"Peter, Peter! Are you listening to me?!"
Peter hastily woke up at the sound of his aunt May's voice only to find himself leaning against a wooden table in his kitch- wait, no. This wasn't his kitchen. For starters, his apartment in Queens wasn't quite so bright and the walls weren't so yellow.
What the...
"Peter!"
"Yes, Maayyy-" he trailed off when he looked at her, struck dumb by her appearance. Instead of her usual casual clothing of comfy jeans and woollen sweater she was wearing a renaissance type dress with a long flowy sapphire blue skirt, long sleeves and a white corset-type bodice with a black ribbon criss-crossing down her front from her chest to her torso. Then again, her attire wasn't nearly as off putting as the setting. Copperware that they didn't even own was stacked precariously on top of wooden shelves. Rays of sunlight streaked through a square hole in the wall that had pale orange curtains bunched up around it. Their limestone floor was replaced by soft earth and their state of the art, Tony Stark supplied stove, by a large black cooking pot suspended over a softly burning fire.
"What is with you today, Pete?" He was brought back to reality (if you can even call this reality) with his aunt snapping her fingers in front of his face. When he blinked up at her, she sighed, "you're not normally this spaced out."
"Sorry May," he answered, "I guess I just got a lot on my mind."
"I hope that your mind is clear enough to not get lost when you deliver these to Mrs Leeds." She teased with a smirk, as she placed a basket filled with buns, pastries and - to Peter's amusement - walnut dateloaf.
"Mrs Leeds?"
"Ned's grandmother? The one who's been unwell for the past week? Please tell me you remember Ned."
"Of course I remember Ned," Peter replied indignantly, "I just don't remember why I have to deliver those for his grandma."
"Because he broke his leg falling off of that tree that you, him and Michelle like to play near," May said like this was obvious, looking at Peter like he grew a second head, "so you offered to go and deliver this basket that we made for her yourself. But maybe that's not a good idea, your head's clearly not in the right place."
"No, no. It's okay," he said hurriedly, "I'll do it."
"Well, if you're sure."
"I am." It would be easier to investigate what on earth was going on if he got out. Although he had a sneaking suspicion of what might be happening.
"And try not to take a detour to Bruce's whilst you're there."
"Wha- Bruce?"
"Yes, I know that you enjoy spending time with that sweet chemist in the woods but I need you to come back soon so that you can help me make some sugar buns for the Thompsons. Apparently a wolf got into their fields and ate all of their sheep."
"Yes, right Aunt May. I'll go to the woods and deliver these right away." Leaving would help him investigate what on Earth is going on.
"Wait, Peter," May called to her nephew. He stopped at the doorway and turned to look at her as she approached him with a red cloth. "You forgot to wear your cloak, baby." She threw a red cloth over his shoulders and wrapped a silk red ribbon around his neck before pulling the hood over his chestnut curls. She brushed a few stray strands of brown locks from his forehead and kissed his cheek. "Remember Pete, don't talk to any strangers. Now shoo." And she sent him on his way.
'Basket of food, red cloak, 'don't talk to strangers',' Peter thought to himself as he walked away from the cottage, 'Either I had too many twinkies last night and am dreaming or I'm losing my mind. Although, this feels way too real to be a dream.' He came to a stop in front of a throng of tall thick trees with trunks that looked more like tortured faces. The earth before his feet was littered with red, orange, yellow, green and brown leaves and the air seemed to be a slightly colder. Peter could've sworn he could hear ominous howls and see tiny red eyes glowing deep within the seemingly never ending darkness. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as a familiar tingle spread through his nape and he clutched the woven basket tighter. 'Dream or not, if this is going where I think it's going, I think I have to go through those woods. Maybe it'll lead me to Mr Stark or the other Avengers, if May says that Dr Banner is there. C'mon Peter just ignore your spider-sense telling you it's a bad idea and walk through.'
And so our brave protagonist ventured forth into the unknown, vaguely getting the feeling that he was being watched. As the leaves and twigs crunched under his worn out sneakers, he started to wonder what was going on.
"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto," he whispered to himself.
"Well, well, well," a deep voice mused from behind him making him nearly jump a foot in the air (well 'cause you know: spider powers), "what do we have here? Looks like someone seems a little lost."
He turned around to face the looming figure of a man with dirty blonde hair leaning against a tree trunk with his arms crossed. He was wearing a dark brown suit with a rumpled navy green tie and a hungry look in his brown-tinged-amber-near-the-irises eyes. His bone-chilling lever widened at the sight of the teenager's face, exposing distinctively sharp canines as a bushy cedar brown tail swirled and danced behind him.
"Mr Osborn?" Peter asked.
"What's with all this 'mister' business?" The wereman smirked, a sinister look in his eyes. "Call me Norman."
"What - what are you doing here?" The boy stammered out, trying to hide his terror.
"Well that's for me to know and you to mind your business with. What I would like to know, boy, is who are you? You see, you clearly know who I am, yet I haven't a clue who you are. That's not very fair don't you think?" He pouted playfully, clearly revelling in the younger male's obvious fear.
"Well, I'm really not supposed to speak to strangers, sir," was his reply, his spider-sense telling him to run the other way as fast as possible, "so I really got to get going-"
"What's the rush, boy? At least tell me your name, it's only polite."
"I'm really really sorry sir, but I really must go this food gets cold." And with that Peter high-tailed in the other direction.
…
"Whew, that was close," Peter breathed out in relief when he stopped running. He looked up to see a quaint little cottage.
"Well I suppose this is where I'm supposed to be," Peter said to himself, "Let's just hope this story doesn't play out the way it's supposed to."
He knocked on it's wooden surface and stood there diligently for a few seconds before knocking again and waiting.
No answer.
Cautiously, he opened the door, it's drawn out creak filling the silence.
"Hello? Anybody there?" He called out, "Mrs Leeds? It's Peter. I'm a friend of Ned. I brought some treats for you."
No answer. Again.
"Helloooo…"
It was then he saw a slightly ajar door at the end of the corridor, light was streaming out from under it. Feeling like he was going to die anyway so what the heck, he walked towards it and carefully entered the bedroom, "Hello?"
All of a sudden, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as his nape felt like a thousand knives were piercing it.
"Oh hello, Peter," a familiar smooth voice called, Peter's blood turning to ice with them, "fancy seeing you here. My, what a small world we live in."
The sound of a door slamming shut caused him to swivel around, causing him to stare at Norman Osborn yet again.
"Good morn- afternoon, Mr Osborn," Peter stammered, " Wha- what are you doing here?"
"Well I came to see what was so important that you just had to run away," his smirk widened, "That was very rude you know."
"Where's- where's Mrs Leeds?"
"Oh that old hag," the man scoffed, dismissing the thought with a wave of his hand, "she's perfectly alright. Far too many bones not enough meat, though"
Oh s***
"But," he continued, "I'm sure that you're more than likely to compensate."
And with that the older man lunged in front of him to grab the teenager. Peter screamed as he narrowly dodged a clawed hand and did the only thing he could think of: he clutched his basket tighter as he swung it hard at Norman's face. Norman fell to the ground as Peter backed himself into the nearest corner. The man stood up slowly as he just looked at Peter, "seriously, kid?"
…
Peter was frozen in terror. He stood there, cowering in the corner, hoping and praying for someone to come and save him as Norman Osborn stalked towards him, predatory intent painted on his face when -
"HEY A-HOLE! PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN SIZE!"
The room was filled in howls as Norman stumbled back in agony, clutching his left calf, that now had a sharpened stick embedded deep within it, in pain. A small figure approached him as someone else had looked over the
"Peter, are you alright?" A soft voice asked as a comforting hand was places gently on his shoulder.
"Dr Banner?" Peter said, looking into concerned brown eyes, "what are you doing here?"
"Well, I woke up to find myself in a completely strange house in some completely strange woods. So I decided to go out and check out what was going on. That's when I found these three. Then we heard a scream and came here as fast as we could."
"Not fast enough, apparently," a person - Mr Wilson, Peter's mind supplied - cut in as the man himself eyed the mark on his cheek.
"Are you okay, kid," the man who was now standing over a knocked out wolfman - Mr Barnes - repeated Bruce's question.
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just a bit confused to be honest." He looked at the unconscious man on the floor, "You're not going to kill him, are you?"
"The sucker's asking for it. I've had it for him since that bastard blew down my house." A new voice piped up.
"Clint, that wasn't a house," Sam scoffed, "It was barely even a hut. If he didn't blow it down, it would've toppled over if a butterfly landed on it."
Ignoring Clint's offended gasp, Peter regarded the people before him; Bruce was crouched next to him, clothed in his pristine white lab coat, Bucky was standing above his would be attacker, metal arm holding him down by his chest, Sam standing next to him and Clint leaning against the doorway. Only there was something weird about the way the last three men looked, it seemed like their noses were.
"Mr Barnes, Mr Wilson, Mr Barton, you guys are... the Three Little Pigs?"
"I know right," Clint said in annoyance, "I mean first of all, we get transported into a kid's storybook and then I get turned into anthromorphic piece of bacon. I'm going to kill whoever put us here. Robin Hood is literally right there"
"We're in some weird alternate universe where us and everyone else that we know are fairytale characters and you're worried about your casting choice?" Sam asked incredulously.
"Well duh," Clint sniffed, "it's all of the little details that make a story just right."
"Who's in there!" A voice yelled from outside. Immediately Bucky, Sam and Clint got into a defensive position in front of Peter and Bruce.
A man with greying ashy brown hair pulled up in a man bun entered the room. A thick leather belt that held a dagger to his side was buckled around a brown tunic. His sleeves and pants were grassy green, his boots and gloves were muddy brown and his moustache and beard were clearly unkept. Cascading down his back was a cape as red as the feather that was on his light brown cap.
Everyone stared at him.
"Who are you?" Peter asked.
"Trevor Slattery." They all just looked at him. "Also known as the Mandarin." Bucky raised his eyebrows. "I'm the best huntsman in the land."
"Okay, sure," Sam said slowly.
"What are you doing here?" Clint asked in suspicion.
"I was in the midst of a task commanded by the king, His Majesty Obadiah, when I heard a cry so I came here to investigate."
"Uhh, not to be rude Mr Slattery Huntsman, sir, but you're a bit late." Peter said, gesturing to the motionless Norman Osborn.
"Ah, I see."
Clint did a double take in the middle of rolling his eyes, "Wait a minute. Did you say that Obadiah gave you a task? Obadiah Stane?"
"Yes, His Majesty has given me a command himself."
"Guys," Peter said slowly, some sort of realisation dawning on him.
"What is it Peter," Bruce asked in concern.
"In the story of Snow White," The teen started, "The Evil Queen orders the huntsman to kill Snow White, who's her stepdaughter, and bring back her heart. If Mr Stane is the king and he ordered a huntsman to do something. Wouldn't it be to kill someone and bring it heart, or something like a heart, like, let's say..."
"An Arc Reactor," Bruce finished, seeing where Peter was going with his theory.
"Isn't that what Stane did to Mr Stark in the past?" Peter asked, "Try to get the Arc Reactor for himself?"
Bucky held a look of resolution as he grabbed the slowly retreating huntsman by his collar and slammed him onto the wall.
"Tell me," he growled threateningly, "what were the orders given to you."
"I was commanded not to say," Slattery wheezed his face turning redder and redder. He suddenly choked as Bucky gripped tighter.
"Now," he ordered.
"Okay, okay," he surrendered, "I was ordered to kill Anthony Stark and bring back his Arc Reactor."
Bucky then decked him in the face.
"Mr Barnes!" Peter gasped in shock as he watched the man's body unceremoniously hit the ground with a thud, "Why would you do that."
"To make sure that the idiot doesn't follow through with his orders. And so that I can get this." He replied, holding up the dagger that was tied around the other man's waist, "Clint, Sam, tie him and the other guy up so they can't escape."
"Don't be too rough," Peter called out as they began to wrap the knocked out men in the material of the curtains, "if you guys weren't here, he would've saved me instead."
"Huh" Sam paused.
"You know, from the story." He explained, gesturing to himself, "When the Big Bad Wolf eats Little Red, a huntsman comes to save her."
"Well you certainly are 'little' Spider-baby," Sam teased as the others began laughing at Peter's look of indignation, "Not gonna lie, that little cloak does look cute on you."
"Whatever," the 'Spider-Baby' huffed, trying to will the colour of his cheeks away, "Let's find a way out of here. If Mr Stane is here, then Mr Stark could be in trouble."
"And we should also find out where 'here' is," Bruce pointed out.
"I just hope that Steve is alright," Bucky said worriedly, "wherever that reckless idiot is.""Peter, Peter! Are you listening to me?!"
Peter hastily woke up at the sound of his aunt May's voice only to find himself leaning against a wooden table in his kitch- wait, no. This wasn't his kitchen. For starters, his apartment in Queens wasn't quite so bright and the walls weren't so yellow.
What the...
"Peter!"
"Yes, Maayyy-" he trailed off when he looked at her, struck dumb by her appearance. Instead of her usual casual clothing of comfy jeans and woollen sweater she was wearing a renaissance type dress with a long flowy sapphire blue skirt, long sleeves and a white corset-type bodice with a black ribbon criss-crossing down her front from her chest to her torso. Then again, her attire wasn't nearly as off putting as the setting. Copperware that they didn't even own was stacked precariously on top of wooden shelves. Rays of sunlight streaked through a square hole in the wall that had pale orange curtains bunched up around it. Their limestone floor was replaced by soft earth and their state of the art, Tony Stark supplied stove, by a large black cooking pot suspended over a softly burning fire.
"What is with you today, Pete?" He was brought back to reality (if you can even call this reality) with his aunt snapping her fingers in front of his face. When he blinked up at her, she sighed, "you're not normally this spaced out."
"Sorry May," he answered, "I guess I just got a lot on my mind."
"I hope that your mind is clear enough to not get lost when you deliver these to Mrs Leeds." She teased with a smirk, as she placed a basket filled with buns, pastries and - to Peter's amusement - walnut dateloaf.
"Mrs Leeds?"
"Ned's grandmother? The one who's been unwell for the past week? Please tell me you remember Ned."
"Of course I remember Ned," Peter replied indignantly, "I just don't remember why I have to deliver those for his grandma."
"Because he broke his leg falling off of that tree that you, him and Michelle like to play near," May said like this was obvious, looking at Peter like he grew a second head, "so you offered to go and deliver this basket that we made for her yourself. But maybe that's not a good idea, your head's clearly not in the right place."
"No, no. It's okay," he said hurriedly, "I'll do it."
"Well, if you're sure."
"I am." It would be easier to investigate what on earth was going on if he got out. Although he had a sneaking suspicion of what might be happening.
"And try not to take a detour to Bruce's whilst you're there."
"Wha- Bruce?"
"Yes, I know that you enjoy spending time with that sweet chemist in the woods but I need you to come back soon so that you can help me make some sugar buns for the Thompsons. Apparently a wolf got into their fields and ate all of their sheep."
"Yes, right Aunt May. I'll go to the woods and deliver these right away." Leaving would help him investigate what on Earth is going on.
"Wait, Peter," May called to her nephew. He stopped at the doorway and turned to look at her as she approached him with a red cloth. "You forgot to wear your cloak, baby." She threw a red cloth over his shoulders and wrapped a silk red ribbon around his neck before pulling the hood over his chestnut curls. She brushed a few stray strands of brown locks from his forehead and kissed his cheek. "Remember Pete, don't talk to any strangers. Now shoo." And she sent him on his way.
'Basket of food, red cloak, 'don't talk to strangers',' Peter thought to himself as he walked away from the cottage, 'Either I had too many twinkies last night and am dreaming or I'm losing my mind. Although, this feels way too real to be a dream.' He came to a stop in front of a throng of tall thick trees with trunks that looked more like tortured faces. The earth before his feet was littered with red, orange, yellow, green and brown leaves and the air seemed to be a slightly colder. Peter could've sworn he could hear ominous howls and see tiny red eyes glowing deep within the seemingly never ending darkness. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as a familiar tingle spread through his nape and he clutched the woven basket tighter. 'Dream or not, if this is going where I think it's going, I think I have to go through those woods. Maybe it'll lead me to Mr Stark or the other Avengers, if May says that Dr Banner is there. C'mon Peter just ignore your spider-sense telling you it's a bad idea and walk through.'
And so our brave protagonist ventured forth into the unknown, vaguely getting the feeling that he was being watched. As the leaves and twigs crunched under his worn out sneakers, he started to wonder what was going on.
"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto," he whispered to himself.
"Well, well, well," a deep voice mused from behind him making him nearly jump a foot in the air (well 'cause you know: spider powers), "what do we have here? Looks like someone seems a little lost."
He turned around to face the looming figure of a man with dirty blonde hair leaning against a tree trunk with his arms crossed. He was wearing a dark brown suit with a rumpled navy green tie and a hungry look in his brown-tinged-amber-near-the-irises eyes. His bone-chilling lever widened at the sight of the teenager's face, exposing distinctively sharp canines as a bushy cedar brown tail swirled and danced behind him.
"Mr Osborn?" Peter asked.
"What's with all this 'mister' business?" The wereman smirked, a sinister look in his eyes. "Call me Norman."
"What - what are you doing here?" The boy stammered out, trying to hide his terror.
"Well that's for me to know and you to mind your business with. What I would like to know, boy, is who are you? You see, you clearly know who I am, yet I haven't a clue who you are. That's not very fair don't you think?" He pouted playfully, clearly revelling in the younger male's obvious fear.
"Well, I'm really not supposed to speak to strangers, sir," was his reply, his spider-sense telling him to run the other way as fast as possible, "so I really got to get going-"
"What's the rush, boy? At least tell me your name, it's only polite."
"I'm really really sorry sir, but I really must go this food gets cold." And with that Peter high-tailed in the other direction.
…
"Whew, that was close," Peter breathed out in relief when he stopped running. He looked up to see a quaint little cottage.
"Well I suppose this is where I'm supposed to be," Peter said to himself, "Let's just hope this story doesn't play out the way it's supposed to."
He knocked on it's wooden surface and stood there diligently for a few seconds before knocking again and waiting.
No answer.
Cautiously, he opened the door, it's drawn out creak filling the silence.
"Hello? Anybody there?" He called out, "Mrs Leeds? It's Peter. I'm a friend of Ned. I brought some treats for you."
No answer. Again.
"Helloooo…"
It was then he saw a slightly ajar door at the end of the corridor, light was streaming out from under it. Feeling like he was going to die anyway so what the heck, he walked towards it and carefully entered the bedroom, "Hello?"
All of a sudden, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as his nape felt like a thousand knives were piercing it.
"Oh hello, Peter," a familiar smooth voice called, Peter's blood turning to ice with them, "fancy seeing you here. My, what a small world we live in."
The sound of a door slamming shut caused him to swivel around, causing him to stare at Norman Osborn yet again.
"Good morn- afternoon, Mr Osborn," Peter stammered, " Wha- what are you doing here?"
"Well I came to see what was so important that you just had to run away," his smirk widened, "That was very rude you know."
"Where's- where's Mrs Leeds?"
"Oh that old hag," the man scoffed, dismissing the thought with a wave of his hand, "she's perfectly alright. Far too many bones not enough meat, though"
Oh s***
"But," he continued, "I'm sure that you're more than likely to compensate."
And with that the older man lunged in front of him to grab the teenager. Peter screamed as he narrowly dodged a clawed hand and did the only thing he could think of: he clutched his basket tighter as he swung it hard at Norman's face. Norman fell to the ground as Peter backed himself into the nearest corner. The man stood up slowly as he just looked at Peter, "seriously, kid?"
…
Peter was frozen in terror. He stood there, cowering in the corner, hoping and praying for someone to come and save him as Norman Osborn stalked towards him, predatory intent painted on his face when -
"HEY A-HOLE! PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN SIZE!"
The room was filled in howls as Norman stumbled back in agony, clutching his left calf, that now had a sharpened stick embedded deep within it, in pain. A small figure approached him as someone else had looked over the
"Peter, are you alright?" A soft voice asked as a comforting hand was places gently on his shoulder.
"Dr Banner?" Peter said, looking into concerned brown eyes, "what are you doing here?"
"Well, I woke up to find myself in a completely strange house in some completely strange woods. So I decided to go out and check out what was going on. That's when I found these three. Then we heard a scream and came here as fast as we could."
"Not fast enough, apparently," a person - Mr Wilson, Peter's mind supplied - cut in as the man himself eyed the mark on his cheek.
"Are you okay, kid," the man who was now standing over a knocked out wolfman - Mr Barnes - repeated Bruce's question.
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just a bit confused to be honest." He looked at the unconscious man on the floor, "You're not going to kill him, are you?"
"The sucker's asking for it. I've had it for him since that bastard blew down my house." A new voice piped up.
"Clint, that wasn't a house," Sam scoffed, "It was barely even a hut. If he didn't blow it down, it would've toppled over if a butterfly landed on it."
Ignoring Clint's offended gasp, Peter regarded the people before him; Bruce was crouched next to him, clothed in his pristine white lab coat, Bucky was standing above his would be attacker, metal arm holding him down by his chest, Sam standing next to him and Clint leaning against the doorway. Only there was something weird about the way the last three men looked, it seemed like their noses were.
"Mr Barnes, Mr Wilson, Mr Barton, you guys are... the Three Little Pigs?"
"I know right," Clint said in annoyance, "I mean first of all, we get transported into a kid's storybook and then I get turned into anthromorphic piece of bacon. I'm going to kill whoever put us here. Robin Hood is literally right there"
"We're in some weird alternate universe where us and everyone else that we know are fairytale characters and you're worried about your casting choice?" Sam asked incredulously.
"Well duh," Clint sniffed, "it's all of the little details that make a story just right."
"Who's in there!" A voice yelled from outside. Immediately Bucky, Sam and Clint got into a defensive position in front of Peter and Bruce.
A man with greying ashy brown hair pulled up in a man bun entered the room. A thick leather belt that held a dagger to his side was buckled around a brown tunic. His sleeves and pants were grassy green, his boots and gloves were muddy brown and his moustache and beard were clearly unkept. Cascading down his back was a cape as red as the feather that was on his light brown cap.
Everyone stared at him.
"Who are you?" Peter asked.
"Trevor Slattery." They all just looked at him. "Also known as the Mandarin." Bucky raised his eyebrows. "I'm the best huntsman in the land."
"Okay, sure," Sam said slowly.
"What are you doing here?" Clint asked in suspicion.
"I was in the midst of a task commanded by the king, His Majesty Obadiah, when I heard a cry so I came here to investigate."
"Uhh, not to be rude Mr Slattery Huntsman, sir, but you're a bit late." Peter said, gesturing to the motionless Norman Osborn.
"Ah, I see."
Clint did a double take in the middle of rolling his eyes, "Wait a minute. Did you say that Obadiah gave you a task? Obadiah Stane?"
"Yes, His Majesty has given me a command himself."
"Guys," Peter said slowly, some sort of realisation dawning on him.
"What is it Peter," Bruce asked in concern.
"In the story of Snow White," The teen started, "The Evil Queen orders the huntsman to kill Snow White, who's her stepdaughter, and bring back her heart. If Mr Stane is the king and he ordered a huntsman to do something. Wouldn't it be to kill someone and bring it heart, or something like a heart, like, let's say..."
"An Arc Reactor," Bruce finished, seeing where Peter was going with his theory.
"Isn't that what Stane did to Mr Stark in the past?" Peter asked, "Try to get the Arc Reactor for himself?"
Bucky held a look of resolution as he grabbed the slowly retreating huntsman by his collar and slammed him onto the wall.
"Tell me," he growled threateningly, "what were the orders given to you."
"I was commanded not to say," Slattery wheezed his face turning redder and redder. He suddenly choked as Bucky gripped tighter.
"Now," he ordered.
"Okay, okay," he surrendered, "I was ordered to kill Anthony Stark and bring back his Arc Reactor."
Bucky then decked him in the face.
"Mr Barnes!" Peter gasped in shock as he watched the man's body unceremoniously hit the ground with a thud, "Why would you do that."
"To make sure that the idiot doesn't follow through with his orders. And so that I can get this." He replied, holding up the dagger that was tied around the other man's waist, "Clint, Sam, tie him and the other guy up so they can't escape."
"Don't be too rough," Peter called out as they began to wrap the knocked out men in the material of the curtains, "if you guys weren't here, he would've saved me instead."
"Huh" Sam paused.
"You know, from the story." He explained, gesturing to himself, "When the Big Bad Wolf eats Little Red, a huntsman comes to save her."
"Well you certainly are 'little' Spider-baby," Sam teased as the others began laughing at Peter's look of indignation, "Not gonna lie, that little cloak does look cute on you."
"Whatever," the 'Spider-Baby' huffed, trying to will the colour of his cheeks away, "Let's find a way out of here. If Mr Stane is here, then Mr Stark could be in trouble."
"And we should also find out where 'here' is," Bruce pointed out.
"I just hope that Steve is alright," Bucky said worriedly, "wherever that reckless idiot is."