Disclaimer: Har har newbs be getting OWNED...but the stuff in this story is not. By me, that is.

Oh what the heck here's another chapter. I'm taking the ACT this weekend (again...ugh D:) and then heading straight to camp for a week so why not post another? :) I'm going to try to stick with writing 3 ahead of myself cuz I'm paranoid okay. Also super duper excited about seeing Jurassic World saturday night! And Jon Bernthal cast as the Punisher in Daredevil (he was awesome in the Walking Dead)! And other fun stuff! Anyhoo read away my pretties :D This chapter might be kinda confusing though

Chapter 3

After enduring through a vicious tongue-lashing from jolly ol' Jonah yet somehow managing to preserve his job at the Bugle despite being a "good-for-nothing whelp" whose photographs "suck literal ass," Peter went home. Well, not his real home—his home away from home. In a tower, centered in Midtown. On the 87th floor, set aside just for him, to be precise. Despite the regular headaches it caused him, being an Avenger had its perks.

Spider-Man climbed through the window, placed his camera on the coffee table, then flopped messily on to the couch, slipping off his mask and letting out a moan. His entire torso hurt like hell, and a deep pain pulsated out from his knee down the rest of his leg. The cuts flecking his back smarted irritably, not to mention he was soaked. After just lying there exhaustedly for a few more moments, rubbing at his temples with his thumb and forefinger, Peter huffed out a breath and forced himself upright. He'd better get this over with already, or Aunt May would get to worrying.

He rolled up the spandex along his waist just past his chest, examining the skin discerningly. He cringed as he pressed against the purpling flesh and let out a sigh. Just bruising. Can't do anything about that. My organs feel like they're throbbing though. Guess I'll just have to wait and hope all that heals itself.

Next Peter massaged his fingers into his kneecap. Although this induced a deep ache, the bone felt solid enough, so that was relieving. He knew he should probably ice it or something, but that wasn't really part of his agenda. The only thing he thought was in need of real medical treatment was his back, which was striped with cuts from his tumble against the asphalt and his crash into the fire hydrant. Nothing deep enough to require stitching, but some antibiotic cream and a little bandaging wouldn't hurt. Peter retrieved a small medical kit from under the table, unclasping the hitches with his thumbs. Out of it he grabbed some gauze, medical ointment, and bandages, along with a sterile cloth. After pulling the top of his Spider-Man costume the rest of the way off and tossing it aside, Peter squirted some of the foamy cream on to the rag and tried dabbing it against his back. Initially he was able to swab the medicine over the majority of his cuts, but despite his exceptional flexibility, he couldn't quite reach the small area just below his shoulder blades, and he practically turned himself into a human pretzel in his valiant efforts to do so. Eventually he gave up, unraveling himself and dropping the cloth on the table with a defeated scoff.

"Need a hand with that?"

Peter glanced quickly over his shoulder, vaguely startled by the voice, and was surprised to see a familiar woman dressed in a simple black romper standing across the room. She flipped on the light switch, illuminating her wavy red hair and the iconically mischievous smile splayed across her lips. After blinking silently for a moment, Peter let out a quiet laugh.

"Yeah, I guess."

Natasha Romanoff chuckled under her breath. "Thought so," she stated, rising off the wall and strolling up to the couch he was sitting on, her bare feet padding softly against the floor as tile turned to carpet. "Practically had yourself tied into a knot there."

"Just testing my limits, as usual," he assured her, leaning forward with his hands on his knees as his face flushed with slight embarrassment. "I, uh, I didn't think anyone heard me come in."

"Jarvis informed us," she told him. He listened without raising his head as she plucked the cloth off the table, feeling slightly discomposed by the fact that this tower offered him no privacy whatsoever with Stark's damn A.I. monitoring the place 24/7, and a moment later the cold touch of the damp rag brushed against his tender skin. "And after watching the beating you took from that psycho in Midtown, I assumed you might need a little help with the patchwork."

At this Peter grimaced. "You saw that?"

"Yeah. All of us. On the television. We were going to come help, but figured by the time we showed up you'd have finished him already. That dude got you pretty darn good with those shooting glove-thingies a few times, although even I would not have been able to take him seriously in that hideous yellow suit of his, so I can't really blame you."

Peter rolled his eyes as she continued blotting at his back with gentle movements, cleaning the wounds of dirt and debris. "Great. I'll bet Stark got a kick out of watching that. He's probably having a ball coming up with new jabs to throw at me now. 'Hey Petey! Is it true you got your ass beat by a weaponized hillbilly lemon the other day? I thought you were the unstoppable Spider-Man! My oh my, how disappointed all your fanboys must be. Must've been quite a shocker to everyone, huh? Hardy har har.'" Peter hunched his shoulders and dropped his head, switching from his semi-offensive 'Tony imitation' voice back to his normal one as he let out a groan. "That'd just be the perfect little cherry on top of all this mess."

"Oh, quit whining," Natasha scolded him playfully. She pressed a large medical cloth against his injured back and began unwinding some gauze with her fingers. "Everyone has their off days. Everyone gets knocked on their ass every once and a while. Even me, believe it or not. And Stark. Don't worry about it, alright? I'm sure Mr. 'weaponized hillbilly lemon' man will be back soon enough, and you can get your revenge and reclaim your dignity with one swift kick to his rear."

Peter laughed at Natasha's unconventional comicality, although her words rekindled an unsettling thought in the back of his mind. From what he had picked up through the course of their banter-ful battle, this Shocker guy had been hired and equipped by someone with the sole purpose of drawing Spider-Man out and killing him; not exactly your everyday, run-of-the-mill baddie. While the idea was unnerving—that someone with a lot of dangerous resources had it out for him—it convinced him all the more that Shocker would return at some point to finish his job. Whenever that happened, little slip-ups like before would be intolerable. This time around, Peter would make sure to stop him, once and for all.

"Sounds like a plan to me," he concurred with a chuckle as she wrapped the gauze around his torso to hold the bandage in place. He looked at her over his shoulder. "Anyway, when did you get here? I thought you and Barton were off doing some James Bond-esk spy ops thing in Europe."

"We were. Just got back two days ago—not before infiltrating the Russian mafia in Berlin and disbanding a major drug trafficking operation of course."

Peter gave an impressed whistle as Natasha sealed off his bandaging. "And here I was thinking my life was the most enthralling of the lot of us. Excluding Thor, obviously—no one beats him in unwarranted extravagance."

"Got that right," she agreed, and gave his messy hair a rough tousle. "All finished. While you're here, want to go meet up with the rest of the crew? I'm pretty sure the science bros just ordered some Taco Bell, since apparently that's a thing now."

Peter stood up slowly and stretched his arms over his head, going stiff when he felt his cuts crinkle and crack beneath the gauze. "Tempting, but I gotta split. You know my Aunt May—I'm out a second later than normal, and she practically gnaws her fingernails down to the bone. And I'm sure if she's seen the news today…heh, yeah. Besides, I am not in the mood to cope with Tony's smug face right now. He kicked me out the last time I was here for no apparent reason, might I add, so who knows what he'd do this time around."

Natasha scoffed amusedly. "How rude of him. Well, don't be such a stranger, alright? Just because Tony is an ass and the world isn't in peril doesn't mean we all have to avoid each other. As cheesy as it sounds, we're a team—no matter the circumstances. There's no need for you to sneak in here when you're injured as if you don't own a floor of this building." A genuine smile curled along her lips. "Seriously, swing by just to chat every once and while, would you?"

Slightly taken back by the request, Peter reached down and scooped the top of his costume off the floor. "Yeah. Sure. I guess I've just been busy with Gwen and my job and crime-fighting and trying to figure out colleges and stuff, you know?" He wrung out the soaked spandex between his fists then begrudgingly slipped it back over his body, feeling his skin flare with goosebumps as the damp coldness adhered to his flesh. He strode over to the gaping window, feeling the warm night's breeze billow beckoningly from the outside world. "Thanks for the help, Romanoff."

Natasha yawned before offering him a small wave. After pulling on his mask, Spider-Man leapt out the window, fired a bio-cable from his wrist, and vanished into the night.

The tranquil rush he felt as he flew above the city on that dazzling summer evening lasted about three minutes. Then he arrived home. His real home, which was rich with the aroma of his aunt's cooking.

"Peter Benjamin Parker!"

Peter cringed the moment he stepped into the kitchen. Geez…anyone else getting a sense of déjà vu? Skittishly he shifted his gaze to the corner of the room, where his aunt stood with a ladle in one hand while the other frenetically dashed spices into a bubbling pot on the stove.

"Yes, Aunt May?" Peter asked hesitantly as he placed his camera on the counter, refusing to meet her gaze. His aunt stood with her brow furrowed fiercely and her hip popped out to the side, and Peter knew he was about to endure round two of getting his ass chewed out that day.

"Do you know what time it is young man?" she inquired viciously, giving the contents of the pot a few violent stirs. Peter's eyes wandered over to the clock on the wall, but Aunt May spoke before he could answer. "Almost eleven thirty! You promised me you'd always get back home before eleven every night, and that you would call if you were going to be late! You had me worried sick!"

"Bad guys aren't exactly considerate of my curfew, Aunt May," Peter replied with a slight chuckle in his voice, but his guardian's stern scowl didn't budge.

"This is the third time this week, Peter. This has to stop. I can hardly stand allowing you to run around the city beating up evil people as a crazy vigilante teenager; not knowing where you are or if you're in trouble or not is unbearable! You could've died for all I knew!"

"It's fine, Aunt May," Peter insisted, "seriously. You don't have to worry so much. I can take care of myself."

"Oh really?" she exclaimed mockingly, pointing at the television on the counter with her ladle. "Do you expect me to believe that after watching that crazy yellow maniac almost kill you awhile ago? I thought you said your Avenger friends would help you if anything as serious as that ever happened!"

"It was not that serious," he groaned. "He just took me by surprise, that's all. And I was distracted by Jameson who was going to fire me if I didn't get any good pictures of the fight, so I had to draw it out a little. No reason to have a spazz attack."

"I'll have all the spazz attacks I want, mister. That's what family is for. Now then, how bad are your injuries? And don't give me any of that it's nothing crap—there's no way you got out of that mess unscathed."

"Natasha already patched me up," he informed her, pulling his sopping costume off of his torso. "Just a few scratches on my back that will gone by morning. I really am fine, honest."

As he turned and tossed the suit into the laundry room, Aunt May marched right up to her nephew and, without warning, gave him a firm jab in the ribss with her fingers. She struck right against the extremely bruised region of his midriff, and Peter couldn't suppress the yelp of pained surprise that leapt out of his throat.

"Aah! Ow! G-geez, Aunt May, what the hell was that for?"

"That man shot you with those things on his hands three times and you're telling me you're perfectly fine? Do you even know what he was hitting you with? You could have internal damage."

Peter took a big step back, gripping his ribcage and staring at his aunt remorsefully. "Aunt May, you have got to stop this. You know what I'm doing get's me hurt. You've known that for a long time, even though it hasn't happened as much recently. But you can't fuss and worry over me like I'm a little kid every time it does happen. You're going to drive both of us up the wall. Just...just accept the fact that I have these powers already, and that I use them to fight bad guys and keep the city safe. And accept the fact that I might get hurt, but that I'll always have you and the Avengers to fix me up afterwards. I can't keep coming home to you and seeing only fear and disappointment in your eyes. I need to know that you support me and trust me in all this."

May Parker's intense glare immediately softened, and she dropped her gaze solemnly to the floor. "I...I'm sorry, Peter. You're right, dear, you're right. I'm sorry." Slowly she lifted her eyes up to meet his, weariness clouding her irises. "I just—I can't help myself. That's what mothers—I, I mean guardians. That's what guardians are for. We make ourselves sick with worry over our babies, even if it's nothing." She stepped forward, laying her hands on his shoulders gently. "But Peter, let me make something very clear: I am not disappointed in you. I could never be disappointed in you. I'm more proud of you now than I ever have been." May wrapped her nephew in a hug as she continued. "Don't for one second ever doubt that."

Peter sighed submissively and hugged her back. "Alright, I won't. I'm sorry for stressing you out so much. If I promise to always be honest with you about everything from now on, will you promise you won't worry over me so much?"

"I'll do my best," she insisted, and planted a kiss on his forehead. Peter smiled sheepishly, then glanced up in alarm.

"Uh, is something burning?" he asked, wrinkling his nose. Aunt May looked over her shoulder and cursed sharply.

"Ah! My sauce!" she cried, and whisked across the kitchen to her smoking pot on the stove. Peter snorted amusedly under his breath, glad that they had sorted out things semi-painlessly, and plucked an apple out of a bowl on the center island. Taking a big bite, he stepped out of the kitchen and began making his way towards his room. Just as his foot met the first step on the staircase, however, his aunt's voice called out dully from behind him.

"Oh, Peter dear!" she hollered as he continued ascending. "One more thing I forget to mention. You have a check-up at the doctor's office tomorrow morning at 7:30. We'll need to leave a quarter till, so I'll wake you up around 7."

Immediately Peter stopped dead in his tracks. "What?" he exclaimed, whirling around with his fingers gripping the handrails. "What do you mean, check-up?"

"Your annual check-up at the doctor's office," she elaborated simply. "The one you get every year to make sure you're growing up well and healthy, remember?"

Peter rushed back down the stairs and into the kitchen quick as a wink, somewhat startling his aunt as he zipped into the room. "Aunt May, I cannot get a normal doctor's check-up like a normal human being anymore. That's, like, secret-identity-revealed-to-the-world prevention 101—especially since I have, you know, spider DNA coursing through my bloodstream. You need to call back and cancel."

Aunt May took a taste of her sauce and scrunched up her lips a little in disgust before answering. "Peter, I allow you to skip out on a lot of things since you're Spider-Man, but your annual well-check is not one of them. If I'm letting you go off and fight bad guys all day long, I at least need to know that you're doing so at the peak of your physical well-being. This is not up for debate."

"Have you forgotten that you're a nurse and that you can check me out without me having to risk anything?" he replied matter-of-factly.

"I am a children's nurse who knows how to help normal children feel better when they're ill," she answered briskly. "I am not, however, a children's nurse who can look at her radioactively-mutated nephew and tell whether he's healthy or sick or whatever. This is something completely out of my line of work that I have no means of understanding, and I can't ignore the fact that something could be wrong with you and neither of us would have any idea how to handle it."

"And you think some other random doctor will? Aunt May, there's no way this can happen without some sort of very serious consequence falling out."

"You turned into a monster, Peter!" Aunt May cried all of a sudden, stunning him sober. She stared at him intently for a moment, then downcast her eyes miserably. "Don't you remember? Back during the invasion. Your eyes turned red, spears sprouted from your arms, your teeth became daggers, and you tried to kill your friends. I genuinely feared that you might try to kill me, too. And did we ever really figure out how or why that happened? Do we know whether that could happen again at any moment? No." Aunt May's voice broke a little as she continued. "That, Peter, would have very serious consequences, and carries a greater risk than anything else I could imagine. The doctor you're meeting with has a much vaster knowledge of the medical field than I do. I trust him. You don't—you wouldn't have to tell him anything, just let him check you out like he would any other patient." She looked up at him pleadingly. "Darling, please, would you do this for me? If only for my peace of mind?"

Peter held his aunt's longing gaze a moment longer, then heaved a heavy sigh. He knew there was no weaseling his way out of this one, not after she'd played that card. He knew he couldn't explain to her that he had control over The Other now and that nothing like that would happen again. He knew there wasn't any point in trying to make her understand that there was no way for him to meet with this doc of hers without him discovering something fishy (or, well, spidery). But he also knew he most definitely could not waltz into a regular doctor's office and have some cutesy pediatrician run tests on his blood and discover his little secret. He had to satisfy both sides of the equation. Eventually he came up with a solution: he would go to the doctor's office like a good little nephew, allow the doctor to shine some lights in his eyes and stick some things in his ears, then he'd claim he was late for something extremely important and beeline out of there before they could do anything too prying. That way, his aunt would see that he had made his check-up on record, hopefully thus satisfying her, but his secret would remain confidential. Then he'd just tell her everything was alright afterwards, because it was (technically that wasn't lying, right?). All in all, the plan seemed reasonable enough. In his mind, anyway.

And yet, his aunt's words had stirred him curious. He had never really looked into all the ways the spider bite had affected him biologically—he just made guesses based on the symptoms he regularly experienced. Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to later stop by Dr. Banner's lab and have him run a few tests on his body, just to get a professional diagnosis on his peculiar anatomical state. It would probably be beneficial to know just how jacked up he really was.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck and slouched his shoulders defeatedly. "Alright, Aunt May. I'll go. Happy?"

His aunt smiled sweetly. "Wonderful. Now head upstairs and go to sleep. I'll see you bright and early tomorrow morning."

Peter sighed again and turned back towards the stairs. Although he knew she only did things like this because she cared about him, it irked Peter that none of the other Avengers had to deal with these kinds of issues. Partly because they didn't have a naggy aunt constantly hounding them and partly because they didn't have a secret identity to keep tabs on. He knew he could never survive without his aunt's love and support, but at the same time he couldn't help but feel that she sometimes weighed him down.

"Peter, dear," he heard her call out softly, making him stop once again and huff irritably.

"Yes, Aunt May?"

"I love you."

At her words, Peter couldn't keep himself from breaking into a childish smile, and he laughed quietly under his breath.

"I love you too."

Then he entered his room, collapsed on his bed, and was out cold in about three seconds.

Schultz was a failure.

A set of enormous fingers laid flat beneath a large, rounded chin. The other hand held a small phone against an inquisitive ear.

"It's alright, my friend. That was to be expected. It would've come as a great surprise to me if our adversary could be defeated so easily. These initial tests are simply to set his mind on edge, to dismantle him from his position of security. They also allow us to gather more information on his strengths, patterns, and vulnerabilities to exploit in the near future."

I've sent the new requirements for Shocker's suit into the shop. Schultz will be offline until it's repaired. As for our third candidate, I'm thinking we pair him up with Toomes for the next mission. Amp up the muscle and give Spidey a better run for his money. Even if it ends up going south again, the mismatched odds are likely frustrate him all the more, and will most definitely capture his attention.

"Good. I trust you with sorting out the details. But do remember our magnum opus, my friend: I'd rather defeat the Spider-Man in a method beyond something as simple as sheer force. Once the fighting from this next battle ceases, I will send my two personal acquisitions out to greet him. Alongside that, we still have a trump card in the works, waiting patiently up our sleeves. I yearn the most to see his destruction at the play of his own hand, along with everything and everyone else he cares about. We can make him destroy himself, and ruin his image for the entire world to see. He and the Avengers will crumble into nothing. Slowly, intimately, like a festering carcass devoured by maggots. That is the outcome from all of this that I'm wishing for more than anything. "

I...I couldn't agree more, sir, he answered dubiously. Now that the new plan was in motion, he wondered if the old one was even necessary. It seemed risky; he felt the boss was making this harder than it had to be. But he would never dare to voice that. N-now then, on the matter of O'Hirn. The epidermal binding process for his armor should be completed fairly promptly. When would you like me to send the next team into the field?

A hideous smile broke across the man's face, revealing the white, crooked teeth hidden behind his lips. At the head of the long, empty table he sat at, a cigar resting in a dish breathed ribbons of ghostly smoke into the cold atmosphere. He leaned back into his chair, the grin on his face never wavering in the slightest.

"As soon as they're ready."

Are you confused yet? Sorry haha the next chapter will help clear things up a bit. Hoped you enjoyed anyway :P Next chapter will be posted on a day of the week this year at a very specific time. :) Laters