Checkmate

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Peter’s face scrunched up slightly as he gently floated into consciousness, a soft orange glow filtering into his eyes as they slowly opened. He squinted slightly from the light as his vision came into focus, groaning as he brought a hand to his forehead.

Where am I?

Shifting his free hand, he slowly pushed himself into a sitting position, dropping his hand from his forehead. He sat there for a moment, mind fuzzy from unconsciousness, and he allowed his head a moment to clear before picking his head up to look at his surroundings. The sky was nothing but a soft, misty orange, the kind of orange that reminded him of the orange sherbert he would eat as a kid, swirling and expanding out as far as the eye could see. Below him was a thin layer of still water, softly rippling and reflecting the sight of the rolling orange clouds. The water didn’t exactly feel like water though, he noted, and he gently threaded the liquid with his fingers as he looked at it with interest. It acted like water, and it looked like water, but it wasn’t wet. There wasn’t any water soaking through his suit as he sat in the water; his hair wasn’t wet from lying in it; his hands weren’t saturated. He pulled a hand out of the water and rubbed his thumb against his pointer finger. It was dry.

Peter sat there for a few more moments, pondering the science behind the water-like liquid below him when suddenly, as if a small string snapped, memories started to rush back to him like fire expanding across a paper, falling and accelerating like a line of dominos falling one after another. He gasped audibly, his heart stammering and pounding against his ribs as he remembered what had occurred before he ended up here; Titan, Thanos, the stones, Tony--

The machine.

The machine.

Scrambling to his feet, Peter looked around with wide eyes, throat becoming dry.

Did I…?

“Did you do it?”

The teen jumped at the suddenness of the young voice, a jolt of surprise rushing through him as his eyes darted around quickly, searching for the source of the voice He soon realized it was pointless as the voice--a young girl’s voice--continued to echo around him, multiplying and fading with every passing moment. Swallowing harshly, Peter tensed, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

“This is definitely a horror movie,” he softly thought aloud, voice shaking as he tried to keep some calm. “I hate horror movies.” The sound of his own voice comforted him slightly, and he exhaled a soft breath. (And not because he enjoyed hearing himself talk, thank you very much)

Continuing to look around helplessly, the echoes started to fade into nothingness, the world around him falling into a slightly less comfortable silence. The spiderling took a moment to regather his bearings, and he took a shuddering breath before asking shakily, “Who are you?”

Nothing.

Bringing up a hand to grip his wrist, the hero curled into himself slightly, getting more and more nervous as the minutes of silence continued to pass.

“Where am I?” He tried again, his voice a little more steady this time. He waited for a few more moments, and, hearing nothing again, he let out a heavy sigh. “This isn’t good,” he muttered to himself, shifting his arms so they were crossed over his chest. “Silence is always bad in horror movies. Always. Something’s going to happen, I know it.” Peter continued to ramble softly to himself, running a hand through his hair as his anxiety continued to spike. Looking up, Peter bit his lip, eyes darting across the expanse of orange sky once more.

“Why aren’t you talking to me?” Peter questioned, voice louder than before. “Did you bring me here? Where are you? What is this place?” Unsurprisingly, he was met with silence again, and he clenched his jaw slightly, his anxiety spiking even more. He did not like this. At all.

“Hello?!” He called, his legs involuntarily starting to tremble. “Why won’t you answer m--”

“What did it cost?”

Peter froze hearing the girl’s voice once more, the words evoking a strong fear inside him for a reason he couldn’t pinpoint. The words started to echo in a similar way as they had before, and his breathing started to pick up slightly.

“What do you mean? What did what cost?” The teen quickly inquired, his tone slightly panicked as the words continued to echo around him, lingering a bit longer than he remembered before. He fell silent as the question continued to repeat, over and over again, seemingly growing louder with every moment that passed. His breathing starting to pick up unwillingly as the echoes grew louder and louder, growing bigger and surrounding him, trapping him as the continued to ask that same question over and over and over again.

Peter brought his hands over his ears with a cry as the voices started to pile on one another, the sheer volume of them vibrating his entire body. Everything was so loud--it was too much. The orange of the light started to grow brighter, and he slammed his eyes shut as the girl’s voice kept asking--

“What did it cost?”

“What did it cost?”

What did it cost?

His thoughts started to mirror the words and they grew, inflating the space like a balloon, swelling bigger and bigger with air until it becomes so inflated that one poke will make it burst. He couldn’t think--the volume was so overwhelming that he couldn’t focus on anything else--there wasn’t anything else. It was so, so loud, and accusatory, and he felt like he did something wrong, wrong--

What did it cost?

What did it cost?

What did it cost?

Peter couldn’t think.

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. The words themselves no longer felt like just words, just sound; they felt like physical barriers, falling down over him and crushing him, pressing him against the ground and suffocating him like the warehouse when he fought the Vulture on Homecoming, and the pressure was just so much--it was hurting him. It hurt so much.

Breaths quick and short, tears running down his cheeks and dripping into the liquid below him, the teen curled into himself and started to hope, pleading that it would stop, just let it stop, let it all end, please, I just wanna go home, help me--and taking in as much breath as he could muster under the pressure, pressure, he let out a loud, bloodcurdling scream, filled with agony and the wish to just please, please just let it stop, and--

Crack!

Everything stopped.

For a long moment, Peter didn’t move. He stayed curled in his small ball on the ground with his hands clenched tightly into his ears, nails painfully digging into his skin (When did that happen?) as he let out soft, shuddering sobs, now audible in all of the silence. He waited for it to start again, not trusting the space around him to stay silent. And he continued to wait. And wait.

Nothing.

With great hesitance, the hero shakily uncurled from his ball, breathing ragged and uneven, and he slowly pulled his trembling hands away from his ears, tearing his fingers away from his skin like glue to paper, a part of him really not wanting to take that risk. He stared at the ground for a moment, ears still ringing, tense and ready to curl back up if the noise suddenly continued. After a few bated breaths he started to feel himself relax, adrenaline fading and ears meeting nothing but silence. Resting his hands back on the ground, he sat down, his gaze very slowly trailing upwards until his eyes met a sight that made his heart stop.

Slicing through the orange mist of the sky was a large, jagged crack, piercing through the skyline like shattered glass. Inside the crack was nothing but inky darkness, and shards of the sky were left floating in the middle of the space, suspended in time. Peter stared at the scene with a mixture of horror and awe as he slowly rose to his feet once more, barely aware of his movements as he spotted a small shard suspended at his height a few feet away from him. His legs started to take himself closer to the shard, as if something was physically pulling his body towards it, taking his mind away from here, away from this place. Stopping in front of it, he gazed at the shard for a few hypnotizing moments, watching as it glittered and sparkled in front of him before reaching out, his skin growing closer, ten inches, three inches, two centimeters, a millimeter, until--

Peter awoke with a loud, shuddering gasp as he shot up in his bed, panting heavily and drenched in a cold sweat. His heart thumped loudly in his chest and he stared in front of himself blankly, slowly gathering his bearings as his mind started to reorient itself for the second time in the past few minutes. (Hours, minutes? He honestly had no idea)

“Peter! Time to get ready!” A woman’s voice shouted from elsewhere in the building, and the teen jolted suddenly, half expecting it to echo around him and--

No, he quickly scolded himself, chest tightening, don’t think about that right now, Peter. You’ll freak yourself out.

“Peter?” The voice called again--May, he realized with a start, eyes growing wide--with a less urgency and more worry lacing the tone. “O-Okay!” Peter hurriedly responded, cringing as his voice cracked.

Ew.

Pants now having slowed to a regular pace, Peter took a moment to look around the new space he found himself in. Lifting himself up slightly as he crossed his legs, the teen quickly realized when he bumped his head on the wooden board above him (which really hurt, by the way) that he was sitting on the bottom bunk of his bunk bed. It didn’t take him long to realize that he was in his apartment back in Queens, and he let out a heavy breath of relief he didn’t realize he was holding. Glancing at the different Star Wars posters hung up in his room, and the various papers and gadgets on his desk, his lips tugged up in a smile. He almost laughed at the normality of the space--one moment he was on an alien planet, fighting alongside Iron-Man and intergalactical space protectors, and the next he was in his room, being beckoned downstairs by his aunt to head to school. It was almost too good to be true.

So, unsurprisingly, a small part of him didn’t believe that he was really there. I mean, how could he? For all he knew, it could all be another weird orange shatter-y place situation all over again. He softly bit his lip as the thought crossed his mind, his smile quickly fading from his face. Peter’s eyes slowly started to wander over to his desk as anxiety started to bubble up in his chest, and he paused as they met the sight of his old iPhone. Quickly reaching over to grab at it, he took the small phone in his palm, eyes shining with nostalgia as he gave a small smile. Oh iPhone 5S, how I miss your portable size, he thought fondly. (Though he wouldn’t trade his current Starkphone for the world)

Tapping in his passcode, he furrowed his eyebrows as he started adjusting his hands, trying to acclimate to the small size of the smartphone. He immediately tapped on the calendar icon, pausing as he noticed the familiar red circle highlighting the number 21, residing in the month of October, 2015. Relief started to bubble in his chest as he continued to stare at the date, chuckling softly to himself as he smiled widely.

“It worked,” he whispered softly, laughing bubbling in his chest again. He probably sounded crazy, but at the moment, he didn’t care. It worked. Taking a glance at the time, Peter set his phone down on his bed, knowing that he still needed to get ready for school before he could get away with doing anything further. The teen let out a soft breath before standing up, wincing slightly as his foot slammed into something on the ground. Swiftly moving his foot out of the way, Peter looked down, breath hitching slightly as he caught sight of the object.

It was one of his old web shooters.

He smiled fondly at the model, bending down slightly to pick it up and place it on his bed, remembering when he started working on the prototypes for the object. It seemed as if this was one of his first fully functional models, and he chuckled noticing the slightly chipped red and blue paint splattered on the metal. Spotting the other web shooter towards the front corner of his bed, he picked that up as well, setting it next to the other one. He almost thought they were cute in a strange way, he mused as he started to gather up a pair of clothes. It was weird seeing where he started compared to where he was now, and it was refreshing to think about. As much as he got down on himself for not being experienced enough, he did have some experience, and that was something he should be grateful for.

Though I could do without some of it, he thought with a small wince, thinking back to Thanos. Peter walked out of his room, heading down the hall and into the bathroom, now donned in an iconic science pun t-shirt (his personal favorite in fact; it was a light blue t-shirt with gray text on it that said, “You left me an opening for a science pun and I Lepton it.”), his sweatshirt, and a pair of dark gray sweatpants. He stepped into the bathroom and grabbed his toothbrush, quickly wetting it and putting some toothpaste on it before sticking it in his mouth and bringing his head up. Starting to brush his teeth, the teen peered in the mirror and froze, catching sight of himself.

He looked like a fucking toddler.

Where he used to revel in his defined cheeks and jawline sharpening with age were puffy, young cheeks, smooth with baby skin and free of any acne. He was significantly shorter than he remembered, and his hair was wild with untamed, unmanaged curls. (If he was going to be completely honest though, he didn’t really learn how to style his hair until he met Tony, so it was a fairly recent development) There were no signs of the stubble he now starting having to shave on his face either. His skin was smooth. Upon close inspection, he also noticed the severe lack of an Adam’s apple on his throat. Well, it wasn’t completely gone, it was just smaller. It still was pretty good though, considering he was thirtee--

He was fourteen.

Fuck, he was fourteen. And he was going to see the Avengers.

(And as much as he wanted to salvage his pride, the Adam’s apple wasn’t there)

Toothbrush dropping out of his mouth, he spit out some toothpaste into the sink, groaning, “The Avengers will never take me seriously like this…”

“Peter, come on! You’re going to be late!” May shouted from downstairs. Immediately picking his head up, Peter quickly turned on the faucet, rinsing off his toothbrush before washing out his mouth. “Coming!”

Walking back into his room, the hero took a swift glance at the web shooters on his bed before taking them and slipping them into his backpack, mumbling quietly, “You’ll have to do.” Picking his head back up, he looked around his room, setting his hands on his hips and he let out a breath.

“Now for a mask,” he thought aloud, continuing to scan over the room before spotting a small bit of red fabric hanging off of his chair. Taking it in his hands and holding it out in front of him, the fabric unfurled into a mask shape, with eye holes cut out on one section of it. “Bingo.” He smiled brightly, putting that in his backpack as well. He then slipped his arms through the straps of his backpack, hauling it onto his back, and grabbed his phone, shoving it and his earbuds temporarily into his pocket before walking downstairs.

“You’re getting later and later every morning Pete,” May said, not looking up from her glasses as he walked into the room, and she grabbed a small cloth from her glasses case to start cleaning one of the lenses. “I can’t keep forcing you up like this.”

“I know May, I’m sorry. I’ll start getting quicker, I promise,” the teen assured, feeling a small pain of guilt when he spotted a small, pocket sized picture of May and Ben next to May’s purse. It’s only been a few weeks, he thought grimly, and bit his lip. His aunt let out a tired sigh, before pausing to look up at him, “Don’t say it, do it.”

Nodding, he voiced softly, “Okay.” Peter gave her a warm smile, the corner of his lips tugging down slightly as he noticed the dark circles sinking in under her eyes. She looks like Mr. Stark did after Germany, he realized, his heart dropping slightly in his chest as he remembered his mentor hunched over the counter of his lab, empty mugs lined up along the edges and dark circles sagging under his eyes. He looked lost for a long time after the fight, and the sorrow in May’s eyes definitely reflected the same pain. (Wait, when did he start comparing her with Mr. Stark…?)

“Alright,” May responded quietly, glancing quickly at the time on the microwave behind them, which read 7:30. A half an hour before school started. She made her way over to him and softly ruffled his hair with, gazing at him with a (slightly forced) smile. “Have a great day at school, okay? And be safe.” Peter leaned into her touch slightly, reveling in the comfort of her words and he nodded, swallowing down a lump that had formed in his throat.

“I will.” May’s smile widened and she moved her hand down to cup his cheek, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I love you,” she said softly, her voice slipping dangerously towards sorrow. Peter set his hand over hers and nodded, squeezing it softly in reassurance. “I love you too, May. You have a good day too, okay?”

His aunt chuckled softly, pulling her hand away to start walking back into the dining room. “Of course, little man. When have I ever let you down?” She joked with a wink.

“Never, May,” Peter responded with a soft sincerity, eyes twinkling with unshed emotion as he spoke. “Never.” The seriousness didn’t last long, though, as he broke into a smile, turning around and walking to the door. “I’ll see you after school!”

“See you later!” May smiled, watching as he opened the door and turned back to wave at her. “Bye!” Peter called, beaming at her. She waved back, chuckling softly.

“Bye!”

Closing the door behind him, Peter darted down the road, looking around at the familiar buildings around him with bright eyes. Everything looked just as he remembered it. The streets were lined with hot dog venders and people selling “I Heart NY” t-shirts, people were rushing to work and he saw some of his classmates heading to school, cars were honking, the streets were loud, and Delmar’s sandwich shop was seated right at the corner of the block. He even saw an open shop that was selling little Avengers figurines, and he laughed seeing a significantly shorter statue of Tony standing next to Captain America. Looking up at the wide skyscrapers and taking in the smell of pizza and venders, and hearing the sound of early morning buskers and watching the loud, roaring cars and busses in the streets, Peter couldn’t force down the wide smile that tugged at his lips.

God, he loved this city.

Spotting an alley in front of him, the teen peered into it, and, after identifying it was empty, he ducked into it, quickly slipping behind a dumpster and setting his backpack down. He unzipped the bag, taking out his web shooters and clasping them onto his wrists, smiling at the familiarity of the sensation. The hero then took out the makeshift mask out of his backpack (replacing it with his phone because, as he realized a while back, a phone case is certainly no match high speed swinging at high altitudes. He still tears up at the traumatic memory of his phone falling to this day), hesitating slightly when going to slip it on as his mind flitted back to his aunt, and the picture of Ben and the dark circles sagging under her eyes. He had forgotten how hard Ben’s death had hit her over time; he was too young to realize how much she held back from him at the time. He was only focused on Spider-Man--designing his suit, making his web formulas, going out and doing something--to even realize how much she was hurting. And he didn’t stop to think how going out and putting himself in danger would affect her. It was different in his time--May had made more friends after she got promoted, and she started talking with Pepper and Happy (Happy especially, which was mildly concerning?)--but in this time, everything was still fresh. And here he was, planning to team up with the Avengers to save the universe after traveling back in time and possibly dying.

Damn, now I almost feel guilty for skipping school, Peter thought to himself as he slipped on the mask and threw his backpack up into the air, webbing it to the wall of the alley. The spiderling then looked up at the wall, quickly scaling it and surfacing on top of the building. Stepping to the edge of the building, he looked along the street, smiling as he lept off of the edge, feeling as rush of adrenaline as he plummeted towards the ground. A few civilians gasped loudly as they spotted him falling, and he laughed softly before shooting a web at a nearby rooftop, shifting direction and propelling himself down the street.

Almost.

Walking into the living room of the floor, Natasha let out a sigh seeing no sign of the billionaire who owned the tower, yet again. She looked around at the part of the team that was assembled (which was everyone, except for Tony) for the mission they were assigned, which consisted of Sam Wilson, Steve Rodgers, Wanda Maximoff and herself.

“Where the hell is Tony?” She asked, walking over to the couches where they were seated. “We have to leave in ten minutes.”

Sam shrugged, fiddling with the settings on Redwing, who was seated on his lap. “I don’t know, the lab probably?” He guessed, moving to tap at various buttons on his goggles.

“He said he was working on a new project of some sort,” Steve said from a chair off to the side, not taking his eyes off his shield, which the soldier was currently wiping down. Wanda pursed her lips, crossing her arms and sighing. “He needs to hurry. Fury will have our heads if he doesn’t.”

A low hum emitted towards the back of the room as Vision phased into the area, walking over to the group. He was sporting a baby blue sweater and a pair of sweatpants that were slightly too big for him. Recently, he’d taken interest in human fashion, and with all the cleanup after Sokovia, they hadn’t had the time to go shopping yet. So, Tony allowed him to order a few things online, and although Natasha didn’t want to outright admit it, it was cute. The ex-AI had come to her a few times while trying to decide what to wear, and it was amusing to watch his uncertainty and he tried to choose what to try. (“B-But, do you really think blue compliments my color scheme? I don’t know if the vest is too bold either, it might be too much with the shirt, don’t you think?”)

“Do you want me to fetch him for you?” Vision asked with a soft smile, looking around at the band of heroes.

“Please?” Wanda asked sweetly, turning to look over the back of the couch at him. Vision’s expression brightened just a hair hearing her, and he nodded. “Of course, my lady,” he grinned, turning towards the direction of the lab before phasing back out of the room. Wanda giggled softly at his words, a light pink dusting her cheeks as she brought a hand to her mouth.

Sam made a gagging noise from his position on the couch, and Wanda’s expression immediately deadpanned as the pillow next to her started to glow faintly. With a flick of her wrist, she threw the pillow at the man before crossing her arms, sinking into the couch with a small puff of her cheeks. “Shut up.”

Natasha leaned against the island in the kitchen with a small sigh, resting her hands on the edges of the countertop to rest her weight against it. Steve took quick notice of the action, and his expression softened as he noticed her tense demeanor.

“Nat, relax. He’ll be out,” the solder smiled reassuringly. The spy nodded, meeting his eyes with an unfeeling stare. “I know.”

Steve’s expression dropped further as he saw this, and he nodded a little, turning back to his shield to continue cleaning it. She knew exactly what was running through the soldier’s mind, and she despised it, albeit knowing it was somewhat true. She wasn’t going to deny it--she had been a bit more tense after Bruce disappeared during Sokovia, and, to be honest, she hadn’t let her emotions slip this much in years, but it wasn’t nearly enough to completely render her immobile. Was she worried? Maybe. But she wasn’t dumb. Bruce wouldn’t want this to get in the way of her work, and Natasha wouldn’t have let it get in the way regardless. It was something she would walk off, just like she had with everything else. She wasn’t being defensive, she simply had it figured out.

Well, aside from Steve’s unending worry. He was like a dog--she loved the guy but he wouldn’t leave her alone. That man was the definition of a mother hen; he was constantly hovering over her as soon as she got quiet, and was bombaring her with questions about her health and how she felt. He was like this after New York when he saw how hurt everyone was too, and that included the civilians and SHIELD agents. A part of her wondered if he was also like that in the 40’s.

She pitied the commandos.

“So, I heard from a little birdie that the common folk were begging to be graced by my presence,” a voice rang from the side of the room, and it certainly didn’t take a genius to figure out who. “And I am here to deliver.”

“And with only six minutes to spare,” Sam said from the couch, leaning back to watch and Tony walked into the room. Natasha narrowed her eyes at the billionaire. “You cut it real close this time, Stark,” she spoke lowly, and Tony raised an eyebrow.

“Ooh, the classic last name card has been drawn. Am I in trouble?” He teased with a shit-eating grin, earning a chuckle from Sam that she quickly shot down.

“Tony,” Steve said sternly, and the hero’s expression deflated.

“Sorry.”

“So, what were you working on in there?” Sam asked, setting Redwing down beside him as he stood up.

“Undisclosable,” the billionaire swiftly shot down, and begrudgingly elaborated when they all gave him a look. “It’s a bit more personal than my other projects.” Sam nodded, noting the sincerity in the man’s voice. Tony seemed to relax at that, and he let out a breath. “So, we’re heading to where, Ukraine?”

“Yeah. Uman,” Steve responded. “There’s a HYDRA base up there.”

“Well, that’s a shocker,” Tony muttered sarcastically, and Steve broke into a small smile. Wanda laughed softly and rose to her feet, saying, “We’d better get going. We can talk about this on the way.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Wouldn’t want to keep the Nazi’s waiting.”

Tony snorted, smiling brightly. “Jesus Christ, and I thought I’ve heard everything.”

“Oh my god,” Wanda muttered with a smile, and Sam broke out into a wide grin. “Ain’t that for a motivational quote, am I right?”

Shaking his head, Steve stood up and grabbed his shield, reigning the light-hearted atmosphere in and looking around at them with the familiar militaritive authority he used during all of their missions. “Alright team,” he announced. “Suit up.”

“Roger that, Rogers,” Tony smirked, and just like that, the atmosphere broke. The super soldier rolled his eyes and Sam groaned loudly as the team started to move out of the room, complaining, “If this is what we’re dealing with the whole trip I’m quitting.”

“There are people that would kill to work with me, okay?” The billionaire retorted, though it was obvious he was playing around. “Don’t be selfish.”

“Selfish? Damn, I pity people who have such low standards.”

“Literally.”

Tony’s jaw dropped at Wanda’s jab, and he sputtered for a few moments before recovering, picking himself up and hurriedly rebuilding his egoistic exterior.

“Well, at least I’m not known for being a bird.”

“Weak.”

“No it’s not!”

“That one was pretty weak, Tony.”

“Yeah, Stark. I caught you off guard.”

“You didn’t. It’s a perfectly good quip. Birds and filthy, and they shit everywhere. It’s an insult.”

“Uh huh.”

“Whatever you say, buddy.”

The heroes fell into a series of quips and retorts as they made their way to the ramp the new Quinjet was residing on, and Steve paused, noticing that Natasha was still by the island, staring down at the ground with her arms crossed. He stopped to look back at her, and gave her a soft smile.

“Come on, Nat,” he encouraged, and the spy blinked, looking up and meeting his twinkling eyes. The playful banter of the team had faded into the background as Natasha continued to stare at him, before deciding to allow a small smile to slip onto her face.

“Right.”

Landing softly on a rooftop next to the famed tower, Peter looked up, scanning over the skyscraper closely. Although he wasn’t the most familiar with the building, he had been there more than the average person, and he had wandered over occasionally if he needed Tony to repair his suit or update it. He knew things about the upper floors of the tower, which were the ex-Avenger’s living and training rooms, and Tony’s labs. He also knew about Tony’s private entrance that he entered through when he used the suit, which, if he was correct, should be right over...

Bingo.

Shifting slightly to the right, Peter spotted a balcony extending off of the tower. He smiled brightly, jumping to the building on the side of him to get a better view. Okay, so the private entrance is on that balcony, he thought. And there’s an entry code, which I think was...uh…

Wait, what was it again?

His thought were interrupted by a loud whoosh overhead, and a large gust of wind hit him as he looked up to see the source of the noise, which was none other than the Avenger’s own Quinjet. The teen’s eyes widened as he watched it fly off at an incredible speed into the distance, a bright spark of excitement and awe erupting in his chest as a smile tugged at his lips.

“Awesome,” he breathed, staring at the jet for a few more moments before tearing his gaze away and shifting it back to the tower. The Avengers not being present made his job a lot easier, and he quietly thanked the universe before dropping down onto the ground and slowly making his way over to the side of the tower. As he slipped behind a tree, he noticed a familiar bodyguard standing at the front entrance of the tower, looking slightly younger and hair a bit more full than the last time he saw him. Peter laughed softly, smiling at the man.

“Nice to see you again, Happy,” he joked softly to himself before very carefully making his way to the side of the building, eyes constantly darting around to make sure no one had spotted him. Finally sure that he was safe to move, the spiderling set his hands on the side of the building and started to climb up the side. The climb was fairly easy, aside from a few close calls with some security cameras (“H-Holy fuck! When did you get there?!”), but after about five minutes or so, he climbed up onto the balcony. (I’m finally James Bond, May. Are you proud of me?)

“Okay,” he exhaled, plopping his feet down on the balcony. “Now all that’s left is to get in.” With a quick scan of the area, Peter easily spotted a panel plastered on the wall of the tower, and he moved over to it to take a closer look. There wasn’t any panels to type in a password, and taking into account Tony’s innovative nature (Read as: laziness), it was probably voice activated.

“Uh,” the teen looked at the panel dumbly, brain kicking into gear and he started trying to think of the password. He didn’t think his mentor had ever mentioned the password to this entrance before. I guess I just have to guess, he thought, smirking a little at the wordplay. Guess I have to guess. Guess to guess.

God, I’m such a loser.

“Um...Tony Stark?” he hesitantly asked, almost sure that it was incorrect.

“Access denied.”

“Thought so,” he muttered, before letting out a sigh. “Pepper Potts?”

“Access denied.” Peter’s mouth ran dry as his chest slowly started to fill with dread.

“Happy Hogan?”

“Access denied.”

“James Rhodes?”

“Access denied.”

Steadily paling with every guess, Peter stared at the panel, unwanted familiarity rising out of the situation.

This is going to suck.

This sucks, Peter thought to himself, lying face down on the hard concrete of the balcony, every ounce of excitement he once felt now replaced with a horrible hopelessness as he continued to guess his mentor’s stupid password.

“The best Avenger?”

“Access denied.”

“Nick Fury.”

“Access denied.”

“Genius dude?”

“Access denied.”

Yeah, that last one was a bit of a stretch, he winced, rolling onto his stomach as he looked up at the dreaded blue panel, eyes narrowing as he spoke, “Howard Stark.”

“Access denied.”

“Oh, come on!” He fumed, jumping to his feet as his frustration started to bubble over. “Can’t you just tell me?!” There was no response from FRIDAY, of course, and the teen let out a breath, forcing himself to reign in his anger.

This is no time to freak out, he told himself. Come on Peter, think like Tony Stark. What would you use as your password?

The hero fell silent as he started to think, racking his brain to try to remember any indication his mentor might have slipped to him as to what his password would be. He stayed silent for a few more moments and suddenly jerked, blinking as an unlikely memory of the two tinkering in his lab came to mind.

Didn’t he mention…? But he wouldn’t use that, no way, he quickly shot down, shaking his head. But, taking a second look at the panel, he paused, biting his lip in a show of indecisiveness. It wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?

Cringing a little, Peter turned to face the panel and cleared his throat, hesitantly speaking, “War Machine rocks?”

“Access denied.”

The teen let out a loud groan, bringing his hands to his temples as frustration bubbled back up in his chest. “Come on!” He complained loudly, glaring at the panel with more annoyance than he felt towards Flash, and that was saying something. Heaving a large breath, he started to guess at a rapid speed, softly rubbing his temples as he did so.

“War Machine sucks.”

“Access denied.”

“Iron Patriot sucks.”

“With a ‘cks’ or an ‘x’?”

Peter immediately froze, slowly looking up and staring at the panel with disbelief.

Holy shit. This was it.

The teen’s heart beat rapidly in his chest and he continued to stare blankly at the panel, brain trying desperately to reboot. After a few moments, he blinked rapidly, his thoughts finally starting to process and make their way to his waking consciousness.

“Um,” he started, audibly gulping as his heart thrummed rapidly. “x?”

“Access granted.”

A tidal wave of relief rushed over the teen as the words were spoken, and a stupid grin formed on his face and he watched the door open, the sheer amount of joy the action caused bringing tears to his eyes. I would like to thank the academy, my aunt, and most importantly Jesus Christ for giving me this opportunity, he thought as he slowly walked inside the tower, the familiar white walls around his still seeming surreal. Giddy laughter bubbled up in his chest as the doors closed behind him, and he blinked a little as his eyes adjusted to the bright lights of the tower.

Peter began to look over his surroundings and he paused as his eyes met a window, his smile quickly fading as he saw how close the sun was to setting. It wasn’t too dark outside, but school was most likely out. He could probably put it off as marching band running late or something, but May was still going to kill him for not giving her a call. He couldn’t exactly do that now, though, as his phone was still in his backpack in Queens, and he definitely wasn’t willing to leave the tower so soon after getting in.

Another sharp realization hit him as he remembered that the Avengers weren’t currently there. They had left in the Quinjet earlier that day, on what he could only assume was a mission, and the teen deflated as he realized he probably wouldn’t be able to talk to them for a while. I guess I could head back to Queens, he thought with a sigh, his lips forming into a pout as he crossed his arms. Though I might be able to contact Nick Fury. He’s probably an important dude to talk to, right? Thinking back to the pictures he’d seen of the known organizer of the Avengers, he gulped slightly picturing the man’s dead stare. But the real question is, do I have the balls to talk to him?

Before he could answer his own question (To which the answer was a large hell no), a loud crunch echoed out from another room in the tower, and the hero’s ears perked up as he tensed, eyes darting around. Is there someone else in here?

Quickly moving to a wall, Peter pressed his back to it, tensing as another loud crunch rang through the hall. The teen bit his lip as he slowly started to move towards the noise, silent cursing himself for his own curiosity as his body and mind screamed at him to run away, leave, go! But what kind of hero would he be if he ran away?

As he continued to move, the crunches started to grow nearer and louder, and his breathing unwillingly picked up as he started to grow more nervous. Pausing at a corner, another crunch filled the air, clearly centering from the room right on the other side. Peter’s breath hitched as he rested his head against the wall, mouthing reassurances to himself as the nervousness grew tenfold. (Come on Peter, you can do this, you’re Spider-Man, you’re a badass, just go for it!)

Taking in a deep breath, Peter shot out from behind the corner, body in full view as he took in the source of the crunching, the sight making him instantly regret every decision he had made in his life thus far.

In front of him was none other than Hawkeye, donned in full costume with his bow and quiver attached tightly to his back, holding a bag of salt and vinegar kettle chips. The man froze seeing Peter, about to take another bite, and the two stared at one another, basked in a very uncomfortable and awkward silence as they both tried to process the situation at hand.

The teen continued to stare as his mind raced with unwanted thoughts (Holy mother of all things holy that is Hawkeye--oh god what do I do what do I do), and he swallowed harshly, mouth drying as he tried to fill the silence with the first excuse that had come to mind.

“Uh.” His voice wavered as he continued to dumbly stare at the Avenger in front of him. “I didn’t break in on purpose?”

Crunch.