Waking up in the compound the first time had been startling, and had sent him into a desperate, furious panic. Waking up in the compound the second time, however, proved instead to only be angering, and made him deeply irritated.
Everything looked exactly as it had before. In fact, Peter would go as far as to say they'd stuck him right back in the same room he'd managed to escape from the first time. The windows were the same, the chairs were the same, the ceiling was the same.
Unlike the last time, however, he wasn't alone.
He could see the backs of two guards as they stood outside his door, another one standing a little ways down the hallway, their hands folded in front of them and their unhappy expressions indicating they clearly had a job to do. Peter fought off a wry grin. They were clearly taking no chances with him, this time.
The real clincher, however, was the guard sitting with him inside the room.
Happy Hogan sat facing him in one of the chairs by the door, his head down and eyes narrowed as he focused on his phone. His fingers were tapping away, not once realising that he was being watched.
Peter stared at Happy a moment longer, before turning his eyes to stare back up at the ceiling. He was glad for the small reprieve; it gave him a moment to think. To figure out exactly what had happened and how he'd gotten to where he was. It was an exercise that he was getting far, far too familiar with.
The last thing he remembered was fighting the Goblin. He'd been strangling him when Iron Man had shown up, and had blasted the maniac off of him. Peter had managed to start breathing again, but by then his body had become clearly fed up, and the last thing he remembered was lying back down on the ground before everything went dark.
A thought suddenly hit him, and for a moment Peter began to panic, wondering if Osborn had gotten away with the contract, or if he –
But no. No, he didn't. He'd caught up to Stromm, he'd grabbed the contract, and he… and he….
And he burned it. Somehow, someway, the paper had erupted into flames as though someone had taken lighter fluid and a match and lit it. When he'd opened his palm the blackened pieces had floated away, dissipating into the air. But how… how had that possibly happened –
Peter swallowed and closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about it. Clearly something had happened, somewhere along the line he'd been… he'd been changed. It wasn't the first time in his life that he'd discovered new abilities of a less-than human nature, but he didn't think spiders could create fire in the palm of their hands. Or legs. Or whatever… whatever you call their feet, or –
"Oh good, you're awake."
Peter blinked, then slowly turned his head.
Happy was looking at him with his ever-present "less than impressed" face. His phone was now put away and his arms were crossed in front of him as he sat.
When Peter didn't reply, Happy continued, "I've told Mister Stark that you're awake. He'll be here shortly. For now, why don't we have a chat, hmm?"
Oh joy, more chats. But Happy wasn't Steve; he wasn't someone interested in Peter as a person, he was only interested in the threat he represented. Which made his questions standard. Which made him predictable. Which made him someone that Peter could handle with ease.
"Well since you're so eager to stay silent, I'll start the questions. First thing I want to know is, what do you want with Mister Stark?"
Peter frowned at the ceiling. What did he want with Mister Stark? He wanted nothing. In fact, he wanted more than nothing, he wanted to be as far away from the billionaire as he possibly could. But fate seemed determined to do the opposite of everything he had ever wanted, so here he sat, in Tony's compound, in Tony's med-ward, being interrogated by Tony's head of security. How wonderful.
"Well?" Happy asked impatiently. Peter fought back an annoyed glare. Clearly to Happy, five seconds was more than enough time to formulate and give an answer, even if he was in a hospital bed. He should of known that, of course. Silly Peter.
"What do you want with Mister Stark?" Happy asked again. "You tried getting on the stage at the signing – why? What were you planning on doing to him? Did you have a knife? A gun? Were you a decoy for the green creature on that hover-board, or –."
"Hey now," Peter finally interrupted, looking over. "I had nothing to do with that. I have nothing to do with him, I –."
"Well I think you're lying. I heard you were trying to get back into the tower after I explicitly told you to not come back. Didn't I make myself clear enough when I told you to stay away?" Happy glared, shaking his finger. "I knew you were trouble, I knew you had bad intentions from the start. I told Mister Stark you were bad news, but he didn't listen to me! And now look what's happened – you show up at one his public signings, and a few minutes later the place gets attacked and civilians are hurt, and –."
"W-what?" Peter spluttered, pushing himself up against the pillows. "You're – Happy, you're insane! You're insane if you think that just because I was there, that means that the Goblin and I were –."
"So you admit that you know him?"
Peter blinked. "What?"
"You admit that you know who he is and that you're working together?"
"What?! No! Happy, you're not even twisting my words because you're not even giving me a chance to say them! I told you, I have nothing to do with the Goblin, I was actually trying to warn you about him –."
"Why?" Happy demanded. "You knew he was coming then, if you were trying to warn us. But how? How did you know? If you weren't working with him, how could you have possibly known he was com –."
"Because he's Osborn!" Peter finally spat out. "Osborn is the Goblin. Mister Stark was going to sign a deal with the Green Goblin and I had to stop him, I had to stop him or else –."
"Really?" Happy interrupted. "Really, that's the story you're going with? That Norman Osborn, the head of Oscorp Industries, is actually the Green Goblin in disguise? Really?" Happy shook his head. "You're a real piece of work, you know that? I don't know where you came from, but as soon as you're healed I'm having you shipped straight back to –."
"Now now, children, let's try not to fight, shall we?"
Both Peter and Happy looked up to see Tony enter the room, closing the door behind him. He gave them both a smile, before turning to Happy. "Thanks Hap, you can go now."
"But sir –."
"That will be all, Mister Hogan."
Happy looked very much as though he wanted to stand his ground and continue to interrogate Peter, but years as Tony's head of security forced him to bite his lip and, with a curt nod, he left the room.
Tony watched as Happy walked past the window and down the hall, before spinning back around to face Peter. His smile broadened. "So, we meet again. It's been what – twenty-four hours since I last saw you? It sure looks like you've been keeping busy."
Peter fought back a glare and bit his tongue.
"Ah, the silent treatment. I've heard you're quite good at that. You must have met my CEO, Miss Potts – she's rather good at that, too."
Peter remained silent.
Tony's lip twitched, but his smile remained. He took a few steps over to the chairs, before sitting down with a thud, setting his ankle over his knee and folding his hands. "So, care to explain what happened?"
Peter said nothing.
"All right then, I see I'll have to be more direct. I have a number of questions, but I suppose the first one I should ask is: why you were at the signing? I wouldn't have imagined you for the business type. But you seemed pretty adamant about getting onto the stage. You were yelling, but Happy had you outta there before I had a chance to hear what you were saying. He said it wasn't important, but I know Happy well enough to know we tend to differ on that definition."
This was it. This was the chance to finally tell Tony what Osborn was doing, how much he was in danger, who Osborn really was.
And Peter wasn't going to let that chance get away.
He just didn't know if Tony would believe him.
Peter took a breath.
"Osborn… Osborn, he – he's the Green Goblin. That's the reason he wasn't there, that's why he had his assistant signing for him – so he could attack once the deal was signed. He wanted to remove you from the company, he… he wanted to kill you, or injure you, so that he could take over Stark Industries. He has a whole bunch of people planted inside, ready to defect, and… and…."
Tony's eyebrow was raised, and Peter could tell that of all the stories he had expected to hear, this hadn't been it.
"Okay, so you're telling me that Norman Osborn – the founder and head of Oscorp Industries – is actually the… Green Goblin? The guy in the green suit who's been flying around on his little hover-board, throwing bombs into buildings? That guy?"
"Yes," Peter ground out. He could hear the skepticism in Tony's voice, plain as day, and it bothered him more than he thought it would. Though he knew Tony might not believe him right away, he still had figured he'd see the truth at one point. He had to.
"As much as I'd like to believe that one of my prime business rivals is in fact a low-life villain that should be thrown in jail, the idea of Norman Osborn as the Green Goblin is kind of a ridiculous. Where did you hear this from? One of your friends on the street?"
Why did they always think he heard everything from people on the streets? Did they think he was that well connected? Did they honestly think he even had any friends?
"No," Peter replied. "I heard it… I heard it…."
He heard it because Osborn told him. Because he shoved it in his face all that he was going to do, taunting him, laughing at him, mocking him. Because he'd kidnapped him and shoved him into a glass cage and proceeded to cut into his chest with a knife.
But….
But he couldn't tell Tony that. No matter how much he wanted to vindicate himself, he couldn't tell Tony how he really knew. He couldn't tell him the truth. Because if he told him about the Goblin, then he'd ask even more questions. And those questions would lead him to ask even more questions. And then he'd be close, he'd be so close to prying open the last of Peter's secrets, of finding out exactly why Peter had ever been there in the first place, and –
"Well?" Tony prompted. "Where did you hear this from? Who told you Norman Osborn is the one who attacked the people at the signing, today?"
Peter finally shook his head. "I can't –."
"– tell me," Tony finished. "Yeah, I figured you'd say that." He leaned back. "Let me tell you kid, you don't exactly give a good defense with that kind of answer."
Peter opened his mouth to speak, to try and defend himself what little he could, but Tony barreled over him and continued, standing to his feet. "But let's not focus on that right now. Instead, let's move on to the second question. Why was the Goblin trying to kill you? If I'm not mistaken, this makes it the second time he's tried to knock your lights out, is that right?"
Now this was a question that Peter could bullshit his way to an answer to.
"I went after him," he said, trying to keep his voice light. "I wanted to get rid of the contract, so I… I went after the assistant. I guess the Goblin knew what I was doing and he tried to stop me."
"You knowingly tried to destroy a legal document for some messed up idea that you had, and then just happened to get caught in the crossfire of the Goblin's rampage?" Tony scoffed. "Yeah kid, I don't think so."
That wasn't exactly what he said, and Peter was sure Tony knew it. The older man just didn't want to state otherwise, else he would actually be presuming what Peter had said about Osborn was true. But Peter knew Tony. He knew he'd scoff and wave his hand, sloughing the accusation off as nothing more than a street-rat's rumour; but once he was alone, once he was by himself with nothing else but his own thoughts, then he would think. Then he would begin to wonder. He'd start to investigate, and then he'd find the trail that would lead him all the way to Osborn's spies, and then eventually all the way to Osborn himself.
Tony and Peter stared at each other for a few minutes, neither saying a word. Tony looked halfway contemplative and halfway annoyed, his fingers tucked beneath his chin and eyes never leaving Peter's.
Finally Tony let his hands drop, and he walked over to the window. "Well whatever the truth is, one fact is clear: that the Goblin clearly has it out for you. And as much as you're proving to be a pebble in my shoe, you hardly deserve to get attacked a third time. Plus, you're just a kid. What are you, fourteen? Fifteen?"
"I'm seventeen," Peter ground out for what felt like the millionth time. "Almost eighteen. Practically an adult."
"Yeah but you're not yet, are you?"
Peter fought the urge to swear. "No."
"And you have no guardian? No one's legally taking care of you back in New York?"
His thoughts began to drift to Aunt May, but Peter quickly put them to a halt. "No," he said again.
Tony hummed for a moment, then turned back round, his hands behind his back. "All right, then. I guess until we get this Goblin guy sorted out, you're staying with us."
Peter blinked, then blinked again. "Wait, what? No! No, I can't stay here, I need to go back to New York, I –."
"Too bad, kid. I don't care what you want, you're staying here."
Peter swore.
God, it was like his escape from the compound before had never happened; it were as though someone had taken their finger and pushed back the hands of the clock, reversing everything he had done to get away from here in the first place, picking him up and bringing him straight back to square one.
"Look," Tony said, "I've talked with Rogers. I know you seem to hate this place for whatever reason, I don't know. But I'm not going to let some kid back into the line of fire and get himself killed, just because he was being a stubborn pain in the ass. Besides, there's nothing you could do right now anyway, even if I were to let you leave. They're forecasting a storm that's supposed to hit sometime tonight. An actual, real Nor'easter, they calling it. Everyone will be grounded until it passes. So I'm sorry kid, but you're outta luck."
Peter didn't know what to say. He had said everything already, he had already said so much – what more could he possibly do to convince them that he couldn't stay here? If he tried running again, then it would be Tony coming after him, this time, and Peter would essentially be put under house arrest, probably stuck in a room with handcuffs and everything. He'd be a literal captive once more – only this time instead of a wall of glass surrounding him, he'd have a wall of Avengers, instead.
Peter shook his head, old worries crowding in his mind. But Seftis, he… if he found out I'm here, if he saw I was with them, that I was talking to them, then he would… he would….
Another voice suddenly whispered in the back of Peter's mind, an inkling, a nagging thought that just wouldn't leave him alone. That hadn't left him alone for a few days, now; whispering that he had already been with the Avengers for a while now, that he had spent hours with them, had spoken with them, and run after them, and still… still nothing had happened. Nothing had happened yet. That every time he thought something would be sure to happen, that nothing would… nothing would….
Peter swallowed, shaking his head again.
But no. Seftis' threat was still so vivid in his mind, still so clear – he had to have meant it. More likely than not, he just wasn't paying attention to him right now. But once he did, once he turned and saw where he was, what he was doing, who he was with, then… then….
But he was stuck. He was literally stuck here. And unless he wanted to spill everything here and now, unless he wanted to do the last thing Seftis had wanted him to do, then, well….
Then he'd have to stay.
Taking a breath, Peter spoke, "Steve – Mister Rogers – he… he told you what will happen if I stay, right? If you guys… if I stay around you guys for too long?"
Tony furrowed his eyebrows quizzically, before they fell back with realisation. "Oh, you mean the fact that you think you're a ticking time bomb or something? Yeah, Rogers mentioned something about that. And like I'm sure he told you, kid – you're with the Avengers. Not just one or two, but there's actually quite a few of us kicking around here at the moment. You'd have to be pretty talented to get in here unnoticed. And besides, after that little stunt you pulled the last time you were here, I doubt security will let that happen."
Tony headed towards the door. "I'll set you up in some rooms on the fifth floor. If you need anything, just ask the AI, FRIDAY. She'll take care of you."
He turned the knob, but Peter stopped him before he could open the door. "Wait. How… how long will I be here for? How long before I can go back to the city?"
Tony turned back to him, a brow raised. "Well, I would say until we catch the guy. I was too busy making sure you weren't dead, that he was able to get away. But I'm sure he'll crop up soon. Guys like him can never keep to themselves for long. They always like the limelight just a little too much."
Yeah, Peter thought as Tony opened the door. Sorta like someone else I know.
"All right kid, I'll have Happy escort you to your rooms. Now play nice, you hear? I don't want to be breaking up any fistfights between you two."
Peter fought off the urge to roll his eyes, and Tony began walking down the hall. Happy appeared in the doorway a few moments later, a very annoyed but resigned look on his face. "Come on kid," he said. "Hurry up. I don't got all day."
With a sigh, Peter got out of the bed – he was still wearing his own clothes this time, thankfully – and began to follow.
Happy had shown him where everything was that he needed – the cafeteria, the area on the floor he was allowed to wander, and finally his rooms. They were big; essentially a large, well-kept apartment, with a kitchen, a living room, and a bedroom – with an actual bed. Aside from the hospital bed, Peter wasn't sure he'd been in a real one since Before.
By the time Happy had finished, it was well past nine o'clock. Peter had slept most of the day away already, but despite that fact, he was still tired beyond belief. He figured he'd get a late supper – he'd been in the cafeteria many times before, and almost knew the menu off by heart. Or, he had. Some of the items that had once been there were now gone, including some of Peter's favourite meals. Oh well. Really, he was just happy to be eating something at all –especially when it was still warm.
When he finished eating he started heading back to his apartment. He knew the hallways enough to feel comfortable, and had no trouble making it back. When he turned the corner to his apartment, however, he saw that someone was standing outside. Peter drew to a stop, and blinked.
Clint.
Clint Barton stood outside Peter's apartment door, his hand scratching the back of his head as he looked the other way. Peter watched him for a moment, unsure of what to do. Clint, as though feeling Peter's gaze, suddenly straightened and turned round.
They stared at each other for a brief moment, before Clint spoke. "Hi," he said.
Peter looked at him cautiously, before starting to walk closer. "Hi," he replied.
Whatever remained of Clint's unease was quickly hidden as Peter came to a stop in front of him, his back straightening and his professional manner taking over. He held out his hand. "My name's Clint Barton," he said. "I was the one that you… that you saved, back in the alley in New York."
Peter awkwardly gave Clint's hand a shake, if nothing more than to make the man drop his hand. "Um, hi."
Clint gave a small smile. "I just wanted to say thank you, for what you did. I had been tracking a group in New York, and, well… apparently they didn't like to be found. They were in the middle of attacking a woman when I found them, and, well – I wasn't going to leave her on her own. Didn't realise how outnumbered I was until I started the fight, and by then it was too late."
He shuffled slightly. "Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks. If you hadn't stepped in when you did, well…. Let's just say I probably wouldn't be hanging around here; not upright, anyway."
Peter gave a quick nod, eager for the conversation to be done. He liked Clint, he liked Clint a lot – he always had. They'd always gotten along well, Clint often acting like more of a dad than Peter had realised at the time. He'd gotten along well with his kids, the few times he'd met them, along with his wife. Seeing him in the role of a father and husband only made Peter respect him more.
But right now he was exhausted, and Peter didn't feel like playing a game of charades, not now. Right now all he wanted to do was go to sleep.
"No problem," Peter said. "Seriously, it was… it was no problem. Anyone would have done the same thing."
"No they wouldn't have," Clint refuted, shaking his head. "I've been around a while, kid, and let me tell you something – not everyone would have done what you did. Not everyone would have jumped into the middle of fight like that." He paused, then said, "especially with the odds being seven to one."
Peter wasn't sure what to say. He knew what Clint was saying, he knew what he was hinting at, but Peter wasn't about to divulge the details of the fight. He wasn't about to explain how he managed to fight off seven other men on his own, when an assassin like Clint hadn't been able to. Though it really wasn't Clint's fault; if he hadn't been stabbed and had been able to fight hand to hand, he'd have defeated them with ease. Of course he would have.
Of course he would have.
Sensing that Peter wasn't going to give anything up, at least not tonight, Clint relented. "Well, I guess I'll let you go to bed," he said. "You've had a rough day, from what I've heard. I just wanted to find you first and say thank you, in case I didn't get another chance."
Peter gave him a tight-lipped smile, trying not to show just how exhausted he was. "Really, Mister Barton, it was no problem. I was happy to help. But yeah, I… I am a bit tired, so I think I'll head to bed now."
"Of course," Clint replied with a smile. "I'll see you at one point again, I'm sure. Goodnight, Peter."
Peter watched in silence as Clint walked away.
He wasn't sure what made him speak, but before he knew it he had opened his mouth and asked, "Hey Mister Barton – do you… do you know if Steve – if Mister Rogers – is here?"
Clint stopped and turned round, an odd look on his face. He stared at Peter for a moment, before saying, "No, he's not."
Something in Peter fell, and he struggled to keep his face emotionless. It really didn't matter whether Steve was here or not, but he had to admit, it would have been nice to at least have someone to talk to, or –
"He'll be back in a few days," Clint said, interrupting Peter's thoughts. "When he comes, I'll let him know you were asking for him."
And before Peter could even have a chance to protest, Clint had turned the corner and was gone.
Peter stayed where he was for a few moments longer, before finally turning and opening the door to his apartment. He immediately made his way to the bedroom, flicking off the lights as he went. Once he was inside he all but collapsed onto the bed.
It was weird; it felt as though he were sleeping on a marshmallow. But at the moment, Peter couldn't care, as all the emotions and stress of the day – of the past few days – caught up with him, and he quickly fell asleep.
When Peter woke up, the first thing he noticed was the wind.
He hadn't wanted to get out of bed; he was so warm – so, so warm – and the sheets felt like water against his skin. He hadn't had sheets, actual, real sheets with a real duvet and a real bed – in two years. And with a belly still full from last night, he didn't need to leave it any time soon.
It was glorious.
Except, of course, when he remembered where he was and whose bed he was ultimately in.
The euphoria started to fade.
Peter stayed in the bed for a few minutes longer, simply staring at the ceiling. Eventually the noise of the wind drew his attention to the large window by his bed, where bright light was shining through the curtain. Finally getting to his feet, Peter walked over and drew the curtains back.
Tony hadn't been lying about the storm.
The closest thing that Peter could see was a tree branch a few feet in front of him. Aside from that, everything was white. Snowflakes flew in a flurry, whipping in seemingly every direction, blinding Peter to the rest of the world. For people driving their vehicles, they wouldn't be able to see past their own windshields. He supposed he really was grounded here, for now.
Peter closed the curtain and stepped back, shivering despite the warm air around him. He didn't even want to think where he would be if he had remained in New York. But he was certain it wouldn't be anywhere near as warm as here.
Walking into the kitchen, Peter began looking through the cupboards for food. All the times he had stayed in the compound Before, they had always kept a supply of food in his rooms in case he was ever hungry, seeing as his metabolism equaled that of a super-soldier. Or perhaps it was just because he was a teenager.
After finding and pouring himself a bowl of cheerios – and seriously, why hadn't he ever realised how good these were before? He should have had Aunt May buying the family size twice a week when he was with her – he sat down on the chair in front of the large, kitchen bay windows, and ate as he stared out into the white oblivion beyond.
Once he was finished eating, Peter leaned back in his seat and began to wonder what he would do for the day. He could stay in his rooms, that was easy enough. He had a television and an incredibly comfy-looking couch, or he could even watch the television from his bed, if he wanted to. He could eat and sleep and watch TV for twelve hours straight if he wanted, without a care in the world.
Peter did do that, and it was great. But it turned out he could only last a few hours before he started getting antsy, and he eventually turned the TV off, wondering what he could do next. If he was going to be stuck here for the next few days as they tried to catch the Goblin – at which point Peter would be proven right and Tony would be coming back with his tail between his legs – then he would have to find something to do.
Tony did say that he could wander virtually anywhere on the fifth floor. He had guards everywhere and FRIDAY monitoring the place at all times, so he probably figured he was safe from any trouble that Peter might try and make for himself. Not that it mattered right now; considering he probably couldn't even step a foot outside, there was only so much trouble Peter could get into.
He walked the halls for an hour, checking out the different wings and areas of the floor. He had never spent much time here Before, seeing as his rooms had always been on the seventh floor, near Pepper and Tony's, and none of the other Avenger's rooms had been here. It was clearly a floor meant for guests or staff, and ultimately it wasn't that interesting. All the labs and exciting rooms were kept somewhere else.
Peter eventually found some couches to sit on by the window, and though he couldn't see anything, he still found himself staring outside, if nothing more than to just think.
Not that he really had much to think about. He was stuck; he was momentarily in limbo until either the storm let up and he could try and leave, or when Tony decided to let him go. After that, he really had nothing else to do. He'd told Tony about Osborn and the Goblin, about his plans to take over Stark Industries. Now it was just up to Tony to act on it. He could rant and scream all he wanted, but ultimately, unless Tony chose to believe him, nothing could be done –
Peter's senses started tingling, and he immediately knew he was no longer alone.
Turning his head, Peter looked down the hall to see someone coming towards him. Peter frowned, immediately recognising who it was.
Bruce Banner.
Well that was a little weird. What was Bruce Banner – the Hulk – doing on this floor? All the labs were three floors below and on the other side of the building. Bruce practically lived there. So why –
As Bruce drew near, Peter quickly looked away, hoping he would just walk on by without a word.
Of course, as was always his luck, he didn't, and Peter listened as the man's footsteps came to a stop a few feet away.
"Hey there," Bruce said lightly, clearly trying to appear friendly. "You must be Peter Parker, is that right?"
Peter clenched his teeth, then sighed. He supposed at this point, his silence really didn't matter anymore.
"Yes," he said, looking up to meet Bruce's eyes.
Bruce smiled. "My name is Bruce Banner. You might… you might also know me as the Hulk?"
Bruce was clearly trying to make him feel comfortable, if he was revealing who he was. He had never been particularly proud of his other half, and unlike Tony, would never shout it from the rooftops. So to tell Peter now only meant that he was trying to make him comfortable and put him at ease.
Yeah, well, good luck with that.
"I heard what happened," Bruce said after Peter didn't respond, his voice still trying to sound light. He had been just as awkward the first time he and Peter had met, and he was clearly no less so now. "How are… how are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," Peter answered quickly. If Bruce was simply here to check up on his health, then it would be easy to shoo him away. "Really, I think all I needed was a good night's sleep. I've honestly never felt better." That, oddly enough, was true. Perhaps that tended to happen when you had supper, sleep, and breakfast all in a row.
"Oh good, good." Bruce continued his awkward smile, but he didn't leave. Peter frowned, but before he could wonder what Bruce was still doing here, the older man spoke: "I suppose… I suppose I was just wondering if you'd like to come back to the med-ward, maybe just for a check-up? I know they cleared you, but it might be good just to make sure you weren't hurt in a place you might not know about. It's always good to be safe."
Peter stared for a moment, bemused, then said, "Uh, no. No, I'm okay, thanks. Really, I feel fine. I think if internal damage had been done, I'd have known about it by now. But thanks, I… I appreciate the concern."
Bruce chuckled awkwardly and wrung his hands in front of him. "I suppose… I suppose I need to be more direct." He took a seat. "I was… I was looking at some of your records, from the medical ward, and I… I saw some… some interesting notes. I was wondering if I could maybe ask you some questions? Purely from a… a scientific point of view."
Peter frowned, staring up at Bruce uncertainly, his heart beginning to be a little bit faster. What was he talking about? Had he found out something in relation to his abilities? Had he seen records stating that the last time he'd been there, he'd had a bullet and stab wound, and now they were gone? How was he supposed to explain that?
"Um," Peter started, "I think I'd rather no –."
"It'll only take a few minutes, I promise."
Peter didn't know how else to get rid of Bruce, aside from telling him to just go the hell away, so he begrudgingly acquiesced. He'd have to lie through his teeth to get around this. But he'd done that before, many times; he was sure he could do it again.
"All right," he said. "But… but not for long. I have… other places I want to… to check out." He was sure Bruce knew that was a lie, but at least he would get the hint that Peter really didn't want to be here.
"Thank you," Bruce said. He shifted slightly in his seat, then continued, "You see, when you first came in, they had to take a few chest x-rays in order to determine how deep the stab and bullet wounds went."
Peter felt the back of his neck clam up, and suddenly his muscles were beginning to tense.
"And, well, you see… when we looked at the x-rays, we found something… a little bit strange."
Peter's frown deepened. His hands were sweating. "What… what did you find?"
"Have you ever had any surgeries before, Peter?"
Peter blinked. He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Um… no. Not really. I mean, aside from my wisdom teeth getting pulled early, I don't think there's anything I really ever had to go to the hospital for. I've been lucky, I guess." Peter looked at Bruce uneasily. "Why?"
"Well when you first came to us, we noticed you had a scar down the center of your chest. It seemed old, but… severe damage was clearly done to it."
Peter's tongue flew quicker than his thoughts. "I don't want to talk about that," he said, leaning back. "It happened a long time ago. It's not important now." Thank goodness for his healing ability; at least it made it seem as though the wound had happened years ago. It was easier to pass off as nothing important, at least not now.
But Bruce didn't look so easily convinced. "Well, do you know then… could you tell me if there was any reason for the… the scar? Did you need something taken out of your chest, or… or something put in? Like a pace-maker, perhaps?"
Now Peter was more than confused. He thought they were talking about his spider-powers. Or at least, he thought that's what Bruce must be thinking of. What else could he possibly be talking about?
Bruce reached behind him and pulled out a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he placed it on the small coffee-table between them. It was an x-ray of a chest.
Peter stared at the image, trying to figure out exactly what Bruce was talking about. His eyes trailed up the diaphragm and the bottom ribs, up until he reached the middle of his chest, just below his heart, and….
Peter's eyes widened.
What the heck was that?
There was something… there was something just below his heart. Right in the middle of his chest. It was round, and at least the size of his fist. And by the way it looked on the x-ray, Peter could almost swear that it was… that it was glowing.
"Wh-what… what, is that a… a tumor?" Peter asked. He had never seen a tumor in an x-ray before; but then again he had never seen a tumor at all, so he had no clue what it should look like. He looked up at Bruce, his eyes wide, oddly hoping for him to be both right and wrong. But when he met Bruce's eyes, he knew immediately it was the latter.
"No," Bruce said, shaking his head. "No, we ran your blood-work and some tests, but from what we can tell, it's not a tumor. At least, not any that we've ever seen before." He paused for a moment, then continued: "When you first came in, you were asleep, so you wouldn't have known, but… but whatever is in your chest, it hit our instruments pretty hard. Everything started going haywire; we were lucky to get the x-ray to work properly. It's the only reading we were able to properly get of it."
He kept Peter's gaze a moment longer. "So you don't… you don't know what it is? You don't know if some doctor did something a long time ago, when you were young, or…."
Peter's thoughts flashed back to Osborn, and the scalpel glimmering in the light as he brought it down towards him. What if he had put something inside him? What if he had –
But no. No, that couldn't be right. He said he was trying to get something out. That's what he'd always been saying, that Peter had something and he wanted to get it from him. And he believed it so much, that he had tried to physically open his chest to do it.
Clearly, he hadn't succeeded.
Except that meant that Osborn and Stromm had been right. Peter did have something inside him, something aside from his spider-powers, something that was obviously of worth – at least to them.
But what… what could it possibly be? And how could it have been picked up by an x-ray? Was it actually something physical in his chest, was there actually an object in his chest he didn't know about, sitting there right now, inside him –
Peter leaned back, everything in him suddenly cringing, curling in at the idea that there was something – there was actually something – inside of him, something he didn't know about, something he didn't know was there, something inside him –
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.
The voice that had echoed in his thoughts and dreams suddenly came back to him, louder and clearer than ever before.
Suddenly Peter was starting to think that maybe they were more than just meaningless words.
"Peter?"
Peter looked up. Bruce was staring at him with both trepidation and concern, as though he somehow knew exactly what was going through Peter's mind.
"Look, if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I just wanted to make sure that you knew about it, whatever it was, and that… and that you were safe. You are safe, right?"
Peter let out a breath.
Well the Avengers sure didn't get their job based on powers alone. Turned out every single one of them – even the precarious Jekyll and Hyde – had some sort of deep-seated need to care about other human beings, even if they were just random street-kids that somehow kept getting in their way. Even when they refused to answer their questions, and only caused more headaches and tribulations for them. Peter had always secretly thought he was the only one that truly cared for the little guy; turned out he was wrong. The Avengers seemed to care for everyone.
Well, except Tony. Tony was only Iron Man for the fame and limelight. The prick.
Peter blinked, slightly taken aback by the thought and the anger that came with it. It was wrong, of course. Of course Tony cared about others, and –
Bruce suddenly took the paper back, folding it and putting inside his jacket. He looked back up and smiled at Peter. His gaze softened. "Hey, I know it may seem scary here, being away from your home and stuck with a bunch of people like us. But I just want you to know that… if you ever need anything, we can help you. Even if you just want to order in some pizza, or even to just talk to someone, just let us know, okay? We don't know how long you'll be here, and we want you to be as comfortable as you can."
Peter stared at Bruce a moment longer, before finally mustering up words to speak. "Th-thanks," he whispered. He cleared his throat, trying again. "Really, Mister Banner, thank you. I shouldn't… I shouldn't be any trouble. I promise, I won't… I won't get in your way."
"You don't need to worry about that, Peter. Just as long as you're safe, that's all that matters. We'll find that goblin guy as soon as we can, and then you can… then you can go back home."
Did Bruce know that Peter didn't really have a home to go back to? Or was he just ignoring that fact in order to be polite?
But before Peter had much time to think about it, Bruce stood to his feet. "Well, I have to get back to the lab. But feel free to come down if you want. We can try and run more tests, see if everything… if everything's okay. If you want."
Well clearly everything was not okay, but Peter wasn't about to tell Bruce that. At least not right now.
Peter gave a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you."
Bruce returned an awkward smile of his own, before he finally turned around and left.
Peter watched as Bruce walked away, before finally disappearing round the corner of the hall. He was once again left with nothing but the howling of the wind and snow.
Peter leaned back in the couch, drawing up his feet against the coffee table and turning his gaze back outside. His hand wandered over his chest, feeling the raised skin of the scar beneath the fabric of the shirt.
I needed someone to hold it. I needed someone to take it.
But take what? If Peter were to take the voice seriously, if he were to actually believe what it was saying, then what was it talking about? Did this… this Being, whatever it was, did it actually put something inside him when he didn't realise it? If it did, then what the heck was it? Could it have something to do with the fact that he could now apparently draw fire from his hands? Had this… this thing given him powers he hadn't asked for? Not that he had asked for any of his powers, but at least with the bite he could draw it up to be nothing more than an accident –
Peter pushed the thoughts away, leaning his head back against the cushion and staring unseeingly into the white oblivion beyond the window. His head was beginning to hurt, and he suddenly felt very tired. Not for the first time he wished for his attic back, so that he could run away and hide within its walls from the rest of the world, if only for a little while.
Closing his eyes, Peter began to drift to sleep, countless voices echoing into his dreams.