A/N) Yeah, I'm sorry. This was really late. Some family matters came up. Stuff about whether we should move back to our homeland or not, and stuff like that. Anyways, I got a little distracted. But, I did make this chapter a little longer, and Loki makes an appearance! Yay!

Well, enjoy!

Chapter 7

It had been two weeks since the fire accident, and Peter was yet to work up the courage to visit aunt May. Mrs. Mason was willing to take him to the hospital, and the other children in the home said it would be a good idea to see her while he could. (Them being orphans).

But Peter wasn't sure... how could he face her now, after her reaction that night? Her blank stare still followed him everywhere he went, accusing him. 'Why are you leaving me here alone? Why are you keeping such secrets from me? Don't you trust me...? No. You leave me here because you are selfish, and you don't want to see your dear old aunt. You keep your secrets because you feel I am too... idiotic to understand! No, you don't trust me. And I don't trust you. You are a horrible nephew, and I regret ever taking care of you!'

There was no way to escape the voices, the stare... it was there to stay. And it only got worse when he was Spider-man. 'So this is what you were doing? You stupid nephew! You would rather look after complete strangers than your own aunt? How typical of a selfish, arrogant, evil, villanious nephew! Nobody likes you! Do you think that they will like you if you continue to do this? No! You should just leave it to the police! You're still the same idiotic nephew!'

And Peter couldn't even protest. Over the long fortnight that he had been away from his aunt, he had convinced himself that it was true. He was evil, and villanious... he was a waste of space. And as a result, he was becoming more and more quiet and distant to the people around him. He didn't mean to... he just was.

Peter continued to go to school, but he didn't participate nearly as much. He just absently scribbled in his notebook... he didn't care if it was words or doodles, and he didn't notice much. He was too busy being tormented by the voice in his head...

He didn't talk to Flash at all, and if Flash tried to instigate a conversation, he just ignored him. Everyone around him was getting hurt, so there was no point in trying to further other relationships. In the end, they would all be hurt.

Every night, when his roomie (Thomas) was asleep, Peter would curl up into a ball, and sob himself to sleep. He made sure to always stuff part of his pillow into his mouth to stifle the sound. He didn't want to disturb the others in the home; they had been through enough already. Thomas was only eleven, and he was already an orphan- not only did this mean that his job as Spider-man was not helping children at all, but it also meant he was being a self-pitying, over-dramatizing idiot, once more. Here he was, pitying himself for the death of his uncle, while Thomas was trucking on through with no parents at all. At least he still had aunt May. For this reason, Peter did not want to disturb his slumber.

And just like he didn't want to disturb Thomas, he didn't want to disturb anyone else. It took a while, but he eventually worked out a timetable that would allow him to avoid mostly everyone. Every morning at five, he would wake up, have a shower, get dressed, and brush his teeth. He would then go out and be Spider-man until half six. He would change back into his mufty, and have a minimal breakfast, (usually consisting of only one cup of coffee and an apple), and would escape to school early before any of the other children woke up. Most of the time, Mrs. Mason would still be in the shower at this point.

He would leave at quarter-to-seven and arrive at school at twenty-past-seven. Then he would finish his homework for that day until school opened at eight-thirty. As soon as the gates opened, he would head in and seat himself right outside of class. He would ignore everyone until class started, and he would start scribbling in his book.

Then he would leave school at half two, do a few rounds of Spider-man until five, and go back to Mrs. Mason's. The only person that would be around at this time, (which he rarely was- he worked full time at Ravencroft prison, and stayed there most of the week) would be Mrs. Mason's son. Peter would once again eat a minimalist meal, (usually leftovers of some kind), and head out once more at quarter-to-six, as Spider-man. He would do this until nine, when he would drop in, (so no one queried about whether he had run away) and fauxed going to bed at half nine. By then, Thomas will have been asleep, and he went out as Spider-man once more. Finally, he would come back at two o'clock in the morning, giving him a total of three hour's of sleep every day.

On weekends, he spent all day as Spider-man. He really didn't want to be anything but Spider-man right now. Spider-man was strong, and didn't let things get him down. Peter Parker was... weak. And selfish, and- 'That's right, Peter. You sure are weak, and selfish. I'm glad I got at least one bit of common sense into that thick skull of yours.' Sneered a familiar voice. Peter didn't ignore it, but he didn't give it any more attention than it needed. That would no doubt only encourage it, and, because he was selfish, he didn't want to encourage it at all.

It was currently five-past-five in the afternoon, and he was in his civilian clothes, (namely an old pair of jeans and an Iron-man hoodie that he was yet to get rid of. He had become less and less fond of the Avengers and their merchandise since the incident with Black Widow and Hawkeye) on his way back to Mrs. Mason's house. Unlike when he still lived in the small apartment that he and aunt May shared (he did not miss the apartment- it was small, moldy, damp, and had no sense of privacy), he did not look in the dumpsters for scraps of metal. He went straight back to the home, with his hood up, and his head down.

When Peter went to open the door to the house, he was surprised to find it open. He slowly slid the door open, hesitantly, in case of burglars, but he had no need to worry. As soon as he opened the door, he was greeted with a friendly, "Hello, Peter!"

It was a male's voice, which he barely recognised, because he had only heard it once before. It had been on a voice-mail he had overheard Mrs. Mason listening to. It was Mrs. Mason's son.

Peter dawdled slightly on the doorstep, but slipped off his shoes and went straight into the kitchen soon after. "... Hi." He mumbled when he spotted the young male before him.

Peter didn't know how old he was, but he looked to be in his early-to-mid twenties. He had brown hair and hazel eyes, (like his mother) and a bristly chin. He was currently munching on a peice of dried apple, from the packet in his hand. He was smiling proudly to himself, like he had just won first place in a competition.

His grin only widened when he spotted Peter's hoodie. "Hey, Pete," Peter mentally wincd at the use of a nickname. He hardly knew this person; was he really already using nicknames already? He didn't even know this guy's name! "You like Iron-man?" He questioned.

Peter didn't. No, not any more- he used to admire him and his genious, along with Bruce Banner, but as he said previously, not anymore. They had gotten on his bad side recently. But Mrs. Mason's son's smile was so bright, he didn't have the heart to tell him that. He nodded slightly instead, and perched himself on the wooden table in the middle of the kitchen. He tried to look as friendly as possible, but he could feel his face fall into a small frown. The other in the room didn't seem to notice though, so he assumed it wasn't so bad.

"Well," said the son, and he paused a little, for dramatic effect. Before, earlier in the year, Peter might have felt the suspense, but now, he didn't really feel the need. In fact, he was more annoyed than anything. He wanted to get out and continue being Spider-man, not hang around in here. "You'll never guess who I ran into!"

Peter mentally rolled his eyes. Did he think that Peter was some kind of stupid kid? ('You are, though!') He went to Midtown Science High school! Why would he mention Iron-man at the begining of this conversation if it wasn't going in that direction?

But Peter put on his best earnest look, and leaned forwards, "Who did you see?" He asked, like he suspected Thomas might've at one point, before his parents had been killed. But when your parents die, strange things happen to you.

"I met... the Tony Stark!" He said, with the brightest of all smiles planted firmly on his lips. Peter tried to imitate the look, or at least seem excited at the news, But his face was just not in the mood for happy things right now. "Now I know what you're thinking..." He continued, probably not noticing Peter's outer grimace. "But Ricky, you don't have any proof!" Peter assumed that 'Ricky' was his name. 'Ricky' leaned forwards, and rested his chin on his palm with a proud smirk on his face. "Well, Peter, as it turns out, I do have proof!" He exclaimed, swiping a peice of scrap paper from his back pocket. Something was scrawled on the back in somewhat scrappy handwriting.

Now genuinely curious, Peter leaned forward further to get a better look. He could vaguely make out the words 'Tony Stark' written on it. "His... signature?" Peter muttered to himself.

"Yup!" said Ricky, and put the paper back in his pocket. "He gave it to me while he was visiting!" said Ricky excitedly. "I can't wait to show Jake! Did you know, he likes Iron-man too..." And then he started to ramble, so Peter blocked him out. He was still concentrating on that last part. Tony Stark had visited Ravencroft? Peter wondered why... Stark industries had never really shown interest in jails, even when they were still making weapons.

Was Tony meeting someone in the prison? Nah, that couldn't be it. He wouldn't associate with such people- it would put a dent in that pristine, perfect, face of his. And, being the face of the Avengers, he couldn't really have that. They needed to be angels on earth, after all, Peter thought snarkily.

Okay, so maybe he held the tiniest of grudges.

.o0|O|0o.

Loki raised a hand daintily to stare deeply at the watch on his wrist. Despite their stupidity, mortals really did make useful equipment; such as this 'watch', for example. It told him the exact time of day, and he didn't even have to look at the sun! It truly was an amazing tool, and he used it often.

It was currently 9: 47. Loki had learned that in this world, this meant that it was nearing sun-down. Another day down, Loki thought, and reached effortlessly up to scratch out another line on the grubby wall, for his tally-chart. He was counting down the days before he would move on to the next step in his plan.

He was looking forward to the inevitable day that he would succeed. This time, instead of going all out in full sight, he was going to be the puppet-master in the shadows. The silent guide, who would show the way to his enemies' demise. All with the help of a pretty little spider, of course...

Things were going well so far. He had successfully framed Spider-man's enemies, and SHIELD was after Spider-man- undoubtably for some kind of help. He doubted that they knew how to deal with these enemies just yet, seeing as they had no idea what their objective was. Spider-man would know for sure, was their thoughts. They had interacted with Spider-man, which he had been worried about at first. But Spider-man could easily hold his own, it seemed. He had defeated Hawkeye and Black Widow with relative ease, which was not only reasuring, but also worrying. He had not planned for Spider-man to be this strong, and he hoped that he had enough power to control him. Other than that small worry, everything had gone to plan. The Avengers were... so easy to control, it was almost laughable. In fact, only Spider-man had been the least bit of trouble, but not even he knew that he was being manipulated.

Loki eyed the staff in his hands. He had managed to steal it back when he had escaped that day, thanks to his mother. He smirked a little at it, knowing that the Chitauris' master had not expected him to be able to charge it up with his own energy. The abilities of the staff were for all to use; so long as you had the energy to charge it. Which he did.

Loki stood up, and took his time looking for a good place to lay down. (He had gained a sore back leaning up against this wall. At least the prison had beds...) This room was relatively abandoned, with cob-webs and musty stains on the metals and stone around him. It smelled of puke here (for whatever reason. Loki did not quite want to know why) which was rather unpleasant, but other than that, it was the perfact hiding place.

He was surrounded by steaming pipes, that heated the building above, and he was underground. The maze of tangled pipes was enough protection, really. You couldn't fly over them, you couldn't crawl under them... you had to make your way around on the ground, while also avoiding the boiling-hot pipes. He supposed this was why it was so abandoned- no one wanted second degree burns. Especially humans; they had such a slow healing rate.

There was one exit, (that was not in view here), but he knew that it was hidden behind the mass of pipes to his left. No one would want to come this far into the room, if they came here at all. That was why it was perfect.

In the end, Loki decided on just sleeping on the concrete floor, using his arm as a pillow. Just two weeks to go... and then, he will be victorius, for sure.

.o0|O|0o.

Two weeks before

Steve was at the scene of a crime that had happened just yesterday. According to witnesses, the fire had not been an accident; rather, it had been an attack. They claimed to have seen a ball of fire that had been aimed straight at the building. There had been four witnesses, and they all claimed the same thing.

The officer in charge had given him a run down of all of the information they had at the moment. Apparently, out of the thirty six residents, seven had survived. Four were in hospital, and the other three had been out at the time of the fire. One of the survivors had been a child... it was rather disconcerting for him. Absently, Steve wondered where Spider-man had been during all this. He usually dealt with this stuff, right? It almost made him wonder... did Spider-man actually care for the children that lost their parents in fires? Did he know? Had he taken a day off that night?

Then he shook himself, to rid himself of those thoughts. Of course he did- you would have to care, if you were a superhero. Otherwise you wouldn't really have a drive. And to be a superhero, you kind of needed a drive, or it all felt pointless and unappreciated. To be a superhero like Spider-man, who had a lot of hate, it was probably hard. So he must have some kind of drive.

Other than the deaths, (which made Steve wince- why should he be relying on a vigilante for something that he should do?) there had been massive destruction from the fire. The building had been reduced to scraps of ash and melted stone. The fire must have been really hot to burn down concrete like that...

Some if the neighbouring buildings had been singed badly, but nothing too serious. The fire brigade had managed to control the fire fast enough to stop any real collateral damage. Fortunately nobody else had been significantly hurt, which was a relief.

Currently, Steve was inspecting the direction from which the fireball had supposedly come from. He was on the roof of a building that the fireball could have possibly come from.

He bent down on his knee when he came to the edge of the building. He reached down and swiped to fingers along the ground, picking up some soot in the process. He raised his hand back up and scrutinised the soot thouroughly. It looked normal to him, and it even felt normal when he smudged it between his thumb and forefinger.

He stood up, and examined the rest of the roof. After he had interrogated the secretary that had been here last night, he had learned that no one of note had enterred the building at the time of the fire. Other than that, there had been no canons dredged up to the roof, so it was seemingly impossible that a fireball had been launched from this roof. Had the fire started in the apartment building?

No. For one, all of the witnesses claimed the exact same thing. Plus, you couldn't lie to the police; it was illegal. And for two, there was soot on this roof. There was no trace of gunpowder, but...

Then a thought hit him. What if it had been magic? The same kind that Loki had used?

Steve took one last sweeping glance over the roof, before heading down. He had the resident Asgardian to question...