{ Julia }

"Intruder alert… Intruder alert."

Julia rips the cold vials from the shelves and shoves them into the containment carrier as fast as she can. She hears the guards' thoughts despite the incessant alarm blaring in her ears.

West corridor —

I'm gonna get this bastard —

One more hall —

Julia empties that cabinet and moves to the next one, scanning the chemicals for the vials she was tasked to retrieve, and punches through the glass doors.

"10-73, Arachne," Control voices into her ear.

"Julia," Simon sings, the line transferring to him, "what's going on?"

"Uh, they sort of caught me," she says, emptying the tray of vials into the drone hovering next to her. "That bypass Val set me up with clearly didn't work."

"I'll talk to his team. Just get it done."

"What do you think I've been doing?" She swipes the rest of the contents into the drone's compartment, punches in the coordinates, and runs from the lab. The schematics on her display show the drone flying back to the compound as well as her exit route.

She heads toward the east corner of the building, swinging herself over a mess of tables and tucking and rolling into a sprint down the hall. She passes the reception desk on her way and displayed on a wall in great big letters, she reads the company name, Roxxon Energy.

Roxxon.

She knows that name.

How does she know that name?

Julia's senses surge —

Screaming at her to look out —

I've got you now —

She jumps —

And a gun fires —

And she flips backwards —

Landing and dropping to the floor, she kicks out the legs from under the guard, and races for the exit. Another guard appears and Julia shoots a web, pulling herself up and over, kicking the weapon from his hands, and swings down the hall. She webs another guard emerging from an adjoining corridor and flips to the floor as the exit approaches. The stairwell door lies a few yards ahead and —

There you are, you little —

Julia reels back, flipping away, as a security guard lunges and slams into the wall. She can't help but laugh as he falls down, stunned by his failed attempt to catch her.

"Invisible banana peel?" She jests. "Happens to the best of us."

"Quit screwing around, Julia. Get out of there."

"10-4," she chuckles, stepping around the man and hurrying toward the exit. She doesn't know why the only stairs in this building are in the farthest corner (which is so not good for fire rescue access) away from her but she's almost —

A body slams into her —

And she flies into the glass wall —

And crashing through the glazing —

And the man is clinging onto her —

And they're falling falling falling

And a rooftop is in her face —

And she tumbles across the lower roof, scuffing along the snow that does nothing to soften the impact —

And pain rips through her side like fire —

And she can't breathe —

She can't breathe —

She —

She rolls onto her back and —

A glass shard protrudes from her stomach.

Julia forces her motionless chest to inhale a small breath. And then another. And another until she's breathing somewhat steadily. Her gloved-fingers twitch with the need to remove the glass, streaked with blood, but she could do more harm than good. But she can't move with this inside her, not like this, not while the guard —

The guard is moving. He's moving and getting up and he's raising his gun —

And she can't move but she can't stay —

Julia winces as she raises her hand, a muffled cry escaping her lips, fires a web around the man's feet and pulls. He falls to his face —

And Julia pulls the shard from her stomach —

And a gunshot rings out —

And she rolls onto her side, yelping as pain shoots through her leg —

She glances at her thigh. The bullet ripped through her suit and grazed her skin. Julia pushes herself up onto her feet, gritting her teeth in an attempt to control the stabbing pain as she hobbles away into the night.

"10-73 Commission Control?" She huffs into her receiver.

"10-4, Arachne."

"11-41." Julia lowers herself onto the roof ledge, clutching her side to contain the bleeding, and carefully brings her legs over the ridge.

"10-9?" The woman skeptically asks, wanting her to repeat the message.

"11-41! ASAP!" Julia knows she shouldn't bark orders at the only people willing to help her —

"11-10 on the payload?"

"Secure! Now do you read me or not?!" But she can't resist when she has a gaping hole in her stomach.

"10-4," the woman finally responds. "What's your 45?"

Julia looks down at her side, throbbing like a second heartbeat. Red drips from her black gloved hand and she watches as a few drops land on the white snow. "Critical."

"11-79 in pursuit. 10-49: Rendezvous."

"10-23," Julia grumbles, pushing herself to her feet. She wavers forward and, she doesn't want to but, she raises a hand, fires a web, and swings herself across the alley. Stabbing pain shoots through her side and she cries out, releasing her hold on the web, and falls to the rough surface. A groan passes her lips as searing pain spreading to the rest of her.

Sirens blare as police cars bolt down the street, officers hurrying towards the laboratory —

It's the vigilante terrorizing the city, I know it —

They'll have cameras —

We can prove it this time —

Vigilante —

Dangerous —

Criminal —

Anger explodes within Julia —

And all she sees is red.

Red as dark and thick as the blood seeping from her stomach.

She is not terrorizing New York.

She is helping it.

Even if can't see it yet.

Julia pushes herself up and the already dark world fades a degree or two but she has to get away, she has to get to the rendezvous location then the Commission can help her but she has to get there.

She's made it this far.

Julia swings across the street, down avenues, clutching onto her bloodied side, and —

It's getting harder to see.

The edges of her vision grow dimmer —

The night sky grows darker —

She just wants to sleep —

Sleep —

How peaceful to sleep —

The web slips from her hands —

Julia jolts awake —

And a rooftop hurtles toward her —

She fires a web to slow herself and manages to skid along the surface and she's clutching her side and —

And she's in Peter's neighborhood. She looks around the snowy buildings at the apartments tucked in tight quarters and markets on every street corner and the freeways driving through the middle of it all. Peter's building sits just across the way and a light shines through his curtained window.

Julia limps to the edge, drawn to the light like a glimmer of hope at even just the possibility of seeing him. If she could just seem him, see him for herself —

She stops. Hesitancy creeps up her spine, unsure if she even wants to see him.

A shadow crosses the ceiling in Peter's room and Julia's stomach jolts and it's not because she was stabbed.

The curtains are pushed back and suddenly Peter stands there, throwing the window open, and gasping for air between laughs. He waves his hand in front of his nose, looking over his shoulder, and Julia watches as Ned steps into view, the two boys laughing over one of Ned's infamous farts.

Julia can't help but laugh herself, and Peter's smile makes her feel just a little better. Like she could stay here forever on this snowy rooftop in this seemingly terrible moment because for just a moment, just for a smile, everything is all right. Even though it's freezing and she's freezing and she's shaking at the cold or maybe it's the pain in her side and it's so dark but it's so nice but she can't stay. She can't stay despite everything in her wanting to, she can't.

He left her. He stopped looking for her, he's laughing his head off with Ned, he doesn't care about her meanwhile Simon and Silvio are sending a team to rescue her, she has to go.

She has to.

Julia's heart aches but she tears herself away from the edge and slings herself from the rooftop and his neighborhood and this moment into the welcoming darkness of night.

{ Peter }

Ned's voice fades in his ears as Peter senses something — someone — watching them. And it's not the usual suspects he already knows about. It's someone else. It's…

Different.

(dangerous?)

Peter turns to the opened window and peers into the darkness across the street.

(no — )

"What is it?" Ned asks.

Peter narrows his eyes at a section of roof. A figure darts from the shadows, staggering into a sprint, and Peter's stomach tightens.

"It's her," he says. Peter hurries to his bed and rummages through his backpack for his web-shooters.

"W-what?" Ned asks. "H-how do you know?"

"I just do!" He exclaims, pulling open his drawers, sifting through his cluttered desk. "Ahah!" He finds them, slaps them onto his wrist, and hurtles himself out the window.

"What if it's not?!" Ned yells behind him. "You don't have your suit!" His voice echoes off the buildings as Peter fires two webs across the street and pulls himself forward, hurtling across the massive drop.

"I don't have a brain either but it's fine!" He shouts back, and he knows he's disappeared from his friend's view. Peter chases Julia frantically across the rooftop. He doesn't dare call out her name so he pushes himself harder to catch up to her. She's faster than him now but he doesn't remember her being that way, not that it matters.

The wind burns his eyes and his cheeks sting at the biting cold but he follows her, moving like a shadow, snow crunching beneath his feet as he races forward, and he catches a glimpse of her before she slips around a mechanical screen and —

A fist hits him square in the chest —

And Peter's grunts, the breath knocked from his lungs —

And he falls to the ground. He quickly gets his hands up under him —

And a gun cocks over him and a boot drives his face into the wet snow. Fear thuds through his veins and he doesn't move.

"Stay down, kid," a man growls.

Peter breathes into the frigid blanket.

A whirring roar emerges across the dark sky and suddenly there's light. Peter tilts his head up beneath his oppressor's foot and a helicopter hovers at the edge of the roof right in front of them —

Blades chopping through the air, deafening and clamorous, like standing in the middle of a thunderstorm, and the wind kicks up some of the snow and Peter closes his eyes only to squint through the light beaming down and he can't see, he can't see Julia —

"Get her on board!" A voice shouts over the wind.

Peter tilts his head just a little more and sees Simon sitting in the helicopter and half a dozen soldiers prowling along the roof in a blur of snow toward the figure —

And he sees her.

He sees her.

"Julia," he breathes.

She's hunched over in pain and her hair is blowing in every direction and she wears a black suit like his, like Spider-Man's, and it's her —

It's her, it's really her —

And Simon sits in the helicopter, reaching for her, and she's reaching for him and —

"Julia!" Peter shouts.

She stops.

She stops reaching for Simon.

Peter's chest lurches —

She hears him —

(she always hears him — )

"Julia, it's me!" He yells over the howling wind. "It's me! It's Peter!"

"Shut up!" The gunman screams at him, but Peter doesn't flinch or move or stop or dare look away from her because she's here, she's real, he found her (well, technically she found him), and she's okay, she's alive, she's —

Julia turns to Peter for the briefest of moments, peering over her shoulder at him from the corner of her eye —

(c'mon, c'mon — )

(see me — )

(look at me — )

(Julia — )

(please — )

But she's different like Mr. Thompson said —

And Simon's different too, he wears a patch over one of his eyes (what happened to him?), and he leans out of the helicopter and yells something to her and she's turning like she's going to accept his outstretched hand —

"No!" Peter screams.

She's gonna go with him —

She's going with him —

She's climbing into the helicopter, the soldiers helping her inside as she clutches her side, and Peter's looking at her and urging her to stop, to turn around, to leave, to stay, but she goes with him —

She goes with him and his heart shatters.

"Julia!" Peter screams, his voice roaring in his chest, tearing at his throat, and his face and body are numb from the cold and another wave of snow drifts in the wind, pouring onto him as the helicopter whirs away from the roof and into the night.

"She's gone, kid," the man taunts. "And so are you."

"So are the rest of your buddies," Peter comments to the lone soldier. He feels the gun chamber pressed against his skull, the man's shoe sliding off his head, and Peter takes a breath to steady the adrenaline building inside him. "You know, you might not want to do that," he warns, his muscles tensing for a fight.

The man laughs. "And why's that?"

"You don't wanna put the gun right up against someone because it makes it real easy to do this." Peter spins onto his back while grabbing the gun, kicks the man between his legs with everything he has, and flips onto his feet. The man stands unmoving, clutching his groin, and Peter webs the soldier's hands to him. He gives a yelp of pain at the impact then falls to his knees, face-planting into the snow.

Peter walks forward, tossing the gun to the side, and pats the man on the back. "I know, buddy. I'm sorry."

Peter looks to the horizon and sees the flashing blip of the helicopter disappear into the grey stretch of sky. He moves to the edge of the building and crouches down along the corner, watching them take her, take her from him again and every part of him, every instinct screams at him to follow them back to their base, to find out what they did to her and why —

Why she trusts Simon more than him.

(Julia — )

(why did you go with him?)

Peter looks behind him to the water tower above his apartment marked with her artwork. He knows why she left, and why she put her trust in Simon.

The red and blue spider still shines clear and bright in the sky amid the white flurries drifting down. But he is not this city's protector. Not if he can't protect his people. All of his people.

Julia believed in him. She painted his symbol above the streets of Queens like a beacon of hope for all to see. She put her trust in him and he failed her.

He remembers the day they were up here like it was yesterday. How excited she was to paint with him, how they brainstormed what to create, how he held her close to keep her from shouting his secret to the world…

How he left her.

He left her to help someone else.

And in the end, he exposed his own secret to keep her alive, and he would do it again in a heartbeat if it meant she were safe.

Peter sighs deeply.

"Stay alive," he mutters. "Just stay alive and get through it."

And he's not sure if he's saying this for her —

Or for himself.

{ Julia }

He was there.

He was there and he was staring at her with these eyes —

Helpless and afraid —

And he —

He came for her.

"Julia…"

Her name passed his lips as gentle as a dove and as faint as a breeze.

C'mon, c'mon…

He wanted her to stay.

See me.

(let me see you — )

Look at me.

(tell me you can see me, too — )

(let it be enough to make you stay — )

Julia…

Peter —

Please.

It's not enough —

Julia turns on her inhibitor. The mechanism powers up with a soft whir and a fleeting stab of pain in her neck, but her mind quiets to thoughts of her own. She can't keep reliving the memory. She can't hear him anymore nor does she want to. She had to leave. There's nothing to it. It wasn't enough.

(but a pit roils in her stomach — )

(it hasn't left —)

(not since she left him on the roof — )

Julia blinks a few times, her senses returning to the current moment.

The compound.

The medical bay.

The pain in her side.

The doctor talking away.

"What did you just say?" She asks, turning to Doctor Connors.

He glances at her over the rim of his glasses, balancing precariously on the edge of his nose, and continues stitching her wound. "Well, the moment you were stabbed, your body was already working to repair the damage," he explains. "If your cells weren't regenerative, this could have gone a very different direction. You were lucky, Julia."

"You were cocky," Simon spits.

Julia slides her eyes over to him standing at the back of the room. "Interesting that when expressing pride, we refer to oneself as a male."

"Just admit that you screwed up!" He fires back, his chest puffing out.

"Wouldn't have to if your engineers hadn't given me a faulty override."

Simon's mouth twitches with rage. Julia smirks as the scowl etched into his what once might have even been a handsome face turns even darker and uglier, and it has little to do with the scars. "Watch it, Arach," he says, low. "Your buddies are on thin ice."

Julia clenches her jaw. She may deserve Simon's fury but Stephen and Lonnie don't. She inhales a deep breath, saying, "I'm…" And it takes everything she has to say this, "sorry."

Simon leans forward in a partial bow. "See? Was that so hard?"

Julia glowers at him, anger burning her insides. She can't wait to take his other eye.

The door opens with mechanical hiss and a soldier steps out of the way as Silvio waltzes inside, youthful and healthy (as if he didn't look like he was over a hundred years old a week ago).

"Doctor Marshall," he sings, clutching the hilt of his cane, "if I am not mistaken, I do believe you have a meeting with Val to discuss a faulty override key."

Julia glances at Simon. He stands at attention, rigid and professional, but even she doesn't need her powers to know he's rattled by Silvio's presence.

"Of course, sir. Excuse me." Simon exits the med bay without so much as a glare back at Julia and disappears down the hall.

"See?" Silvio mutters. "Was that so difficult?"

Julia laughs out loud, startling Doctor Connors, but her laughter turns to coughing and tears through her chest and racks her side —

"Don't go bursting at the seams," Doctor Connors chides. "I just put you back together." He stands from his stool, peeling off his blood-stained gloves, and Julia smiles a little, grateful for his help and his teasing.

"Julia," Silvio says, sliding onto the doctor's chair, "how are you feeling?"

"Sore." She looks him over. "But you look well," she says, knowing he's stolen the youth of seven men.

He inhales a deep breath as if relishing the freely flowing air. "I am feeling well, thank you," he replies. "Although, when I think about it, I truly do owe my thanks to you. You too, Curt."

The doctor chuckles to himself as he tidies up the space.

Julia raises a brow at Silvio.

"Some odd years ago," he explains, "I struck a deal with Doctor Connors here and he concocted a youth serum from the scribblings of an ancient clay tablet. It was quite impressive work and it worked for some time but again… Time… She makes a mockery of us all."

Julia studies him, lost in his thoughts, and wishes she hadn't turned on her inhibitor. She wishes she didn't have it at all. She's getting better at discerning thoughts. It doesn't scare her to hear the voices of others. She craves it.

"That's why I created another serum." Julia turns to Doctor Connors, stepping forward and drying his freshly washed hands. "And has much as I hate to admit it, Simon did most of the leg work; Creating ISO-36, experimenting on the water treatment facility, but this new formula…" His voice trails off, and the pale blue liquid Julia first examined when exploring the production lines flashes before her eyes. She held a glass vile, the power of life and death in her hands, and she doesn't even know the extent of its true nature.

"What does it do?" She asks, feigning innocence.

Doctor Connors peers at her then glances at Silvio.

"It will grant us all what we seek," the Italian assures, patting her on the hand. "You made a great sacrifice for us tonight, gathering those chemicals."

Julia looks down at her stomach. With her Arachne suit pulled down to her waist, she sees everything her brave new world has thrown at her. The place she was electrocuted and burned, replaced with Tony's cradle tech and removed by the Commission doctors, and now a stab wound in addition to the bullet that grazed her leg. "Apologies for the extraction," she feebly admits.

He chuckles. "Only for you, giovanotta, would I sanction an extraction team."

She looks up at him.

"What? You think it was Simon who brought you home?" He laughs, bumping Julia's shoulder, and she smiles a little. She's grateful to have someone looking out for her unlike Simon who's just out to get her.

Doctor Connors rounds the edge of the bed and taps Julia's knee for her to stand. She swings her legs over and pushes herself to her feet with his help. Her side aches but it's minuscule compared to what it was before.

"Your compliance has been most rewarding to us," Silvio adds. "It is only fair we reward you."

Julia holds her hair up out of the way as Doctor Connors' grabs the upper half of her suit from around her waist and holds the sleeves out for her. "How has it rewarded you? My compliance," she asks Silvio, sliding her arms through the openings.

"You remember your first assignment for the Commission, giovanotta?"

"The Juvenator, of course." She continues holding her hair out of the way as Doctor Connors zips her in.

"Well, after you retrieved it, we replaced the missing Arc Reactor with something much more powerful. Unfortunately, it is not as sophisticated. A power surge follows like a wave to the device but with the new serum, the effects are…" Silvio gestures to his new, youthful complexion. "Beyond its time," he beams.

Julia forces a grin. This isn't really what she had in mind when she agreed to steal the device. Especially the killing of other people to do it.

But he does look better.

And it does work.

"If only Spider-Man hadn't caught Adrian," Silvio says, deflated. Doctor Connors hands Julia her mask and she accepts it from him but only half-heartedly, her eyes and ears fixed intently on Silvio at the very mention of Peter. "He could have built and designed a hundred different Juvenators for us with no energy kickback at all. He had a brilliant mind and the spirit of a true entrepreneur."

Julia's grip tightens on her mask.

She remembers that name —

Adrian Toombs —

He was on the eleven o'clock news the night of homecoming —

The night Peter should have been with his friends —

And instead he was protecting them —

And no one knew.

Silvio's dreamlike gaze meets Julia's deathglare and he raises his hands in surrender and plasters on a somber expression. "But he did try to kill your boy."

Julia scoffs. "He's not mine," she says, and walks out of the med bay.

(then why am I offended Silvio admires the man who tried to kill him? )

(why is there a pit in my stomach since I saw him?)

(if he's not mine then — )

(why does it feel like part of me is missing?)

Julia moves down the corridor and shoves open the door to the production lines. It swings open hard and wide, smacking into the metal siding, and she storms forward, cold and uncaring. A soldier jumps out of her way but most avoid her gaze, keeping their eyes on their work of creating and packaging chemicals as fast as possible.

Julia paces the concrete floor, prowling like a caged animal waiting to be set free because —

She is waiting.

Waiting for this serum to be ready —

For her mother to return —

For someone to be with her —

To give a damn about her —

Her hands shake with rage.

And red —

Webs from from thin air —

And all she sees is red —

Weaving into tight cords —

And it flows through her so raw and so natural and so hard —

The webs launch her from the floor, up into the air, and she flips backward onto Silvio's balcony. Her chest heaves with labored breaths. It's hard feeling this way, she doesn't want to feel this way —

But things change. And people do too.

Julia crouches along the edge and watches the workers below until they blur into moving dots.

The balcony door opens with a squeal, and Julia doesn't bother glancing over her shoulder to know Silvio approaches. "I am sorry, giovanotta. It hurts to lose what is already lost. But that doesn't mean someone can't be found."

Julia gets to her feet, tired of false hope, and asks, "How long until the serum launches?"

Silvio casts a glance at the warehouse clock. "Oh, five hours. They ship at first light."

She nods in approval, steadying herself and her spiraling mind, and watches the production lines. Silvio leans along the banister, lording over his empire, and Julia is right beside him.

"By mid-morning tomorrow, all of New York will be ours for the taking."

{ Peter }

Peter peers around the lofty entrance, with its staircases and upperlevels branching from the central hub. He's only ever been to the Avenger's Compound one time and even then he had Happy as a guide. The place is like a maze of silver and sophistication and looks totally different at night.

"Hey, uhm, Miss Friday?" He whispers into the empty corridor.

"Peter?" Her bodiless, Irish accent answers. "What brings you here this late at night?"

Peter glances over his shoulder at the hallway that looks exactly the same as the last. "Do you know where Mr. Stark is?"

"Mr. Stark is in the third floor Weapons Laboratory."

Peter looks up the staircase to the higher floors. The walls become glass with a view of the grounds just outside, and a white light sparks from the end of the hall, bouncing along the glass with orange embers raining to the ground. "Huh," he says, and bounds up the steps two at a time toward the source of the sparks. "Thanks, Friday!"

"You should know," she adds, her voice travelling with him as he moves through the Compound, "the boss won't take kindly to bein' disturbed!"

Peter pushes open the glass door to the lab anyways.

Mr. Stark stands with his back to him at a holographic control panel: tapping controls, turning dials, enlarging diagrams and reconfiguring the wiring in the thrusters of his suit. A machine performs the work in real time, soldering wires and torching and welding pieces back together.

Peter knocks on the glass wall.

"That better be the Postmates I ordered." Mr. Stark glances over his shoulder and does a double take. He slowly turns around to face Peter, swallowing thickly at the stare coming his way.

"Hi," he says, not knowing what else to say.

"Mr. Parker," Tony says, slightly stunned. He moves toward him and shakes his hand. "This is a surprise."

Peter's knuckles burst in his firm grip, but he gladly accepts the civility despite how they left things last time. He takes a breath, opening his mouth to explain —

"Wait, what time is it?" Mr. Stark asks.

"One in the mornin', boss."

Mr. Stark gawks at Peter. "It's the middle of the night?!"

"You said your door was always open!" Peter yells, flinching away.

"You're coming here in the middle of the night — "

"Why are you getting mad?!"

"With no suit — "

"This is literally what you wanted!"

"You should be in bed, young man!"

"Yeah, and you should redistribute your wealth to the masses, especially the middle eastern countries you profited from when your weapons killed countess people, and yet, here we are!"

A quietness settles over the lab. Even the soldering bot has stopped welding and watches them with its nonexistent yet nervous eyes.

Mr. Stark removes his colored glasses. "Don't sass me." He steps forward and claps Peter on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. "It's good to see you, kid. It's been a while."

"Yeah," he laughs. "Yeah, that's m-my bad." Mr. Stark shakes his head a little and picks up his mug of coffee from his workstation. "But I — I come bearing gifts," Peter adds, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to the stairs.

"Why? It's not my birthday, is it?" He asks, taking a sip.

Peter chuckles nervously. "No. No, sir. Just — I — I really think you're gonna wanna see this — "

A ringtone erupts from Mr. Stark's desk and he quickly picks up an old flip phone and dismisses the call. "Sorry about that," he mutters, putting the phone on silent.

Peter remembers the burner phone Steve gave him. After everything that happened at the airport, he's never seen Mr. Stark without it. He must still care about Steve if he's always waiting for a call.

"Why don't you just talk to him?" Peter asks.

Mr. Stark smiles softly. "It's a tad more complicated than that," he says, his voice soft and quiet, and slips the phone into his pocket.

"I don't see how," Peter says. "I mean, you literally just — " Mr. Stark glares at him — "pick up the phone," he finishes with a laugh.

And even he can't hide the smile threatening its way across his face. "Why are you here?" Mr. Stark asks, gesturing to the lab with his coffee mug.

"Come with me." Peter excitedly leads him downstairs to a janitor's closet and a fleeting image of Julia face to face with him in the school closet crosses his mind. He usually pushes memories like that away but he's so close to finding her, he even saw her, he allows himself to think of her. Back when all of this started, when he told her his secret, when their were chest to chest, when he pressed his hand to her mouth and had no idea his lips would ever touch hers —

Peter throws opens the closet door to reveal the man he stuffed inside. He gestures to the perp proudly. "Tah dah!"

Mr. Stark stares at the body, brings his mug to his lips, and takes a sip of coffee. "So now you're bringing dead bodies into the joint?"

"He's not dead," Peter says. "At least, I don't think so," he adds, looking at the man. "I caught him after he tried to put a bullet in me."

Mr. Stark chokes on his drink. "He what?"

"Yeah, he pinned me down as his buddies took Julia — Hey, did you know helicopters can get super close to buildings without the difference in air pressure blowing out all the windows? I thought that always happened but maybe only in movies."

"Y-you saw Julia?! Wha — And you didn't open with that?!"

"Did I spill lipstick in your white Valentino bag too?" Peter rolls his eyes. "Yes, I saw her. And I think she's working for this guy's boss."

"You think?!"

He shrugs. "I don't know. That's why I need your help to find out."

But Mr. Stark is already shaking his head. "No way. Absolutely not."

"C'mon!" Peter begs.

"Need I remind you," he says, pointing to the unconscious man, "he just tried to kill you."

"But he didn't want to," Peter emphasizes. "My senses act up under danger and he wasn't dangerous. The gun to my head, that was dangerous, but not him. He could have pulled that trigger any moment but he didn't."

"Why?"

"I got a kid brother your age." Both Peter and Mr. Stark look down at the man with wide eyes. "Twin girls at home, too," he adds.

Mr. Stark eyes him warily as he gets to his feet, placing a hand in front of Peter and guiding him backwards all the while still holding onto his coffee with the other. "Wife?" He questions.

The man stares at him, but he isn't cold. "They got to him," he gently corrects. "Ain't no way he takin' anybody else from me." He finally looks to Peter and his face is hard but his eyes are kind. "I'm sorry 'boutcha girl."

"What happened to her?" Peter asks, stepping toward him. He gestures for Tony to lower his barricade, and he does.

"She got hurt on an assignment," the man answers. "We went to pick her up."

"Yeah, until you attacked him," Mr. Stark fumes.

"We had orders."

"Orders, shmorders. Who's callin' the shots?"

"Silvermane," Peter and the man say. They share a knowing look for their common enemy, and Peter feels Mr. Stark's gaze burning into him. "There's a lot I haven't told you," he says to him.

"Like what?" He growls.

"Like" — and Peter knows he's going to freak out when he says this — "May knows."

"She what?!"

Peter throws his hands in the air.

"And you wonder why I don't let you make decisions on your own! This is exactly why I don't let you make decisions on your own."

Peter sighs, hoping the rant is over as Mr. Stark turns to the stranger, asking, "What was the assignment she was on tonight?"

"Gather supplies for another shipment of ISO-37."

Peter furrows his brow. "I think you mean 36."

He shakes his head. "37. It's new. Hits the market tomorrow."

"Friday," Mr. Stark says, and a hologram screen appears along the wall. Friday completes a search, displaying relevant data, and the three move toward it, watching it work and produce a news article like magic.

"Science is cool," Peter chuckles.

"'Sapridyne Chemicals introduces new miracle drug to hospitals nationwide,'" Mr. Stark reads. "Friday, how is this not coming through my news feed?"

"I'll add it, boss."

"Thank you."

"Speaking of news…" Peter points to a news channel broadcasting a chemicals lab lit up like a Christmas tree. Red and blue police lights reflect off the glass building and Peter notes the jagged opening along the upper level.

"This the place she was stealing from?" Mr. Stark asks the stranger.

He nods. "Roxxon Energy. Biggest mass energy producer in the country."

"Wait, Silvermane's working with this company," Peter tells them. He racks his brain trying to remember what he learned with Ned. "Yeah, Roxxon's contracted as a subsidiary to him." Peter glances at Mr. Stark looking at him surprised. "Oh, Mr. Thompson had a flashdrive of information he compiled while he was sanctioned by the FBI to infiltrate Silvermane's inner ring" — Mr. Stark looks more impressed than surprised — "and he gave it to me," Peter finishes rather lamely, not used to pride being directed at him.

"So he's stealing from himself and writing it off as theft," Mr. Stark concludes, reviewing the hologram.

"How do you think the rich stay rich?" The man comments. "No offense."

Mr. Stark frowns. "None taken."

"But he did take some of your designs."

"Now I'm offended."

"He needed the Juvenator up and running."

"For what?"

"Oh," Peter draws out, realization dawning on him. "Oh, no."

Mr. Stark turns to him. "What?"

Peter places his hands on his cheeks as if he could cover his face and hide from his problems forever. "Oh, it's about to be the Walking Dead up in this beezy."

"Excuse me?"

Peter finally looks over at Mr. Stark and their new friend, and grasps the need to fill them in on all he's learned. "Simon Marshall developed this drug that could cure literally anything. His wife was sick, I think it was cancer and she died and it was this whole thing and it was super sad because he couldn't save her, not really, not until a machine could be used to activate the drug inside of her but he couldn't build it until you showed up — Fast forward, here you are, fancy tech, boom, deadly cure and killer machine."

Mr. Stark stares at him blankly then shakes his head. "I don't follow."

"Silvermane? The old guy from the hospital? The guy behind all of this?" He questions. "He needs ISO-37 to be distributed nation-wide because we're not just talking about turning back the clock a few years to keep himself young like he's been doing. We're talking about bringing people back from the dead. And that's gonna take a whole lot of molecular energy, energy that has to be siphoned from living, breathing people."

"Simon wants to bring his wife back," the stranger realizes.

"And I'd bet dollars to donuts Silvermane wants to bring back someone too," Mr. Stark says.

Peter thinks of Julia. Her mom just died. She's been gone for a while but now it's official and —

Of course —

Of course, that's why she went with Simon.

They've promised her her mother.

(but Julia — )

(do you know the cost?)

(Julia — )

(would you kill to save a life?)

"We all got somebody we wanna bring back," the stranger says. "But we don't get to play God. And when this gets out, which it will, people will pay way too much to bring somebody back and send somebody else to their grave."

Something heavy slides down Peter's throat and lands in his stomach.

Mr. Stark sighs. "It's always about money," he grumbles, tapping on the hologram. "This drug, you mass-producing it? Where?"

"Warehouse district on 49th," the man answers.

"You mean the one next to old Hammer Industries? Oh, that is poetic."

The man moves to stand with Mr. Stark, pulling up a map of the area to review the compound's location, but Peter has to ask —

"The girl," he says, pulling him aside and the stranger gives him his full attention, "the one who was hurt?" He nods, and Peter's almost too afraid to ask but then he thinks of her and how afraid she must be in all this and it makes him a little braver. "What did Silvermane do to her?"

The man lets out a deep sigh. "I don't know… But she scares the holy hell out of me."

Peter deflates a little. He was afraid of that.

"Yep, that's feisty pants," Mr. Stark comments. Peter smiles a little knowing he's trying to cheer him up, and agrees that does sound like her. He just wonders how much is still her.

"Will she be there?" He asks.

"If you're going to stop this whole thing, yeah, she'll be there. But they'll use her to stop you, so… Be ready."

Peter exhales a shaky laugh. "Sir, I've been ready for a long time."

"Sir?" He repeats with a grin. "Damn boy, you make me feel old. The name's Dimitri." He holds out his hand and Peter gladly shakes it. "It's good to meet you, Spider-Man."

"Ditto," he chuckles.

"You too, Iron Man," Dimitri says, holding his hand out to Mr. Stark.

"Tony," he says, shaking his hand. "Appreciate the help. We'll take it from here."

"All do respect, but I'd like to help. This is my fight too. Besides, you're gonna need a guide through the compound."

Peter looks up at Mr. Stark pondering for a moment. "Side bar," he announces, and pulls Peter under his arm and steps a few paces away.

"Well, what are you thinking?" He asks.

Mr. Stark scrunches his nose. "I don't know, I'm just making it look like we're considering our options. Of course, we're taking him." Peter nods absently. "Hey, nice instincts trusting him!" He adds, fistbumping Peter's shoulder and jostling a smile out of him. "You didn't need my help at all piecing this together — I'm proud of you!"

Peter beams. He doesn't know what to say. He couldn't imagine doing any of this without Mr. Stark.

"What are you thinking?" The Avenger asks. "Wait, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking Julia's in trouble."

"And you're thinking we have to stop a shipment of death drugs from infecting the population," Peter challenges.

"Save the girl?"

"And the day?"

Mr. Stark grins at him. "Suit up, kid."