I needed someone to hold it. I needed someone to take it. You were the perfect vessel. I'm sorry. It had to be you.
…
I'm sorry.
…
Peter woke, the shadows of a voice still echoing in his ears.
He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the sunlight that was shining through the branches. He sat up, taking a moment to fully wake.
He was sitting under bushes and trees, in a small, miniature park that was tucked round the corner of a building. It was clearly neither tended to nor visited often, and so had made the perfect spot for Peter to sleep.
Leaning forward, Peter rubbed his arms, shivering in the cold winter air. He watched as his breath drifted out in front of him, his eyes roaming past the trees and ground that were covered in a thin layer of ice from the night before.
It was the second day. Or day one, depending how you looked at it. He had less than a week now to warn Tony and the Avengers of Osborn's plan to take over Stark Industries, of his plan to cut the legs out from the Avengers and leave them scattered and weak. A plan that Peter was determined to stop.
It was slightly jarring. For two years he had spent his days avoiding the Avengers, had made it his life's mission – what was left of it, anyway – to keep them safe the only way he knew how. And now here he was, doing the exact opposite. Part of him still worried whether he should actually be doing this, whether Seftis would see his intentions and finally decide to attack.
He knew this was a possibility. He knew this, and yet….
Peter stood, and began to walk.
He went back to the tower first, hoping he could sneak inside and find someone, anyone, that he knew that he could pass the message to – whether it was Happy, Pepper, or any of the security he'd gotten to know over the years. But no one had been there, and without Captain America escorting him, he was quickly thrown out.
So what now?
Peter stepped back onto the sidewalk, eyeing the tower, wondering if he'd be able to somehow climb up into an empty window and demand to speak to Tony, even if he had to take someone hostage, and –
Peter blinked, then swallowed, quickly shaking his head.
No, no he couldn't do that. He had never… no. Just the thought of it made his stomach roil.
No, there had to be another way. There had to be.
The streets were getting crowded, so Peter began walking, not knowing where he was going.
He could write a letter. He could write to them, could say he was a secret informer, that he worked with Osborn and knew everything that he was doing; could explain what was happening and how there were people planted in Tony's company that were going to betray him.
Except… except if he knew Happy, then the man would likely have the letter thrown straight in the trash; he would believe that it was nothing but one of the countless other letters asserting some danger or another that needed the Avenger's attention, but which had no evidence to back it up. He would probably even believe it a threat, another piece of hate-mail to add to the mountain of others. Heck, it probably wouldn't ever get read in the first place.
No. If Peter wanted to actually warn them in time, and make sure that they heard him, he'd have to find another way.
Stopping at a corner, Peter stared out past the buildings and into the sky beyond.
He could walk to the compound. Or find a way to hitch-hike there. It was over a four-hour drive away, which meant it would probably take almost a week to walk there; it would be cutting it close, but he might be able to make it in time, and –
Peter shook his head again, harder this time. No, no that was even more a ridiculous idea than climbing up into the tower. If he thought he could actually walk to the compound, then he was completely mad.
The walking-signal turned on, and Peter began to cross.
What other option then was there? If he couldn't find them, if he couldn't contact them, then how else could he possibly warn them? It was ridiculous. He lived in an age where anyone in the world could make themselves heard. The problem came when you wanted someone to actually listen.
A cold breeze picked up and Peter shivered, hard. It was only getting colder and colder, and without the attic, he'd have to find somewhere else to sleep at night. He would have to suck it up and go to a shelter, if there were any beds available. He'd done it before, once, and had vowed never to do it again. But he supposed vows were useless when the only other option was to freeze for eight hours. He had greater endurance and sustainability than other humans, sure, but even he wasn't willing to test just how far his limits went.
Peter brought his cupped hands to his mouth and breathed into them, trying to warm his freezing fingers. His stomach rumbled and he shivered again. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, wondering where he could go to eat. Not for the first time he cursed his advanced metabolism; if he were like anyone else, he'd still be surviving on the three-plates of spaghetti from the night before. But of course he wasn't and he couldn't, and now that his stomach actually remembered what food tasted like, he was –
His fingers touched something in his pocket and Peter frowned, coming to a stop. Someone bumped into him and muttered under their breath, and Peter quickly stepped to the side. With a frown, Peter pulled the something out of his pocket.
It was a piece of crumpled paper. When he opened it, Peter's eyes immediately grew wide.
It was Steve's number. It was the piece of paper that he had shoved into his hand just as he'd left the restaurant, the piece of paper that Peter had hastily and begrudgingly accepted and had stuffed into his pocket, determined to eventually throw it out and forget about it.
Well he had certainly forgotten about it, but thank God he hadn't thrown it away.
He hadn't realised how fast his heart was beating until it was pounding in his chest.
This was it. This solved everything. How could he have even forgotten it? Here he was scrambling like a mad-man, trying to figure out how on earth to contact the Avengers, and here he had the answer in his pocket the entire time! He was such a moron.
Lifting his head, Peter began looking back and forth, searching for somewhere – anywhere that he could get a-hold of a phone. Well of course, there were phones all around him – nearly everyone had one in their pocket. But no one in their right mind would let him use it. And of course no store would let him use theirs. Not in New York City, anyway.
The only other thing he could think of was a payphone. While many had been dismantled and taken away, they hadn't yet completely gone the way of the dinosaur.
Looking round, Peter began to walk.
He'd have to find one. He'd have to get coins, too. He'd beg people for money if he had to, his pride be damned. He'd get enough and he'd place the call and – and –
And everything would be fine. Tony would catch Osborn red-handed, and everything would be wrapped up with a neat and tidy bow. It would all be over as simple as that, and he'd be able to go back to the life he had before he'd made the idiotic decision to help Clint Barton in the alley.
Well, not entirely, not with the attic gone. But he could at least get away from the life he was in at the moment. And that was good enough.
The sky was clouded over again, but this time is seemed merely overcast rather than a mark of future rain or snow. Which was good, as it would make Peter's job a lot easier.
It was embarrassing, of course, and humiliating. It was demeaning. But he did it. For nearly two hours Peter wandered the streets, begging people for money, while keeping his eye out for any payphone nearby. He used any story he could think of – claimed he was neglected by his parents, claimed his guardians abused him, claimed he was an orphan that had been lost in the system. Well, the last one wasn't exactly a lie, but Peter had never truly thought of himself as a real orphan before. Until now, at least.
Some people begrudgingly gave him a few coins, some even shoved a couple of dollar bills in his hands, though they were actually useless. He ignored the glares he got from other panhandlers on the street, knowing they weren't pleased that a random kid was working their block. But Peter didn't care. They could come after him later if they wanted to, because right now there was something else so much more important at stake.
Eventually Peter had made enough to at least place a minute-call, he figured. At least he hoped it would be enough. At any rate, he was tired of the angry glares and disgusted looks, so he would rather finish the second part of his mission and actually find a phone to use.
It took him another hour of wandering, but eventually he finally found one, tucked away on a corner on a quiet street. It was covered in graffiti and clearly old and well-used, but all that mattered was that it worked.
There was a moment as Peter stepped into the booth where he wondered if the phone actually would work, or if it was merely a prop, an ode to an old way of life. But when he picked up the phone and heard the dial-tone, he sighed in relief.
Now, he only had to make the call.
Thumbing in the coins, Peter began punching in the numbers from the paper, trying to read them over the shaking of his hands.
It was nearly over. It would be nearly over soon.
After a few moments the call connected, and the phone began to ring. Peter waited as it rang, then rang again. Then it stopped. The dial-tone came back. The sound of money being returned in the slot below echoed in the booth.
Peter blinked, his brows furrowing together in confusion.
He waited a moment longer, but the phone remained silent. Finally he hung up, unable to understand what had just happened.
The call hadn't connected. That must be it. Perhaps he had just been in bad range, and needed to try again.
Taking the coins from the dish and slipping them back in the slot, Peter did.
The call connected, and Peter's hopes rose once again. But once again, the call soon stopped, and the dial-tone returned.
Peter tried a third time. Then a fourth. Then a fifth. But each and every time was the same; each and every call didn't make it through.
The panic that had been dwelling underneath Peter's skin returned, as he realised that for whatever reason, the number Steve had given him wasn't working. Whether Steve had messed up a number or had gotten a new phone, he didn't know. He simply knew that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get through.
For a moment a small voice whispered that maybe Steve was ignoring his call, that he had intentionally given him the wrong number, or had changed the number as soon as he had given it; that he had wanted to make him feel like he cared, when really all he had wanted was for Peter to be gone, as much as Peter at the time had wanted to leave. The idea hurt more than he had thought it would, and Peter swallowed against the lump forming in his throat.
Blinking, Peter clenched his teeth. Angrily, he shoved the coins in the slot once more and punched the buttons again, the number now firmly ingrained into his mind. Well damn Steve if he didn't want to answer.
The call dropped, the coins fell, and Peter tried again.
Damn him if he didn't want to talk to him or deal with him.
The call dropped, the coins fell, and Peter tried again.
Damn him if he thought he could give him hope, only to wrench it away from him at the last second.
The call dropped, the coins fell, and Peter tried again.
Because right now it didn't matter – right now there was something so far more important than himself at stake, and whether they wanted his help or not, he was at least going to give them the courtesy of a heads up that their entire life was about to be destroyed.
The call dropped, the coins fell, and Peter tried again.
For all they had done for him in the past, it was the least he could do now. Even if they hated him, even if they wanted nothing to do with him, even if they thought him lesser than anything else in the world, it didn't matter.
The call dropped, the coins fell, and Peter tried again.
Because he had to do something. He had to help them, he had to warn them, if not for their sake then for the sake of everyone else in the world, because without them – without the Avengers – the wills and desires of evil men and women and creatures unknown would be allowed to roam, would be allowed to move unchecked, would be allowed to grow and build and destroy, and people would suffer. And people would die.
The call dropped, the coins fell, and Peter tried again.
And Peter couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let that happen, not when he had a chance to stop it. Not when he had a chance to save them from that fate.
The call dropped, the coins fell, and Peter tried again. His hand was growing hot.
And if the Avengers didn't care, if they couldn't care less about what was happening, then damn them. Damn them all to hell, because what the hell use were they if they weren't there when people needed them the most?
The call dropped, the coins fell, and Peter tried again. His hand was growing hotter.
All they needed to do was answer their stupid phone. Simply answer the phone, listen to him for thirty seconds, and that was it. That was all he asked. But of course they wouldn't, of course they would ignore him completely and throw him out with the trash, just like they'd already done, and all they needed was to answer the phone, answer the phone, answer the damn phone –
"Hello?"
Peter ground to a halt, his hand mere inches away from hanging the phone back on the receiver when the quiet, tinny voice rang out.
For a moment Peter just stood there, his eyes wide and heart beating loudly as heat still coursed through his veins. But after a second his brain clicked back to life, and he quickly brought the phone back to his ear.
"Hello? Is anyone there?"
"Mister Rogers! Mister Rogers, it's – it's –." His tongue was so tied that he could barely speak, stumbling over the words that he was so quickly trying to get out.
He had answered. Steve had answered, he had actually answered –
"Peter?" Steve sounded confused. "Peter, is that you?"
Swallowing, Peter tried to calm himself down. "Yes, yes Mister Rogers it's me – it's Peter Parker. You gave me your phone number, and I –."
"Peter, how the heck did you get through? I'm in the middle of –."
"Mister Rogers, listen," Peter interrupted. "Osborn – Norman Osborn – he's, he's going to take over Mister Stark's company. He has a whole bunch of people in his company and they're going to make a vote of no-confidence and they're going to put Osborn at the head, and –."
"Whoa whoa whoa, Pete, slow down. I don't understand what you're saying. What is this about Tony?"
Peter took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He pressed his hand against the side of his head, digging his fingers into his hair. He tried once more.
"Norman Osborn – he, he's the head of Oscorp Industries. He's planning on taking over Stark Industries. He has a bunch of people he's planted… they're all in different branches of the company, and they're all – they're all loyal to Osborn. He's planning on making a deal with Tony, and –."
"Woah, hey – hold up." Steve interrupted. "So you're saying… you're saying this Osborn guy is trying to take over Stark Industries? That he has a bunch of people planted on the inside?"
Relief poured over Peter. "Yes. Yes, that's exactly it. You have to warn him, you have to stop them. Once he has the company, he plans to stop all money going towards the Avengers. He wants to break us up. He wants to make it so we can never help anyone ever again!"
There silence for a moment, then, "Peter, I don't – how do you know this? Are you sure you have your information right? That you didn't just hear this somewhere on the street? How do you know for sure that Osborn is going after Stark Industries?"
Because he told me. Because Norman Osborn is the Green Goblin and he wants the Avengers gone. He wants them made useless. He wants them out of the way. He told me because I'm Spider-Man, because I apparently have something that he wants, even though I don't. But he doesn't operate according to logic, he just wants what he wants and he has the power to get it.
"Peter?"
Peter swallowed. "Please… please Mister Rogers, you just… you have to believe me. I promise you, I promise you I'm not lying. I'm not making this up. I know you've only known me for a few days, but please – you have to trust me. I need… I need you to trust me. Please."
There was silence once more, until finally Peter heard a sigh. "All right. All right, I'll – I'll get ahold of Tony, or Pepper, or… or someone. I'll let them know something's up. But Peter, I don't know when I'll be able to contact them, I'm currently… I'm not exactly in a location that I can just call people right now. In fact, you shouldn't even have been able to even call me. I'm completely out of range, and –."
"But you'll warn them?" Peter asked. "You'll tell them what Osborn is doing?"
"Yes, I will, but –."
"Well it has to be soon, because he's planning on taking the company in a week, and –."
"Peter!"
Peter fell silent.
"Peter, I promise you I'll try and contact them, but I doubt I'll be able to do it anytime soon. Besides, isn't Tony meeting with Osborn today?"
Peter blinked, then frowned. "What?"
"Isn't today the day he's signing that huge contract with Oscorp? I think he said he's planning on merging parts of their companies together, or at least forming a partnership or something. I don't exactly keep up with Tony's business ventures."
But that – no. No, that couldn't be right. Osborn had said the mutiny would occur in a week, that everyone would jump ship in a week, that they had a week before everything came crashing down, and –
The ruffling of paper caught his eye, and Peter looked down to see a trash bin on the outside of the booth. A newspaper was stuffed inside, half of it still sticking out. An image of Tony's smiling face looked up at him from the page.
Momentarily dropping the phone, Peter quickly stepped outside and grabbed the paper, before stepping back and in putting the phone back to his ear.
An image of Tony's face was in the upper corner of the paper, Osborn's name right beside it. He quickly flipped through the pages until he found the one they were featured on. His eyes scanned the headlines and his body grew cold.
Stark and Osborn to hold public signing of new partnership. Stark Industries and Oscorp will
be working together to find and run new innovations in the research and development sector.
Promising future ahead. Signing will be held at Hampton Park this afternoon at two o'clock.
Two in afternoon. Today. They were signing their partnership today, and cementing everything that Osborn would need in order to set off the mutiny in a week.
Osborn hadn't lied to him. He'd just kept back the most important part.
"Peter, are you still there?"
If Tony signed the contract today, it wouldn't matter if he knew Osborn was going to betray him in a week. All the paperwork would already be done. Everything would be set into place. Osborn had only to knock over the first domino, and all the rest would fall.
"Peter!"
Someone had to stop him. Someone had to stop him, someone had to go to the park and stop Tony from signing the contract. From signing his entire company and the future of the Avengers away.
"Peter are you still there? If I hang up, I probably won't be able to reach you again, I don't even know how you got ahold of me in the first place, I don't think my phone was even on –."
Someone had to stop them.
But there was no one.
No one except him.
"Peter!"
"I have to stop it."
The words were out of his mouth before he barely had a chance to think them. But as soon as he said them, he knew they were true.
"What? Peter, no – don't go anywhere near there. If what you said is true, if Osborn is really trying to take over Tony's company, then I doubt he'll be happy if someone tries and stops him. Just stay where you are. I'll be back in the country in a couple days, I'll find you and we can take care of this then. I promise. Just don't do anything, okay?"
He hadn't done anything for a long time. And look where that had gotten him. Look where that had gotten them all.
"Peter!"
"I'm going to stop him," Peter repeated. "If I don't, the Goblin will go after everyone else. And I can't let that happen. Not anymore."
"Peter –."
"See ya later, Mister Rogers."
"Pet –."
Peter hung up the phone. He barely heard the sounds of coins dropping as they fell back into the dish.
He stood there for a few minutes, simply staring at the black handle, his mind running a mile a minute as he thought of everything he had to do.
He had to get to the park as soon as he could. Once there, he'd find Tony – he'd tell him what was happening, he'd tell him not to sign, and if he were lucky Osborn wouldn't see him, and –
A sharp rapping sounded behind him, and he spun round to see a large man standing angrily behind the door. "Hey, get outta there! Other people have to use the phone too, ya know!"
Peter blinked, then quickly opened the door and stepped out.
"I'm s'posed to call my wife at one-thirty and I'm already ten minutes late!" He moved to the side as the man lumbered past, pushing himself into the small booth and closing the door behind him.
Peter stood there for a moment, before the man's words finally reached his ears.
Ten minutes past one-thirty. That meant right now it was one-forty. The signing started at two.
Which meant he only had twenty minutes left.
Without another thought, Peter started to run.
Luckily, spending two years on the streets meant that Peter had become well-acquainted with the different sites and places throughout it. Which meant that he also knew exactly where Hampton Park was, and exactly how to reach it.
The problem was that to walk, it would take over forty-minutes.
Which meant Peter had to run – and he had to run fast.
He took every shortcut he could think of, hopped every fence, every barricade that stood before him. He ran past construction crews still working, past men and women walking their dogs. He jolted across roads, weaving in and out of cars, ignoring the honks and revving engines of protest. He climbed up walls and over stone barriers, never stopping, not once, not even to breathe.
Every second felt like a minute, every minute felt like an hour. But before Peter even had a chance to realise where he was, he was suddenly falling over his feet as he skidded to a halt on the grass in the Hampton Park.
His head whipping back and forth, Peter looked everywhere for something, anything that would be an obvious sign that something official was going on, that important people were nearby, that –
There.
A small stage and backdrop were set up in the distance, a large crowd already surrounding it. He could hear someone speaking on a microphone, and Peter knew the signing had begun.
He ran over and met the crowd, quickly melting into the sea of people. There were more people here than ought to be for a public business signing, there really should have only been reporters and photographers. But Peter had learned long ago that wherever Tony Stark – where Iron Man – showed up, a crowd of fans were sure to follow.
Peter stood on his toes, trying to see past the heads of what felt like a million taller people. He had never cursed his height more.
Suddenly the crowd started to cheer, and through glimpses between bodies Peter was able to see Tony walking out on stage, waving his hand with his trademarked glasses and grin.
Peter's mouth set in a firm line. He had to get to him. One way or another, he had to get on that stage.
Ducking under a waving arm, Peter began moving slowly through the sea of people. He kept his eye steadily on Tony, making his way as fast as he could towards the stage. He could see Happy in the corner, back straight and hands folded in front of him like always, his own eyes searching the crowd for any potential threat. Well, perhaps Peter wasn't as ungrateful for his height, after all.
As Peter neared the front, he could clearly see the line of guards in black glasses blocking any openings to the back of stage; Peter took a breath. He'd been realising more and more lately that he was like Tony, in that he tended to run head on and ask questions later. Perhaps he should be channeling his inner Steve, and actually take a moment to figure out exactly how his plan was supposed to work.
A distraction. He'd have to create a distraction of some kind. But what?
Looking round, Peter began to think.
His eyes roamed over the crowd, the trees, and the stage. He could – he could go – but no. No, that wouldn't work. But then he could – no, that wouldn't work either.
Peter continued to think, continued to try and figure out what he could possibly do to both distract everyone and also make it to the stage unseen, but there was nothing. Nothing came to mind. There was nothing he could do that wouldn't send everyone's eyes straight towards him and get him kicked out faster than he could open his mouth.
The crowd started clapping, and Peter looked up to see a shorter man coming out onto the stage. He was clearly representing Osborn; the older man must have found some reason not to attend at the last minute. But it didn't matter. Everything would be signed and legal soon enough.
He was running out of time.
Peter inched closer, wondering just how fast he could move between the guards and whether or not he'd be able to avoid being caught by all five of them.
One of the guards caught Peter's eye and Peter quickly looked away, shirking back into the crowd.
Dammit. Dammit, shit. What was he supposed to do? Just yell and scream like a mad-man? There was no way Tony would hear him, he likely wouldn't even see him, and then he'd be taken away by security and it would all be over – Tony would sign the contract, completely oblivious to what was going to happen.
But what could he do? There was nothing. Peter rubbed at his shirt in discomfort, his chest growing hot.
There was nothing. There was nothing he could do. There was nothing, there was noth –
A gasp sounded nearby, followed by another. There was a shout, and Peter opened his eyes, catching everyone's gaze, which for some reason were directed at his feet. Confused, he finally looked down to see a fire near the base of his feet.
People were quickly scrambling away; some were trying to stomp it out, but despite the wet ground and lack of oxygen, the fire still grew. Peter jumped back along with a dozen other people, and soon everyone was shouting and running in every direction.
The security that had been blocking the entrance to the back end of the stage started moving towards them, quickly ushering people away from the fire as quickly as they could.
Taking what would very likely be his only opportunity, Peter ducked between the swarm of people and started heading towards the stage.
He made it behind the backdrop. He looked up the small set of stairs that led to the top of the stage. He could see Tony standing behind the desk where the contract lay, tapping his finger against it in what was either impatience or concern. It was probably both.
Osborn's representative, though, was staring out at the scene with a slight frown at his lips, clearly not appreciating the unexpected turn of events.
Well, if he didn't like that, he was sorely going to hate what he was about to do next.
With as loud a voice he could, Peter took a deep breath and shouted, "Mister Stark!"
Tony, and almost everyone else left on the stage, nearly jumped out of their skin. Happy turned to him, his surprise quickly giving way to what could only be called righteous fury, and immediately started towards him. "You again!"
Wasting no time, Peter continued, "Mister Stark, you can't sign that contract! Osborn's planning on taking over the company – if you sign it, you'll be giving him everything!"
By now Happy had reached him, and grabbed him on the collar of his jacket. In seconds he was literally lifting Peter up and carrying down the steps.
Peter struggled, trying to get away, but unless he wanted to hurt Happy, he couldn't do anything. But as Happy led him past the crowd of people, who had now settled down with the fire gone, Peter couldn't help but feel relief.
He'd heard him. He'd listened to him. He'd heard him say what Osborn was really up to, he now knew the truth, and he would –
The announcer, who until this point had been languidly describing the event's proceedings, started speaking again. "We are so sorry for the interruptions. Now, if you'll draw your attention to the front, Mister Stark and Mister Stromm will sign the contract. Mister Osborn's signature is already on the document; Mister Stromm will be signing as the authoritative witness."
Peter stared as Happy continued to drag him away, the man's voice ringing in his ears. But as he continued to watch, his smile faded away and his eyes widened, as he watched Tony lean over the desk and begin to sign.
No. No, he'd told him – he'd reached him in time, he'd told him what Osborn was planning to do, that this whole set-up was a charade, an attempt to take over his company, so why was he –
Peter breathed.
Because he didn't know him. Because to Tony, he was nothing more than a homeless street-rat that he didn't know from an axe-murdurer. He was nothing more than someone who had happened to help one of his friends, and who in his eyes had proved himself the greatest moron in the entire world by rejecting their help.
An anger flared through Peter, sudden and viciously hot, laced with bitterness and resentment.
If Tony had remembered him, he would have believed him. He would have known he was telling the truth. He would have stopped everything he was doing right then and there, no questions asked. He would have trusted Peter completely.
But instead, he was ignoring him, and was now choosing to sign his life away.
Peter watched as Tony finished his signature with a flourish, before looking up with a grin. The crowd clapped politely, and the announcer began remarking on all the ways the new partnership would benefit the people, the city, and even the Avengers themselves.
Osborn's representative leaned down and marked his own signature as the announcer continued to speak.
By now Happy had dragged him all the way to the back of the crowd, and he dropped him unceremoniously onto the ground. Peter quickly scrambled back up, reaching towards the guard.
"Happy, Happy please – please, you have to tell Mister Stark that Osborn's going to betray him. Osborn – Osborn's the Green Goblin, he's the Green Goblin and you need to tell Mister Stark that he's going to take over the company, and –."
"Listen kid, I thought I told you to stay away from Mister Stark! I told him – I told him you would be trouble. But of course no one listens to Happy. Happy's only been security for almost twenty years, it's not like he knows anything!"
"Happy –."
"Go home, kid. You're lucky Mister Stark won't charge you with assault – if it were me, I'd have your ass thrown in juvie before sundown."
Everything suddenly went silent, and the hairs on the back of Peter's neck rose.
"… so go back home and don't you dare come near Mister Stark again, or he will have you arrested – do you hear me?"
Something was coming. Something was coming fast.
Turning round, Peter started looking every which way, his eyes scanning across the people and trees before moving to the sky.
"Hey kid! Do you have a problem with hearing? I need you to at least acknowledge what I said before I let you go, and –."
"Something's coming."
His eyes continued to move, before coming to a stop.
There.
Peter's eyes landed on a dark object, which quickly growing larger and larger with every passing second. The hairs on his arms stood up, and before he could even make the figure out, he knew exactly what it was.
He knew exactly who it was.
"Happy," Peter said, pushing his hand against Happy's side. The figure was coming faster and faster, and within seconds it was bearing down on them. Peter ignored Happy's protests and pushed him harder, trying to get him out of the way. "Happy, look out!"
"Kid, what –."
Something shot past out of the corner of his eye, and Peter turned round just in time to see a glowing ball fly over the crowd, and onto the stage.
An explosion followed and debris flew into the air. People started screaming and began running in all directions, as a deep laughter echoed all around them.
The Goblin flew over them, shooting past the stage and into the distance, before the glider began to turn and he started heading back towards them.
Peter vaguely heard Happy's voice shouting Tony's name, and before he could even blink the man had let him go and disappeared into the throng of panicked and terrified people.
Peter fought against the wave of people moving against him, trying to see the stage, trying to see whether Tony had been hurt, if he had been injured, or if he had gotten out in time, and –
But the smoke was too thick, and Peter could barely see a thing save for the barest hints of movement. He couldn't tell where Tony was, or if Happy had made it onto the stage, or if anyone else had been hurt, or – or –
The smoke began to clear, and Peter could just make out the images of Tony and Happy, the former of who was slowly making his way to his feet. Happy was soon near him, reaching down and practically carrying him off the stage. Peter spotted the announcer nearby, along with a few security guards, but where… but where was….
Where was Osborn's man? Where was the person that Osborn had sign the contract on his behalf?
Someone roughly pushed into Peter and he fell down, suddenly finding himself fighting against running legs and stomping feet as they tried to run over him. Eventually he made his way back to his feet, and he immediately started running towards the stage. His spidey-senses were going haywire, screaming a him, shouting with a high-pitched ring that something was wrong, something was wrong, something was wrong –
The Goblin came over them again, his manic laughter continuing to sound from up above. A second later there was another explosion, but this time along with the screams, there came the sound of boosters roaring to life. Moments later people's screams turned into cheers, as Iron Man took to the skies.
But Peter wasn't paying attention. He was only focused on one thing. Because if Osborn's worker was taken to safety by his security, that was one thing; but if –
Peter finally reached the stage, which was now half-crumbled to the ground. He all but jumped onto the remaining pieces, running over to desk, where the contract had been minutes before.
The desk was empty.
Peter started whipping round, back and forth, trying to spot the paper, to see shreds of paper, to find something, anything that would indicate the contract was still here, and –
Movement caught the corner of Peter's eye, and he looked up through a hole in the backdrop to see a lone figure running across the field and towards the building across the street beyond, a piece of paper fluttering in his hand.
Peter's wide eyes began to narrow, and the world ground to a halt.
Before Peter even knew what he was doing, he had started to run.
He could run fast, but the man had already had a massive head start, and before Peter had even made it halfway to the street, the man had already disappeared into the building on the other side.
There was parking out back behind the building; that that was where the man was planning to go. He likely had a car waiting for him out back, or knew an alley he could disappear into. He would take the contract to Oscorp and the deal would be complete.
And Peter couldn't let that happen.
But there was no way he could make it through the building in time. Aside from being stopped by security and other people, once inside he would have no idea how to get to the back. He'd be lost wandering in a maze while the man and the contract got away.
There was only one other option.
Without even thinking, Peter tore the bottom of his shirt, ripping off a large piece of fabric. He wrapped it around his mouth and nose, tying it behind his head. He then lifted up the hood of his jacket, pulling it tightly over his head and around his face. Dashing across the street, Peter ran into the alley for a few feet, then all but jumped onto the side of the wall and began to climb.
He crawled diagonally, moving each limb as fast as he could. Moments later he made it to the top, quickly standing to his feet on the ledge.
He was just in time.
He could see the man already running across the enclosed lot, heading towards the trees and street beyond.
Peter no longer thought, everything was instinct; in seconds he had already outstretched his arm, pressed his fingers against his wrist, and shot a web against the nearest building. He jumped.
He swung down in an arc, extending his legs out in front of him, aiming straight for the man's back. Seconds later they met, and the man was sent crashing to the ground. Peter let go of the web and tumbled, falling head over heels until he regained his momentum and skidded to a stop.
The man was crying out and writhing on the ground in pain. He looked up, his wide eyes meeting Peter's. In the next second he started scrambling to his feet, and started to run.
But Peter wasn't going to even give him a chance.
Stretching out his arm, Peter shot another web. It latched onto the man's back and Peter pulled, bringing him back down to the ground with a crash.
The man started to fight back, hitting Peter as hard as he could. But his hits were like kitten-swipes, and barely even registered in Peter's mind. Still, they were annoying, so Peter shot webs onto each of his wrists and feet, binding him to the ground.
The man began to shout as he struggled to get free. "Get off me! Get off me, you little cretin, you little –."
Peter shot a web over the man's mouth, and there was promptly silence.
With the man fully restrained, Peter finally took a moment to breathe. He leaned back as he fought to get his racing heartbeat under control. However, as he did, his eyes finally took in the man's face, and his entire body froze.
This man. He knew this man. This wasn't just some random minion, sent out to do Osborn's bidding. This was… this was….
This was the man from the laboratory. This was the man that had stood with Osborn on the other side of the glass cage, as Peter was kept bound inside. This was the man who had helped Osborn, running the computers and looking up at him absently with his little, rat-like face. This was the man who had shot him. Who had tried to kill him.
This was the man that had stood by and watched as Osborn took a knife and cut into his body, as he cut a gash deep down his chest, as he screamed in pain and begged for help, and –
Peter swallowed.
The man seemed to recognise him, too, as his wide, fearful eyes suddenly narrowed into a glare. His struggles became more pronounced, but the webbing refused to give way. He was stuck. He was trapped.
Just like Peter had been. Just as Peter had been back in that laboratory, when he'd been kept behind the enclosure of glass, a simple specimen for the two men to experiment on, a rat in a cage with nowhere to escape.
All the feelings of terror and fear that Peter had felt at that time came suddenly rushing back. All the thoughts of torture and death that he had tried to forget resurfaced, leaving him feeling for a moment as though he were still back there, still strapped helplessly to the iron table, completely at the two men's mercy.
Except it was different, now. Now it was him that stood on the outside, and the man – Stromm – that was bound before him. Now it was him that was in control. Now it was Stromm that was at his mercy.
For a moment, Peter wondered. He wondered what it would be like to make the other man feel the same fear and pain that he had felt; to feel the same burning fire of a bullet in your shoulder; to feel the excruciating pain of a knife cutting into your skin and bone.
Stromm seemed to recognise what Peter was thinking, as the colour suddenly drained from his face, and the last remnants of defiance disappeared, replaced in its stead with complete and utter fear. He could hear the muted words beneath the web, begging for him stop, to not do what he was about to do.
The mufled voice brought Peter out of his thoughts and he blinked, suddenly realising just what exactly it was that had been going through his mind.
Swallowing, Peter shook his head.
He had to get back to what he was doing. He had to find the contract, and destroy it. That was what was most important right now.
He reached down and grabbed hold of Stromm's jacket. The man violently flinched, but Peter ignored it. He dug inside the jacket on either side for a few moments, before finally finding what he was looking for. He pulled out a piece of paper, and could see Tony's signature at the bottom. Relief washed over him and he closed his eyes, taking a breath.
He did it. He got the contract. Stark Industries was saved, and the Avengers wouldn't be left scattered and on their own. He did it, they were safe.
They were safe.
Without warning anger suddenly erupted within him, and Peter's attention turned back to Stromm, who was looking up at him with wary eyes. Peter pulled down the cloth around his face and spoke.
"You're a piece of shit, you know that?" he spat. "You were willing to let millions of people suffer and die, and for what? A Goddamn pay-raise? The position as Osborn's top underling? Really?!"
The man mumbled against the webbing, but Peter didn't care one inch what he had to say. He was angry, so, so angry at the man – at Osborn – at everything, for what they had put him through.
"You kidnapped me," Peter continued. "You tortured me. You let him cut open my chest, and for what? For what?! Because you thought there was some hidden gem inside, huh?! Honestly, your boss is fucking insane! He just attacked a group of people, he tried to kill Tony Stark, and for what?! So he could…." Peter trailed off, his eyes widening slightly as realisation clicked in.
"So he could have reason to take control of the company," he finished. "If Tony was dead or severely injured, Osborn would be able to get the vote of no confidence from the board, and everyone on the outside would think it was legit. Everyone would think it was real. And it would be."
The anger returned anew, and Peter was suddenly shouting, shaking his hand with the crumpled contract in front of the man's face. "You slimy, scheming bastard! You were willing to kill innocent people so that you could take over Stark Industries and get rid of the Avengers? What for?! Why would you possibly need the Avengers gone? What the hell threat do they pose to you? Huh?!" He ripped the webbing off his mouth. "Tell me!"
Huffing, the man glared and said, "Because of what you have!"
Peter stared at him incredulously, his eyes wide. "I told you! I told both of you – I don't have anything! I have my abilities that I got from the bite, but that's it! That's it, I don't have anything else, and I –."
"But you do," Stromm interrupted, shaking his head. "You just don't know it."
Peter stared down at the older man, struggling to regain his breath. "And how do you know that?" he finally asked.
Stromm's lips pressed into a thin line. "Don't blame me, kid. I don't know if it's all true, I don't know if I even really believe it. But after my boss met that man, after that man told him about you, he became incessant – he became obsessed with finding you, with capturing you, with taking whatever it is you have. He said that you're special. He's never told me exactly what it was, only that it's greater than anything else he's every had. And believe me, kid – Mister Osborn has many great things. And if he thinks whatever it is you have is greater than all of them, well…."
Peter could only stare.
"… No," he said after a moment. He shook his head. "No. You're lying." Stromm started to speak again, but Peter refused to let him, shooting another web onto his mouth. "I don't have anything. I'm just – I'm just Peter Parker. I'm not special, I'm – I'm no one. I'm a homeless kid with no family and no friends. I have nothing, I am no one. I don't have anything of any importance, no matter what your boss says! And that – and that he would come after me for that, that he would torture and try and kill me because of something as stupid as that, it's – it's – ."
Stromm started making noises louder than before, but this time his eyes widened, falling on the smoldering fist in front of him.
With a start, Peter's own eyes widened, as he realised that is fist was indeed actually smoldering. Smoke was coming out from between his fingers and the crease of his palm; then suddenly the contract that he had been holding between them burst into flame, thick black smoke rising into the air.
Peter stared at his now-smoldering fist, his eyes wide and heart frozen in his chest.
He had a lot of powers. He had a lot of abilities. He could climb walls and shoot webs from his wrists; he could run faster than anyone he knew and was just as strong. But this…
This wasn't normal. This was very, very not normal. In fact, this shouldn't be happening at all.
Opening his hand, the blackened remnants of the contract scattered into the air, and disappeared into the sky.
How – how had that possibly happ –
Without warning his spidey-senses went off, and Peter was only able to turn his head and look up, half a second before something crashed into his side and sent him flying threw the air.
He landed on his back, rolling across the ground. He was vaguely aware of crashing through brick and glass, the force of the momentum sending him further and further, until he wasn't sure if he would ever stop.
He eventually did, though, and despite the pain in his back and head, Peter wasted no time in getting back to his feet. Just as he did, a green flash came towards him and crashed into him, sending him flying back through the brick building once more.
The next thing he knew, there was a cold, metal hand wrapping around his throat. Peter's eyes snapped open, meeting the large, yellow eyes and permanent, manic grin of the Green Goblin.
"Well, well, well," the Goblin tutted. "It seems as though you are more of a thorn in my side than I thought." The grip squeezed tighter, blocking off Peter's airways. He brought his hands up to the Goblin's fists, trying wrench them back.
"I wanted you to be there, truly I did. I would have saved you for last and then ripped you open, taking what is mine in front of all the others. Showing them exactly what it was they had lost. But it seems I now won't get a chance to do that. Shame."
Peter struggled harder, his hands growing hot, trying to kick the Goblin off of him. But the Goblin remained unmoved.
"Oh don't worry, my dear boy. I won't be killing you tonight. I'll just have to take you back to my lab sooner than I thought. I won't be able to finish with you right away; the plans that I have already set in motion must come first. You will have to wait. But don't worry; once I am in control of Stark's company, I'll be able to give my full attention to you, and –."
The Goblin paused, his words trailing off as white smoke started to appear in front of him. Both he and Peter looked down to see smoke rising from beneath Peter's fingers, and as they slowly started melting into the Goblin's armor.
The Goblin jerked back and swore. "What the –."
Before he could finish his sentence there was a sudden roar of energy, followed by a flash, and the next thing Peter knew the Goblin was gone, and he was able to breathe once more. He sucked in a deep breath, his chest heaving as he looked to see what was happening.
But it didn't matter, as the lack of oxygen had already taken its toll. Black dots began dancing in his eyes, until they started filling his entire vision. The last thing he saw before he passed out was the familiar gleam of red and yellow metal lowering to the ground in front of him – Iron Man – followed by one last thought.
Shit.