L

by Lazydaily

L

20. Chapter 20

"Wake up, little spider. Wake up."

Peter could feel awareness spreading over him, the blanket of sleep unraveling as a deep voice trickled through his ears. He tried to move, but nearly all his muscles refused to cooperate. He was able to manage the barest turn of his head, and the smallest twitch of his shoulders. But aside from that, he was frozen.

But why couldn't he move? How was he – why – was he… was he –

"No, you're not dead, yet. Just paralyzed. Temporarily."

Panic crashed through him like a tsunami of fire, and his eyes flashed open.

Everything was dark, at first. His vision was clouded, only able to make out the milky images of black, white, and yellow. After a few moments of rapid blinking, the images coalesced until he realised that he was seeing the black of the night, the white of the snow, and the brightness of a light that hung above a rooftop door.

And the yellow of large, narrowed eyes.

Norman Osborn.

The Green Goblin.

And suddenly, everything came into sharp and horrifying focus.

"You're an amazing creature, Spider-Man," the Goblin said. He was standing in front of him, looking down at him. "You and I are not so different."

Peter tried to move his arms, but nothing happened. His hair spilled over his face, his mask laying discarded at his side.

He glared. "I'm nothing like you," he spat. "You're a murderer. You're working with a psycho who's trying to get rid of the Avengers, who's trying to… to make the world his slaves, and –"

He was speaking before he even knew what he was saying, but as he did, realisation began to dawn.

Ascar had told him that Seftis was seeking power, but not just power – a throne from which he could rule. From which he could rule an entire world.

And suddenly, just like that, everything made sense.

Cold water ran down Peter's spine, and he glared. "He wants to get rid of the Avengers so that he can rule Earth. And you're – you're helping him. You're fucking helping him, and –."

"Ah ah ah," the Goblin chided. "Language, my dear boy, language." He crouched down, cocking his head to the side as he stared at Peter. "I have a son around your age; and do you know what I do when he likes to run his mouth?" He raised his hand, whipping it back as though he were about to strike.

Peter flinched and the Goblin froze, before slowly bringing his hand down. "But you're not my son. No, you're someone else's son, aren't you?" He raised his head, looking past Peter's shoulder. "The Invincible Iron Man."

Osborn looked back at him, and even though the mask covered his face, Peter could practically feel the man's smile. "I knew you would come for him. Perhaps faster than any other of the Avengers; or at least with the most urgency. You have far more to lose, if you lost him, don't you?"

It was then that Peter suddenly remembered that he wasn't alone, that he hadn't ended up on this roof in the dark by himself. He tried to move, straining his head as far to the side as he could, but he was only able to make out the barest hint of Tony's face, which was at that moment only just starting to wake.

Tony came to his senses faster than Peter would have thought, as seconds later he could hear his groggy voice behind him.

"Let 'im go, Osborn. Whatev'r your issu' is, you take it up wit' me."

"I'm sorry, Mister Stark," the Goblin said, still crouching in front of Peter. "But I'm afraid you're wrong in this instance. You see, your little friend Spider-Man, here, has something of quite high value that I want." He suddenly grabbed Peter's face, his metal hands squeezing his jaw and throat painfully together. "And he's going to give it to me, whether he wants to or not."

The Goblin wrenched his hand away and Peter coughed, his ears ringing as Tony continued to speak.

"He has noth'ng! He's just a kid! He's just –."

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong. You see, Spider-Man here – or as you know him: unassuming, homeless Peter Parker – he's playing host to a very important creature. One that can give power unimaginable to the one who wields it."

He stood back to his feet and walked towards Tony, and out of Peter's view. But not out of earshot.

"A man such as yourself, Stark, must know a lot about the universe beyond our mere little Earth, do you not? But in all your time spent traveling in space and the great beyond, have you happened to ever come across the beings known as Watchers? No? Well let me educate you – they are some of the most powerful creatures in the known universe. And your little Peter Parker here, has one right in his sticky little grip. And he's going to give it to me."

The Goblin walked round until he was facing Peter once more, his manic grin and vivid yellow eyes staring straight into Peter's own.

A cool, tingling sensation ran down half of Peter's spine, and muscles in his arms that hadn't moved before, twitched. He could feel the effects of the paralysis slowly wearing off, likely much faster than Osborn had anticipated. All Peter had to do was buy time.

"Does Seftis know you're doing this?" he asked, glaring at the older man. "Or is he the one who sent you after me in the first place?"

The brief hesitation in the Goblin's movements was all the answer Peter needed, and he smirked. "So he doesn't know, then. So while he's busy getting rid of the Avengers so he can take over Earth, you're here trying to steal the soul of a Watcher, all for yourself. Somehow, I don't think your boss would appreciate your betrayal."

"My deal with him is none of your concern," the Goblin spat back. He jerked away, as though angry, before suddenly calming, his movements easing once more. "But the fact remains, that I want what you have. Though I must add, the process of removing the soul from your body will likely kill you."

He leaned back against one of the many large vents that were scattered across the rooftop, crossing his arms as though he were having nothing more than a friendly chat.

"So I have a proposition for you. If you choose to come with me, to join me – I won't kill you. I can teach you about the power that you have – I can teach you how to wield it, how to kill with it. I'll even ask our mutual friend to spare your life, once he's taken control of this world. You can fight for us – you can fight with us. Imagine what we could accomplish together, what we could create, or what we could destroy." He tilted his head back with a hum. "Or, you can give us the Watcher's soul and die along with it. So – what will it be?"

Peter glared, and a moment later he spat at the Goblin, his voice vicious and low as he spoke. "Go to hell. You obviously don't know anything about me, if you think I'd ever join you. I'd far sooner die than help you – no matter what stupid power you think I have."

The Goblin stared at him for a long moment, no one saying a word, nothing to be heard except for the falling of the snow.

Finally, after what felt like an age, the Goblin spoke.

"Well then. To each his own." He stepped forward, walking towards Peter until he was looming over him, his shadow blocking out the light from the rooftop door. "I've chosen my path, and you've chosen the way of the hero."

He crouched down once more, but this time he was closer than before, the metal of his mask nearly touching Peter's face. "And what a hero you would have become. Even greater and more beloved than your dear Invincible Iron Man. And what great things you would have done, too."

Something in the way he spoke made Peter frown, and the Goblin must have seen it, as he suddenly pulled back, humming approvingly.

"Ah, yes. You have a great future ahead of you, my dear boy. How many great villains you'll fight, how many great battles you will win, how great a figure and great a hero you will become. I've seen it, you know.

"When our mutual friend first asked me for my help in defeating the Avengers, he showed me your future – showed me exactly why you were someone I should take interest in. I was able to see just exactly what kind of man – what kind of hero – you will be. And oh my, I don't think even your dear Tony Stark himself could have imagined just exactly who he has beside him; the legend that you will one day become."

Peter swallowed, unable to say or do anything, except continue to look the Goblin squarely back in the eye.

The Goblin shot back to his feet.

"But you will have many great failures, too. There will be countless people that die when they could have lived, villains that could have been redeemed but instead were killed, and killed by your hand."

The Goblin tilted his head again, and somehow Peter knew he was smiling. "And the people. Oh, the people. They'll find you amusing, for a while, the people of this city. Perhaps they'll even love you. But the one thing they love more than a hero, is to see a hero fail, fall – to die trying. In spite of everything you've done for them, in spite of everything you will do – eventually they will hate you.

"So you must ask yourself – why bother? Why bother becoming this great and noble hero, enduring sufferings beyond your comprehension, only to have the very people you strive to save, turn their backs on you in the end? Not when you can give it all up now. Not when you can quit while your ahead, choose a different path. One that can ensure their love and admiration for all the years to come."

Peter only glared at Osborn, his teeth grinding as his jaw clenched, not saying a single word.

Osborn heard his reply, anyway.

Standing one last time, the Goblin looked down at Peter, his voice no longer gentle and calm.

"So be it. You've chosen death, and so death it will be. Perhaps we'll even execute you along with the others, and take your Watcher's soul before all to see – that they may witness just how useless the Avengers truly are, and how great we've now become. That I –."

Bbring, bbring.

The Goblin broke off and Peter jerked, the sudden ringing sounding loudly in his ears. He looked round, wondering where the noise was coming from, when he suddenly heard Osborn's voice, now muffled within the mask, but still loud enough to reach his enhanced ears.

"Osborn," he said swiftly.

The voice on the other end of the call sent chills down Peter's spine, and all the way to his toes.

"I need you at the tower, now. We are nearing the final preparations for the executions."

"I will be there shortly, O Great One."

Peter nearly choked on his own spit, and it took everything within him to bite his tongue and not comment on the absolutely ridiculous – if not downright comical – moniker.

But sensation had almost fully returned to him, and he could now nearly move every single one of his fingers and toes. But he couldn't let the Goblin know that, not yet.

The call clicked as it ended and the Goblin turned back to him, his voice switching in the speaker, until he could be heard outside of the mask once more.

"Well, it would seem that we have to cut our evening short. My humblest apologies, but I can assure you that we will continue our conversation later. For now, though, enjoy the view. I will have someone come to collect you soon."

The sounds of whirring motors reached his ears and a moment later the glider appeared, and Osborn stepped on board. He gave one last glance towards Peter before flying and disappearing into the darkness.

Peter didn't have time to think; he knew he needed to act now, and act fast.

Thick chains were wrapped around his arms and feet, and had the paralysis lasted for longer than it already had, they would have been impossible to break. But as always, people – including his enemies – underestimated just how strong he really was, and how fast his metabolism worked through drugs like paralysis.

So, just as he began to hear the echoes of footsteps two floors below him, he wrenched his arms open with a cry, and the metal shattered. He quickly ripped apart the chains around his feet, and in the next second he was falling over himself as he rushed round towards to Tony.

Tony was looking at him with wide eyes, his hands and feet also bound, and tape covering his mouth. The Goblin must have put it there when he'd gone back to talk to him.

Peter tore the tape away and quickly began snapping the zip-ties off.

"Peter," Tony breathed out, and Peter could hear his heart racing a mile a minute. "Peter, you –."

"Where's your suit?" Peter interrupted.

"Osborn took it, and all my backups, too. The basta –."

Peter slapped a hand over Tony's mouth and stilled, listening as the sounds of footsteps started making their way up towards the last staircase before the rooftop door.

They had to leave now.

Except Tony was still half drugged-up. His movements were slow and sloppy, and instead of getting to his feet once he was free, he stayed where he was.

Carrying it was, then.

Just as Peter was leaning down and throwing Tony's arm over his shoulder, the rooftop door opened and two men dressed in black stepped out. As soon as they saw Peter their motions jerked in surprise, and suddenly they were running towards him.

It happened fast. Peter quickly set Tony back down, and in the next second he was dodging a punch to the face, and then another, and then another. He twisted and turned for a few moments, ducked and dodged, before finally he had enough.

Grabbing the one man's arm, he twisted it until it snapped, sending the man careening to the side, screaming in pain. He kicked his back, sending him sprawling to the floor.

The second man held back, attempting to circle Peter so that he could corner him, but the last thing Peter wanted was to draw the Goblin's attention back to them, should he still be nearby. So rather than waiting for the man to attack, he instead held out his wrist, shot a web onto the guy's face, pulled him forward, and promptly punched him across the head, sending him unconscious to the ground.

Peter quickly ran back to Tony, ignoring his wide eyes that now held a hint of shock along their edge, and effortlessly picked him up. At the last second he ran back and grabbed his mask off the floor, and then proceeded to hop onto the rooftop's ledge. With one last glance at the unconscious guards, he turned back, tightened his grip on Tony's side, and jumped off the roof.

They ran for a while, Tony stumbling as his movements slowly came back to him, Peter practically dragging him the entire way. He took them through twists and turns from alley to alley, until finally the pressure of his senses eased, and the alarm of danger began to abate.

Peter set Tony down on the snow, standing back up to take a moment to breathe. Tony was catching his own breath himself, and the two simply stayed in silence for a moment, nothing to be heard, their breaths dissipating in the cold air in front of them.

Finally, after a few minutes, Tony looked up.

"Well, that was quite the rescue."

Peter gave a vague nod, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

"So was everyone else out getting dinner, or did they wanted a break from the heroing? Figured they'd leave it to the younger genera –."

"Seftis has them," Peter interrupted. He was too tired to be goaded by Tony's remarks. "They went to look for you, all of them, except Bruce. And I –."

Peter stopped himself, suddenly remembering he had his mask – and the connected radio – in his hand. He quickly thumbed the balaclava open, and slipped it over his head.

Static.

He pressed the radio against his ear, tapping it, trying to get it to work, but there was nothing. He tried speaking, waiting to see if anyone would respond, but there was nothing – only silence.

He swore, taking the mask off and tinkering with it for a few moments, before finally giving up.

"Let me guess," Tony said. "Mom and Dad aren't answering the phone?"

"No," Peter replied, still glaring at the small radio within the cloth, which he could now see was clearly broken.

"Well I'm afraid I didn't bring my phone with me, left it in the car. So unless you happen to have one in your back pocket – which of course, you may, all teenagers seem to carry a dozen phones with them these days – otherwise, it looks like we're outta luck."

Peter shook his head, leaning back against the stone building's wall. "We have to get a-hold of Bruce," he said quietly. "If we're out of contact for too long, he might do something stupid, and –."

"Well we can't have Bruce doing something stupid. When Bruce decides to do something stupid, he tends to do it in extremes."

Tony was struggling to stand to his feet as he spoke, and Peter looked up, staring at him in bemusement before quickly rushing over to keep him from falling.

"Mister Stark, stop – you can't – the paralysis hasn't fully worn off, and –."

"Well you seem to be doing just fine," Tony shot back. His legs began to waver and he was forced to grab onto Peter to stay standing, much to his annoyance.

"That's because I'm not like you," Peter said, trying to keep Tony stable. They stood for a few moments, trying to keep Tony upright, until at last he managed to stand still for more than ten seconds, and Peter hesitantly let go.

Tony stayed standing, but it was clear he wasn't going anywhere.

Which was good, because Peter needed time to think. They had to find a way to get back to the compound, back to Bruce and Pepper. They needed to re-group, needed to re-organize and make a plan for how they would save Steve and the rest of the team. They needed to figure out how to finally defeat Seftis and the Green Goblin.

"We need… we need to find someone," Peter mused out loud. "Use their phone, or – or find a restaurant and use theirs. We need –."

"Well in case you haven't noticed, kid, it's the middle of the night. All the restaurants are closed, so unless we find some good-willed Samaritan, which don't really tend to exist in this city, I think we're outta luck."

"Oh yeah?" Peter asked, unable to keep the aggravation from his tone. "Well what do you suggest then?"

"Easy," Tony replied. "Stark Tower."

Peter frowned. "I thought you sold Stark Tower."

Tony gave him a brief, bemused look, before saying, "Yeah, well, I actually have a few towers around here, believe it or not. They're just not all named after me. But for all intents and purposes, they are all Stark Tower. But the one we need to get to actually does have my name on it – but they're just the initials. S-T."

Peter furrowed his brows. "So you basically just re-fitted the outside to make yourself look less egotistical?"

"Pretty much. They're also good places to store emergency suits, should I somehow end up in the middle of the city, shall we say, naked."

Peter fought the urge to roll his eyes, and instead placed his focus back to the issue at hand. "Okay, fine then. We'll go to Stark Tower."

"Sounds like plan."

"Good."

"Fine."

"Wonderful."

"Great."

The two stared at each other for a few moments, and Peter was surprised to see a hint of a smile on Tony's face. He was even more surprised to realise that there was a hint of a smile on his own, too.

But as the reality of the situation settled in, and he realised that it was Tony he was talking with, his smile slowly faded away.

Stepping back, Peter looked around for a few moments, before making his way over to one of the walls. Slipping his mask back on, he quickly began to climb.

"Hey," Tony started, "what are you do –."

"We have to find which way to go," Peter responded, now nearly halfway up the side of the building. "And the fastest way to know is to figure out which direction Stark Tower is in."

He reached the top of the building and quietly peeked over the edge, taking in the city's skyline before him.

He scanned the buildings, his eyes raising and lowering and head slowly turning, as he followed the different shapes and sizes of the countless skyscrapers.

Finally, he spotted it.

There.

It was standing tall amidst the other buildings, and though Peter had never paid any real attention to it before, it indeed had the brightly illuminated initials of S-T along the top.

Great. Well that was wonderful. They would be able to get to the tower, contact Bruce, and pick up a suit for Tony in the meantime. There couldn't be a better result.

Except for the fact that it was on the other side of the city, and would take over an hour to walk there. And considering New York traffic, it likely would take just as long to drive.

Shit.

Turning back round, Peter crawled down the side of the building until he reached the end, jumping down and landing on his feet with a flourish.

"That's kinda creepy, you know that?" Tony commented, staring at Peter with slightly furrowed brows and unsettled eyes. "I mean, scaling a building is one thing – I've seen that plenty of times. But crawling upside down and every which way like gravity doesn't even matter? That's something else."

"The tower is too far away," Peter said, ignoring Tony's comments on his climbing abilities. "It'll take over an hour to get there. That's too long."

"So we'll walk fast," Tony replied with a shrug. "We both have working legs. We'll just be walking with purpose."

"I have working legs," Peter interjected. "Yours are still questionable."

"Hey now, mine work just fine, thanks."

"Yeah? You want to bet on that? How about you try walking, then?"

Narrowing his eyes and tilting his head back, Tony gave Peter a hard stare for a few moments, before he straightened his back, pushed himself off the wall, and began to walk.

He stumbled at first, but quickly righted himself, and Peter let out an angry sigh as he watched Tony walk down the alley. He was slow and careful, but he was walking.

At least until he stumbled and nearly fell.

Biting back a groan, Peter quickly ran after him and ducked underneath his arm, wrapping his hand around his shoulder. Damn the stubbornness of Tony Stark.

"Fine," he said, drawing up beside the older man. "But if you fall later, I'm not helping you up."

"And you won't need to," Tony replied. "I may be old, but I'm not that far, yet."

They neared the end of the alley, and Peter could see the lights of the street only a few meters away.

"If we find someone, we're asking for their cellphone," Peter stated as they drew near the end. "Steve and the others are in danger. We need to get to Bruce as soon as possible, and –."

Peter's words were cut off from his mouth, as they stepped out of the alleyway and onto the sidewalk.

Snow. There was snow everywhere. Snow on the sidewalk, on the street, on the street-side verandas. The row of shops they'd walked into were all closed, lights off and doors shut, and over a foot and a half of snow at their feet.

Peter blinked. When… when had it snowed so much? And looking round, Peter realised that it was still snowing. Not just small, specks of white, but large, massive flakes that twirled lazily as they fell to the ground, piling on top of one another, building higher and higher. The air was thick with them, the flakes falling steadily but surely, distorting the area around them, making it nearly impossible to see more than a few yards in front of them. And there was no sign of it stopping.

"Well," Tony commented, his voice light. "It looks like we won't be finding anyone with a cellphone, anytime soon."

Peter chose not to respond.

They walked together for about fifteen minutes, Tony's arm over Peter's shoulder and Peter's arm wrapped around his back, until at last Tony shrugged him off, claiming he was now well enough to walk on his own. Peter let him go, but he never let his eye stray far. Whether he hated him or not, in end, it was still Mister Stark.

They'd made it over ten blocks towards the tower, when Peter noticed the shiver.

He'd been staring ahead of them, trying to think of nothing else except putting one foot in front of him – if he let his mind wander, he'd never get it back – when suddenly he all but felt Tony's body shudder beside him.

He slowed, then frowned, taking in the way that Tony's arms were wrapped around each other, his long-sleeved dress-shirt doing very little against he frigid December air. It was warm enough that the snowflakes were large, but the slight breeze that drifted around them still had enough bite that made you want to run indoors.

Peter hadn't noticed it, of course. His enhanced body, while certainly not weather-proof, at least took a while longer to get cold than regular humans. He had been on his own for so long, he had almost forgotten just how different he was.

"You're cold," Peter commented, frowning at Tony disapprovingly for not having said so earlier. Though he of course wasn't surprised, Tony was far more prideful than even him.

"I'm fine," Tony dismissed, waving a hand. And Peter may have halfway believed him, had his hand not been shaking while it waved.

"You need a jacket," Peter said, looking back round, as though warm winter clothing might suddenly pop out of the blue. "Or a sweater. We can't keep walking if you're going to be a popsicle by the time we get to the tower."

They were in the dead-end of the city, where smaller merchants resided and no one actually lived. It would be a while yet until they reached a street that may have people on it, if any were even out at this time past midnight, in the middle of what seemed like a massive snowfall.

Which meant they needed to find something, and preferably soon. Luckily for Peter, scrounging through alleys and dumpsters for the necessities of life, had sort of become his thing.

The only question was, where would be the best place to look? Dumpsters were great for food, sure – but they weren't exactly a place you'd find warm clothing. At least not commercial bins.

But residential, that was a different story. Peter had only dared a few times to rifle through someone's personal trash, hoping that they weren't at home or he wasn't being seen by the neighbours. The risk was always far too high. Except right now it was the middle of the night, and everyone would be asleep. And the need was urgent.

So he just had to find a residential street. He was sure one had to be nearby, hey – maybe he could even knock on their door, and maybe they'd be willing to give him their cellphone or –

Something familiar caught Peter's eye and his thoughts came to a halt.

That lamp-post… that storefront, this – this street, it… it all looked rather famil –

Peter's eyes widened, as suddenly he knew exactly where he was.

They were in his area. His part of New York. They were on a street that he had begged on more than once, and many of whose merchants had been kind enough to offer him food, now and then. The attic – or what was left of it, anyways – was only a few streets down in the alley, and Julian's restaurant was only a few more streets past that.

He was practically home.

The lights of the street lamps glowed softly amongst the snow, casting the snow-covered street in the same, warm glow that Peter had seen last winter; the same warm glow that fell over him whenever it began to rain, or when he sat alone on the street in the dark of the night, waiting for the sun to rise.

He wasn't expecting the sudden lump in his throat to appear, or the sudden heat in his eyes that were beginning to sting. He didn't know what he was feeling, he couldn't explain any of it. He only knew that it had been months since he'd last been here, months since he'd even thought about this place. But somehow, in those months, in someway – he'd missed it. He had missed this place, had missed the routine of what had become the only dependable normalcy in his life. Everything had always stayed the same, no matter how crazy the day. Like clockwork.

"Hey kid?" Tony called. "You all right?"

Peter blinked, and he looked over to see Tony standing farther up the street, looking back at him with a raised brow and questioning eyes.

Peter stayed where he was for a few moments, continuing to stare, before his feet finally began to move and he made his way to Tony.

"What," Tony asked as he came up beside him. "Is everything all right? Did you… did you see something, or –."

"It's nothing," Peter quickly replied, swallowing back the lump in his throat. "I just… I was just…."

And suddenly it hit him, and Peter's eyes widened.

The attic. The attic was destroyed, yes – but there was a compartment beneath the boards, one separate from where he kept his money. It held other important necessities, like canned-food and clothes, just in case if someone were ever to find the place and take everything they could see. He had learned early on that you had to prepare for everything and all possibilities, no matter how unlikely it seemed. And he was sure that somewhere in that stash, if it remained unburnt, there was a sweater and maybe even a jacket, too.

Peter all but ran forward, before veering into the alleyway halfway down the street.

"Hey, where are you going?!" Tony shouted. He almost half-expected Peter not to come back, but in the next second Peter was suddenly back beside him, wrapping his arm back around his side and all but dragging him through the snow and into the alley.

"Hey, I'll have you know, if I had full-functioning legs right now, I'd give you a good kick in the ass. No one man-handles Tony Stark, do you understand? Especially when they don't tell him where the hell they're even goi –."

Before he even realised what was happening, Tony found himself standing behind the remains of a burnt and partially collapsed building, a yellow line of tape laden with snow surrounding it, cautioning people to stay away. A caution that Peter was very manifestly ignoring.

Tony watched as Peter all but through himself on the wall, scaling it as though it were nothing, as though it wasn't a flat, vertical surface covered in ice and snow.

Peter crawled through the now-empty space where part of the wall had once been, stepping foot into the place that had been his home for the last two years.

Everything was as he had left it when he'd last been here, with Steve. It was clear that a building that had already likely been on the chopping block for demolition was no further along that path, even though now part of it was already gone.

He wanted to look around, to take in the room that he had made his own, to breathe – but Tony's loud-whisper of a voice sounded from below, and Peter was forced to turn his attention back down.

"Hey kid! Would you mind telling me what's going on? I know that the head of Stark Industries doesn't mean much to you, and seeing as I'm currently without a suit, Iron Man doesn't mean much either – but I would really appreciate it if you didn't leave me down here to get jumped by some random homeless guy looking for money, and –."

Knowing he had to shut Tony up – and also tired of his complaining, if he were honest – Peter leaned over, held out his wrist, and shot down a web. After a few moments of protest and cajoling, Peter finally managed to get Tony to take hold, and within the next few seconds he'd quietly and quickly pulled Tony up into the attic.

Tony was mumbling something about safety and heights, but Peter wasn't listening.

As much as he wanted to have a moment and simply take the room in, he knew he had to get moving fast. This was meant only to be a detour on their way to the tower, so that they could get Tony warmed up before they got the suit, and eventually found a way to free Steve and the others from Seftis.

Searching the floor, Peter counted the lines until he eventually found the right one. Crouching to his knees, he slipped his finger in the dip of one of the boards and lifted it up. His eyes met the untouched pile of clothing and food, and Peter couldn't help but close his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief.

"So how did you know this was here?" Tony asked nonchalantly as Peter began rummaging through the crawlspace.

"I lived here," Peter replied absently, moving the numerous bits of clothing around as he searched for a jacket or a sweater. Geez, for a homeless guy, he sure had a lot of stuff.

"Ah," Tony replied. "And what a lovely place it is, too. It certainly has a nice… view. And the space, I mean – definitely more than enough for one person. Two might be a little cramped, but one… one is good. There's a bit of a draft, I'll admit, but hey – not every place can be perfect, am I right?" There was a pause, then, "And I suppose those lovely markings on the wall are just for decoration?"

Peter looked up, his eyes landing on the words still inscribed into the wall where the Goblin had last left them: We'll meet again, Spider-Man.

Peter grunted and returned to his search.

There was a moment of silence after that, but as always, Tony could never stay silent for long.

"So, this… this Spider-Man. That's really you, huh?"

"Used to be," Peter replied, not paying and real attention. Maybe he'd stuck the sweater at the very bottom, beneath the cans of food and water….

"'Used to be'. That sounds very definitive. Any reason why you decided to hang up the cape? From what Steve said, it sounds like the city could use someone like you."

Peter reached down into the space – geez, how far did this go? – pushing past a pair of jeans to get to what he believed was a sweater down below. "Well having everyone forget you were a superhero in the first place, much less forget you even existed, kind of puts a damper on the whole saving the world, thing." Ah – there. Finally.

"So because people forgot you used to save them, that's why you decided you wouldn't save them anymore? You just said 'to hell with it' and quit, just like that?"

Peter stilled, his ears finally hearing what Tony had said. He slowly pulled the jacket out from the crawlspace, turning round and looking at Tony with narrowed brows and dark, bemused eyes. "I'm sorry?" he said.

Tony was looking down at him, his hands in his pockets as he spoke. "I'm just saying, that if the only reason you were in the superhero business was for the recognition and fame, then I don't think that's a very good reason to be in it. Saving people is more than that. You have to be willing to give up everything for someone – even if it's someone you don't know. You have to be willing to die for them. And if the fame and recognition was already too hard to give up, then maybe it's a good thing you hung up the suit."

Whatever familiarity Peter had felt had returned between them, whatever friendly understanding had begun to exist, was instantly destroyed – and Peter suddenly found an anger and fury roiling in his chest that he wasn't prepared for, and it took him a moment to swallow the words he wished to say back down, and keep his fists lowered at his sides.

"I already gave everything up," he said, standing to his feet. "I gave up everything I had in order to protect everyone, in order to protect the people I cared about." He walked forward, staring Tony straight in the eye as he spoke, his voice low. "But clearly that was a mistake." He shoved the jacket into Tony's arms, and walked away.

Peter stepped towards the edge of the crumbled wall, trying to stifle his anger and pack it away where the rest of all his anger had gone. He held his arms tight across his chest, trying to ignore the man standing a few feet behind him. The man opened his mouth and took a breath, and Peter was ready to intervene and tell him exactly what was on his mind, when suddenly a cold chill ran down the back of his neck, and his ears began to strain.

"Kid," Tony began, but Peter immediately put his hand up, shushing him, and the man – thankfully – stopped talking.

There was the sound of tires crunching in the snow, the running motor of an engine. There were the opening of doors, followed by them being shut. He could hear footsteps, followed immediately by voices.

"Man, I don't know what they think we'll find out here. We've already scanned the perimeter around the warehouse, whoever those guys were, they're long gone by now."

"The boss told us to search to the edge of the area, so we're searching to the edge of the area."

Silence for a moment, the footsteps drawing closer. Peter stepped back into the shadows, his ears pricking as Tony did the same.

"What exactly did Osborn say he saw again? Some kid dressed in black, and an old man that looks like Tony Stark? Now is he tryin' to say that this guy looks like Tony Stark, or that he is Tony Stark? 'Cause let me tell you, if he's implyin' that the guy that he just made a massive business deal with is tryin' to break into his company, then we've got a bigger story here than just some miscreants."

"Your guess is as good as mine, Brian. But I'd be careful, puttin' any stock in what Osborn has to say. Guy's a bit wacko, if you ask me."

"Don't let the boss hear you say that. He's always goin' on about how he had dinner one time at Osborn's house, like some grand guest or somethin'. Osborn sure knows how to feed an ego, I'll give him that."

Peter could see the strobes of flashlights running along the snow in the alleyway, and up onto the walls. His eyes followed to where his and Tony's footsteps began just a few feet further up, as they had come from a different route further ahead. But if the cops came any closer, they'd spot the tracks, and see them lead directly to the attic.

Peter clenched his fists, the fingers on his left hand hovering closer to his wrist.

No, but he couldn't. They were cops. They had nothing to do with any of this. He could never attack a cop.

The light came closer, and Peter's heart began to race.

He crouched down defensively, tightening his muscles, ready to jump at any second. Even if these were the police, he couldn't let them find them. If they did, they'd never get a-hold of Bruce and Pepper, and they'd never find Steve and the rest of the Avengers before Seftis killed them – if he hadn't already.

Peter watched as the lights neared the tracks. Closer… and closer… and closer, and –

"Dan, I'm tellin' ya, it's as cold as ice out here, the snow isn't about to stop fallin' any time soon. Now I don't know about you, but our shift's nearly done, and I'd rather not have to spend the rest of the night de-thawing in my bed. Let's just get out of here. We ain't gonna find anyone tonight."

The lights lasted a moment longer, before suddenly turning and disappearing into the dark.

The breath that Peter hadn't realised he'd been holding suddenly let go, and he leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. He listened as the cops walked back to their car, got inside, and drove away.

They were safe. At least for the moment.

"Kid?" Tony whispered after a moment. "They gone?"

Peter nodded, swallowing down the adrenaline back into his throat.

There was a pause, then, "Did you… with your hearing, did you… did you manage to hear what they said, or –."

"Osborn called us in to the police," Peter said, standing to his feet. "He claimed we – or at least, a kid dressed in black and a guy that looks like Tony Stark – broke into his lab. They'll be on the lookout the rest of the night for us."

"What?" Tony asked, squirrelling his face. "Why would I, Tony Stark, ever want to break into Oscorp's labs? Who would actually believe that I was trying to steal tech from Oscorp, of all people? If anything, he'd be trying to steal tech from me. In fact, I swear he probably did once, when –."

"We need to get to the tower," Peter interrupted. He knew Tony was rambling because he was nervous, and he couldn't blame him. Being stuck out in the middle of the city, with no suit and only a random kid with superpowers to defend him – it probably left him more than a little nervous.

"Come on," Peter said, and held out his arm. Tony gave him a look, then tentatively took it. In the next second Peter swung Tony over the edge and lowered him with his web to the ground.

With one last forlorn look at his empty, cold, and snow-filled attic, Peter followed.

Once they were both on the ground and Tony had the jacket on, they began to make their way through the back alleys and towards Stark Tower. They'd have to avoid the streets from now on, in case someone saw them.

But Stark Tower was still a ways away, and the night was still young, and the snow continued to fall.

Peter silently swore.

I hate winter.

They had been walking in silence for about twenty minutes, Peter leading them through backways and little-known paths as they made their way towards Stark Tower.

For a brief moment, Peter thought they may make the entire way in peace; but then Tony had go and open his big mouth.

"So since it seems like we're going to have some good ol'e quality time together for a while, I must say, I have more than a few questions for you."

Oh, Peter thought. Joy.

Without even waiting for a response, Tony continued, "Right now what I'd like to know, is what the hell is everyone so concerned with your chest, for? Steve said something was inside it, that… that Seftis guy, or whoever he is, seemed to think there was something inside it, and now the Green Goblin – or dear old Norman, as I like to call him – seemed ready to kill in order to get it.

"Now, whatever fugitives you like to harbour, that's your deal. But when my head gets placed on the chopping block, well, then… I supposed I'd like to know what I'm dying for."

Peter's eye twitched, and he bit back the sarcastic remark he so wanted to throw Tony's way, or rather, the urge to simply tell him to fuck off. He'd already been told about everything that happened; he didn't need Peter to tell him again.

And he told him as such.

"I thought Mister Rogers told you what I have."

"Well Mister Rogers isn't the one that has whatever it is in his chest, does he? And I prefer to get my information directly from the source."

Peter let out an undisguised sigh, knowing that if he didn't appease Tony's curiosity, he'd be hearing about it for the rest of their walk.

"I have the soul of a Watcher inside me," he said, ducking underneath a large overhang along the alley. "Apparently when it – he, whoever – was killed, he decided I would be as good a place as any to live in. And apparently the soul – or essence of a Watcher, whatever it is – is pretty valuable real estate, so Osborn's made it his mission to take it for himself, even if he has to kill me to get it."

"And this Seftis guy, is he –."

"He's the one that killed the Watcher in the first place. Now it seems like the Watcher's placed some sort of… Harry Potter spell over me, and Seftis can't kill me. So instead of killing me, he's going to kill everyone else. Because why the fuck not?"

There as a pause as they walked a few more yards in silence, before Tony spoke.

"So… did you always know you had this, this Watcher inside of you? Did you just decide to not tell anyone, or… or is this part of your – your special abilities?"

Peter gritted his teeth. Seriously?

"I don't know when he showed up," Peter replied shortly. "And as far as I know, he has nothing to do with my abilities. At least not my normal ones. The spider did all that."

"Okay, so now here's another question: your… your powers, or – whatever they are. The fact that you can climb walls and shoot webs from your arms. You're saying you got all that because of… because of a spider?"

"Well I don't know about the webs," Peter said, turning out of the alley and onto the street. They'd have to walk for a bit in the light, if they wanted to get to the string of alleys that would eventually bring them out just before Stark Tower. "Those are more… recent. I don't know if they're me, or… or if they're because of… of something else. I still used webs, before. I just made them myself."

"Made them yourself?"

"Yeah. They were mechanical web-shooters. I made the design, found the parts, and built it. I manufactured the fluid at my school."

"At… your school."

"Yeah."

"So you're smart then. Like, probably not your run-of-the-mill, smart, but like – actually smart. Above average.."

Tony used to say that Peter was the second smartest man in the room, next to him, and even though he made it sound like a joke, part of Peter had liked to believe that he had really meant it.

God, it still boggled his mind that he was actually out here, with Tony, just the two of them, walking in the middle of a snowfall-warning in near-empty streets, heading all the way to Stark Tower in order to get his suit. Just four months ago he was sitting in his attic, by himself, making the last details of his plan to leave the city and never come back; to never have to see Tony, his aunt, or the Avengers ever again.

Now here he was, walking and talking with Tony as though the last two years hadn't happened; as though they were merely on a little stroll along the streets, catching up on old times. It was ridiculous.

But of course, things weren't the same. He was a completely different person than he was two years ago when Tony knew him, but that didn't matter because Tony didn't know him anymore. And besides, as Tony had made it painfully clear, he wasn't exactly as wanted or even liked as he had once been.

How could he ever forget that?

Tony's voice sounded through the crisp air, breaking the silence that had momentarily fallen over them.

"Are you working with him?"

Peter furrowed his brows, not sure if he'd heard right. "What?"

"Osborn, and this… this Seftis guy. Are you working with them?"

Peter slowed to a stop, then slowly turned round, the streetlights casting their orange glow against the ever-falling snow.

He glared. "Are you serious?"

Tony stared back at him, his gaze unwavering. "I'm only saying that, ever since you came around, these guys showed up as well. That's when all our problems started – when you showed up."

Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing. Was Tony – how could he insinuate – how could he actually believe that – that he was –

He was his mentor, his friend. He had been like a father to him. And now – memories or not, now he actually believed that he was – that he was with Osborn and Seftis –

"No," Peter spat, his voice dangerously low. "I'm not with Seftis, or Osborn, or anyone else you can think of. Why you would – why you would even begin to think that, I don't – I don't know how the hell you could possibly think that, when you – when you –."

Peter turned round, starting to walk away, trying to shove his anger back down, but like a snake suddenly thrown out of its cage, he found he couldn't hold it back.

He spun round again, this time unable to keep his voice from shouting.

"I can't – I can't believe you actually said that! I mean, I know you hate me, but do you seriously think – do you seriously think that, after everything you've seen, after everything Steve – Captain fucking America – told you, how could you still possibly think that I'm secretly on their side? Huh?! How the hell could you think I'm one of them?!"

Tony opened his mouth to respond, but Peter was already walking up to him, shoving his finger in his face and cutting him off before he could speak.

"I lost my life for you!" he shouted. "I lost my entire fucking life for you, and this is how you thank me? By treating me like shit, by using every opportunity you get to put me down, to make sure I know I'm unwanted, and now accusing me of working with Osborn and Seftis? Really?!"

Peter stepped back, shaking his head with an empty laugh. "I should have left this city as soon he erased your memories. I should have gotten the first ticket out of here and made my way out to Oregon, or even to Canada. Just as long as I was far away from you."

"Kid, I –."

"And what about you? What about you, huh? You're the one that got us all in this mess in the first place! If you had just listened to me, if you had just listened to anyone – you'd have known that Osborn was trying to trick you. You'd have known that he already has his fingers deep in Stark Industries, that as soon as you finished the deal he would find a way to screw you over and take over your company, but you still went! You still fucking went! And now Steve and everyone else have been captured because of it! Seftis now has them because they went after you! They tried to save you! And I got stuck saving someone who thinks I'm working with the fucking enemy –."

"Kid, Peter, I –."

"Why?!" Peter shouted, stepping back into Tony's space. "Why would you even – how could you even possibly think that I would be working with Seftis?! Huh?! Answer me! Just answer me you selfish, egotistical son of a bi –."

"Because I've seen you in my dreams!"

Peter's words were sucked out of his throat, and suddenly he found himself unable to speak.

He stared at Tony, his eyes wide as his lungs heaved in his chest.

Tony stared back at him, and now that Peter got a good look, he realised that the man looked stricken, that he looked angry – but not at Peter. At least, not entirely.

Tony stared at Peter a moment longer, then took a breath.

"For the past two years I've been having these… these dreams. Almost every night I have them, and they're all – they're all crazy, like everyone's dreams are. The only difference is… is that… is that you're in them. Or at least, someone who looks like you. And talks like you."

There was a pause, then Tony continued. "I thought I was crazy, at first, to keep seeing you." He huffed. "I even asked a therapist about it. She figured you were either just a figment of my imagination, something that came about because I've seen so much crazy shit, or… or that you represented something. Something I didn't want to give up. Something I lost.

"I tried to sort my life out, tried to figure out the things I didn't want to let go of and let go of them. Pepper thought I was secretly wanting a family, but I… even though I've always wanted kids, I… I found I just… couldn't bring myself to have them. Not yet. I even gave up coffee, for a while – crazy, I know. But no matter what I did, I still kept dreaming of you.

"We would… we would do things, together. We'd be in my shop, building things, or – or I'd be surprising you at school, hiding in the back seat when Happy came to pick you up. You'd just… you'd just get this huge smile on your face, when you saw me. And I'd feel…." He swallowed. "I'd feel happy, too. It was like… for the first time in my life, I had a reason to exist. Aside from building an empire, aside from the Avengers, aside from Pepper, it was like… it was like my life had a purpose. It was as though someone actually needed me, because of me. Not because I was Iron Man, or because I was Tony Stark, but because… just because I was me."

Heat was stinging in his eyes and Peter swallowed, a lump suddenly lodged in his throat.

But Tony wasn't finished.

"I started looking forward to going to sleep, as crazy as that sounds, because instead of always seeing nightmares and the past, I was now seeing you. You were like this… this security blanket, this… this comfort. Something I had to look forward to at the end of day, knowing that whatever happened in my dreams, in my nightmares, it wouldn't matter – because you'd be there."

Tony shook his head. "You were even with me when I was reliving Thanos. You… you had jumped on the ship as it was leaving, and basically wormed your way in until it was too late and we couldn't go back. I was – I was furious, and I was – I was panicked. Because this wasn't a game, I didn't have a fail-safe for you, if something happened, you'd be – we'd be –." Tony swallowed. "And then, when Thanos snapped his fingers, you… you disappeared –."

"But you got us back," Peter whispered, tears now pooling in his eyes. "Everyone disappeared, but you got us back. You got me back. You saved us all. We're alive, because of you. I'm alive, because of you."

Tony stared at him, and he stared back, neither of them able to say anything for a moment.

Then finally, Tony said, "So that's… that's why I thought you were working with Seftis. When I saw you for the first time, on that rooftop with Osborn – or, or the Green Goblin – I thought… I thought my mind was playing tricks on me; that I had finally snapped, because now I was seeing figments of my imagination in reality, and then… and then I…." He took a breath. "So I figured someone was messing with my mind; that someone was making me see things in order to think I'd gone crazy, in order… in order to steal secrets, or somehow worm their way into the Avengers, or…."

He took another breath. "I thought Osborn and Seftis had sent you because they somehow knew I dreamt of you every night. Because they thought I would trust you. That's why I asked if you were working with them. That's why I thought you could be an enemy. I see now you weren't, and I… I'm sorry."

There was a long moment of silence, after that, nothing to be heard by the sound of snow falling through the air.

Peter didn't know what to think, but at the same time he was thinking of everything. Of Tony, of Seftis, of Osborn, of Tony, of Steve and the team, of Tony, of Tony.

He couldn't believe it. He had thought… he had thought that Tony hated him, that out of everyone, he'd be the last person in the world to remember him. He still didn't remember him, that much was clear, but to now… to now find out that he – that he had been dreaming about him, ever since he'd been lost, he – he was –

"I thought you hated me," Peter whispered, trying to keep his voice steady. "Ever since I showed up at the compound, you were the biggest asshole. I mean, you'd always been an ass, but… but not like that. Not to me. I thought… I thought there was no way you could ever know who I was, because you hated me too much."

Tony huffed out a short laugh, giving Peter a look. "Well you weren't exactly holding out an olive branch yourself, kid. You made it clear pretty fast that I wasn't high on your favourite list, either."

Something in Peter turned at that comment, the anger within him suddenly re-surging, like a wave coming back on shore. He tried to keep the words even when he spoke, but even he could hear the spite in his own voice. "Yeah, well, it's hard to put on a happy face, when the man you once thought of as your father can't stand to even be near you."

The smile on Tony's face fell away, and his own red-eyes twitching together in a small glare. "Kid, you've been pissed at me since the moment we first met, so don't try and blame everything on me. So what did I do? What did I ever do to you, Peter? What did I ever do to make you so angry with me?"

"You forgot me."

Peter heaved in a breath, and then another, and then another. He fought back the tears, forcing them to stay in his eyes and not to fall on his face, but it was too late. He could already feel their heat running down his cheeks, the cold air quickly turning them to ice.

"You forgot me, Mister Stark. You left me on my own, in this – in this city, all by myself. I had no one. You said you'd always have my back, that as long as I was near you – and even when I wasn't – that you help me when I needed it. Well, I needed your help, Mister Stark, I needed it more than I ever had before. And you… and you just…."

He knew it was irrational. He knew he was wrong. He knew that it wasn't Tony's fault, that none of this was his fault, that there was no way he could've helped him, because he didn't know who he was and that was not his fault.

But still, what had been slowly growing inside of him for the past two years had finally been let loose, and Peter couldn't ignore the fact that, deep down, he was angry. He was so, so angry. At Tony, at the Avengers, at Seftis, at everyone – because he had been forgotten, and he had been left behind. He had become lost, and no one ever knew he was missing.

And somewhere, deep within him, he resented them for it.

But that resentment was wrong. He was wrong. He knew that. No one deserved his anger except Seftis himself. It wasn't the Avengers fault that they had their memories taken away, it wasn't Tony's fault. It was Seftis' fault.

And in the end, if he were truly honest, it was his fault. For he was the one that had made the choice for their memories to be taken away. He was the one that had struck the gavel down and passed the sentence. He was the reason why his life was the way it was today.

And what was worse, was that there was nothing he could do about it. There never had been.

"Why didn't you come find us?" Tony asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. "Why didn't you tell us who you were? We – I – would have believed you. I'd seen you in my dreams, I would have known that you were telling the truth, or at least that you could be telling the truth, or –."

"I was told that if I ever went near you, Seftis would kill you," Peter replied. "But even if he hadn't said that, how was I supposed to know you might have remembered me? How was I supposed to know you might know who I am, when my own aunt looked me straight in the face, spoke to me, and still didn't have a clue who I was?"

Tony stared at him for a long moment, and he stared back, tears still stinging hot in his eyes as he fought to control his breaths.

God, he was… he was breaking down. He had vowed to turn his back on his past, he had vowed to move forward, to move on with his life – but here he was, losing control in front of Tony himself, who still didn't really remember him, and he didn't – he didn't know what to say, or to do, or – or –

Tony took a quiet, shuddering breath, and Peter's eyes widened slightly as he realised the older man – the man who had once been his mentor, his idol, his… his father – his eyes were now stained red, and shining with the reflection of unshed tears.

Except that wasn't… Tony didn't – he never cried, he never even came close to crying, he was – he was Tony Stark, he was Iron Man, he was –

And before Peter even realised what was happening, Tony stepped forward and wrapped him his arms around him.

"Kid," Tony choked out. "Peter, I – I'm sorry. I should have… I should have been there. I should have stopped him. He never should have done this to you, and I… I can't… I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Peter was too stunned at first to do anything. But then, slowly, bit by bit, he raised his arms and hugged Tony back.

And the tears fell.