Steve was staring at him. He had said something, but Peter hadn't heard. He couldn't hear anything over the rushing of blood in his ears and the beating of his heart in his chest.
The goblin had come after him. He had tracked him down, had attempted to kill him, and when he couldn't do that he destroyed his home instead. Everything he'd managed to gain, all the money he'd managed to save – gone. It was gone. And for what?
Because some crazed man in a power-suit thought he had something that he didn't, and was ready to kill him in order to get it.
This was all just nuts. This was all just completely nuts. All of this was supposed to end after Seftis took everyone's memories and discarded him like useless trash. He had become no one, he had become nothing – and yet he was still ending up entangled with mad, suped-up men who wanted to see him dead, and superheroes who wouldn't leave him the hell alone.
"Peter."
He wished he'd never gotten the bite. He was such a fool, such a complete and utter fool to spend all those years looking up to the Avengers; idolizing Iron Man and Captain America, thinking they were the most amazing people that existed, wanting so desperately to be just like them, wishing people would think he was as cool as they were.
He was a fool. A self-absorbed, attention-seeking fool whose actions – whose decision to try and be a superhero after he'd been bitten by that damned spider – had completely destroyed his life; had taken everything and everyone he loved away from him. His desperate need for love and attention had resulted in him being alone for the rest of his life.
"Peter."
He wished Seftis had just decided to kill him, instead of sentencing him to this rotten existence he called a life. What had he done to possibly deserve this? Why did Seftis do any of this in the first place? Had Peter done something to him he didn't know of? Was this some form of revenge enacted on behalf of one of the Avengers? On all of them? What purpose could his being alive while the rest of the world forgot him, possibly serve?
"Peter!"
"What?!" Peter snapped. He glared at Steve, his jaw clenched.
Steve stared evenly back at him, unfazed by Peter's temper. "I was asking if you knew who it was. If you know who it was that did this. Do you?"
Peter turned back to the writing on the wall. He could practically feel the words mocking him, taunting him, a twisted promise of what was to come. He could see the goblin's yellow eyes behind his own, and nausea began to rise in his throat, and he wanted nothing more than to puke.
"Peter," Steve prompted again.
"No," Peter finally said dismissively. He turned and walked past Steve, heading straight towards the hole in the wall. He was jumping out and climbing down before Steve even had a chance to open his mouth.
He made his way out of the rubble until he was standing on the sidewalk again. He could hear Steve stumbling through the debris behind him, as he lifted up the caution-tape and started walking down the sidewalk. He didn't know where he was going, he knew he just wanted to go.
"Peter, hold up!" Steve yelled behind him. He quickly drew up to Peter, trying to slow him down. "Peter, wait – Peter, just wait a minute. Just – just stop." He grabbed hold of Peter's arm and Peter immediately spun, turning on him with such a vicious glare that Steve almost took a step back.
Almost. He wasn't Captain America for nothing, after all. And after the past few years with Bucky, well – he could take anything Peter had to give him.
"Just leave me alone!" Peter shouted. "You did what you wanted to do, you walked me back home even when I told you not to, you helped me when I didn't want it. Your job is done, so just let me be!"
"Peter, who is it? Who was the person that burnt down your home? I know you know who it is, so just tell me!"
"Why?" Peter sneered, ripping his arm out of Steve's hold. "So you can go find him? So you can go beat up the big, bad guy for little, helpless Peter Parker? Is that it?" He could almost spit, he was so angry. "I never wanted your guys' help in the first place, and I sure as hell don't want it now! So just leave me alone!"
He began walking again, rage burning through him like fire.
He was truly homeless, now. He was truly a street-bum, in every sense of the word. He was someone with no one and nothing and no where to go. In the aftermath of After, he had at least managed to build a life for himself. The attic had been his refuge, his sanctuary, the one thing that kept him from going completely insane and losing his mind entirely.
But now the attic was gone, along with all the money he'd managed to save up, along with all the items he'd managed to make his own. He now had nothing. He had nothing. He had nothing, he had noth –
He sensed Steve coming up behind him before the man had even opened his mouth to speak. Before he could even think, Peter instinctively turned round and pulled back his arm, punching Steve straight in the stomach.
Steve went flying backwards, soaring through the air for a few yards before he landed on the ground and tumbled to a halt.
Peter stared at Steve, his eyes wide and chest heaving as though he'd just run a ten-mile race. It was only when he blinked away the irritation in his eye that he realised he was sweating. That he was sweating a lot. In fact, his entire body was pouring with sweat.
He suddenly felt profusely hot and Peter squeezed his eyes shut, gripping at his shirt that was now almost completely soaked through. His hand brushed against the centre of his chest and he hissed in pain, quickly letting the shirt go.
It was his chest. Whatever was causing his body to feel as though it were literally burning from the inside out, it was starting in his chest. In that same exact spot where the goblin had taken the scalpel knife, where he had cut into Peter's skin, and –
"..eter. Peter! Peter, what's wrong? What's happening, what's going on? Peter!"
Think happy thoughts.
The words echoed through his mind as though someone had actually spoken them, and Peter internally shook his head.
Think happy thoughts? Why on earth – how on earth could he think happy thoughts right now? What – what happy thoughts could he possibly have to think about? He wasn't happy about his attic – his home – being burned down; he wasn't happy about being with the Avengers, he wasn't happy about getting kidnapped by a goblin-man. Hell, he hadn't been happy since It happened; he hadn't been happy in two years. So how – why would he possibly think that happy thoughts would help at a time like this, when –
Think happy thoughts.
The words echoed again throughout his mind, and for a moment the voice sounded eerily familiar, as though Peter had somehow heard it before. Except that couldn't be. Unless he'd been hearing voices in his mind and hadn't ever realised it till now, which was actually a real possibility, considering –
Think happy thoughts.
Peter wrapped his arms around his chest and squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to focus.
Okay, okay. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. He could do that. If nothing else than to focus on something other than the sphere of fire that was trying to burn through his chest.
All right. Happy, happy – what made him happy?
Well, the first thought that came to mind was of his mother and father. They had died when he was eight, so he didn't remember everything, but he could still remember some. He could remember his mother's smile, as she held him on her lap and read him bedtime stories. He could feel his father's arms wrap around him and give him the strongest hug that made him feel so perfectly safe. He remembered their laughs. He remembered waving goodbye to them as he went to school, waving goodbye as they got on the plane, how they said they would be back in a couple days and that he would like staying with his uncle and aunt, except….
Except they didn't come back. There were three more sleeps without them, then two more sleeps, then one, then – then every sleep after that. He remembered watching his uncle as he stood at the counter, his hand shaking as he held the phone to his ear, while he –
The burning in his chest grew, and Peter shook his head.
Another memory, another memory.
Of course that would have to be growing up with Uncle Ben and Aunt May. Uncle Ben had been so good to him, he had been every inch the father that Peter could have ever wanted. He had taught him how to ride a bike, had introduced him to science magazines, which had then spurred his interest in chemistry, and then the bite had happened, and then he had made web-shooters and a suit and then Uncle Ben had died in his arms, and –
Another memory. Another.
Meeting Tony for the first time had been fun. Had been thrilling. Had been the most exciting moment in probably his entire life. Then to be given his suit, asked to come to Germany, then fighting against Captain America and the Avengers.
Flying through the air on his webs. Swinging up and then down, up and then down – the most thrilling rollercoaster he'd ever been on. Crawling up the sides of buildings, hanging upside down on ceilings, suddenly realising he was stronger and faster than anyone he knew.
"…eter. Peter."
It took him a moment to realise that the burning in his chest had faded, and that there was someone standing in front of him. He opened his eyes slowly, then looked up to see Captain America. The older man was looking at him, his brows knitted together in concern, the rays of the late afternoon sun shining behind him.
Oh. Right. He was in the middle of the city with Steve. He'd been trying to get away from him, when….
Peter's eyes widened as he realised what he had done. In the chaos of everything going on, Steve had startled him and on instinct he had reacted and… and he had….
Peter swallowed.
Relief slightly relaxed the lines around Steve's eyes, and he sighed. "Peter, you with me now?"
Peter did nothing for a moment, then gave a slight nod.
Steve gave a nod of his own. "Good. Look, I don't want to argue about this anymore. I want you to come with me back to one of Tony's towers. We can get something to eat, and we can figure out what to do from there. I'll call someone and they can come pick us up. Will you do that? It's just until we can figure out what to do next. To just… just gather our thoughts. All right?"
Without even waiting for an answer Steve took out his phone and walked a few steps away, tapping in numbers and holding the phone to his ear.
Peter frowned after him, his arms still held around his chest.
No, it was not all right that Steve got someone to take them to one of Tony's towers. No, he didn't want to go and sit down with Steve and have a long talk of what he could do and where he could go next. And what was all this 'we' stuff? There was no we, there was no us. There was just him. There was only him. And he wanted to keep it that way.
But he was also hungry, beyond belief. He was always hungry. But this time he couldn't even remember when it was he last ate – days, he figured – so the offer of food was one he didn't think he could turn down; especially when he had no means – now not even a hidden money stash – of getting some anywhere else.
So he would go with Steve. He would sit and eat food and endure his questionings, until he could find a time that he could slip back out and disappear into the city, finally getting away from Steve Rogers and the Avengers for good. It was ridiculous, but hunger could drive a man to do mad things. Though Peter was fairly sure he'd gone mad quite a long time ago.
Steve clicked the phone off and tucked it into his jacket as he turned back to Peter. "There will be a car here in twenty minutes," he said, walking over to him. "Then we'll go to one of the towers and have supper. I'm sure you're hungry." He took in Peter for a moment longer, and his shoulders fell. "I'm sorry, Peter."
Looking back over the remains of what had been his home for the last two years, Peter could only stare.
He was sorry, too.
The car arrived thirty minutes later – it wasn't Happy driving, clearly – and Peter and Steve got into the back, closing the doors behind them as they were taken onto the road and back into the heart of the city. Peter was silent the entire way, staring vacantly out the window as people and houses and buildings passed by.
He would fill his belly and then decide where to go from there. For now, he would simply not think at all.
He could feel Steve's eyes on him as they drove, but thankfully he didn't say a word. He hadn't even brought up the fact that Peter had hit and sent him flying through the air, something most people couldn't do to each other, much less do to Captain America.
Which made it only all the more important that Peter leave as soon as he could. Steve likely wouldn't let him leave willingly, so he'd have to escape beneath his watching eye. But he wasn't worried; he had disappeared without people noticing before, he could certainly do it again.
They arrived at the building a while later – a skyscraper, of course – and Peter quickly got out. Being confined in a vehicle was making him feel more claustrophobic than he would like to admit.
He stood still, waiting as Steve came round the side to meet him. Steve gave him a small smile and quick nod before leading them through massive doors and into the foyer.
It was a fancy place, one obviously meant for business and conferences for wealthy and important people. It certainly wasn't a place for teenagers, and definitely not a place for street-bums like him. He'd been in plenty of places like this before, but that was exactly when it had been – Before. Back when he had been attending a high-end school, back when he had been pretending to be Tony Stark's intern. But that was in the past, and he wasn't sure he had ever felt so out of place as he did now.
He followed Steve up a large staircase and further into the building. They went down a few hallways and up a few floors, until they arrived at a restaurant. Steve took them to a small table tucked away in a corner, right beside the glass wall, giving them a direct view across the rest of the city.
Peter didn't pay attention as Steve ordered their food, or when glasses of water were placed down in front of him. He could only stare out the window and into the distance, where grey clouds were beginning to gather together in the promise of rain to come. He didn't know how much time had passed, until Steve's voice broke through his thoughts.
"Peter."
Peter blinked and looked over to Steve.
A small, sympathetic smile pulled at Steve's lips as he spoke. "So what are you thinking?" he asked. "Do you… do you have anywhere else you can go? You said you knew people; can any of them help you out at all?"
Peter waited a moment, thinking of how to respond, when their food suddenly arrived and was placed down in front of them. Using the opportune chance to avoid the question, Peter began to eat.
He hadn't realised how hungry he was until he started spooning the strands of spaghetti into his mouth. After the first couple bites he found he couldn't stop, and soon it was all he could do not to inhale it faster than he could swallow.
The food was done before he felt he had even started, but before he had time to lament its loss, the plate was being removed and another set down in its place. Peter glanced up at the waiter, then to Steve, confused.
Steve only smiled. "I figured you were hungry, so I ordered another."
Something in Peter shifted; whether it was Steve's keen eye or his caring nature, he didn't know. All he knew was that a knot was now starting to form in his stomach, and his eyes were starting to grow hot.
Ignoring the sensations, Peter turned back to his food and continued to eat.
Three plates of spaghetti and five glasses of water later, Peter was done. He was certain he could eat more, but for now he was satisfied, the ever gnawing-pain of hunger momentarily eased.
Peter heard Steve take a breath, and he steeled himself for what was to come.
"Peter, I want to help you. Especially now. Is there… is there any way, any way at all that you'll let me help? I would never feel right sending a kid off into the streets with no home to go to; especially when winter's about to arrive."
Peter leaned back in his seat, twirling the fork in the empty plate mindlessly. Finally, he said, "I'm not a kid, Cap. I'm almost eighteen; that's an adult, in the legal world."
Steve said nothing and Peter sighed. "Listen, I… I appreciate everything you've done for me. Honestly, I do. And it's nice that you guys want to help me out, that you want to pay me back, but… but I don't need it. I've been on my own for two years, now. I know how to handle myself on the streets."
"Yes, but Peter, the thing is – you shouldn't have to. It doesn't matter whether your fourteen or eighteen or twenty-five. You shouldn't have to spend your life without a roof over your head, or food on your plate. Not when you have the option not to."
Peter stayed silent, continuing to spin the fork on his plate.
After a long moment, Steve asked quietly, "Does it have to do with your foot?"
Peter stopped moving the fork, but didn't look up.
Steve continued, "or is it that when you hit me, you had enough force to send me flying half a block away?"
Peter waited for only a few moments longer, before pushing his chair back and standing to his feet, the fork clattering against the bowl.
"I'm leaving now," Peter said briskly. "Thanks for the food."
He only made it three feet before his senses suddenly flashed, and he jerked back just in time to avoid running into someone. Peter looked up and his eyes immediately widened as he realised who it was.
Tony Stark.
"Nuh uh, kid," Tony said. "Not this time. You got away twice on me already, we're not making it a third. Fool me twice and thrice, and all that."
Tony grabbed hold of Peter's arm and steered him back to the table, sitting him back down on his seat. He grabbed a chair from nearby and sat down, leaning back and stretching out his arms. "So, what's for dinner?"
"Tony," Steve began, sounding as though Tony had just ruined all his efforts to calm down a wild dog. It wouldn't have mattered, though, Peter was still getting out of here one way or another.
"So, kid, what's your name?" Tony asked. He was wearing his glasses as he always did, aiding in the distance that he always wanted to keep between himself and anyone else.
Peter didn't even try to fight off a glare.
"It doesn't matter," Peter ground out, his fists clenching underneath the table beside him. He felt cornered, and he wanted more than ever to get out of this stupid building and back onto the streets where it was safe. Where he was free. Where he was alone.
"Well my name's Tony," Tony said, holding out his hand. When Peter didn't take it, he smiled jovially, bringing it back. "Well you're sure friendly. But then, Cap always makes the nicest friends." He looked pointedly at Steve, and Steve rolled his eyes.
"So, how was your day?" he asked, looking between the two. When neither Peter nor Steve replied, he continued, "Well my day was great, thanks for asking. I went to bed last night knowing that a random kid had outsmarted my security not once but twice, and that he was now running around the forest unchecked. Then I find out that America's great Captain had taken it upon himself to go after him, and I thought, yeah – he has a lot of faults, but surely he can manage to track down and bring back one teenager.
"But of course as I'm about to fall asleep, I get a call saying they've both decided to go camping instead, which wasn't ridiculous in any way whatsoever. And then I find out they're both going hiking, then taking a road-trip to NYC. Oh, and then they break my car." He looked over to Steve. "I'm taking that out of your paycheck, by the way."
Leaning back once more, Tony glanced back between Peter and Steve. "So, who wants to tell me what they've learned today?"
Silence.
"Really?" Tony asked. "No volunteers? All right then, volun-told it is. Since the kid is such a chatterbox, I'll let you go first, Cap."
"You don't need to be here, Tony," Steve said.
"Oh don't get your knickers in a knot, Cap. I didn't come here specifically for you. I'm here for a meeting. And it's going to be a long one, so I thought I'd get a drink before it started. You know, to prepare the defenses and all that. But then I saw you two here, so I thought I'd pop over and say hi."
Steve gave Tony a frustrated look. "Really, Tony. I've got this under control."
"Do you?" Tony questioned. "Okay then, let's ask the kid." He looked over to Peter. "Hey kid, is Cap here telling the truth? Is everything going just fine and dandy?"
Peter was getting tired of this really, really fast. In fact, he figured it was about time to go. He stood back up. "I have to go to the washroom," he lied.
He started walking and immediately both chairs started screeching as they moved back, and suddenly Tony was at his side, grabbing his arm and pulling him back down once more. "Hah, nice try kid, but you're using that excuse on a professional. Tony Stark has gone to many bathrooms before, and in fact, for some I'm still there!"
This time Peter wasn't being manhandled so easily. Twisting out of Tony's hold, he took a few steps away. "Look, neither of you can keep me here against my will. And I've had enough. I'm leaving whether you want me to or not."
He started walking away, and once again he heard people moving. He tensed, getting ready to fight them off, in the middle of a public place be damned; but to his surprise, instead of someone grabbing hold of his arm, he instead felt something being shoved into his hand.
He looked up and saw Steve beside him, and when he looked down he saw a piece of paper between his fingers.
"It's my number," Steve said. "If you need anything – even if you just need to get something to eat – you call me, okay?"
Peter held Steve's gaze for a long moment, the knot in his stomach starting to grow tighter once more. But before he could do something stupid, like accept his help, he instead gave a tight-lipped smile and a nod of thanks, and turned and walked away.
It was harder than he had thought it would be. A lot harder. Even though he had been trying to get away from Steve and the rest of the Avengers for three days now, now that he was actually doing it, he felt… he felt strangely empty. He should be happy, should be thrilled, even – that he was finally taking them away from danger, that he was finally removing the large target that he had placed on their backs; that now if Seftis saw them, he wouldn't have any excuse to go after them.
But still, for some reason, his chest hurt. And this time it had nothing to do with the scar.
He stepped into the elevator, refusing to look back. That would only make this all the more harder. He hit the button for the first floor and stepped back, waiting for the doors to close.
Then suddenly, just as they were about to close, a hand shot in and pushed them back. Peter watched in incredulous anger as Tony, smiling in true-Stark-fashion, shoved his way into the elevator.
"Going down?" he asked.
Peter didn't reply, instead choosing to glare at the buttons in front of him, hoping to God that no one else was getting on at any of the other floors. Of course they did, and Peter waited in silence as the elevator stopped at every floor on its way to the bottom, bringing people in and letting people off. He could practically feel Tony grinning beside him.
This was torture.
Eventually the elevator came to a stop on the main floor and Peter wasted no time in bolting through the doors and out in the mezzanine. To his great annoyance, Tony somehow managed to catch up to him, matching him stride for stride as they made their way to the stairs.
"Whoah, hang on there cowboy. How about we slow down for a second. I want to have a chat with you."
Of course you do.
Peter knew that if he just played along a little while more, they'd likely leave him alone for good. He'd managed to shake Steve from his tail, now he just had to do it with Tony. And considering they hadn't met before now, and the fact that Tony was, well, Tony – he didn't think it would take very long.
Peter came to a stop just before the stairs and turned to the man, trying not to glare. "What?" he asked sharply.
Tony raised his hands in mock defense. "Geez, kid. I'd better be glad you don't have a knife, otherwise I'd already be stabbed by now."
Peter clenched his teeth, waiting.
Tony sighed. "All right, all right. So basically I'm just here to reiterate what the Captain's said, except say it more, shall way say, starkly." He grinned, and Peter glared from beneath his brows. Tony continued, "basically what I want to say is that we've essentially offered you the lottery, and I think you're an idiot for turning it down. Whatever hang-ups you have, whether you're an alcoholic or a drug addict, it doesn't matter. We can get you help for that. You saved one of our own and we don't take that lightly.
"So just get over whatever the heck it is you've got a problem with, and accept our help. I'll set you up in a fancy apartment, all expenses paid, with three-square meals a day and everything. All you've got to do is stand up straight, wear something nice, and get a job. I'll even give you a reference. What do you say?"
"Thanks," Peter quickly replied. "But no thanks. See ya, Mister Stark." With that he turned on his heel and all but ran down the stairs.
When he made it to the bottom, he found Tony had followed right behind him.
"I think you're crazy," he said, walking alongside Peter as they headed to the doors. "Seriously kid, you're a moron. It's not every day someone gets this kind of offer, least of all from Iron Man himself. Why the heck would you turn it down?"
Peter couldn't believe it. Tony had always been, well, Tony. But this was absurd, even for him. He had always had a narcissistic streak – Peter figured it came with the territory when you were the son of someone as famous and rich as Howard Stark – but this was ridiculous. He was practically dangling his renown in front of him like a ball of string in front of a cat. Well, Peter was not a cat, and though Tony didn't remember it, Peter had known him long enough to no longer be affected by the sparkles and glamour of Iron Man's fame.
"Look," Peter ground out for what felt like the millionth time. "I'm grateful for everything you've done, Mister Stark, really, I am. But I have a life I need to get back to, and I'm not letting you, Captain America, or even the god of friggin' lightning stop me."
He continued on his way to the doors, and again, Tony continued on with him. He was like a rotten little terrier that just wouldn't let go.
"You can let me give you some money, at the very least. You don't look like a drug-addict, so I assume it'll go towards something useful. Necessary is probably too much to hope for. But even a day at the arcade would be better than out panhandling on the street, am I right?"
"No," Peter snapped back. "I don't want your apartments, I don't want your food, and I don't want your damn money."
"Why not?"
Peter abruptly stopped, spinning around, looking at Tony with wide, angry eyes. "Because you don't even know me!" he shouted. "You don't even know who I am! I'm a stranger to you! I'm a God-damn stranger, so why the hell should I let you help me? I don't want you're help, I'll never want your help, so just leave me the hell alone!"
He was angry. He was so, so angry, and in the brief pauses between breaths, he couldn't figure out why. But just seeing Tony, much less talking to him, caused his insides to curl and his muscles to tense in a way that made him want to just punch something. Or yell. Yelling was good. Yelling was actually very, very good. In fact, he figured he might as just well yell some more.
Before he could open his mouth to speak, however, Tony's eyes drifted past him and landed on something behind him.
"Looks like my meeting is here," he said. He looked back to Peter, his lips settling into a thin line of begrudging acceptance. "All right kid, if that's the way you want it." He sighed. "You sure must have someone special to get back to, if you're running away from the Avengers, of all people."
"No," Peter replied, relief settling in his bones. "Just something I need to run away from."
Tony frowned and looked as though he wanted to say something more, but at that moment the person he was meeting arrived, and the frustration on his face quickly gave way to a fake smile.
Peter breathed a sigh of relief. It was over. It had taken fighting tooth and nail, but they had finally let him go. He didn't know what to do or where to go next, but he knew everything would be fine, so long as he was far, far away from here.
He stepped to the side as Tony extended his hand in greeting. In the distance he could see Steve at the rail atop the mezzanine, and he gave a small, quick smile and nod of thanks. Steve had been surprisingly good throughout all this. He'd fought to keep Peter from going, but in the end he had let him leave. Unlike a certain, pain-in-the-ass Stark.
He listened as the person came to a stop in front of Tony, and he knew then it was time to leave. He made to turn, just as the person spoke.
"Tony Stark, good to see you again."
Everything in Peter came to a sudden halt as the voice met his ears. He heard laughter. His muscles froze, and suddenly every spidey-sense he had was screaming in recognition, was telling him to escape, to leave, to run away run away run awa –
"Norman," Tony replied. "It's certainly been awhile since we've had the pleasure of hosting Osborn Industries."
Peter turned round, and was met with the smiling face of none other than the man in the laboratory. The one who'd attacked and kidnapped him, binding him in a glass cage. The one who had tried to cut his chest open while he was still awake. The one who had had burnt down the only home he had left. The Green Goblin.
The man that Tony was meeting.
Before he knew what was happening, the goblin – Osborn, the Norman Osborn – was turning towards him, a fake smile on his face. "And who is this?" he asked Tony.
"This is Peter," Tony answered, putting his hands in his pockets. "He helped us out a while back. Thought I'd show him around the tower as thanks."
"Did he, now?" Norman mused. "He must have helped you out a lot if he's getting a private tour."
"We were just finishing up, actually. He was just on his way out."
"Well then, I won't keep either of you waiting. Peter, it was a pleasure to meet you." The goblin held out his hand, but Peter didn't move, his wide eyes never straying from the man's face. He remained silent, until the goblin dropped his arm and turned back to Tony. "You've got an interesting fellow there, Stark."
Tony shrugged. "Yeah, well, you know what they always say – kids these days show no respect."
"Just like we never did."
"You've got that right."
The two men chuckled, but Peter could barely hear it over the ringing in his ears and the loud beating in his chest. Only one thought kept going over and over in his mind: he's here, he's here, he's here, he's here. The man who'd tried to kill him twice was here, and he was with Tony, and they were having a business meeting and –
"Well Peter, I guess there's nothing else to do but wish you good luck. Hope you figure things out. I'll have Happy here escort you out."
Peter watched in stunned silence as Tony turned round and started walking away, talking to Osborn a mile a minute. The goblin walked with him, but not before turning his head back to look a Peter, his lips pulled in a wicked smirk.
No. No, they couldn't – they couldn't leave, he –
"Come on kid, let's go."
Suddenly a hand was grabbing his arm and all but dragging him towards the exit. Peter stumbled as they made their way through the doors, watching in stunned silence as the two men disappeared into an elevator. The door in front of Peter closed and he was momentarily blinded, as the light of the evening sun reflected off the glass, the door clicking shut in front of him.
He couldn't think. He couldn't – he didn't know what to do, where he should –
Tony had to be told. He had to be told who he was with, that the man he was doing business with was the same one he'd fought in the sky all that time ago; that he'd tried to kill Peter, that he'd burned down Peter's home, that he –
"Hey. Hey kid, you awake? You with me?" Fingers were snapping in front of his face and Peter blinked, glancing up to see Happy looking down at him with a less than impressed face. "All right, good, you're back. Now, Mister Stark told me to give you some money, so here –" he pulled out a twenty dollar bill and tucked it in Peter's shirt, "– go buy yourself something nice, okay?"
Happy stepped back. "Now look kid, it's my job to say this so don't start throwing a temper tantrum when you hear it. But Mister Stark is a very busy man. He has a lot of things to do and a lot of people to meet. He won't have time for you coming into one of his buildings and demanding he give you an autograph or to meet all your little friends, all right? In fact, he won't have much time for you at all. So if you're thinking of contacting him again – don't. Okay? Kapeesh? All right, kapeesh. All right, so… so just go on your merry little way now. It wasn't nice knowing you."
Before Peter knew what was happening, Happy had turned around and was walking back into the tower.
Peter blinked, then started forward. "No, no Happy – Happy, wait! Happy, you can't – Mister Stark, Os-Osborn – he's – you have to tell him –."
But Happy was already gone.
Peter was alone.
No. No no no no, this couldn't – there was no way – he had – he had to –
Bile rose in his throat, and Peter suddenly wanted to puke.
Norman Osborn – the Norman Osborn of Oscorp – he was… he was the goblin, he was the Green Goblin and –
And he was now in a meeting with Tony Stark.
He had to do something. He had to tell them, he had to find Tony and tell him he was in danger, that he –
Someone bumped into Peter and he stumbled back, suddenly aware that he was standing in the middle of the street surrounded by dozens of pedestrians as they walked left and right. Another person bumped into him and Peter could hear the swears of of annoyance muttered under their breath.
Stepping back, Peter made his way to a bench beneath a large oak tree, just off the cement sidewalk. His legs hit the metal seat but he didn't sit down.
What could he do? Happy wouldn't let him back into the building, he knew the man well enough to know he'd be watching for him for the next thirty minutes like a hawk. And besides, it wouldn't matter, because even if he did get inside he wouldn't have a clue where in the seventy-storey building that Tony and Osborn were. And in the end it didn't matter, in the end he was supposed to be staying away from them, he wasn't supposed to get involved with their affairs. He'd already been with them long enough, he'd already talked with them too much, and… and….
He didn't know what to do.
Peter swallowed, his fingers clenching into fists at his side as thoughts spun through his mind.
Steve was in there. And the tower was Tony's territory, not to mention Tony almost certainly had a suit with him; he nearly always carried one wherever he went, even if it was to what he thought was just a standard business meeting.
Maybe this was nothing. Maybe this had nothing to do with Iron Man or the Avengers or the Green Goblin. Maybe this was just a normal business meeting between two great business tycoons.
Peter licked his lips.
He would wait. He would wait and he would watch. If Steve or Happy came out he would grab them, he' d tell them about Osborn and who he really was. But if neither of them showed up, then he would wait for Osborn. He'd wait for the goblin. And when he came out, he would… he would….
The clouded sky grew darker as late afternoon gave way to evening, and Peter finally sat down on the bench.
He would stay. And when the goblin came out, he'd be waiting.
It was two and a half hours before Peter finally spied Osborn stepping out of the glass doors and onto the street below. The threat of rain was heavy in the air, and Peter watched as the man took out an umbrella and lifted it over his head.
Peter expected a car to show up, a limousine or some other such chauffeur vehicle. But instead, Osborn began heading down the street, walking across the block until he turned and disappeared on the other side.
Without a word, Peter stood and went after him.
He trailed the goblin for nearly ten minutes, until the man abruptly turned into an alley. Knowing what was likely to come, Peter followed.
They ended up in a small alcove. By now it had begun to drizzle, a cold November rain in its last breaths, before it would eventually give way to snow.
Osborn was standing in the middle of the square with his back towards him. Peter stepped into the alcove, waiting.
Finally, Osborn spoke.
"Such a beautiful evening, don't you agree? I find the chill of winter to be so… invigorating."
Every muscle in Peter's body was taut, every sense on high alert, ready for any sudden movement or motion from any corner of his eye.
"Tony Stark is such an interesting fellow. Definitely comes from money, you can tell. That is one of the many differences between him and I. I built my industry from the ground up; whereas Stark had his handed to him on a silver platter."
Peter said nothing.
"The meeting went well, if you were wondering. Very well. In fact, I couldn't have hoped for a better outcome."
With that Osborn turned, a large smile stretched wide on his lips.
"What do you want?" Peter finally asked, his body completely still as he glared at the other man. "If you want me, then take me. But you leave Tony and the Avengers alone."
A laugh burst from the goblin's lips. "Oh my dear boy, do you really think so little of me as to believe that every single thing I do is meant to harm someone else? I was a businessman before I became who I am now, you know."
There was silence for a moment, neither man saying a word. Moments later a dark grin pulled the edge of the goblin's face.
He started walking, slowly circling round Peter as the mists of drizzle turned into droplets of rain.
"You do have at least some understanding as to how business works, don't you?" When Peter said nothing, Osborn continued. "Businesses like Stark Corporation are held by shareholders. They invest in the business, and its their commitment that keeps the company going. They elect a board of directors to oversee the day to day running of the company, and to represent their interests."
Osborn walked behind Peter, each step echoing against the rain.
"Now, a man like Stark has multiple businesses, and therefore, multiple boards of directors. And even far more shareholders."
He came into Peter's view once more, and Peter fought the urge to shout at him, to tell him to just spit out whatever it was he was saying. But he wasn't an idiot. The goblin was telling him this for a reason; whether it was because he was a monologuing, grandiose moron, or he simply wanted to frighten Peter, he didn't know – but he wasn't about to stop listening.
Osborn went on, describing how a shareholder's loyalty was paramount to the success of a business, and how their influence could direct the future running of the entire operation, how it was ethically immoral for an outsider to try and influence the interests or loyalties of any members of the board.
Finally Peter had had enough. "Why are you telling me this?" he asked. "What the hell are you trying to say? You're going to try and influence Tony's business, is that it? You're… you're gonna try and weasel your way into his company? Well I've got news for you, Tony has Pepper Potts as his CEO – she can sniff out snakes like you a mile away, and she'd rip you a new one if she so much as thought you were trying to decei –."
"Do you know where the Avengers get their money from, Mister Parker?" Osborn interrupted. "A huge enterprise such as the Avengers require quite a lot of capital to function, and I can assure you that taxpayer's dollars don't go anywhere near it."
Peter frowned. What was he sayi –
Peter blinked, realisation dawning. He looked back to Osborn, who was nearly behind him once more. "Who cares if Tony's using his money for the Avengers?" he said. "It's his business, he can do what he wants!"
"Ah ah ah, remember our little lesson? He can use his money, certainly – but that money isn't all his. And I doubt it makes his shareholders very happy to know that their money is being diverted into purposes they haven't agreed upon."
"But it's going to a good purpose! The Avengers save people, they save the whole damned world, and –."
"That doesn't matter! If you give your money to someone upon the agreement that it will be used in a certain way, it wouldn't make anyone happy to know the person they gave it to has turned around and decided to use it to their own whims and fancies."
Peter shook his head. "It's been ten years now since Tony became Iron Man. If people had a problem with it before, they would have said something by now."
"Perhaps they did, and you just don't know about it. Perhaps others sit behind their desks, saying nothing as they watch their money be used to repair damaged buildings, or buy the Hulk twenty pizzas."
Peter frowned. "You take an awful long time to get to the point. What the hell does any of this have to do with you? Why do you care if Tony's shareholders are happy or not?"
At this, Osborn smiled and came to a stop, standing squarely in front of Peter. "Why, I care an awful lot, Mister Parker. So much so that I've even spoken to some of these shareholders, and many of them have become so aggrieved that they no longer wish to do business with Tony Stark. Which means soon their shares will be up for purchase. And I have a feeling I know exactly who they're going to sell it to."
The pieces started clicking into place, one by one, until the picture began appearing in Peter's mind, and he started to realise just what it was that Osborn – what the goblin – was saying.
"You're going to take over the company," Peter said quietly. "If enough shareholders from enough company's sell all their shares to you, you'll gain a large percentage of the corporation. You'll practically own it yourself."
"Practically," Osborn smiled, his lips stretching across his teeth, like a viper prepared to strike. "And once I have that foothold, I'll gain control over the rest of the shareholders and their boards. After that, it will only take a little convincing for them to realise how poor an owner Tony has been, ever since he decided to become the leader of his little band of superheroes, and they'll pass a vote of no confidence. After that, well… one can only guess at who they'll elect to take his place."
The goblin cocked his head to the side, staring at Peter with his ever-present smile. "With no more money to feed them, the Avengers will be left without legs to stand on. They will be crippled. And that will be their end."
It was ridiculous. The whole thing sounded simply absurd, moronic, impossible.
And yet….
Peter swallowed.
"You can't convince a hundred people to give their loyalty to you just because you want them to. They're loyal to Tony. They wouldn't betray him like that."
"No," Osborn agreed. "They wouldn't. Not the old ones, anyway. The new shareholders, however, might have something different to say…."
"You can't do this overnight," Peter spat. "You can't – I… I'll find Tony. You know I will. I'll tell him everything, I'll tell him what you're planning to do, and –."
The goblin suddenly barked out a laugh, the same laugh that had haunted Peter's dreams ever since he'd woken up in that glass cage.
"You think I've only just thought of this now?" the man asked. "You think I haven't had this plan in motion for over a year, now? You think I haven't been planting my seeds one by one, waiting for them to take root, watching them grow into fruition? Really?"
The goblin laughed once more, before his laugh abruptly ended, the smile on his face abruptly pressing into a thin line. "The shareholders will jump ship in a week. After that, Stark Industries will be mine, and the Avengers will be no more."
Realisation of just what was happening settled on Peter's shoulders like a physical weight, feeling as though he were suddenly being pressed in from all sides.
The Compound would be gone. The training facilities would be gone. The refuge and home that belonged to Captain America, Bucky, and all of the Avengers would be no more. They'd have no real home to go to. They didn't have jobs, they didn't make money like regular people, they'd be left completely on their own, with no one else to turn to.
They were silent for a long moment after that, neither saying a word as the rain began to now fall in earnest, echoing against the brick walls and trees that surrounded them.
After a long moment, Peter finally asked, "Why tell me? Why tell me this? You know I'll find a way to tell Tony; you know I'll try and warn him, somehow. Why would you go and tell me your whole plan, when –."
"Because I want you there, Mister Parker," Osborn said abruptly. He leaned forward, a small smile pulling at his lips. "I want you there to witness the Avengers' fall. And I want you to fall with them."
This time, it was Peter's turn to laugh. "Right. Do you honestly think that you can kill them? That you can kill Iron Man, Captain America, the Hulk, Thor, all of them? Really?" Peter shook his head. "I think you're the one that's the moron, Mister Osborn. Many have tried to kill them and they've all failed. What makes you think you could do any different?"
"Oh please," Osborn replied. He straightened his coat, lifting the umbrella so that it was hovering over him once more. "I am many things, Mister Parker, but even I know that I could never kill one of Stark's superheroes. But without Stark's money sustaining them, the Avengers will be scattered. And when they are scattered, that will be the best time for him to strike."
He started walking past Peter, heading for the alcove's entrance.
Peter turned as he went, his brows furrowing in confusion. "What are you talking about?" he asked. "Who's 'him'?"
Osborn looked back, giving one last smile before he left. "My dear boy, I believe you and I both know who he is." With that, he turned and disappeared behind the brick wall.
Peter stood in stunned silence for a moment, before his legs suddenly started moving again. He ran out into the alley and looked out onto the street, just in time to see Osborn getting into a black car and shutting the door behind him. The car quickly left, and Peter was alone.
Joe was having a bad day.
First he had Jameson yelling at him – though really, that was nothing new. In fact, it would probably be an even worse day if Jameson hadn't yelled at him. Or at half the staff in the office. Or at every single one of the interns.
Joe sighed. Though it was completely normal, the man's tirades could sure be tiring.
No, it wasn't simply the fact that Jameson was trying to beat yesterday's decibel meter for how loud he could shout, but rather it was a conglomeration of many things. It was the fact that it was now pouring outside – freezing rain, to be more exact – and he had no umbrella. It was the fact that he'd spilled coffee over himself this morning, and he could still feel the wet patch on his knee. It was the fact that he was supposed to be home over an hour ago, but Jameson had demanded he stay later and make sure the intern did his job right in developing pictures in the dark room.
It was the fact that when he called and told his wife as such, he'd been met with an angry huff and slamming of the phone back onto the receiver. He couldn't blame her, though. This was the fifth night in a row he was late, and if he'd just spent two hours cooking supper, he'd be mad too.
Joe sighed again, leaning back in his chair. Well, there was no point in worrying about it now. What was done was done. Now all he had to do was wait until the intern got back from his smoke break, and –
He heard a door slam, follow by rapid footsteps as they came down the stairs. A second later the door burst open, and Joe looked up to see the intern – David – stepping inside, his eyes wide and brows furrowed as though he'd just seen someone grow two heads.
"Dave?" Joe called. "What's the matter?"
Dave said nothing for a moment, looking back to stare at the door in bemusement, before turning back to Joe, his unlit cigarette still in his hand.
"Uh, well… you see, I know it'll sound crazy, but there… there's a guy up there."
Joe blinked. "Say again?"
"There's a guy up there! He's just… he's just sitting there, in the rain. Doesn't even have an umbrella. He's just… he's just staring, or… or something." He gave Joe a confused look. "I thought the roof could only be accessed from our floor? How did he get up there? Who is he?"
Somehow, Joe knew exactly who it was.
Getting to his feet, Joe took the umbrella from the intern's hands before pushing through the door. "I'll be back in a bit," he called out, making his way up the stairs and to the roof.
When he opened the door, he was met with the pounding rain against the roof's cement. It was still light out, but the grey clouds that covered the sky cast the city in a gloomy light. Joe's eyes quickly fell on the boy who was sitting on the roof's ledge, his legs pulled up and arms wrapped around them as he stared out into the city. His brown hair was matted against his head and his clothes were completely soaked through; he'd clearly been out here for a while. Joe's mouth settled in a thin line and his heart jumped in his chest as he recognised who it was.
Peter.
He stood still for a moment, unsure of what to do, before finally opening the umbrella and stepping out into the rain.
"An intern came down all spooked, saying he'd seen some random guy sitting on the roof in freezing rain. I had a suspicion of who it was, and sure enough, here you are."
Peter slowly blinked, turning his head to see Joe coming towards him. He frowned, belatedly realising that he must be on the Daily Bugle's building. He hadn't been paying attention when he'd started climbing up the wall; all he'd been thinking about was getting away from pedestrians and cars and noise so he could just think.
Not that he'd been able to do any of that since coming up here. Once he'd made it to the top and sat down his mind had gone empty, and he'd found that all he could do was stare into nothing. There was just too much to think about, and he found it was easier to just not think at all.
He turned back to face the city, listening as Joe came up beside him.
"Glad to see you're alive," the man said, a clear question behind the remark. It suddenly occurred to Peter that the last time he'd saw him, he'd been escaping from his apartment in the middle of the night as his powers went haywire. Guilt flooded through him, but he didn't turn around.
"I'm sorry," he said, and he meant it – with every fiber of his being. He had wronged Joe when the man had only ever shown and given him kindness, when the man had been one of the only people to acknowledge he existed. But he'd had to leave. He hadn't had any other choice.
"Peter…." Joe was frustrated, the tone of his voice conveyed that much. "Peter, what are you doing out here? Don't you have any place else to be instead of catching your death in the rain? Is that how you got so messed up last time? Did you finally decide to take a hit with someone, and stayed out all night in the snow?"
Peter didn't reply.
Joe huffed, trying to hold back the anger that was rumbling in his chest. "You know Pete, I've been trying to do what I can to help you. I even gave you a room in my home. But you threw it all away, and I – well I don't know how else I can help you. My generosity and the generosity of my family can only go so far."
Again, Peter stayed silent, nothing to be heard but the sound of the rain falling around them.
Joe frowned deeply at Peter, waiting for a response. Waiting for the kid to do something, to say something, to at least give an excuse as to why he'd left and returned to the streets, without even so much as a goodbye. It angered Joe; here he had thought they'd been making so much progress, that they were on a road where Peter could actually one day get off the streets, where he could find a respectable job and make an honest living for himself. But now it appeared he had thrown it all away, and for what? Drugs? His life on the street, whatever that was?
Well, if that's what he wanted, then fine. Joe was done helping him.
"Well Peter, if that's the way you want it, then all I can say is that it was nice knowing you. Good luck, kid. I hope you figure your life out."
As Joe turned to leave, a quiet voice sounded through the rain.
"I'm Spider-Man."
Joe stopped and turned round, a frown on his face. "What was that?"
"I'm Spider-Man," Peter repeated. "Or at least… I was."
Joe stayed where he was for a few moments, before taking a few steps back towards Peter. "And who is this… 'Spider-Man'?" he asked.
Peter was still looking away from him, still staring unseeingly out into the distance, the rain splashing unnoticed against his face. "Spider-Man… " he started, "Spider-Man… helped people. He saved them from being mugged, from being raped, from being hurt. He tried to protect people, when heroes like Iron Man and Captain America were too busy to do it."
Joe paused for a moment, then said, "Sounds like a pretty dangerous gig, if you ask me." Peter said nothing, and Joe continued, "So where's Spider-Man now? Why did you stop?"
Peter swallowed. The next words fell out of his mouth before he even had a chance to stop them; a dam that was bursting and water now pouring through.
"I didn't have a choice." He swallowed. "I was an Avenger, once. I worked with Iron Man and Captain America and even the Winter Soldier. I knew the Hulk and Thor, the Black Widow and Hawkeye. They were my teammates. They were… they were my friends. People I looked up to. People I wanted to be like. I was with Tony Stark on Titan fighting Thanos. I was with them when we won. He helped me become who I was."
Another long pause, then Peter continued, "Two years ago were fighting someone. They were going to win, so I made a deal. In exchange for the lives of my friends and family and millions of others, I had to give up their memories of me. I had to let them forget I ever existed. So I did. I made that choice. I had to make that choice. There was no other choice I could possibly make, I had no other way out, I –." Peter stopped himself, un-clenching the fingers that had curled into his fist. He took a breath. "I woke up in an alleyway here in New York, and…."
"And you've been on the streets ever since."
Peter blinked, then frowned, finally turning back to look at Joe with incredulous eyes. "You believe me?" he asked.
Joe walked over to the wall, stopping when he was in front Peter. Peter tried to read him, tried to gauge his reaction, but between the rain and the fading light, he couldn't tell what the older man was thinking.
"That's rough, Pete. Not gonna deny it. You got dealt a bad hand." Joe sighed. "Now is that the reason you're up here, sitting on the ledge of a skyscraper at eight-o-clock at night? Or is something else bothering you?"
Peter blinked away droplets of rain as they fell in his eyes, putting words to everything that moments ago he hadn't even been sure he could speak. "There's a man. He's going to try and take over Stark Industries. After that, he's going to go after the Avengers. He's going to kill all of them. And I don't… and I don't know what to do."
Joe said nothing for a long moment, wiping drops of rain that had managed to hit his face. Finally he looked up and met Peter's eye. "Well I think the answer is obvious; just go tell 'em. You don't have to fight anyone, you just gotta give 'em a heads up. What's so hard about that?"
He made it sound so simple. Made it sound so easy. But it wasn't. It was so, so much more complicated than he knew.
"Part of the deal I made was that I had to stay away from them. That I not get involved with their affairs. If I break that, they could get hurt, or killed."
He'd been running from the Avengers for two years now. To make the decision to turn around and run towards them, to try and save them, it went against everything he had come to believe in. It went against everything he had trained himself not to do. It went against what little purpose he had left in his life.
Peter swallowed.
He'd finally gotten away from them. He'd finally made them safe. To do exactly what Seftis had told him not to, to help them, he – he –
"Kid, let me give you some advice." Peter's head turned, and met Joe's eyes. The man stared back at him, one brow slightly raised. "I know you probably think the best way to keep your friends safe is to stay away from them. But tell me this: which is the better enemy – the one you know is coming, or the one you know nothing about? Because from the sounds of things, there ain't no choice you can make where there ain't gonna be someone tryin' to hurt you or your friends. They're gonna get hurt no matter what. You just hafta decide which road you're gonna take."
Silence fell over the rooftop, the rain continuing to pour as more clouds rolled in beneath them, the last light of day fading away.
Peter's heart was beating louder and louder in his chest, the weight on his shoulders suddenly unexpectedly lifting, because… because he was….
He was right.
He was right. Joe was right. With the goblin's decision to go after Tony and Stark Industries, Peter didn't have any other choice. The Avengers were going to be attacked; whether it was because of him or because of Osborn, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that they needed to be prepared. They needed to know.
And Peter had to tell them.
Looking over to Joe, Peter said, "You're right." He started getting up, until he was fully standing on the building's ledge. "You're right!"
He was right. And Peter had been such an idiot.
He had to leave. He had to go, now, and warn them. He'd tell them what Osborn had planned, even if Seftis was watching. And if Seftis got upset, well… he'd deal with it then. But right now, Osborn was the more imminent threat. And he had to be stopped.
The goblin said they had a week. Which meant they only had a week to prepare, to get ready for him, to try and stop what he'd already done.
Which meant Peter had to leave – now.
He stared at Joe, and Joe stared back at him, a small, bemused smile on the older man's face. "That's good, Pete," he said, then he started motioning him over. "Now how about you come down from there, and –."
Peter suddenly bent down, meeting Joe's eye evenly. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you."
Joe smiled. "You're welcome, Pete. Now get down from there before you hurt –."
Peter stood back up, leaning back on his heels. "I'll come back Joe, I promise."
Joe's eyes widened and he jerked forward, attempting to grab him, but before he could reach him, Peter had leaned too far and fell backwards off the ledge.
"PETER!"
Joe ran forward and leaned over the edge, just in time to hear a 'snap', and see what looked like a rope latching onto the window a few floors below. He could just barely make out a figure swinging along underneath, before the rope fell away and the figure disappeared into the clouds.
Well, Joe thought after his heartbeat had started to slow back down. I'll be damned.