Peter could hear them through the walls, his ears picking up their voices as though they were only just outside the door, rather than three rooms down. They were arguing, or talking, at least, about what had happened with Seftis. About how some strange man had shown up out of nowhere and attacked them, and Tony was left frozen where he stood as the man and Peter spoke. Tony's skepticism was evident in his voice as he relayed the events, and it was clear that even he wasn't sure whether or not he believed what he was saying.
Peter turned his head away, trying to focus his attention elsewhere. He wasn't in the mood to listen to Tony's unbelief about the truth. If he would rather stay in his world of happy ignorance, who was Peter to stop him?
After Peter had un-surreptitiouslyannounced his failure and the impending doom of all the Avengers, Steve had had the good sense to remove Tony from the room – who had been looking at Peter as though he'd grown a third head, next to the second one he had already grown just shortly after Seftis had disappeared – taking Bucky and Bruce with him. Peter had been left alone, and was more than happy to be so. Because even if people had started questioning him, he didn't think he'd have the voice to answer.
He listened as the birds sang outside, their songs crisp and clear in the winter air. He did his best to focus on them, to force his ears to hear nothing but their songs, to make himself believe that, if only for a little while, these birds and him were the only creatures on the entire earth.
"So what, you're saying – you're saying that I know this kid? And that somehow I just – I just randomly forgot he existed? Really? That's what you want me to believe?"
Peter's brows twitched, Tony's loud, incredulous voice breaking through his concentration. He took a steady breath, trying to once again turn his attention to the outside. But no matter how much he tried to ignore them, their voices still managed to reach his ears.
He could hear Steve talking, his voice low and words murmured together as he spoke, obviously trying to be the one calm person in a room full of chaos. Peter couldn't quite make it out, but by Tony's response, it was evident what had been said.
"Are you kidding, Rogers? I mean, it's one thing to try and convince me that I had my memories wiped, and that there might be some kid I once knew hanging out in New York – but you're actually trying to tell me that he was – that he was an Avenger? Really? The kid looks like he's twelve years old! There's no way he could have been an Avenger! Not to mention I would never have allowed it. Even if he does have super-strength, or – or whatever."
Peter swallowed, his jaw clenching. He turned over on his side, wrapping the blankets tightly around his shoulders and bringing them up to cover his ears. He didn't want to hear any more of this.
He could still hear the voices, but this time they were indistinguishable enough that he no longer had to listen to what they had to say.
Seconds passed, then minutes, and before he really realised it, Peter had closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.
He woke with a start, his senses suddenly flaring to life and quickly whispering that there was someone else in the room. When he turned back, his eyes met Bruce, who was looking guiltily towards him as he sat halfway down in his chair.
"Sorry," he said quickly. "Was hoping I wouldn't wake you."
Peter frowned at him a moment longer, before turning his gaze to the window. It was dark out, which meant he had slept most of the day away.
"You were out like a light," Bruce commented. "So we figured we'd let you get your sleep. I doubt you've had much of it, lately."
Peter took a deep breath through his nose and moved until he was sitting up. Everyone was still alive, then, he supposed. But the clock was ticking.
Neither man said anything for a few minutes, Bruce patiently waiting for Peter to make the first move, and Peter determinedly intent on not saying a word. Besides, what could he say? By now everyone knew everything there was to know about all that had happened. There was nothing more to be said.
Clearly, however, Bruce disagreed, and with an awkward cough he began to speak.
"So…" he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows against his knees, "how are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," Peter said dismissively.
Bruce waited a moment, expecting Peter to say more, but it quickly became clear that he wasn't going to. The older man sighed and leaned back, crossing his arms.
"There's nothing you'd like to talk about?" he pressed. When Peter didn't respond, he continued. "How about what happened outside, earlier today? That was quite something, I heard. Even Tony was caught off guard, and I have to say, not a whole lot takes him by surprise."
"Yeah, well, if Mister Stark's already told you what happened, then I don't think you need to hear anything from me." The words were biting and more angry than Peter had intended, but he found it hard to find the will to care.
Bruce was silent for a moment, then said, "From what I've learned in the past twelve hours, Peter, I don't think it's Tony who has all the answers. In fact, out of nearly all of us, I'd say he has the least."
There was a long moment of silence after that, until at last Peter spoke, his eyes never leaving the window. "Do you remember me?" he asked.
There was a pause, then, "No. I don't. As far as I know, only Steve and Bucky know who you are. I'm sorry, Peter."
Peter had been expecting that answer, but somehow it still hurt when he heard it. Not much, but enough to make him remember why he'd ever lost hope in the first place. Or more precisely, refused to ever have it to begin with.
"So… so do you think you can tell me what happened out there?" Bruce asked. "Do you know who that guy was? Did he say what he wanted, or –."
"His name is Seftis," Peter interrupted. "He showed up two years ago, started attacking New York, bombing buildings and wrecking the piers down in the harbor. I went after him first, then Mister Stark showed up. The guy killed over seven people before we were able to get him cornered. And then…." Peter swallowed. "And then he gave me an ultimatum. Said I could either let everyone die, or I could let him take their memories of me and they could live. I don't think it's too hard to figure out which option I took.
"The deal was though, that you guys didn't remember. That I stayed away from you. That I let you move on with your lives. But if I didn't do that, if you guys ever remembered or even heard what had happened, he'd kill you all." Peter chuckled humourlessly. "And he showed up. Just like he said he would. Just like I knew he would. I tried to get away from you guys, I tried to leave you alone, but…." Peter swallowed. "But I guess I wasn't even good enough to be able to do that."
Peter fell quiet and Bruce didn't immediately respond. They simply sat for a few minutes, neither saying a word.
Bruce probably thought he was crazy. He probably thought this whole thing was crazy. Peter sure did. If it were him on the other side, sitting in Bruce's chair, he'd probably have thought he had completely lost his mind.
He heard Bruce shift, and for a moment Peter thought that he was getting up to leave. He wouldn't have blamed him if he needed time to recover from dealing with the schizo kid. If Peter himself could get away from this all, he would, and –
"Peter, I was wondering if I could run some tests on you. With your permission, of course. You see, I don't know if you remember, but a while ago I told you about the… the unknown energy I had found in your body, when you were still recovering in the med-ward. Do you remember that? Well, anyway, I was wondering if I could run some more tests on it.
"You mentioned something about having two souls; I'm not really sure what you meant by that, but I thought that maybe if you expounded on that, and if I ran some tests, we could maybe try and figure out what it –."
Bruce stopped as his eyes met Peter's, who had suddenly turned his head and was now looking at him with furrowed brows.
Bruce faltered. "Wh-what is it, Peter?"
Peter stared at him a moment longer, before saying, "You sure pay an awful lot of attention, don't you?"
Peter held Bruce's gaze for a few more seconds, before leaning back against his pillows and looking away. "But I shouldn't be surprised. You always were paying attention. It's your job, I guess."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I wanted to be just like you, you know, once. I'd written so many essays using your articles, or about whatever you were working on. And then when I met you, you were just like I thought you'd be, but more… more quiet, I guess."
He was digressing, telling Bruce this was completely unnecessary. And yet, once he had started, he found he couldn't stop.
"But I tended to hang around Mister Stark more, because – well, because I guess because he was loud, and I –." Peter choked out a laugh. "And I was so, so loud, I – I talked all the time, even if no one was listening, I'd just be talking to myself and I – I talked even more than Mister Stark. I drove Happy insane. I think his favourite word for me was 'shut up', ha ha. Because I would just… I would just talk and talk and talk, and… and…."
A shudder ran though Peter's body and he sucked in a breath, choking out a sob as he did. He quickly reeled himself back in, pushing down the emotion that had come out of nowhere, and was now fervently trying to claw its way out of his chest.
Bruce watched him for a few moments, before leaning forward. "Peter, I may… I may not know what's happened, or what's even happening now. But I think… I think you need to talk to someone; Steve, maybe, or Bucky. They remember you. They know who you are, and –."
"Don't bother, Doctor Banner," Peter interrupted. "What does it matter if I talk to someone, if you're all gonna die in the end?"
"And that's another thing I've been meaning to talk to you about," Bruce responded. He leaned forward once more, rubbing his hands together. "You… you, uh – you keep saying how we – the Avengers, I suppose – how we're all going to die, now that we know about… about all this. Steve and Bucky said that you… that you talked a lot about it."
"Because it's true. Seftis even showed up. He did exactly what he promised he'd do. Exactly what I said he'd do. He attacked Mister Stark, and –."
"And I think that's the key word, Peter. He tried. He tried to attack Tony, but he failed. You keep saying you're the one that failed, that we're all gonna die, but…." Bruce lifted his hands and shook his head. "But from what I can see, we're all still here. And you're still here. And this – this Seftis guy, he… he's gone. At least for now, anyway. If he had actually intended to kill all of us, wouldn't he still be here? Wouldn't we be fighting him, right now? Wouldn't… wouldn't we be dead?"
Peter was trying not to look at Bruce; he was staring determinedly at the white wall in front of him, his fingers clenched into fists by his sides, not wanting to hear what Bruce was saying.
Because… because the fact of the matter was, the words the older man was saying, were the same words that had been whispering in the back of his mind ever since he'd met Tony on that rooftop, all those months ago. Words that had risen from a whisper to a loud voice, ever since he'd first been at the Compound. And now a loud voice that had turned into a scream, when Seftis had returned, had made his threats and promises, but no one had died. No one had even been hurt.
He didn't know what it meant. If it meant anything at all. Because in the end it could just be a momentary relapse, an accidental miss, and the next time he showed up, Seftis would finally hit his marks, and… and….
But the small voice in the back of Peter's mind, the one that had remained, that had stayed, even years after all other hope had left… it continued to insist that maybe, just maybe, Seftis was wrong.
That maybe, just maybe, it had all been a lie from the very start.
Peter's fists clenched tighter and he jerked, turning his eyes towards the window and the darkness outside.
No. No, it couldn't be. It couldn't have been a lie. Seftis' threats had to be true, they were still true. Because, because if they weren't… if, after all this time, it had all been… been a lie, then… then that would mean….
Peter swallowed against the lump in his throat, his ears barely hearing when Bruce started to speak again.
"I think there are some other important questions, too. For instance, if – since – Seftis took all our memories, I think one of the first questions we should ask is, why didn't he take yours? In fact, why you, at all? Why not Tony, or Steve, or any other one of us? And in the end, I think one of the most important questions, is who is this guy in the first place? Where does he come from? Is he someone from Earth, or…."
Deep in the back of his mind, Peter knew why he had been singled out. He knew why he had been targeted, over all others. Though he didn't know why his memories had been left, when every else's had been taken. He had often wished he'd forgotten who he was, along with everyone else. But he knew that the reason Seftis had gone after him at all in the first place was because of Ascar. This foreign creature that had decided to take up residence in his body, and in the process turn his entire life into hell.
Bruce continued to posit his questions, more to himself than to Peter, but Peter didn't care. He was hardly listening anyways. Besides, it wasn't as though he'd never had those questions before, in the last two years. But for Peter, there was only one question that really mattered.
What was he going to do now?
Seftis was back. Just as he always feared he would be. Steve and Bucky remembered who he was, and everyone else either already – or would be – told.
He had spent the last two years of his life with Seftis' threat always in the back of his mind. Every choice he'd made – whether conscious or unconscious – had been made with the full knowledge that it had to keep him away from the Avengers. Everything he did, he did to keep them safe. To keep them alive.
But he had failed. And now there was seemingly nothing else to do but wait. Wait for the inevitable. Wait for the final strike that would kill them at last.
But no matter how much he imagined their impending end, Peter couldn't get Bruce's words out of his mind.
Seftis hadn't killed them, even though he should have. They were still here, when by all accounts they shouldn't be. So this death that Peter kept going on about, when would it happen? Today? Tomorrow? A week from now? A month?
… never?
Other questions swarmed within him. Quieter ones, but ones that were no less important. And though he didn't want to think about it, there was the very naked fact that Seftis had tried to kill them, or at least kill Tony. And Peter had jumped in the way. And when he'd woken up – when he somehow woke up – Seftis was gone, and Tony was still alive and completely uninjured.
Which led him all the way back to Ascar. The creature living in his chest, in his body. The second soul that had been living within him for… how long now? Peter had no idea. But the Being claimed that it was because of him that Seftis couldn't kill them, that Seftis couldn't kill Peter. Though how a creature could die once in body but not a second in spirit, was beyond him. And at the moment, he was far too exhausted to care.
"Peter?"
Peter blinked and looked over to Bruce, who was staring back at him with gentle eyes. "Peter, I think you should stay here for the night. You obviously need more rest, and it's nearly ten-o'clock anyway. I think we're all going to be heading to bed soon, after today."
Peter opened his mouth to argue, to state that he just slept most of the day away, but before he could say anything, the sounds of footsteps reached his ears, and a few seconds later the door opened, and Steve and Bucky walked inside.
Steve's eyes met Peter's, and Peter looked away. The recognition they now held jarred him, and he still wasn't sure how to take it all in.
"Peter," Steve said, stepping forward until he'd reached the foot of his bed. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," Peter responded automatically. He watched as Steve glanced over at Bucky, before turning his gaze back to him.
"Was that him out there?" he asked. "The one who started this all?"
Peter held Steve's gaze for a moment, before answering, "Yes."
Steve looked away, nodding to himself. "All right. Okay, all right. Good. That's good. At least we know he's still around. Now we just need to figure out how to draw him out again."
He sat down in one of the chairs, while Bucky remained standing. He locked eyes with Peter once more. "Do you know what you were doing, before he showed up? Did he say anything? We asked Tony, but he doesn't have any idea what's going on. He heard everything that was said, but he didn't understand –."
"Of course he didn't," Peter interrupted. He pushed himself back further against the pillows. "Why would he? He has no idea what's going on, he doesn't know who Seftis is, he doesn't even –." Peter stopped himself, biting his tongue just in time, internally berating himself. It had been two years, he had gotten over the fact that no one remembered him a long time ago. So why –
Steve stared at Peter for a long moment, a look in his eye that Peter didn't even want to being to figure out.
"Peter," he finally said, "we're going to fix this. I promise. Everyone will get their memories back, including Tony. We just have to have patience. We just need to take a step back, and figure this all out and –."
"Patience?" Peter repeated. His brows were raised and his eyes were wide, unable to believe what he'd just heard. "Patience?! You want me to have patience?!" He leaned forward, grabbing the blankets and ripping them off of him. "It's been two years! Two years! And now you're telling me I need to be patient, that we're going to 'fix' this, that everyone is going to get their memories back?" He dropped his leg over the side of the bed, stepping onto the floor.
"Well news flash for you, Captain – I don't care! I don't care whether anyone remembers me or not. I don't need to have patience, because I'm not waiting for anything! I gave up on anything changing a long time ago! And now you think I suddenly care again? You think I suddenly need Mister Stark to remember who I am, to protect me?! Well unless you didn't realise, Captain – I'm eighteen. And I don't need your help, I don't need Mister Stark's help, I don't need anyon –."
Peter's words were cut off as he put both feet on the cold tile, and both of his legs promptly fell out from under him. He fell to the floor in a heap.
"Peter!"
"Peter, are you okay?"
Peter bit his lip, trying to ignore the pain from where his knees had both collided with the tile.
"Damn it," he cursed out loud. Why am I so weak?! He thought he was just tired, that he needed some more sleep, but his arms and legs now suddenly felt like jelly, and he couldn't even think of standing to his feet, much less walking away.
Steve's hands were suddenly under his arms and before he could even blink, Peter found himself back on the bed, the covers being hastily laid across him.
"Peter," Steve said quietly. "What happened out there?"
Peter held Steve's gaze for a long, long moment, then….
He told him everything.
Well, almost everything. Everything that Bruce already knew. The part about Ascar, about there being someone else's soul inside of him – for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to mention it. He barely knew anything about it himself, he still needed time to figure it out, to accept it. And after being on his own for two years, the need to think and figure things out on his own had become more natural – had become more important – than he had even realised.
So, no. He would keep Ascar and his… his new abilities, if they could even be called as such, to himself. For now.
Once he had finished explaining what had happened, Steve went silent. Finally, after what felt like an age, he stood to his feet.
"Get some sleep, Peter," he said absently, and Peter knew that while he seemed quiet and relaxed, his mind was running a mile a minute, trying to understand everything Peter had just told him, trying to figure out where they should go from here.
Steve headed towards the door and stepped out into the hallway. With a small glance and a quick nod, Bucky followed behind him.
"I'll have someone bring you some food," Bruce said, standing to his feet. "You must be starving."
At the mere mention of food, Peter's stomach started to ache, and he couldn't have been more glad for Bruce's keen observation skills.
"I'll see you in the morning, Pete."
And with that, Bruce left, and Peter was once again left alone. Not that he cared; in fact, for the first time since Bucky had remembered him, he actually felt like he could breathe.
Peter leaned back against his pillows, allowing his mind to finally wander as he waited for his late-night supper. His chest was warm, and he absently rubbed his hand against it.
He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. So even though he wanted to stay up, even though he knew that this was no time for sleeping, he couldn't help but look forward to a few hours of thinking absolutely nothing.
From down the hallway, Steve's quiet voice met Peter's ears.
"He's… different. He… he's nothing like before. Before he was… he was so energetic, so… alive. He was the happiest kid I knew. I didn't think anything could bring him down. And now… now he's…."
The door to the elevator shut, and with it Steve's voice and any response that Bucky or Bruce were about to give.
Peter closed his eyes, and breathed.
A day passed, then two, then three. Steve and Bucky came and spent as much time as they could with Peter, until they were forced to attend to other issues, or until Peter told them to leave. With Seftis gone and nothing happening that was out of the ordinary, much of their time was spent researching as much as they could about who Seftis could possibly be. They had never asked Peter to help them, but it was clear the invitation was always there. But no matter how much he thought he ought to help them, Peter found he just couldn't go with them.
Instead, he found himself taking walks outside through the trees, walks that started out as no longer than twenty minutes at a time, but by the fourth day had grew into over an hour. More than once he'd had Bucky or Steve or even one of the security chasing after him, making sure he wasn't running away. Though annoyed, he couldn't blame them; from his past behaviour, he'd certainly warranted a leash around his neck.
Every day he expected Seftis to return. Every morning he woke up, wondering whether today would be the day that he finally came back and killed them all. And every night he went to bed he closed his eyes, wondering whether they would all still be alive in the morning. He never did, and they always were, and those facts left him with an odd sort of emptiness that felt very foreign. How could he possibly live, when he spent each day waiting for death?
How could he live, knowing that the death he expected may never come?
But no. That was still something Peter didn't want to accept. Not yet. He could believe that Seftis was busy, that he was recovering – if he'd ever been hurt at all – but the idea that all of this had been a lie to begin with, that what Peter had believed for the last two years had been false from the very start – it hurt in a way he wasn't expecting, made him feel as though his entire body was being ripped in two; and so for as long as he could, he'd continue to believe that Seftis was coming for them.
Because he didn't know how he could function, otherwise.
He hadn't seen Tony since the incident four days ago. As far as he'd been told, the man had holed himself up in his lab and had barely made an appearance outside ever since. Pepper was off on a business trip in Europe, and Peter had no idea when she would be back.
Which meant Steve – as per usual, it seemed – was left as the interim leader in this whole, chaotic mess. But of course leading came natural to him, so he didn't seem bothered by it. In fact, he was probably happy not having to fight Tony for the role.
But that also meant he had to try and tell Tony what to do, or at least push him in the direction he wanted him to go; which of course never went over well, no matter the situation.
A pine-cone crunched beneath his foot as he stepped over a fallen tree. He could hear the sound of running water, and knew the river was nearby. After a few more minutes he had arrived, and spying a tree with particularly long branches, he proceeded to climb up it, until, with a deep exhale, he finally sat down.
For a moment, nothing could be heard but the songs of the birds, the gentle whisper of the wind, and the bubbling of the river. Leaning his head back against the trunk, Peter closed his eyes and let his thoughts fade away.
It was the sound of crunching snow, that woke him.
As in the med-ward, he quickly sat up like a shot, his eyes wide and ears open, looking every which way as he tried to find the source of the noise.
He heard an "oomph", followed by the cracking of bark, and he looked down to see someone lifting themselves onto the branches, and slowly making their way up the tree.
Clint.
Peter said nothing as the archer spent the next few minutes making his way higher and higher, until at last with a thump and a deep sigh, he sat down on the other side of the trunk beside Peter.
"I'm getting too old for this," he grunted. He maneuvered himself until his feet were dangling over the branch. He sighed. "Nah, who am I kidding. I am too old for this. How you made it all the way up here with your lungs intact, I'll never know."
Peter stared at Clint for a long moment, before looking away and back towards the river. He hadn't seen the older man in well over a week and a half; he hadn't even known if he'd left the compound or not. He imagined he had. His wife and kids were far too important, for him to let a day go by when he could otherwise be with them.
Peter ignored the twisting that churned in his stomach.
"So, Pete," Clint began. "I go away for a few days and all hell breaks loose, huh? The guys told me what happened, so I won't even ask."
Relief washed over him, grateful that he wouldn't have to repeat the events a third time, and Peter was reminded again why he had always liked Clint Barton.
They sat together in silence, the sounds of the river and wind filling their ears.
For a moment, Peter wondered if Clint had only come to give him company, to be an extra, if not caring, watchful eye. But after a few minutes had passed, the man finally spoke.
"I went back to the farm, in case you were wondering where I was."
He had wondered, but he had already assumed that that's what he'd done. And Peter couldn't blame him; if he still had the safe haven of his attic, he'd have run back there too, if he could have.
"But you probably already knew that. I'm sure you know a lot of things about me."
Peter's brows twitched and he turned to Clint, his lips pulled slightly down into a frown.
He… there was no way… could he have actually remem –
"I don't remember you," Clint said, interrupting his thoughts, "if that's what you're wondering."
The sudden anticipation that had built in his chest quickly dissipated, and Peter turned back to the river, both thankful for, and hating Clint's bluntness.
Silence fell over them once more, and Peter couldn't help but wonder when Clint was going to leave. If company was the only thing he was going to give him, he would much rather do without it.
"You know," Clint said, breaking the silence. "I was wondering – and you can say no if you don't want to, it's totally up to you – but I was thinking, if you wanted, that you could come out to the farm some time. The kids would like you, I already know that. Lila would probably be smitten with you, but I'll make sure she leaves you alone. And of course, if you go near her I'll have to break your neck." He gave Peter a smile. "Nothing personal, of course. Just doing my fatherly duty."
Peter didn't want to let the small smile pull at his lips, but it did so anyway. Because the fact was that Before, he had gone to Clint's farm, and he had met his wife and their kids. The boys had taken a liking to him, and Lila – though she had only been eleven at the time – had acted as though he were Thor come down to earth himself. He remembered the look of annoyance on Clint's face as his daughter stared endlessly at him, her eyes wide and filled with stars, and the whispers to his wife when he thought Peter was too far away to hear, grumbling about how Lila was too young to care about boys. Laura had just laughed.
He didn't realise that the smile on his face had grown, until Clint was suddenly huffing in annoyance.
"Great," he said. "Let me guess – you've already been there, and Lila has already declared her undying love for you. Gah, I knew I should have locked her up when she became a teenager."
Peter was confused. Why was Clint acting like he knew him, when he said himself that he didn't remember who he was? Why was he being so friendly, when Peter had yet to say a word?
"Why do you believe them?" Peter finally asked, eyeing Clint up and down, watching his movements, searching his face, wondering why on earth he was even here. "How do you know that they're not lying to you, that I haven't tricked them, that this all isn't some… some ploy, by Osborn or anyone else, to try and weasel my way into Stark Industries, to weasel my way into the Avengers –."
"Your name is Peter Benjamin Parker," Clint interrupted. "You grew up in Queens with your mom and dad, Mary and Richard, until they died when you were eight. You went to live with your aunt and uncle, May and Ben Parker. You went to Midtown Junior Tech, had the highest marks in your year, was set to graduate a year early with multiple scholarships headed your way. You were fourteen when you went off the grid. Just… disappeared.
"There aren't any records of any missing persons reports that had been filed. The school you went to never reported you absent. In fact, when questioned, none of the teachers who were there during your years even remembered who you were. And when I talked to your aunt, she claimed she didn't even have a nephew, much less one that had lived with her.
"So yeah, I believe you. And even if I didn't know all that stuff, I'd still think you were telling the truth. I've worked with SHIELD, and now Stark, long enough to know that there's some crazy stuff that happens out there. Lot's of things I once thought were impossible, aren't.
"And besides, I've been watching you. I know what someone who's trying to manipulate others looks like; I know what a liar looks like. It's my job. And you, Peter, are none of those things. You're just a kid, caught up in a whole lot of shit that should never have come your way."
Clint leaned forward, resting his leg against a nearby branch, looking out across the snow-covered forest, more relaxed than Peter had ever seen. "And you knew my kids' names. My family's the most important thing to me in the whole world; one of the stipulations I made when I began working for SHIELD and for Stark, was that my family was kept safe, that no one knew they even existed. Their files are kept under lock and key, and even those barely say who they are.
"So unless you're a mind-reader – which I guess isn't out of the realm of possibility, these days – or really good at hacking into computers and mainframes you shouldn't even know exist, then what else can I assume but that you're telling the truth? And you're right – neither of the boys would want to give up their beds in exchange for the couch or the floor. They can be greedy little guys, I'll give them that. Laura and I are working on it."
Peter stared at Clint, unable to say a word. Finally he leaned back, falling into silence.
After a long while, Clint's earlier words finally registered, and he looked back over to him, his eyes growing wide. "Wait, did you… did you say you saw my aunt?" he whispered.
"Yeah. Really nice woman, only looked at me like I was crazy until I explained I had the wrong place, then practically invited me in for dinner." There was a pause. "So is Andrew her husband, or –."
"Andrew's her boyfriend," Peter said quickly, an unintended bite in his voice. He paused for a moment, then said, "well, he could be her husband, for all I know. Heck, she might even be pregnant. They might have adopted, or –." Peter cut himself off, taking a breath. "But it doesn't matter. I'm eighteen now, it's not like I could live with her again, even if she did remember me."
He hadn't even noticed it had been his birthday a couple weeks ago; in fact, it wasn't until a week after that he realised it had come and gone, and that the mark of adulthood that was such an important milestone for many, had come and gone with it, passed by completely unnoticed. He had waited so long for it, had been counting down the days in his head for years, until he finally reached the age where he could leave New York and start a new life far, far away.
But the money he had saved for that venture was now gone, burnt to a crisp, and he had nothing to his name except for the clothes on his back. And he was stuck in the Avengers Compound, he mustn't forget that. Stuck waiting for a death that just wouldn't seem to come, no matter how much he found himself wishing for it.
It was then that the rest of Clint's words finally seemed to register, and he turned to the man, brows furrowed questioningly. "Wait, how did you know any of that other stuff, anyway? Did you actually just –."
"Break into government files?" Clint finished. "Yup. Wasn't even sure I'd find you, to be honest. But Stark's AIs are uncannily suited for doing the impossible. Or borderline illegal. Not that I ever doubted you existed, of course – obviously you do. But since everyone's minds got wiped, I figured the computers did, too. But I couldn't get anything past fourteen. Any reason you think, why that'd be?"
Now that Peter thought of it, the cops at the police station hadn't been able to find anything past age fourteen, either. Still confused and panicked over finding everyone had forgotten him and he was now alone, he hadn't dwelt on the question that long, and had forgotten it soon after. But now that Clint brought it up, Peter couldn't help but wonder about it as well. Why would Seftis go through the trouble of erasing him from all digital records, but only after the age of fourteen? What about that age, made it so special, if anything at all?
Then, like a lightning bolt, Peter knew why.
The bite. That was the age he'd been bitten by the spider. The age he'd gained strength only rivaled by Captain America himself. The age he'd gained enhanced senses and could literally climb up walls with his fingertips.
The age he became Spider-Man.
Clint continued to stare, and Peter licked his lips. "That was, uh… that was the age I got… I got bitten. By the… the spider."
Clint seemed bemused for a moment, before realisation dawned.
"So Seftis left just enough trace of you, that people wouldn't get suspicious, but he removed any and all traces that connected you with your powers or the Avengers." Clint huffed. "The guy's an asshole, but he's thorough, I'll give him that."
"Mister Barton, not that I –."
"Clint, kid. Call me Clint."
"Cl… Clint. Look, it's not that I don't appreciate your company, or learning all the new ways I've been screwed over, but… what exactly are you doing here? Shouldn't you be… I don't know, out on a mission or something?"
Clint grinned. "Nah, I'm on something of a holiday for a while, unless absolutely necessary. Actually, I'm waiting for a friend. You probably know her – The Black Widow?"
A small smile crept onto his face, and Peter looked away.
Natasha.
Yeah, Peter knew her. He'd been completely overwhelmed and terrified of her, at first. But after Germany and Homecoming, she had forced Peter to talk to her like a coherent human being, and Peter had quickly learned that beneath the assassin exterior, an incredibly kind heart lay beneath. One more gentle and understanding than it had any right to be, especially with Peter, still so new to the Avengers and superhero world.
"I'm going to take that as a yes, then," Clint answered for himself. "Well, she's just getting back from a mission right now. Should be arriving any minute. After she debriefs, I'm gonna stop by her floor and say hi." He paused for a moment, then asked, "did you know her well, before?"
Peter took a moment to answer, but when he did, he was honest. "Kind of. I fought with her in Germany, against –." Peter stopped himself, and took a breath. "Anyways. After… after an… an incident, during my school's homecoming, she swore she was going to teach me how to properly fight. You know, like… like you guys do. She'd been teaching me, when she could. But we only managed to get a few lessons in, before…." He swallowed. "Before."
Clint stared at him, his lips pressed together, his eyes staring at Peter in a way that he couldn't quite make out. Finally after a few minutes he gently tapped the branch he was sitting on with his hand, before reaching up and grabbing the branch above him. "Well then, let's go meet her! We'll see if she can start training you again. Knowing Nat, I'm sure she'll take any opportunity to tell someone when they're doing something wrong."
He lifted himself off the branch, and before Peter knew what was happening, the man had practically ran down the tree to the ground below. And he thought he was the spider.
But regardless of Clint's still very-agile abilities, Peter couldn't let him leave so quickly.
"Mister Bar – Clint," he said, exasperated. "You don't – there's no point in talking to her. If you talked to Mister Rogers or – or Mister Barnes, then you know that – that once Seftis comes back, you're all… you're going to…." Peter swallowed again. "It's better if you all just leave me be. There's no point in trying to act like friends, or… or…."
"Kid," Clint said, looking up at him. "The way I see it, just because we forgot who you are before, doesn't mean we have to forget who you are now. Whether you like it or not, we know you now, and that's not gonna change. So get your ass down here, and come with me back to the compound. I've already told Nat we're meeting her there, so you can't get out of it. Sorry, but not really."
Peter stared at Clint for a long, silent moment.
He didn't know what to think, or what he should say, if he should say anything at all.
But Clint wasn't going to give him time to think about it.
"Come on, kid," he said, starting to walk away. "If you got in Nat's good books once, I know you can do it again. But hurry up – once she takes her shower, she'll refuse to do anything for the rest of the day. Let's go!"
Peter watched as Clint walked through the trees and into the forest. Then, finally, just as he began to disappear, Peter crawled down the tree and began to follow.
"Nat, you finally made it back! I thought I'd have to go searching for your ass and bring you back myself."
They were in the second-floor lounging room; Clint and Peter had been sitting on the highly-luxurious couches until Natasha had finally arrived.
Natasha smiled. "If you'd done that, I'd have been forced to spend my time saving you, again. And you know how Fury is about efficiency and cutting the ends that don't matter."
"Ah, you wound me."
Natasha's smile grew, until he eyes moved past Clint and came to rest on Peter. She blinked, her smile now set firmly on her face. "Who's this?" she asked, eyes flickering briefly to Clint before turning back to Peter.
"This is Peter," Clint replied, motioning to the younger man. "He's… well, let's just say he's complicated."
"I've been around the block a few times, Barton," Natasha said. "I've heard a few complicated stories in my time."
"Well all right, then." Clint wrapped his arm around Peter, jostling him with a smile. "Peter is an Avenger. He used to work with us on missions, helped save the world a time or two. He even helped us with Thanos, isn't that right, Pete?"
Peter's eyes were wide, not knowing what to say. "Um…."
Clint turned back to Natasha, his smile now reaching his eyes. "You were even teaching him some of your moves, Nat. Which, I have to say, is kind of unfair. The last time you shared one of your moves with me was, what – seven, eight years ago? How come you refuse to tell me your secrets, but you'll spill everything to him, huh?"
Natasha's eyebrow was raised, staring at Clint and Peter curiously, but otherwise gave nothing away.
"Well, anyway," Clint continued, "it turns out that we were attacked two years ago. This guy showed up and screwed around with our memories; so Peter here got kicked to the curb, and we were none the wiser." He grinned. "How's that for a debrief, eh?"
Natasha's single eyebrow remained raised, but otherwise Peter could see nothing of what was going through her mind.
Finally, she said, "huh. Well maybe I was wrong, Barton. Turns out there are a few complicated stories I haven't heard."
Peter had expected her to walk away, to ignore him, to at least question Clint about the absurd story that had just spilled through his mouth.
But instead, to his surprise, Natasha turned to him and held out her hand. "I'm Natasha Romanoff," she said. "It's nice to meet you."
Not knowing what else to do, Peter shook her hand in return. "Um, P-Peter. Peter Parker."
An odd look passed over Natasha's face, and Clint opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment footsteps came sounding through the halls. Peter turned to see Steve turning round the corner and heading towards them, his lips pressed tightly together and his eyes set in a hard, serious stare.
"Hey Cap," Clint greeted. His tone was light, but Peter knew by the shift in his stance, that he knew something was up, as well.
"Hey," Steve replied, drawing up in front of them. He nodded at Natasha and Clint, before his eyes settled on Peter. "Hey, Peter."
Peter gave a weak smile in response, but before the captain could say anything more, Clint asked, "What bring you all the way down to the second floor? I didn't know you knew any other floor existed, aside from yours and the ninth."
It was a quiet attempt at appearing as though nothing were wrong, while knowing clearly that Steve had come here for a reason.
"Have any of you seen Tony lately?" Steve asked. "He isn't in his workshop, and FRIDAY won't tell me where he is; he put some sort of muzzle on her, said he wanted to be left alone for awhile, and…."
"Sorry Cap," Clint said. "Haven't seen him in four days now. And Nat here just stepped off the jet."
Steve's eyes glanced over to Peter, and Peter quickly shook his head.
Steve sighed and his teeth clenched. "It's just, we need to talk to him about something, and I thought he may have gone back to New York, but I'm not sure, and –."
"Steve!"
All four looked up at the voice, to see none other than Pepper Potts walking purposefully down the hallway, her high-heeled shoes echoing against the walls.
"Pepper," Steve said, surprised. "You're back. When did you get in? I –."
"I just got back thirty minutes ago. What's going on?"
Steve blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"I was getting the updates from FRIDAY, and she was saying that Tony had locked himself in his workshop for three days straight, and that he only came out today because he had a meeting in New York. He only does that when shit really hits the fan. So what the heck happened?!"
"He… there was…" Steve stuttered. He sighed. "A lot has happened, since you were away," he said at last. "And, well… it's a long story, and let's just say that Tony didn't take it very well."
Something in Peter twinged at those words, a flash of anger running through his body, but he quickly pushed it away, telling himself that there were far more important things to pay attention to now, than Tony's hatred of him.
"Well I should think I should probably hear it now, before Tony gets back. He's in his meeting with Oscorp and I doubt it will take long, so the sooner I know what's going on, the better, and –."
"Wait, did you say – did you say Oscorp?"
Pepper looked down at him with raised brows, and Peter suddenly realised that it was him that had spoken.
"Yes," Pepper replied stiffly. "I did. And who are you, may I ask?"
Peter suddenly remembered exactly why Pepper was the CEO, and why he had vowed never to get on her bad side.
"This is Peter Parker," Steve interjected, putting himself between the two before any further exchange could be made. "He's – he's the kid that saved Clint, down in New York. He didn't have a place to stay, so I – I brought him here."
Pepper's eyes were now wide with incredulity.
"You brought him here," she repeated. "You brought a homeless kid here, to a top-secret facility, hours away from New York City, because you – because you wanted to thank him? Am I getting that right?"
Before Steve could even so much as nod, she continued, "And you couldn't have just given him some money, or set him up in an apartment, because…?"
Steve's eyes suddenly narrowed, his stare turning hard. "Because I wanted to, Miss Potts, and I think that after all I've done for this… facility, that I should be allowed to help those that I want to, when I want to. I don't think that's too much to ask, do you?"
Pepper gave Steve a hard stare, a silent battle being fought between the two for a few moments, before Pepper finally relented.
"Fine," she said. "I'm sorry, Steve, you're right. You are free to help whoever you want to help. But in the future, might I ask that you at least use some discretion, when choosing who to bring to the Compound?"
"I did," Steve replied sternly. "In fact, I don't think anyone else is as deserving as Peter to walk through those doors. And if you remembered him, you'd know that, too."
The frustration that had narrowed Pepper's brows gave way to confusion, and her eyes flickered between Peter and Steve.
"And what on earth is that supposed to mea –."
Peter wanted to let the two continue, to watch the two alphas go against each other, but Pepper's words still ran through his mind like fire, and Peter needed to know if what she'd said was true.
"Miss Potts," he interrupted. He tried not to falter as Pepper's eyes settled back on him. "Miss Potts, where did you say that Mister Stark was? I thought you said he was meeting with someone from Oscorp, and –."
"Yes, I did," Pepper said tersely. "Oscorp and Stark Industries are partnering some of their research departments together, and Tony just went to sign a couple of the last documents and work out the final details, before the merger begins on Monday."
Peter swallowed, his heart suddenly beating loudly in his chest. "And who… who is he meeting with? Is he meeting with one of the management team, or –."
"He's meeting with Osborn himself. Norman's been away these past few weeks, so we need to talk to him directly one last time before we continue. Why do you ask?" Her eyes turned to Steve. "Is something going on right now? Do you – do you need Iron Man, or –."
But Peter was no longer listening. Because in the chaos of this last week, in seeing Seftis come back, he had completely forgotten that Osborn was still out there, that he was still trying to take over Tony's company, and – and –
Realisation had now dawned on Steve, too, his eyes growing wide for a moment, before narrowing once more, this time steeling in determination.
"We need to get him out of there," he said quickly.
"What?" Pepper asked, taken aback. "Why?"
"Because he's in danger. Norman Osborn is the Green Goblin, the guy that's been bombing buildings in New York. He's after Tony's company. We tried to tell Tony, we thought he had believed us, but –."
It was a testament to Pepper's belief and understanding, and likely her long experience with Tony and the Avengers, that she didn't even question Steve's explanation. "Oh my God," she said.
Steve started to speak again, to explain further, but Pepper had already pulled out her cell phone and was tapping madly away, before bringing it up to her ear.
They all waited, and Peter could hear the bring, bring, of the phone as it rang. And rang. And rang again.
Finally Pepper lowered the phone back down, typing some more and instructing FRIDAY to get ahold of Tony however she was able.
A few, desperate minutes passed, until the reality of the situation finally became evident.
"He won't pick up," Pepper said, continuing to tap on her phone. "He won't – the damn idiot won't pick up, he's not answering any of the pages, or texts, or –."
The fear was evident in her voice, and unease showed on everyone's faces as they realised what it meant.
There was a pause, a momentary silence, before Steve spoke. "All right then," he said, straightening his back. "I guess we're taking a trip to New York."
Peter watched as everyone – as Steve, Clint, Natasha, and even Pepper moved as one, a quiet determination settling on their shoulders as they turned and started heading towards the elevator.
Peter stayed where he was.
As the group began to enter the elevator, Steve finally realised that Peter hadn't joined them and he looked back, their eyes meeting.
Steve stepped back and started walking towards him, the doors closing as he left.
"Peter," he said quietly, stopping in front of him. "You don't have to come. The team and I are more than capable of handling this. We're just going to go in there, get Tony, and bring him back. All right? So just – just stay here. You'll be safe here. We'll be back in a few hours, tops. Okay?"
Peter stared at Steve, not knowing what to say. Part of him instinctively wanted to go, to run after Tony, to save him from the Goblin. But the other half knew that saving people was no longer his place, especially not like this. And besides, Steve was right – he and the others were more than capable of handling this. The Goblin was dangerous, yes, but he would be nothing compared to Captain America and the Winter Soldier, against Hawkeye and the Black Widow, and –
Steve's hands were suddenly on his shoulders, his fingers warm as they squeezed him reassuringly. He gave Peter a small smile. "We'll be fine, I promise. So just stay here, all right?"
Peter stared at Steve a moment longer, his eyes wide and his heart racing. Finally, he gave a shaky nod.
Steve's smile broadened and he nodded in return, before finally letting Peter go. Without another word he headed towards the elevator, pressed the button, and walked inside.
Peter stared after him, watching as Steve gave him one last smile, before the doors closed and he disappeared.
Peter stood where he was for a few moments, saying nothing.
He was alone.