L

by Lazydaily

L

19. Chapter 19

Peter had wandered for a while after everyone left, not knowing where to go or what to do. He tried to go back to his room, but quickly found that no amount of pacing, sitting, or attempts at sleeping would take his mind off of what was happening in New York. So he continued wandering the halls and floors above and below, trying to think of anything except Tony and the Green Goblin.

It wasn't until he reached a large room with white coats hung outside, did Peter realise that his feet had brought him all the way to the fifth floor – to Bruce's lab.

He stopped, briefly hesitating, before he turned back round and started heading back towards the stairs. If he was lucky, maybe no one will have noticed –

"Peter?"

But of course, he was never lucky. In fact, he was quite sure Lady Luck didn't even know he existed.

Peter took a deep breath, and turned round. He gave a tight lipped smile and a nod. "Hey, Doctor Banner."

Bruce gave him a small smile in return, before walking towards him.

"You can call me Bruce, Peter. There's no need for formalities."

"O-okay."

Bruce looked him up and down, and Peter could practically feel his eyes attempting to read him, trying to figure out what he was thinking and feeling. Peter tried not to glare.

"I heard about Tony," Bruce said, his voice light, trying not to betray the gravity of the situation. "The guys will find him. I'm sure he's fine."

Peter still didn't know what he was feeling about the whole situation, so he didn't say anything. As much as he wanted to believe that Tony was fine, that Steve and the rest of the team would find and take care of him if he wasn't, he couldn't ignore the inkling in the back of his mind, the whisper long the back of his neck, that said all would not be well.

Bruce stared at him, awaiting a response, and Peter gave him another small smile, his hands fidgeting at his sides. "Thanks, Doctor – Bruce. Yeah, I'm sure they'll be fine. I'm gonna… I'm just gonna go back to my room, now."

Peter turned round, and for a moment there was a brief hope that he'd be able to make it to the stairs before Bruce had a chance to say anything.

But, as always, that hope was quickly dashed.

"Peter, wait!"

The words were like a vice on his legs and Peter halted, grinding his teeth. He listened as Bruce walked up behind him.

"Peter, I know I've been going on and on about this, and if you say you don't want to do it, then I'll accept that. But… but since you're already here, and we have some time, do you think I'd be able to ask you some questions about… about what's in your body? Maybe run some tests? I'm very… I'm very interested in what may be going on. I was thinking… I was thinking it might have something to do with this guy, Seftis, I think you called him? It may give us a clue as to why he came after you in the first place, why we all lost our memories of you, and… well…."

Peter's fingers twitched and he fought to keep calm. He knew that it wasn't Bruce's fault that he was curious, anyone would be, but at the moment the last thing Peter wanted to do was sit down and talk about all his problems. It didn't help that he barely knew what half of them were, anyway.

"I don't want to do the tests," Peter said, trying to keep his voice light, trying to hide the anger and annoyance that lay just beneath his skin. "I'd rather – I'd just rather be left alone, right now. Sorry."

He could hear Bruce sigh, and knew that the man was disappointed in the answer. "All right. Thanks for visiting, Peter. It was nice to see you."

Peter gave a quick nod and started walking back towards the stairs. Just as he was about to finally reach the door, Bruce's voice rang out one more time.

"If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me. Or just ask FRIDAY. Even if it's the middle of the night, just feel free to wake me up, and –."

Something in Peter snapped, and suddenly he was spinning around, fire spitting from his tongue before he even spoke.

"Why do you care?!" he shouted. "Why do you care about this so much?! This has nothing to do with you, it's none of your business! So why do you keep going on and on about it? It's not important! It' the least important thing going on right now! There are so many other –." Peter sucked in a breath, trying to push back his suddenly racing heart. "There are so many other more important things happening right now! Tony's been captured by the Green Goblin, for fuck's sake! We have no communication with him, and – and –."

The surprise that had been on Bruce's face faded away, his lips pressing together and eyes focusing into a serious stare. "Tony will be fine, Peter. There's a whole swarm of Avengers going after him right now. They're already probably in New York, and I'm sure we'll hear from them shortly that everything's good, that Tony is safe. So you don't need to worry."

Peter wanted to retort back, to say that his concern for Tony was not the reason he was so angry right now, but Bruce continued before he could get a word in.

"As for the tests, well… I guess I'm curious. It's sort of in my DNA, figuratively speaking, to be interested in these things. In the unknown, the unexplained. When I see a mystery like this, I want to explain it. I want to know why it is the way it is. And the only way I know how to do that is to run tests, to ask questions. Form hypotheses, theories, that sort of thing. From what Steve and Bucky have told us about you, I think you should know what I mean."

Bruce met Peter's eyes. "Don't you want to know, too? Don't you want to know what's in your chest, why there's a mass of energy there, why you have a 'second soul', as you call it? Don't you want to find out if it isn't somehow connected to everything that's been going on? Aren't you the least bit curious?"

There was a pause, followed by a beat, and then, "No," Peter answered, shaking his head. "I don't… I don't care. Besides, it doesn't matter anyways. What's done is done. You can't change what's already happened, so who cares how it all began? It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter."

Peter turned back round and started walking determinedly back to the door, no longer wanting to stay and hear what Bruce had to say in response.

There was silence as he left, nothing but the sound of his footsteps echoing against the tiled-floor. He reached the door and placed his hand on the handle, ready to pull it open.

Then, Bruce's quiet voice reached his ears.

"You know. You already know. You know what's inside of you, what the energy is. You… you called it a 'second soul'. Not because of its energy, or because you could feel it, but because… because there's an actual soul in your body, aside from your own. You don't need the tests because… because you already know what's going on."

Peter found himself unable to move, his feet glued to the floor.

He wanted to argue, to say no, that he didn't have a clue what was inside of him, he didn't have a clue what was going on. And in a way, he didn't. But in the ways that mattered, he did. And he couldn't ignore or deny it, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much he wanted to feign ignorance, he could no longer pretend that having another soul inside of him – the reason all of this started in the first place – wasn't real.

"Peter," Bruce said, his voice low. "Peter, tell me what's going on. We can figure this out together. Just let me help you. Please."

Peter's hand clenched around the handle of the door. He thought about leaving, about wrenching the door open and running up the stairs and back to the safety and seclusion of his room, where no one could bother him and ask him questions that he didn't know how to answer, that he didn't want to answer. He would be alone. He would be safe.

But the other part of him, the one that had been growing stronger and stronger these past few months, said it was enough. He was tired of keeping everything to himself, of letting everything build inside of him until it eventually began to rot, and left him feeling like he was dying, too.

So he opened his mouth, and spoke.

"His name is Ascar," he said. He let go of the handle and turned back round, looking Bruce in the eye. "I don't – I don't know what he is, or where he's from, but… but during the fight with Seftis, and… and Mister Stark, he… he finally talked to me. Told me why Seftis had come after me, that it was because of him, and… and…."

"Come with me, Peter," Bruce said, motioning to a nearby room. "Let's sit down."

Peter told him everything that had happened with Ascar, starting from the moment he first encountered him in Osborn's lab, through his sudden propensity for setting things on fire, and ending with his conversation with the Being during the fight with Seftis. Bruce listened patiently, staring at Peter intently while he spoke, his eyes bright as he analyzed every word he said.

When he finished, Peter had expected Bruce to start questioning him about the energy, about Ascar's soul; but instead, Bruce brought up something completely different.

"So you say you didn't have biologically-based webbing before? What did you use? Some – some mechanism, that would shoot a web-like fluid, or –."

"Web-shooters," Peter interrupted. "They were… they were called web-shooters. They were strapped round my wrists."

"And did Tony make them for you, or –."

"I made them. I – I made a blueprint, long before I'd even met Mister Stark. All I had to do was find the right parts and just… just put them together. I made the web-fluid, too. I go – I went to Midtown Tech, so finding the right chemicals wasn't hard to do."

Bruce paused for a moment, staring at Peter, before he leant back in his chair with a small smile. "So you say it was after you were in Osborn's lab that you found out you could shoot webs from your wrists, your actual wrists, is that right?"

Peter nodded.

"And that was never something you could do before?"

"No. I could never do that. I could stick to walls and my fear of heights was suddenly gone, but I'd never… as far as I'd known, I'd never been able to have webbing come out of my body."

"Hmm."

Bruce rubbed his chin, thinking.

After a moment, he asked, "Can I see it? Do you think you could just… shoot a web right now? Preferably somewhere non-destructive, if you don't mind."

Peter hesitated. In the chaos of the past few months, he still hadn't truly done much testing of the bio-webs himself, as he'd begun to call them. Aside from a few nights of hanging upside down in the attic, he hadn't exactly taken them out for testing. He couldn't – not if he didn't want to get caught by the Avengers or the authorities, or worse – by someone's phone.

But here in the lab, secure and alone, they were safe. And really, in the end, what did it hurt?

"All right," Peter finally said. "But I don't – I still don't know much about them. Haven't had the chance to… to really study how they work."

"Well then I'd say this is the best time to test it out, don't you?"

Managing a half-smile, Peter nodded his head.

Raising his right arm, Peter looked round for a moment, before aiming his hand towards the door. Resting his index and middle finger against the base of his wrist, he pushed.

Webbing shot out and hit the door with a smack, and on instinct Peter grabbed the end and pulled it taut. He glanced to his right.

Bruce's eyes were wide, an awe and excitement within them that reminded Peter of a child seeing flaming birthday-candles for the first time.

"Why, that is… this is…." Bruce stood and took hold of the web, running it along his fingers as he examined its structure. He continued to study it for a few moments, before looking back to Peter. "This is amazing, Peter! It – it's actual webbing, like one from an arachnid, I'm positive! Except – except the tensile strength is astounding, and that it's still staying on the door is – is –."

Peter watched as Bruce continued to geek out over the web, and he couldn't help the small smile that grew on his lips at Bruce's unrestrained excitement.

Bruce continued to mutter and hypothesize for the next few minutes, and Peter simply sat back and watched.

Eventually Bruce took Peter's arm in his hand and proceeded to study his veins. He was able to find a vein that was different from the others – and hello, Peter hadn't noticed that before – and figured that that was where the web-fluid came from. Peter couldn't help but wonder at Bruce's ability to discover these things so quickly; clearly he wasn't a renowned scientist for nothing.

After a while Bruce's excitement calmed down, and the two were left quietly discussing different tests they could run to see just how far the bio-webs could go. Peter would never go through with it, of course, he wouldn't be here that long. But it was fun to imagine.

Eventually their conversation fell into a lull, and Peter wondered if it was time to leave. He wanted to know how Steve and the team were doing, if Tony had been found, and he figured that the best person to ask that question to was Pepper Potts herself – as frightening a prospect as that may be.

But before he could even make to stand, Bruce began to speak.

"Peter," he said quietly. "You said – you said this guy's name was… was Ascar, is that right? The one you believe is in your chest right now?"

Peter stared at Bruce for a moment, before nodding. "Yeah. Yeah, that's what he called himself. Ascar."

Bruce frowned and looked away, as though he were thinking. An unease prickled the back of Peter's neck, and he began to frown, too.

"What?" he asked after a moment, when Bruce didn't continue. "What is it?"

Bruce shook his head. "Nothing. At least, at least I don't… I don't think it's anything. That is, I'm not – I'm not sure."

Peter's frown deepened. "What are you talking about, Doctor Banner?"

Instead of correcting him on the formal address as he thought he would, Bruce instead looked up at Peter, his eyes meeting with a troubling gaze.

"You… if you knew us – if you knew me – before, then you would know… you would know what happened to me after… after the battle with Ultron?"

"You were stuck on the planet Sakaar," Peter responded, his brows furrowed in bemusement. "You were there for two years before you came back, right before… right before Thanos, and –."

"Right," Bruce said quickly. "That's right. Well, you see… now I don't know if this means anything, this could be completely wrong, this could have nothing to do with anything. I don't – I may not even be remembering it right, and –."

"Doctor Banner," Peter interrupted. "What are you talking about?"

Bruce gave a heavy sigh, then took a breath. "I don't remember everything about Sakaar, I was the Hulk for nearly my entire time there. When things got crazy, I… I find it difficult to access those memories. But when things were calm, when we weren't fighting or upset, then I… I can remember things better. Conversations. What was going on in the rest of the universe, or…."

Seeing Peter's waiting eyes, Bruce finally swallowed and continued. "I think… I think I may have heard that name before. Ascar. It wasn't… it wasn't anyone I knew, or anything. But there was one night… there was one night where people were talking, and they were saying that – that there were rumours that someone named Ascar had recently died. From the way they talked, he seemed like a pretty big deal, so not everyone believed them, but…."

"Did they say who he was?" Peter asked. "Or – or what he was?"

Bruce took another breath. "They called him a Watcher. Now, I don't exactly know what that means, but they said the name with… with something almost like reverence. Like it was a big deal. I think it must be some kind of race, some kind of species. But that's… that's all I know. Some said it was impossible that a Watcher could die, but others said it was true. They only talked about it for a few nights, and I'm still not sure if I'm even remembering everything correctly, but –."

"A Watcher," Peter repeated, sitting back in his chair.

A Watcher. What the hell was a Watcher? Was it something important? Something – something powerful? And if it were those things, then what the hell was it doing inside Peter's body, dead or not?

"Did he tell you anything?" Bruce asked. "Did he give you any clues as to what he may be, or –."

"He said he'd died, that he'd been killed, but that before Seftis could take his soul or his… his essence, his power – he said he had to find a vessel. And that he chose… he chose me, for whatever stupid reason. He said that because I'm now his vessel, I can't be killed. Though I don't know how that could possibly work, or –."

"A spell of protection," Bruce interjected, thinking out loud. "I heard… when I was on Sakaar, I heard a lot of crazy stuff that can happen. They say a spell of protection is when someone dies, and they leave their – their essence, or their power, over another. Practically giving them immortality."

"What," Peter said, shaking his head incredulously. "Like in Harry Potter?"

Now it was Bruce's turn to look confused. "What?"

But Peter was already far too gone. He continued to shake his head, his eyes wide, unable to believe what he was understanding. "Just like in Harry Potter. I'm – I'm freaking Harry Potter." He shoved the base of his wrists into his eyes and groaned.

"I'm sorry, Peter, but I think you've lost me. What is Harry Pott –."

"Well if that's the case, then the only thing I need is a time-turner. If you happen to have one, let me know. We might be spinning it a while to go back in time that far, but I think it'll be worth it."

"Peter –."

"No, no really!" Peter was standing. When had he stood up? "Seriously, Doctor Banner, we can do it! We just have to find a broomstick and fly over to Hogwarts – or apparate, I'm old enough to apparate now – and then we'll just have to find Professor McGonagall and ask her to give us her time-turner, and –."

"Peter –."

"And you don't have to come back with me, in fact, it's probably better if you stay here. I'll just do it myself and go back in time, I'll find a way to stop Seftis before he shows up or – or if worse comes to worse, I'll just kill myself – my old self, that is – because I'm sure I'll be able to do that, Harry Potter was able to die and that's how he was able to defeat Voldemort and –."

"PETER!"

Peter's voice cut off mid-sentence, and he was left staring at Bruce with wide eyes and heaving chest.

Bruce was staring at him warily, his hands held out cautiously in front of him, as though he were trying to calm down a wild horse.

"Peter, please, just – just sit down."

After a few moments of staring, Peter sat.

Bruce tried again. "Look. I know these past couple years have been… hard, on you. I can't even begin to imagine what it's been like. But how about we put a hold on freaking out until after we fully understand what's going on, okay?"

Peter took a deep breath, and said nothing.

Bruce continued. "Now I'm not claiming to be an expert in this, I don't think I could ever be. But from the way they talked back on Sakaar, and from what you've told me so far, I think it's safe to say that this soul – that Ascar – is what's giving you these new powers. If he really was – is – a Watcher, then at the moment, you are currently housing a great power…."

Peter frowned, but before he could say anything, Bruce continued.

"The only question is, why you? If Ascar really did need a vessel in order to avoid being captured by Seftis, why did he choose you? Why would he give you, a kid from earth, his power? What makes you so special?"

The words had been spoken out of musings, more to himself than to Peter, but by then Peter had had enough.

The chair screeched against the floor as Peter stood to his feet. "I'm not special," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "I don't know why the hell this – this Watcher guy would choose me as his vessel, because I'm – I'm the last person on earth – the last person in the universe – who you would want to have your – your mystical powers, or whatever the hell they are. I don't – I'm not special, I'm no one important, I'm – I'm nothing, I –."

Peter sucked in a shaky breath, and before he could say anything else he spun around on his heel and headed to the door.

"Peter," Bruce called after him. "Peter, wait – Peter where are you going?"

"I'm going to find Miss Potts and see if they've found Mister Stark yet," Peter answered, wrenching the door open. Before Bruce had any time to respond, Peter had ran into the stairwell and disappeared.

He hadn't left to find Pepper, but the lie was neither here nor there. He'd simply needed to get away.

He decided to go back to wandering, rather than head to his apartment. Keeping his feet moving helped keep his mind moving, and the last thing he wanted to do right now was sit down and think. He'd already done far too much of that.

It wasn't until the hallways began to look achingly familiar that Peter realised where he had ended up.

Tony's floor. The one where his rooms were, and where his workshop was. The one that Peter had spent countless hours in, helping build prototypes and blueprints for thoughts and ideas that had never come to fruition. All of which now completely didn't matter, because it wasn't like Tony remembered them anyway.

He didn't like this floor. In fact, he wanted off of this floor right now.

Perhaps he really should go find Pepper. It had been over an hour since the team had left, and surely they had heard from them by now.

He walked towards the door to the shop, fully intending to pass it by and head straight for the stairs on the other side of the hall. This was the last place he wanted to be right now.

But then, as he passed the doorway, his eye caught something amiss. He turned his head, then came to a stop, realising that rather than being closed firmly shut and guarded by hand-print-only entry, the door was instead propped fully open, the hand-pad unlocked.

He should keep going. Mister Stark hated having anyone other than Tony-approved people in his shop, he did everything in his power to make sure no one else came in. It was an invasion of privacy, a privacy that Tony so rarely ever got. And right now Peter was probably the last person he would ever allow into his personal space.

But something held his feet to the floor, keeping him from moving. Maybe it was the familiarity that the hallway and room brought, or maybe it was because he was seeing what had almost become a second home to him for the first time in two years, one he thought he would never see again. He didn't know. But what he did know was that he couldn't go in. Not now. He couldn't go in anymore.

He shouldn't go in anymore.

He inched forward, his mind urging his feet to start moving again. But somehow, no matter how much he knew he had to, he found he couldn't walk away.

He shouldn't go in there. Not now, not without permission.

Permission he would never get.

Peter swallowed, then licked his lips.

Maybe… maybe just for a little while. For less than a minute. Just ten, maybe twenty seconds. Nothing more. Just… just quickly pop in, to see if anything had changed, to see if Tony had made anything new while he'd been gone.

Just for a moment.

Slowly turning his heel, Peter walked inside.

Although everything else seemed to have changed in the last two years, somehow Tony's workshop had remained almost exactly the same.

The same robots stood un-moving in their respective homes. The holo-table sat in the middle of the room, the same one that Peter had worked so many hours over, making adjustments to his suit and formulating ideas for more.

The lights were the same, the chairs were the same, the computers were even the same. The only thing different was that instead of having endless empty bags of chocolate bars lay strewn across the room, there now lay endless empty bags of chips. Pepper's attempt at introducing healthy snacks hadn't worked, it was plain to see.

Peter stepped forward until he was standing by Tony's desk near the edge of the room. He wanted to sit down, to take in the moment that he would likely never have again, but he didn't want to press his luck. He had already been here more than a minute, he was sure, and if he stayed any longer he was likely to be seen, and –

"Goodness. I leave for barely five minutes, and already we have an intruder. I guess that teaches me to close the door next time."

Peter jumped and spun around, his eyes wide and heart racing. He had been so distracted by the workshop, he'd completely ignored the warning that had ran down the back of his neck, telling him that someone was coming.

Pepper stepped inside, her high-heels clacking against the floor, her one eyebrow raised as she met Peter's eyes.

"I'm – I'm so sorry, Miss Potts, I – I didn't – that is, the door was open, and so I – I thought I'd – I just wanted to – to see it, and – and –."

"Okay okay, you can stop talking," Pepper interrupted. She gave Peter a look, one that he had long since learned meant she was both amused and annoyed. "Sheesh, it's like you think I'm going to claw your eyes out or something. Trust me, kid, I wouldn't do that." She gave him a small smile. "I'd simply make sure your business and all your assets would tank within the next year."

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but Pepper cut him off. "Relax, it's a joke."

Peter swallowed, trying to even out his breathing and slow down his heart. He needed to get out of here – he should never have even come in here. Tony already hated him, he didn't need another reason to hate him even more, and –

"I – I'll just –." Peter swallowed again, and started to move. "I'll just go now. I'm sorry, I'm leaving. I'm sorry, I –."

Peter walked by Pepper and towards the door, but was stopped by Pepper's incredulous voice. "Hey, where do you think you're going?"

Peter halted, looking back at Pepper with furrowed brows. "I – I'm not supposed to be in here, so I – I'm leav –."

"Nuh uh. Sorry kid, but you chose to walk into this mess, so you're going to help clean it up."

Now Peter was really confused. "What?"

A garbage bag was shoved into his hands, and he watched as Pepper walked away, another garbage bag in her own hands.

Suddenly Peter understood. Pepper actually wanted him to clean.

"Whenever Tony gets in one of his moods and decides to barricade himself in this place, he always leaves it looking like a dumptruck crashed and left its trash everywhere. And since Tony refuses to let anyone in here – even cleaning staff – that leaves me to be the one to pick up after his mess."

Peter stared after her a moment longer, before slowly moving to pick up an empty bag of chips and drop it inside the bag.

They worked in silence for a few minutes, going around the room and picking up anything they could find. It was sort of funny; whenever he used to be around, both he and Tony were able to leave a pretty good mess in their wake. But Peter had to admit, this was pretty much the definition of a pigsty.

"Who are you to Tony?"

Peter paused what he was doing and looked up, watching Pepper's back as she continued to clean.

"They told me about you; that you used to be part of our lives, but that some guy showed up two years ago and erased our memories of you. That you used to be an Avenger. I told Bruce that Tony would never approve of having a teenager as an Avenger, but he seemed pretty confident you were. Said that's what Steve said, and if Captain America vouches for you, then who are we to disagree?"

Pepper scoffed. "They put the man too high-up on a pedestal, in my opinion. He isn't God. He can lie just like the rest of us."

She proceeded to move farther away, still not looking at Peter's face.

"Because in my experience, and I mean no offense when I say this, but people tend to have a habit of lying in order to get Tony to trust them. They like to use him, use his resources; or use his influence, his money. They know that if they can pull just the right strings, press just right buttons, that they'll be able to get him to do whatever they want. And Tony's been burned more than once because of it."

Peter didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. Besides, he knew Pepper well enough to know that her endless stream of words – however suspicious and accusatory – were spoken more out of worry and desire to protect Tony, than out of malice or certainty.

Peter had always hated seeing her upset. She was usually so calm and composed, and though she expressed her concern and opinions very loudly, she could always handle whatever life had thrown at her. But when it came to Tony, and Tony's well-being – well… Peter supposed everyone had an Achilles heel.

"He'll be fine, you know," Peter said quietly. He knew it was dangerous to talk, that he was already in enough trouble as it was, but something in him urged him to comfort her, to at least give her a sense that everything would be all right, to take at least some of her fear and worry away.

Pepper paused what she was doing, and Peter continued. "Mister Stark is more than capable of handling Osborn. He's already done it once before, and he has four Avengers on their way as backup. Osborn doesn't stand a chance." Peter gave a small smile. "And besides, he's Iron Man. He's invincible, right?"

Pepper stayed still for a moment longer, before moving back to life and continuing on, picking up the garbage that lay across the tables and floor. Peter figured he must have said something right, since he wasn't being told to leave, and he continued to carry on with his own cleaning.

He moved on from one of the desks – his old desk, actually – and continued down the line, all the while wondering how it was possible for Tony, at his age, to still eat so much junk.

Eventually he reached a small table and computer near the back, where, if the amount of empty food containers and chip bags were any indication, was the spot Tony had rooted himself to for his three days of solitude.

Taking handfuls at a time, Peter began to clear the table off. After a few moments he finally reached the bottom of the pile. He picked up the last remnants of wrappers and food – stale, leftover Chinese, yummy – his hand brushing against the papers that lay beneath. In his attempts to brush off some old crumbs, he accidentally brushed the papers off the table with them, sending them floating to the ground. He quickly picked them up, setting them back on the desk.

Something caught his eye.

Pepper's voice rang out across the room.

"Tony sleep talks, you know. When he's stressed. It's the worst, being woken up at three in the morning, hearing your husband talking to you and you ask him what's wrong, and you even have a conversation, only to find out he's been sleeping the entire time. And then he wakes up, and gets mad at you for waking him up. The joys of marriage."

There was colour beneath one of the paper, bright colours. Familiar colours. Colours of red.

Peter pulled the paper further out from beneath the pile.

Colours of red and blue.

"Well, anyway. He never used to talk in his sleep, at least not often. But over… over the past few years, he… he's started to talk more. I've stopped answering him, I just turn back over and let him be. But I hear him, I hear what he says."

Peter's heart was suddenly pounding in his chest, his breath caught in his throat. The paper rattled as he lifted it up, his hand shaking.

"I used to think it was because he wanted a family. We've talked about it, and for a while I thought he really wanted one. Three kids, that was our number. He wanted them to have the siblings he never had. But whenever I ask him if it's time, he always says no."

It was a picture of him. But not him as he was, him as… as Spider-Man. It was hand-drawn, coloured in with red and blue ink. He was wearing the suit Tony had first given him, the one he'd worn in Germany, the one that had been taken away before Homecoming.

His heart was racing.

"But when he talks in his sleep, he's always talking to the same person. It took me a while to figure it out, but he'd always call this person 'kid', or… or underoos. He spoke like… well, like a father speaks to his son. One minute he's upset with him, the next he's encouraging him to do something he probably shouldn't do, like… like he's proud of him."

Tony… Tony had drawn a picture of him. He'd drawn a picture of Spider-Man.

Peter's chest constricted, and he couldn't breathe.

"There's been one other name he's called this person. I thought it was the weirdest name. I mean, why would anyone call themselves that, but… but then Bruce said that your Avenger name was… that it was Spider-Man. I – I didn't believe him at first, but no one else knows that name except me. So… so I…."

But Tony didn't remember him. He hated him. So why… so how was this picture in his hand, how was this even possible –

"So I'll ask you again," Pepper said, turning round to face him. "Who are you to my husband?"

There was a click, then a whirl, and something popped up on one of the computers that sat a few feet away. Peter looked up, his eyes wide as they read the message relayed on the screen.

Incoming video call.

Pepper stopped what she was doing and walked over, staring at the computer with a frown. "That's odd. It doesn't list a sender."

Pepper glanced briefly at Peter, then turned back and accepted the call.

The screen expanded, and the video began to play.

The smiling face that greeted him sent a chill down his spine, and Peter's body turned to ice.

"Hello my dears. It's so nice to see the both of you again."

Norman Osborn.

He was in a conference room, standing in front of a long table surrounded by chairs.

Tony, tied up and unconscious, sat at the back.

Pepper's eyes widened and her hands flew over her mouth as she shouted in fright. "Tony!"

"Pepper, my dear, while it's always a pleasure to speak with you, I'm afraid this message is meant for Mister Parker."

Somehow Norman's eyes found Peter's, and it took everything Peter had to not throw the entire computer across the room.

Osborn's eyes crinkled as his lips pulled into a smile.

"Since your lovely Miss Potts is already trying to record this, let us get to the chase. I have a one-time, special offer for you Mister Parker. You see, you have something that I want. And I think you know exactly what it is."

Pepper looked at him, but Peter ignored her, his teeth clenching in his jaw as his fists trembled at his sides.

Osborn continued. "Now I have your precious Mister Stark here, all ready and waiting to die. His head is on the guillotine, and you, my boy, are his executioner."

Peter's eyes narrowed, and he bit his tongue.

Osborn clapped his hands. "So I think it's easy to say that you already know the choice you need to make. Either you come to the warehouse you already ran away from once, and give me what you have, or you let the blade fall. And if that happens, well… let's just say Iron Man won't need his helmet anymore."

Osborn's smile suddenly fell from his face, his eyes going dark as he stepped back from the camera.

"You have one hour. Godspeed, Spider-Man."

The video went dark, and the screen disappeared as the call ended.

The room was blanketed in silence.

Finally broken from the spell, Pepper immediately picked up her phone and began punching in numbers. The calls rang, and rang, and rang more, but no one picked up.

"They're not – they're not answering," she muttered, trying again. She was obviously calling Steve and the rest of the team, but to no avail. "Damn it, why aren't they answering?!"

Peter stepped back, bumping into one of the chairs and sending it tumbling over to the floor with a crash.

"We need – FRIDAY, get Bruce Banner up here, now!"

Peter sat down against one of the desks, his hands gripping the metal frame tightly beneath his fingers.

Only five minutes had passed, filled with Pepper's constant pacing and trying to get a-hold of Steve or Clint or anyone, each attempt ending with a shout and a curse. Less than two minutes later the elevator in the hallway dinged, and an out-of-breath Bruce came running into the room.

"Pepper, what is it?! What's happened?! FRIDAY said it was a code red, and –."

Pepper relayed all that had happened, and by the end Bruce's eyes were as wide as theirs.

"Are you sure you can't call them?!" he asked.

"I've tried, Bruce! I've tried over and over and over, but we haven't had contact with them now for thirty minutes! The last we heard they'd just reached New York!"

"But one of their signals must be on, surely FRIDAY can find them and –."

"Don't you think I've tried that?!" Pepper shouted. "I've tried everything! Their signals might as well be dead! I can't find any trace of them, none of them will answer my calls, even the jet isn't responding –."

"Well there has to be something, we can't –."

"We – we'll have to go down there. One of us will have to go down to the tower, talk to Osborn himself, negotiate some kind of deal –."

"'One of us?' Pepper, there's no way in hell you're going to that tower! I will be the one to go, you stay here –."

"Like hell you will! I'll wear one of the suits – I've worn them before, I've fought in them before. Someone needs to stay and guard the compound, and –."

"No. No way, Pep. That is not happening. I will go down there, I'll go with a suit, and if I have to I'll – I'll even see if the big guy can –."

"No, you can't, you –."

"Yes, I can!"

"No! You need to stay here, I'm the CEO, this is a business deal, I will take care of this. I –."

"I'm going."

"I'm sorry Pepper, but there's no room for discussion. I'm going, and that's final."

"I'm going to go."

"And I'm sorry Bruce, but this compound is headed by Stark Industries, and as CEO I will –."

"I'm going to go!"

Pepper and Bruce's tongues finally stopped talking and both looked over at Peter, who was now standing, his fists clenched tightly by his sides.

I will do it. I will take the ring to Mordor.

Except instead of going to destroy the ring, he was going to hand it straight to Sauron himself.

Bruce's face fell, and the older man shook his head.

"Peter, no. You can't –."

"Osborn wants me to go. He was talking to me. I'm the only one that has what he wants. And no amount of fighting or negotiating is going to make him change his mind."

And it was true. No matter how much he wanted to let Bruce deal with it, no matter how much he wanted to believe that Pepper could negotiate her way out of this, the reality was that the only person that could do anything, was him.

"No, Peter," Pepper said. "You can't – you're not going. He's lying. How could you even possibly have anything Norman Osborn wants?!"

Peter turned to Bruce, staring him straight in the eye. "I'm the only one that can do this. You know that."

Pepper looked at Bruce, and seeing his resolve waver, began to argue more. But neither Peter nor Bruce listened to her.

"I'll go with you then," Bruce argued.

"No." Peter shook his head. "Someone needs to stay and guard the compound. I'm going, and I'm going alone."

A fire that Peter hadn't truly felt in over two years sparked within his chest, and resolve fell over him as he knew this was the only road they could take. That this was the only way to save Tony's life.

Bruce let out a heavy sigh, and Pepper looked like she wanted to argue some more, but neither of them said anything. Because whether they liked it or not, there was no other choice.

"I'll get one of the jets going," Bruce said. "And you're taking a radio with you. And so help me, if you go into radio silence, I'll come after you myself – compound and Stark Industries be damned."

It was dark out by now, the sun having set just a short time ago. They had less than forty-five minutes to get Peter to New York and into the building Osborn had spoken of.

Peter knew which warehouse he was talking about. Though he had paid almost no attention when running from Osborn's lab, he'd known that the labs were part of a greater warehouse that connected to Oscorp Tower. He knew without a doubt that that was where Tony was being held, and where Osborn wanted him to come.

He sat on the jet, watching as the clouds flew past his window, their edges reflecting off the moonlight that shone through the dark sky. Normally it would take an hour to fly to New York, but with one of Tony's jets, it would take less than half that time. All he had to do was wait.

He was wearing all black; a tight-black shirt, black pants, and a black mask. They were stealth clothing meant for Clint or one of the other Avengers, but they fit Peter well, and they were the only way he'd be able to make it into the building without being seen.

And the only way he'd be able to fall from the sky without being noticed.

Bruce had planned on having the plane land to drop him off inside the city, but Peter knew that plan would take too long, and held too-high of a risk of alerting others to their presence, no matter how good Tony's invisibility-tech was.

Peter watched as the jet flew over the city, his eyes taking in every building and landmark that lay beneath him, the moon's light more than enough for his eyes to see by.

He continued to watch as they flew, as they got nearer and nearer and nearer, and –

There.

Standing to his feet, Peter grabbed hold of the switch at the back of the plane, turning it, and waited as the door began to lower. The wind slammed into him and whipping around his body, nearly sucking him out. Once it was lowered, he began walking towards the edge.

"Peter, what are you doing?!" Bruce's voice shouted in his ear. "You need to wait for the jet to land, you can't –."

"I'll be fine," Peter replied, pulling the mask over his face.

"Peter, you don't have a parachute!" Pepper's voice was panicked. "You need to have a parachute! How else are you going to land –."

"I'll be fine, Miss Potts," Peter said nonchalantly. "I promise, I'm going to bring Mister Stark back. Just focus on finding Steve and the others. Don't worry about me."

"Of course I'm going to worry about you, Peter! You're just a kid, you're –."

"I'm eighteen now, Miss Potts. Legal in Canada and all the states except for three. And definitely legal to jump out of airplanes."

"Peter, don't you dare –."

"Talk to you on the ground, Miss Potts."

And without any more further ado, Peter stepped off the edge and fell face-first into the air.

Falling in the darkness felt an awful lot like flying through the streets of New York on his webs. It was a sensation he hadn't known he'd missed, and for the moment he let the air whip across his face and around his body, and simply breathed.

He watched as one of the many skyscrapers came into view, counting down the seconds in his head. When he reached zero, he held out his hand and shot a web, watching as it flew through the air and latched against the building's concrete side.

He immediately was snapped to the right, and soon he was soaring down in the familiar arc that he had once known like the back of his hand.

He felt himself swing upwards, and he quickly reached out his other hand and snapped another web.

The webs looked and acted so similar to the ones he'd made with the web-shooters, but they felt completely different. He could feel them shooting from inside his arms, running down along his veins and breaking out through his wrists. They oddly felt more secure than his web-shooters had, even though he had never once felt unsafe with the latter. But these… these bio-webs, they were a part of him, and Peter could feel where they were, could feel the cold metal that they stuck against as they carried him where he wanted to go.

He continued swinging and running along the edges and tops of buildings, until at last he swung onto the edge of a rooftop, and came to an abrupt halt.

He crouched on the ledge in the shadows, his eyes scanning the buildings and roads below.

Oscorp Tower stood only a block away, the warehouse and labs sitting right beside it.

"I won't be able to talk to you for a while," Peter said, checking his watch. He had fifteen minutes left. More than enough time to get in and out.

"All right, but you know the code-word if you have any trouble. We'll be listening."

Adjusting the mask around his neck, Peter stood his feet. Then without a second thought he took a deep breath, and jumped.

He shot out a web and landed on Oscorp Tower. He quickly let the web go and proceeded to crawl quickly down the side, until he was able to jump over to the roof of the warehouse. He landed silently, and proceeded to make his way through a broken window until he was inside.

He kept to the ceiling, scurrying over the beams and fixtures, being careful not to hit anything or make any noise.

As he neared the centre of the room, the sounds of voices reached his ears.

"You know Norman, I have to say – the green look? Not your best colour. And the goblin design is terrible. If you were wanting to make a good costume, you should have come to me! I'd only charge a small fee, and you'd be the best looking villain in the city! I'd still kick your ass, but at least you'd go out looking good."

Tony.

Relief poured through Peter, and he took a deep breath. Tony was alive, and from the sounds of it, he was safe. At least for the moment.

Peter couldn't hear Osborn's reply – it was too muffled – but it didn't matter, as in the next moment he'd passed the final beam and arrived into the middle of the warehouse.

The only light came from a small spotlight on the floor, which filled the bottom of the room in an orange glow. Tony was sitting against the wall, his hands tied around his back and feet zip-tied together in front of him. Norman was standing on the other side of the room, looking annoyed. For once Peter was thankful that he wasn't the only person able to piss people off.

Osborn's phone rang and he brought it to his ear, talking loudly and angrily to whomever was on the other line.

He had to move now.

Crawling upside down on the ceiling, Peter made his way through the shadows until he reached the wall. Without hesitating, he shot a web silently against the ceiling and began lowering himself down, until he met the edge of the shadows, Tony sitting only a few yards directly below him.

With a quick glance towards Osborn, who was still turned facing the other direction, his phone pressed angrily against his ear, Peter took a deep breath, and jumped.

It happened in seconds. One moment he was in the air, the next he was at Tony's side, his feet landing silently on the ground, his hands immediately wrapping around Tony's shoulder and covering his mouth.

Tony gave an aborted shout and a start, and Peter quickly shoved his mouth against his ear.

"It's Peter," he whispered.

Tony glanced back, taking one look at Peter's masked face, and promptly shut up. Without giving him any more chance to move or speak, Peter gripped Tony tightly in his arm, and pulled on the web, jumping them both into the air and towards the ceiling.

Peter's grip was like iron, refusing to let Tony go, no matter how awkward and painful the hold was. Tony, thankfully, understood at least something of what was happening, and he quickly grabbed onto Peter as best he could.

Peter proceeded to crawl over the ceiling once more, heading back the way he came. It wouldn't be long, twenty seconds at the most, thirty, maybe, with Tony – he just had to get there before Osborn finished his call, and –

The faint whirring of motors and engines reached his ears, and Peter froze. A moment later Osborn was rising up in front of him, sans suit, standing on his glider, a large smirk pulled across his face.

"Peter, Peter, Peter…. Did you really think you could fool me?"

Peter moved fast; within a snap he'd already webbed Tony to the ground and was coiling his body, ready to spring forward, ready to attack, when smoke – gas, it was a gas – clouded his vision, and he was suddenly coughing for breath.

Osborn's grin widened as Peter's vision began to fade.

"I'll see you shortly, Spider-Man."

Peter's muscles weakened and he felt the sensation of falling, before everything went black.