A/N: Heeeelllooo, fanfamily! It's been a hot second since I've uploaded anything, but I promise I haven't abandoned this story. For one, I've been kinda busy the past few weeks, and my internet was kinda wonky for a few days, but now everything is working! So, here's chapter three, and I really hope you like it!
Disclaimer: Don't own it, just the plot. :)
Three
"Peter?" Ward looked at the teen, surprised, when he grabbed him roughly by his collar and shoved him against the wall.
"Drop the gun, Ward," Peter warned him. "Or I'll take it myself."
Ward struggled against Peter, but the teen held him firmly in place, the anger in his baby brown eyes unrelenting.
"Pete, buddy, you don't want to do this," the older man pleaded, fear entering his eyes.
Ward might have been stubborn and crazy, but he knew Peter's true strength. He knew there was no way he'd beat him, even if he had a thousand Hydra agents fighting with him.
"No," Peter said, the hurt and betrayal in his voice evident. "You shouldn't have done what you did. We trusted you, Ward. All of us."
"Pete-"
"Don't call me that."
Peter threw Ward to the ground, and the gun skidded out of his grasp, sliding across the floor and bumping into Peter's foot. He bent down and picked it up, not even wincing at having to move his injured shoulder. Walking over to the traitor, Peter aimed the gun at Ward's chest .
Peter scowled as he glared at Ward, and the older man stared up at him, his eyes wide as Peter pressed his watch.
"Peter?"
Fitz's Scottish voice filled the silent lunchroom a moment later, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief. His friend sounded relatively unharmed.
"Fitz! Are you guys okay?"
Fitz released a breathless laugh.
"I should be asking you that," he said. Peter could hear the smile in his voice. "We were ambushed by a few Hydra agents. We're all fine, except Daisy was shot in the leg. She should be okay, it's not that bad."
Peter's eyes locked onto Ward's. The traitor's guilty expression at hearing about Daisy's injury made Peter feel a bit better, but not much.
"Are you alright?" Fitz demanded, the worry in his voice clear as day. "We've been worried sick, especially May and Coulson."
"I'm okay, Fitz. Ward shot me in the shoulder, but I'm fine."
There was pure silence for several moments, until several voices began shouting over the watch, making Peter wince.
"Ward is there?!" That was Coulson.
"You were shot?" Aunt Mel.
"Are you okay?!" Jemma sounded extremely worried.
"I knew I should've stayed," Daisy's pain-filled voice came through.
And the most shocking of all, coming from Fitz.
"I'm gonna kill him, I swear!"
"Guys!" Peter yelled, and they all went quiet. "I'm fine. I have the situation under control. Ward is unarmed. But, y'know, since I'm in school I'd really appreciate it if one or two of you could come down and help me so I don't have to call Tony and everyone else, because if I did that I would have to explain what the heck is going on and it would be very difficult to explain that I'm an Agent and that a member of our team is lying Nazi Hydra scum."
"I'm not a Nazi!" Ward protested.
"Quiet," Peter told him, his teeth clenched.
There was silence for another few seconds, and Peter could tell that everyone was thinking.
"Alright," Fitz said after a moment. "Jemma and I will come. She's done all she can for Daisy, and we need to look at your bullet wound."
Peter rolled his eyes fondly.
"Thanks, Fitz."
"And Peter?" The Scotsman sounded stern.
"Yeah?"
"You'll need to call Stark. He'll want to know you're okay."
Peter gulped.
"I'll wait until you and Jemma get here."
"Sounds good," Fitz said, and Peter heard the familiar sound of the QuinJet taking off.
"ETA is ten to fifteen minutes, Peter," Jemma called, and Peter smiled.
"Good. I'll see you soon."
He ended the call, and focused once more on Ward.
"Stand up," Peter said to him, pulling out the pair of handcuffs he always kept in his pocket, keeping the gun pointed at Ward.
Ward slowly stood up and turned around, putting his hands behind his back. Peter walked up to him and roughly grabbed his hands, putting the handcuffs on him and tightening them as much as he could.
Ward grunted as the metal dug into his wrists.
"You don't have to do this, Peter," he told the teen, turning around. "Join me, and you can-"
The punch came so quickly that Ward didn't have time to see it. The cracking noise that came from his now-broken nose reverberated around the room, causing everyone but Peter to wince.
Peter looked at Ward calmly. The traitor's face was now covered in his own blood.
A few minutes later, the whirr of the QuinJet sounded loudly overhead, and Peter could see it landing outside the cafeteria window. He smirked at Ward as, a few moments later, Fitz, Jemma, and another agent that Peter thought looked familiar walked inside.
Peter grabbed Ward by his collar and pulled him in front of him, the gun held tight in his other hand.
"Fi-"
Peter cut Ward off by pressing the gun into his back. And then, he said the words he'd always wanted to say (because the cops in the movies always sounded so cool).
"You have the right to remain silent," he told him, shoving him towards the other agent.
Fitz smiled at him, pulling the teen into a ginger hug. Jemma ruffled his hair, and he scowled playfully at her.
"Hey!"
"You did good, Peter," she told him fondly. "I'm proud of you."
The other agent started to take Ward away from them, but Fitz whirled around and stopped him.
Anger that Peter had never seen was ablaze in Fitz's eyes as he walked right up to Ward. The traitor said nothing, simply stared at Fitz, his face expressionless.
That is, until Fitz punched as hard as he could in the face (further breaking his nose, and probably his jaw, because that was a hard punch).
"I hope you realize that we'll never forgive you," Fitz said, and walked back to Peter.
"Alright," Jemma said in her soft, British voice, pulling out her medical bag. "Let's check out this bullet wound, shall we?"
Peter shrugged and pulled his shirt off, not realizing everyone would be able to see his abs-
"Peter," he heard someone breathe, and he turned to see Betty Brant staring at him with wide, shocked eyes. "What happened to you?"
And then it hit him. Betty wasn't looking at his abs.
She was looking at his scars.
"Um," he said, grinning sheepishly at her. "It's a long story, Betty."
Jemma seemed to sense his discomfort, because she smiled kindly at the group of teenager and teachers and said,
"Peter here needs to get checked out, if you all don't mind. But Fitz is going to go around and make sure you're all unharmed."
Fitz smiled, walked over to the group, and began asking them questions, soothing their fears and making sure no one was injured. But all eyes remained on Peter.
"Alright, I need you to sit down," Jemma grinned at Peter as he did as she asked. "You already know the drill, of course."
Peter smirked.
"I think I get shot more than anyone else on the base," he said.
Jemma frowned and fixed her now-stern gaze on him as she pulled out a pair of tweezers.
"You shouldn't say that with pride," she chastised him. "One day you'll get seriously hurt if you keep thinking like that."
"Sorry," he apologized with a small smile.
He winced as she pulled the bloody bullet from his shoulder, dropping it into a small plastic bag, which she zipped up and placed in her bag.
"Now for the fun part," she said solemnly, pulling out a needle.
He cringed.
"Great. Get it over with, please?"
She smiled apologetically.
"I know how much you hate this," she said.
It was true. He hated needles, simply because he could feel them go in and come out of his body. Thanks to his heightened senses, numbing medicine (or any medicine, really) didn't work on him. So, he felt every little bit of pain.
Lucky him.
After an agonizing few minutes, Jemma finished, and after she wrapped a bandage around his shoulder, she stepped back.
"You're done," she smiled, and ruffled his hair again.
"Thanks, Jem," he said, standing up and placing a brotherly kiss on her cheek after putting his shirt back on. "You're the best."
She grinned at him. "I know!"
Peter was about to go over to Fitz and help him, when he saw movement and a flash of metal out of the corner of his eye.
He turned, and what he saw made his blood boil.
Ward moved so fast that Peter could do nothing to stop him.
Ward snapped his handcuffs, his hands now free, and whirled around, grabbing the gun from the waistband of the Agent guarding him. He pulled the trigger, shooting the man once in the chest. The force of the shot knocked the man backwards, his blood spraying onto the wall behind him and onto the floor.
The students were screaming once more, and Fitz and Jemma ran over to the bleeding man while Peter had to deal with Ward.
Once again, he pressed his watch, sending a message to not only the rest of his team but Fury and Maria Hill as well.
"Agent down, I repeat, agent down!" he yelled over the screams of his classmates. "We need backup and a medical team immediately!"
Ward looked at Peter, and in one swift motion, reached out and grabbed Jemma by the arm, pulling her into a head lock and pressing the gun to her head.
"Jemma!" Fitz yelled, anger marring his features.
Instinctively, Peter whipped out his own gun, holding it steadily as he pointed it at Ward.
"Nobody move!" Ward shouted, taking a step back. "Or she dies."
Peter looked at Fitz, who was trying to restrain himself from rushing over to Jemma.
"Fitz," Peter said warningly, his voice deadly calm. He shook his head slightly. "Don't."
Fitz swallowed and reluctantly went back to trying to help the injured agent. Peter turned back to Ward, his grip on his gun tightening.
"Let Jemma go, Ward," he ordered, his voice firm. "Or I'll open fire."
Jemma winced as Ward pressed the gun even harder against her temple.
"If you shoot," he threatened, "she dies with me."
Peter didn't know what to do. On one hand, he either stall for time and wait until backup arrived, or, on the other hand, he could shoot to maim and not kill, but that put Jemma and all of his classmates in danger.
"Ward," Peter said again, his voice hard and stern as steel. "I won't ask again."
He could feel the astounded and terrified stares of his teachers and classmates. He understood why they were so confused about his actions, he really did. They knew him as Peter Parker, resident geek, nerd, Lego fanatic, and wimp that could barely run four laps in the gym without falling over.
Of course, that was all a lie.
Except the geek part, obviously (and maybe the Lego part, but he digressed).
They didn't know that he was Peter Parker, Spiderman, a highly trusted Level Eight S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent, and an Avenger. He was a genius, although at times he didn't really think so (Mr. Stark always assured him he was), and he was best friends with two ragtag groups of misfits that helped save the world every day. He was 167 pounds and sixteen years old but he could punch like he was a 200 pound sumo wrestler. Underneath the baggy shirts and sweaters and cardigans that he wore were well defined muscles and an eight pack he'd received overnight from the spider bite. He could lift more than Captain America- on a bad day he could lift twenty-five tons and on a great day he could lift forty if he really pushed himself- and he could shoot any gun with drop-dead accuracy from 1000 yards away.
He'd killed people. Bad people. And he hated it, but it had to be done because it was his job to protect people. It was his job to protect the world. So he killed Hydra Agents and aliens and all sorts of maniacs that tried to destroy the world he lived in.
He hadn't wanted to kill them, but he did.
He wanted nothing more than to shoot Grant Ward straight through the heart now, though.
His watch buzzed silently against his wrist, and he glanced at the words.
Almost there, Parker, the message from Fury said. ETA is two minutes. Stand your ground until we arrive.
We? Peter thought. Who's- oh.
Of course Fury would bring the Avengers. Because why wouldn't he? Ward was strong. He was good with a gun. He could punch. And he would shoot anyone without even blinking an eye.
So, yeah. Fury would want the Avengers.
Great.
He was brought out of his thoughts by Ward taking another step back, and his eyes narrowed, and he placed his finger over the trigger.
He and Ward stared at each other for several moments before an idea struck Peter.
He heard Jemma whimper, and he made his decision.
He lowered the gun.
"Thanks, Pete," Ward grinned, turning around. He lowered the gun but kept Jemma in his grasp. "Knew I could count on you."
Peter smirked and shook his head.
"Can you, though?"
Ward paused, but before he could turn around Peter lifted the gun once more with his left hand and pressed his watch with his right. He pulled the trigger, and the loud boom that filled the room echoed in Peter's ears.
Ward screamed in pain as the bullet tore through his arm, causing his grip on Jemma to weaken. She jerked away from him and ran to Fitz, helping him apply pressure to the fallen agent's wound.
Ward whirled around and faced Peter, throwing his gun down and storming over to him. Peter heard the sound of a second QuinJet just as Ward's fist flew at his face.
Peter dogged, holstering his gun once more and getting into his fighting stance (Mel taught him, and he felt like he could do anything standing with his fists out and his legs parted because it made him look so stinkin' cool) as Ward came at him again.
Peter used his (very rigorous) S.H.I.E.L.D. and Avenger training to land a strong, painful roundhouse kick to Ward's chest, flinging the man back several feet.
"Parker!" a deep, familiar voice called out suddenly.
Peter whirled around and grinned, relieved to see the determined faces of Nick Fury, Maria Hill, Coulson, May, Daisy (how was she walking? He'd ask later) and a half dozen other agents, and the very shocked and confused faces of all of the Avengers.
Fury smirked, his gun in hand as he walked up to Peter.
"Need a hand?"
