"I can't establish a connection with the user interface," FRIDAY reported, as Pepper stood - still fully armored - in the wreckage of the office. The night security were clustered in the doorway behind her.

Peter's vitals had spiked and crashed and she'd been there in minutes. She'd been there before the police. She'd been there before building security . And she still hadn't been there quickly enough. She'd been optimistic at first, between the tracking devices on Peter's suit and the various cameras in the area, there was no possible way that whoever had attacked him could have hidden.

But the tracking devices were offline, and the feeds were empty.

Minutes.

"Karen," she said absently, as she read another, useless, analysis of the debris. "He calls the interface Karen."

She dropped her face-plate and directed her attention to the head of security. "Is the building manager here yet?"

The man, frantically muttering into his cell, covered the lower half as he replied. "No ma'am, he's en-route."

She nodded and turned away, raising the plate again. "FRIDAY, call May Parker."

-o o-

"-ter. Peter. Peter. Peter. Peter. Pe-"

Ng. Karen?

The softly repeating voice cut out as he swam closer to consciousness.

In its place, his regular pre-flight check kicked in:

No one was screaming for help.
No one was screaming in general.
Nothing was crushing him.
Nothing was on fire.
No one was yelling, "Peter Parker's Spider-man!"
No one was throwing paper darts at his head to wake him up in homeroom. Again.

All green, and usually the start of a great morning, except this wasn't morning, and he wasn't in bed, and he could feel the lining of the mask on his face.

So, he was Spider-man, and - as he'd been unconscious - Spider-man was probably in trouble, but Spider-man still had his mask on.

Win for Spidey!

There had been- he'd gone to the shelter, and. Ellie! Someone had shot at him. And then- then-

Ropes? And - and was something digging into his arm? He flexed his fingers. No glove, suit rolled up what felt like his elbow.

Peter jerked his head up.

"Figured you'd be back quicker'n that."

The low, gravelly voice came from somewhere in front of him, but Peter's vision was blurry and his immediate world was a collection of dark blobs and blurred contrasts. He blinked rapidly as Karen murmured probably hugely important information at him, none of which he was following, because his head was attempting to split open and he was so, so thirsty.

He didn't think he'd ever been so thirty.

"I disappoint me too sometimes," he managed, wincing as his voice cracked. "Want to go again? I think I was by the window, and you were ... a psycho?"

Triple vision slid into double, then focused into single. And, given he could now see the huge guy working on something at a bench ten feet away, Peter kinda wished it hadn't. Long coat and buzz cut and, was that a skull?

Ned was wrong: Peter read the news sometimes.

And, again, kinda wished he didn't.

"Oh, man.

Frank Castle, the freaking Punisher , was right there, probably cleaning one of his hundreds and hundreds of guns. Peter looked around frantically, on the off-chance anyone else at all was around. This wasn't the room he'd crashed into, not unless offices had traded desks and fake pot plants for generators and rats.

The basement? Maybe. But definitely not anywhere he could expect someone to stumble over them and call in the National Guard. Or the Hulk.

"Yeah," the man said, very nearly sympathetically as Peter worked out exactly how screwed he was. "It's not looking good for our hero. That what they say? You think you're a hero, Bug?" Castle didn't wait for an answer, which is just as well, because Peter honestly wasn't sure he could have given him one. "No one's coming for you. You understand?"

Except Iron Man, who would be knocking down the door any moment now. Which would be incredibly embarrassing, but, you know, Peter would take it. Lesson learned, never go through an invitingly open window ever again. Ever. Again.

Only.

Castle thought he'd be awake sooner. Had planned for that. And no one had found him yet.

Castle nodded as Peter reached third horrifying conclusion since waking, probably taking his cue from the mask's eyes widening.

"Yeah, you understand. Fancy suit you got. But I got this." He pointed to a small black box on the bench beside him, featureless except for small, pulsing green light. "Finds a signal, jams a signal. No one. Is coming. For you."

And maybe, Peter thought, that just might have been what Karen had been trying to tell him.

"I'm sorry, Peter," she said. "I will continue attempting to communicate your location to Mr Stark."

And she'd probably already been trying for a while .

He was going to die.

"Have you considered a career in coaching?" He asked, smart-ass response generator wired directly to the terror center of his brain. "You're a motivational guy."

"Where's the kid?"

"In bed, asleep, under so many plushies you have no idea. I didn't kidnap her, I rescued her." Experimentally, Peter tried to yank at the ropes around his wrists, but he could barely twitch. His metabolism was off the charts, he knew that, but whatever drugs Castle had him hooked to were too strong. He tried not to whimper, but wow, he sucked.

He was going to die .

"Settle down." Castle crouched in front of the chair. His gaze traced the lining of the mask speculatively, then he reached forward to tweak something on the IV. "Where's the kid?"

"This is why you shouldn't play with grenades," Peter slurred, as a new wave of sedative hit. "Hearing loss."

There was a tap on the side of his head, not a hard one, just enough to refocus his attention. "Where's the kid?"

" Safe ," Peter insisted, with the last of his energy.

Castle nodded as he wound down, as if that was all he'd been waiting for. "I want Elle back where she belongs, and that ain't with you."

Peter let his head loll, chin to chest, with shallow breaths. Because, maybe, maybe, maybe, if he could convince Castle that the sedative was too strong, he'd reduce it and Peter would have any chance at all of freeing himself.

Unfortunately, it was too strong.

He slipped back under.

-o o-

"We want to help," Danny said calmly, and earnestly, from his perch on the desk. Jessica wanted to tell him to get off the damn furniture, but even she had to admit that was mostly just to pick a fight. " I want to help. I just don't know how - this isn't what the Iron Fist was created for."

And there were so many better things to pick fights over anyway.

"The vast amount of shit in this world is not something the Iron Finger was created for," she snapped. "It's there anyway, so deal with it. And get off the damn furniture."

He nodded and slid to his feet with no trace of annoyance. She wasn't fooled. Even the old guy, Stick, had had more Zen in his one good little finger than Danny.

"I told you I want to help," he repeated. "I just don't know how I can." That wasn't Jessica's problem, and she opened her mouth to tell him so as Colleen rubbed his arm comfortingly. And there was your dangerously codependent relationship, right there.

From the single good chair in her apartment, Luke held up a hand to forestall the next round of bickering. "So we don't know who the kid is or where she came from, just that the government and S.H.I.E.L.D. want her, and Spider-man has her."

"Maybe, maybe not." Jessica subsided; that was a more pressing concern. "He's still not picking up."

"Nothing on the news reports. If they took him down, they're keeping it quiet. And maybe they didn't find the kid with him." Luke shrugged. "So we find her, deal with the rest later."

"Everyone's looking for her," Colleen pointed out. "How can we find her if they can't?" Her expression softened with something close to regret. "We need-"

"Yeah," Jessica interjected, before she could say it. "But he's still incredibly dead, so let's move on."

Oh, good A pregnant silence.

"Jess..."

She waved Luke's admonishment - or was concern? - away. She didn't want or need either. "What else do we have?"

Luke turned his attention to Danny. "Anything Rand can throw in?"

"Nothing more than anyone else, probably less." Danny was staring down at his hands, thoughtfully. "But I've been told before, the fist opens."

Colleen narrowed her eyes. "Remember what happened last time?"

He looked up at her, almost shyly. "I healed you, nothing else mattered."

Christ, young love.

Wait.

Jessica stared at him. "You can heal people?"

"Yes. Once. Colleen had been poisoned. The Iron Fist is-"

"Seriously, you need to stop with the third-person bullshit."

"It's not a person, it's a weapon." And there he was, the angry, hurt kid below the thin veneer of fake chill. The one Jessica could actually talk to like a person. "A weapon I can't put down, and one I was never taught to fully wield. One I may not - may never be able to fully wield. But it allows me to do more than hurt people.

"I've been in Hell's Kitchen," he confessed, as if they didn't know.

"We know," Luke said, helpfully.

Danny drew back, promptly - thankfully - derailed. "What?"

"People talk. It's not Matt, it's not me or Jess." Luke's mouth twitched with a half-smile. "Could be someone new, but at least one person mentioned as how the Devil has a glowing fist now."

"Oh." Danny's cheeks colored, but he straightened in an effort towards dignity. "Well, apart from that time - which wasn't my fault - I've been trying to do things the way Matt would have. So they don't know he's gone, so no one starts asking questions about a missing lawyer and a missing vigilante. For Foggy and Karen's sake.

"I've been listening. And if I focus my chi, sometimes I hear more than I ever thought was possible. I'm not saying I can hear her, not like Matt might have been able to - it would take years of meditation to be able to work the way. Do you know how incredible he was?"

"Back on track," Jessica suggested, before the enthused fanboy could take over.

"If I can use my chi for that, and to heal, maybe I can use it for something else. Chi connects us all, in a way. Perhaps I can follow that connection."

Jessica shook her head. "God, you sound like Dorothy's guru."

"Then he's a wise man, and I would like very much to meet him."

"Definitely a rich one," she sighed, when Luke raised an eyebrow in her general direction. "Fine, look for the girl, then Spider-man."

"We may only have one shot at this," Colleen warned, a thin line of worry furrowing her forehead. "Last time knocked him out for-"

"It'll be fine." Danny waved a hand. "I won't rush this time."

Luke was looking at her. Colleen and Danny were doing the same.

Jessica shook her head, this was not a decision she was in any way equipped to make and since when did she make the decisions anyway? Which part of not being responsible for anyone were people unclear about?

But. Okay. Spider-man would probably know where Ellie was, Ellie wouldn't know where he was, and if they only had one shot at this…

Fine.

"Spider-man," she said. "Find him. What do you need?"

"A sense of who he is."

She shook her head. "I can't tell you that."

"I don't mean his name," Danny said, patiently. "I mean who he is ."

Seriously, Zen Master Ken was getting really old.

She ground her teeth. "Young. Smart. Idealistic, so also kind of stupid. And right now, probably pretty scared." She had a thought. "Do we … are we different. Because we're stronger or whatever? Does that show in this chi stuff?"

"I don't… maybe. Yes." Danny nodded with an enthusiastic grin that in no way matched the vibe he was going for. "Yes, that will help." He folded his legs into the position she'd come to think of as crossed legs for over-achievers, settled his hands loosely in his lap and closed his eyes.

Luke was watching her with a strange expression. She scowled. "What?"

"Nothing." He hauled himself out the chair. "I'll go to the shelter. Maybe someone on the streets saw which way he went. They might talk to me."

"Queens isn't exactly Harlem," Jessica pointed out, in lieu of any of that stay safe, be careful, crap.

He shook his head and made for the door. "Don't I know it."

- o o-

It had been an hour. An hour .

Danny breathed in. Danny breathed out. Danny breathed in again.

Jessica tried - really, really tried - to stay quiet. Calm.

Nothing. Was. Happening.

A muscle in her cheek twitched, and Colleen glanced over with a warning look. She mouthed some words, most of which Jessica didn't catch, but the general "shut up and be quiet" theme was pretty clear.

She'd started to stand, not sure where to go except out, when Danny's fist begin to glow.

His eyes snapped open. "I found him! I think I - I think I found him." He scrabbled to his feet as Colleen hovered, ready to field a suddenly falling body. "Over the river. Through a park. Basement of bank. It's closed. Shut down. Next to an office block that - it smells like smoke, up high. There's. I can only see it - I can't see the street. But I can take you there."

He noticed Colleen, attentively watching him. "I'm fine," he added.

"Uh huh."

"I am."

"Sure."

Colleen couldn't stop him falling, but she managed to catch his head.

Jessica was there a second later, helping to arrange him into something she vaguely remembered as a recovery position. "You got this?"

"His pulse is steady," Colleen said, taking her fingers from Danny's wrist. "His color's good. He's fine - this is nothing like last time. I'm coming with you." She pulled the cell from his pocket and left it next to his hand.

"I can do this on my-" Jessica started, as Colleen quickly typed him a message from her own.

"I won't be left behind again," she said as she hit send. "I know what you think of me. I'm no one's sidekick, and I can help."

"Don't take this personally, but I don't really think of you at all." Jessica considered her, as Colleen frowned back. "That's on me," she allowed. "We're going to Queens."

"You know it's Queens just from that?"

"Call it a hunch. No accent, my ass."

-o o-

Luke considered the front of the shelter for a long moment before he flipped his hood up and turned away. The people he wanted to talk to wouldn't be in there: the ones who wouldn't be welcome, the ones who just didn't think they were.

He headed down the side street, listening to the sounds of a city hitting midnight. Laughter, catcalls, shrieks and screams. A baby crying, a dog howling. Close his eyes and it could be Harlem. Except it didn't smell the same. Nowhere smelled like home.

He could hear scuffling in the alleys left and right; rats, dogs and people. Maybe a few muggers, thinking twice. Tended to happen.

Feeling eyes on him, he turned into the last on his right and found himself chest-to-face with a short man holding a thin knife in suddenly trembling fingers.

"Don't want no trouble, man," the mugger wheezed. "No trouble. It's self-defense!"

His accent was Queens all through, with more than a little hint of the Irish in it.

Luke plucked the knife from unresistant fingers; from the ragged state of the guy, he believed him: junkie, not thief. At least, not from someone stronger than he was, which was probably anyone over the age of ten.

"Then no trouble's what we got," Luke assured him. "You see what happened here this morning? "

"I didn't see nothing."

"Spider-man," Luke prompted. "He took a little girl."

"Oh. Oh sure. I saw that. The man scrubbed his hands on his stained jeans, eyes suddenly bright at the opportunity for negotiation. "I can tell you stuff. I got stuff to tell."

Luke looked away dismissively. "You had anything, you'd already have sold it on."

"No. No-no-no. Spider-man, he's okay. I wouldn't tell them nothing. He's okay. There were worms, worms all over the ground, trying to eat me. He made me a bed on the wall. Spun a web." He pointed up. "No worms. He's okay."

"So why would you tell me where he is?"

"Because you're him. You're Cage, right? I heard of you. I heard. You're okay. You maybe got a little .. a little something for an old soldier."

Luke had serious doubts the man had ever served in his life, but. He flipped a ten up and watched the bright, blood-shot eyes fix on it, hypnotized. "Where did he go?"

"That way." The man pointed. "I watched. Long as I could: go, Spidey. Go! All the way up there, over the expressway."

Luke handed the ten over, added another twenty to it. "Get something to eat," he said, without much hope.

After a moment's deliberation, he handed the knife back.

Then jammed his hands in his pockets and started walking.

-o o-

Frank reduced the flow of sedative and considered his unconscious captive again.

"This is on you, Red," he told thin air. "Tried doing things your way and I got nothing."

Yeah, talking to yourself was the first sign of madness. Wasn't like anyone had ever been shy about calling him crazy.

Crazy wasn't stupid, though, and he had to admit, something wasn't right. The bug had his fans, had his enemies - mostly in the Bugle - but no one had ever figured him for a kidnapper before. Maybe he really thought he was doing the right thing. Didn't mean he was.

The bug's head nodded as he started to come around.

"Cool, still alive. Living was on my to do list today," he said, voice cracking. Frank would have to take him off the mix soon, or next time he probably wouldn't wake up. But if he did that, they had a problem, because there was no way Frank could contain him, however short and scrawny he looked.

"Where's the girl," he said, moving closer.

"Can we play a new game? How'd you feel about I Spy? I Spy, with my little…" The mask's creepy eyes flexed. "What even is that? Is that a grenade launcher ?"

Frank nodded, without looking at the weapon in question. "Heckler & Koch XM25 Counter Defilade Target Engagement," he said, measured, clear and not trying to hide his approval. "Rangers won't carry them, say they're too heavy. Marines say, 'thank you, sir - may I have another?'"

The XM25 had another name; it didn't make odds one way or another on why he chose it, but he had to admit, the universe had a hell of a sense of humor.

"You brought a grenade launcher to fight me? I don't know whether to be complimented or terrified." There was barely a pause; the mouth kept running. "I'm going to go with terrified. Because it's a grenade launcher ."

"Didn't need it," Frank pointed out.

"Yeah, that was - that was not my finest moment." The bug's voice cracked again, and this time Frank wasn't sure it was just dry mouth from the sedatives.

Not short , he thought. Not grown . "How old are you?"

"People keep asking me that. It's crazy. I guess I just have one of those young-looking masks. You think I should get ID?"

Well, hell.

Young didn't let the bug off the hook - murderers were made at all ages - but it did make Frank a little relieved he hadn't hit him with everything he had.

And then realized that the bug's voice might have been rough, might have cracked, but the words were clear. He was far more aware than he should have been.

Frank raised his Magnum, barrel aimed center mass, just as the rope snapped. He shook his head in slow warning. "You that fast, Bug?"

He'd almost dodged the stun grenade.

Maybe he was.

The bug moved; Frank fired.

I'm going to really try and get more chapters out over the week, but there's a chance it will end up being next Fri, Sat and Sun again.

Thank you so much to anyone who takes the time to comment - it's hugely appreciated, you are the wind beneath my wings, you don't even know.

Also, yep, the Heckler & Koch XM25 Counter Defilade Target Engagement is also called "The Punisher"