Disclaimer: I exclaim while I maim this dame in the flame that when I proclaim that I own not a thing, "this not a freaking game." In all this I disclaim.

Oh, this? This chapter's for you. Yes, YOU. Right there. Staring at your phone or computer or whatever fangled device ya'll youngins don be usin' these days. Golly gee. I'm leaving for a Colorado vacay in a day and decided I'd post another one since I'll have no wifi up there :) so yep. Uh, hehe, but I gotta kind of warn you guys, this chapter is sorta...how would you put it...? Graphic? Scarring? Intensely disturbing? The more times I read over it, the more times I realize what a freaking evil sadistic monster I am lol. So um yeah heheh...enjoy I guess...? Oh, but there is something cool at the end that kinda excuses my madness so HA. Read it.

Chapter 6

The Avengers weren't there when he arrived. In fact, no one was there—the entire tower was vacant of life except for his bleeding, panting self.

He called Tony but he didn't answer. He called Banner, Steve, Natasha, Clint. He even tried calling Thor, although he wasn't sure if he was even in their "realm" of space or whatever. No one was picking up. He asked Jarvis where everyone was, and he told him that they had been contacted by Fury around 3 a.m. that morning for some important mission. All of them had departed over four hours ago.

What the hell? he thought, a panicky sensation rising in his chest. Important mission? What does that mean? He leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily as he slipped off his mask. And...why wasn't I called in to help? Why wasn't I even contacted?

Confusion shifted to frustration, and frustration to exhaustion. How could they just abandon him like this? He was part of the Avengers just like the rest of them—even if he was the newest member. And, well, the youngest. But that didn't give them the right to leave him hanging without so much as a note to tell him what the hell was going on.

He knew he was being childish about the situation, but he didn't care. He was exhausted and hurt and confused and really freaking pissed off. Stumbling over his feet, Peter limped to the couch and collapsed against the cushions, curling his legs against his chest and his hands under his head. He was in a lot pain and still bleeding in a few places, and he knew he should tend to his wounds before doing anything else, but he was too tired to think clearly. He needed some time to rest, to cool off, to let his troubled mind settle, if only for a few minutes or so. That's all he needed. Just a moment of peace and tranquility...

Peter had nightmares pretty often. With the constant loom of murderous foes over his shoulder, the crippling fear for his loved ones' safety, and the PTSD-worthy memories that haunted his past, his mind had a lot of material to work with to torment him as he slept. But this—this particular dream, as he laid alone in Avengers Tower, was something entirely different, something he'd never experience before.

He was standing in a dark alley, cold, alone. And It wasn't just a cold sensation fabricated by his sleeping mind. No—it was real cold, tangible on his skin and in his lungs as he breathed. The wind lapped at his face as it billowed gently by with all the absoluteness of reality. The trash scraping along the asphalt as it caught the breeze sang faithfully in his ears. This didn't feel like a dream at all. The fact that he was even able to stand there and ponder the dream's authenticity without his mind being automatically snapped awake by the realization confused him even more. His head did not feel foggy, his vision was not obscured. Every thought and every image stood out with crisp, sharp clarity.

And yet, just like in any other dream, something felt wrong. Something felt wrong with the air, the atmosphere, the night. Something felt wrong with his mind. Something felt wrong with him. He looked down at himself, and realized he was exactly the same as he had been when he'd fallen asleep on the couch: bloody, beaten, and dressed only in his cargo shorts. He reached up and touched his face, which was still mask-less.

"Peter Parker..."

Peter went stiff. His fingers froze against his skin. Peter had heard this voice before, at a time that seemed so long ago, deeply repressed within his memory. His breaths shivered as they slipped from his lips. His eyes were wide in the faint light of the moon.

"Who...who's there?" he whispered to the darkness, rooted to his spot in the alleyway. He couldn't see past the large trash bin squatting to the left. The rest of the narrow passage was vacant of light.

A grisly laugh suddenly echoed from every which way. "I've finally found you, after all these cold, lonely months..."

The darkness stirred to life. It crawled towards him ever-so-slowly along the walls, the earth, the sky, moving as organic shadows. A cold bead of sweat slithered down his face. Peter tried to take a step back, but his legs were stiff as stone.

"Who are you? W-what do you want from me?"

The shadows writhed in amusement and purred with laughter. "Why, I want everything from you, Peter. I want your friends. Your loved ones. Everything you hold dear. I want to take them them from you. I want to consume them. I want to leave you with nothing but your misery and loneliness, just as you left me!"

Immediately, Peter's vision shifted. He was in a hospital room. He was standing beside the bed as a soft beeping noise sounded from a machine. Under the thin covers, a frail woman lied motionless, asleep. It was Aunt May. She looked like a skeleton. Pale, paper-thin skin was stretched across her hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. Peter breathed unsteadily, stepping closer to her. He reached out to nudge her awake.

"Aunt May? Are...are you—?"

She shot out of bed. Her bony fingers suddenly seized him by the wrist. Peter sucked in his breath and tried to pull away, but her grip was like iron. When her eyelids slowly peeled open, there was nothing behind them but voids of darkness.

"Peter," she whispered, her raspy voice sending chills rippling down his spine. "What have you done to me? Why did you leave me here to die?"

Shuddering, he shook his head left and right. "No. No, I didn't. I couldn't have. But what's—what's happened to you, Aunt May?"

"Why did you leave me, Peter?" she repeated viciously. The darkness began to pour out of her eyes, her mouth. It began oozing from her skin and swallowing her in an inky envelope. "Why did you leave me?" It slithered up her arm, down her fingertips, on to Peter's hand. No matter how hard he tried, he could not wrench himself free.

"Let me go! Let me go, please!"

"Why did you leave me, Peter?"

"I didn't leave you! I would never leave you!"

"Why did you leave me here to die...?"

Peter closed his eyes in horror, his body quaking. When he opened them again, she was gone. The hospital room was gone. He was outside now. It looked like Central Park. It was warm and vibrant and birds were chirping merrily in the summer air. He gazed around in awed confusion, wondering how his mind could conjure something that felt so real. He didn't realize someone was still holding on to his wrist until it was given a sharp tug.

"Dance with me, Peter!"

Peter glanced to his left, and was surprised when his eyes fell upon the beautiful face of his girlfriend, Gwen Stacy. She was smiling brilliantly at him, her dazzling green irises catching the sunlight and her cheeks hinting two perfectly adorable dimples. She was wearing a pure white dress that flowed with her movements. Her curly blonde hair framed her perfect face as she let out a laugh.

"Come on Peter, dance with me!"

He was puzzled. "Dance?" he asked, narrowing his eyebrows. "Since when have you liked dancing?"

She released his hand and smiled radiantly. "I always have. I just didn't realize it until I got here!" Gwen began twirling around and around, her bare feet slipping effortlessly through the grass all across the surface of the hill. Giggles escaped her soft pink lips, and the frills of her dress encircled her frame like the petals of a rose. Peter watched her leap about with a mixture of confusion and amusement, and he couldn't keep himself from chuckling at her childish joy. Then his laughter stopped. His smile vanished. His muscles stiffened.

"Gwen, you're bleeding."

She giggled. "Don't worry about that. Won't you join me, Pete?"

"Gwen, you're bleeding. You're hurt."

Crimson veins were slowly eating through the white fabric. "It's okay, Peter, really! Quit being such a downer and dance with me!"

Peter grabbed Gwen firmly by her arm. "Stop moving around! I'm being serious! You're injured."

His girlfriend stared up at him with a stinging innocence in her eyes. The red was seeping through her crisp white gown and growing wider and wider by the second. "I don't understand why you're so bothered by this."

"I don't understand how you're not bothered by this at all!" he yelled back, releasing her arm and gently cradling her waist in his hands. "Look at yourself!"

Along her midriff, just above her stomach, two identical spots of red were darkening through Gwen's dress and forming streams down the front of her body. The dark stains cut through the purity of her presence like a serrated knife and caused alarm to spike inside of Peter's heart. More white fabric was succumbing to scarlet as it fanned out ever-so-slowly across her abdomen like a hungry wildfire. Drops of blood were slipping down her slender legs and on to the grass beneath her feet. Peter had seen this wound before. Gwen continued staring at him earnestly without a hint of concern in her eyes.

"Gw-Gwen...what is...what did you...?"

"It's okay, Peter," she insisted sweetly, wrapping her arms around his cold, shivering body. "It's over now. I'm in a better place."

"A better place?" he blurted out, pulling away from her rapidly. "What does that even mean? What are talking about?"

Gwen folded her hands in front of her red dress politely, a look of mild amusement on her face. "Don't you remember, Peter? You weren't able to save me. I died because you didn't reach me in time."

"What?"

"The wound was too severe. You tried to help me after the chimera bit me, but it was too late. The poison reached my heart, and I bled out on the floor of your apartment."

"What? No you didn't! Stark saved you! He gave you an antidote! You're not dead, Gwen!"

"It's okay, Peter. I don't blame you. In fact, I'm happier here."

A figure suddenly materialized behind her. It strolled up slowly and wrapped its arm around her shoulders, a familiar smile spreading across its face. Peter's breath caught in his throat. It was Captain Stacy, Gwen's father, the man who'd been killed by Dr. Curtis Connors after Peter gave him the decay rate algorithm that turned him into a murderous lizard monster. The terrible wound from the Lizard's clawed hand stabbing through his body was still present, marring his uniform with dark red stains.

"Really I should thank you, Peter," Gwen said with smile, blood pooling around her feet. The color was draining from her face. "Because of you, I'm happier now than I ever have been."

"Thanks for reuniting me with my daughter, Parker," Captain Stacy said with a nod. "I always knew I could count on you."

Peter's breathing was growing rapid and shallow. He started backing away, his head shaking slowly from side to side.

"No," he breathed, watching the continuous streams of blood flow down their bodies and leach the life from their eyes. "This isn't—this wasn't supposed to—"

His back suddenly bumped into something. Peter whirled around with a start, and terror instantly seized his throat.

"It's okay, son. By letting us die, you did us all the biggest favor we could ask for."

It was his uncle. It was his Uncle Ben, smiling that same crinkle-eyed, toothy smile Peter had missed so much after he had passed. He looked the same as he had the day Peter had lost him. And yet, seeing his face and hearing him speak at that moment brought Peter no comfort whatsoever. His jubilant grin was betrayed by the bloody bullet wound still streaked across his chest.

"Uncle Ben. I..."

"Thank you, Peter. Thank you for letting us die."

"No, I—I didn't mean to—"

"Thanks, Parker. We owe you."

The red stains on their bodies were turning black.

"Stop it. Please. Stop saying that!"

"Thanks, Pete. I love you."

"Thank you so much."

The blackness was consuming them, along with the rest of the world. The sky, the trees, the soft green grass. Everything was being swallowed.

"Please...stop..."

"Thank you, Peter."

"Thank you for killing me."

"Thank you for letting us die."

Peter fell to his knees and slammed his fists against the blackened earth.

"Just shut up! Please...just shut up..."

He sat there on the ground for a while, his back rising and falling unsteadily, his hands shivering beneath his shoulders, his head hung low. He needed to get out of this nightmare. He had to get out right now. He tried with all his might to force himself to wake up, straining with effort, but his mind and body refused him. It felt as though his conscience was no longer under his control, like something was crawling through his brain and selectively plucking out all of his worst fears to torture him with, and he was helpless against it. There was no escape. The sound of police sirens slowly became audible in his ears, and with no other option available, Peter hesitantly opened his eyes.

He was sitting before a city in peril. Buildings were on fire, people were panicking as they scrambled about, and S.W.A.T. trucks were screeching along the asphalt and unloading hordes of armed men on to the streets. And Peter realized why. All across the city, everywhere his fearful eyes looked, half-human, half-animal monsters were running about, murdering whoever they could catch. They were the chimeras from Oscorp's experiments, created in an effort to duplicate Spider-Man's powers. The ones he'd eliminated with Gwen's serum. They were alive again, and they were killing his city's people. A man was collapsed on the ground as a cross-species tore into his stomach, spilling his entrails across the pavement as he screamed. A woman lied silently on the ground as her severed leg was tangled in a vicious tug-of-war between two mutated beasts. A new horror was discovered every time his eyes shifted, each worse than the last he'd witnessed, and Peter didn't know how much more he could take.

"Spider-Man! Help!"

Peter couldn't stop himself. He spun around, gasping. His wide eyes fell upon the two little kids across the street, both running for their lives, and his face went white as a ghost.

"D-Dawson? Emily?"

"Help us! Please!"

His hands fell to his sides. Don't do this to me, he pleaded inside his mind. He didn't even know who or what he was pleading to, but he had to do whatever he could to make this nightmare end. Please. I'm begging you. Make this stop!

He sprinted towards them, his eyes growing wet. "I—I'm coming! I'm coming!"

They were moments from reaching his arms. Moments from being saved by him. But just as Dawson's tiny hand touched his fingertips, both of them were ripped away from him. It was the giant tarantula chimera. It had gotten to them before he could. They died a gory and terrible death right before his eyes.

He was broken now. Tears were tracing down his cheeks as he watched the monster crawl away, laughing. This was all too real for him to bear. He closed his eyes, a familiar unravelling sensation encompassing his mangled heart. I can't take any more. Please! I can't take it!

"Peter! Help us fight these things!"

It was Captain America. He was fending off the chimeras with his shield while also pummeling them with his fists, but they were beginning to overcome him. He needed his help. Wiping his eyes and forcing his mind to recompose itself, Peter ran to his teammate, his arms pumping at his sides.

He reached him as he batted away a group of the beasts with a sweep of his hand. Peter jogged up to his side, ready to aid him however he could.

"I'm here, Cap. What do you need me to—"

Peter's arm suddenly shot forward. His fist struck Steve Rogers right in the chest. Steve froze in shock, clearly not expecting his friend to attack him. Startled by the fact that his arm had acted without his consent, Peter flinched confusedly.

"Oh. Uh, sorry. I don't know what came over me." He began trying to draw his hand back, but it felt like it was stuck to Captain America's body. Puzzled, he wrenched his fist back with all his strength, and was rewarded with a spray of blood splashing over his face. He blinked in surprise.

"What the...?"

Cap glanced down at him with a look of horrified bewilderment. "Peter, h-how could you...?"

Steve had a hole stabbed through his chest. His navy blue uniform was turning purple around the wound. Peter gasped aloud.

"What? What did I—?"

He stared down at his hands. They were drenched in blood. Two identical spears were protruding from his wrists, dripping scarlet droplets on to the pavement.

"No. Not again. Not this again!"

Before he could utter another word, Captain America collapsed to the ground, blood slithering from his mouth and his eyes empty of life. The cross-species began to devour his body.

"Oh no. Oh gosh! Cap! No!"

"Spidey! Could use a little help over here!"

Iron Man blasted some of the ravenous beasts away with the repulsors on his palms. Peter's eyes remained locked on the body of his murdered friend as a dark circle began to form beneath his motionless frame. He didn't want to move for fear he would hurt somebody else, but his body suddenly bolted towards Stark without him making it do so.

What the hell? What's happening?

He didn't have any control of himself. His body was moving on its own, as if it was possessed. As he approached Stark, he leapt into the air, his arm cocked back behind his head.

What? No! Stop! Tony, look out!

He couldn't speak to warn him. The only sound that came out of his mouth was a bestial roar as his arm lunged forward. The sound of metal and flesh being pierced echoed in his ears, and he watched in horror as Stark's mask flipped up to reveal his colorless face.

"K-kid...why...?"

Blood sputtered from his lips, and as the lights dimmed on his armor, Tony dropped to the asphalt, chimeras swarming him in a rabid feeding frenzy.

No! Tony!

Without a moment's hesitation, his body took off across the pavement, sprung from the street, and landed on top of Clint Barton. He released a deranged screech, then sunk his elongated teeth into the archer's throat, causing him to scream in agony. He ripped out his neck, and down went another one of his teammates, drowning in his own blood.

Stop! Please stop!

After licking his lips, his rogue body pointed its finger assertively at Natasha, Thor, and the Hulk, who were fighting together valiantly across the way. Instantly, from every crevice and cranny in the street, thousands of tiny black specks began to appear, skittering towards the trio of Avengers rapidly. Peter watched as the specks rushed past his feet, and realized with absolute horror that they were spiders.

No! Oh gosh, no! Natasha! Bruce! Thor! Run!

They couldn't hear his internal screaming. The thousands of spiders reached them and began swarming up their bodies, causing all three of them to scream in terror. They did everything they could to get them off: swatting, kicking, slapping, smacking, and shaking about in unimaginable panic, but there were too many of them. Within seconds, their bodies were completely engulfed, and the last thing Peter saw was the whites of their terrified eyes as they all wondered with unspeakable horror why their friend would condemn them to this atrocious death. Then they were gone—swallowed by the black to be slowly eaten alive.

His city was being consumed. His friends were being consumed. Everything he held dear was being consumed. All thanks to him, Peter Parker. He stared down into a puddle of blood that lay at his feet, and a pair of haunted white eyes leered back at him. What he saw was a demon—a savage, black monster, with jagged teeth and a long, snake-like tongue. It was who he was now, what he had become. The carpet of black was besieging the world now, flooding over everything and everyone like a dark, living wave. All that was around him was being swallowed in shadows.

Stop it...please...

He blinked, and found himself floating above the ocean just as a plane engulfed in flames crashed into the waters. Two petrified faces were pressed up against the windows as the plane sank into the inky black depths far below. They were his parents.

I can't take any more...

He blinked again. He was standing on top of Oscorp Tower as a cloud of milky black fog descended over the city. It was killing everyone who breathed it in. The poison he'd released was fatal to all living beings, not just the chimeras, which included all of the innocent inhabitants of New York. His people. Their choking and gasping and gagging hammered nails into his ears.

Make it stop.

His eyes closed once more, tears welling in their corners and sliding down his cheeks. When he finally opened them again, he discovered he was standing in the middle of the city. There were bodies sprawled out all across the asphalt, motionless. The world was almost entirely silent, except for the sound of his own strangled breaths seeping from his lips. He stared around in horror, looking for any sign of life, any small movement or indication of consciousness. There was none. He was all alone.

Peter clasped his face in his hands, fell to his knees, then leered up into the barren, starless sky.

"Make it stop! Get me out of this nightmare, please! Wake up, Peter! Wake up!"

The cold surrounded him once again. The world turned dark, ominous, and windy. He was back in the sinister alleyway, sitting on his knees as the frigid air buffeted his exposed body. Ragged gasps tore from his throat as he wrapped his arms around himself, and tears left shimmering trails as they slid down his face. He was raw, vulnerable, and haunted. His mind was too scarred from what he'd just experienced to summon a coherent thought. Then, jarring him like a knife to the gut, a bone-chilling cackle suddenly sounded in front of him. His skinny form shivered all over, and Peter slowly lifted his gaze, eyes hollow and skin ashen.

"Well, it looks like I've consumed everything you love, Peter Parker. I've left you with absolutely nothing, just as you left me. Now, I suppose there's only one thing left for me to consume."

In an instant, the shadow was on him, engulfing his body in its sticky, organic mass. The inky black monster formed an envelope around his being, denying his eyes moonlight, his muscles freedom, his lungs air. He had felt this kind of helplessness before, back in his nightmare on the hospital bed. Beneath the black demon's grip, Peter was sobbing. There was nothing and no one to save him now. It was his turn to be eaten alive.

And then...it stopped.

All of it stopped. Like a flip of a switch, the nightmare suddenly dissipated into nothing. Peter was no longer in the cold, dark alleyway, and there was no longer a monster consuming his flesh. His mind had descended into a peaceful unconsciousness, and soon Peter was swaddled in deep, dreamless sleep.

The wall clock ticked rhythmically in the corner of the room. Traffic rushed about lazily on the city streets below. By this time, day had turned to night, and the tower was shrouded in darkness. All was as it should've been, except for the two figures who were occupying the vacant building unbeknownst to the absent Avengers, or the teenager lying on the couch.

The man sat on the staircase munching distractedly on a burrito while the woman stood over Spider-Man's sleeping form, watching him squirm in agony beneath her mercy. Her fingers danced and swirled around his head, shooting red bursts of telekinetic energy into his mind to torture him in whatever ways struck him most critically. At many times in her life, she'd found herself enjoying her ability to enter the mind's of men, to watch them crumble under her power and weep beneath her control. She loved to scour her victims' brains and tweeze through every fear that existed in the deepest crevices of their being to be exploited for their suffering. But at this moment, her work brought her no satisfaction whatsoever. She had not expected this assignment's client to be so pure of heart, and so young. Spider-Man. Peter Parker. Watching him suffer so astutely by her hand was almost unbearable, and after several hours of walking through every one of his fears, his mistakes, all the moments of his past that haunted his soul, listening to him cry out in pain and beg whoever was tormenting him to have mercy, she could not longer bring herself to continue. With a sweep of her hand, she released her hold over him, and finally allowed him to sink into the heavy, tranquil slumber his exhausted mind craved. She watched his agonized expression slowly melt away, and let out a quiet sigh.

"I cannot do this anymore, brother."

The man on the stairs glanced over at her, his back against the railing and his mouth full. "What is the matter?" he asked, swallowing and wiping his lips. "You have never stopped before a mission has been completed. You cannot stop. The man said you must do your work every time the Spider-Man is alone. 'Do not grant our enemy a moment's peace', remember?" He said that last part while mockingly imitating their boss's voice, then laughed and took another bite of burrito.

"This is not right, Pietro," his sister insisted sternly, running a finger along Peter's forehead. "My previous clients have all been heartless, greedy monsters from the filthiest corners of this city whose minds disgusted me and whose torment I found great pleasure in. But this one—this Spider-Man. I do not wish to hurt him any longer. He is but a boy, Pietro. And his heart is good, pure. He is not evil as the others were."

Pietro rolled his eyes. "Oh Wanda, my sister," he groused, rising to his feet and stretching his arms over his head. "This is so unlike you. Since when have let your emotions get in the way of the job? You must remember what we are really working towards: Stark."

Red snakes of energy pulsed from her hands upon hearing that name. The name that had been burned into their eyes as the pair of them had laid trapped inside their home back in Sokovia many years ago. Two mortar shells had hit their house that day. The first one exploded, killing both of their parents instantly. The second had not gone off, but simply sat inches from the terrified twins' faces, waiting in patient silence to be triggered at any moment. In the two days it took for them to be rescued, one word had been constantly leering at them from the ominous body of the deadly weapon: Stark. Tony Stark and the rest of the Avengers were to blame for their suffering, and the twins had given themselves to the organization Hydra to be experimented on and granted inhuman abilities in order to fight their common enemy. They had been sent to America for just that purpose, and were working under a man who shared their hatred for the Avengers. His methods surprised them, though—they were quiet, conniving, sneaky, but at the same time brutal. This man didn't just want to end the Avengers. He wanted them to suffer until they caved in on themselves, not only eliminating them now, but eliminating their entire legacy, their image. The Maximoff twins had grown to admire his sadistic strategy, although it required patience, and undesirable submission.

But this new member the Avengers had recruited—Peter Parker. She didn't understand why there was so much spite towards him. She liked him. He wasn't like the others. She couldn't figure out why the boss thought going after him was necessary. It was the others she and her brother wanted to get to, wanted to destroy. Wanda realized in that moment that she didn't want to see Peter die the horrible death she desired for the rest of them. He didn't deserve it. She decided from here on out she would do what she could to keep him safe from their revenge.

"Exactly my point. I will not hurt this boy anymore. Our fight is not with him. We are here to get Stark."

"The man will not be pleased to know we are disobeying him, sister. You know he is not exactly the forgiving type, and we are already on a tight leash."

She smiled innocuously. "The man cannot be displeased with what he does not know."

Pietro laughed quietly. "I suppose not. I must admit, I enjoy seeing a little more rebellion from you. But anyway, if that is how you want it, come now. It is late, and I'm about to pass out on the floor of this hideous tower. Let us find a place to rest for the night."

She gave a small nod as her brother headed down the stairs. She was very tired from stretching her powers so far for such a long time, and sleep sounded heavenly right about now. While tormenting Peter's mind, she had also been constantly injecting the power grid with disruptive energy waves in order to undermine the tower's security system and leave the pair of them undetected. She would be relieved to finally take a breather.

She was ready to follow him out of the building. Just before leaving, however, Wanda turned back to the young man lying on the couch, watching his chest rise and fall with slow, rhythmic movements. The tiniest of smiles crept along her lips.

"I apologize for hurting you, Peter Parker," she whispered, carefully pushing some of his messy brown hair out of his face before tip-toeing to the staircase. "Rest easy now."

She and her brother left the tower just as they had found it: dark, quiet, and supporting the burden of exactly one sleeping occupant.

See? I had a reason for being a jerk to poor Pete. Really it was Wanda's fault, not mine. Blame her. :) After watching Age of Ultron I really wanted to find a way to have the Maximoffs in my story but I knew there was no way I could work the plot of Age of Ultron into my story seamlessly, so I just kinda threw them in there with a slightly altered backstory. Hope that doesn't irritate you guys. There's a reason for it though, trust me. :D Thanks again to all you wonderful, encouraging peeps. You are literally the bomb dot com. I quite enjoy the events of the next chapter :)