of him was grateful that he could talk to his friends about some of what was going on—he couldn't share all of it, obviously. The last time he had done even close to something resembling that, the man had ended up dead in his arms and Peter had no desire to see a repeat of that excruciating event. He knew that he wouldn't make it through the day ever again if it repeated itself with anyone inside this room. "I'm still curious about what this project is." Ned piped up.

Peter cast a critical glance around the room, before meeting his best friend's gaze. "It's a bit of a long story and not one I'm keen on sharing for everyone to hear." Peter gestured around the room.

His best friend nodded understandingly, lips tilting downwards. "Sounds serious." Ned remarked.

Nodding, Peter crossed his arms. "It is—a tiny bit serious." He flicked his gaze to MJ. She clenched her jaw, nodding, and glancing away. Her eyebrows furrowed a bit over his shoulder and Peter glanced behind him to see Felicity Smoak standing out at the entrance. Her bright clothes and tight ponytail made her look a bit odd set against the backdrop of a place where the patients normally wore items from the thrift store and were a bit more injured. Peter waved her over.

Felicity smiled anxiously when she walked over to him, one arm holding a laptop bag. "Hi. I'm Felicity. Felicity Smoak." She shifted her weight from one foot to the other as Aunt May gave her a quick once-over before arching an eyebrow at Peter.

It seemed that Ned was keen on blurting out the first thing that came to mind. "Petey—you better not be trying to tell us that you got a model for an older girlfriend. A clinic is not exactly the place for that kind of thing. Big Belly Burger might be a bit better." His best friend spoke decisively, expression vaguely scolding.

Peter blanched. "What? No. She's one of my brother's friends. And she works in the IT department and we're somewhat friends." Peter waved his arms back and forth, cringing when he glanced to Felicity. "Not that you're not a beautiful woman—but, I prefer girls my own age." He, almost unwillingly, glanced quickly to MJ to gauge her expression. She looked, at first, slightly uncomfortable, but then the expression twisted into amusement.

Felicity chuckled. "I know, we've had the conversation before." She remarked. She adjusted the strap of the bag on her shoulder while Miles eyed it with no small level of interest. "Um, Peter? Could you introduce me to your friends? Unless you want me to start calling them Friend 1, 2, 3, and 4." Felicity suggested, clearing her throat.

Ned crossed his arms. "I better be Friend 1, in this scenario." He insisted.

Face-palming, Peter inwardly wondered the question of just why. He lowered his hand and then gestured first to Ned. "Felicity, this is my best friend: Ned Leeds." Peter introduced, "Our friend: Miles Morales, our other friend: Gwen Stacey." He gestured to the other two, who gave greetings to the woman with some variation due to their speech patterns. "And this is my other best friend: Michelle Jones or MJ. Actually, call her MJ. She'll threaten you with violence otherwise." Peter teased.

MJ rolled her eyes. "Ignore him. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

Peter coughed into his hand. "Baseball bat." He then coughed, again. "Cutlery."

"Box of rocks." Ned coughed.

Her response was to flick them both on the forehead, with her expression completely innocuous. Felicity bit her lip, looking like she wanted to full-out laugh. "Well, it's nice to meet all of you." She stated, glancing towards Peter with a hint of severity entering her eyes. "So, is there anywhere we can go to work privately? I've got them—um—files all ready to go that you had me pull up." Felicity stated quietly.

Gwen arched an eyebrow. "Files? Please tell me those aren't illegally obtained files." Gwen pleaded and Peter and Felicity exchanged somewhat sheepish glances. "Go figure. Alright, Petey, lead the way to your office." She murmured the first part to herself before gesturing Peter onwards.

Felicity raised both eyebrows. "You have an office?"

Aunt May nodded. "He does. It comes with owning the clinic." She informed the blonde woman simply. She glanced over at Peter, "Let me know if you all need anything, I'll hold down the ship here." Aunt May stated as Peter led them to the back set of stairs that was across from the exit that would dump them out into the parking lot.

MJ nodded. "He also shares it with Tommy Merlyn."

Peter rolled his eyes, holding the door open. "He is also a present member of the conversation." Peter quipped sarcastically. He waited for everyone to pass before walking on the banister a bit and grabbing the ceiling to swing himself onto the steps in front of them. There was a beat of silence in which Peter glanced over his shoulder. "What?" He asked, upon spotting the surprised expressions of his friends.

MJ snorted. "Since when did you know how to do gymnastics?" She questioned, "Is this part of the time you kept spending at the gym?" She continued, the first to start following him up the stairs as Peter led their little precession.

He grimaced at the mention of the Wildcats gym, Peter hadn't been back there in three weeks and—though he had received an email from Ted Grant that said that Peter had extenuating circumstances that would allow him to get out of the membership with no fee, he was still paying for the membership because he planned on going back. Peter just had to work up the courage to return again, and, this time, without Oliver and Mr. Diggle. "So, that's where the hidden muscles came from? I was wondering." Ned remarked.

"Dude—did you feel up my muscles?" Peter tossed a vaguely disturbed look at his best friend. Ned arched an eyebrow at him, looking unashamed. He shuddered. "You know what—nope, I don't want to know. That's just—yeah, nope." Peter murmured to himself, pulling open the door to the third floor and letting everyone pass him. He retrieved the key from his pocket and unlocked the door, flicking on the overhead light.

Gwen cringed. "Your office is a mess." She slid some of the papers occupying the desk-space around. "Did an indoor tornado happen in here or something?" Gwen queried, directing a pointed gaze to the papers scattered on the floor around the coffee table.

A sheepish expression crossed his face. "It might have been hurricane Tom-tom for all you know." Peter countered. He headed to the coffee table and began organized the papers into quick piles, setting aside a space for Felicity to set her stuff down.

Felicity sat down on the couch, unzipping her laptop bag and pulling the large device from her bag. She opened it and turned it on, waiting for the login screen to pop up. "Ok—so I ran my facial recognition software on the city camera files that I downloaded and got over a few days' worth of videos to sort through." Felicity entered her password, fingers moved speedily over the keyboard as she typed in some thirty characters. She glanced up, "What? I have important stuff on my baby—I can't chance just anyone getting in." Felicity spoke defensively.

Gwen massaged her forehead with her fingers. "That's not what my look was for." She muttered.

Miles, meanwhile, had stars in his eyes. "You hacked the Starling traffic cameras. That's awesome!" Gwen swatted him on the back of the head, and he rubbed the spot, tossing her an offended look.

Felicity smiled. "I also added some private cameras to the list—hence the extensive amount of data to sort through." She added, cracking her knuckles. She glanced toward Peter, "I'm not sure how we want to sort this stuff out—not that we've really explained anything so you're all probably super confused about why we're running facial recognition software and hacking city cameras—though hacking is such an ugly word for it, I prefer coding—but I promise that it's for a good cause and—"

Peter bit his lip, amused as he watched his friends look increasingly baffled. "Felicity. Maybe you should leave the explaining for me." He interrupted. "I'll ramble a bit—but I've got a different variant of foot-in-the-mouth disease that might let me get to the point at some point in the next hour. Maybe." Peter explained.

MJ chuckled. "Oh my god. We've got two ramblers, now." She remarked.

Gwen exhaled. "I'm foreseeing so much babbling." She added.

"Don't be rude—you know you love it." Peter teased. His smile slipped from his features as he exchanged a glance with MJ. "Right. Back to the point. Look—um, this is about Tom Edwards." Peter blurted out. "I believe—no I know he's innocent. I know that the police have the wrong person for what happened with—with Uncle Ben—" At the name, any amusement in the room died painfully. "—and so, I'm trying to find anyway I can possibly think of to prove that he's innocent." He concluded.

Ned looked thoughtful. "So, looking at the city cameras might do so."

A furrow developed between Gwen's eyebrows. "But, the police, they would have found something. Our fathers—they would have found something if that was the case." Gwen glanced quickly to Miles, who nodded his agreement.

Peter exhaled, standing up and peeking out the door before closing it completely and locking it. "Ok, so, full disclosure—I haven't been completely honest with any of you since Christmas." Peter started, twisting his fingers together nervously. "A few hours before Walter disappeared, I—I overheard a conversation between him and someone else—someone I don't know—in regards to the fact that he was looking into—into his best friend's murder." He concluded; little white lies sprinkled throughout his words.

MJ seemed to pick up on the fact that he didn't want her involvement shared and pursed her lips in a way that indicated that she would confront him on it later. "His best friend's murder?" Ned questioned; aghast.

He nodded, smiling ruefully. "Yes. My father." Peter clarified.

Miles looked horrified. "Your father was murdered?"

Peter nodded once more, the rueful smile dissipating. He glanced towards Felicity—who looked uncharacteristically solemn. Peter knew that his step-father had trusted her and he had a feeling about her—an instinctual trust similar to the one he had for Mr. Diggle. Maybe it was foolish because they had both been strangers when he chose to trust them, but he trusted the gut instinct. "Yes." Peter confirmed verbally.

Ned swallowed. "Oh my god." He breathed. "Peter, I'm so sorry. I had no idea—"

"There's a reason for that—" Peter decided, then and there, that he couldn't do this alone. He needed his friends' help and maybe they could find a way to keep him from making the hasty decisions. "—Walter confronted someone about my father's murder and then disappeared hours later. That's why I was so distant when he disappeared, because it was a lot to sort through. And, a few weeks later—I acted hastily, I had been subtle so far in my digging into what Walter was looking into, but I acted hastily, and Uncle Ben died because of it."

MJ leaned heavily against his side, grabbing his hand and interlacing their fingers. Peter offered her a weak smile. They were all strewn out around the office, Ned was on the couch with his face pale and eyes wide with horrified understanding. Gwen was in the desk chair with Miles leaning against the wall next to her. "You should have told us—we could have helped." MJ murmured.

He nodded. "I know—but I was terrified. I'm still a bit terrified." Peter exhaled, closing his eyes. "And—then I realized that it was hypocritical of me to keep you all in the dark. The people behind this are powerful—they murdered my father and got away with it for years, they abducted Walter easily from an elevator in the hospital, they murdered Uncle Ben in broad daylight. Whoever they are—they're powerful. They have enough power to ensure that an innocent man goes to jail for something they did." Peter concluded.

Ned clenched his jaw. "Then we won't let them." He glanced around the room, "We're going to find a way to free Tom Edwards—even though I personally want to punch him for jumping Peter with his goons last fall." Ned muttered the last part to himself.

Gwen nodded, frowning thoughtfully. "Even if we find all of this information—the people you're talking about have power, how could we ensure that it'll be usable?" She questioned. At the few confused glances directed her way, she elaborated. "Say we do deliver it to the police anonymously—how do we know someone won't just get rid of it."

Peter pursed his lips, mind cycling through thoughts. "We could go to a specific detective. Detective Quentin Lance." Peter mused.

Miles grimaced. "Doesn't he hate your family?"

He studied his fingernails thoughtfully. "He's got a grudge against us—you're not wrong about that. But, it's not like I'm going to relent at the first time he tells me no. Besides, he's not going to be able to resist the implication that an innocent man could be sentenced for something he didn't do." Peter stated.

Felicity cleared her throat. "Ok—so back, on task, we need to cycle through all of these videos. We need to have a direct placement that shows that he had nothing to do with what happened." She informed their group.

Peter nodded. "Right, I can pull an all-nighter tonight as I doubt the school will be expecting me to show up with my sister's trial." He remarked. He glanced around his friend group, "You guys don't have to pull an all-nighter, just make sure to watch the files here. We don't want to take any chances on anything leaving this room. I don't want anyone knowing that any of you are involved in this—ok? So, don't tell your parents or any friends outside of here." Peter stared each of his friends in the eye; Felicity inclusive.

Miles protested. "My dad is a cop. He could help." He stated, folding his arms across his chest. "And—he would never take up a bribe or plant evidence or anything like what got Tom Edwards arrested." He added.

Softening, Peter nodded at him. "I know that your father is good—but, as of right now, I don't want to chance any of you getting hurt more than I already am. Right now—you're all my responsibility and I'll be responsible if anything happens to you." He informed Miles. "So, what we're doing, what I've shared with you, it cannot leave this room. Not yet." Peter narrowed his eyes; tone completely factual and serious.

Gwen nodded. "We understand." She elbowed Miles. She clapped her hands together, "Ok, so let me login to the computer and we can get started." She turned her attention back to the computer—a device that Felicity treated with a grimace—as Peter retrieved his laptop and opened it. Miles jogged downstairs, accepting the key from Peter, and returned with his laptop as well as Roy. "Um—Miles? Who's this?" Gwen glanced up at Roy.

Roy looked unruffled by the stares. "I'm Roy."

Miles shifted uncomfortably. "He said he needed to talk to Petey." He shot Peter a quick, confused glance. Peter glanced at Roy; eyebrows raised. "He was kind of insistent." Miles muttered defensively to Gwen.

"Hey Roy, I didn't expect you to come here in broad daylight—your street rep may not be looking too hot with that." Peter teased lightly, breaking the tense atmosphere. He was aware of the incredulous stares of his friends in his direction and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Sorry, guys, this is Roy. I've bumped into him on occasion." Peter didn't elaborate, waiting for Roy's decision in that.

Roy rolled his eyes. "I figured you'd want to know the names of Tom Edwards' friends."

Peter gave the other a contemplative glance. "I'm a bit surprised you want to help—you didn't exactly call at all." He remarked casually. He gestured for Roy to sit down, and the older teen took a seat next to Felicity—casting her a contemplative glance.

Ned raised his hand. "Wait—I'm confused, you two know each other."

Roy folded his arms across his chest. "I helped him get away from Tom last fall."

MJ raised both eyebrows at him. "You didn't mention him at all."

Peter shrugged. "Well, I figured he'd want to salvage some of his street rep and it's not like I planned us bumping into each other ever again." He spoke decisively. "Anyways, what are their names?" Peter changed the subject, knowing that his friends might be seeing him in a new light for all of the secrets he has kept. A part of him mused that they didn't know much of it—the Spiderman thing being a somewhat major secret that he had no intention of sharing with them anytime soon.

Roy grabbed one of the papers, uncaring if it already had words on it, and wrote the names down with a pen he found on the floor. "I thought billionaires were supposed to have maids that clean up after them." Roy noted idly, handing the paper over to Peter. He read the list of names: Nick Coleman, Lewis Wood, Sean Davis, Adam Nile.

Peter shrugged carelessly. "Unfortunately, the maid took off when she saw the mess." He deadpanned. "Are you feeling up to viewing some videos kindly delivered from the Starling City cameras?" Peter questioned a second later.

Gwen snorted. "And by kindly delivered, he means illegally obtained."

Felicity opened and closed her mouth a few times. "It wasn't that illegal." She protested. She held her pointer finger and thumb closely together, less than a millimeter of space between the two. "Just slightly illegal." She clicked a few times around on her mouth before unplugging the flashdrive and handing it to Ned. Ned walked it over to Gwen at a glance from MJ.

Roy chuckled. "As fun as that sounds. I have a job." He remarked. "I've got to pay the bills somehow—and not everyone has access to toilet paper made of 100-dollar bills or silver thrones." Roy added.

MJ furrowed her eyebrows, looking like she wanted to snip at him, but Peter just snorted. "Don't forget the silver crown, too." Peter stated dryly. "You could call next time you drop by, instead of nearly giving poor Miles a heart-attack." He remarked, accepting the passed around flashdrive and making copies of the files onto his laptop.

Miles pouted. "It wasn't that bad."

Roy rolled his eyes. "There probably won't be a next time, rich-boy." He stated.

He was completely unruffled. "Isn't that what you alluded to when you got your chance to play at being a hero last fall?" Peter questioned, opening one of the files and resigning himself to watching Tom Edwards move through the city for the next few hours.

"Wouldn't that make you a damsel in distress?" Roy shot back.

"I wouldn't be so insulting to the person who has a perfectly accessible pen they could throw at your head." Peter retorted, arching an eyebrow. He knew, from his friends' expressions, that he and Roy had a weirdly insulting and rude banter going for them. "It would be so easy." Peter added; voice saccharine.

Ned chuckled. "I'm surprised that you didn't threaten him with the laptop."

Peter glanced first at Felicity and then at Miles. "I have a feeling if I caused any damage to the laptop in front of them, those two would team up to strangle me." He pointed first to Felicity and then to Miles.

Roy chuckled. "Throw the laptop, I dare you." His grin was distinctly unfriendly and challenging. Peter would have been terrified of him if the older teen hadn't helped him last fall, and the fact that he had learned the true meaning of terror in the past two months. Roy's grin was rather tame when compared against the awful things Peter had felt recently. He wondered what that might mean for him—if it meant that he was getting older and forcing himself to grow up even more.

Felicity glared at them both. "If anyone throws a laptop in this room, they and the person that deserved the laptop being thrown at them are dead—I don't care who owns the building." She warned.

Roy snorted. "I'm so terrified, blondie."

She smiled sweetly at him. "I'm one of the best in my class at MIT. Do you really want to know what I can do to your social media and your devices? I won't touch your bank accounts because I'm not at that stage of evil yet. But, everything else is fair game." Felicity remarked with the same sweet tone in her voice like she was offering him a chocolate chip cookie rather than threatening him.

"Whatever." Roy muttered, though there was an impressed glint in his eye as he regarded Felicity. "See you all never." He added, before exiting the room. Peter grabbed the key from Miles and stood up to lock the door.

Gwen whistled. "He's something."

Peter chuckled, reclaiming his spot as he un-paused the video. "He's got a gooey center somewhere—it's just deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep—" He started.

MJ cut him off. "Ok, we get it."

"—deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep—" Ned picked up where he left off.

Gwen threw a stapler in their general direction.

---

Peter caught up with Felicity before she reached her car, knowing that he needed to talk to her even still after the conversation they had all had a few short hours ago. It was nearly one in the morning and Peter had cemented his plans of sleeping at the clinic—sending both Oliver and Thea a brief text that he wouldn't be coming home tonight and then ignoring his phone for the rest of the night. "Hey—um—can we talk for a second?" Peter spoke, though he knew she had heard his heavy, jogging footsteps behind her. He had been purposefully loud to not startle her completely.

Felicity arched an eyebrow when she turned to him. Her hair had slid out of its meticulous ponytail, and she had taken the tie out at some point, leaving a small wave in the blonde hair that reached her mid-back. "Pretty sure we've all been talking all night. Your friends kind of remind me of my old friends and me. It was nice—being around such light-hearted people and so was the Big Belly Burger we got delivered for dinner." Felicity rambled slightly; Peter worried over the exhaustion lining her eyes for a minute.

Most of him felt guilty, knowing that the expression was due to him. "I'll make it short so that you can go home and sleep, promise." Peter assured her. He realized that it was Friday, the end of another week without Uncle Ben approaching quickly. "I told my brother about the yacht being taken down—but I don't know if he suspects about Uncle Ben's death—so I need your word that you won't tell him. I know that you're friends, but—and it's not a forever secret—but just—can you keep it from him?" He questioned.

She nodded, lips thinning into a straight line. "I won't tell him. But, your brother, he's not an idiot, Peter. He's a lot more perceptive than anyone gives him credit for." Felicity remarked. "He might already suspect that Tom Edwards is innocent." She added.

Peter paused, considering her words. "You really like him, don't you?" He questioned.

Felicity rolled her eyes. "I admire his face." She answered.

"And a bit of the mystery with the weird excuses." Peter added with a wry smile. "Back to the point—Walter trusted you and he had to have had a good reason for it so I'm going to trust you. That's why I let you stick around—why you were included when I told my friends—because I know that you might be one of the only ones that can figure out what's going on." He continued.

Her expression turned solemn at the mention of Walter. Though, she forced some light humor into her voice. "That and I doubt you could manage to kick me out of the room." Felicity stated.

Peter snorted. "That might be part of it." He rolled his eyes. "Walter trusted you, though. And he—he's my step-father. He's been a father to me since the yacht." Peter spoke softly. "Him and Uncle Ben are—were my father figures. I've lost one completely and I'll do whatever I have to find the other." He continued, holding up a hand when she opened her mouth. "I'm not going to demand you tell me the exact details of what my step-father was looking into, I already have an idea of it." He concluded, repeating himself from earlier.

Felicity nodded, relief in her eyes. "I'll find a way to get Walter home to you and your family. After we free Tom Edwards—I will, I promise." She assured him and Peter offered her a wisp of a smile.

"You know, the only other time I believed that was when Ollie told me it." Peter remarked, "You two would make a good pair, just saying." He added.

"You seem very encouraging of your brother and me." Felicity noted. "Even though you and I have only met twice. And Oliver has always come to me with those ridiculous little excuses." She pointed out.

Peter shrugged. "I have a good instinct for people."

Felicity arched an eyebrow. "That makes you a matchmaker."

He wrinkled his nose at the thought. "Good night, Lissy." Peter coined the nickname that he had used, teasingly, earlier. Felicity nodded, repeating the words back at him before getting in her car. Peter tapped on her passenger window a second later and she rolled it down, expression showing surprise. "Piece of advice regarding Ollie: don't fall in love with him, yet." He emphasized the last words. "His head is a bit too far up his ass for that." Peter clarified.

Felicity snorted. "I'm definitely not going to fall in love with Oliver Queen."

Peter almost believed her, but he could see it. He could see that, given time, she would be good for his older brother. Someone who didn't know him before the island—someone who wasn't going to hold him up to certain memories like the rest of them did, other than John Diggle. "Good luck. I've heard that he's somehow charming." Peter remarked, waving as he backed away from the car. She rolled her window up, the car hesitating a second, before she joined the night traffic.

MJ chuckled. "Offering her some love advice for your older brother?" She remarked, standing beside him. He observed her profile quietly, appreciating the splash of the city lights across her tanned features. "I have a feeling that you're going to attempt to push them together." MJ commented, expression entirely amused.

Peter shrugged. "She's a good person."

"You know that from a few encounters and a few hours spent with her?" MJ queried.

He nodded. "I've somewhat developed a good instinct for people." Peter stated, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I know you're curious why I didn't tell anyone about you being there that night." Peter changed the subject, knowing that it was unavoidable. If he wasn't going to bring it up, she would.

MJ pursed her lips, amusement fleeting. "Yeah. Mind explaining it to me?"

Peter grimaced. "That doesn't sound like I have much of a choice." He remarked with a wry grin. His grin faltered a bit when she remained unamused. "MJ—these people, I confronted my mother before Uncle Ben's death—that was my hasty action. If they somehow found out that you knew, you're a lot more reachable to them than I am. I can't take that chance." Peter explained.

She exhaled. "I get it. But Peter, if you're staying at the clinic, then you're just as reachable as I am. If not, maybe even more so." MJ cast a glance over her shoulder, brushing a loose curl out of the way when she glanced back at him. "I know that—you're livid at your mother, and I don't blame you for that. She did some horrible things that make me want to drive to your house with a baseball bat—but you can't deny that it might be safer for you to be at your house with the high security rather than above the clinic in the Glades." She added.

Peter could see her point. Though, the merit of it fell a bit shorter. "The problem is that they have access to our house—they have Moira's room bugged." Peter informed her. "I could—could feel that the minute I walked into her room, I ignored my instincts and what they were telling me and I'm not going to do that anymore." He continued.

MJ nodded understandingly. "You're welcome to come stay with us if you need to. No matter how much danger you think you might pose to us." She placed a hand on his shoulder. She yawned. "I should be going; my parents are not going to be happy if I'm out past two." MJ stated informatively.

"What excuse did you give them to get such a late curfew?" Peter arched an eyebrow.

She shrugged. "I just said that I was helping my friends work through a school project." MJ answered, "Walk me to my car?" She questioned and he felt a smile forming on his lips, nodding.

Peter slung an arm over her shoulder. "I was going to even without your permission." He remarked, eyeing each pedestrian with some level of trepidation. The comfort he had felt the past few hours was bleeding away—reminding him that it could anyone. Anyone he walked by could be the one who have destroyed everything that remained in his family. He didn't want to ever let that darkness touch his friends—but they seemed so accepting of glimpsing some of it, their continued help just gave him a small, inkling of hope that he didn't have to face everything on his own.

MJ rested her head on his shoulder, reaching up to clasp the hand of the arm he had slung over her own shoulder. "Are you going to be ok?" She questioned softly; her voice was so low that he knew that he wouldn't have heard it if she hadn't been so close.

Exhaling, he glanced to his side. "Maybe. For the first time since Uncle Ben—I'm saying maybe." Peter remarked with a wry smile. The thought of Uncle Ben brought with it sadness and guilt and he had a feeling he would be swimming in it—somedays were going to be better than others.

"That's good." MJ stated. "I've missed your smile, Queen."

He wrinkled his nose in distaste. "God—it sounds like you're calling me a Queen or talking to the artist: Queen. I am a male." Peter countered, cringing as she laughed—warm and bright.

Maybe.

---

The first thing Peter did when he returned to the clinic office was open his laptop—he had also downloaded Felicity's program off the flashdrive when it was still plugged into his laptop as the rest of their group was distracted, he had a small inkling that maybe Felicity suspected that he did, but she hadn't said anything. He glanced at the list of names that Roy had given him, in not so neat scrawl, before entering the first name into the search parameter: Nick Coleman. Peter leaned back in the office chair, painstakingly aware of the clock's slow inching towards 1:30 in the morning.

Drumming his fingers against the desk as he waited, Peter rolled the chair backwards and carefully pulled up a section of carpet. Maybe it was a bit Merlin-esque of him but hiding his bag in the area with the safe had seemed smarter at the time. Peter unlocked the safe and retrieved his bag, casting a suspicious-laden glance around the room. He changed quickly, shucking off the jeans and chemistry tee-shirt he had worn and tugging the fitted suit on. Peter grimaced at viewing it in the overhead light—it truly was something a bit more telling than his typical baggy clothes.

Although, his biceps looked great.

He snorted at the thought, grabbing the mask in his hands—he had also developed a type of mechanical web-shooter on paper, though he was waiting for the materials for it to be shipped into the local mechanics store—as he bent over the desk, watching the search results. Peter pursed his lips, attempting to locate where the man lived and worked and where he would be at nearly two in the morning. He found that the man would probably be either at his apartment complex or working at the local garage. Peter minimized the tab and googled the local garage with a frown forming on his lips.

It wasn't surprising to find that the garage would be closing down soon—Peter looked further into it and was even more displeased to find that it was because the property owner of the line of businesses on that street had raised the rent. He exhaled, one problem at a time, though he doubted that he would be making an appearance to Nick—and Peter did recognize the name as one of the thugs, which did give him a bit of anxiety, but he shook it off. Just because he had a good reason to not like them—that didn't mean they deserved misplaced justice.

Exhaling, he pulled the mask over his face and shut his laptop—Peter inwardly considered if there would be a way to Iron man his suit, input it with an AI, and decided that he'd do a bit of investigating in his down-time. He tossed one last glance at the homework that Ned had given him and decided that he would do it when he got back from patrol—not that he really had a plan to go to school tomorrow, the rest of the evening, if he did the homework, would be devoted to watching more of the videos.

At first, it had been easy to watch—well, not necessarily easy because watching someone live that kind of awful lifestyle did hurt a bit—but then the strain built up in his eyes as his friends slowly left one-by-one. Gwen, unsurprisingly, was the first to be picked up. Ned left after her, having to take the bus home to avoid missing curfew. Miles followed the two, being picked up by his dad once he got off shift—and Peter could see the other's eyes lingering on him when Aunt May poked her head to alert him to his father's presence. MJ and Felicity were the last two to leave—the latter having work in the morning at 9:00 and the former having school in the morning.

Peter jumped up, one hand flattening against the ceiling as he pulled himself up, molding himself to the ceiling to crawl to the air vent. He removed the vent with a small screwdriver he found in one of the drawers, pulling the nails out and resting them against the desk carefully, before sliding into the air duct. It would lead straight out to the alley, and he did a few bits of wiggling, before gently pressing out the other vent and catching it on his foot before it could bang against the alley-floor.

He stuck to the wall with one hand, the other reaching for the vent as he gently eased it back into place, sticking to the sides of the walls. Peter braced himself against the ledge at the end of the alleyway—where it met the sidewalk of the street—before extending a wrist and bending two fingers towards his wrist, aiming for the nearest billboard. He let go of the wall, swinging through the air and then catching himself against another building. Peter followed the street-signs to the development that Nick occupied.

Peter landed in a crouched position on the sign, peering down at the apartment complexes, he looked closely at the building numbers, eyes trailing up the windows. He refocused on the street beneath him, eyeing the corners occupied by drug-dealers that emerged from the shadows. Peter frowned—wondering if one of them was responsible for the Vertigo that his twin sister had been supplied with—before he noticed a small scuffle another street over and outstretched his arm.

Webbing shot from his wrist and connected him to another building as he jumped off the billboard, free-falling through the air for several lengthy minutes before landing on the top of a lamp-post in a crouched position. "Anything I can help with?" Peter questioned, interrupting the few thugs that were hustling a woman—who had clearly seen a few drinks because she swung her arms out dazedly—for her purse.

The three thugs glanced up at him, only one showing a hint of fear. Peter didn't like glimpsing fear in someone else's eyes, he had felt the emotion too keenly lately, but he supposed it was a good thing he gave the criminals something to fear. "Get out of here, freak." One of them sneered.

He arched an eyebrow under his mask, dropping off the lamp-post and landing with one knee against the sidewalk. "That's not a very nice way to address someone." Peter clicked his tongue, striding over to the three thugs. He recognized one, from his recent searches and thanked his luck that Nick Coleman could be relied on to be a douche-bag. Though, he supposed the guy was working for a failing business and had to find some way to provide for his family. "People typically greet others with a friendly hello or a how can I help you not barking out orders and calling names." Peter remarked conversationally.

Frowning, he dodged one man, moving towards the woman. Her eyes were dilated and her pulse frantic in her throat. "Don't make me do something you'll regret, freak." The first man snarled.

Tossing him an unimpressed glance, he gestured vaguely to the woman in his arms. "You thugs always have the same ridiculous one-liners. Get out of here. Don't make me do something you'll regret. Go home. You don't know who you're dealing with. Here's a bright idea: why don't you try something with a bit more originality, Mr. Anti-freak." Peter retorted, "And you would have to be blind and deaf to not see that this woman needs some serious help—not a bunch of wannabe-gangsters tossing her around for a purse." He added.

A death glare was directed at him as the first man lunged forward, someone Peter creatively nicknamed Mr. Anti-freak. A meaty hand swung for his face and Peter leaned backwards, grabbing the man's wrist and then using his other hand to web the other meathead that charged at him. To his surprise, Nick was the only one wise enough to stay back and out of the way. Though, Peter couldn't say he recalled Nick's exact mannerisms from so long ago. He tossed Mr. Anti-freak with the grip he had on his wrist into the second guy, sending them both flying into the side of the building.

"So, mind explaining to me Nick Coleman, why you haven't joined your meatheaded brethren?" Peter questioned conversationally, stringing the two idiots together and then attaching them to the building.

The use of his name caused Nick to draw his knife. Peter arched an eyebrow at the gleam of the blade, "How the hell do you know my name?" Nick pointed the knife at him. "You're that Spider-thing that's all over YouTube—so how would you know my name?" The man narrowed his eyes at him.

Peter dropped to his knees, "Oh no. You've found my weakness. It's small knives." He outstretched a hand, covering his head with his other arm. "Please, have mercy." Peter added, mockingly cowering on the floor.

Nick arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Really?" He deadpanned.

He shrugged, straightening—casting one eye over to the woman. "Worth it." Peter answered, he turned, stooping to retrieve one of the men's phones. Peter dialed an emergency number and waited for the 911 operator to answer. "Hello, Mrs. 911 operator-lady, I have a near-drug overdose on—" He moved over to the street sign, "—Liam's Drive near the Supermart. Could I get an ambulance, thanks?" Peter hung up, shrugging once more when Nick's eyebrows climbed higher on his forehead.

"Barely even gave the woman a chance to answer." Nick remarked, lowering his knife. "What do you want from me?" The man questioned—sounding thoroughly exhausted.

He almost pitied him. "I want to know if you can provide an alibi for Tom Edwards." Peter answered. "I was actually planning to seek you out but was going to wait till tomorrow and you were at work—but, my luck is that I ran into you amidst you doing something that is kind of awful." He slid his glance to the woman who was leaning heavily against the building—Peter hoped that she wasn't planning on throwing up, he would not like washing that off the suit.

Nick's expression went blank. "Look, I don't know anything about Tom being a killer—but I've got no idea where he was when that man died." The man stated. Peter furrowed his eyebrows in consideration, leaning against the lamp-post.

Peter tilted his head to one side. "I had thought you were Tom Edwards' friend—why would you lie about him. You realize that he could go to prison or receive the death sentence for something he didn't do." Peter remarked. "I'm all for people receiving justice—but for the right crime. Take him in for assault or stealing or B&E, but he's not a sniper." He added, gesturing vaguely.

The man took a step back. "Look, kid, I told you what I know—now get out of here." Nick held up the knife higher, raising it as though they hadn't already established how little of a threat it would pose to Peter.

He clicked his tongue. "That didn't work for Mr. Anit-freak. What makes you think it would work for you, Nick Coleman?" He queried. Peter's senses tingled as Nick leapt forward, knife a metallic thing reflecting lamplight. Peter caught his wrist in a tight grip, the knife clattering to the floor where Nick's fingers released it from the surprise. "Come on, man, you've got to give me something to free an innocent man." Peter pleaded when the other jerked in his hold.

Nick sneered. "Tom's anything but innocent."

Peter was taken by surprise when the other headbutted him and he ambled back as Nick retrieved his knife from the floor. He advanced as Peter fell back, before Peter mimicked sneezing and shot a piece of web that slammed Nick's wrist against the lamp-post, keeping the man stagnant. He reached forward, plucking the knife from Nick's grasp and throwing it away, an eye on where it landed, in the patchwork grass underneath a bench. "Maybe, he's not completely innocent—but do you think you could live with yourself if he died for a crime he didn't commit?" He questioned.

The other rolled his eyes. "He may not have killed Ben Parker—but he's just going to get what's coming to him. What's been coming to him for a while." Nick retorted; words cruel.

"So—he's not your friend. You don't care that he's going to die." Peter remarked, taking a step back. "How long have you known him, exactly, Nick? How much of your lives have you spent together? After all that time—you really don't care?" He shot question after question at the man until Nick finally broke.

"I'm not risking my family for him." Nick shouted.

Peter froze, "I'm not threatening your family."

Nick nodded, his free hand gesturing towards him. "You're not. But the man who is framing Tom is. He'll kill my son. My daughters. My ex-wife." Nick stated, shaking his head sadly. "I can't provide Tom an alibi—no matter the fact that we grew up together because I can't risk my family. Tom understands that." The man concluded, voice cracking.

Peter lingered back. "Who? Who is threatening your family? Maybe I can help." He stated after a few more minutes. He could hear the sirens of the ambulance approaching and knew that time was ticking.

Nick grimaced. "You're just a kid. A kid in footie pajamas that can handle muggings and everything of the ilk—but when it comes to those powerful people, you're out of your league." He remarked.

His heart thudded unevenly in his chest. "You underestimate me." Peter spoke confidently. "Give me a name and you have my word that I won't spread who told me it. They won't know you were the one who told me it—I'll even keep tabs on your family over the next few weeks until things die down." He offered.

The man eyed him, curiously. "Fine. It was the Dark Archer."

Peter's stomach bottomed out. "The Dark Archer—the man who took five people hostage on Christmas. He's the one setting up Tom Edwards to take the fall. But Ben wasn't killed with an arrow." He murmured to himself, running his hands over his mask.

Nick was staring at him. "You've got to get better at this part of the job, kid." He remarked. "Freaking out on the job is not winning you any intimidation points—no matter the muscle you have or freaky reflexes." The man elaborated.

He crossed his arms. "I can be intimidating."

The other man snorted. "You're not that intimidating."

"You're knife skills are not that intimidating." Peter retorted, flinging his arm out and propelling himself upwards. Nick's abrupt laughter followed him into the skies as the ambulance pulled up.

---

The Dark Archer added another, complex layer to the situation—one that Peter was steadfastly avoiding facing, because the Dark Archer being involved meant that the man underneath the dark hood was the same man who murdered his father or was involved in the losses that Peter had suffered. He exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he reviewed the footage from the week leading up to and following Uncle Ben's death—it placed Tom Edwards at the garage at the precise moment of Uncle Ben's death, but he was also looking for anything that would rule out involvement or Tom placing anyone up for the job.

He was looking for the man purchasing the gun that matched the bullet—and he found absolutely nothing. Miles had also hacked into the man's bank accounts and—though they had found that he had purchased a gun years ago as well as a permit, it didn't match with the bullet used—it turned up that the gun that had been in the house didn't match any record of Tom buying it. Gwen had pointed out, then, that the man could have purchased the weapon on the black market, and they had explored that avenue for any unnecessarily hefty purchases.

Peter steepled his fingers together, bowing his head and pressing his fingers against his forehead to soothe the headache pulsing behind his eyes. The fact that he had pulled another night of limited sleep did not make for an easy day—especially considering Peter's inability to take pills for it. No matter what he did, he could never get the tablets to go down his throat. Miles and Gwen had dropped by to help once their school let out, before being called back downstairs by Aunt May.

He knew that the woman probably, at least, suspected that they were up to something—maybe even guessed what it was exactly—but she didn't say anything. Not even to Tommy when the man showed up for his shift—the other man had exams to take the past week, hence why he had taken a few days off of work. Peter also couldn't fault him for not being entirely keen on spending as much time in the clinic—he hadn't been the only one to witness something awful, though Tommy hadn't been near-close enough.

"Hey." Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Peter's lips twitched wryly at the corners at the thought as he calmly lowered his laptop screen to regard Tommy Merlyn. "It's good to see you, back here. Hasn't been the same without everyone's favorite Peter plotting away upstairs." The man grinned, closing the door behind him and claiming a seat on the couch.

Peter saw the other wrinkle his nose slightly when he noticed the folded sheet resting atop a pillow that Peter had caught a few snatches of sleep on the past two nights. It felt like it had been longer than two days since he had walked out of the mansion after the fight with Moira—but that's the time it had been. Truthfully, Peter had been wondering when Tommy would comment on his sleeping there the past two days, it had taken MJ only one night to text him on it.

Tossing a glance at the time on the corner of his laptop screen, Peter realized that he had spent a vast majority of the day staring at the computer screen and writing down little notes in a yellowed notepad he had found in a desk drawer about the culmination of what they had found. The next step would probably be to approach Detective Lance—which might be a bit easier given the fact that Tommy lived with the man's daughter.

A second later he registered the plotting line. "I'm not plotting anything." Peter stated, cringing at the thought as he rolled his pencil between his fingers before tapping it against the wooden surface of the desk.

Raising an eyebrow, Tommy loosened a dubious snort. "Right. Of course, you're not. That would be absolutely ridiculous." Tommy remarked; sarcasm dripping from every syllable in every word. "If you're not up here plotting world domination—then what exactly is it that's so secretive?" He leaned forward, propping his chin on his hands and his elbows on his knees.

Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm just looking into a few things."

Tommy whistled, sounding impressed. "Oh. So mysterious." He teased, "Since when could you pull off mysterious? Are you trying to impress MJ?" Tommy queried, leaning back as his arms took up the position of crossed over his chest. Peter probably would have been more impressed if Tommy wasn't wearing pale blue scrubs.

"Maybe, I am." Peter countered. Tommy chuckled. "Anyways—what's going on with you? It feels like I haven't seen you in weeks." Peter switched the topic, honestly curious. He hadn't seen Tommy much—for the past two weeks it had been because he was avoiding the clinic and then when he did return, Tommy had to take a hiatus for exams. Briefly, Peter wondered what might have happened if Tommy was there last night—what he would have made of Felicity Smoak and Roy.

Tommy pursed his lips. "Malcolm reached out."

Peter eyed him with renewed interest. "Really? Why?" He questioned.

Shrugging, Tommy glanced down to study his fingernails. "Nothing major." The man remarked. "He seemed to think that he could convince me to convince you that we should shut down the clinic—because of Ben's death." Tommy explained a few seconds later, giving in to Peter's stare.

He didn't really understand why Malcolm Merlyn would have cared about Peter shutting down the clinic—he had abided Malcolm's condition of changing the name from his late wife's, so he didn't see how it might have been relevant to him. "You told him no, right?" Peter checked.

Tommy almost looked offended. "Of course, I did." The man glanced around, "I mean, yes, I thought about it. I considered it, but I know that it wouldn't be right to just give up on this place. I don't want to give up on this place." Tommy added.

He exhaled, relief in the sound. "I can't say that I disagree with your hesitance." Peter admitted. He studied his fingernails, unable to meet Tommy's gaze. "Someone I cared about died in my arms in front of this place—of course, I'm going to consider giving it up because I don't want to lose anyone else—I don't even think I can. Lose anyone else, that is." Peter twirled the pencil in his hands, biting his lip. "But, this place—the clinic—is more than just me. And Uncle Ben—he wouldn't have wanted me to give up."

When he glanced up at Tommy, there was a layer of understanding in his gaze. "I know it's difficult—I may not have been here the night my mom—but it was difficult for me to come back here, for years. Even still, the thought of shutting it down completely, of giving up her life's work completely—it would be dishonoring her." Tommy swallowed with some difficulty.

"I almost wish Malcolm saw it the way we do." Peter mused. He shook his head at himself, "But—he doesn't." He whispered. "Anyways—did he say that he would give you back the trust-fund again if you managed to convince me?" He guessed, speaking in a louder tone of voice.

Tommy nodded. "I'm starting to realize that I don't need the trust-fund." He remarked. "It was easier to turn him down this time than it was last time." Tommy explained and Peter could feel a hint of pride curling inside his chest for the effort Tommy had put into giving up the trust-fund lifestyle. Not that Peter had denied his trust-fund, too. He still needed it to keep the clinic afloat until income started drizzling in. And, he was seeing that, with the updated equipment, that more income was starting to rise to match the costs.

Peter smiled at him, the expression faint. "I'm happy for you, Tom-tom."

He arched an eyebrow. "For the fact that I'm growing up?" Tommy queried.

Shrugging, Peter nodded. "Yup. You're adulting." He answered. "So, how are things going with Laurel? Can't imagine moving in with the Gorgeous Laurel Lance has been the easiest time in the world?" Peter changed the subject; voice distinctly teasing.

"You didn't learn your lesson from the last time you asked that." Tommy retorted, smirking. Peter arched an eyebrow at him, and he exhaled, the smirk dissolving into a genuine smile. "They're getting better. We've stopped butting heads on the right way to squeeze out the toothpaste." Tommy snorted.

Peter chuckled. "That is a very serious conversation and I'm glad you both had." He stated, about to open his mouth to comment when he was cut-off by the familiar ringtone of his twin sister. With Tommy present, there was no way that Peter could ignore her, and he answered after a few seconds of deliberation. "Hey, sis, is everything ok?" Peter held the phone up to his ear, eyebrows pinched with concern.

Thea's breathing was erratic in his ear. "No. Everything is not ok." She was near-shouting the word and Peter pulled the phone away from his ear with a grimace. He felt a stone drop in his stomach a second later when the words registered. Amidst his revelation the night before, about the Dark Archer setting up Tom Edwards, he had almost forgotten about her pending trial. Her words translated into something bad about the trial. "Where are you?" She demanded a second later, after pausing to catch her breath.

Peter flicked his gaze up to meet Tommy's gaze, the other man edging towards concern. "I'm at the clinic—" He didn't even get to finish the sentence when she cut him off with an abrupt, humorless laugh.

"I don't even know why I asked, of course—you are." Thea muttered.

He furrowed his eyebrows, wanting to lash out at the obvious dig at the clinic, but held his tongue. "Are you going to tell me why everything is not ok? Or are you just trying to leave me in suspense?" Peter retorted a few heartbeats after her comment. His voice was thin, but the terse emotion soon gave way to concern once more. "Thee—what happened? Is it the trial? What has the lawyer said?" He added a few more questions to the initial, sarcastic-minded queries.

Dead silence answered him for a few, long minutes. "I'm surprised Tommy didn't tell you about his girlfriend's charity." Thea stated; voice dripping with venom. Peter raised both eyebrows, glancing towards Tommy in askance.

"We haven't quite gotten to that point in the conversation." Peter informed her dryly. "Now, could you fill me in? Or are you really wanting my imagination to run wild with possible issues with your trial? Such as the fact that you could go to jail for months." He added.

She exhaled. "Apparently, Laurel's dad talked to the judge." Thea clarified and Peter felt the relief catch in his throat. That didn't sound like the bad news his melodramatic sister had called him with. "He changed the plea bargain to 500 hours of community service and two years of probation on the condition that someone will take responsibility for me." She informed him and Peter allowed the relief to seep into his features.

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion a second later. "Why is that a bad thing?" Peter questioned. "It sounds like you should be thanking her and her dad for keeping you from going to prison and being shanked." He added bluntly.

Thea sounded like she was gearing up for a fight. "You don't get it!" She shouted. "I don't want to be Ollie's ex-girlfriend's or May's office mascot or charity case." Thea continued, her words a shout down the phone and Peter once again pulled his phone away from his ear, massaging the ear, before switching the device to his other ear.

Peter tried to feel empathetic towards her, but, as of right now—she was doing a stupid thing and he wanted to smack her upside the head with his laptop. Regardless of the fact that Felicity Smoak would murder him for the action. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled heavily. "Thea—how exactly do you think this is going to play out? No. No, I'm curious." He held a hand up to Tommy, who opened his mouth, and the other clamped his mouth shut, lips pursed. "How exactly do you think this is going to play out, huh? If you don't take this, you're going to go to trial and you're going to go to jail because you did the stupidest thing you could possibly think of." Peter let a hint of his livid emotions enter his voice.

She inhaled sharply. "Wow. Tell me how you really feel." Thea snarkily commented.

He clenched his jaw. "Do you honestly think that you refusing this deal is going to end well for you? I don't even understand why you wouldn't take the deal." Peter shook his head with some disbelief. "And you did a stupid thing, sis, I'm not going to sugar-coat that. You made the choice to take Vertigo and you made the choice to drive afterwards." He knew that maybe his words were a bit harsh, they were all going through a lot, but that didn't change the fact that he was extremely upset that she had done those things without a second thought to the consequences.

"Because Mom—" Thea started.

Peter cut her off with a dubious laugh. "You're going to go to jail to spite her?" Peter whistled. "Wow, sis, I did not realize that you were that vindicative. But the thing is—you're not just going to be spiting her. You're spiting Ollie. You're spiting Laurel. And Tommy. And you're spiting me. You're not just going to hurt her by going to jail. You're going to hurt everyone else." He informed her sternly.

Thea was quiet for a few minutes. "Like you have any room to talk, you're just running off to the clinic because you're pissed at her too." She spoke, the argument paper-thin and Peter easily poked holes in it.

"You think that you can compare the clinic to jail." Peter arched an eyebrow at Tommy, wondering if she actually thought that there was a comparison. "And, yes, I am pissed at her. But, I'm not going to ruin my life to spite her. If anything—that just motivates me to continue on with my life and do what I want to do, and she doesn't get a place in that." Tommy furrowed his eyebrows, confused by the fact that Peter was so against Moira Queen—and Peter knew he would have to explain that to Tommy once he hung up.

A few heartbeats of dead silence greeted him, interrupted only by her heavy breathing. "I thought that you would be on my side." Thea spoke quietly. "I thought that you would understand why I have to spite her—why I hate her. And not just for Walter, but for you, too." She added, voice raising in strength.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I do understand being angry with her. I do understand wanting to spite her. But, at what cost, Thee? Do you really want to ruin your life with a jail-time thing on your record?" Peter questioned; voice softening considerably.

Thea exhaled. "You sound like Ollie."

Peter felt a half-smile curl at his lip. "I hope you don't mean that as a bad thing."

She was quiet for another period of time, so much so that Peter thought she might have hung up on him. He pulled the phone away from his ear, the screen flaring up to reveal that the phone call was still ongoing. "He said that Dad cheated on Mom." Thea informed him.

It took a minute for Peter to digest the information. Dad cheated? The words did not make a lick of sense to him, but maybe that was because he had blinders on. He understood why Oliver was so defensive of Moira, in that moment. When a parent is removed from their lives, it's difficult to remember or see their flaws. "Wow." Peter answered, finding his voice after several unsuccessful attempts.

"Wow. That's it. I tell you that Dad cheated on Mom and your only, articulate response is wow." Thea retorted.

He nodded to himself. "Yeah. Wow." Peter repeated himself. "I mean—what do you want me to say to that? No, I don't believe it. It would be kind of hypocritical of me. And you." He pointed out.

A disbelieving laugh was his answer. "How? How would that be hypocritical?"

Peter glanced towards an uncharacteristically silent Tommy. He arched an eyebrow at him, and the man pursed his lips, shaking his head. "It would be hypocritical of me to say that dad would never cheat and then criticize Ollie for saying the same thing about Moira." Peter clarified. "You say that Ollie has blinders on for Moira—but, by discounting the fact that Dad could cheat, you're also having blinders on for Dad." He added.

"You honestly think that Dad could cheat?"

"I don't know what to think." Peter corrected her. "I, honestly, blocked out most of my memories of Dad and Ollie after the yacht because it was too painful for me. That's how I, unhealthily, handled my grief. I only have vague memories of Dad." He explained.

"I didn't realize you did that." Thea admitted quietly.

He grimaced. "Yeah—and I'm working on not doing that. Uncle Ben was part of my life for almost five years. He played a huge role in my life, and he was my hero. But, that doesn't mean every moment was great. We had our fight. We had our few days of not speaking to one another. You tend to forget the smaller things—the bad things—when people die." Peter spoke in the same, quiet voice.

Tommy placed a hand on his shoulder and Peter jumped a little, not even realizing the man had stood. He hadn't been paying attention. "So—you think that I should take the deal: 500 hours of community service, two years of probation, and either Laurel or May Parker babysitting me." Thea clarified, dragging them mercifully back to the original point.

He exhaled. "Yes." Peter emphasized. "Maybe you'll even learn something about the Glades. Though, I'm not just saying that because I want you to come do your community service here. I think if we stuffed too many Queen siblings in the clinic, we'd end up causing an earthquake somehow." He added, speaking with a hint of humor coloring his voice. Tommy chuckled at his shoulder, the hand squeezing comfortingly.

Thea chuckled. "Ok. I'll think about it." She remarked. "Bye." She didn't wait for a response before hanging up and Peter pulled the device from his ear. Peter pillowed his head on his arms after he dropped the phone with an exaggerated groan.

Tommy laughed at his misfortune. Peter lifted his face to glance at him before letting it fall with a thump against his arms. "I swear, I'm going to end up with grey hairs before I'm twenty because of my siblings." Peter muttered.

"Yeah—I can see that; you all are a stressful bunch." Tommy teased. "So—what was that all about with your Mom? Are you two fighting?" The man took a step back as Peter picked his head off the desk and leaned back with his arms folded and head tilted up to meet Tommy's gaze.

"We had a bit of a falling out." Peter waved a dismissive hand.

Nodding understandingly, Tommy looked considerate. "So—is that why you've stayed at the clinic the past two nights?" He asked tentatively.

He nodded an affirmative. "I don't really feel all that inclined to share the nitty-gritty details." Peter stated with some level of guilt—he wasn't exactly trying to shut Tommy out; he just was unsure about brining Tommy on-board with what was going on. Mainly because Peter didn't know if he could keep his suspicions about Malcolm Merlyn to himself if Tommy was helping him free Tom Edwards. "So—how did Laurel manage to convince her dad to help us? I thought he was all down-with-the-Queen-family." He pitched his voice differently to mimic a cliché movie villain.

Tommy arched an eyebrow. "I don't think Quentin Lance quite manages to sound like a movie-villain." He stated, slowly. "And, I'm not sure of the details—Laurel said that Thea kind of reminded her of Sara." Tommy answered the first question.

Peter grimaced. "I can imagine that that was a painful conversation for the Lance family." He remarked.

The older, dark-haired man nodded. "Yeah. I'm glad I didn't have to be physically there for that, thank God for the clinic—right?" Tommy shuddered at the thought of having to be there to mediate between the two bull-headed Lance pair and Peter could easily picture how awkwardly Tommy would try to inch away from them both.

"You probably would have run through a wall to escape that conversation."

Tommy shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. "No. I would have jumped out the window."

---

"I suppose congratulations are in order—you got the Count." Peter remarked from his perch on top of the billboard he typically met the Hood at. Though, Peter hadn't even glanced in the man's general direction, he had heard the silent thud as the Hood landed on the building. "Though, the condition you left him in—" He started, voice trailing off. He had briefly skimmed over Hood-related articles before going on patrol and found that the man had found the Count—the man who had been responsible for the Vertigo that had been supplied sporadically across the city.

He had also checked in, through the scanner he still recorded daily with an old tablet, with the girl that he had saved from having her purse snatched the other night—and found out that she had large amounts of Vertigo in her system. The memory made him cringe under his mask as he regarded the city with a distinctly nauseous feeling stirring in his chest. It hadn't been a pretty sight to see the woman in that kind of condition and the thought of his sister under the influence of the same drug did give him a heavy pause.

If he had found that detail out sooner, he might have done his own investigation into the Count, though he was busy with the details of Tom Edwards. The man had had his first hearing today, where he had taken a plea deal of fifty years in prison over the death penalty, though it hadn't been approved yet by the jury and judge—giving Peter only a small amount of wiggle room to get his evidence to someone who could use it. He hadn't managed to snag Detective Lance quite yet, though he had discovered that the man had visited their house from his near-daily phone calls with his twin sister when Oliver had been placed at a meeting with the Count.

He was relieved to know that the Hood had taken the Count down before Oliver could get anymore involved in that. It was also a relief to note that Thea was going to be doing her community service hours with Laurel Lance—not that Peter wouldn't have wanted her to be at the clinic, but he knew that it would have just been better for Thea to spend some time with Laurel. After all, Thea had always been closer with Laurel while Peter was closer to Tommy. "—the Count must have really pissed you off." Peter concluded a few minutes after his initial observation.

The Hood said nothing, and Peter turned to glance at the man curiously. For a second, amidst the dark backdrop, he might have mistaken the Hood for the Dark Archer, but he registered the green coloring in the Hood and the familiar style the man wore that didn't coincide with the images and descriptions of the Dark Archer that Peter saw online. "I need your help with freeing an innocent man from prison: Tom Edwards." The Hood finally stated, and Peter would have laughed at the irony of it if the Hood hadn't given him the perfect opening to approach his real reason for seeking out the Hood tonight.

Peter clicked his tongue, "Way ahead of you on that." He remarked. He shrugged when he registered the surprise in the other's countenance, rolling off the hooded figure's body in waves. "I found the few names of his friends: Nick Coleman, Lewis Wood, Sean Davis, Adam Nile." Peter informed the Hood conversationally. "No need for you to get bow-and-arrow happy, quite yet, Sergeant Greenie. I approached Coleman and he revealed that they were all being threatened by a familiar enemy of yours." He added.

The Hood was silent for a few minutes, the green fabric being slashed by the flickering light of the billboard. Peter almost had a headache from the light alone, though he figured that could be chalked up to the past four nights of limited sleep. Two all-nighters with an hour on one night and a few hours on the other after his body finally collapsed from exhaustion and stress. "I have many enemies—you're going to have to clarify." The Hood finally declared.

He chuckled. "Yeah, I wonder why—you're like a giant ball of sunshine and happy feelings." Peter teased lightly, aware of the manner in which the Hood clenched his fist. "Ok—black arrows, a hood like yours, and originally named the Copycat Archer but now is called the Dark Archer—does he ring any bells?" He clarified, waving a hand emphatically.

What he could see of the man's jaw was clenched tightly and Peter almost wanted to ask why the man had left Moira Queen alone since Peter, as himself, had gone to the man for help and told him everything. He refrained, knowing that it wasn't something Spiderman was supposed to know. "The Dark Archer is responsible for Tom Edwards' being framed for murder." The Hood questioned, a slight hint of dubiousness entering his tone.

Peter frowned. "I'm just reiterating what I was told by Coleman." He held his hands up in surrender. "I'm surprised you didn't make the connection—what with the uncanny ability to know when someone is being set-up, like with Peter Declan." Peter added, gesturing in the man's general direction.

It was dead silent for several minutes, before the Hood spoke again. "I've been deliberating over whether to ask your help with Tom Edwards." The Hood's voice was gruff. He furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "But, I'm going to need your help." The man seemed to emphasize reticence—reluctant to get Spiderman's help with it. Though, Peter had offered him advice about the book.

"With what?" Peter queried. "This is not going to be an I hold, you arrow, situation, is it?" He added, voice understandably wary. "Or—do you have more to ask about the fancy-shmancy book you won't loan me?"

The Hood held up a silencing hand and Peter clamped his mouth shut. "Around a week ago, I was approached with information about Tom Edwards' being framed and the potential involvement of Moira Queen." The Hood informed him. "She seems connected to a few things, and I was asked by my informant to spare her life. You seem keen on making sure that I spare people's lives." He continued and Peter realized that the Hood was keeping the fact that he was the informant from him.

The fun part of interacting with the Hood from both identities. Repetitive information. "Moira Queen—as in, the C.E.O. of Queen Consolidated. Wow—I didn't really see that one coming." His response felt staged, though he knew that it was expected of him. "So—that means that she is also connected to the Dark Archer—which, honestly, the name kind of sounds like a really weird horror movie or like a movie that is basically the background or starting story of a villain." Peter concluded, whistling.

He had already come up with that, though he knew that he should probably let the Hood think that it was him, instead. "Tomorrow evening, I am going to question Moira Queen—be there." The Hood ignored his spiel, voice tight.

Peter felt the smile on his lips completely dissipate. "I will be." He had never anticipated that the Hood would invite Spiderman along to questioning Moira, though he supposed that the fact that the Hood seemed keen on approaching him might have been a dead giveaway. He wondered why the man underneath the Hood was interacting more with him. If there was some hidden motive—beyond trusting him, because it was clear that they didn't really trust each other as they had never fought together and only interacted with the masks on. "So—you think that if we question Moira Queen, she'll provide us what we need to free Tom Edwards?" He questioned.

The Hood was silent, and Peter felt a furrow develop between his eyebrows, contrition taking root inside his chest. "It might be too late for Tom Edwards to be saved." The Hood finally spoke, the words the last thing Peter wanted to hear.

It sounded like a message for him to just give up and Peter was anything but someone who would quit on doing what was right. If one of his first acts following Uncle Ben's death was to let an innocent man die for the crime than he wouldn't have been worthy of it. "So, what? That just means give up—because of the possibility of it being too late? It's not too late until Tom is dead. I'll always fight for him. I'll always fight for the people who can't fight for themselves. That is the only way I will help you, Mr. Hood." Peter took a step towards the man, an accusatory finger raised.

"Fine." The Hood got out through gritted teeth, "But, one day—you're going to learn that you can't save everyone." The man continued, readying an arrow in his bow to dart off the building—it was the first arrow that Peter had seen that was different and modified. He wondered who had convinced the man to seek out an upgrade.

"You're right. I can't save everyone." Peter retorted calmly. "But, that doesn't mean I can't try. I'd rather fail than never try at all." He added, giving the other a two-fingered salute before turning on his heel to jump off the side of the building. "See you tomorrow night, Mr. Hood." Peter free-fell through the air, before whipping his wrist up to propel himself upright through the air.

---

Bonus

---

"Why is it that you keep meeting up with the other vigilante?" John Diggle asked as Oliver returned from his conversation with Spiderman. He couldn't keep the frown from forming on his lips as he considered the scarlet-red and sapphire-blue clad vigilante—Spiderman seemed to be just as bright in personality as the colors on his suit. He was like a neon, warning sign, one that just seemed too young to be involved in all of this—though Oliver couldn't understand how the other came about his powers. And, Spiderman had them.

Oliver had been keeping tabs of the other vigilante since he first heard of him—though, a few weeks ago, the other looked like he was wearing pajamas rather than the suit that Oliver had seen him in the past two times they had interacted. It seemed that the fire had given the other cause to upgrade his suit into something a bit more superhero-esque. He placed his bow back on the stand, taking off the quiver and removing the arrows carefully from it, before grabbing a stained wash-cloth to wipe the green eye make-up from his face.

His bodyguard and teammate had been running comms and commented in Oliver's ear every so often when Oliver paused to let the other vigilante speak. It was another thing about Spiderman that Oliver found unique—the other had a tendency for rambling and Oliver easily recalled the nickname, Sergeant Greenie, that Spiderman had coined which had caused him to grimace and Diggle to laugh at his misfortune loud enough that Oliver was partially concerned that the other vigilante would hear it.

Oliver ignored the other's initial question once he entered the basement under Verdant—he hadn't quite found someone to run the day-to-day quite yet and it was becoming a sort of juggling act that he managed with Diggle. Originally, Oliver had anticipated that Tommy would want to run the nightclub with him, but his best friend had seemed to develop a passion for the clinic. It was something that Oliver attributed to his younger brother's influence—Peter loved the clinic enough to go up against Malcolm Merlyn for it.

A part of him still wanted to punch Malcolm for making his younger brother think that he could be cruel. Peter cared too fiercely to be considered cruel—demonstrated by the fact that he had stayed for two weeks at their mansion, knowing that their Mom had allies that killed someone Peter cared about. It was the first time that Oliver, as the Hood, wanted to reach out and comfort someone, because he could still see Peter crying as he told the Hood—knowing that Oliver's alternative identity might put an arrow in the woman—about Mom letting an innocent man go down for someone else's crimes knowingly.

It was so difficult to defend Mom against Thea's words—knowing that they might not be true in regards to an affair with Malcolm Merlyn, but they were true in the fact that she was a liar. When Felicity Smoak approached him after his car-ride with Peter about the book, he hadn't completely believed it. The blonde woman hadn't been lying, he knew that much, but everything culminated and stacked together until the truth was too blatantly in front of him that he couldn't deny it anymore.

His Mom was involved in all of this—involved in the list that his father had left him, telling him to make amends for the things that Robert Queen had done. And his mom might have been responsible for the yacht. That might be the worst part of it, almost five years of nonstop suffering—of hell—and to return to a house in disrepair with too many lies to count. Even Thea and Peter had their secrets, but his mom's—those were the worst ones.

John Diggle sighed, bringing Oliver's attention back to him as he removed Shado's hood. He recalled the man's first question—asking why he kept interacting with the other vigilante. When Oliver had first met him, he had tried to put an arrow in him to keep him away from the lifestyle, though now Spiderman had an official suit which made Oliver think that that might have never been possible. "I'm keeping an eye on him." Oliver answered, striding over to the computer system he had set up.

Diggle raised an eyebrow. "Why? Are you planning on bringing him on?" The man questioned, "Don't you think he's a bit too young? I mean, he sounds like he's just a kid." Diggle countered.

Oliver shook his head. "No." He denied immediately. Currently, his sole intention was to keep an eye on Spiderman. "Spiderman seems to exhibit superhuman strength and uncanny reflexes." Oliver minimized the current tab that Diggle had up and then pulled up a few articles that Oliver had looked into as well as a bulleted list of notes he had made on Spiderman.

"Yeah, I'll admit, it's a bit freaky with the webbing thing." Diggle remarked, wrinkling his nose. "I mean—the first few weeks, there—it was a mess to clean-up when waking up in the mornings and I can't count the number of times I saw a piece of web land on someone walking down the street." The other remarked, observing the list for a few seconds, before leaning back in the chair.

"My concern is not with the webbing." Oliver dismissed. He suspected that it could be mechanical web-shooters or something complex like that. "It's with the superhuman strength." He corrected. Superhuman strength paired with the reflexes gave him a bit of concern—it raised a red flag to him; truth be told when he discovered the stories and witnessed the ease with which the other moved as well as the fact that he had caught the arrow. The only thing missing from the combination was the rage.

He had to keep an eye on Spiderman to ensure that that rage never made an appearance. Maybe it was his way of making amends with the person he had failed or attempting to not make the same mistake twice. Though, he supposed if he wanted to completely avoid the mistake, he should have loaded up a second arrow when Spiderman's back was turned. "What? Do you think he's going to go all rage-monster on the city?" Diggle sounded dubious at the thought.

Yes. He was concerned that something would push Spiderman over the edge and whatever anchor he had would turn him against the city he wanted to protect. Keeping tabs on him was the only way to make sure that the other did not hurt his city. "I'm surprised by how easy you dismiss it, Dig. We've seen the worst kind of people." Oliver remarked, lifting an eyebrow incredulously.

Diggle pursed his lips, though Oliver could see him conceding the point to him. "Fair enough." Diggle vocalized. "But, are you sure about going after your Mom? She's your Mom, Oliver."

Oliver closed his eyes, as though his eyelids could shield him from the thought. "I told you what Felicity said. And what Peter said. And you heard what Spiderman said. I don't want to, but I will to protect my city and my family." Oliver opened his eyes, clicking out of the tab he had up on Spiderman and pulling up his Mom's schedule for tomorrow. He didn't have a choice in matters, his hand had been forced, and now, there was no other choice left to make.

---

Did I surprise anyone with the bonus scene from Oliver's perspective? I knew that people might be curious why Oliver was going to Spiderman as the Hood and was like, well, he sees this person with superhuman strength and good reflexes, he's probably going to think back to that one time he interacted with someone with superhuman strength and similar reflexes. If it's going over anyone's head, I'm talking about Mirakuru. Also, having Felicity and Roy meet was so cool to me and Peter teasing Felicity about Oliver, though it hasn't quite clicked for him that his older brother approached her with a laptop riddled with bullet holes...that might be willful ignorance at work, there. Also, last chapter, I was like, I miss Tommy (like, I've had him in so many chapters and I'm like, I need more Tommy Merlyn). Anyways, Oliver held off on confronting Moira because he had to first take care of the Count...and he threw himself into that to avoid the fact that his Mom was responsible for so many things and he had so many people coming to him about it. But now, with the knowledge that the Dark Archer might have also been involved and tried to kill his brother, he knows that it's unavoidable and he needs to confront her.

Anyways, there isn't much to say in this author's session of babbling and rambling. Other than the fact that I added the bonus scene because I might not be able to post for a week or so, I have an upcoming Microbiology exam and Biology II exam that's going to take up a good portion of my time, so the next chapter might be potentially delayed in coming out. It really depends on how much I want to procrastinate. I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter... (now every single time I do that, I think of MJ's frustration with Peter in the story when he did that)