Peter noted his awareness returning when he heard broken voices above him. The words crackled over him, sounding like a static radio signal. He focused as hard as he could, but it only jumbled his brain to much, growing a massive headache in the center of his forehead. It tired him out and he sagged further into whatever enclosed around him. It was soft. Not hard like the stretcher he was forced onto. It appeared Dr. Richards may have followed up on one of his promises.

Then again, Peter still couldn't see. His eyes were too heavy to lift. Without his sight, he relied on his other senses that were slowly thawing out and coming back to life. It was a painfully slow process. His mind awake, but his body dead, barely reacting to the stimuli around him. Even with effort, he hardly managed anything at all except maybe twitch a muscle in his fingers.

But now, he heard the voices clearing up inside his head. Words came through with meaning and understanding. Then the words grew and formed sentences. The muffles became more precise and distinct. He differentiated male and female voices, talking and discussing.

"...a few days..."

"...strange warned to not..."

"...I'm fine...don't..."

Peter grasped as much as he could. They spoke so fast that it was difficult to catch the messages between the hidden shadows. All the different voices crowded around him and Peter panicked at being surrounded, hearing and not seeing, feeling without control.

He tried to move again, make a fist or something, but something pressed against his forehead. He attempted to get the heavy object off his head, craning his neck and turning different directions, but it remained right on his head. And he got this horrible image pounding in his head, drilling up dread right into his heart. He wanted to know what was happening. Was Mr. Stark in the room? Was he the one speaking? Him and Dr. Richards?

Unable to bear it anymore, Peter gathered all the strength he mustered to speak. "...d-don't..."

That was as far as he could go. All his energy zapped and he fell back into a near vegetative state. The voices sounded hurried and muffled again, hard to distinguish the blended voices.

But the thing on his head didn't move. It stayed. Not in a tight grip, but in a gentle, protective manner. Like a shield, keeping all harm away from him.

A cooing sound filtered through his ears, soothing his agitated nerves. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell of dampness and a twang of pungency. He screwed his face into a sharp confliction, thinking where on earth did Mr. Stark send him? The man wouldn't be caught dead standing in a place that smelled like sewer water.

Whatever Mr. Stark had planned, Peter doubt his opinions would be taken into consideration. His strength was dismal, his body felt like lead from the top of his head down to the tip of his toes, anchored to whatever they dumped him. It would be futile to do any resistance, so Peter let the weight on his head remain, sliding back into obscurity for some peace.

Peter's consciousness returned by the sound of dripping water. He cracked his eyes open, struggling under the heavy weight of his eyelids as he came face-to-face with a stone-vaulted ceiling, colored in green dew. Condensation dripped down the walls. The air thick and reeked of old waste, causing Peter to crinkle his nose in disgust. He curiously stared at the moldy ceiling, trying to piece together where he was and what happened.

He heard no voices. They were gone. Only dripping sounds of water made the outside world alive.

It didn't make sense to Peter. Was he underground? Why would Mr. Stark or Dr. Richards send him underground? Perhaps a new dungeon. A new prison. After all, Dr. Richards sounded somewhat concerned about his ill-reactions to the Negative Zone. Maybe this was the alternative?

Blinking to adjust, Peter strained his neck to move it. He wasn't held down anymore. Nor was any part of his body secured to the lumpy mattress he rested upon. He was free to move if he wanted, although that was somewhat of a challenge at the moment. His muscles felt weak and it took some time for Peter to move around the bed. His neck was sore. The back of his neck stung like the skin was being pulled apart. He winced, reaching back to feel swelling at the base of his neck.

He panicked. His fingers nervously pressed against the tender skin, trying to find out what was wrong with him. Did they inject something into him? Did Mr. Stark implanted another chip? Did they cut him open?

Footsteps approached the door to his new prison, and it opened.

Peter sucked in a breath. "...May?"

His aunt dropped whatever was in her hand. "Oh my god… you're awake!"

She rushed to him. Her red hair streaked through the dreary scenery and, before Peter could get off the mattress, she had him wrapped in her arms and smothered him. He breathed in the musky smell of her sweater, all the traces of her lavender scent gone. Her red hair curtained over their faces as she dropped a kiss on top of his head.

"You're okay. You're okay," she breathed, her voice sounding brittle and breaking under certain syllables. "I have you."

It sounded like she almost couldn't believe it. Like Peter himself, surprised to see his aunt and being in her arms again.

"Are you real?" Peter asked, knowing he probably sounded like a child, but he needed to know she was real. Needed to know it wasn't another lie.

She pulled away to hold Peter's face in her hands. Her thumbs stroked his cheeks, warming them in the dank, stone-built room. Peter looked up at his aunt's wistful smile as her eyelashes wiped up the tears from her eyes. Her hand carded through his hair before she took his hand in her own, feeling warmth coming from her palm into his fingers.

"I'm right here with you, bud," May affirmed with a happy smile. "Not going anywhere."

Peter dropped his head into her and his aunt's arms went around him again. "Oh—thank god," he exhausted in complete relief. "Thank god… I thought—"

"I'm okay."

"He ordered—"

"I'm okay."

"—threatening you and I—"

May took his chin and made Peter look back up at her. "Peter—I'm fine," she assured. "No one hurt me."

"But… how? Mr. Stark—"

"Stark isn't the one in charge around here."

Peter's eyes darted passed his aunt to the door, where the deadly, famed assassin Black Widow guarded.

It took Peter a moment to recognize her. Last he saw Natasha Romanoff, he was nursing a black eye from Powers while she was about to reveal something in regards to her aunt. But, then she backed out and disappeared. When Peter asked about her to Mr. Stark, he acknowledged she was on a deep undercover assignment for the Avengers.

And now, she barricaded the door, dressed in a black suit with an olive green vest over it. There was padding on her elbows and knees, with a thigh holster on her leg to hold her glock. And her famed widow bite was attached to her wrists, like his web-shooters, and her two batons were holstered on her back, crisscrossed. Her red-blood hair turned shock white, and cut short to her chin.

Her tall, heeled boots clicked against the stone as she approached. "How you doing, kid?"

Peter jerked back as his muscles and bones protested at the jolt. He darted to the corner of his bed, grabbing his aunt. May let out a yelp of surprise and stopped herself from falling over. Peter balled into position to either leap at Black Widow or simply to jump in front of his aunt to protect her. "Stay back!" he shouted, though it came out more of a squeak than a threatening growl. "Stay away from us!"

Natasha stopped and cast a look to May, who stared at Peter, bewildered. "Peter, calm down!" May said. "It's all right."

Peter shook his head. No, it was not all right. "She works for Mr. Stark!" he jabbed her finger right at Natasha. "She's undercover!"

That earned him wry smirk from the famed Black Widow. "So that's what Stark is telling everyone?" she remarked, not offended by his cruel accusation. "Not bad. Probably would have said the same thing if one of my best lieutenants defected to the other side."

Peter didn't know what to say to that. His eyes flashed from Natasha to May back to Natasha. "But... you were there," he reiterated, as if to try to not only convince his aunt and Natasha, but also himself. That he wasn't making it all up. "At the Compound... you helped Mr. Stark—"

"Peter," May interrupted, grabbing his attention. "Ms. Romanoff saved me. Okay? She helped me."

"But—" That couldn't be right. She was at the Compound. She worked for Mr. Stark! She was sent away on a mission for the Avengers. She couldn't… wouldn't help his aunt. Not after Mr. Stark ordered for his aunt to be brought back to the Tower.

A lie. Another lie. He couldn't trust Black Widow. She worked for Mr. Stark. He and his aunt were trapped in this hellhole dungeon because of them. But, why did his aunt think they were safe? Why did she trust Black Widow? It didn't make sense.

Natasha sensed his conflicting thoughts. "You're right to distrust me," she said. "I didn't leave you a very good impression."

Her vanishing act wasn't appreciated, especially after she dangled information about his aunt. "Did you know?" he asked.

Her face turned grave, remorseful. "I tried to tell you."

She did, but she didn't. "Why didn't you?"

"Nellie walked in," Black Widow answered, simply and unbothered by the interrogation. "She would have informed Stark that I was there and he would ask if we spoke. I felt no need to put us in a precarious situation.

"Of course, that didn't matter in the end," she continued on, moving to the other side of the room. "Stark figured it out. I had no choice." She looked back to Peter. "I tried to reach you, but… again, Stark's a futurist. Thought ahead."

Peter's brows bunched in puzzlement. He thought back to those earlier months in the Compound. He couldn't recall any incident revolving around Black Widow except for that weird hospital visit. He concentrated harder until an image bubbled up to the surface, forming into a memory of a late-night disturbance. Of a man barricading Peter in his room. Of whispers of keeping the asset safe. Alarms going off and depressing, lonely thoughts of someone else escaping while he remained trapped in a windowless room.

"It was you," Peter uttered, blinking up to Natasha. "You were the alarms!"

"You remember?"

Peter nodded, his neck aching. "They kept me in my room."

"I'm sorry." And she meant it. Peter could tell.

May sat on the bed and slid her arms around him, pressing him close to her side. Her hand carded the back of his head, trying to relieve him of any and all stress that bundled him into a ball. Or maybe to simply anchor her own feelings of learning what Peter experienced.

Peter rested his heavy head on Aunt May's shoulder, happily relieved to be with her again. How many days has he dreamed of being back with her? Too many.

He moved his head to adjust himself better on his shoulder when the skin on the base of his neck stretched. "Ow," he winced as he brushed against the back of his neck, feeling the tender skin.

Why was his neck sore?

It hit him. The ache in his neck coursed through his entire body as he remembered the longest night of his life. The chip. The tracking chip that controlled and monitored Peter, place secretively within his body without permission. Done in order to subdue him or locate him anywhere.

Locate him here…

Peter surged to his feet, breaking away from Aunt May, shocking her and Natasha. He clawed at his neck, digging through the agony he felt as he cut into his body to yank out the device. He knew where it was. He can get it out.

May grabbed his hands and pulled them back from his neck. "Peter! No—don't… stop that!"

Peter yanked his hands out of his aunt's grip. "No! I got to get it out! It's… inside me. He'll find us!"

Natasha snatched his arms and twisted them behind him, locking them in place. Peter struggled and whined. "You don't understand! There's a chip! He put a chip in me! He can find me!"

"It's okay, Peter."

"No it's not!" Peter yelled, tugging to break free. But his time in the Negative Zone still left him vulnerable weak. Not up to par in his normal physical state. Tears filled his eyes, brimming right on the edge. "You don't understand! He'll find me! I got to get it out. You—it's in my neck! Please! Get it out! Take it out!"

Neither his aunt nor Black Widow budged from their stance. His aunt looked sympathetic, eyes getting smaller as she watched his panic. "Peter, it's all right. Nothing is in your neck."

Peter shook his head. "It's in there! I felt it!" he cried, shaking as cold drifted through his body. "You gotta get it out before he comes!"

"Peter—"

"Is everything okay in here?"

All three heads turned back to the door. Peter instantly stopped fighting.

It was Captain America.

His mere presence rippled through the room, commanding full attention. He stood at the door, composed, as he took in the scene of two women wrestling with a frantic child. Peter was transfixed, unable to even breathe as he stared at the famous war hero (or war criminal). He looked nothing like Peter expected the great Captain America to look. The clean-shaved image was gone, replaced with a new grizzled look of a full beard, longer hair and the aged costume gave him an antique appearance. Someone who weathered the worse and still going through the years.

Natasha released his arms and May took hold of him, running her hand over his head in hopes it would settle him.

"Everything is fine," Natasha answered. "He was freaking out about the transmitter chip."

Captain America's brows rose up, but so did the tiny smile that tried to peak behind the beard. "You don't have to worry about that, son," he informed Peter. "Doctor Strange did fine work. Got it out of you without any damage."

Peter's brows furrowed in misunderstanding. "What?"

"Did you not tell him?" Captain America directed his question to Natasha.

"He just woke up."

Captain America understood. "Nat? Why don't we let the boy and his aunt have some time together?" he said. "Have them catch up?"

Natasha agreed, leaving Peter with his aunt. She shot him a quick wink, and Captain America told his aunt to let them know if they needed anything.

"It's nice to finally meet you, Peter," Captain America said as he took the doorknob to close it behind him. "We'll see you around soon."

Then, the door closed and it was just Peter and his aunt.

Peter gawked at the space Captain America previously occupied, uncertain if he truly saw the great legend.

May tugged on her nephew, shepherding him back to the cot. "Come on. Sit," she urged him. "You shouldn't be up for too long. Doctor's orders."

Peter fell back onto the bed at her prompting. "Was that really—"

"Yep."

He blinked, starry eyed at his aunt. "How?"

Aunt May told him of her tale. After he abandoned her in the alley, May was frantic to get out of the webbing, but she was unsuccessful in removing the webbing from her trapped hand. She nearly gave up when Natasha Romanoff appeared.

"She had been keeping an eye out on me," May told Peter. "When she saw the smoke, she figured Stark sent agents."

Natasha got her out of Peter's webbing with some kind of specialized knife. Free, May wanted to run straight to Stark Tower and get her nephew, but Natasha stopped her. Agents swarmed the area, locking the neighborhood down in order to find her. Use her against Peter.

She offered another way and May, knowing she didn't have much choice, followed her lead. Natasha Romanoff smuggled them out of Queens and into Brooklyn, down into a series of underground tunnels. It was there she was introduced to Captain America and his superhero squad.

"I asked them for help," May continued the story. "I was… basically out of mind! I was willing to give them anything if they would get you back. I even offered up my wedding ring!"

Peter instantly looked down at his aunt's hand. Ben's ring was still there.

May fondly rotated it along her bony finger. "Obviously, Captain Rogers is exactly as you think Captain America would be. He was kind and compassionate. He didn't ask for anything. He knew about you. Natasha told him, but the heavy security at the Compound made it impossible for them to get inside the walls.

"I thought it was never going to get you back. Hell—I was ready to just… storm the Tower by myself and everything," May said, her voice cracking a bit, and fingers weaving together. "But… Captain Rogers said he knew a man who may help. A wizard, if you can believe it. We met with the wizard and he brought you back to me. That's how you got here."

Peter listened to the crazy, unbelievable true story with an incredulous arch of his brows. "A wizard?"

"Wizard! Doctor! I don't know. He performed some kind of miracle and, anyway, I got you back," she said, sniffling to hold back the tears filling her eyes. "Natasha warned us about a chip in your neck and so, surgery was done right away. He removed it without any complications. I was so grateful and again, I offered my ring up as payment for his services, but he waved it off."

She looked exhausted telling her story. Heavy bags hung beneath her red eyes and stress etched into every groove of her skin, May was wrung out. Peter knew it was his fault. His disappearing act, followed with leaving her in that alleyway, afraid and desperate, was the reason May looked awful. Hiding underground probably didn't help either, but that was his fault too. He got her caught into this madness she never knew existed.

Yet, it all melted away from her face the second May gave him a small smile. "You're safe now, kiddo. Stark can't get to you," she promised, patting down his messy curls. "I won't allow it."

She hugged Peter again, pulling him in with her hand supporting the back of his head. Peter leaned against her, letting himself fall into her chest and hearing the strong, but frantic, heartbeat within her.

"I'm so sorry," Peter muffled through her shirt. "I was trying to protect you..."

"I know," came May's hushed tone, "but you don't have to protect me. I'm stronger than I look."

"I noticed," Peter joked, remembering her bravery. "You kicked ass."

May chuckled through the tears, pulling up a smile. "No one comes between me and my kid. Ever."

How did he ever deserve a wonderful person like May in his life? His bastion of strength! Keeper of solace! Pillar of trust! She was the only person he loved in this whole world.

And no one would ever take him away from her ever again. Peter nestled closed to her, thankful to have her in his life again.

"Oh? And Peter?" came May's voice.

Peter tilted his head up. "Yeah?"

"If you ever use your webbing or powers against me again," May started, pointedly, "you're grounded for life."

Figures, Peter thought, but he never had any intentions of ever doing that to her again.

"Here—eat this."

May pressed a banana in his hand when Peter woke up. Most of the food was already gone. After all, he woke up much later than the rest of people squatting in the tunnels. A week passed since Peter woke up the first time. His neck healed and his strength returned, but his aunt continued to treat him as if he was still recovering from a terrible, crippling accident.

She dropped a bottle of water in front of him. "And drink this," she ordered. "You need to stay hydrated. And eat that whole banana! Don't just nibble. I'm going to see if I can scrounge something more filling for you."

May was gone, her red hair whipping behind her as she went out to find more food for him to eat. It wasn't necessary. Peter wasn't that hungry. He took his seat on one of the few chairs and tables available in the main room that used to be the main bomb shelter. He began to peel the banana apart, squeezing the fruit in between his fingers before popping into his mouth. It made his stomach quench, but he pushed passed the uneasy feeling and tried to eat a little more until he couldn't do it.

"You gonna finish that?"

Peter blinked down and found a little boy with a messy head of brown hair and large eyes. The boy nibbled on his lower lip, wide on the banana.

He handed the boy his unfinished banana. "It's all yours."

The boy beamed. He snatched the banana and rushed off, leaving Peter alone in the old bomb shelter. He didn't know who the kid was, but suspected the child to be one of Hawkeye's children. His family lived down in the tunnels as well for protection, as did others. Anyone close to the rogues all had to go on the run.

Their makeshift home was a series of networking tunnels under Brooklyn, designed for subway tracks before being transformed into World War II bomb shelters. By then, though, everyone forgot about the tunnels and they were abandoned for years until Captain America returned to Brooklyn.

Now, it was the secret headquarters for the Rogue Avengers.

It wasn't as extravagant compared to Mr. Stark's compound. While Mr. Stark fancied modern and minimalistic furnishing that still screamed money, the tunnels were Spartan. Very few furnishings. Everything basic and plain. Food was dismal, nothing like the well-cooked meals he was fed when living at the Compound.

May returned, carrying two sandwiches. She handed both to Peter. "You finished your banana?" she sounded shocked and pleased. "Good—eat these too. Need to keep up your strength."

Peter groaned inward as he took the peanut butter sandwiches. He's eaten peanut butter sandwiches every day and was quite sick of them. He didn't know if he could eat another one, let alone two. But he ate them as quickly as he could to keep his stomach from regurgitating it back up.

Despite the Spartan lifestyle and the rationed foods, Peter preferred the old, cavernous tunnels compared to the fancy compound. He had his aunt, who was with him every day, helping and keeping him company among the legendary heroes of Captain America, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Falcon, Scarlet Witch and many others he never knew existed. A few occupants were happy to make his acquaintance, like Scott Lang, aka Ant-Man. He was a joy! He laughed easy, smiled wide and always wanted an audience for his magic tricks which wowed Peter. For a moment, Peter thought Scott was the wizard who rescued him, but he shortly learned that wasn't the case. Scott was just a bored magician.

Others weren't as welcoming of his presence. After all, they heard about his dalliance as Tony Stark's protégé, if that's what they wanted to call it. Peter preferred prisoner. Yet, they were wary of him. Distrustful. Like he was the enemy, trying to pose as one of them. It made things awkward, but it was far better than life at the Compound. He rather take awkwardness than intimidation.

What he hated the most was the boredom. He didn't have much of a schedule either. After all, Captain America didn't force him to participate in boot camp or assigned him a personal tutor for schooling hours. There was no schedule for him to follow. No routine. He was a free man—with limits.

While he watched others make trips to the surface to honor their duties in protecting civilians, Peter had to stay down below. Whenever he asked or tried to sneak out, they stopped him. Gave him excuses like needing more rest or keeping his aunt company or there were enough people out already. But Peter saw the lies in their eyes and heard the hesitation in their voices when they spoke to him. They grounded him. And it didn't sit well with him. He wasn't an average civilian. He was super-powered. He was Spider-man! He needed to be out there. He needed to do his part.

Peter told this to Black Widow at the end of one of their drills. Black Widow, recognizing Peter was going stir-crazy, offered to do practice drills with him. Exercises to keep his skills warm. They would practice in the far back end of the tunnels, away from where his aunt would wander. He didn't want her to see him practicing his fighting techniques.

"You know… if anyone wants a break," Peter offered as he wiped the sweat away from his brows, "on one of these night errands or something… I can help."

Black Widow, who wasn't even sweating, shook her head. "Not your responsibility kid," she answered. "Besides, don't think Cap would appreciate it."

"Why not?"

"Because you're a kid," Black Widow shrugged. "Cap's old school. Kids don't belong in wars."

"You think they do?" Peter questioned.

"I grew up differently from Cap. I wasn't raised in America nor was I raised as a child. I was always raised to be an assassin. In my life, children are the best assets in war."

Peter had no idea. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Black Widow brushed his apology aside. "I got my revenge."

"Which was what?" Peter inquired, interested. He knew little of the famed Black Widow. She was notorious for her secrecy.

But, Black Widow only offered him a sly smile. "You better get back to your aunt," she advised. "She's probably wondering where you ran off to."

He wasn't the only one with cabin fever. May wanted to leave once Peter was well, but Captain America and the others advised against it. With their apartment destroyed, financial assets likely frozen and SHIELD units swarming the city, it was safer for them to stay underground until it all blows over.

It was a nice way of saying they were fugitives; and therefore, trapped underground. Never to return home or experience a normal life. It was difficult for May to get her head wrapped around it. She spent most of her time hovering over him, constantly worrying and checking in on him. Almost like she thought if she wasn't with him, then he was gone. Throughout the day, she hassled him with food. Not that he didn't eat, but she kept insisting he needed more. Peter's stomach fluctuated constantly since his rescue. Food was hard to eat. His body cramped and his guts twisted so tight that sometimes he puked it up. That always got his aunt's attention and she promptly put him to bed for rest. He tried to argue that it was probably lingering effects from his stay in the Negative Zone, which only made her more certain that he needed rest.

Nonetheless, May kept a positive attitude on the whole thing. Almost like trying to distract herself and Peter that their lives weren't degraded to sewer rats. She kept promising Peter that things would get better, and that they could go back to their old lives soon, but each time she said it, there was less conviction in her words. Like she knew it was a lie, but tried to believe in it.

Peter knew it was a lie. The Accords continued to reign terror with Mr. Stark at its helm. Captain America and his team did their best to counter the Accords' actions, but their numbers dwindled too. Many abandoned the group to hide somewhere else and others were captured by agents. Every night, people shared solemn glances to one another when news trickled down that someone disappeared. It sent shivers right up Peter's spine and straight to his head, reminders of what happened to him when he got caught.

May pushed her hair back as Peter finished his last bite. "How you feeling champ? Better now?"

Peter always answered with a yes. "Yes."

"Good," May said, as she reached over to brush back a few strands of his hair. "You know this isn't a permanent thing, right? We'll get out of here soon."

Again, Peter answered, "Yeah, I know."

"Good," she affirmed back, "as long as we have each other, we'll be fine."

"Yeah." And that was the only time he meant it.

May pressed the water forward to Peter, which he chugged a gulp to satisfy his aunt's anxiety. "What plans do you have for today?" she asked. It was a question she asked every day. And, mostly, Peter responded with the same, indifferent shrug.

"I don't know," Peter shrugged. Normally around this time he would be with Mr. Stark or Happy, working in a lab or practicing boxing in the ring. That didn't matter though. Not at the moment. That was the past. He was in the present, needing to find something that would engage him. "I guess I'll read or something. Not really much to do now. I've seen everything."

May nodded along. "Yeah, but, hey—chin up, right?" she said, tapping underneath his chin. "Things will get better. Gotta believe it."

Sometimes Peter did, but as the days wore on and turned into more days, which grew into weeks, that hope diminished quickly.

Nights were always the hardest for Peter. Particularly tonight when Peter struggled to sleep. His mind buzzed with torturous reminders of Powers slamming his aunt's head. Of being told to fire the gun. Of listening to Mr. Stark's lies. It burned in his head and bled through the rest of his body. Some nights, when his thoughts were too intense to even close his eyes, Peter stealthily slipped out of his shared cot with his aunt to take a walk along the tunnels. It was something to do. Burn off the nervous energy that ate at him. It was hard to discern the feeling in his gut as starvation or emotional turmoil.

Late that night when his thoughts bombarded him to the point he wanted to squeeze his brain into mush. Restlessly awake, Peter snuck out of his shared room with May to stroll the cavernous corridors of their underground lair. The thick scent of mold sickened him and the soft humming of electricity's current going through a string of lights down the tunnels annoyed him. He would never considered himself as being claustrophobic, but living underground after a week turned him into one.

The tunnels were empty at this time of night. Most of the civilians that hid underground with their loved ones were asleep like May. Even a few super-powered individuals were tucked and nestled in for the night. Peter did his best to keep his feet light and his presence invisible as he moved down the tunnels. No need to bother anyone or let anyone know he was strolling around the tunnels.

"SHIELD units picked up Minoru early tonight."

Peter stopped walking. That sounded like Steve. Peter looked up and down the tunnels. He didn't see Captain America anywhere.

"Jones, Minoru… who's next?"

That sounded like Hawkeye. Peter tip-toed down the tunnel, listening as the voices got a little louder. Peter pressed himself against the walls, doing his best to blend into the walls, not carry that drips of condensations dropped on his head. It was filthy anyway with the limited water sources they had.

"Nobody," Captain America said, sounding affirmed in his declaration. "Not if we can help it."

"There's been an increase in agents patrolling the area," Peter heard Natasha say as he drew closer to a somewhat jarred door. "For every man we gain, we lose three."

"All of them sent to that prison of theirs... what is it called? The Hole?" challenged another voice Peter didn't recognize.

"Negative Zone," corrected Captain America. "That's what Dr. Richards' dubbed it. As does Dr. Strange."

Peter got to the door and peeked between the cracks. There were a handful of people surrounding a table. Captain America was at its head, standing up while Nat was on his right, sitting with legs crossed. Beside her was Hawkeye. On Cap's other side was Sam Wilson and Scarlet Witch. They were also standing, with Sam's arms crossed and Scarlet Witch leaned over the table, looking at something on the table Peter couldn't quite view. The others were people he met in passing, not interested in getting to know him.

There was a squeak of a chair scraping across the stone floor. A woman with platinum, blonde hair falling over her dirtied, white hoodie stood with hands in fists. "Then we need to destroy it! Get them out!"

"It's not that simple," Captain America answered. "Johnny said Reed updated security that it's impossible for anyone to enter the Baxter Building. Including himself."

"Because he insulted his brother-in-law," quipped Hawkeye. "Anyway, it's not Reed's tech. It's Stark's. His programs are unbeatable. Unhackable."

Peter thought. He worked on Mr. Stark's technology, learned the designs and the codes to create different systems. Most of it was for fun, but Peter worked on a few projects relating to Stark Industries and Avengers business. Securities, weapons, and even the helicarrier cloaking system. Peter had a fair amount of knowledge on Mr. Stark's technological set-ups.

A voice interrupted his thoughts. "Why don't we just call up Strange to go free everyone?"

"Because he's not interested," replied Captain America.

"He saved the boy!"

Him. She was talking about him.

"That was for a different reason."

From the way the woman huffed and lips thinned into a straight line, she didn't accept that answer. "My partner is inside that prison. He did nothing wrong! But Stark sent him there because he refused him. What's the difference? What makes Spidey-boy any different than my friend?"

There was a long, awkward pause. "There isn't, but Dr. Strange made his choice. We must respect his decision."

"It's a stupid decision," piped up a curly hair man. "My team is broken. I'm the only one left. Matthew Murdock. Jessica Jones. Luke Cage—

Peter perked up at the name. Luke! The man knew Luke. They were teammates. Luke never mentioned teammates from before. Was there a falling out? Or did Luke get captured and made the decision to join to avoid the Negative Zone?

Probably the last one.

"The only reason there are more SHIELD units on the street is because of that kid," continued the hot-headed curly-haired man that used to be Luke's teammate. "He's the reason Jones was taken. They're looking for him."

Peter's brows furrowed. They were searching for him? Why? Mr. Stark had a whole army at his command. He didn't need him.

"We don't know that," Captain America countered.

"It's the reason, Cap," Sam reasoned. "Increase number of agents swarming the city—this particular city? Danny's right. Stark wants the kid back."

Panic began like a cluster of spark plugs in his abdomen. His heart seized at the sudden shock. It shouldn't come as a surprise. When he first escaped the Compound over the fence, they had sent a squad after him, along with assassins. Even Mr. Stark participated in his recapture.

But why him? He wasn't special. He wasn't extremely powerful like other superheroes. He was Peter Parker. A stupid, foolish kid from Queens. And besides, Peter wouldn't go along with Mr. Stark's plan. He wouldn't help him take out Team Captain America. He won't kill anyone. He won't follow his orders. Surely Mr. Stark knew that.

"Or he just wants to know how we got the kid from a place that is supposed to be impenetrable?" Black Widow offered, shooting up a single brow in challenge toward Sam. "That there's someone out there that can create portals into the Negative Zone? I would be freaking out if I was him, especially if they start stealing its occupants."

"Well, in any case, Tony can't have him," Steve asserted, ignoring it altogether. "And that's not our focus. We need to find a way into the building. Get to the portal and shut it down."

"That's near impossible," Scarlet Witch stated. Dark, red strands of her hair fell over her intense gaze. "Only way to get in is through force, which would be suicide for us."

Peter watched Steve's shoulders sagged, letting out a long, tired sigh. A man at the end of his thread. "There is this window of opportunity," he said, eyeing everyone in the room. "If we can get pass the security system in place and shut down the portal, then we can be reunited with our friends and loved ones."

Peter twisted around, squatting low as he tried to crack the door a little wider. He needed to hear this. After all, he worked alongside Mr. Stark and his many projects. He worked on the man's technology all the time. Mr. Stark taught him coding and programming, and Peter became proficient in working with Stark's technology.

"We need to figure out a way to beat Stark's coding," Steve came to his finishing conclusion. "Until then, we have no chance in freeing our friends and closing the portal for good."

He could help the team get passed the security system, and to the portal in Dr. Richards' lab.

Peter decided to reveal himself. He pushed the door all the way open and stepped inside the room.

"I can do it."

Everyone turned at once. Multiple pair of eyes looking right at him. Some with skepticism, others with incredulity. And one with somber knowledge.

"Peter—" began Steve, but he was quickly cut off by Falcon.

"What are you doing here?" Sam demanded. "This is a closed-door meeting.

"The door was open," Peter returned.

"And how long have you been listening at the door?" Sam challenged. "What? Planning a way to counter-strike us?"

"Easy, Sam," quipped Hawkeye. "No need to be testy."

Peter was hurt. For them to even consider that he would betray them after all they did to save his aunt and rescue him was painfully deprecating. "I-I wouldn't do that! Not after everything he did to me," he said, bitter at their resentment of him, before he turned to Steve. "I can help. I've seen the portal. I watched Dr. Richards work it."

That got everyone in the room tensed, and more faces scrutinized him with suspicion. Peter ignored them though, focused on Captain America as his brain filtered in the information Peter just released. As long as Captain America approved, then everyone else would follow and listen. He hoped.

Unfortunately, Steve didn't speak up. Rather, Scarlet Witch's eyes glowed right at him. "You know how to hack Stark tech? When the most advanced geniuses struggle to even mimic his technology," she commented with skepticism, "you say you can?"

He never said it like that. "That's not... look—Mr. Stark trusted me. He taught me his coding and programming," he explained. "I know how Mr. Stark thinks. I can figure a way out around the code—"

"So you can alert him we're coming?" grumbled the curly, frizzled hair of an irate man named Danny. "Because that's the last thing we need."

"I-I… no!" Peter argued and he turned his pleading look back to Steve. "Look—Cap, Mr. Stark let me work on his tech. I know how he programs them to do—"

"Told ya," said a platinum blonde woman, dressed in jeans and a white hoodie. "Stark's protégé."

Peter's jaw hardened, teeth grinding at the woman's words. "I'm not his protégé."

"Yet you know all about how his mind works and can beat his unbeatable tech?" she accused as a few around her murmur in agreement.

Steve looked crossed at the woman. "That's enough Dagger."

Dagger huffed in response, but said nothing more. Yet, Peter sensed her accusatory thoughts, among others who now studied him with a drop of paranoia.

Steve let out a deep sigh. "Everyone? Give me a minute with Peter."

"Cap—"

"It's all right, Sam," Captain America reassured the Falcon. "It won't take long."

Everyone moved to the door. Peter stayed still as they walked passed him. Some glared, and others like Black Widow, gave him a sympathetic smile before disappearing and leaving Peter with Steve Rogers.

"I can do this," Peter insisted as the great hero moved around the table toward him. "You know I can."

"I don't doubt your talents," replied Steve.

Peter's heart sank. "You doubt my loyalty?"

Steve shook his head. "I'm not asking for your loyalty," he said and he pulled two chairs before gesturing one to Peter. "Take a seat."

Peter sat, thinking he was about to receive a lecture. After all, Captain America did those videos for his school. It would not surprise him to be hearing one of them now.

Steve stared at him for a moment, his hands folded on his lap. "May spoke to me earlier today," he started, throwing Peter completely off-guard. "Said you weren't eating."

"What? I eat," Peter automatically stated, pondering for reasons why his aunt would talk to Captain America about his eating habits. "I eat every day… how does it have anything to do with beating Mr. Stark?"

"It doesn't. We're concerned. Your aunt says you're not eating enough," Steve measured him fully, taking in the dirty hair, the chalky appearance and the slender built that needed energy to sustain itself. "And I think she's right. With your metabolism, you should be eating the same amount I am every day, but you… I saw you struggle to finish a banana."

Peter furrowed his eyebrows at the bizarre comment, but then remembered that morning of giving away his banana to one of Hawkeye's children to finish. He hadn't realized Captain America was nearby, watching the exchange.

"I was full," Peter tried to dismiss.

"It was breakfast. You just woke up."

He couldn't believe this. He volunteered for a mission to stop Mr. Stark and he was receiving a lecture on his eating habits. And it was ridiculous! He ate! And, maybe he doesn't eat as much as he should, but there's little to go around. Peter didn't need to horde all the food when others were struggling to feel full too.

And this was pointless! There were bigger concerns to worry about.

"I eat. Okay? Maybe not a lot, but there's not a lot to go around and everyone needs to eat. Not just me, so… it's fine. I'm fine. Not starving or anything." Peter defended himself, hoping that would end this inane discussion.

Captain America, apparently, had more concerns to list. "What about your insomnia?"

Peter was blown away by these sudden accusations. "I sleep too!"

Steve shot him a humored look. After all, they were both sitting beside one another, talking at around two in the morning. Not exactly a normal sleep schedule.

"Okay, well, I sleep. Just not at the hours everyone else does," Peter amended, grumpily. "I get enough."

"Three to four hours isn't enough, son."

"Mr. Stark sleeps that much!"

Peter stiffened. His mouth went dry and his stomach fluttered in nerves. He didn't mean to say that. His name. That man's name. It just came out. And now, it settled between him and Steve, leaving a heavy tension for them to burden.

Tightness in his chest, he quickly tried to retract his words. "I-I… I'm s-sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's okay, Peter," Steve's voice sounded sad and heavy. "You're right. Stark only sleeps about three hours, if any. I don't know how many times Pepper had to force him to go to bed. Presumably a lot."

Peter remembered the numerous times Pepper called Mr. Stark to remind him that Peter couldn't stay up the whole night in the labs or garage. Sometimes she would make an appearance to drag Peter to his bedroom for a good nights' rest, warning him to not pick up on Mr. Stark's bad habits.

It made him smile a little before his stomach grumbled in protest. He needed to stop thinking back to those false memories. They had no meaning anymore.

"Peter?" Steve called to get his attention again. "Are you okay?"

"Of course I am," Peter rebuffed. "Never felt better."

His stomach gave him an unpleasant flip.

Steve stared at him, like he knew Peter's answer was wrong. "What you went through, I imagine it's not easy for a person to overcome, let alone a child."

"I'm not a child," Peter said, but he bit his tongue for his petulant rebuttal. What was the point? For a man out of time, Peter was practically a baby in his eyes.

Steve wasn't hindered by the interruption. "You can talk to me about it," he said, propping his elbows against his knees as he leaned closer to Peter. "What happened there at the Compound or even in the Negative Zone... I don't mind listening."

Captain America thought he was disturbed. Troubled in the mind from his abuse and incarceration. But he was fine! Thinking clearly and vividly. He wasn't broken or ruined. He was fine. Alive and with his aunt again. Everything was fine.

"I'm fine," Peter reiterated. "Really. I'm good. There's nothing wrong. I'm fine. And I'm ready to help. Help you and the team out on missions. I have talents and I've been training forever. I can help, Captain."

He saw Steve's answer in his eyes before the hero answered. "You've already been through enough, son," he said, voice gentle and not prickled by his insistence, which would often annoyed Mr. Stark whenever Peter battered him with the same questions. "This isn't your fight. Be with your aunt. Be a kid."

"I can't do that," Peter stated and when Steve started to argue, he interrupted him. "No, no, no, you don't understand. This is my fight now. Mr. Stark took nine months of my life! He manipulated me. Lied to me. He... I need to get him back!"

Steve discouragingly frowned. "You shouldn't seek revenge, Peter."

"Isn't that what you're doing?" Peter accused, not appreciating the dismissal of his reasons to join the fight against Mr. Stark.

"No."

"But you were just talking about breaking into the Baxter Building! Stopping him—"

"I talked about freeing people who were unlawfully imprisoned," Steve corrected, tone firm like his words were stone rather than air. "I never said I was going to fight Tony."

Peter was annoyed. He thought Captain America and his team were going to stop Mr. Stark. Make it possible for him and his aunt to return to Queens. Return to normalcy. And the only way to do that was to stop the man.

"Why not?"

"Because he's my friend."

It took a moment for Peter to process Steve's word through his stunned mind. His breath hitched in his throat, eyes widening in betrayal and then fear. He scooted away from the captain, almost feeling like he needed to shout for the others. Tell them Captain America was working for Mr. Stark.

"Relax, son," Captain America assuaged like he knew what was running in Peter's mind, "I'm not working for Stark, but I'm also not going to kill him."

"He has no problems wanting to kill you," Peter hotly remarked, thinking about all the training he done. All the lessons on defense, counter-attacking, knowing where to knock a person down. Knowing how to fire a gun. "That's what he wanted me to do. To kill you."

Steve didn't look bothered by that revelation. "I'm not sure that's true," he said. "He may have thought you could subdue me—you are strong—but I don't think his intentions are as dire as you say."

Peter shook his head. No, Captain America was getting it. Peter was there. He lived and trained at the Compound. Mr. Stark was creating an army. All of them trained killers. What's the need for any army if you weren't planning to kill?

Still, Steve didn't take Peter's warning to heart. "He's hurt, Peter. There are things in our past... things I think we both regret," he acknowledged with rue flickering in those blue eyes. "We may have taken different paths, but it doesn't mean we want the other dead. Tony is a good man, who's trying to do what he thinks is the right thing."

Peter skewered his face into an obnoxious incredulity. Peter also once believed Mr. Stark would never do any harm against him or others. After all, he was once Iron Man. A hero. A good man.

Not anymore. "A good man?" Peter practically spat out. "Did you not listen to me saying he took nine months of my life?! Or that he tried to hurt my aunt?"

It took Peter a lot of effort to keep his tone leveled and to not raise his voice. It wouldn't look good to shout at Captain America. Even if the hero was being an idiot.

He glared, jaw clenched. "You call him kidnapping and holding me hostage a right thing?"

Steve was unfazed by Peter's temper. He still sat composed. Like a good soldier. "No, but I know he believes what he's doing is the right thing.

"Peter—you lived in the city your whole life, correct?" Steve suddenly asked him.

Peter nodded, not sure what the point was in the question.

"Then you remember the Battle of New York."

Again, Peter nodded. Images of aliens raining down onto the city, knocking whole skyscrapers down as six individuals faced against them. A nuke propelling to the city until Iron Man caught him. He watched Iron Man send it straight to the dark hole in the sky. He watched his hero disappeared into that darkness. Peter remembered holding his breath, wondering if Iron Man was gone forever.

But then he came back. The hole closed and he fell from the sky. Falling. Falling. Falling.

Peter swallowed. "Yeah… I remember it."

Steve nodded along, somber, as if he too remembered that tragedy. "Tony hardly spoke about what happened when he went through the hole," he said. "He came back… quieter. Whatever he saw, it freaked him out and he refused to discuss it. With any of us. Anyone to be honest.

"Instead, he dived into his work," Steve continued. "Worked on all sorts of things. Created new tech that was going to safeguard Earth and its populace, but… he got carried away. Bad things happened."

"You mean… the thing that happened in Sokovia? In Berlin?"

"Yes," Steve said. He took a breath to steel himself what he had to say next. "Point is, Peter, Tony isn't a bad person. He's a good man who is consumed by all his fears, troubling him to the brink that he will do whatever it takes. Everything Tony's doing is—in his mind—he's doing it for the greater good. However, as you can attest, the ends don't justify the means."

Peter frowned, but he realized Steve may be right about Mr. Stark. The man always looked haunted, even when he smiled. Like he knew a deadly secret and was unable to tell anyone. There was a sense of possession too. The man needed his hands on everything to make sure it all worked his way. Because his way was the only guaranteed way to get anything done right.

Still, the man was wrong. Mr. Stark hurt him. He used him! Peter trusted him and he abused that trust for his own personal gains. "Doesn't mean I have to forgive him."

"You don't," Steve assented. "But, you understand now why I doubt Tony would kill me. And why I won't hurt him… and why you won't hurt him either."

Peter was flabbergasted by the comment. Of course he wanted to get back at Mr. Stark! The man ruined him! He lied and manipulated, and he did it for power. "That's not true! I… he…I-I would kick his ass... I mean, butt, sir—Captain. I would! Really. I would do it. I would."

It sounded weak. Little conviction and that only made Captain America arch an eyebrow very knowingly. "Would you?" Steve turned his chair around, so that his knees bumped into Peter's legs. "Peter—have you wondered why you've been suffering from loss of appetite, insomnia, nausea, and headaches ever since you came here?"

"They're side effects of being in the Hole."

Steve slowly shook his head. "I'm afraid not, son," he disclosed. "That pain—that anger you're feeling… it stems from betrayal."

Peter stared right at Steve, uncomprehending the message Steve was trying to tell him. Because the man was wrong. It was side effects from being in the Hole. He knows! He knows.

Steve disagreed. "What you're feeling Peter is grief," he clarified for the kid, "You're hurt because the person you trusted and cared for betrayed you. It has nothing to do with the Negative Zone. Those symptoms shouldn't have lasted past day two. These symptoms—loss of appetite, insomnia, nausea—it's grief for the loss of someone you care about."

Peter shook his head back and forth. Only to hide the tremors that were raging the rest of his body. "I-I don't care… I don't!"

"It's okay, Peter. I'm not judging you."

No. It was not. Steve got it wrong! Peter didn't care about Mr. Stark. That two-faced bastard tricked him, used him and never did he ever give a damn about it at all. And that was all fine because Peter didn't give a damn about him either! He never did!

His heart hammered in his chest. He pressed his hand to it and hissed in pain. It hurt. Heart pumping, overworking and fire spreading from his chest down his left arm, numbing it all. His throat squeezed and air staggered out, and Peter inhaled. One breath… another breath… come on, he needed another breath…

But it didn't stop the emotions from spewing out. They leaked out onto his face, running down his check to his chin as he continued to try to get a grip on himself. Not embarrass himself in front of Captain America. Or to have Captain America think of him as a broken child. He wasn't broken. He wasn't crying. And he wasn't weak. He wasn't hungry. He wasn't sleepy. He wasn't…

He wasn't himself.

Steve must have gotten out of his seat for he hovered at Peter's side, hand on his shoulder and brows knitted in concern. "Peter? Son? Breathe. Take deeper, slower breaths for me. That's it. Good. Good. Everything is going to be fine."

Peter shook his head. "No… n-no… I can't…"

"It's okay, Peter."

Peter sniffled, loudly. He didn't know why, but he reached out and grabbed a hold of Captain America's arms and held tight. "Why does it hurt so much?"

He heard Steve's sad sigh. "Because you loved him."

The ache grew. Peter hated himself. He hated himself for crying over a traitor. For crying over someone who lied to him. Who used him, had plans to use him to hurt people. He hated that Captain America knew. He hated that he broke down in front of the hero.

But, Steve patted his back, comforting him nonetheless. "It's hard to lose someone."

He didn't lose anyone though. That's the sickening part. He didn't lose anyone like he lost his parents. Or his uncle. Mr. Stark was alive. He walked. Breathed. Ate. Joked. Slept. Woke up. Yet, Peter brimmed with anger and sorrow, shredding him in half. His mind pounded. A tiny scrap of hope scratching into his mind with false hopes that the man Peter knew didn't vanished. The face wasn't a mask. It wasn't an act.

But the darkness that opened in the middle of his chest, gulping him down, told him the truth.

Something draped over him. It was Steve's jacket. "You're shivering," he explained and he adjusted it to ensure it covered Peter properly. "There. Oh, and here—"

And suddenly, Captain America was holding an orange for him to eat. Peter, trembling, took the orange and picked at the peel. He still wasn't hungry and his stomach tensed, but he needed the distraction.

"I'm sorry," Peter's voice sounded frail, sniveling. "I don't know why…"

"Don't worry about it, Peter. I too was saddened by what happened between Tony and me," Steve said, as he knelt in front of Peter, making him feel smaller than he already felt. "Life goes on though."

"It's different for me though," Peter said, soft and hurt. "You were actually a friend of Mr. Stark's before all of this. I wasn't." He lowered his chin as he slouched in his chair. "I was nothing to him."

"I don't think that's necessarily true."

Peter scoffed. Captain America. Always the blind optimist. "He inserted a chip in me to control me. He sent killers after me. He threw me into the Hole," he listed off. "He doesn't give a damn about me unless I follow him like a good puppy."

When Peter heard no reply, he glanced up at the man. Steve wore an interesting expression. Kind, but sad.

"What?"

"I believe when the time comes," Steve said, carefully and thoughtfully, "Tony would do it."

That left Peter even more befuddled than before. "Do what?"

"Choose you."

"For what?"

"Over power."

Peter drew his brows together in an incredulous furrow. Wasn't Steve listening to anything he said? Mr. Stark shoved him into the Hole. Sent out his worst enemy upon him and his aunt. He would wipe Peter out of existence before he ever sided with him. The man Peter once knew was gone, or more appropriately, never existed for him.

"You haven't been around him," Peter snubbed Captain America's belief as ridiculous. "He's not the person you think he is. That person you knew once. He's not that guy."

"Maybe," Steve solemnly acknowledged, "but I'm the type of person who believes the best in people. I still believe in Tony. I still believe he would do the right thing when it comes time.

"But you're right, we aren't the same men we once were," Steve rose up to his full height. "I wish Tony and I came to an agreement, but the truth is, we are too different in our causes. I believe in having personal rights and freedom, and Tony—he just wants Earth to be safe, and I can't fault him on that.

"But putting a gun to every head and saying it's for security… it's not freedom," Steve said, his voice sounding small and difficult, like he struggled to believe what was happening outside the tunnels. "The safest hands are still our own. I can't turn away from people who need help. No matter the cost."

Steve draped a hand on Peter's shoulder. "That includes you, son," he said. "I can't have you joining us, even if you know how to hack Stark's tech. It's too much of a risk for you, and the team. I can't do it. Especially not to your aunt. She lost you twice, Peter. Don't let her lose you a third time."

As much as Peter wanted to argue, to stomp his feet and rebel against Captain America's decision, he knew the hero was right. He was probably the ranking technological expert out of everyone down in the tunnels, but it was still nowhere near the expertise level of Mr. Stark. Peter may get a good run on it, but eventually, it would alert Mr. Stark and send his men to them. Peter would be taken. And he would lose his aunt all over again.

Peter slumped, dropping his chin in his palm and let out a frustrated gruff. He hated that Captain America was right.

"How do you plan to outsmart Mr. Stark then?" Peter inquired. "Get pass the systems and break everyone out of the Hole?"

"I'll think of something," Steve answered, simply.

Peter gravely shook his head. "He's got what he needs, Captain," he warned as he stood up from his chair as well, but he wasn't close to the height of Captain America. "He has an army. He has the tech. He has the world's government siding with him."

"Well aware."

Peter tentatively weaved his fingers together. "You don't stand a chance."

Steve had to think for a moment. "Maybe not, but we'll do our best. We'll do the right thing, even if everyone tries to stop us," he stated, shoulders backed and looking every part of the legendary soldier everyone knew. "It might take a day, a week, a month or even a year, but we will free those from the Negative Zone. Until then, we have to keep our head up. Keep on moving. Never stopping. Never giving up on doing what is right."

Peter wished there was a faster way to save everyone. "There really isn't another way?"

Steve sighed deeply, hand brushing under his chin. "No. There's only one portal," he answered. "That's our one shot."

"But… you guys said this Strange fellow could get to the Hole without going through Dr. Richards' portal."

"He can."

"Did you ask him for help?"

"We did."

"And… he said no? Like that?"

Steve nodded in disappointment. "He said his duties lie on preserving the realms and a stone. Not our squabble, which he has repeatedly told me is mute in the greater scheme of things." He pushed the chair back to the table. "It doesn't matter. We'll find another way. It would have been great if Dr. Strange helped. Would reunite loved ones quicker than our current plan.

"But he doesn't want to and we cannot force someone to do something they don't want to do," Captain America finished. "We have to move on and think of another way. It's all we have unless Dr. Strange changes his mind and assists us, but as I said before, he won't do it. Not for us anyway."

Captain America headed to the door. Their conversation at an ending.

Peter remained standing, head tilted as an idea formulated in his head. He thought of his uncle's words to him. Power and responsibility. Peter followed that motto of balancing power and responsibility. To do the right thing despite the hardships and obstacles in one's path. If this Dr. Strange had the power to free those enslaved or unlawfully incarcerated, then he had the responsibility to do so, no matter if the fight holds little interest in the grand design. Lives were at stake! Freedoms stripped! Democracy at peril!

The fight for their lives were upon them.

Maybe Captain America and the others won't approve of his interference, but Peter knew that what he had to do. Dr. Strange saved him, maybe Peter could get him to save a few more too.

As Peter trekked back to his temporary home, he busied planning his next great escape.