Disclaimer: Does anyone even read these

Hey so yeah I'm going to post another tonight cuz I'm going to be gone for so long but also cuz I'm a jerk so yeah hehe enjoy :3

Chapter 7

The peaceful sleep did not last long. Pretty soon, his mind was back to its old tricks again, making him shiver and claw at the cushions as new nightmares afflicted him. Thankfully, however, someone soon arrived at the tower to wake him from his purgatory.

"Spidey?"

Iron Man stopped at the bottom of the stairs as his severely damaged armor finished disassembling from his body. Wiping some blood and sweat off his brow, he marched across the room to where the moaning teen lied.

"Kid? Hey, get up. What happened to you?" He gave his shoulders a hard shake, and it took a moment before Peter awoke with a gasp, his eyes wide and bloodshot. In a panic, he grabbed on to Tony's forearm, believing for a moment that he was an enemy and nearly breaking the bone with his iron grip. Stark flinched in surprise and grimaced in pain.

"Whoa whoa, calm down, Spidey! It's Tony! It's me! Just relax."

His shivery gaze fell upon the familiar face. "S-Stark?" Peter panted breathlessly, slowly releasing his hold on his arm. He glanced around and realized he was still in Avengers Tower, where he had crashed after his fight with the Rhino and the Vulture. The sharp pains from the beating the Rhino had served him crept back into his body, and the fear throbbing in his heart settled somewhat. Slowly he laid back down, gripping his forehead in his hand. "I...I'm sorry. I...I was just having—"

"It's alright. I, uh, I get them too." He grabbed a rag off the coffee table and handed it to him. "Guess the kind of stuff we do can get to yah like that."

Peter wiped his brow with the cloth, his breathing still heavy and strenuous. "No. This—this was different, though. Not the dream I had just now. The first one, right after the fight. It was something...it was something completely—dammit, I don't even know how to describe it. It was terrible, and it felt so real, and it—" Peter's eyebrows suddenly furrowed, and he turned to look Tony straight in the eye. "Wait. Where the hell have you been? Where has everyone been? Jarvis told me all of you left in the middle of the night for some mission, and none of you would answer when I called."

Stark rubbed at his temple distractedly, which had a gash that was oozing blood. "Coulson called us in out of nowhere last night. Banner and I happened to be up working on the su—I mean, um, the something or whatever—when we got his message. It was all-out bloodbath when we arrived; they somehow broke into the weapons development unit in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s underground facility in Atlanta and tried to steal a bunch of dangerous tech. We handled the majority of them, but there must be way more out there that we never knew about until now. I have no idea how this flared up again all of a sudden."

"What are you talking about? What's 'flared up' again? Who's the 'they' you're referring to?"

Tony sighed heavily before summoning a reply. "Hydra."

"Hydra?"

"I wouldn't expect you to know who they are."

"No, I—I do. Sorta. I've read about them in history class and stuff. They were that terrorist Nazi organization that Cap helped defeat. Which brings me to the next question: how could they possibly still be around now? I thought they fell apart back during the World War II era."

"They did. But not all of their agents were killed off. Some of them survived and continued their ridiculous pursuit of world domination or whatever, but S.H.I.E.L.D. has always stopped them before they could do any real harm. It's been years since they've resurfaced at all, though. We thought they were dead for good. Guess we were wrong." He sat down on the table and rubbed at his aching shoulders. "There weren't a lot of them, but they were all well-armed. It's still unclear how they were able to break into such a high-security place, or if they got what they were looking for."

Peter sat up against the armrest with effort as his brow remained sharply narrowed. "So why the hell wasn't I called in along with everyone else? Judging from that cut on your head and your half-demolished armor in the corner, you guys obviously needed the help. Did you forget the whole ordeal where I became an Avenger and all that? I have a membership card and everything."

Tony scratched the back of his head as his eyes wandered to the floor. "Well, er, yeah. About that. I thought—well, Coulson knew you had just been in a big fight and stuff, so he didn't think it was a good idea for you to have to strain yourself any further that day."

"The fight happened after you were all called in. I came here around 9 a.m. and everyone was already gone."

"Oh. Really? Well, uh, he must've been referring to the one that happened earlier. Between you and yellow sparky boom man. You got pretty banged up after that one too, right?"

"Coulson knows I take hardly any time to heal. And even if he thought that was the case, he would've called and asked me, or at the very least informed me of what was happening." Peter shot him a puzzled look. "Seriously, Stark. What the hell is going on?"

Puffing out his cheeks, Tony rubbed at his tired eyes, and the bridge of his nose scrunched up in aggravation. Finally, he released his face, a small chuckle escaping him. "Alright, alright. It was me, okay? I told Phil not to call you in with the rest of the team. Yah happy now?"

Peter was taken back at his words. "What? Why?"

He rested his chin against his interlaced knuckles, sighing loudly. "Look, kid. You're an incredible hero. You're braver than any guy I know and a hell of a lot more selfless than anyone else on our team. But, uh—you see, you've been dealing with tons of street crime for the past few months rather effortlessly, and that's great. We all know you're good on that front. But I dunno. I guess...I just wasn't sure if you were ready to go against something like this."

Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Wait, what? Please tell me you're joking, Stark. Like, seriously? Has the whole thing where I saved the city from man-eating monsters and deadly diseases slipped your mind? Or when I broke into Oscorp with that lunatic Deadpool and helped all those prisoners escape? Or when Black Widow and I snuck on to the Helicarrier and stole the 'Project Chimera' file that helped us stop them from killing everyone? Why would you ever think I wouldn't be ready for anything anyone could throw at me after all the hell I've already been through?"

"You've met Deadpool? I mean—whatever. Look, Spidey. When you think back to all of those instances, you can't help but realize something: every time, you've barely escaped with your life. Especially when you tried to, you know, kill yourself in order to save everyone else." Tony suppressed a shudder as he thought back to that day, when Peter's heart had stopped from the chimera venom and the Avengers had to take drastic measures in order to revive him. The young hero had been in so much pain throughout the entire episode that he'd begun to beg them to kill him just to put him out of his misery. As strange as it sounded considering his normally passive character, he couldn't bear the idea of Peter being in a situation like that again. He tried not to let it show too translucently through his words, though. "If Banner wasn't so damn smart, you'd be in the ground right now. And I can't help but think that that's because of how you're wired: you place everyone else's well being above your own. It's the quality of a true hero, no doubt, but it's also a quality that has me—has us—really worried about you. Do you understand where I'm coming from?"

"You think I've got some kind of death wish and that I'll jump in front of the first bullet that comes flying our way?"

"No. I'm saying that I don't think you understand how significant you are, and that you tend to overestimate what you can handle on your own. It would be a harsh blow to New York if you were lost: crime rates would spike, the police would actually have to get off their asses for a change, and the city would be a darker, uglier place. And your family and the team really need you. I told Coulson not to tell you about it at all because if you knew about the mission you'd come whether or not we said you could, no doubt. I'm just trying to make sure you don't get yourself killed."

"I don't know if you realize this, but I kind of enjoy me being alive too! Just because I put others before myself doesn't mean I want to be killed! But besides that, sacrificing ourselves to save innocent people is something we have to be willing to do! You should know that better than anyone! And what the hell? What do you mean by—I can handle myself in any situation! You know that, Stark!"

"You've been lucky, Peter! That's the only reason you're still alive. You might have powers and be a decent fighter, but that doesn't mean you're ready to get involved with something like Hydra. Fury only just found out that they're the ones who orchestrated the chimera operation inside of S.H.I.E.L.D. and Oscorp, all while going completely undetected up to this point, which means that they're a way bigger threat than we ever imagined and far too dangerous for someone like you to handle. I told Coulson my concerns about you, he told the rest of the team, and they all agreed. We can't authorize a team member who we don't feel is fit for a mission to join the operation. It's nothing personal."

"Like hell, it's nothing personal! I'm an Avenger just like the rest of you! And being an Avenger means there's going to be serious danger wherever I go, but that I'm more than capable of facing it head-on! You're treating me like I'm some stupid little kid who would drop dead the second I stepped foot out of New York!"

"Well you're definitely acting like a stupid little kid if you don't get what I'm trying to tell you! And newsflash, Peter Parker: you are a kid! You're seventeen years old and don't have enough experience to get into something as serious as this. I just don't want to see a teenager like you throw away your life. I mean, look at yourself right now—you're severely injured just from tackling street crime. How could you expect me to let you fight Hydra when you can barely handle that much?"

Peter bolted from his seat on the couch. "You're not my dad, Stark!"

Tony flinched with sudden embarrassment. "What? Where the hell would you get the idea that I was—?"

"Forget it," he snapped, shouldering Tony out of the way as he marched across the room. He snatched his Spider-Man mask off the ground and pushed open the window. "I can't believe how stupid you are. You have no idea what I'm having to go against right now, yet you have the gall to accuse me of being inexperienced? Having my aunt spew all that crap at me is bad enough—but now you? You're all just making things worse."

"Wait a minute, Peter," Stark said, speaking in a gentler tone as he rose to his feet. "I wasn't trying to piss you off, alright? And I'm not trying to be like that either. I'm just looking out for you."

Spider-Man pulled his mask over his face. "Well, stop looking out for me. I can handle myself. If you're needing something to look after, there's plenty of animals up for adoption at the shelter downtown. Buy yourself a puppy."

Stark sighed irritably. "Peter, just hold on a sec—"

Spider-Man was out the window and soaring above the city before he could finish, his injuries stinging in the wind and anger boiling in his blood.

What an asshole. What gives him the right to have me booted off a mission? That's for Fury or Coulson to decide! And no one even discussed it with me before they all agreed that I'm somehow not qualified to do what the rest of the Avengers are all doing! At the very least they should've told me what was happening instead of just leaving me in the dark...

And what the hell is wrong with them? They—they think I'm a child! All of them do! I don't get it. The Avengers suddenly decide to start treating me like a kid after I save all of their asses multiple times, not to mention the whole world's ass? This is absolutely ridiculous.

Peter landed flat against the side of a building, his fingers curled furiously against the glass. His breathing was heavy and his heart was hammering against his ribcage. He just couldn't believe they were doing this to him! Even though he probably wouldn't have even wanted to go on the dumb mission, the fact that they hadn't even given him the choice because they thought he "wasn't ready" for Hydra was so unimaginably ridiculous! What more did he have to do to prove himself to them?

He was surprised how angry this was making him. He hated to admit how much something this stupid was upsetting him. At the same time, he couldn't bring himself to just let it go. Originally, Peter was sorta forced into the Avengers Initiative in a time of crisis, and now he couldn't imagine being excluded from them. He felt like he needed them—and they needed him. At least, he thought they did. In the short time he'd been on the team, he'd certainly helped a lot and proven he could hold his own, hadn't he? Was he really viewed as some kind of headstrong moron whose good morals were going to get him killed?

In that moment, something buzzed in his pocket. He reached inside and pulled out his phone, which had five missed calls and three voicemails. He clicked on the last one and held the phone up to his ear.

Peter? It's—it's me again. I know I'm not supposed to worry about you, but you hardly ever stay out overnight. I just want to make sure everything's fine, okay? Please call me as soon as you hear this. I'm making pecan pie for dessert tonight. I...I love you. Please call.

Puzzled, Peter checked the date on his phone. What the—June 28th? He had slept through an entire day? He hadn't been that hurt from the fight, had he? Then he remembered the torturous nightmare that had plagued him for hours on end, and how he couldn't make himself wake up from it. Could that have been the reason he'd been out for so long? All throughout his sleep it had haunted him, throwing his worst fears in his face over and over again all while feeling so terrifyingly real...

With a shiver, he forced the thoughts from his head. He couldn't bear to think about that any longer. It was far too much for him to comprehend right now, or at any time for that matter. He had to focus on something else. As luck would have it, his phone suddenly rang in his hand, startling him a bit. He looked at the screen and saw it was his aunt calling for the sixth time since he'd been gone. She was probably very concerned by this point. He'd been missing without word for almost an entire day now, and the last place his aunt had seen him was running off to fight a giant murderous freak man. His finger hovered over the the little green "answer" button, but he stopped himself. She was just like the Avengers, wasn't she? Stressing and worrying and spazzing out over him for no reason. Why didn't they trust him to take care of himself? He was smart—a genius, more like—and had incredible powers to protect others and himself with, yet all they seemed to see him as was a boy getting himself into trouble. He had never felt very persecuted about his young age until now, and it was immensely frustrating. Already he was sick of it, and he realized he would have to prove everybody wrong about himself again so that this stupid phase would end as soon as possible. With a flick of his thumb, he ignored the call, then shoved the phone back into his pocket.

Beating up idiots always seemed to cheer him up and help him think, so he decided to go on an early morning patrol of the city. Just as he leapt off the side of the building, however, he felt his muscles throb with pain. Peter hissed between his teeth and landed hard on top of a streetlight, then groaned as he dragged himself to a crouched position. His injuries from yesterday's fight weren't all the way healed yet. There was no way he could zip around town looking for a fight in his shape. Guess baddie butt-kicking would have to wait. Then he remembered—today was Monday. He was supposed to meet up with Dr. Maes at 8. Was it really a good idea to go though? What if it was some kind of trap? He hadn't seemed like that kind of man, but Peter couldn't help but be a bit paranoid. Banner wasn't around to help him now though since he was off on the Hydra mission with the others, so it was either get answers with Maes or get none at all. After debating it in his head for a moment, Peter sighed. Pressing his fingers against his palm, he fired a web across the street, then took off down the road, his movements rigid and hesitant.

Maes Rowell sat at his desk with his face against his fist, eyes closed and breathing slow. His house was silent besides the quiet ticking of the small clock hanging on the wall. He had dozed off after sitting there alone for almost three hours now.

Tap tap.

His eyes slipped open. Maes raised his head and glanced around, puzzled. Where had that sound come from? Perhaps he was just imagining things.

Tap tap tap.

He spun around with a start. To his surprise, sticking to the window outside of his apartment was a severely beaten young man wearing nothing but a mask and tattered cargo shorts. He gave a skittish little wave, and Maes couldn't decide whether he should laugh or be concerned as he walked across the room and pushed up the window.

"Uh, hey there, Peter," he said amusedly. "Am I right to assume this is your usual mode of entrance?"

"Sorry. I didn't have any cover clothes and I would have had to walk through the lobby either as a half-naked Spidey or a half-naked Peter Parker. Neither sounded very appealing, so I chose a more discreet route."

Maes shut the window after he stepped inside the apartment. "Hate to break it to you, but I don't think anything pertaining to a guy named Spider-Man who swings around in a red and blue leotard can ever be considered discreet."

After a moment of hesitation, Peter peeled off his mask and ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, not when you put it that way."

Sporting some white scrubs and a pair of thick glasses, Maes Rowell offered him a genuine smile. "I'm glad you decided to show up. To be honest, I was kinda expecting you to bail on this."

"I wasn't so sure I'd come myself. I guess I'm just tired of not knowing everything about who I am. Or, y'know, what I am." Peter rubbed irritably at his forehead. "And I needed to get away from some other crap that I'm not in the mood to deal with right now."

Maes nodded knowingly, smart enough not to ask him about it, then pulled a stool out from under his desk. "Well, I say we get this over with already. I noticed you have some injuries that need some attention, so how 'bout we start with those?"

Composing himself, Peter slowly sat in the chair, praying that he wasn't making the worst mistake of his life by letting this doctor look him over. Major consequences would arise for both of them if it was discovered that Maes was helping him out, or that he knew his secrets. He hoped he could trust him to keep quiet.

Dr. Maes slipped on some gloves and gently took Peter's arm in his hands, eyeing the deep bruising all the way around his wrist. It looked like someone had tried to break it. He kneaded softly at the purple flesh and felt Peter flinch beneath his touch. "It's not broken, although it looks like it was very close to being." His gaze shifted to look at his back, which was littered with blackish-green splotches and raw, scabby lacerations caked with dry blood. Maes' eyes softened. "Who did this to you?"

"Two freaks I fought right after leaving your office yesterday," Peter explained, struggling not to groan as the doctor pressed against a tender spot on his shoulder. "One was dressed like a rhino and the other a metal bird."

Maes blinked in surprise. "Oh. I think I heard something about that after I got home in the evening. They really did a number to that strip downtown. I didn't realize that you were the one who defeated them."

"I think 'defeated' is a bit too strong of a word. It wasn't exactly a simple hit-and-run kinda fight. They might've looked ridiculous, but they had some impressive tech. The Rhino was almost like a jungle-themed copy of the Hulk, with impenetrable skin and super strength, and the Vulture could actually fly with the suit he had. Somebody with crazy funding and a serious grudge against their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man must be equipping these bastards and sending them after me."

"I didn't know you had so many enemies. How come you didn't get help from your Avengers friends?"

When Peter didn't answer, he realized he must have struck a nerve, and decided not to pry further. Clearing his throat, Maes went about tending to the rest of his injuries, dabbing stuff here, sticking things there, and leaving him looking like a patchy mummy once he was finished. When that was all taken care of, he clapped his hands together jubilantly.

"Alrighty then. What would you like me to look at first? I can't guarantee that I'll be able to figure out everything that spider venom did to you, or how it all works inside your system, but I'll do what I can."

Unsure where to begin, Peter stared down at himself. "I, uh...I don't know."

"Well, let's see. You can climb walls like a spider, correct?" Maes asked, crouching down and holding Peter's hands upright against his own. "Do you know how that works?"

"From what I can tell, I have these tiny hairs on my palms and on the bottoms of my feet. They hook into surfaces and allow me to stick to stuff."

Dr. Maes held Peter's palm up close to eyes, turning it every which way and poking at the skin experimentally. "Extraordinary. The epidermis of your palm is covered with thousands of scopulae, just like that of a spider's." He scooped a magnifying glass off the table. "Each one even has its own individual setules! This is incredible! You weren't kidding when you said you were actually part spider."

"And you weren't kidding when you said you were a geneticist," Peter chuckled, watching him pour over his hand with tedious interest. Dr. Maes' eyes traipsed across his palm diligently, then he flipped his hand upside down. He flipped it back upright, then back over again, and raised his eyebrows.

"Well this is interesting."

"What? What's interesting?"

"You said you only have the hairs on your palms and soles, correct?"

"Yeah."

Dr. Maes inspected the skin all the way up the length of his arm, and an intrigued smile spread across his face. "Well, it looks to me that you have them all over your body."

"I do?"

"I think so. They appear to be retracted beneath your skin inside individual hair follicles."

Peter blinked. "I didn't know that."

Maes scratched at his beard. "I wonder...have you ever tried to—I don't know how, would you say it—activate them? Unsheathe them? Maybe the one's that aren't on your hands and feet are like cat claws and you have to make them work by thinking about it."

"I didn't know about them until now, so I guess I've never tried."

The doctor glanced around for a moment, then snatched a glass plate off his desk. "Here, try to make this stick to your arm." He grabbed him by the wrist and stretched his arm out to its full length.

"Shouldn't I practice with something less breakable?"

"Nonsense! Just try it." He placed the plate vertically against his forearm and let go of it. Immediately it crashed to the floor and shattered into a million pieces.

"Whoops. That's fine. Let's try again with this." He scooped a vase off the table, and Peter let out a laugh.

"How about instead of destroying more of your nice stuff, I use something more sturdy," he suggested, "like this book. And this time, I'll hold it."

"Good idea. Sorry about that, I guess I just forgot how exciting genetics can be."

Chuckling, Peter picked up the book and laid it against the side of his arm. He seriously doubted he'd be able to make something stick to himself anywhere besides his hands or feet, but it wouldn't hurt to give it a try. Despite feeling kind of silly, he tried hard to concentrate on the skin of his forearm. Think sticky thoughts. He imagined the little hairs growing from his flesh and grabbing on to the book like tiny hands. And he swore he could almost feel them.

Then he let go. He expected to hear a whump against the floor a moment later, but none came. Realizing he had his eyes closed, Peter opened them and stared down at his arm. To his shock, there sat the book, sticking parallel to his skin like metal on a magnet. Dr. Maes gasped aloud.

"It works! I was right! Oh wow, I can't believe it!"

"Whoa. That's so weird," Peter gaped, moving his arm around and watching the pages flip open, yet the book stayed in place. He imagined the hairs retreating back into his skin, and down the book fell right into his outstretched hand. "I can't believe I never knew about. And these are all over me you said?"

"That appears to be the case," he exclaimed, tracing his magnifying glass all along his back and neck and face. "Extraordinary! You are truly extraordinary!"

"Thanks," he laughed somewhat embarrassedly. "I guess that's one way to describe having spider hairs covering your body." It intrigued him that even after having these powers through the past year there were still new abilities lurking beneath his flesh that he had yet to discover. He wondered if that should excite or terrify him.

"Now what should we look into? Oh, the possibilities are endless!" Enthusiasm sparkled in his eyes, and Peter snorted under his breath.

"Well, my wrists shoot webs," he hinted carefully, removing his web-shooters and holding his arms out for him to see. The doctor was on them instantly, his magnifying glass mere inches from his skin.

"Incredible! There are spinnerets inside this slit in your wrist, which are connected to a web-fluid gland concealed beneath the skin!" If it was even possible, Maes' face got even closer to his arm, his brow furrowed with interest. He pulled a light from his pocket and shined it over his skin. "There also appears to be some kind of...projectile appendage? It's deep inside your flesh it looks like. Perhaps it's some sort of a retractable defense mechanism?"

Peter went stiff. His fingers grew cold, and his veins felt icy. He knew what the doctor was seeing, but he didn't want to believe it. He thought after he conquered The Other that they had disappeared, but apparently he was wrong. With effort, Peter swallowed the lump in his throat, his breathing unsteady. "They're, uh...yeah. Defense mechanisms, I guess. They're like...spears. Or stingers. Stingers coated with a poison...that paralyzes whoever they touch."

"Wow! That's amazing! I've never seen you use those in battle before."

A small chill crawled up his spine. "I can't unsheathe them at will. It only happens when I'm really...really upset."

Maes blinked in surprise. "Really? Well, I'm sure with a little practice, we can get it to where you can activate them on command, and then you can start using them to fight against your enemies in—"

"No."

"Huh?"

"I don't want to use them."

Maes was taken back. "Why not? Your body obviously created them to defend yourself, so it'd probably be in your best interest to—"

"I'm never going to use them ever again."

Dr. Maes realized there must be greater reasoning behind all of this. Peter's eyes had become haunted, and his hand was cold against his own. Immediately he released his wrist, and his blind enthusiasm faded. "Alright. That's fine. Why don't we wrap up for today, huh? I think we've both had enough excitement for one day."

Peter raised his eyes to meet his gaze, grateful for the doctor's keen empathy. "Oh. Okay. You're not going to look at my blood or anything?"

Maes shrugged. "I mean, I can. If you're okay with that."

Peter nodded slowly. "I think that would reveal the most about my biological makeup." He forced a reluctant grin to try to derail the tension he had caused. "If, uh, if I really want to know exactly what kind of freak of nature I am, I need you to look at my DNA."

Somewhat surprised, a reserved smile pulled up at the corners of Dr. Rowell's lips. "Okay then. Give me a second." He left for a moment then returned with a small vial and a needle. He took Peter's index finger in his hand and gave the tip a sharp poke, making him wince, then squeezed out a few drops of blood into the tube. After sealing the cap, he secured a tuft of cotton against his bleeding finger with a bandaid and placed his hands on his hips.

"Alright, you're all done. I'll run some tests on it and see what turns up. Just stop by next Monday and we can go over all the data together."

"My finger has a heartbeat," Peter whined, rubbing at the sore spot distastefully. "But other than that, thank you. You're doing me a real favor."

"No problem. I suggest you rest up a while before you go looking for another fight anytime soon. You might have said you have a healing factor, but that doesn't mean you're invincible. Take it easy for a spell."

Peter nodded obligatorily, knowing well he'd probably be back to kicking ass and taking names by that night. "See yah later."

After graciously accepting a t-shirt to borrow from the kind doctor, Peter slipped his mask into his pocket and dropped down to the sidewalk below the apartment. He knew he'd tear his bandages apart if he tried to swing home, so he decided to try walking for a change. The casual check-up had helped him cool off and start thinking a bit more rationally. Perhaps he had overreacted a little with Stark back at Avengers Tower. Maybe he had alternative reasons for not letting him go on the mission that he was keeping from him. At least, he hoped that was the case. He would address that later. As for Aunt May, he knew ignoring her calls and making her even more worried than she already was was totally unfair. He needed to make things right on that front as soon as possible. As luck would have it, his phone began to buzz inside his pocket right that moment. He answered it on the first ring.

"Hey, Aunt May. I'm really sorry for not answering you sooner. I'm coming home right now."

To his surprise, there was silence on the other end. Peter's footsteps slowed.

"Uh, hello? Aunt May? You there?"

Hello, Peter Parker.

He stopped dead in his tracks. A ball of ice formed in his stomach.

"Who—who is this? Where's Aunt May?"

She's here. She is fine.

His hands were shaking. His heart was pounding like a mallet against his chest.

"What...what do you want?"

The stranger on the other end took a moment before responding. Their voice carried a quiet and eerie softness.

You are in danger, Spider-Man. I am here to warn you.

Told you I was a jerk hehe :D But the world is a jerk to me because I won't be able to see Ant Man for 2 more weeks cuz of my vacay so you all have to suffer with me muhahaha...Lol I'm just kidding, I'm sure you all aren't THAT hung up on this story as I am on FREAKIN ANT MAN GAWSH WHY MARVEL I WANT TO SEE IT SOOO BAD. Anyway I gotta cry myself to sleep now cuz I have a 6am flight and it's currently almost 1. Laters ;P