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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

***PETER***

The quinjet is still parked where we left it - on the helipad at Stark Tower. I can see it from the street, twenty blocks away. The only trouble is that we still have to get there - for which we’ll need to elude Oscorp’s reinforcements.

Skye suggests we split up to make it harder for them to track us. Vision concurs (no, seriously, his exact words are “I concur”), and he insists that Wanda and Gwen go with Skye while he takes everyone who came on the quinjet with him. “I trust you have your own transportation?” he asks Skye.

“That’s not the only quinjet we’ve got,” Skye says, gesturing in the opposite direction from Stark Tower.

“Then go,” Vision says. “Quickly.”

“On it.” Skye leads Gwen and Wanda across the street, then they start running once they get to the other side. I exchange glances with Pietro - no doubt he’s no more keen to be separated from Wanda again than I am to be apart from Gwen. At least they have Wanda, though. I heard Pietro tell a few wild and crazy stories on the flight down to New York. If anything about those stories is true, Wanda is a dangerous enemy to have. And as for Skye - whatever her power is, she was able to knock Harry out of the air without breaking a sweat.

If I can’t protect Gwen right now, at least I’m assured she’s in good hands. Not that she needs to be in good hands, of course. She’s only too capable of handling herself.

“This way,” says Vision, waving his arm. We all follow him. None of us are running - nobody actually says it, but I know I can’t be the only one thinking that running will only draw more unwanted attention.

As for whatever unwanted attention we may be receiving by going around on the street in costume - well, this is New York. If any city comes close to rivaling San Fransokyo’s count of eccentric dressers, it’s this one. This point is hammered home for us when we come up to a corner where a number of other costumed people are milling around, waiting for the light to change.

In a totally bizarre coincidence literally out of The Amazing Spider-Man 2, I end up standing next to a heavyset woman dressed as the Statue of Liberty. “Hey,” she says, turning and noticing me. “Nice suit.”

“Yeah,” says a guy on her other side, a dark-skinned, bespectacled dude with unusual diamond-patterned pants (one leg red and black, the other black and white) that look like they were made in Wonderland. “Damn, that shit looks real.”

I shrug my shoulders and smile awkwardly at these two, thankful that they can’t see my face. “I try.”

“Wow, you got a bunch of Marvel characters with you, huh?” Lady Liberty says, looking around at everyone.

“No, no, no,” Barton says. “Lady, could you please-”

“I didn’t know Comic-Con was in town again!” cries Wonderland Pants.

“Shut up!” hisses Natasha. “No one can know we’re here!”

“Oh, everyone knows we’re here already,” Deadpool says, casually flipping a reverse peace sign at a camera perched on a nearby light pole. “Say hi to Mr. Finch and the Machine, kiddies!”

“You know Mr. Finch doesn’t exist, right?” I say in spite of myself.

“I’m not supposed to exist in this universe either,” Deadpool says. “And yet…”

The light changes at last. Just in time, too - the Oscorp team is less than fifty feet away. I don’t have time to say more than “Get out of here, now!” to Lady Liberty and Wonderland Pants before we all run through the crosswalk. All of us - except Pietro. He runs back to tangle up the guards, and even liberates another one’s submachine gun.

Can he see me raise my eyebrow under my mask when he comes back? I guess he can, because he chuckles darkly at me and says, “In case we have another ‘get off your asses!’ moment.”

“Oh God, I hope not,” I say, looking warily at the gun. “I mean, if the cops saw you holding that-”

“I’ll just tell them I’m an Avenger, here on superhero business,” quips Pietro. “They can’t be more corrupt than the cops in my country, can they?”

“Hey, after 9/11 and the Battle of New York-” Barton begins.

“Whoa, what’s going on?” I look around and see that those two civilians are still hanging around us. “Is this a new movie or something?”

“Nah,” I say, thinking of a quote from Maximum Ride. “‘This is too original for Hollywood - they do sequels.’ Now get outta here - this shit’s not a movie, it’s real!”

“What, are you kidding?” asks Wonderland Pants, who’s practically hopping up and down with excitement. “Miss out on the opportunity to see Spider-Man do whatever a spider can?”

“And where the hell have you been, anyway?” Lady Liberty asks, panting as she races to keep up with us. “The most popular graffiti in New York right now is ‘COME BACK SPIDEY WE NEED YOU!’”

“I mean, sure, that Daredevil guy is cool,” says Wonderland Pants, “but he really stays in the shadows and gets into super-dangerous shit that no sane person wants to get involved in!”

“Seriously, guys, get the hell out of here!” Natasha yells.

No sooner do the words leave her mouth than the Oscorp team finally opens fire on us. Everyone jumps to one side, landing painfully on the sidewalk. I myself end up with my elbow in the gutter. If not for my suit, I bet the skin would be badly scraped and even bleeding right now.

“Is it too late for ‘get off your asses?’” Pietro asks.

“You can still say it,” Deadpool says, drawing his sword, “but it’d be pretty damn redundant with all the normals running around. Petey, give me a boost!”

“What for?” I ask.

“So I can do my ballerina thing, duh!” Deadpool says, crouching and then jumping about six inches.

“Fancy yourself a graceful assassin, huh?” I joke.

“Only Marluxia’s the Graceful Assassin!” Barton says.

“Just do it already!” Deadpool yells, pointing to his feet with his sword.

I run behind Deadpool and hit the concrete just as he jumps into the air again. This time, I reach up and push his left foot, allowing him to rise much higher than he would have done normally. As he reaches the top of his arc, he actually spins around three hundred and sixty degrees before coming back down. He swings his sword and cuts off a number of guards’ arms before landing on his right foot and yelling, “Jeté, bitches!”

“Okaaay…” says Lady Liberty, who doesn’t look so happy to be surrounded by comic-book characters anymore. “You were right, Spidey. This shit is totally real.”

“That’s what we’ve been trying to tell you - hey, Pietro, where are you going?” Of course, he’s long gone before I can finish that sentence. However, about fifteen seconds later, he comes back bearing an armful of what looks like industrial-strength medical gauze. Said gauze happens to be cushioning a blowtorch.

“What the hell?” I ask. “Where’d you get the blowtorch?”

“Hardware store about three blocks that way,” Pietro says, offhandedly pointing down a side street. “All right, all victims of Deadpool’s sword, line up for cauterizing!”

“Uh…” One of the guards groans loudly, still nursing his stump of an arm. “Come on, guys,” he says, stepping in front of Pietro. “Our insurance is not gonna cover this.”

“That’s the spirit,” Pietro says. “Peter, Natasha, maybe if one of you could handle the blowtorch? My hands aren’t steady enough.”

Natasha edges past me. “Relax, Parker. I got this.”

“I can still help out,” I say, drawing a bit of webline out of the shooters on my wrists. This, I attach to the first guard’s stump after Natasha cauterizes it. It takes her a surprisingly short time to figure out how the blowtorch works. Then, Pietro wraps the burned, webbed-up stump in gauze.

“Huh,” he says as he ties a knot in the gauze to keep in place. “That makes sense, with the webs. It’s like a giant Band-Aid that way.”

“Yeah,” I say, beaming - even though it had just been a silly idea that had come into my head on the fly.

Eventually, all the guards get treated this way. Deadpool actually made sure to cut off all their hands - their trigger hands, specifically - and he now has all of them gathered up in his own hands. “Take these back to your boss,” he says, handing off the hands to each guard - and not even bothering to try and match the hands to their actual owners. At least one white guy gets a black-skinned hand, and I suspect Deadpool’s doing that on purpose to yank their chains. “See if you can get ‘em reattached for free in his Frankenstein lab.”

Pietro collects all the guns and removes their clips - except for the one he’s still got in his hands. “Off you go, you uglies!” he says jauntily, waving goodbye and striding away from them.

I stick around long enough to watch the guards beat a hasty retreat, then turn to see Lady Liberty and Wonderland Pants continuing to follow us. “No offense, but don’t you guys have some other place to go?”

“Uh…” Lady Liberty laughs nervously. “Uh, well, Ray and I, we were just hoping…”

“Could we take a picture with you, Spider-Man?” Wonderland Pants asks. I don’t know why, but I can’t bring myself to call him “Ray.” The name sounds too normal for a guy with such a distinctive wardrobe.

“Hey, if you wanna take a picture with me, don’t forget all my friends here,” I say, gesturing to the rest of my team.

Lady Liberty’s eyes brighten as she spots Pietro. “Sure, I’d love to bring in Quicksilver too. And Vision. But who are all these other guys?”

“You don’t recognize Hawkeye and Black Widow?” I ask.

Wonderland Pants peers suspiciously at Barton and Natasha. “You’re Hawkeye and Black Widow? But you guys are kids! You’re younger than I am, aren’t you?”

“It’s a long story,” Barton says. “But yeah, I really am Hawkeye. I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I’m afraid we have no time for any photo opportunities,” Vision says. “We need to get out of here before more agents of Oscorp show up.”

“Aww,” Lady Liberty groans. She also vents her feelings by lightly kicking the side of a lamppost. “It’s just...nobody ever used to get pictures of Spider-Man back when he was around. Except for this one dude who sent all the pics he got to the Daily Bugle.”

“He could’ve done better than sending them to J. Jonah Jameson,” says Wonderland Pants, “but at least it meant someone was documenting all the coolness of Spider-Man. What was the guy’s name again? Patton...Paul...Peter? Aidy, help me out here!”

Lady Liberty snaps her fingers as she remembers my name. “Peter Parker.”

“That’s it,” says Wonderland Pants.

I mime scratching my head. “Hey, if you guys really wanna show the world I’m back, go ahead.”

“Again,” Vision says, “the time constraints make that a less than optimal-”

“Shut it, Cyber-Boy,” Deadpool says. “His public awaits, yes, it does. And howsabout I take the picture? That way it won’t come out at an awkward angle like millions of other insipid selfies.”

“Or showing your reflection in the bathroom mirror,” Barton laughs.

“I’m surprised you’re gonna be behind the camera,” I say. I’m about to say “Normally, that’s my job,” but then I’d give away my identity - these two civilians are Genre Savvy enough that they might just be able to pick up on it with the barest of clues. Instead, I say, “I’d expect you to be in front of it instead.”

“I may be an unabashed attention whore and sometime cuddlebug,” Deadpool snickers as he thumbs the button to take the picture on Wonderland Pants’ phone, “but I know when to step aside and let others occupy the limelight, if only for a brief amount of time.”

We set off at this point, but are held up temporarily by Wonderland Pants calling after us, “Wait! Anything you wanna say, Spidey? Something I could tag this picture with?”

I spend a moment thinking about it. Then I get my inspiration from my previous incarnation, the Tobey Maguire one. (Note to self: put on his DVD again sometime so I can talk to him. He seems like a really cool guy.) “Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man is back in business!”

“Awesome!” Wonderland Pants says, raising his hand (his free hand) in the air for a fist-pump. “All right, see you around, Spider-Man!”

“Bye-bye!” Lady Liberty calls after us with a wave.

As we continue to head back to Stark Tower, I turn to Barton and Natasha and say, “Hey, I’m sorry about that.”

“What do you have to be sorry for?” Natasha laughs. “You have your fans. They deserve nice things.”

“Yeah, and besides, wearing a mask means you’re actually a little less camera-shy for once,” Barton says. “I mean, look at me. I’m not wearing a mask. I still don’t want my picture taken if I can help it.”

Out of nowhere, Deadpool starts singing a familiar song about “what if the camera really do take your soul.” It takes me a second to recognize it as Arcade Fire’s “Flashbulb Eyes,” mostly because, like Stark, Deadpool’s singing voice leaves a lot to be desired. “Surprised you actually like that one,” I say.

“It’s one of the few bands the writer likes that he was able to get me into,” Deadpool says, crossing his arms. “Come on, these guys make catchy-ass music, am I right or am I right?”

“Also,” Vision says as we reach a crosswalk and make our way through it, “the fact that you three” - he looks at Barton, Natasha, and Pietro - “are Avengers without masks means that people know your faces. So the fewer times people get your picture, the better. Especially for Clint and Natasha, since you two are still de-aged.”

“Yeah, no wonder those crazy fans didn’t recognize us,” Barton says, rubbing his jaw. “We’re still so fresh-faced.”

“I dunno about you,” Natasha laughs, “but Barton, your face has a certain growth on it, and you need to shave it off.”

I hear Deadpool draw breath behind me, and then I whirl around and stick my finger in his face. “I swear, if you start singing that Taylor Swift song, we’ll all gang up on you, tie you down, and feed you to the wolves at the Central Park Zoo.”

“What?” Deadpool splutters in disbelief. “Who doesn’t love a little Sweet Tay in their lives?”

“Is that what you call her?” scoffs Natasha.

“Parker and I, we came up with a list of Most Overplayed Songs for the Augustine Avenger back in December,” Barton says. “‘Shake It Off’ was #2.”

“Tell me #1 was that damn ‘Happy’ song,” Deadpool says. “You know, the one with the Minions?”

“No, it was ‘Roar,’” I say. “And you can never get enough ‘Happy,’ you know? It’s a song you just can’t hate. Like ‘Hey Ya,’ or ‘Uptown Funk.’”

“We’re here,” Vision announces.

I stop and look around - when did we get back to Stark Tower again? And then another bizarre thought creeps into my head. “Did anyone else notice that we never had to stop and wait for any traffic lights?”

“Except that first one, yeah,” Pietro says as we step through the front door.

Everyone’s heads turn to Vision, who looks back at us with a “Who, me?” expression. “It wasn’t me, I assure you,” he says. “I may be a metal man, but I’m not a walking Wi-Fi beacon. I can’t hack into traffic lights on a whim. Or anything else, for that matter.”

We take the elevator up to the landing pad where the quinjet still rests. During that ride, I turn around at the right moment to see a second quinjet - undoubtedly the one carrying Skye, Wanda, and Gwen - rising into the air from somewhere near Central Park, then vanishing as its cloaking technology engages.

Not longer after that, our quinjet takes off as well, streaking north to the Avengers facility upstate.

When we get back to what looks like our new home, I find Gwen and give her a tight hug. By now, I’ve put my street clothes back on over my uniform, and gotten out of my shoes, gloves, and mask. Which means I can kiss her as well, and hold her hand after we’re done with our hug. “Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Gwen says. She makes to pull her hand out of my grasp, but gives up after a single half-hearted tug. “Yeah, I’m fine. But...yeah, it’s a long story.”

“We’ll go somewhere private and talk about it, then,” I say. Now I try to let go of her hand, but I can’t. “Wait...what?” I pull harder on her hand, but mine is stuck to hers. And do I mean “stuck.” It reminds me of when I first got my powers and I couldn’t stop things from clinging to my fingertips. If I hadn’t learned to control that, I would have probably ended up taking off skin every time I touched Gwen’s face, hands, etc., and then let go.

“That’s, uh, kinda part of what I wanted to tell you…” Gwen says, her voice trailing off.

“What do you mean?”

Before she can answer, though, we’re surprised by the sound of a man clearing his throat somewhere behind us. Then a deep voice rings out through the hangar. “I need to talk to Director Fury.”

I turn around, as does Gwen. The voice’s owner is a tall guy with sunglasses, fearsome sideburns, and a leather jacket stretched over a muscle-bound frame.

Deadpool ambles out of the quinjet at this point, then stops short as he sees the big guy. “Did the professor send you to eliminate me?” he asks snidely.

The guy turns to look at Deadpool, and clenches his fists. As he does so, long metal blades slide out of his knuckles.

“No,” Wolverine says. “But now he’ll know he’s got less reason to trust the Avengers, ‘cause they’re working with you now.” He sheathes his blades, then looks around at the rest of us. “Nick Fury. Where is he?”

Chapter Text

***PETER***

“I’m right here, Logan,” says Fury as he strides into the hangar. Seriously, there’s no other way to put it. The man strides. Never walks. “So, what does my fellow bald-headed Big Good have to send you to say for him today?”

“Take me to your office and I’ll tell you,” Wolverine says, crossing his arms.

I stifle a snicker as I imagine his knuckle-blades popping out right here and now, slicing his arms into mincemeat and ruining his aggressive posture. To further distract myself from that latest disturbing and random imagination activation, I turn to Gwen and gesture in the direction of a nearby door with my head. Getting the idea, she follows me over to that door, and down a long hallway on its other side.

“Looks like you got something on your arm,” I say, stopping to get a closer look. It’s a small swelling, mostly pale, with a couple of tiny dark pinprick marks in the center. After my spider bite at Oscorp, I’d had a similar mark on the back of my neck. I only knew about it because at one point, I took a picture of it. Not with an actual camera, though - with my cell phone.

“That’s what I was gonna talk to you about, actually,” Gwen says, pulling her arm out of my grasp. “Uh, can we find a place to sit?”

“I’m not sure where anything is around here,” I say, looking around in confusion. “I haven’t had enough time to memorize the layout of...oh, here’s something promising.” I spot a bench under a small window, and lead Gwen over to it.

Once we sit down, she starts telling me about the events in the Oscorp lab, paying special attention to the fact that Norman had her bitten by a spider much like the one that bit me. I don’t say anything until she’s done, and the first thing out of my mouth is, “You wanna put something on that bite?”

“What?”

“No, seriously, you’ve been scratching the hell out of it,” I say. “Maybe you don’t even realize it, but you’ve been…”

Gwen pulls her hand away from her arm, looking at the red marks left behind by her fingernails with more than a tad bit of revulsion. “Oh my God, you’re right.”

A quick glance around tells me that there’s a supply closet about ten or twelve feet away. I try the door and find it locked, but that’s where my skills come in. I blast the door with web at point-blank range, then walk away slowly, trailing an increasingly long webline for about twenty feet before I pull on it as hard as I can. It takes me a couple of tries, but eventually I break the door open successfully.

“Really, Peter?” Gwen asks.

“Just add ‘bug burglar’ to my résumé,” I say, walking into the closet and looking up and down the shelves within until I find what I’m looking for. Cotton balls, some disinfectant spray, and a strip of gauze like the one Pietro lifted in the city. Unable to find any regular Band-Aids - of which Gwen still has a few on her arms and face from her earlier encounter with Ultron - I decide to once again use my webline to stick the gauze to her.

“Do you really have to be the one to treat all my wounds?” Gwen asks, wincing as I spray her scratched-up arm. “I feel like you don’t trust me to take care of myself.”

“Maybe if I’m not here,” I joke, using a cotton ball to absorb some excess spray. “Come on, Gwen, I’m not allowed to worry about you?” I wrap her arm up, stick the gauze into place, then look up so I can see her eyes.

“As long as you know I totally am capable of taking care of myself,” Gwen says, pouting. However, I’ve long since learned to recognize this particular expression of hers - her lower lip thrust out, but more strongly on her left, like she’s pouting and biting her lip all at once - as her “fake butthurt” face.

Encouraged by this, I lean forward until the tips of our noses are touching. Then, with one hand on the back of her head and the other on her back, I pull her into a deep kiss. She’s too surprised to react at first - but then her hands reach my back, and her palms run in circles on my shoulder blades. That’s usually the way it goes when I kiss her, and not the other way around.

However, today Gwen has extra spider-powers that complicate things just a bit. She actually has a tough time letting go of me, because her fingers are stuck to my hoodie. Eventually, I just unzip the hoodie and shrug out of it as casually as possible. At least it beats the time when I accidentally tore off a girl’s shirt in the subway - something I’d much rather forget, and have never told anyone else about.

You gotta admit, it was so cool, though, says the writer. I mean, not the “tearing off the girl’s shirt” part. The “hanging from the ceiling upside down” part.

Yeah, I think. It was cool. But it would be a hell of a lot less cool if anyone had thought to film it on their phones and upload it to YouTube.

Got me there, the writer says soberly.

Eventually, I successfully detach Gwen’s fingers from the cloth. Then I make a huge show out of shaking the hoodie clean before putting it back on.

“Keep doing that and I might stick my hands over your mouth,” Gwen says, once again doing that “fake butthurt” look. “Or, even better, your nose. I’d make you a mouth breather.”

“‘Mouth breather,’ huh?” I say. “Haven’t heard that one in a very long time.”

“Who said you were a mouth breather?” Gwen asks, flabbergasted for a moment.

“Flash Thompson.”

Her face clouds over slightly. “Oh. Him. Of course.”

“He used to be quite the Delta Bravo, am I right?”

A dimple appears in Gwen’s cheek as she smiles. “You can say ‘douchebag’ in front of me. Unless you were trying to make that Red Rain reference on purpose?”

“Maybe I was,” I laugh. “Got a problem with that? I know you like those books too.”

Gwen slides off the bench and starts slowly walking down the hall, back the way we came. “At least he, uh, grew out of it eventually.”

“My theory? He only bullied me in the first place ‘cause he was jealous of my good looks.”

Gwen stops short so she can spend a moment laughing her ass off. Eventually, when she gets moving again, she says, “Peter, that joke only works when the other person can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“Since when?”

“Since just now.”

I lay my arm over Gwen’s shoulder, then pull her close to me. “And yet, you thought it was funny anyway.”

“True.” Gwen grins at me. “But you’re no Jace Wayland.”

“Who or what is Jace Wayland?”

“From The Mortal Instruments,” Gwen explains. “It’s another book series. Like Twilight, but better. Funnier. More action-y.”

“‘Action-y?’” I repeat. “Careful, you’re starting to sound like me now.”

Oh, but Buffy Speak is universal, says the writer. Everyone uses it. I use it a lot myself.

Ignoring him, I steer Gwen down the hall. “Come on, let’s go meet with the others. Where’s the food in this place, huh?” My stomach growls loudly to underline my point - it’s already well into the evening, and neither of us has had dinner. The same goes for everyone else - when we finally reunite with our fellow heroes, they’re still gathered around the quinjets. I hear most of them speculating about whatever beef Wolverine must have with Fury.

“Hey, I don’t wanna hear about beef right now,” I say as Barton uses those exact words. “Unless it’s on a plate and about to go into my stomach, ‘cause I feel so starved right now.”

“Oh joy,” Stark says, clapping his hands slowly. “We’d have gone for some grub ourselves by now, but some of us” - he shoots a nasty look at Barton, and then again at Wanda - “insisted on waiting till you two were done playing ‘hide the zucchini.’”

If it were possible, I would sink into the floor right here and now to escape the sheer embarrassment Stark has just heaped on me. And I would take Gwen with me too, to charitably spare her the same treatment.

“I-I never said that!” Barton stammers.

“Tony Stark, you are a sick, sick boy,” Wanda says, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Oh come on,” Stark says. “You guys had to all be thinking it. I mean, let’s face it. Super-boy rescues his golden girl, golden girl is so grateful that she-”

“Stop, stop, STOP!” Gwen yells. “Someone shut his imagination off, please?”

“It’s not just a river in Egypt, you know.” Stark crosses his arms, making it clear that he won’t believe anything other than the dirtiest possible scenario for Gwen and me.

“I did not have sex with that woman, Gwen Stacy,” I say in my best impression of Bill Clinton. Which is based less on the real man than on a guy who does his own impression of him for 107.7 The Bone, the Bay Area’s Rock Station.

“Well,” Stark says, “it’s my headcanon and you should respect that.”

“Okay, Pintsize,” I say, crossing my arms right back at him. “Believe what you want. But what you believe isn’t true.”

“So you’re saying that God isn’t true?” Stark asks, looking shocked.

“Nice try,” says Ginny. “Everyone around here knows you don’t believe in any religion.”

“I may have been born again for all you know!”

“Nah,” Steve says, waving his hand. “You probably believe yourself to be God, so you don’t have to worship the real one.”

“There’s a little God in all of us,” Stark says. “After all, he made man in his own image.”

“Don’t let Matt Murdock hear the lowercase letters in there,” Skye says as she comes around the side of one of the quinjets. “He wouldn’t take kindly to you making a mockery of his faith. Are you guys not gonna have dinner? All the good pizza slices are gonna be gone.”

“Pizza?” Pietro asks, perking up noticeably. “Tell me there’s gonna be-”

“Yep,” Skye says with a gleaming smile. “Your favorite.”

“Powdered basil? YES!” With that, Pietro is, quite literally, off like a shot. I even hear a popping noise, the kind that, in the Harry Potter books, is said to accompany Apparition. Maybe it’s a little sonic boom? I’m not sure Pietro is exactly fast enough to break the sound barrier, but he seems to come pretty close.

“After him, then,” Wanda says, setting off in the direction of the silver streak left behind by Pietro’s super speed. “He’ll know where to find the nearest powdered basil in a hundred-mile radius, and he’ll run to collect it and sprinkle it on his pizza.”

“I’ve never had powdered basil,” I say. “But it sounds delicious.”

“We get it in bulk because Pietro loves it so much,” Skye says. “I’m not sure why, but he just does.”

A few minutes later, we’re on the other side of the building, where everyone is sitting down to eat. Pietro’s already loaded his plate with no less than three good-sized slices of sausage-and-olive pizza, each one liberally sprinkled with green stuff that has to be powdered basil. Everyone else, myself included, gets two slices each.

“Mmm,” I say after taking my fist bite. “You weren’t kidding, Pietro. This beats all other pizzas.”

“Only with the fancy herbs,” Pietro says with a literal cheesy grin. “Mm-hmm, that’s right. Basil is the world’s fanciest herb, and don’t let anyone forget it!”

“You, uh, really love this stuff, don’t you?” Gwen asks.

“I don’t know why, but the taste…” Pietro sighs ecstatically. “It makes me feel like that one song that’s always on the radio. You know…” And with that, he starts singing a very familiar tune, the words mangled by his almost Stark-level lack of singing talent. Although, admittedly, his accent helps it sound a little less awful. “‘Ooh, crazy’s what they think about me. Ain’t gonna stop ‘cause they tell me so. ‘Cause ninety-nine miles per hour, baby, is how fast that I-’”

“All right, enough!” Wanda yells, sounding like an ancient babushka for a second. “Pietro, I love you, but for God’s sakes, you will never be worthy of the Transian Opera!”

Pietro stops singing, but then starts pouting at Wanda. “Kak obychno, Wanda, vam ponravitsya perelopachivanie der’mo na moyey mechty.”

“What?” I ask, surprised I was able to pick up any identifiable words from Pietro’s super-fast Russian sentence. Especially since I don’t know what any of them mean.

“Loosely translated,” Wanda says, “he accused me of shoveling shit on his dreams.”

“Believe it or not, I do still have them,” Pietro says, looking at Wanda through narrowed eyes. “Even when they’re drowning in shit.”

“You wound me, brother,” Wanda says, glaring back at him. They have themselves a little stare-off for a short while, with Pietro eventually losing. On purpose, I’m guessing. If Wanda really does have the menacing mental powers they say she does (Gwen described them pretty well when she was recounting the events at Oscorp for me), she could really use them to ruin your brain if you happen to be foolish enough to get into a staring contest with her.

“Yeah,” Wanda says, holding up her pizza slice. Before she takes another bite, she says, “You’d better watch yourself.”

All too soon, it seems, dinner is done and we’re all headed off to sleep. Just like at the SHIELD facility down in DC (which, according to Barton, has been compromised and taken over by Dark Elves-slash-Ultron drones), there are, as I expect, separate barracks for guys and girls.

It’s only when I get into the barracks that I realize I have no luggage with me. Everyone’s belongings were left behind in DC. Therefore, according to Banner, we’ll all have to go shopping for new threads tomorrow.

“Good,” says Stark, stretching his legs in the bunk below mine. “I was not looking forward to spending the next God-knows-how-many days wearing the same Augustine sweats.”

I lower my head so I can get a better (albeit upside-down) look at him. “You still use those things? I never bought any myself.”

“Neither did I,” Stark reminds me, “but I guess Doctor Strange thought it was a good idea for me to have them. And as for you, with your super-duper Spidey-powers, you don’t even need to exercise. Your metabolism is lethally fast from what I remember, and yet you always maintain at least a little bit of muscle tone.” He reaches up and pokes my arm, only to pull back right away, yelling, “Ow!”

“I flexed it just for you, you know,” I say.

“That explains why it practically broke my finger just now,” Stark gripes, nursing that finger. “Like I said, Petey, you don’t need to exercise.”

“Well, how do you think I stay in shape?” I say. “It’s not all good genes and eating your green vegetables, you know.”

“Didn’t the old Spider-Man say that once?” Hiro asks.

“You mean the Tobey Maguire one?” I stop to think about it, trying to remember such a line. “I think so, maybe. Hey, speaking of which, you guys still have the old DVD of that one?”

Tadashi grins at me and Hiro. “Yeah, I heard about that,” he says. “Don’t worry, we kept it safe.”

“You mean you never took it off the quinjet, so we brought it here with us,” Hiro says.

“Don’t undersell our achievements, Hiro,” Tadashi laughs.

“So you actually believed it?” I ask.

Tadashi blushes a bit and adjusts his ball cap. “I’m a scientist. I’m not supposed to believe in the impossible. But if I didn’t, I probably would have given up trying to build Baymax a long time ago. You wouldn’t believe the number of times I tried to test him out before he finally worked properly.”

“It was, like, eighty-something, am I right?” Hiro asks.

“Eighty-four,” Tadashi confirms.

“I remember running hella tests on Ultron too,” Stark says. “Not the dinky, portable science-fair version, the one that tried to destroy everything and everyone.”

“Really?” asks Rogers. “I don’t remember any of the events of that movie.”

“Maybe ‘cause it hasn’t come out yet?” Wilson suggests.

“I remember bits and pieces of it as well,” Thor says. “Most of which have something to do with getting drunk off our arses and serving Asgardian liquor to an old man who really ought to have known better.”

“Sounds like everyone was having a great time, then,” I laugh.

“Wish I’d been there to see it,” says Pietro.

“So how many tests did you run?” Hiro asks Stark.

“Uh…” Stark kneads his forehead until he remembers. “I think...seventy-six? Seventy-seven?”

The Hamada brothers exchange glances. “I think you could have done with a few more tests, then,” Tadashi says. “‘Cause I still remember seeing the crazy Ultron shit on the news. I mean, all that destruction...oh, but spoilers.”

I chuckle at his Doctor Who reference - he even says it in a pretty good River Song voice, like Jeanne Darknell in Red Rain - but nobody else does.

Eventually, we’re all ready for bed. Rogers, being the one who’s closest to the light switch, turns the lights off, plunging this room into near-darkness. The only sources of light now are the emergency lights (that is, the glowing green “EXIT” signs over all doors leading into the room) and the moon, shining through one window.

I don’t go to sleep, though. Instead, I end up spending a good long while tossing and turning. I can’t keep my eyes closed for more than five minutes at a time, either.

So when a guy appears out of nowhere on the one patch of moonlit floor in the barracks, I actually see it happen. And I see his long tail swishing around as he revolves on the spot, peering around the room.

When I come into his view, he zeroes in on me, staring me down. Instinctively, I shrink back, trying to look like I’ve been fast asleep the whole time. But I’m not fooling him. Mr. Tail-Guy disappears, then reappears right in front of me.

Before I can stop him, he grabs my wrist, and then my bed vanishes. Instead, I’m in a well-furnished office, with lots of wood, bookshelves, and leather upholstery.

Unsure of what’s going on, my first reaction is to punch the guy who brought me here. He cries out in pain as my fist meets his jaw, then staggers backwards. As he does so, I get a better look at him. In addition to a tail, he’s got navy-blue skin and hair.

“Who the hell are you?” I ask harshly.

Blue Guy grinds his teeth, rubs his jaw a little more, then vanishes from view.

Then, to make matters even more weird, a petite brunette walks through the wall. “Oh good,” she says, catching sight of me. “Kurt already brought you in.” She steps closer to me, and Gwen appears right behind her, also coming through the wall as the smaller girl leads her by the hand.

At this point, I’m lost for words, as is Gwen. Both of us are speechless, gaping at the brunette.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, holding out her hand. “Where are my manners? I’m Kitty Pryde.” When neither Gwen nor I shakes her hand, she retracts it, blushing. “Well, that’s okay. We know your names, both of you.”

“How do you know who we are?” Gwen asks.

“We don’t even know who you are,” I say. “Other than your name.”

“You’re in the Xavier Institute For Higher Learning,” Kitty says. “Just hold on a second - I’ll go get Professor Xavier. He’s been wanting to speak with you.”

And with that, Kitty walks out the door. This time, she actually opens the door, rather than simply walking through it.

I look at Gwen, who’s clearly just as confused as I am. We exchange shrugs, then sit in the two chairs in front of the big oak desk. In front of us, we can read an engraved nameplate: “Prof. Charles Xavier.”

Chapter Text

***GWEN***

“Okay, Peter,” I say, walking over to a bookshelf and letting my eyes rove over its contents. “You know more about comic-book movies than I do. Who the hell are these clowns?”

“X-Men,” Peter says. “X for Xavier.” I turn to see him lift the nameplate off the desk for a moment. “These guys are all mutants with their own weird powers.”

“Like the Maximoffs?” I ask.

“Uh...yeah, they’d fit pretty nicely here, I think,” Peter says.

“Or us,” I add.

Peter nods, biting his thumb. “Hmm. Yeah, I guess you could say we’re mutants - but I think most of these guys were born with their powers. Or they activated during puberty or something like that. But not us - our mutations were created.”

This brings up an interesting possibility - do the twins not work with the X-Men because they were also not born mutants? It’s possible - we don’t know anything about their past.

“You’re on the right track,” says a deep, English-accented male voice. “Neither of the Maximoff twins were born mutants. But their father was one of us - one to whom I owe quite a debt of gratitude which, sadly, I can never repay.”

I turn around, as does Peter, and we see an old, bald-headed man sitting in a wheelchair. The chair rolls through the door - its motor is whisper-silent, which is why we didn’t hear him come in. Behind him are three people. Kitty Pryde is one of them. The second is the telekinetic boy - Billy, I think his name was - who helped us out in Washington. The third, a handsome blue-eyed man in his thirties, is a complete stranger to me. I look at Peter, wondering if he knows who this guy is. As if he senses my thoughts, he responds by shaking his head.

“I’m Charles Xavier,” the old man says. It seems a bit unnecessary - the nameplate on his desk, as well as the “X” pattern in the wheels on his chair, are pretty clear clues to his identity. Not that it matters, though - other than what Peter’s just said, I still don’t know anything about who these X-Men are, or what they do.

Xavier holds out his hand. Unlike with Kitty, Peter and I don’t fail to shake it. He then wheels behind his desk and gestures to the other three one by one. “Kitty, I believe you’ve already met. The same goes for young Billy. But you don’t know Bobby yet, do you?”

The guy with blue eyes waves hello. “Bobby Drake,” he says. “Around here, though, they call me Iceman.”

“‘Cause it’s an ironic nickname for such a friendly guy as you?” Peter asks.

“Do I really have to explain it?” Bobby laughs. He snaps his fingers, and a small flurry of ice floats into the air from his hand, Jack Frost-style.

“Yes, now you remember who he is, don’t you?” Xavier says to Peter.

“Does this have something to do with that creepy parallel universe thing?” asks Billy.

“Remember,” Xavier says, folding his hands on the desk, “in that parallel universe, Peter and Gwen, along with the teenage Avengers, were led to believe that their adventures were nothing more than fictional films.”

I look from one X-Man (or, more accurately, X-Person) to another. “So you guys already know all about us?”

“We’ve been following your adventures for quite a while,” says Xavier.

“Or, more accurately, he’s been following your adventures,” says Kitty brightly. “But he reports all his findings to us. So, yeah, we’ve learned all about you guys.”

“Not all,” Xavier says, a smile crossing his face for a brief flash of time. “For instance, I was never able to keep track of you before, Gwen. That is because until earlier today, you were an ordinary human, as opposed to a mutate.”

“You mean ‘mutant,’ right?” I ask. “Or did I hear you wrong?”

Xavier smiles again. “Earlier, you two were thinking about how your abilities were both made, not born. Those who are born with the genetic blueprints necessary for our powers - telepathy, telekinesis, cryokinesis, intangibility, and many more” - I notice that, with the last three powers on that list, he looks at those who have that same power as he says each word - “are known as ‘mutants.’ All others with such powers are ‘mutates.’ Those would include the two of you, as well as some of your fellow Avengers - Dr. Banner, Steve Rogers, and the Maximoff twins.”

Peter and I exchange glances. “Wait a second,” I say. “Before we go on, one more thing - are you really that good a telepath that you can follow us in our minds, even when we’re in another universe?” I shudder at the thought of it - and Peter’s looking just as disturbed as I am, if not more so.

“My powers do have their limits,” Xavier says. “I can detect all superhuman minds within a certain radius - which, from where we’re sitting right now, covers the whole of this building and roughly seventy percent of the surrounding grounds.” He presses a hidden button on his desk, allowing one of the bookshelf sections to slide down into the floor. Behind it is a pair of sliding metal doors, like for an elevator.

“Where does that lead?” I ask.

“To your secret archives?” Peter asks. “Is that where you keep all the tabs you’ve got on us?”

“They’re not like any archives you’ve ever seen before,” Xavier says, this time adding a small laugh to his smile. “It is simply an immense computer, with which I can focus my power over the entire Earth, if need be. And after you and the Avengers were sent through Dr. Krei’s portal to the alternate world, I discovered I was still able to detect you, despite the fact that you were no longer sharing a universe with us.”

“Oh, that’s good to know,” Peter mutters. I’m not sure why he’s not sounding impressed - or, at least, why he’s trying his best to not sound impressed. Usually, this kind of science-geek stuff, which never fails to make me want to know more myself, gets Peter really excited and barely able to contain himself.

So why the sudden disinterest? All sorts of potential reasons are flying through my head, most of which make very little sense. There is one idea, though, that doesn’t sound all that unlikely. Between the fact that we were taken to this place against our will, and the idea of being spied on telepathically by Xavier and his mysterious computer, wherever that is-

My thoughts then get cut off when what sounds like a fire alarm rings throughout the room. The lights go out for a split second, then are replaced by a different set of lights, these an ominous red color. Kitty, Billy, and Bobby all retreat inwards from the door, which is instantly covered by a thicker one made of metal. A blast door, like in Star Wars or something.

The window behind Xavier gets covered by a similar blast door as well. However, he’s quick to press another secret button, which apparently overrides the security system and un-shields the window. “Not to worry,” he says, having his wheelchair turn in place, revolving 180 degrees. “This is only a drill.”

“Really?” Peter asks, sounding more than a bit skeptical. “Or is it just being made up so you guys can keep us trapped here?”

I resist the urge to kick Peter’s leg. Just as well that I don’t - I get the feeling he’d probably try to flip me over the desk if his Spidey-sense picked up even that tiny level of danger.

“It was already planned in advance, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” Xavier says. “But now that you two are here, it can give you an idea of how well we work. Come and see…” He backs away slightly from his window, allowing Peter and me to approach it instead.

When we look down onto the grounds, we can see a number of mutants in action. It really must be a drill of some kind - like, for an intruder alert. I’m guessing that the teleporting blue guy with the tail, the one who brought Peter here, is representing the intruder, because just about all the other mutants are going after him. One of these is Wolverine, the guy with the metal claws. If not for Blue Guy, whose name I’ve already forgotten-

Kurt Wagner, says a voice in my head. Not the writer’s voice this time, but that of Xavier. Or Nightcrawler.

Uh...thanks? I say.

You’re welcome. Now, pay attention, please. You too, Peter.

Peter twitches as he hears this telepathic command. He looks stung by Xavier’s words, as if he actually has been paying attention. But from reading his body language - slumped shoulders, arms hanging loosely at his sides, slightly furrowed brow - I’m concluding that he really would rather be anywhere but here.

As for me, though - I can’t keep my eyes away from the display below for too long. When I turn to look again, I see Kurt teleporting away from Wolverine a fraction of a second before the latter can slice his guts open. However, another mutant, a tall woman with red hair, is waiting for him at the place where he reappears. She then raises her hands, and he flies through the air - she must be another telekinetic. Just how many of those are there in this place? And do they all have red and/or auburn hair? Well, not Billy - he’s got dark brown hair. Maybe because he’s male?

But back to the mutant attack drill. As soon as the redhaired telekinetic (whom Xavier says is named Jean Grey) tosses Kurt far enough, he rolls back onto his feet, dusts himself off, and teleports away again. He seems to be totally safe - for a second. Then another guy (identified as Scott Summers, or Cyclops) attempts to zap his ass with what looks like laser vision. The bright red light misses Kurt, however, and instead hits Wolverine, who’s trying to come at him from the other side. As a result, he’s sent sprawling across the grass. I can only imagine the foul swear words he must be growling to himself when he finally gets up again.

In the end, Kurt is finally brought to a stop by another mutant. Peter beats Xavier to the punch by saying her code name - Storm - and Xavier then supplies her real name - Ororo Munroe. Her white hair stands up as she unleashes a brief barrage of lightning on Kurt faster than he can avoid it. His outfit is visibly sparking even after Storm lays off him, and it appears that he can no longer teleport away. He offers no resistance as Storm and Jean pick him up, then help him back to his feet.

The danger-red lights die down and are replaced by regular lighting. “I hope our little show was enough to please you,” Xavier says. He spins his chair around, and Peter and I return to the other side of his desk. “And from what Billy has told us, you two would be invaluable members of our team should you decide to join us.”

Once again, I find myself looking at Peter. Now I finally understand why he’s been showing such a negative attitude. All this trickery to get us here, to see what the X-Men can do - it’s been little more than a shameless attempt at recruiting us. And I’ve got to say, if the sneaky way in which they brought us here is any indication, I don’t really think I want to be recruited.

“I do apologize for the subterfuge involved in bringing you here,” Xavier says, hearing my thoughts - and possibly Peter’s as well - “but it was the only way we could think of to show you our operation as soon as possible.” He pushes back a little bit from his desk, then adds, “We’ll give you some time to decide on whether or not you wish to join us. Hopefully, within the week, you’ll have thought long and hard enough for that. And hopefully, we will also have been able to speak to some of your fellow mutates by then as well.”

Kurt appears behind Xavier, who then asks, “Any further questions?”

Peter turns around to look at Billy. “I have a question for you. Are you an Avenger, or an X-Man? Or both?”

“Who says I can’t be both?” Billy says, brushing his long hair out of his eyes. “I divide my time between the Avengers’ place and here. But I found my way to the Avengers first, for some reason. Maybe ‘cause it was a little closer to home. Geographically speaking, that is.”

Peter nods, then turns to Kurt, his head hanging down a bit. “And as for you...I’m sorry I punched you like that. That was totally uncalled for on my part.”

“It’s all right,” says Kurt. I’m a bit surprised by his accent - it’s got a tinge of German, but overall, he sounds a little closer to Alan Rickman’s character in Die Hard - more English-sounding. But his accent isn’t as posh as Xavier’s. “No hard feelings. It’s not the first time it’s happened to me, either.”

Everyone turns to me, but I have nothing else to say. So, with that, Xavier says goodbye, as do the other mutants. Kurt, meanwhile, grabs me by the hand and teleports me back to the Avengers barracks. I can only assume he does the same for Peter a few seconds later, after he vanishes.

None of the other girls in this place are awake, so I get back to bed as silently as possible.

I, however, can’t go to sleep. The idea of being recruited by a second superhero organization, so soon after joining my first one...not to mention the fact that I now have powers of my own, if only I’d have time to learn to use them...it’s enough to keep anyone awake.

I bet if Peter and I tell everyone about it at breakfast time, they’ll look at us like we’re crazy. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Peter were to have no recollection of it at all. What if it was just a nightmare of mine, and mine alone? It wouldn’t be the first time - was it just last night I dreamed of Ultron, Doctor Strange, and all those tanks of blue liquid with de-aging Avengers floating lifelessly inside them?

But Skye seemed to think that nightmare wasn’t a nightmare, but a repressed memory. If this visit to Professor Xavier was a real memory, why would it be repressed, other than because of Doctor Strange screwing around with my brain? Yeah, I think I’ve just answered my own question, but still, if that’s something that I’m not supposed to remember…

Now my brain is hurting. I reach up to my pillow and jam it over my head, trying to muffle the voices inside it. Instead, though, I sense a tiny vibration on the end of my bed. This vibration makes me jump almost a mile from sheer fright, hitting the underside of the bunk above mine.

“Oi! Bloody Nora!” I’d forgotten Maggie was in that bunk, but then I remember after hearing her British accent and cursing. She leans over the edge of her bed, her head hanging upside down as she glares at me. “Oh. Are you all right, Gwen?”

I draw a shuddering breath, then look in the direction that initial vibration came from. It’s only a small spider. Nothing to be scared of, really. Goddammit, Spidey-senses! “It’s nothing,” I say to Maggie. “Just go back to…”

“What?” she asks as my voice trails off.

I blink a few times, not sure I’m seeing this right. But my vision doesn’t change. “I can see your face,” I say, painfully aware of how lame that sounds.

“So, what’s wrong with that?” Maggie asks, barely stifling a snicker. “I’ve been known to break mirrors just from passing them by, but I promise, I’m really not that ugly.”

“The moonlight is behind you, so your face is in shadow,” I say. “I shouldn’t be able to see it, but I can.”

“Really?” Maggie’s curiosity has clearly been piqued. Her face vanishes from view just long enough for her to climb down from her bunk. Standing with her back to the window and the moon, she asks, “What color is my shirt?”

I focus on the fabric for a second. “Uh...gray. No, white.”

“Light gray, but we’ll accept that,” Maggie says, sounding oddly like Alex Trebek. “What color are my eyes?”

“Brown.”

“Oh, but that one’s easy,” Maggie laughs under her breath. “Here’s a challenge - how many fingers am I holding up?”

She’s got her hand in front of her chest. Again, it should be totally obscured from view, but without fail, I tell her, “Three.”

Maggie looks down at those three fingers, then at me, a “holy cheese and crackers” expression forming on her face. She’s utterly speechless for a minute or two - but then she clears her throat as quietly as she can and says, “One question - does Peter also have night vision this excellent?”

Chapter Text

***GWEN***

Believe it or not, when I finally wake up in the morning, I really can't wait to show Peter my new Spider-power. I think Maggie might be right - super-enhanced night vision isn't one of his abilities. If it were, he would no doubt have told me by now. To be fair, though, there has to be some level of explanation for how he's able to operate so well after dark. I've always suspected that being bitten improved his night vision to some degree, however small But it didn't seem to have too much effect on his vision in general, based on the fact that he's still forced to wear contacts and/or glasses.

And then, factoring in the fact that this is a more recently-developed version of the spider venom, what I was bitten with...you never know. It's entirely possible that Norman, after tinkering with the formula enough to ensure that it would work on himself and others who didn't have Parker DNA, went ahead and packed in other surprises for potential mutates.

On the one hand, that was a total dick move on his part, giving me (and God knows how many future victims he's got in mind) even more unwanted gifts.

But on the other hand, I can finally see why Peter doesn't just stop being Spider-Man. Not only because of his sense of responsibility, but because it's just plain cool. In fact, on my way to breakfast, I actually overhear Hiro (who's wearing purple battle armor) saying something to Baymax that accurately captures that sentiment: "I fail to understand how you fail to understand that it's awesome!"

So I feel pretty good for a while - until I see Peter talking to Clint and Pietro. I sense right away that he's talking about last night's events with the X-Men, and when I finally join them with my food, I can confirm that fact. "They were just...I dunno," he says. "I mean, they seemed cool. But cool people don't kidnap you when you're asleep."

"In that case," Pietro says solemnly, "Hydra is most definitely the opposite of cool."

"Tell me about it," says Wanda as she drops in next to him. "But we're not talking about the good Baron, are we?"

"As if you need mind-reading powers to figure that out," I laugh.

"True. True."

"So they just wanted to quote-unquote 'recruit' you?" Clint asks, his voice skeptical. "Or are you guys not just gonna take their word for it?"

Peter shifts a strip of bacon around on his plate. "I think they were telling the truth. But..."

"Hey, don't worry," Pietro says. "That kid, Billy, he splits his time between us and them. He says they're cool too." He laughs nervously. "Of course, this was before they did something like what they did last night."

"Have they ever done that before?" I ask.

Pietro and Wanda shake their heads in unison. "Not that we can remember," she says.

"So what got us on their radar?" I ask, scratching my head.

"Whose radar?" asks Tadashi as he comes up to join us.

Before Peter or I can say something like "Nothing" or "Not important," Pietro blurts out, "The X-Men brought Peter and Gwen to their place last night."

"What?" Tadashi asks incredulously. "But...but how?"

"Well, one of them teleported me in and out," Peter says, "and the other one phased Gwen through the walls like she was Danny Phantom or something. Speaking of which, Gwen, I was meaning to ask you last night...what's that like?"

My only answer is "Weird."

"Weirder than me?" asks Wanda.

"So much," I say.

Tadashi, meanwhile, takes this all in with an increasingly peeved look on his face. "Unbelievable," he says, smacking his forehead. "I swear to God...Fury brings me and my people in, but he doesn't take our advice on tech support and security and stuff." He turns to see Doctor Strange in line for breakfast, right behind Honey Lemon and Bruce Banner. Glaring at Strange for a moment, Tadashi continues, "It's 'cause he's so reliant on that guy, and Loki, and their magic. Well, magic isn't always the answer."

Wanda pouts at Tadashi. "You make me sound so not useful, sweetheart."

"Well, you're different," Tadashi says, moving away from her subtly - he must not approve of her flirting with him, even if, as I suspect, it's largely platonic and/or teasing. "Let's just say I'd rather have you fighting alongside me than Strange. And Loki? Forget it."

"Forgetting it," Pietro says. He mimes dropping something into a sink, then pulling the plug so it all drains away. "You said something, Tadashi? I don't remember."

Tadashi adjusts his baseball cap. "It's just...why does Fury think magic doesn't have bugs? Everything's got bugs, magic and science alike."

A tiny twinge passes through my temples. Peter and I duck under the table like an earthquake drill is happening. A second later, the mess hall's large panoramic window shatters, and we're quickly joined by everyone else, who squeezes into the tiny space like we're all so many sardines.

Then, when it's safe to climb out, we look around and see who's responsible for the destruction by reverse defenestration. It's Hiro, again in that purple armor, and Baymax, who's been squeezed into a similar armor suit. Red, not purple, though.

"Are you freaking kidding me?" Tadashi pounds his fist on the tabletop without thinking, and ends up making contact with several tiny pieces of glass as a result. He cries out in pain, then picks his hand up again and looks at it, poking gingerly at the embedded mini-shards.

Hearing his distress, Baymax sheds his armor and waddles over to Tadashi. "Here, hold still," he says as he scans him for injuries - I hear the telltale beep and see him incline his head once. "I will remove the glass." He looks around, then spots an unused fork sitting next to my plate. Holding it upside down, he uses the handle to get the glass out of Tadashi's hand. Then he takes the business end to my napkin and cuts it into several strips.

"At least his improvisational skills aren't so bug-ridden," Tadashi says, patting Baymax on his inflatable shoulder.

"Neither are mine," Peter says, attaching the former napkin to Tadashi's hand with webline.

"That's an interesting method," Baymax says, nodding his approval. "I do not think Oscorp was smart enough to realize that potential application for bio-cable."

"Or good enough," I say.

"Precisely," says Baymax. Turning to Tadashi, he asks, "Are you satisfied with your care?"

"Yes, Baymax," Tadashi says, flexing his fingers. "I am satisfied with my care."

Baymax steps back and waits for his box to scoot on up to him. As he steps into it, he says, "I don't know about you, but testing a new flight engine can be very tiring."

Hiro glares at the Baybox through his helmet. "Snitch."

Tadashi, meanwhile, glares at Hiro. "I thought we agreed to hold off on the new engine. Or are you just too anxious to wait?"

"Mmm...maybe," Hiro says, putting on an innocent face. "Come on, Tadashi, we can't just keep it in mothballs forever!"

"Shouldn't keep it in mothballs, period," says Clint. "Don't you know they cause cancer?"

Tadashi sighs through his nose. "At least you didn't collide with the force field over the window. Speaking of which, what happened to it?" he asks the room at large.

"I deactivated it," says Doctor Strange. "Temporarily, of course." He puts down his plate and utensils, then raises a single hand in the direction of the broken window. A flash of white light appears behind it for a split second, then he grabs my fork - the one Baymax had ruined by sticking its handle into Tadashi's cuts - and lobs it at the hole. It soon hits the force field, causing a huge spark of orange electricity to surge around it for a few seconds. Then it falls to the ground, smoking slightly.

Strange then waves his hands over the broken glass, allowing it to reassemble and reattach to the window like nothing had happened. Maybe if I look more closely, I'll be able to see some tiny cracks or something. But from this distance, it appears that Strange has done a seamless repair job.

"You really deactivated the force field?" Tadashi asks.

"The window, as I just demonstrated, can be fixed if broken," Strange says. He cuts a piece off the corner of his omelet, eats it, then adds, "Hiro and Baymax, however, would be more difficult to repair."

"'Cause they'd very likely be dead," Tadashi says, looking down slightly. "Well, let's just hope Fury doesn't have too much to say about this. If he knew we were vulnerable even for a moment-"

"He'd understand," Strange says. "The fewer personnel he loses, the better."

"Right," Tadashi says. His eyes flick over in the direction of the Maximoffs, and also towards me, for a split second each. "Can't let anyone else die on his watch, can he?"

"Speaking of dying," I ask, unable to stop myself, "how were you able to bring me back?"

Silence falls as everyone turns to stare at me. Everyone except Strange, who simply picks up his plate and heads for the door, as if I hadn't spoken. However, before he leaves the mess hall, he turns around and says, "My apologies, Gwen, but that's a story for another time. A time when you can spare more of the same. But I promise to tell you eventually - because you do deserve to know." And with that, he's gone.

Tadashi and Hiro leave as well - but we can all hear them arguing about the failed engine test all the way out the door. This leaves Clint, Peter, and I alone together at our table. Clint decides to break the tension by pulling out his phone and showing us a picture. "Looks like you're famous, Pete," he says as Peter and I look at the screen.

It's an Instagram picture, dated yesterday, of Peter in uniform, waving jauntily at the camera. The picture is captioned, "Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man is back in business!"

"Oh yeah," Peter says. "So that's his real name - Ray Zerulla. Or is it 'Zeruya?' Maybe it is."

"Who's he?" I ask.

"This guy that followed along with us while we were getting away from Oscorp yesterday," Clint says. "He and his friend - she was dressed like the Statue of Liberty - and he was-"

"Wearing these funny pants with different-colored legs," Peter supplies. "I just took to calling him 'Wonderland Pants' in my head."

"Wonderland like Alice?" I ask, snickering.

"Exactly."

I hold out my hand, and Clint lets me look at his phone. "I wonder if I can find a picture of this guy and his Wonderland Pants," I say, navigating over to Ray's main page. "Oh yeah. There they are." I choose the right picture, allowing me to see the Wonderland Pants - diamond-patterned on both legs, but one leg is black and white while the other is black and red. "Interesting," I say, returning Clint's phone.

I look up just in time to spot a patch of white light shining on the wall opposite from the window. This is also accompanied by a loud, gong-like banging. I turn around and see something knocking on the window, the force field crackling around it.

"What the hell?" Peter asks. "Is that...?"

"It's Ultron," I say. Standing up, I can see that it's true - Ultron has somehow penetrated the force field and is rapping on the window with his metal head.

As soon as he sees that he's got our attention, he steps back outside the force field and beckons us outside.

"Should we follow him?" Clint asks. "I sure as hell wouldn't."

"It couldn't hurt," Peter says. "If they're letting him on the grounds, he can't be that much of a threat."

I'm inclined to agree with Peter, but having seen Ultron kill a bunch of people in Palmer City, even by accident, I don't really want to just go along and accept his invitation. To their credit, though, the boys don't set off outside until I finally decide that that's the best course of action. "Just make sure you have your arrows ready," I say to Clint, nudging him in the side.

"Sure, sure," Clint says. Luckily, we pass by the arsenal on our way outside, and Clint's able to grab his bow and quiver. "Thank God for muscle memory," he says, strapping the quiver to his chest.

Outside, Ultron paces up and down in front of the mess hall window. "Finally," he says when he sees us approaching him. "I'd rather have spoken to someone in charge, but I suppose you'll do, kids. Especially since my business here has a connection to you, Peter."

"How so?" he asks.

"Right this way, and I'll show you." Ultron strides off, heading for what appears to be a maintenance shed in an isolated corner of the grounds.

Inside the shed is something none of us expected - I'm not the only one gaping at the sight. A big, muscle-bound man is hog-tied on the floor next to a pair of gas cans. All the clothes he's wearing are tiger-print - orange with black stripes. In fact, on closer examination, they - especially the pants - appear to be made of actual tiger fur, or at least a very convincing substitute.

He also has a strip of duct tape over his mouth, muffling what he's trying to say to us. Thank God, too - based on the way his eyes are narrowed at us in contempt, I'd guess it's a string of obscenities. But perhaps not in English. He does seem to have a bit of an accent. Maybe he's from Russia, or whatever neighboring country of Russia's from which the Maximoffs hail.

"Who is this guy?" Clint asks.

Peter, however, steps back, kneading his forehead. "You know him?" I ask.

"I...something's coming back to me," he says. "Something about a Turkish coffee shop...and the Central Park Zoo?"

"That sounds about right to me," Ultron says. "I remember reading about that when I first researched you, Peter. One of the Sinister Six, this guy was - if you'll excuse my brief relapse into Yoda-speak." He gently pats Tiger Dude on the head, causing him to try and flinch away as best he can despite being rendered largely immobile by the heavy ropes in which he's been bound. "Say hello, my young Avengers, to Sergei Kravinoff. Or, as he prefers to be known, Kraven the Hunter."

Chapter Text

***PETER***

“Um...okay,” I say, scratching my head - God, I’m going to need a haircut soon. My hair’s getting too messy, even for me. “Uh, hello, Kraven the Hunter. How do you do?”

Kraven’s eyes turn into snakelike slits, as if to say, “Are you friggin’ serious?”

“Don’t look at him like that,” Ultron says, nudging him gently with his feet. “I heard he always acted like a bit of a clown around villains. You should be no exception.” Kraven mumbles something through the tape over his mouth. “What did you say?” Ultron asks, peeling the tape off none too gently. “Speak up.”

“You should know all about being a villain,” Kraven says thickly. His accent is, surprisingly, less thick than those of the Maximoffs - until he starts rumbling the first letter in “Rrrobot.”

Ultron starts taking apart a nearby shelf in search of more duct tape. Because of his considerable size - nine feet tall with really big hands, sort of like Wreck-It Ralph - he comes dangerously close to knocking everything else in the shed to the ground several times. Gwen, Barton, and I are forced to retreat to the outside until he’s done re-taping Kraven’s mouth.

“I hate to waste so much of this stuff,” he mutters, looking at the roll of tape with a critical eye, “but I’ve found that once you use it on a person’s face once, the sticky side tends to lose much of its viability afterwards. Especially if that sticky side has facial hair attached to it.”

“I, uh, take it you’re speaking from experience?” Barton asks.

“You’d be surprised,” Ultron says, staring into space. “It’s a dark place for me, though, so I don’t like to talk about it. You understand.”

“Still, you’re wasting valuable supplies,” Gwen points out.

“Yeah, I don’t really think SHIELD has an infinite budget for duct tape,” I say, gesturing around the grounds at all the modern buildings around us. “I bet they’ve had to take out at least four mortgages on this place just to afford it. Whatever a mortgage is, anyway. I’m still not 100% sure how that works.”

Gwen and Barton both snicker at my joke, and even Ultron barely stifles a chuckle. “Sometimes, you’re such a boy, Peter,” he says, his face forming what I’m guessing is supposed to be a charming smile. Unfortunately, because of his metallic construction, it ends up coming across as a creepy, slasher-type smile instead.

“Speaking of SHIELD,” I say, trying to forget the horrific face I just saw, “why don’t you tell someone you’ve gone and captured a bad guy for them?”

Ultron actually snickers out loud at this point. “Are you kidding me? If I did that, they’d cut Fury’s funding faster than you can say ‘immediate self-defenestration!’” He says that last part in a weird, British-sounding accent. “See, as you may or may not know, I’m a villain - or, at least, I used to be. But while I’ve had a change of philosophy, that doesn’t change the fact that, as far as SHIELD’s concerned, I should no longer exist.”

“Because we defeated you, right?” Barton asks. “You and all your drone-clones?”

“You really gave me hell,” Ultron says, crossing his arms. “And excellent, another memory’s waking up - from my movie this time, I’m guessing. Is there anything else you remember? Anything important? Perhaps involving death?”

“Are you saying I’m supposed to be dead too?” Barton asks, completely disbelieving Ultron’s words.

“No,” Ultron says evasively. “Not you, anyway.” He clears his throat - not that he actually has to do so - then continues, “But back to what’s more important. I’m not supposed to be here. If Fury’s superiors, the World Security Council, knew that he was allowing me to work with him...well, like I said before, they’d slash his budget. Because they have their own agenda, and that agenda has no room for the likes of me.” He gives a conspiratorial laugh. “And who knows? Fury may be the Big Good, but the Council fancies themselves a Bigger Good. There may be a so-called ‘Biggest Good’ out there too.”

“Great,” I say, shrugging. “But at least you still have air quotes to sling around at will. Maybe you can use them to shame this World Council into submission.”

“Or I could simply weaponize the sass Tony Stark inadvertently programmed me with,” Ultron says smoothly. “Unapologetic sass always works wonders.”

“Well,” Gwen says, folding her hands, “if we can’t show this Kraven guy to Fury or anyone, then what the hell are we gonna do with him? I mean, we can’t just keep him locked up in the shed forever.” She looks around at everyone else, including me. “Or can we?”

“What? No!” Barton says explosively.

I’m on his side - has Gwen lost her mind? “If they don’t have enough money for more duct tape,” I say, “I doubt they have enough money for the care and feeding of a crazy guy like him.” My gaze flickers over to the still slightly-ajar shed door, behind which Kraven’s distinctive duds are very visible. “Judging from his pants, he must have freakishly expensive tastes.”

“Yes, and next thing you know, we’re plying him with beluga caviar to get him to talk,” Ultron says, his metal teeth tightly gritted. “I don’t think so. I mean, have you even seen beluga caviar? The fact that it’s considered a delicacy, it boggles the mind.”

“That’s odd that you would think that,” I say, “considering you were sort-of made by Stark.”

“With the assistance of Bruce Banner,” Ultron says. “That’s why my personal tastes aren’t so high-end. Honestly, if I were a biological organism, my preferred pastime for ‘hanging out with the boys,’ as you might say, might just be kicking back with an ice-cold beer.”

“I’d actually pay money to see that happen,” Gwen laughs.

“Be careful what you wish for, my dear,” Ultron says. “I’m not sure how that could come true, but knowing how capricious Fate can be, I bet she’ll easily find a way.”

“So,” I drawl, looking at Kraven once again. He looks back at me balefully, then rolls his eyes. If he were able to talk right now, he’d probably say something along the lines of, “Just get on with it already, you moronic svoloch.” (That’s one of a few Russian curses I’ve picked up from reading the works of James Rollins and other similar writers.)

“So what?” Ultron asks.

“So, what are we gonna do about this tool?” I ask, gesturing to Kraven. “If we can’t turn him over to Fury-”

I’m interrupted by a surprisingly loud metallic scraping. It’s the sound of Ultron scratching his head as he thinks. “We can’t turn him over to Fury, no,” he says. “But there’s someone else to whom we can.”

“Don’t tell me-” Gwen begins.

“You can’t be serious,” Barton groans.

“Oh, but I am.” Ultron crosses his arms again, and drums his fingers on his forearm. “We less-than-pleasant, semi-reformed villains have to stick together.” He then starts tapping his palm like he’s punching numbers into a phone’s keypad. “And, believe it or not, he’s got a cell phone, which I happen to have on speed dial.” He lowers his hands, then turns to look at the nearby facility. Specifically, at a high-up window, roughly triangular in shape, sandwiched between two white metal bars.

“Never thought I’d be getting a call from this number again.” The voice emerging from what I’m guessing are two speakers subtly hidden in Ultron’s ears is not that of Ultron. It is, however, similarly silky and villainously charming, although with a posh English accent instead of American. “What brings you here today, my dear misunderstood android?”

“Haha, you’re still such a smooth operator, Loki,” Ultron chuckles. “Well, I hate to call you at what may be a very bad time, but there’s a bit of a housekeeping issue we need your help with.”

“I’m listening,” Loki says. I look up to the triangular window and see his face appear in it. At this distance, I can’t make out too many details, but I know it’s him.

Ultron goes on to explain about Kraven. When he’s done, Loki has one question. “Peter, do you remember what happened the last time you encountered Mr. Kravinoff?”

“Uh…” I blush, not enjoying being put on the spot like this. “Uh, just...you know...bits and pieces.”

“Hmm. I figured as much.” Looking at the window again, I see that Loki’s no longer in it. Maybe he’s on his way down to us. “It’s a shame, really, that you don’t remember the whole thing. Other than the day you took down the Rhino, that may well have been your finest hour. You and the Man in the Suit made quite the dream team, you know.”

Barton gapes in surprise. “Man in the Suit? You don’t mean-?”

“Yes, I do mean,” Loki says. I can hear the stupid, mischievous grin in there. “You worked with the cast of Person of Interest.”

“Which, as far as I’m concerned, are just as fictional as Marvel movies used to be for me,” I say, rubbing my forehead.

“Is there a limit to how insanely meta things can get?” Gwen asks.

When I’m involved, the writer says, more meta, more betta. Uh, was that a bad rhyme? Okay, forget I said that, please. I’m so high on caffeine right now, you guys have no idea.

“That’s a yes,” I mutter.

“A yes to what?” Barton asks. “Are you guys talking to that writer again?” I kid you not - the next thing he does is look up to the sky and ask, “Hey, uh, writer? Quick question - who dies at the end of Age of Ultron?”

The writer laughs at Barton, and I can see him shaking his head as well before he says, in a singsong voice à la River Song, Spoilers.

“Well, that’s real helpful,” Barton says. “Wait, did he really just talk to me?”

I’ll talk to any of you guys, really, the writer says with an oddly perky tone that reminds me of Deadpool. Caffeine high, I guess. I just talk to DP most often ‘cause it’s so much fun to annoy the shit out of him, you get it?

“And while I do so love seeing the shit get annoyed out of that mouthy mercenary,” Loki says as he joins us at last, “if you continue to prattle on, young writer, you will be severely annoying me instead.”

I’ll take that as my cue to leave, then. This is me bowing out.

Loki nods curtly. “Right, now that he’s out of our hair...where’s the Russian fur trader we were talking about before?”

“He’s not exactly a fur trader,” Ultron says. “Although I do admire your use of euphemism to describe Kraven’s career choice.”

“Thank you,” Loki says with another nod. “But tell me - what do you intend to do with him?”

“I have an idea,” I say, raising my hand like I’m in class. (What can I say? Ultron and Loki are intimidating enough that I feel the need to do that.) “Howsabout we, uh, release him back into the wild?”

“What do you mean?” asks Loki.

“Are you saying we should let him go?” Gwen asks. It’s hard to say which of them - her or Loki - looks more befuddled.

“Why not?” I say. “Like Ultron keeps saying - oh God, don’t smile again-”

“I wasn’t going to,” Ultron says. Sure enough, he’s now doing the exact opposite of a smile. It’s strange how his frowning looks completely natural, but his smiling doesn’t. Maybe the fact that he looks like a metal muscle man helps. After all, it takes more muscles to frown than to smile, as they say. (Note to self: look on Snopes or something to confirm if that’s actually true.)

“Fine,” I say, waving my hands at Ultron. “But like he keeps saying, we can’t keep him here, so we really should just let him go.”

“Yeah,” Barton says, comprehension gleaming in his eyes. “Yeah, a-and we could, you know, track him back to wherever he came from. Where did he come from, anyway?”

“I was going to ask him that myself,” Ultron says. “I caught him skulking around in the woods between here and Xavier’s School.”

“Skulking, huh?” I ask. I turn to look at Kraven. “Is that right, Fur Trader? You were skulking around? Don’t you know there are children here? Skulking is strictly verboten, as they say in Europe. Maybe not your part of Europe, but I dunno how to say it in your language.”

Kraven starts muttering muffled curses at me. I resolutely ignore him and turn back to Loki. “I can’t believe I’m gonna say this, but...what do you say? Good idea, or no?”

“It’s as good an idea as any I can come up with,” Loki says.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You do that.” Loki crosses over to the shed door and pulls it completely open. “Oh, but I do have one additional suggestion, though.”

“What’s that?” Barton asks.

Loki looks up at Ultron. “Where’s your implant?”

“Right here.” Ultron knocks on his chest, releasing a small circular tray that had previously been hidden. Inside the tray is a small chip - square, with rounded corners.

“Is that a tracker?” Gwen asks.

“Fury’s idea,” Ultron says as Loki takes the chip from him. He retracts his tray before adding, “The Council may not know I’m still alive and kicking, but Fury does. He keeps close tabs on me to ensure I don’t do anything to, in his words, ‘compromise my viability.’”

“And your idea is to use that on Kraven?” Barton asks.

“Exactly,” says Loki. He then crooks his finger at Ultron, who bends down to Kraven’s level. The man’s eyes go wide even before his arm is grabbed by Loki, while Ultron points one of his fingers at his forearm and cuts it open with a red laser. A simple cut, barely an inch long, but it’s painful enough that Kraven can’t help but let loose a short scream. Said scream is, of course, muffled by the tape over his mouth.

“Believe me,” Loki says, gently sliding the chip into the cut with his other hand, “I don’t much enjoy this ‘glamour job,’ either.” As Ultron seals and cauterizes the wound with another laser pulse - blue this time, not red, which I’m assuming makes it hotter - Loki adds, “So you know what to do?” He peels the tape off Kraven’s face, leaving small finger-painted streaks of blood on his cheek in the process.

“You want me to lead you back to someone, yes?” Kraven asks with a snarl.

“Yes,” Loki says, using the non-sticky side of the tape to wipe off the blood. “You have a boss. Report back to him as if nothing had happened. And no funny business either, ty ponimaesh’?”

“If you think you’re impressing me by speaking my language, you’re sorely mistaken,” Kraven spits. “Besides, you’re not even doing it right.”

Loki actually laughs out loud here - and the sound is very chilling. “I know,” he says. “But understand this - and I’m being serious here - any funny business, any at all, and I will find you and kill you.”

At this point, I almost laugh out loud myself - maybe I’ve just seen too many Liam Neeson movies to be scared by Loki’s declaration. Possibly thinking along similar lines, Kraven scoffs in his face. “Right in front of me, there is a girl who, if my memory does not fail me, should be lying in a grave in Queens right now,” Kraven says. “So you tell me, girly cape man, why should I be afraid of dying?”

“When I kill people,” Loki says in a harsh stage whisper, again adding to his Liam Neeson channeling - or maybe even Jack Bauer at this point, I think - “I make them suffer. Especially if they deserve it. You, Kravinoff, are the sort of human who made me want to put an end to Midgardian civilization to begin with.” He tightens his grip on Kraven’s hand, which then starts to freeze. That is, it gets covered in ice.

“You think I’m afraid of a little ice either?” Kraven asks with a snort.

“What about a lot of ice?” Sure enough, the ice spreads all the way up Kraven’s arm, up to his shoulder. Then it forms a ring around his neck before encasing his shoulders and chest.

“Okaaay,” I say, stretching out my hand, even though Loki has his back turned to me. “That’s enough, I think.”

Loki doesn’t stop. The ice keeps covering Kraven’s torso. Only when it makes its way down to waist level does the man finally crack, expressing even a tiny amount of fear. It’s just a flash of a micro-expression on his face. But it’s enough to get the point across.

“STOP!” I yell - and I’m not the only one. Gwen and Barton are of the same mind as me right now.

The ice finally stops its expansion over Kraven, then retreats completely, disappearing into a spray of snow that piles on the ground around his folded legs.

Looking none too apologetic for going so far, Loki hoists Kraven to his feet and roughly pushes him out into the sunlight. “He’s all yours, Ultron,” he says. “Take him away.”

“Gladly.” Ultron picks Kraven up almost like he’s a doll, then takes off on his rocket-propelled feet, flying over the grounds and out of sight.

“I’m sure Fury will love to follow his progress,” Loki says, setting off for the main building. “Come with me, kids, if you want to keep an eye on him as well.”

“Yeah, sure,” I mutter. “Step into your office or else you’ll freeze our balls off. Literally.”

“Oh, not you,” Loki says, not breaking his stride. “Unlike Mr. Kravinoff, you all deserve the chance to pass on your genes to the next generation. You, of course, already have, Barton - thrice, in fact.”

“And I didn’t even realize it until now,” Barton groans, smacking his forehead. “Thanks for waking up another memory - or two.”

“Let me guess,” Loki says. “The part where you decided to retire from the Avengers to spend time with your family?”

“Who probably wouldn’t even know I’ve been turned into a teenager,” Barton says, shaking his head in disbelief. “God damn, I suddenly feel old.”

“Please don’t suddenly feel old,” Loki says, opening the door into the main building and stepping aside so we can all enter ahead of him. Such a gentleman. “You never know - you might get turned back into an adult if you do that.”

“Really?” Barton asks apprehensively.

“I don’t know, actually,” Loki says with an imperious shrug. “Doctor Strange doesn’t tell me exactly how his magical cocktail works. Frankly, I think he’s afraid I’ll reverse-engineer it or something. As if he needs to worry about that.”

We climb a flight of stairs, then another, and go down the hall until we find ourselves in front of Fury’s office. Loki knocks on the door, and Fury says, “Enter!” When we’re all inside, he gives us the once-over, then turns to look at a map being projected onto the wall. There’s a red dot moving down a road, which is revealed, when the map zooms out, to be heading straight for New York.

“You better know what you’re doing,” Fury says, zooming back in to focus on the red dot’s location.

“I generally do,” Loki says.

“Wasn’t talking to you, Laufeyson.” Fury raises his eyebrow at him, then at the rest of us. Then he turns back to the map and watches in silence for a few minutes. He only breaks his silence when the red dot appears to stop moving for a second, then starts moving at a speed too fast for a human on foot. “He must be in a vehicle of some kind,” Fury mutters.

“A plane, maybe,” I say, pointing to the dot’s progress off the marked roads. “He’s still looking like he’s headed for New York, though.”

“You might be right,” Fury says. “Probably headed for Oscorp, too.”

“They’re like Rome,” Gwen muses. “All roads seem to lead there.”

“You’re telling me,” I say.

Fury lays his tablet on his desk. “You kids up for another incursion on Oscorp, then? I think the four of you, plus Ultron and Carter.” He grins to himself. “There’s something I never thought I’d be doing - sending the legendary Peggy Carter out on my orders.”

Gwen looks down at her hands and flexes her fingers. “I bet you think this’ll make better training for me than anything I could do here, right?”

“Nothing like learning on the job,” Fury says. He opens his door and adds, “Your ride’s waiting.”

Chapter Text

***PETER***

Ultron leads the way into the nearest quinjet. He's forced to crouch as he goes into it, and when he gets to the cockpit, there's barely any room for him in there. But he doesn't need room anyway, because instead of flying the jet himself, he works a little hot-wiring magic and announces to us that he's set the jet on autopilot.

"That doesn't sound like such a major achievement," Loki quips.

"You'd be surprised," Ultron says, taking a pair of seats all at once. "Since you guys' last major run-in with me, Fitz-Simmons took steps to beef up security on all SHIELD gadgetry. Fury's orders, of course, even though Coulson pretended they came from him."

Loki grins at Ultron, then he changes his appearance dramatically. He loses a few inches of height and much of his hair, and also gains a much friendlier face. However, seeing him imitate Coulson, however briefly, is still super-freaking-creepy. Especially when he says, in Coulson's voice, "Don't forget, Ultron - I'm the director now."

"Don't ever do that again," Gwen says as Loki returns to normal.

"Yeah, what she said," I chime in. "Jesus, have some respect for the dead, why don't you?"

"I have the utmost respect for the dead," Loki counters. He puts on a pair of puppy eyes - which would probably be even more dangerous if they were brown like mine instead of blue - and looks at Gwen. "Yourself included."

"Okay, that's enough," Barton says.

"You're being a creeper, buddy," I say to Loki before turning away from him and buckling my seat belt before takeoff.

We're soon joined by Carter, who looks just as surprised as any of us to be here. I'm not sure why Fury chose her, specifically, but I bet he "had his reasons," as he or some other big guy in charge might say. As she buckles herself into her seat, she looks at Gwen for a second, then averts her eyes. Finally, she just blurts out, "So, Gwen, did you tell him yet?"

Gwen does a facepalm. "Oh crap. No, I completely forgot!"

"Forgot what?" I ask, seized by curiosity.

Gwen waits until after the plane's done taking off and Ultron's done his scary monotone flight attendant impression ("You are now free to move about the cabin, and thank you for flying Air SHIELD") before answering my question. "Uh...well, it was a crazy thing last night, but..." Now she's looking like me whenever I'm trying to tell her something personal - her mouth is failing her, and she just can't form the words.

Luckily, Carter's there to assist her. "Gwen has night vision now."

"Night vision?" I repeat.

Barton's looking at Gwen with his mouth open too. "You mean you can see in the dark with all that green crap in your vision like you got the fancy goggles?"

"What? Um, no." Gwen shakes her head repeatedly. "God, no. That would be a pain, don't you think?"

Out of nowhere, the cockpit door closes, plunging the cabin into near-total darkness. "What the hell?" I cry out, looking around and trying to locate the source of the closed door.

"I want to see this new power in action myself," Loki says. "Gwen, am I smiling right now?"

"Yes, and it's extremely disturbing, so please stop," she says automatically.

I let out a whoop of laughter. "Holy shit, this is happening? Oh my God!"

"Did you really have to swear, Peter?" Carter asks in an aggrieved voice. I can almost see her wagging her finger at me too.

"Excuse me, Miss 'Bloody Nora?'" Gwen says, crossing her arms - I can see it now because Loki's let the light back in. "How dare you tell him off for cussing!"

Carter chuckles at the sound of Gwen's overly serious admonition. "'Bloody Nora' is a time-honored British oath. Your filthy American swearing, with its increased reliance on declaring the sanctity of excrement-"

"Lighten up," I say, smiling at Carter. "You're too cool for this uptight thing."

"We're almost caught up to Kraven," Ultron says. "If you'll look out the cockpit window, kids, you'll see an Oscorp helicopter approximately 1.1 klicks ahead of us."

Damn, but these quinjets must be faster than I thought. Kraven had at least twenty minutes' head start on us, and here we are almost caught up with him. And we're not even halfway down to New York, I don't think. Assuming that's where we're headed, of course.

In the end, though, New York turns out to be Kraven's final destination. The chopper (which, as Ultron told us, does in fact belong to Oscorp, and proudly displays its logo) lands on a helipad on top of their headquarters. The quinjet, meanwhile, hovers a few hundred feet above the top of the building.

"They can't see us, right?" Barton asks.

"We've had our camouflage engaged the whole time," Ultron says. "Unless Oscorp has developed a better radar, there's no way they can track us."

"What about sonar?" I ask.

"The jet is almost completely silent when it's idle and/or hovering," Loki says. "And the fuselage is soundproof." We all look at him in amazement, and he gives a self-effacing shrug. "I pick up a few things listening to Fitz-Simmons, Banner, Hamada, and all our other tech-savvy associates."

Carter gets up from her seat and stretches her arms. "What are we supposed to do, then?" she asks. "Keep on hovering over the building?"

Ultron tilts the jet downward until it's pointing toward the ground at a precarious angle. How we're not falling out of the sky, I'm not sure. He does, however, seem to know what he's doing - because he's able to give us a crude, satellite-like bird's-eye view of the helipad.

Loki opens a nearby cabinet and grabs two pairs of binoculars, keeping one for himself and handing the other to Carter.

"You sure you need those babies?" I ask him. "I thought you were a god or something."

"First off, I'm not Asgardian, technically speaking," Loki says. "Well, I am, but I'm not of the same race as Thor and Sif and all the others. I'm a Frost Giant."

"You sure got the 'giant' part down," Gwen says.

"The only reason I can pass for an Asgardian is because I'm unusually short of stature for my species," Loki says in a frosty (haha, "frosty") tone that puts any and all discussion on that subject to an instant halt. "No matter what I am, though, my eyes are biological, and therefore not naturally capable of zooming in and out like the cameras in his optical orbits." He knocks on the dome of Ultron's head, then adjusts the knob on his binoculars. "Ah, there we go. Mr. Kravinoff is entering the building."

"Dammit, Loki," Ultron growls, turning his head very slightly his way. "You made me lose focus."

"My apologies." Loki rests his elbow on Ultron's head now as he refocuses his binoculars.

"Which I don't accept," Ultron growls.

I hold my hand out to Carter, and she gives me her binoculars. I can finally get a good glimpse of Kraven being escorted off the helipad by a phalanx of armed guards. Ultron fine-tunes the speakers on the sides of his head, and I can hear what they must be saying - I guess there's a mike in the tracking device or something. In which case, how would it be able to hear anything from under Kraven's skin?

It's not in the tracker, the writer says. Ultron's hacking the building's security cameras. That's the sound you're hearing.

Good to know, I think. Now could you please get out of my head? I need to concentrate.

"Mr. Osborn is waiting for you, Sergei," says one of Kraven's guards by the time he's out of sight.

Kraven mutters something in Russian, which Ultron says is translated, loosely, as "It's about time."

"I'd limit the Russkie cussing in front of Mr. Osborn," says the guard. "He doesn't appreciate being made a fool of."

"Which Mr. Osborn are they gonna go see, I wonder?" Gwen asks, crossing her arms. "The creepy father or the disturbed son?"

"Does it matter?" Barton asks. "Either way, it's gonna be villainous people doing villainous things. Not exactly something I'd care to watch, but..."

"But watch we must," says Ultron. He levels the jet out so we no longer have to hold on to the cockpit doorjamb, then descends so we're now able to look directly through the window on the 108th floor of the building.

Gwen takes a turn with the binoculars now. "Kraven's in the office," she says for the benefit of everyone else who isn't Loki or Ultron. "And it looks like it's Daddy Dearest waiting for him."

"So he's officially back from the dead," Loki growls. "Figures. He's like a cat - he's got nine lives."

"What, you didn't believe what happened to me yesterday?" Gwen asks. "Or did you not hear the story?"

"No, I heard what happened." Loki rests both his elbows on Ultron's shoulders, and uses his head to support the binoculars. It's obvious that he's just straining to piss him off, and possibly turn him into a homicidal mad-bot once again. "I still hadn't seen it with my own eyes, though. That Norman Osborn was still alive. Or perhaps I shouldn't say 'still' - because that implies he never died. I attended his funeral, and saw his corpse."

Gwen gives Barton the binoculars. "When he had me held prisoner, he said something about the new spider-serum. Something about it having some kind of blood in it." She drums her fingers on the wall for a moment before recalling what she needs. "Kree blood."

Loki stiffens. "That...explains a lot," he says, standing back from Ultron. "For instance, your unexpected night vision ability. Kree blood is a highly efficient substance for inducing genetic mutations, especially in Midgardian species."

"Thank you very much," Ultron says petulantly, "for no longer invading my personal head space." He pushes his finger into one of his ear-speakers. "Now shut up so you guys can listen in on the conversation with me. Illuminating stuff, it is."

"...are you sure you're telling me everything, Sergei?" Norman asks. Gwen shudders as she hears his voice. After the way he treated her, I want nothing more than to see him burn. Aren't there some gun turrets or something attached to this quinjet? Maybe even guided missile launchers...?

No, I tell myself. Revenge is not the answer.

You said it, Pete.

Writer - out.

Sorry. Thought I'd just-

I'm trying to concentrate, dammit!

"Of course I am," Kraven says. "Ultron found me, but he let me go. He decided I was more valuable giving him information about you from inside anyway."

"What the hell?" I say. "Is he seriously-"

"Just wait," says Loki. "If this goes how I think it will..."

"Show me," Norman says.

Barton gives the binoculars to me, allowing me to see what happens next. Kraven holds his arm out to Norman, who then proceeds to cut it open with a Swiss Army knife. Once he extracts the tracker from under Kraven's skin and sends him off with one of the guards, he approaches the window, holds the bloody thing up, and crows, "You can do better than that, Fury!"

An alarm goes off on the console. We all look down and see that it's a proximity warning - specifically, the proximity of something small flying around us. I look up through the Plexiglas panel over my head and see that it's Harry on his flying jet-board. Wait...didn't Skye wreck it before? Yeah, with the kind of money he and his dad are rolling in, it's only too likely that Harry's got tons of backups for all his equipment.

Including the bomb he drops casually from a hundred feet above us.

"SHIT!" Ultron yells, yanking the quinjet back as hard as he can and knocking us all to the floor in a tangled pile of limbs. We barely miss the bomb as it explodes right where we'd all been standing inside the cockpit not four seconds before.

"How can he see us?" I shout. "I thought this thing was invisible!"

"It is!" Loki yells. "I think he's just guessing our location!"

"Well, he's not gonna smoke us out," Ultron says, raising the jet closer to Harry's level. "Not if I can - NOT AGAIN!"

This time, we're not able to evade the blast so well. It hits so close to us that the Plexiglas actually cracks, and one of the panels even shatters. We all retreat to the cabin, but Ultron's not so quick. Most of the Plexiglas bounces harmlessly off his metal shell - but one well-placed shard is stuck in his mouth.

He comes into the cabin, struggling to remove that shard, but it's jammed in there tightly. "Bah-ruh!" he yells, pointing to Barton. "Tae-da-reeah!"

"What did he just-" Barton begins.

"I think he wants you to take the wheel!" I say, gesturing at the cockpit.

Ultron nods furiously. This proves to be a mistake - he ends up driving the Plexiglas further back into his throat. Loki, the only one remotely big enough to do so, actually performs the Heimlich maneuver on him until his mouth is clear.

By now, Barton's at the controls, but he's not quite sure what he's doing. There's nothing like a crash course, though, such as when you have to perform evasive maneuvers at the drop of a hat to escape from a crazed killer who should be off to college, studying by day and partying by night. So it takes only one more near-miss from one of Harry's bombs to get Barton to near-instantly figure out what the hell to do next.

"We lost our cloaking!" Loki announces to the entire jet. "He can see us now! Barton, let's get out of here!"

"Uh...I'm on it!" Barton pulls back the control stick, raising the jet in a steep climb. We're sent sprawling on the floor once again. This time, it's more painful because Ultron's fallen alongside us. Let me tell you, bumping into his vibranium body is murder on my elbows. My humerus is definitely the exact opposite of that at this moment.

"Scheiße!" Ultron yells, climbing to his feet. Then he stops, taps his head, and mutters something that sounds like "Was ist das...?"

"I think his translator is broken!" Loki yells. He tries to help Ultron, but he pushes him away and gets to work on trying to repair himself. In the meantime, he starts barking orders at the rest of us, but since they're all in German, he ends up sounding like an angry Nazi. Luckily, Loki's there to translate for us. "Gwen, Maggie, get on the guns!" he yells. "Peter, help me load a missile!"

"Missile? Where?"

Loki opens a hatch in the floor, revealing a pneumatic tube with a silver missile sitting in a slot next to it. "This'll be a last resort, I hope," he says as he lifts the back end of the missile. I lift the front, and together we drop it into the tube.

"Schießt die Fenster!" Ultron yells.

"What?" Carter asks. She's at the aft end of the plane, her hands on the controls for a gun turret. Gwen's handling an identical gun across from her.

"Shoot the windows?" I ask, remembering the famous (and, apparently, bungled by Alan Rickman) line from Die Hard.

Ultron sticks his finger down his throat in a "gag me" gesture. Surprisingly, this is enough to fix him, as the next words out of his mouth are in plain old English: "Yes, goddammit! What Peter said! Do it!"

Gwen and Carter comply with his order. I barely have time to swivel my head towards the front of the jet before I see the windows on the top floor of Oscorp Tower shatter, fragments of glass falling slowly out of their frames.

I suddenly have a flash of another time when I saw this very same window getting broken. In this case, I was on the inside, helping another tall guy carry a heavy object. Instead of Loki and a missile, though, it was a guy in a suit and a flat-screen TV.

I dismiss the memory as quickly as it comes, though, because Ultron walks in front of me and all I can focus on is his considerable size. He sticks his head through the broken cockpit panel, looks down, and says, "Typisch Goblin, er kämpft wie eine Kuh!"

"I thought your translator was fixed!" Barton says.

"I just thought that insult sounded better in German," Ultron says. "But seriously, look at him. We winged him with a bit of glass, and he's flying away already! What a wimp."

The proximity alarm sounds again. I crane my neck so I can look at it properly, and this time, I can see something bigger than Harry on his jet-board. There's a pair of Oscorp choppers inbound.

"Speaking of flying away," I say, nudging Barton's shoulder, "we should make like a tree and leave, you know?"

"Man, I can see Loki loves poking and prodding you when you're in the driver's seat," Barton says to Ultron as he steers the jet away from Oscorp Tower as fast as he can. "It's fucking annoying."

"Now that," I say, raising my voice so Gwen and Carter can hear me (I think their ears might be ringing a bit from the gunfire), "is unnecessary."

"Welcome to my world," Loki grumbles as he takes a seat. "Except when people complain about my language, they complain that it sounds too archaic."

"Archaic? You?" Gwen laughs, waving her hand. "Nope."

"Seriously, you don't sound Shakespearean at all," I say.

"Whenever Barton gets his memories back," Loki says, jerking his thumb at him, "ask him, and he'll gladly tell you otherwise. Or ask Romanoff, that mewling quim. Which, now, I mean only in the nicest of ways."

I look at Gwen, and she raises her eyebrow as if to say, "You believe him?"

I shake my head a fraction of an inch to either side.

"Don't think you're fooling me with your silent communication," Loki says. Then he gnashes his teeth and mutters, "Great, you got me to talk old-timey again."

Now we're all laughing out loud, even Ultron. What can I say? Hearing Loki say "old-timey" with a straight face will do that to you.

Chapter Text

***GWEN***

When we get back to the Avengers facility, Peter immediately makes his way to the lab where Hiro, Tadashi, and Skye work. The reason for this soon becomes clear - he needs a laptop and internet access. And the reason for that? He's decided to look for ingredients to put together a superhero outfit for me.

"Are you sure you're looking in the right places, though?" I ask in an undertone when I see the website he's looking on. In this part of cyberspace, they specialize in super-tight-fitting sports gear. Well, at least now I know where Peter got his Spider-Man outfit from.

"What's wrong with these?" Peter asks, highlighting a picture of a woman wearing a white full-body spandex outfit. "You don't like 'em?"

I stare at the screen, trying to see myself wearing one of those skintight outfits - but I can't. "I dunno about you," I say, "but I'm not really all that comfortable showing my curves off like that."

"I didn't know you had curves," Peter jokes, running one of his hands over my side.

"Exactly," I say. "I don't try to show them."

"Well..." Peter opens a new tab, closing the one with the Spandex Shop. (That isn't the official name for the site - it's just what I've decided to call it.) "You do kinda need an outfit, especially if you're gonna start doing what I do. Nobody needs to know your true identity, not now that you're officially dead." He types in the URL for Kohl's. "But are you sure the spandex thing is out? It's show-off-y, I know, but that doesn't stop me from using it."

"You're different," I laugh. "Put that mask on, and you're practically a performance artist. The more you show off, the better."

"Now you're sounding like Stark."

"Maybe I am," I say, grinning. "But seriously, I don't have it in me to be a performance artist like you. I wouldn't be so snarky and quippy like you are. I wouldn't have people going online and talking about how hot I look in my uniform-"

"People do that?" Peter looks genuinely shocked to hear this. "Well, maybe on blogs or something, but I don't normally look at those."

"Sure you don't," I say, punching his shoulder. I think he has to be able to see it coming with his Spidey-sense, but he does nothing to avoid it.

"Aww, not even mine?" Skye asks. She and the Hamadas have largely ignored us this whole time as they've worked on their own things. The only reason we're in here is because, as Baymax said (and I quote) before Tadashi deactivated him to run maintenance, "this lab has the best Wi-Fi in the house."

"You had a-" Peter begins. "No, wait, why should I even be surprised?"

"She's a recovering hacktivist," Hiro says, looking up from his own robo-maintenance project - on his cute but deadly Megabot.

"And experienced blogger," Skye says, winking. "Not just Rising Tide stuff, either. I did used to run a pretty popular Spider-Man blog...but then I kinda stopped updating it after I joined SHIELD. Agenting takes up a lot of time that I could've otherwise set aside for blogging."

"Is that the technical term?" I ask. "'Agenting?'"

"Yes."

Peter snickers at this, then turns the laptop screen my way. "What do you think of these, Gwen?"

I take a look. He's found a strange-looking hoodie - white with red markings on the elbows and forearms. "What's with the white?" I ask. "You really think it's my color?"

"You wear it all the time," Peter says, tugging on the sleeve of my white shirt.

"What if I wanted to wear a black outfit?" I laugh.

Hiro shudders. "The thought of a Spider-Hero in a black uniform...I can't get past the way it screwed with Peter's personality in Spider-Man 3."

"You mean the original?" Peter asks.

"What other Spider-Man 3 is there?" Hiro asks. Then he looks at me, and a smile grows on his face. "Hey, Gwen, you never got to meet the old Peter. You wanna? Meet him, that is."

I look at Peter, who smiles first at me, then at Hiro. Then I say, "If it'll get Peter to stop looking like a goofy little kid, then yeah, sure."

"Awesome!" Hiro leaves the room for a minute, then comes back in with a DVD marked Spider-Man.

"I barely even knew there was another movie Spider-Man," I say.

"They don't talk about it much anymore in our world, for pretty obvious reasons," Skye says. "Although, rumor has it that in other worlds, where all this is just a movie and not reality...these movies are better than yours."

I roll my eyes. "Guess people don't have hearts in those other worlds."

Hiro loads the DVD into the laptop Peter's still holding. We have to wait for the movie's opening credits to play out - apparently, any attempt to skip ahead to Peter's introduction scene (the one where he'll start talking to us, according to Hiro and Peter) will prevent whatever spell Doctor Strange put on this disc to ensure the old Peter would get to interact with the viewer from activating.

But then I hear the old Peter, as played by Tobey Maguire (on my Peter's advice, I'm just going to call him Tobey, because it makes it that much easier to differentiate the two of them) do his opening narration, miss the school bus...and finally turn to the camera and talk to us. "Hey, Peter," he says, waving to him. "Back so soon?"

"Hiro's idea, not mine," Peter says, beckoning me closer to the laptop's built-in webcam. "Tobey, this is Gwen Stacy."

"Charmed," Tobey says, tipping an imaginary hat. "Holy crap, you weren't kidding - she's a hell of a lot more beautiful than the Gwen I know."

"Who's a lot more beautiful?" At first, I think the female voice that asks this question might belong to the other version of me. Just like how Tobey has a higher voice than Peter's, so this girl has a higher voice than mine. I know, it's stupid to make that kind of connection - it must be pure coincidence.

As it turns out, though, the other girl isn't the other me. For one thing, she's not a blonde, but a redhead. Actually, auburn-head, but still dark red. I can't think of who she could be off the top of my head, but she does look oddly familiar. My first, boneheaded guess is that she must be the other version of Natasha Romanoff - except I'm pretty sure Natasha was never in any of the Spider-Man movies, ever.

"Just the new Peter's girlfriend, MJ," Tobey says. Then it hits me - she's the old version of Mary Jane Watson. I saw the newer MJ at Starbucks yesterday, and since then, I've been having sporadic flashbacks featuring her. At least one of these involves the two of us going out for coffee with friends in New York. And at one point, I'd bring Peter up, only for MJ to chime in that she was his neighbor, although she didn't know him all that well. I think she might have been trying to ask me, but not in so many words, if he was good boyfriend material.

Peter flashes a peace sign at the new arrival. "Nice to meet you. I'm Peter Parker."

"No relation," Tobey quips.

"You're not gonna say that every time I introduce you to someone, are you?" Peter asks with a stern look on his face. I think he's learned that one from me.

"Maybe I will," Tobey says, matching Peter's stern look with a sassy one. "Got a problem with that?"

MJ tucks her hair behind her shoulder. Unlike the one I know, who wears her hair quite long, this MJ has shoulder-length hair, done in a style not unlike mine. She doesn't have the same bangs as I do, however. "So you're the guy who replaced my guy...and now I'm a blonde?" she says, looking first at Peter, then at me. "The things those silly movie producers come up with."

"I'm not you," I say hastily. "I'm Gwen Stacy."

MJ's mouth drops into an O as the penny drops. "Haha, now I get it. I was wondering, why change my hair color? So what happened to me? I heard they found a new me, but they didn't use any of her scenes. Which sucks balls, to put it frankly."

"What?" I ask. "But...but I remember talking to the other you! You mean to tell me they made you part of Amazing Spider-Man and then-"

"It's not something I can control, though," MJ says ruefully. "But to be honest, I thought the new MJ was a little too butch. Not in appearance, but in personality. She had too much of a smart mouth on her, I thought."

Peter reaches around behind me and grabs my shoulder. "You say that like it's a bad thing. Gwen's been know to have a smart mouth too, and that's one of the things I love most about her."

I knit my eyebrows at him. "I dunno whether or not I should be insulted right now."

"Insulted?" Peter repeats, looking confused that I would even say such a thing.

"No way," says Tobey firmly. "They're right, MJ. And don't act like you don't have a smart-mouth side of your own." He reaches up and strokes her hair for a moment. "Would I love you half as much if you didn't twist half the words I say into a joke? Or call me 'Tiger' like I'm some adorable little brother of yours?"

"Aww," MJ says, grabbing Tobey's hand and pulling it off-screen, where she appears to be holding it. "Something you got in common with your new self - you talk about the things I do like they're bad things."

"And now you talk about that like it's a bad thing," Tobey says, pouting at her.

MJ lets go of Tobey's hand, pokes his nose, then turns to me and Peter. "Sorry you guys have to see this," she says.

"It's all right," Peter says with a wave of his hand.

"Yeah," I say, winking at MJ. "Whatever you two can do, we're a million times worse."

"Wanna bet?" Tobey laughs.

"I don't wanna make you lose money," Peter laughs back. "Besides, there's the little matter of me being out here and you being inside a screen. Unless someone around here can convert paper money to bitcoin?" he asks the room at large.

"I'm your gal, in that case," Skye says brightly. "But...please tell me the two Peters aren't gonna try and make a bet. You're both gonna lose."

"Why?" Tobey asks. "'Cause we're both perennial losers?"

"Outside of uniform, especially," Peter says.

I exchange glances with MJ, who gives a long-suffering sigh. "I love you, Peter," she says, taking Tobey's hand again, "but how many times do I have to tell you to start believing in yourself?"

"You know something?" I say to Peter. "I think MJ just hit your underlying problem right on the head."

"Who says I've got a problem?"

"Exhibit A," Hiro says, using a tablet to play a clip of a scene from The Amazing Spider-Man. In this scene, it's right after my dad's funeral, and I've just come to Peter's house hoping to find out why he didn't come.

"Why do you have that ready to go?" Peter asks.

"Just watch." Hiro turns up the volume, and then we watch as Peter tells me how he doesn't want to be my boyfriend anymore, because my dad had told him to promise he'd leave me out of his double life. I actually think reliving this part - which I'd not remembered before now - is worse than reliving the moment of my death. At least the death was only painful for a split second at most. Here, the pain just keeps on driving razor-sharp icicles into my heart.

"Why are we watching this?" I ask, feeling tears prickle in my eyes.

"I told you, just watch," Hiro says. "I just wanted to give the relevant part some context."

The relevant part follows not long after he finishes talking. After I turn and leave, walking out into the gloomy rain, Peter goes back into his house. His Aunt May asks what happened, and he says that he's not good enough for me. My reaction is very similar to Aunt May's, except mine includes less sharp but encouraging words and more jaw-droppage.

Tobey and MJ can't see what's going on, because the tablet's out of the camera's view. But they hear the dialogue anyway, and they can see our reactions - that is, mine and Peter's. Now they - but especially Tobey - look thoroughly depressed.

"I guess rebooting Spider-Man didn't mean they could give you a happier life, huh?" he asks. "See, MJ, that's what really sucks balls."

"You kiss me with that mouth?" MJ laughs weakly at her own joke. At any other time, it would have been so much funnier. Then it just gets worse when the image on the screen starts to skip and glitch up.

"Shit, the spell's wearing off," Peter says. "Uh, well, I guess we'll just have to talk again soon, guys. Maybe it won't get so miserable next time, huh?"

"Here's hoping," Tobey says with a small smile. "N-Nice to m-meet you, Gwen!"

"Same to you," I say, waving at the flickering images of him and MJ. She says goodbye as well, but then the image cuts out for good, and the movie starts playing for real again.

Hiro removes the DVD from the laptop and loads it back into its jewel case. Then he heads out the door, prompting Tadashi (who hasn't spoken a word the whole time) to ask, "Where are you going?"

"To see Ultron, duh," Hiro says. "He's still hiding in that shed, right? Yeah, I promised him I'd teach him some proper emotional responses." He pauses, his hand on the doorknob, before adding, "Other than the sarcasm Stark programmed him with."

After he leaves, Tadashi heaves a sigh and puts down the Allen wrenches he's been using on the Baybox. "Typical Hiro," he mutters. "He connects better with robots than humans. Always has."

I watch as Peter returns to the Kohl's website for a moment, but then he closes the laptop and returns it to the table next to Tadashi. "I kinda see what you mean," he says. "Hiro didn't seem to notice that Gwen and I were not enjoying the flashback right there."

"I'm sure he did," Tadashi says, "but he wanted to keep it going 'cause he felt like he needed to make a point. Like I said, with human relationships, he doesn't connect so well."

"Well, what about you?" I ask. "Or-or Skye, or your friends-"

Tadashi shakes his head and adjusts his ball cap. "What do we all have in common, though?" he asks. "Two things. First, we're all science whizzes of some kind. Second, we're adults. Hiro's smarter than just about every other fourteen-year-old kid in the world, but that's why he has no friends his age. None of the other fourteen-year-olds can keep up with his brainpower." He starts putting away his tools. "Except maybe Billy Kaplan, but then again, Billy's always in your head, 'cause he's a telepath and all."

"Well, look on the bright side," I say. "Now he's got a whole bunch of teenage Avengers to make friends with."

"Teenagers who used to be adults not so long ago," Tadashi points out. "At least he's got people, though. I can only imagine what it must have been like for him after..." Here, he stops himself, as if he's getting into territory too personal for us.

"After what?" Peter prompts him.

Tadashi clenches his fist for a moment, then says, "After I died."

I look at Peter, whose face shows shock - but not as much as I would have thought. "I...I think..." He pauses, swallows, then continues. "I think Skye already told us you were dead before. I guess Ultron and Strange must have brought you back just like Gwen, huh?"

"I never knew how I came back until Skye told me about that dream of yours," Tadashi says, pointing to me. "Coulson and Fury just told me that I'd been brought back to life, and under no circumstances was I to tell any of my people."

"And have you?" I ask.

"No." Tadashi looks down - in more ways than one. "As far as the others are concerned, I've been alive the whole time. And I can't...I can't just tell them that's all a lie. Especially Hiro - he'd never recover from that kind of shock."

"You sure of that?" Peter asks. "If he's anything like the rest of us - and I'm sure he is - he's stronger than he looks."

Tadashi tilts his head. "Peter, have you ever had a little brother?"

"I have a few of those," I cut in.

"I wasn't asking you," Tadashi says to me. "Peter?"

"No," he says, wringing his hands. "But...but in San Cas, I'd babysit my neighbor, Miles. And...and even before I found out who I was...given the chance, I'd protect that kid at all costs."

"So now do you see where I'm coming from?" Tadashi asks. "Look, when I died, that was the single event that started Hiro on his own superhero path. But it wasn't a clear journey - and there was a point where it looked like he'd make a decision he could never take back."

"How do you know?" Peter asks, his voice rising slightly. "Did they show you video evidence or something?"

"They removed the relevant footage from Baymax's memory," Tadashi says, looking at the Baybox as if expecting him to spontaneously reactivate in answer to his own name. "Coulson and Fury downloaded it out of him - unlike with you guys, we haven't been able to find a copy of our movie."

I sigh heavily. Then a thought bursts into my mind, a strangely rebellious one. I almost find it out of character - an "almost" that turns into a "definitely" when I actually go ahead and speak my mind. "Well...Coulson's dead. So..."

"So what?" Skye says. Does she sense what I've got in mind? From what I know of her, it wouldn't surprise me if she and I were on the same wavelength.

"Okay, bear with me here," I say, looking Tadashi squarely in the eye. "Coulson's dead - ave atque vale, et requiescat in pace. And as for Fury - look at how many of us we've got here right now. There's no way he can keep his one eye on everyone and keep everyone in line."

"What the hell are you saying?"

"Look at Ultron," I say. I cross over to the window, through which, lo and behold, I can see him sitting cross-legged outside the maintenance shed, with Hiro looking like a doll next to him because he so much smaller. "He's not under Fury's control - he could easily turn into a big bad supervillain again." I look at Tadashi. "Not that you'd be a supervillain, of course. I mean, you don't have as many obstacles to prevent you from telling-"

"Okay, that's enough," Tadashi says, his voice as stern and firm as he can possibly make it without raising it. "Gwen, I...I can't believe I'm hearing you say that. You...you want me to defy Coulson and Fury like that?"

"Everyone knows I'm dead," I reason. "Why shouldn't they know the same about you?"

"They just..." Tadashi can't finish his sentence. I want to say that I've defeated him in his argument, but I feel no sense of victory. Especially after he heads to the door, grabs his cardigan, and leaves. His shoulders are slumped slightly in an expression of depression, which is at odds with the incredulous look on his face.

Peter's got a similar look of his own. I look down at the floor for a moment, then up at his eyes. I love how big and brown they are normally, but now his bewilderment makes them less doe-like and more flat-out deer-in-the-headlights. Skye's also looking at me the same way.

I hang my head in shame. All I can say is this: "I have no excuse."

Chapter Text

***GWEN***

A week or so goes by. In that time, Peter orders me that white hoodie, along with some matching skinny jeans (for which he somehow manages to guess my size), for my new Spider-Gwen costume. Of course, "Spider-Gwen" isn't going to be my actual code name, but I'm sticking with it for now because I think it sounds a little cooler than the inevitable "Spider-Woman" or, worse, "Spider-Girl." (Peter likes the latter, but I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of being called a girl by people who don't love me the way he does.)

I also spend the next week learning how to use my Spider-powers. Peter gives me a boxful of webshooters to train with, but I end up wasting at least half of them in two days. These webshooters, especially when they're clipped to my wrists, are harder to use than I would have thought before. It takes me quite a while to get my fingers flexible enough to reach the webshooters. And then I have to learn how to aim them properly as well. Luckily, we have a good demonstration dummy in Tony Stark. Everyone else agrees that he should "volunteer" for that duty after he keeps stealing Peter's webshooters and mishandling them several times. All the other Avengers (besides Black Widow) manage to get covered in web at least once each because of him.

Before long, it's the first day of May. Fury somehow manages to get ahold of a copy of Age of Ultron for a screening here at the Avengers facility, and everyone (but especially those who were in the movie) is invited to attend. I sit in and watch alongside everyone else, and am, appropriately, dazzled by the action and humor and even the more human, dramatic moments. I'm not very well-schooled on the work of Joss Whedon (other than watching the occasional old episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer with Peter and/or my brothers, who are all big fans), but he's got a great handle on how to make a movie, I can say that much. Even Ultron, whom I half-expect to voice his negative opinion on his portrayal at every turn, sits there cross-legged in the aisle in front of one of the exits, in rapt silence the whole time.

At the end of the movie, Vision (who was the one to finally kill Ultron for good, or so the movie makes it appear) approaches Ultron and holds out his hand, saying, "No hard feelings, right?"

Remaining seated so he can at least sort of be on Vision's level, Ultron shakes his hand, saying, "What do you think?"

"That's what I was hoping to hear," Vision says. "It's too bad, though, that the Marvel team didn't allow them to show me removing your chip and taking it with me."

"For those of you playing at home," Ultron says, "that's sort of how I'm still around today."

Fury approaches the front of the theater as the screen goes dark and the lights come on slowly. "Any questions?" he asks.

I raise my hand and pose the first one. "Sorry, but I'm really confused about one thing. All these movies - they're being released now in some other world, but how long ago did these events all happen? For real, I mean. For..." I'm about to say "For us," except I wasn't part of this movie. And yet, after spending over a week living with the Avengers, I'm already considering myself a member of the team. Peter, too, although from what I've heard, he already found his way into their ranks, sometime after I died. That's what Skye says, anyway. Skye's my most reliable resource on these things, along with her fellow science-oriented SHIELD agents.

Fury has enough information to answer my question, though. To the best of his ability, anyway. "There's a lag between the events happening for us and the movies being released by Marvel in other universes. Usually, it's anywhere from six to twenty-four months."

Bruce stands up and says, "In this case, the lag was ten months. All the events of Age of Ultron took place in July of last year for us. At the time, all the other universes where they see these movies, they were being distracted by the hype train for Guardians of the Galaxy."

"Speaking of Guardians, are we gonna see any of those guys?" Peter asks. "I'd love to meet Star-Lord and Rocket, especially."

"So would I," Bruce chuckles, "but they're doing their own thing, so don't count on it."

Peter returns to his seat, looking a bit disappointed.

"Any other questions?" Fury asks. "I'm sure some of you must have a few good ones."

I look around the room. I think he's specifically looking at Natasha, who by now should be wondering why the hell, according to the movie, her current boyfriend is married to another woman, with whom he's had three kids. And why the hell she's in a relationship with the one Avenger who's still an adult - Bruce. However, he must not realize that Clint, having been reminded of his wife and kids by Loki, already talked to her about it. They're still trying to wrap their minds around this screwiness, and I bet the new developments presented by the movie aren't helping matters at all.

Fury's also probably paying special attention to Pietro. I went into the movie expecting someone to die - maybe more than one someone, even. What I didn't see coming was that that someone was Pietro. To be honest, I actually expected Clint would die, because of all the special focus on his family.

However, nobody has anything else to ask Fury, or Bruce, or anyone else with any kind of authority or ability to explain things. My guess is that it's because the other Avengers, having been de-aged, now have stronger independent streaks like real teenagers. And that the reason why Peter and I were the only ones to pose any questions is because we're the new kids on the block, relatively speaking. So there's some natural curiosity involved. Not to mention the fact that we're different from the other Avengers. For the others, their true identities (especially that of Iron Man) are public knowledge, and Peter's the one anomaly who still hides behind a mask. I'm sure I would do the same thing myself, given the chance.

Outside the theater, though, is when the real discussion starts among us. Without Fury's physical presence, we're a little more open about what we've just seen. The first one to speak as soon as we get to the girls' barracks (we agree to meet there because the boys are, in Peter's words, "far from ready for company") is Natasha, and she says, "I dunno about you, Bruce, but I'm not planning on doing the lullaby thing with you anytime soon."

"Please, don't," Bruce says with a shudder. "Not until you're an adult again. And maybe not even then - I'm gonna probably still have your teenage self in my head."

"Sucks to be you," Deadpool says. He's sitting on top of Skye's bunk in the lotus position, for whatever reason. Probably meditating about chimichangas or something. "If only everyone were more like me - cursed with extreme self-awareness, utterly fucking obscene, and lacking in inhibitions-"

"Not everyone lives life like they're in a Tarantino or Matthew Vaughn movie," Clint says. "And who let you join us here, anyway?"

"I did, duh!" Deadpool says, tilting his head for a moment. "Now let me finish, Hot Guy - sorry, Hawkeye. Not that I didn't make that slip on purpose, but whatevs." He pauses to giggle to himself at the sight of Clint blushing, then continues. "As I was saying...if only everyone were more like me, the world would be a better place. And you can take that to the bank, kiddies." He starts counting off his fingers as he keeps on rattling off. "Trade it for greenbacks, pounds, euros, yen, bitcoins, cowrie shells, those giant stones with the holes in them from that one Pacific island-"

"Let me guess," Tony says, waving his hand in Deadpool's direction. "The writer's giving you this list of money?"

"Some things, I store in my own cerebrum," Deadpool says airily. "If you don't believe me about the writer, though, just ask Peter. Or Gwen. Or Thor, or Sif, or Hot Guy. They've all talked to him too. I'm astounded he hasn't gotten to you yet, though."

"Yeah," Tony says, more deadpan than ever. "Yeah, 'cause I'm so unimportant to him, this nonexistent 'writer,' that he can't spare any time to shoot the breeze with me."

If I know you, I think, unsure if the writer's even listening, this would be the perfect time to speak up and prove him wrong. No response. Writer? Hello? Knock knock - anyone home?

I'd keep trying to reach him, but then I see one of the room's less vocal occupants slide off the bed he's sitting on and quietly leave the room. Equally unobtrusively, I pick up my new hoodie, put it on, and follow him out the door. He's sitting down the hall, curled up in a ball against the wall. (Okay, seriously, why did I just talk in rhyme like that? I don't normally do that, I swear to God. Blame it on the writer, I guess. Wherever he is.)

"Billy?" He looks up as he hears me call his name. "Hey there. What's up?"

He brushes his dark red bangs out of his eyes and sits up slightly. "Nothing much. Just didn't feel like I could contribute to the convo, you know what I mean?"

"Not really," I say. "Everyone's opinion is valuable, right?"

Billy shrugs, then wraps his arms around his knees again. "I dunno. I just feel weird sometimes, hanging around all you guys. You've all been in the movies, and I'm the only one here who hasn't."

"Really?"

"I swear," he says with an embarrassed laugh.

I laugh along with him, then lay a comforting arm over his shoulders. "Don't sweat it," I say, feeling like I'm trying to cheer up one of my brothers. God, I miss my brothers. Howard, Philip, and Simon may be annoying sometimes - and their names sound like one of Alvin and the Chipmunks ran off to form a side project, as I always like to tell them - but they're still the best boys in my life. (Sorry, Peter.) And to think they're a whole universe away from me right now, unaware of our true history...it's been getting to me a few times over the last week or so, and now it's happening again.

Billy doesn't even need to ask why I'm crying - he can see it all in my thoughts. And in response, he finally abandons his borderline-fetal position and wraps his arms around me. "Sometimes," he says, "I wish I had siblings too."

"You're an only child, huh?" I ask. "Like Peter?"

"Not...not exactly." Billy pulls away from me and stands up, then starts walking further away from the barracks. "See, I've been raised as an only, but there's this...well, I can't really explain it. It's hard to understand if you're not a telepath."

"Try me," I say.

"It's like..." Billy stops to collect his thoughts. "It's like I have this bond with someone, and I don't even know who he is. All I know is that he's a he, and he's my twin."

"How can you be sure?"

"I talked to Wanda about it when I first came here," Billy says. "She has that bond with her brother too. I guess every telepath with a twin gets it - I mean, you spend nine months or so in the womb with some other guy, that's not something you can say about just anyone."

"I can only imagine," I say. "And there's probably some other universe where I have your powers and a twin, so I wouldn't have to."

Billy cracks a grin. "Yeah, and there's probably a universe where I'm Spider-Boy or something. Maybe Spider-Kid, the Boy Wonder and sidekick to Peter Parker. And all the girls would go gaga for me, but I wouldn't be seeking any of-" He stops short as his phone rings, and he answers it. "Hey, Kitty. What? Oh, really? Sweet! Yeah, I kinda felt like a break from the Avengers for a bit. We just saw Age of Ultron, you know." I hear what sounds like a delighted squeal from the other end of his call. "Don't act so happy - someone you like actually died. Oh, hang on a sec..." He covers the mouthpiece and turns to me, asking, "Would you be interested in coming to Xavier's with me for a bit? Kitty - you remember Kitty, right? Anyway, she's having a little pizza party, and she wants to bring you and Peter along."

"Both of us?" I say. "Well, I'll go talk to Peter, but count me in for sure."

"Cool." Billy resumes his conversation with Kitty, and I return to the barracks, where the movie talk is still going on. Peter's not taking part in the conversation too much at this point, so it's easy for me to discreetly slip in and pull him aside.

"Oh, thank God," he says as I bring him out the door. "I was getting sick of Stark and Barton fighting over which one had a better reason to retire from the Avengers." He chuckles lightly to himself. "So what's up?"

Without preamble, I take a breath and say, "The X-Men invited us over for pizza."

Most of Peter's face stays impassive, except for his eyebrows, which shoot up sharply. "And by 'us,' you mean...?"

"You, me, and Billy," I say as the kid walks up to us.

"So what's the word?" he asks, his hand over his phone again.

Peter looks at Billy and asks, "Is this on the level? Pizza and nothing else? No tricks, jokes, traps, ifs, ands, or buts?"

Snickering at Peter's joke, Billy says, "Nope. No tricks."

Peter shrugs. "Okay. Sure. I kinda wanted to have a chat with some of the X-Men anyway."

"Cool." Billy uncovers his phone and says, "Kitty, they're in. You can come pick us up."

He hangs up, and we walk to the hangar, where Kitty's agreed to meet us. Five minutes later, she shows up and takes us back to Xavier's School with her, phasing us through the walls like the other night.

"Seems like a private party," Peter says, looking around and seeing how few people are in what looks like a small dorm room. Just us four, in fact.

Kitty laughs lightly as she lifts the lid on a box of pizza. "Yeah, kind of. They had a lot of pizzas today, and I managed to snag one for our little, uh, private party."

"The purpose of which is...?" I ask.

After putting a slice in my hand, Kitty says, "I kinda wanted to get to know you guys. I mean, we spent so much time impressing you guys and showing off, but..." She walks over and plugs an iPod into a set of speakers on the bedside table. An old 80s new wave song, something Deadpool would hate, fills the room.

"Tears for Fears, huh?" Peter asks.

Kitty gives him some pizza as well. "I do love the classics. 'Mad World,' especially."

"I was always more partial to 'Shout,'" Peter says. He looks down at his pizza, but doesn't take a bite.

"You look like it's gonna bite you, and not the other way around," Billy laughs.

His pizza continues to go uneaten for a while, and in that time, the only sound in the room is the music. I don't eat either, because if Peter's too nervous to eat, there must be something very wrong. Something on his mind, and if so, it won't be long before he comes out with it.

"Out with it," however, turns out to not quite cover it.

"D-Do you seriously think we can just forget about what you guys did?" Peter says, his voice rising.

"What do you mean?" Kitty asks. "Well, if you're talking about the, uh, bringing you here in the dead of night-"

"Oh, finally! Finally, someone mentions the elephant in the room!"

"Peter..." I stick my pizza back in the box and approach him, trying to calm him down. "Peter, what's gotten into you?"

His eyes look practically wild for a second as he glares at me. Then his expression softens, only to turn steely again as he looks at Kitty. Billy, meanwhile, nervously nibbles his pizza as if he's the one afraid it'll bite him.

"No, this has been bugging me all week," Peter says, copying me and putting his own untouched slice away. "You really think we're-we're gonna want to work with you guys now? Yeah. Y-Y-You sure left a lovely first impression."

His emotions must really be running high if he's stuttering this much. He's learned to control it pretty well over time - I still remember the time when he first tried to ask me out and was reduced to gibberish that sounded like "I dunno, uh, or we could do some of this, or we could..." And those were the most coherent words he was able to spit out. Everything else was said not in words, but in helpless hand gestures. I always thought it was adorable, but I also loved how he slowly but surely gained the ability to express himself properly to me like the human he was.

Bemused, Kitty asks, "Who said anything about working with you guys?"

"Well, what do you think the other night was all about?" Peter asks. "Y-You wouldn't show it to us unless you wanted us to work with you. What, and split our time between the Avengers and the X-Men like Billy here?"

"It's really cool, actually," Billy says. "Two superhero teams. And come on, guys, you can trust me. Right?"

This isn't exactly what Peter wants to hear, though. "I can't...I-I-I-I can't be here. Not now."

"Peter, we're not trying to bring you into our fold," Kitty says. "Well, sure, we'd love you to join, but it's all up to you."

Shaking his head, Peter makes his way to the door. "I'm going back," he says. "Gwen, are you gonna come with me, or stay here?"

"Come with you," I say. "Before you start breaking things in your frustration."

"Don't tempt me."

Kitty offers to phase us back to the Avengers facility, but Peter and I both turn her down. As we walk back along the narrow, tree-lined road, I ask, "Have you really been thinking about this all week?"

Rather than respond, Peter just keeps his lips shut tightly.

"You realize this isn't normal for you, right?" I ask, growing ever more concerned. "Since when do you dwell on stuff like this so much?"

"Well, you weren't there for the five months I didn't do any Spider-Man anything after you died," Peter points out.

"That's different-"

"It was just an example!" Peter shouts. Then he remembers himself and gets back under control. "Oh shit, I'm sorry. I-I-I shouldn't have-"

"I think I get it." I take his hand, running my thumb over his knuckles the way he sometimes does for me. "This has been bothering you, and you've not talked to anyone about it, and now you're lashing out. Is that it? Is that the problem?"

Angry tears start to form in Peter's eyes. "Yeah, you might be right. But it's my problem, so-"

"So what? Don't worry about it, 'cause it's not my problem?" I take hold of his face and look him right in the eyes. "If it's your problem, it's mine too. We're in this together."

Peter tries to push me away, but I hold on to him. "Stop making us sound like some old married couple," he says.

"Jesus, when did you get such a thick head?" I knock on his forehead for effect. Then I lower my hands and wrap my arms around him, feeling the muscles in his shoulders finally start to relax.

"I really am sorry," he says in a low, rough whisper. "I honestly don't know what came over me."

I look up to his face again, and seeing the tears slowly drip down his cheeks, I kiss him gently. Our lips brush together, but nothing stronger than that.

"I can't trust the X-Men, though," he whispers. "I...I can't. Not after the other night. I mean, if they really just wanted to show us what they were all about...why do it late at night like that? And why just us? What, they don't want the Avengers to work with them or something?"

"Maybe some of the others got extended the same invitation and haven't talked about it either," I suggest.

"Oh, right, the other boneheads just holding in shit," Peter says.

I kiss him a little more deeply, but only for a few seconds. Then we start walking again, and I say, "We should ask around, though. See if we really were the only ones they talked to."

"Yeah." Peter holds my hand as we round a bend and see the Avengers facility rising out of the trees in the distance. "Definitely."

Chapter Text

***PETER***

After returning to the Avengers facility, Gwen and I split up, hoping to get some answers out of as many people as possible in a shorter amount of time. The only answer we get from anyone before dinner, though, is that none of the others have been approached by the X-Men. Just us.

Funnily enough, the only people we don’t think to ask before dinner are the ones most likely to be prime X-Men candidates - the Maximoff twins. We don’t get around to seeing them until dinner, though. Pietro and Wanda both went off and holed up in their own solitary parts of the building, claiming to need some alone time. No surprise there - after all, they just learned that he’d died in combat while facing Ultron. But then they come back out of their hidey-holes (note to self: ask where said hidey-holes are in case Gwen or I need to make use of them) just in time to get plates of tortellini alfredo, served piping hot by Doctor Strange himself.

“You sure love making magical food, don’t you?” I ask him as I take my serving.

“I don’t do all the work,” Strange says with a small, modest smile that doesn’t look right on his face. “If it were possible for me to simply magic all this into existence, I would. But my powers do have their limits.” He skewers one tortellini on a toothpick like he’s serving samples at Costco, then eats it. “I imagine, like most young people, you’ve read the complete Harry Potter series cover to cover?”

“So many times, it’s not even funny.”

“Well,” Strange says, giving Gwen a plate of her own, “J.K. Rowling was definitely on to something when she wrote the part in Deathly Hallows explaining that food was an exception to Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration.” He snickers to himself, then adds, “Of course, that rule only applies to what the spellcaster considers ‘food.’ If, say, I were an Australian Aborigine who enjoyed eating witchetty grubs, I wouldn’t be able to conjure one from thin air for any purpose. But since I’m not an Aborigine, I can conjure up as many grubs as I would ever need.”

“If you do that right here and now like you’re clearly hoping to do,” Wanda says, coming up behind Gwen, “I’ll fry your brain and serve it to a sleuth of bears.” She cocks her head at Gwen and me and adds, “What?” in a slightly defensive tone. “That’s what a group of bears is called - a sleuth. Trust me, I Googled it myself.”

“I didn’t even know that,” I say, awestruck. “I thought a group of bears was a herd or something.”

“Bears, they aren’t exactly herd animals, are they?”

Gwen pats my shoulders as they slump in defeat. “Don’t worry, Peter. I didn’t know that either.”

“You want me to push that thought deep into your brains so you don’t forget?” Wanda asks with a devious gleam in her eye.

“No, no, no, we’re good,” I say, holding up one hand and precariously balancing my bowl of pasta in the other.

“Too late, I already did,” Wanda says with a cheeky grin.

“You lie,” Gwen laughs.

“I would never!” Wanda gasps, scandalized. “Besides, you can’t even feel it. The number of deep probes I’ve done on Pietro’s brain without him knowing…” Her voice trails off as he gets in line behind her, but the damage has already been done.

“I already know you’ve screwed with my brain, Wanda,” he says, cracking a tiny smile. “Otherwise, how would I know so many things without having learned them?”

“Hypnopedia?” Wanda suggests in an unusually high voice.

“All right, that’s the last time I let you borrow my copy of Brave New World,” Pietro grumbles. “Haven’t you read it enough times anyway?”

“Considering it was that or 1984 while Strucker had us,” Wanda says, leading the way to a table, “there’s a reason why that became my favorite book.”

“Sure, 1984 was depressing,” Pietro says, “but it was the better-written story, I always thought.”

Seeing Wanda and Pietro acting like normal, it’s a bit jarring. But it’s become normal for me to see the others displaying chipper attitudes despite being slammed with bad memories, something I’ve started chalking up to the Avengers being Avengers. Tough, heroic, and just the right amount of maladjusted. Of course, that’s something Gwen’s never been, and as for me, well, does spending most of my life as a loner count? And not all the Avengers are weird anyway. Rogers, for instance, is more normal than the rest of us, psychologically speaking. His real issue is the fact that he comes from a different time period - same with Carter. And then there’s Bucky, who’s really kept to himself in the last few days. In fact, I can’t remember seeing him once since the day we first found him with Deadpool in that hotel in Washington.

But not all the Avengers are keeping their brave faces in place. Natasha’s a particularly noticeable case - she’s sitting all by herself at one end of the table, staring into space, picking at her food.

“She was pretty hard-hit by one of the revelations from the movie,” Gwen says in hushed tones as she sees me look at her. “You know...the one where she said they cut out her ovaries?”

I nod solemnly. “I bet none of us knew before. Except Bruce. And Wanda.”

“I didn’t, actually,” Wanda says.

“But what’s really weird is…” Gwen pauses, tapping her finger against the handle of her fork. “Natasha actually went to Baymax to confirm it, and he said her reproductive system was not only intact, but perfectly healthy.”

“Which I’m thinking might be a side effect of the tanks of blue stuff,” says a female voice - not Skye, but Simmons.

“You know-?” I begin.

“Skye let us in on that little secret,” Simmons says. “Me and Fitz, that is.”

“What little secret?” asks Fitz.

Simmons does a double take as she sees his plate. “How’d you get shredded parmesan on yours?”

“I did Strange a favor the other day,” Fitz says. “Me and Hunter, we tried to blast our way through his force fields with different weapons. His gun didn’t work, but my Taser fried it like you wouldn’t believe.”

“How is that a favor?” I ask.

“He’s always looking for weaknesses in our defenses so he can shore them up,” Fitz says, spiking one tortellini on his fork, then another, before eating them both. “Hmm. I like garlic, but this sauce has a little too much for me.”

“Can we get back to the blue-tank stuff?” Gwen asks. “Not that I particularly care to talk about it…” She shudders at the thought. “But it’s apparently gone and become important again.”

“What are we talking about?” Pietro asks, mystified.

Gwen and I are quick to fill him and Wanda in on the mysterious blue-tank dream vision. “And now I think about it, you two weren’t in it like the rest of us,” she says to the twins. “Why, I’m not totally sure...but then, I didn’t see Sam in there either, and yet he’s been de-aged too.”

“Maybe they just couldn’t fit everyone into the same room of tanks?” Fitz suggests.

“Which implies that they have more than one room full of these tanks,” Simmons says, her eyes briefly losing focus as she contemplates such a weird, freaky scenario.

“I’m surprised not everyone was there, though,” Gwen says. “Unless that’s just an oversight on the writer’s part?”

Sorry to be cryptic, the writer says, but...while some things are oversights, most mistakes I make with your story are very deliberate. It seems that he’s forgotten to limit his connection to just Gwen’s brain, because as soon as he starts talking, Fitz-Simmons almost fall backwards in shock. I shouldn’t have done that! he yells in a pretty good Hagrid impression. Switching to an English accent (which makes both of them, but especially Simmons, even more wide-eyed), he says, Well, the cat’s out of the bag…

“How is this…” Fitz begins, but after that, he’s lost for words.

You don’t wanna know, the writer says, laughing sheepishly as he reverts to his regular voice. I mean, of course there’s an explanation, but the explanations I come up with - some on the internet might call them ‘teh suck.’ I’ve also apparently been known to cause heart attacks with my weird science ideas. He pauses, laughs again, then adds, Don’t worry - those heart attacks get cured by me waving pizza in the victims’ faces every time. Worked on Red Band Society, so why shouldn’t it work for real?

Simmons gasps for breath. “Is...is he taking the piss?”

“With this guy, it’s impossible to tell,” I say ruefully.

Something I truly take pride in, says the writer. Unlike my grammar. I’m full of sentence fragments, split infinitives, and prepositions I end sentences with.

Simmons looks around the room and sees all the others gathering in their own groups. Deadpool is with the other Avengers (except Natasha), undoubtedly continuing to annoy the hell out of them. “Fitz,” she says, keeping her voice low, “do you think Deadpool may have developed telepathy without our knowledge?”

“I suppose it’s possible, yeah,” Fitz says, scratching his head. “What, you think he’s the voice of the writer?”

Admittedly, this theory makes a great deal of sense - and I wish I’d anticipated it. But because I was one of the first to hear the writer, other than Deadpool, I find myself playing devil’s advocate. “Just ‘cause Deadpool and the writer have a similar sense of humor doesn’t mean they’re the same person.”

“Not to mention,” Gwen chimes in, “the writer isn’t as snarky as Deadpool. Or as foul-mouthed.”

“Nobody’s as foul-mouthed as Deadpool,” Wanda points out, “unless you’re swearing in Russian. Our language can be pretty obscene.”

Pietro nods gravely - it’s clear he’s struggling not to laugh. “Just throw in a ‘yob tvoyu mat’ in any Russian sentence. No matter what you say, it fits the context every time.”

“Doesn’t that mean something like-?” I ask.

“‘Fuck your mama?’ Yes,” Wanda says.

“Speaking of mums,” Simmons says, matching the twins’ deadpan tone, “you kiss yours with that mouth?”

“No, but we kiss her grave,” Pietro says.

“It wasn’t, you know…” Fitz snaps his fingers until he figures out what he wants to ask. “Uprooted by Ultron?”

“No, it wasn’t,” Wanda says. “But now that we’ve seen the movie...I just realized, Pietro, you weren’t there last time I went to see her. They must not have brought you back at the time.”

“Which means I was revived less than…” Pietro counts on his fingers, looking strangely childlike. “Eight months ago. It’s May now, yes? Yeah, eight months.”

Seemingly hearing my thoughts, Wanda’s quick to say, “Maths were never his strong suit.” She then looks up at the ceiling, much like Gwen and I tend to do when the writer’s talking to us, and asks, “Writer? Are you the so-called Merc with a Mouth, or are you someone else?”

Yes.

Making a raspberry, Wanda rolls her eyes and then says, “That’s really helpful.”

Thanks.

Since he’s putting on a happy voice, I suspect the writer’s not going to help us out any further tonight. He’s too deep in Funny Guy Mode. In any case, as we keep on talking about Gwen’s dream, trying in vain to pick it apart further, the writer offers us no input. I’m starting to feel a little dependent on him to help me and the others figure out what’s going on, and I’m not liking that feeling. I mean, J.K. Rowling didn’t tell Harry Potter his Invisibility Cloak was a Deathly Hallow. Suzanne Collins didn’t tell Katniss that half the other Quarter Quell tributes were agents of the rebellion. Why should our writer tell us jack shit? He just revels too much in chaos, I think.

And with that idea in mind, I come up with a theory not unlike that which Simmons posited earlier. My theory is that the writer is secretly not Deadpool, but Loki. Of course, I have no way to prove it - but then, neither did Simmons with her Deadpool theory, because even if she were to ask him directly, he’d probably find some way to dodge the question. Same with Loki, I would think. He seems to only want to reveal things on his own unearthly schedule.

Fitz-Simmons, however, agree that my theory is just as plausible as theirs. “It’s not as if the scientific method really works here,” Fitz says. “All we can do is hypothesize, and even if we do manage to put our theories to the test, any interpretation of the results would be pure guesswork.”

“I hate guesswork,” Simmons says with a sigh, “but Fitz is right. There are so many aliens and sorcerers and revived dead people here, it’s hard to rely on the laws of science anymore.”

By the time we’re done with dinner, we’ve pretty much gotten nowhere fast, and we’re all too tired to pursue the issue any further. Gwen and I, especially, wholeheartedly agree that the best course of action at this point is to sleep on it.

Late at night, I find myself waking up at one point for no apparent reason. Maybe it’s just a random shock to my system. Or maybe not. I’m not the only one suddenly awake - I can see one of the other guys perched on the edge of his bed, and I hear him panting slightly.

Without my contacts or my glasses, I can’t see who it is at first. But then the moonlight catches his hair, making it gleam in the dark. Silver hair - it can only be Pietro. And I have a pretty sneaking suspicion about what made him wake up like that.

In the morning, I’m so eager to talk to him, I lazily put my glasses on instead of my contacts. When I come up to him, he does a double take - I don’t think he’s seen me with my glasses before. Not in the flesh, at least. Then he cracks his knuckles, puts on a plain white tee, and says, “Yeah, I knew you saw me last night. Now you wanna ask me about my nightmare?”

“How’d you know I-?”

“I can’t say I didn’t see that coming,” Pietro says, stretching his T-shirt and trying to clear it of wrinkles. “Gwen had her nightmare after she found out she’d been dead, yeah? Well, so have I.”

“And it was the same kind of…” I let my voice trail off for a second. “Wait, let’s have you talk to Gwen too. I think she’ll wanna hear this.”

At the breakfast table, Pietro recounts his own nightmare to me and Gwen, as well as to Wanda. “...so I was begging them to let me die, but it was like they couldn’t hear me. Ultron and Strange were chattering about how I needed to come back, or else the experiment wouldn’t be as successful as it should be.” He snorts into his omelet. “Whatever ‘the experiment’ is, it’s gonna really suck. Or, more accurately, it already does suck, ‘cause I bet we’re already in it, you know what I mean?”

“Who was in the tanks?” Gwen asks. “The other tanks, I mean.”

“I only knew to get a good look ‘cause of your story,” Pietro says, crossing his arms and shivering. It might just be an expression of fear, but it could also be the result of the A/C coming on with him sitting directly under the vent. “So...in the tanks. Wanda, you were there. There was a black guy next to you - Sam Wilson, I think. And Bucky Barnes was in another tank - Strange was bummed ‘cause they couldn’t regrow his arm.”

Speaking of Bucky, he walks in right as Pietro mentions his name. Gwen and I, because we’re facing the door, catch his eye as he catches ours. Before we can do anything nonchalant to blow it off - like averting our eyes and whistling to ourselves - Bucky makes his way over to our table, sitting next to Wanda.

“Hey, guys,” he says in a rough voice. “What’s up?”

I exchange glances with Pietro, unsure how to respond to this. Wanda, meanwhile, takes it upon herself to fill Bucky in on the details of the dreams. “If you can help us figure this out in any way, shape, or form,” she says, “we’d very much appreciate it.”

Bucky’s mouth becomes a tight line. “I was wondering when this would come up again,” he says, more to himself. “Of all the sick, twisted flashbacks I’ve had lately, these are the only ones I’ve never remembered except when I was asleep.”

“What, are you saying you’ve had these nightmares too?” Gwen asks.

“But that means…” I take a second to process the implications of what Bucky’s said. “But that means you’ve died too. Doesn’t it? ‘Cause so far, the only one’s who’ve had the tank visions are the ones who’ve died and been resurrected.”

Lifting his prosthetic arm onto the table, Bucky heaves a sigh. “At this point,” he says, “I’ve been so out of my mind for so long, anything would make sense to me.”

“Like when you were turned into the Winter Soldier?” I ask.

“Don’t remind me,” Bucky says, clenching his metal fist for a moment. “I haven’t had enough coffee to deal with shit like this just yet.”

Chapter Text

***PETER***

Bucky goes to grab himself a cup of coffee - black with two sugars. "I've always taken it like this," he says in response to my weirded-out look at his strong brew. "It's not a reflection of my bitter inner turmoil or anything."

"Wasn't gonna say that," I say. "Was I? Anyone?" The others, except Gwen, shake their heads. She knows me too well.

"How 'bout we start at the beginning?" asks Pietro.

Bucky sips his coffee - judging from the curl to his lips, he probably has to take a while to get used to it, much like I usually do when drinking the stuff. Although I always order mochas or espressos or Americanos with lots of sugar, nothing nearly as powerful as what he's drinking. "You mean the time when I was staring at the Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian and trying to remember why he was my friend?" he asks. "That's about the first thing I remember. On my own, anyway. Without having seen any of the movies, I mean."

"He's not kidding," Wanda says, looking directly at his head. Bucky glares at her, and she responds, "As your friend Steve would say, 'Language!'"

This finally gets Bucky to crack a smile. "Don't tell me what I can and can't think," he says, putting his hand over his coffee for a second. He then lets go, releasing a good-sized cloud of steam, which he then blows in Wanda's face. Is this his way of flirting with her? If so, his tactics need work, and that's the kindest way to put it.

Either she gets the same idea as me independently, or she just hears it in my head. In any case, Wanda's response is, "Sorry, Bucky, but you're too young for me. I prefer older men."

"Apparently, that's what I am," he says. "An older guy. One who was kept alive and young by evil Russian super-science. So, in a way, I'm almost like my old friend, the Capsicle."

"Except not really," I say. "You were frozen in time, not frozen for real."

"Who knows?" Bucky says, tilting his head my way. "I've not unlocked all my repressed memories yet, I don't think. Maybe I spent a few decades under an Arctic shelf too." He laughs to himself. "Which would actually be preferable to Russian brainwashing. No offense," he adds hastily, looking at the Maximoffs.

"None taken," Pietro says. "We're not even Russian. We speak the language, but we're actually Sokovian, remember?" He scratches his head. "Erm...you saw the movie, right?"

"Yeah." Bucky looks even more embarrassed than ever. "Yeah, I'm sorry...stupid me." He does a facepalm, downs a little more coffee, then says, "I actually thought Sokovia was just another one of those fake Eastern European countries. Or just a province of Russia or something."

"We might as well be," Wanda says sourly, "given we're literally on the edge of the former Soviet Union. Not like Transia - that's where we were born. Transia got absorbed by Russia when communism fell. Sokovia gained independence, except not really."

"Do we really wanna know what that means?" Gwen asks.

"No, 'cause I doubt anyone not from the area would understand," Pietro says. "I barely understand it myself."

"Nor do I," says Wanda.

"That's how complicated it is," Pietro jokes.

"No," Wanda says, rolling her eyes. "It's more like we spent so long being the permanent guests of the good Baron von Strucker that we don't know too much about our country's modern history."

With his metal hand, Bucky uses his finger as a stirring stick for his coffee. "Must be tough stuff," I say, pointing to the metal, "if it's coffee-proof like that."

"I just like having my coffee taste a little bit like vibranium," he says with a grin. "Or whatever this thing's made of. I can never remember which made-up-sounding metal they used to make this thing back in Mother Russia. How was my accent, guys?" he asks the twins.

Pietro nods, and Wanda gives him a thumbs-up.

Gwen leans forward and looks closely at Bucky's arm. She looks like she wants to ask him something, but her usually sharp tongue fails her for a moment.

Instead, I find myself speaking up. "You know, I don't think I've ever actually seen anything made of vibranium. Other than Rogers' shield. Or Ultron."

This inspires Gwen to chime in, "Yeah, 'cause it's so rare, and almost all the vibranium mines in the world have been played out by now. Except in, uh...Wakanda, right? That's the African country you guys went to in the movie?"

"Sure looked like Johannesburg meets Lagos, though," Pietro says. "But that's not important."

Pulling up his sleeve to expose the point where his metal arm joins his flesh-and-blood, Bucky twists it slightly, and it detaches. "Come on," he says, laughing as Gwen and I simultaneously back away. "You're curious, aren't you? Just take a look - you'll love it."

Gwen looks at me, and with a shrug, I pick up the arm. Bucky, meanwhile, touches his intact hand to the curved metal surface covering the end of his stump. "Hold it up high, Peter," he says. "Like it's an extension of your, uh, arm."

With a nervous laugh, more from the overall bizarreness of the situation than from Bucky's joke, I follow his command. He then runs his fingers over the metal on his stump, and then his metal arm starts waving at Gwen.

"What the hell?" She stares at the arm with wide eyes - wider than usual, that is, as if that were even possible. "Is that..."

"It's wireless, isn't it?" I ask. "It's like...well, I'm probably the only one here who reads Sigma Force, but there's a guy in those books, Monk Kokkalis, and he's...he's got a wireless prosthetic thing just like that." I lower Bucky's metal arm as he stops making it wave; it's starting to get heavy in my hands. "The only difference is, Monk's arm is plastic and made by DARPA."

"Hang on a second," Pietro says. "I remember seeing Winter Soldier not so long ago, and your metal arm was...it was the whole arm. So how come you still have half a real arm?"

"I..." Bucky's lost for words. "I...I don't know." He drinks more coffee, giving himself time to think. "Um...in my dream, I remember Ultron and Strange saying they couldn't fix my arm. But maybe they were able to do this much?"

Reflecting on yesterday's news that Natasha's previously-missing ovaries were now intact, I say, "Could be." I return Bucky's arm to him, and then add, "Hey, at least now you don't have the Soviet Russian star on your arm anymore."

"That would be embarrassing," Wanda laughs. "Like having a tattoo you can't get rid of."

"Can't say I've ever been there," Gwen says.

"You don't look like a tattoo sort of girl anyway," Wanda says with a wink.

"Is she reading some kind of secret tattoo ambitions in your mind?" I ask, looking back and forth between the two girls.

"That's for me to know," Wanda says, winking at me instead of Gwen, "and you to never find out until the day you both lose your virginities." Everyone else starts laughing, even me and Gwen (despite the fact that we're now seriously embarrassed), and Bucky even sprays coffee out of his nose. Unperturbed, Wanda adds, "Yes, I know you two haven't gone all the way. More power to you, though. I won't speak for this one" - she jerks her thumb at her brother - "but I am proof that virgins can be cool too."

So there's that question settled, I think. Cool. Coolcoolcool, as Abed would say.

Or Harris McCallum. The writer chuckles to himself as he intrudes in my head once again. Appropriating pop-culture catchphrases is too much fun, isn't it?

Ignoring him, I turn back to Bucky and ask, "Do you, uh, remember anything else from your blue-tank dream?"

Swallowing the last of his coffee, Bucky shrugs and shakes his head. "Not right now, no. But that can always change."

"It seems to change at the drop of a hat sometimes," Pietro says. "When we're getting memories back without watching the movies, I mean."

"There's always some kind of random trigger, I think." I lean forward, folding my hands. "It could be anything, usually something small. But when it happens, we know it. Or is it just me?"

"No," Gwen says. "I've been having the same experiences too. Like on Wednesday night. Carter was talking about Oxford, and I remembered getting admitted there before I died." She frowns for a second, but then her face brightens. "And I also remembered you finding me just as I was about to go in for my interview, and then you started doing this whole 'God Save The Queen' spiel and pretending you were a rival school's interviewer."

"Is this for real?" Wanda asks, snickering.

Bucky tilts his head again. "You know, you could sort of pass for an adult if you wanted to."

"But I'm already an adult," I say. "I'm supposed to be nineteen, I thought."

"You know what I mean," Bucky says. "You look like you could be a ridiculously young-looking twenty-five-year-old."

"So do you," Pietro points out. "Even more so, 'cause you're big, tall, strapping, studly. Every fangirl's wet dream, except Wanda's."

"I've always preferred my boy-flesh on the lean side," she says, reaching forward and playfully squeezing my arm. "Which explains why I'm a big Spider-Fan."

"Hands off, sweetheart," Gwen laughs, pretending to jab Wanda's arm with a fork. Wanda lazily flicks her fingers, raises the fork into the air, and turns it on Gwen instead. Luckily, Gwen's Spidey-sense allows her to pull her hand back before Wanda can bury the fork's tines in her skin. Instead, it bounces harmlessly off the plastic tabletop.

"I'll take your advice," Wanda says in a comically serious tone. "But don't expect me to like it."

By now, we're all done eating and/or caffeinating, so we get up and make our way to the gym for training. Today, I plan to teach Gwen how to climb walls - something she's been really looking forward to for the last week. And while the gym does have a great rock-climbing wall, in order for Gwen and me to use it for Spidey-climbing, Bruce had to remove the rocks from one section. This process ended up taking quite a while, because not only did the rocks have to come out, but the gaps they left in the wall had to be filled in. Only today is it finally ready to use.

The first thing Gwen has me do is climb up the newly-refurbished wall, just so she has an immediate reference fresh in her mind. When I reach the top, she calls up to me from forty feet below, "I've always wondered - how does the climbing thing work?"

I look down at my fingers. "I'm not 100% sure," I say. "My fingers aren't extra-sticky or anything, but...I've always thought it was 'cause of Van der Waals' force."

"You're Spider-Man, not Gecko-Man!" Gwen jokes.

Pietro stops running circles around the perimeter of the gym long enough to say, "I think the old movies said you were supposed to have these little hairs on your fingertips."

"Yeah," Wanda chimes in. She throws out her hand and telekinetically blocks a punch from Bucky, who's sparring with her. It looks as if he's trying to force his fist through a bubble half a foot from her body, an invisible force field that shines only at the point where he makes contact with it. "Yeah, these hairs would stick to things when you climb. Kind of like a real spider."

I look at my fingers again. I can't see any such hairs - if they exist, they must be too microscopic for the naked eye to see. "That's a good idea, though," I say. "You said it was in the old movie? The Tobey Maguire one?"

"Yeah," Wanda says. "Next time you put that movie on, I wanna say hi to the guy, okay?"

"Count me in too!" Pietro calls out, once again stopping just long enough to speak.

"What are you guys talking about?" Bucky asks quizzically.

"It seems Peter and Gwen have been able to talk to the older version of himself," Wanda says. "From a movie made almost fifteen years ago." Bucky's jaw drops, and she socks him in it as a result. "Don't let any kind of emotion distract you," she says as he gasps and grabs hold of his face. "Except maybe anger - that'll fuel you, definitely."

I snicker to myself as I watch this happen. Then I look down and see Gwen already starting her climb. She's slow, and a little unsteady, but when she looks up and sees me smiling at her, it motivates her to climb faster and more securely. She scales the wall almost all the way to the top, looking like she's done it all her life.

Then she makes the mistake of looking down.

I've never known Gwen to be afraid of heights, but most of the time I knew her was before she fell to her death from halfway up a high clock tower.

Maybe that's why she looks so petrified. Maybe that's why she slips a few inches, barely managing to stick her hands in place again. And even then, she can't get a good grip on the surface. I have the same problem if I'm trying to climb with ungloved, sweaty hands.

Without thinking, I reach down and grab one of Gwen's hands. "I got you," I whisper. "Okay?"

She finally looks up again, her eyes still wide with terror. With a single nod, she lets go of the wall completely, taking my other hand as I pull her up. Once she's on top of the wall, she lies on her back, panting, her legs still dangling over the edge.

"Was it another flashback?" I ask, still holding one of her hands - yeah, it's very sweaty, but I don't care - with both of mine. I slide my fingers into the sleeve of her hoodie, feeling her pulse racing in her wrist.

Using her free hand, Gwen unzips her hoodie. I let go of her hand so she can remove it completely, and she casts it aside. I spare a moment to look at her shoulders, which are now mostly bare because she's wearing a tank top. It's so unusual to see her show that much skin - and it really isn't too much skin at all.

"Sorry about that," she says, pulling her legs up so she can cross them instead. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Scare me? Speak for yourself." I look down to see Wanda, Pietro, Bucky, and Steve - who's apparently just joined us - looking up at us, clearly worried. "It's all right, guys," I call down. "We got this." Turning back to Gwen, I say, "You need a hug." I embrace her, again feeling her rabbit-like pulse, this time in her neck.

"I was never afraid of heights before," she says, her arms circling my shoulders tightly.

"Th-There's no need to justify yourself," I say. I kiss her cheek, feeling a single fresh tear under my lips. "I completely understand what happened."

Gwen chuckles sadly to herself. "You sure about that? You didn't..." She stops herself from finishing that sentence, then lets go of me. Getting to her feet, she carefully lowers herself over the edge, using the rope that was left in place for that exact reason. I follow her down, moving a little more slowly than I would like because she's being extra-careful to not lose her footing.

Chapter Text

***GWEN***

My feet land on the padded floor at the base of the climbing wall. Peter, who's still ten feet up, looks down and asks, "Okay, what do you wanna do now?"

"Try again," I say, putting my hands on the wall. "Gotta conquer my fear sooner rather than later, right?"

"Yeah, but..." Peter dismounts from the rope and lands next to me. "Don't force yourself. We can do something else."

"You wanna put your Spidey-sense to the test against my powers?" asks Wanda. "You too, Peter? Hell, you two could try and double-team me if you want."

"You'll fail," Pietro says in a singsong voice.

"I know," I say, letting go of the wall and crossing my arms. "Any other suggestions?"

Looking around at everyone, Steve says, "I have one. That's, uh...that's actually why I came here to you guys."

"Didn't wanna just work out?" Bucky asks. As he speaks, he's lifting weights, and he has a very unusual method for doing so. He lifts the dumbbell with one arm only three times, then throws it into his other arm and lifts it three more times. Rinse and repeat.

"Um...well, there's more to life than exercise," Steve says. "What's life without a little mystery?"

"Good point," Pietro says, "but the whole 'mysterious' thing doesn't suit you, Rogers. So why don't you say what you're so obviously dying to tell us?"

Sitting on a bench, Steve picks up his shield, which he'd left leaning against it, and then gets to his feet again. "Follow me, guys," he says, leading the way out of the gym. "You're not gonna believe what Wilson and I found this morning."

"It's technically still 'this morning,'" I point out with a laugh.

"Which Wilson are we talking about?" Peter asks.

Steve snickers. "Sam, not Wade."

"Oh, good," Bucky says. "The less I have to do with that creep, the better. Yeah, I know, it's a bit ironic, me calling him a creep. But it doesn't make it any less true."

Down the corridor, Deadpool steps out of a distant door - the mess hall, I think. He catches sight of us, waves jauntily, and then moves on. "He probably heard that," I say.

"So what?" Bucky rolls his eyes. "Let him. He doesn't care what people think of him."

Whatever Steve wants to show us is in another part of the building, where Sam waits for us outside a heavy, warehouse-style retractable metal door. "What's in here?" I ask.

"If you'd asked that question six months ago, I'd probably be able to tell you," Sam says. "About the last thing I remember from before we all ended up in San Castiel is this guy in a shrink suit who came here and kicked my ass six ways to Sunday."

"'Shrink suit?'" Peter repeats. "I can't hear that without thinking of The Fairly Oddparents."

"Here's the footage," Sam says, presenting us with a tablet.

Leaning in as closely as possible, we spend a minute studying the video. In it, Sam's still an adult, he's wearing the mechanical Falcon suit ("I was hoping to try this out today," he says, "but according to Fitz-Simmons, it's in the lab being resized"), and yes, he's getting beaten by something invisible. Actually, not invisible - just super-super-tiny. I can't see it unless I tilt my head - and unless Sam freeze-frames the video at the right moment.

"That's him," Sam says. "That's Ant-Man."

"Is that really what we call him?" Peter asks. "Should I be worried about the competition?"

Laughter bubbles up from everyone, even Peter himself, spoiling his usual deadpan delivery.

"Seriously, though," Sam says, switching tone so fast that more than one of us (myself included) snickers all over again. "He's small, but as you can see, he packs a major punch."

"Now I'm starting to remember something about you not wanting me to find out about this," says Steve.

"I was there too," Bucky says, using his metal hand to scratch his cheek. "You two had me hog-tied and you were totally ignoring me. Not that I didn't deserve it, of course."

"But how'd you remember this?" Peter asks.

"Yeah," I chime in. "There's no way you just found this footage."

"I didn't," Sam admits. "I got clued in-"

"By me."

The door opens, revealing the owner of this voice - an older man with silver hair and a sweater-vest.

"Who are you?" Peter asks.

"I'm Dr. Hank Pym," he says, holding out his hand.

Peter looks awestruck as he shakes hands with him, and I don't blame him. "I've heard so much about you," I say, forcing myself not to completely dissolve into "OMG Science Fangirl" mode. "You're a legend!"

"And you're only just now remembering how much you know about me, am I right?" Pym says, grinning as he shakes hands with me. "Understandable. There are advantages to life on the West Coast. Not only is the weather better, but it's easier to do what my people and I have mostly chosen to do - avoid the insanity at SHIELD when they and the Avengers mostly deal with shit out east."

"Emphasis on 'mostly,'" says Wanda. "As much as you try to stay independent, there's really no denying it - the Avengers need you and your Ant-Man."

Adjusting his glasses, Pym says, "He's not mine. You make it sound like Scott's just a tool I use to get through doors that defy all other attempts to open them."

"You know what I mean," Wanda says.

"And you know better than to talk about my successor that way," Pym says with a dangerous smirk. "For all you know, he could be inside this room right now, shrunk down to near-invisibility and waiting to pound you into the dust."

"Didn't your mom teach you it's not okay to hit ladies?" Steve asks, cocking his eyebrow.

"Yes," Pym says flatly. "But as I'm sure you've seen by now, our Sokovian friend is no ordinary lady." He squeezes Wanda's shoulder. "Put her on a pedestal just for being a woman, and you run the risk of offending her into committing violence on your person."

"Believe me," I say, "we all know she's not to be messed around with."

"Which is why I came here," Pym says. "To get some help for a sticky situation in San Francisco. I think you could all be useful. Especially you, Peter, because the villain we're going after is from your rogues' gallery, specifically."

"I thought only DC Comics had rogues' galleries," Peter says, scratching his head. "But I think I know what you mean. Are you talking about the Sinister Six?"

His mustache quivering slightly, Pym says, "I'm afraid so. Specifically, the one known as Vulture." He holds out a photo of a bald man with piercing blue eyes. "Does this picture ring a bell?"

I have no idea who he is - he must be someone Peter faced after I died. Wanda recognizes him - I can see it in her eyes, along with her biting her tongue, literally, to prevent herself from simply blabbing it out.

"No clue?" Pym blinks a few times, then pockets the photo. "Understandable. From what I've gathered, this memory would be harder to unlock, 'cause they're not making a Sinister Six movie for you to watch like The Amazing Spider-Man."

"Don't tell me you've seen our movies too," Peter laughs.

"It's easy to acquire bootleg DVDs from another universe when you've got a platoon of professional cat burglars on your side," Pym says. "Now, not to be rude, but we really should get a move on. Scott's waiting for us in San Francisco, and when he gets bored, he tends to make the ants peel grapes for him. Purely for shits and giggles, I think."

"Has Fury approved of this?" asks Steve.

"To hell with Fury's approval," Pym says, leading the way to the hangar. "It's all but tacit anyway. Otherwise, he'd have probably had my plane shot out of the sky before I could land here." He laughs harshly to himself. "I think he actually wanted me to come and spirit you guys away for a quick day trip. He's got his hands full, between babysitting all of you and dealing with the usual threats to humanity. Not to mention those pesky neighbors of yours."

"What neighbors?" Sam asks quizzically.

"I think he's talking about the X-Men," Peter says. "Have you dealt with them before?"

Shaking his head, Pym says, "I only know them by reputation. And it's, admittedly, not the best one. They tend to be isolationist, but whenever any kind of sociopolitical hot buttons are a major issue - race relations, gay rights, you name it - they come out of the woodworks a bit. Probably 'cause they're a minority themselves, those mutants." He clicks a key fob as we enter the hangar, and the door opens on a nearby jet. "Of course," he says with another harsh laugh, "they're not as militant as their counterparts in the so-called Brotherhood. But I dunno which is worse - the Brotherhood being openly hostile, or the X-Men being secretive and sneaky."

"Finally, someone who understands," Peter says.

Pietro snickers loudly. "Are you still on your thing about hating the X-Men?"

"I don't hate them," Peter says emphatically. "I just think if they really wanted me and Gwen, they should've just come here and invited us to talk." He turns to Pym as we ascend the steps into the plane, single file. "See, this is how you recruit a superhero for a new assignment - you do it in person, without sneaking up on them at night and forcibly taking them to Xavier's office."

"Did they really send one of their mutants to do that?" Pym laughs. "Thank God they didn't try that on Scott. They would've lived to regret it. If they'd lived at all." And on that note, he disappears into the cockpit, leaving us to put on our seatbelts.

Before the plane takes off, I turn to look out the window. Deadpool enters the hangar, then looks up at the plane. I'm not sure if he genuinely sees me or if the writer's alerting him to my presence or what, but he's clearly in the mood for a last-minute game of charades. First, he waves his arms up and down repeatedly - simulating wings, I think. Then, he holds one hand in the air. I think he's got his middle and ring fingers bent back like he's hitting a webshooter - a suspicion that's confirmed when he proceeds to act out pulling on a rope, or perhaps a webline. Finally, he returns to the wing-beating gesture (which sounds so dirty, especially given the charader involved), only to suddenly stretch his arms out like he's being drawn and quartered or crucified or something.

To cap it all off, he delivers one last thumbs-up and a cheerful wave goodbye.

I'd tell Peter if I were you, the writer says. That's gonna be important later when you take on this particular one-sixth of the Sinisters.

Tell him yourself, I hiss in my head. I'm not a carrier pigeon.

Jesus, don't bite my head off.

Next thing I know, Peter's looking up at the ceiling, a confused look on his face. I guess the writer's going along with my suggestion-slash-order and supplying him with the same cryptic gestures I just got from Deadpool. "It's so weird of him to be silent, isn't it?" he asks two seconds later.

It killed him to not shout the message across the hangar, the writer chuckles. Only the threat of me verbally recapping the entire Harry Potter series for the next eleven hours kept his tongue in check...and now I'm bragging. Sorry, guys.

Apology accepted, I say.

The jet ride to San Francisco takes about three hours. I'm sure the quinjet could have done it in one, but as Steve points out, "I don't think this guy's got the same budget Fury does." The three-hour journey has one bonus, though - we don't have to reset our watches and/or our cell phone clocks upon landing, because it's now the same time, roughly, that it was when we left in New York.

About halfway there, Peter eventually yielded to temptation and had Wanda tell him who or what we were being brought to San Francisco to deal with. Once she explained the mystery of the bald man, however, things started instantly becoming more clear. Namely, Deadpool's bizarre charades. It turns out that Baldie was a guy called Adrian Toomes (what a lovely, totally not morbid name, too). Armed with a mechanical wing suit (which, according to the article Sam looks up on his phone, he designed himself), he took on a new supervillain persona - the Vulture - and used it to carry out a number of high-profile heists in New York before being arrested and imprisoned. That was, until he mysteriously broke free and later resurfaced in a new, improved, Oscorp-issue version of the wing suit.

The article, sadly, is fuzzy on the details of how Peter was able to defeat him last time. All it says is that the police were directed to a moored sailboat at Riverside Park in Manhattan, where the Vulture was hog-tied with a combination of webline and fishing line. The boat's owner, whose photo showed him to be a grizzled old man in a Navy cap, responded, "I'm not insured for this, so that Spider-Guy better pony up the cash."

Now, however, it seems that we have a better idea of what to do if and when we spot the Vulture in San Francisco. Thanks, of course, to Deadpool.

As we step off the plane, Peter, Sam, Steve, and I stop to look around. Not so long ago, we were in a nearly identical hangar in a nearly identical airport - except this one is San Francisco International, not San Fransokyo International. Coming in for the landing, we could plainly see that the city skyline below wasn't the Japanese-influenced one from the alternate world. And yet, our minds are struggling to override the evidence presented by our eyes. Peter and I, in particular, are having trouble convincing ourselves that our families aren't a whole universe away, that they're all at home in this version of San Castiel.

Before taking us into the city, however, Pym detours over to the main terminal of the airport and picks up a copy of the Chronicle from a newsstand. The main front-page article is all about the Warriors' latest big win, and how the smart money's on them winning this year's championship. However, on the bottom of the page is a smaller article entitled, "New York's #1 question: 'When will Spider-Man come back?'"

The article holds our interest for a few minutes, then Pym announces that our ride is here. He'll be following us in his own car, while the rest of us will be piling into a cargo van run by his cat-burglar associates. There are two of them in the van already - a Latino at the wheel, and a guy with a faint scar above his right eyebrow sitting in the back. He watches us encroach on his space, one after the other, then raises said scarred eyebrow at Pym. "Doc, this isn't a clown car," he says. "You didn't tell us to expect..." He counts us all. "Seven people. And most of them, I don't even recognize. Do you, Luis?"

The Latino turns to look at us. "Hmm...nope, sorry. 'Cept for the twins. And weren't you dead or something, Speedy Boy?"

"I prefer Quicksilver," Pietro says. "Or my real name, if you must."

"I didn't expect to bring this many of them with me either, Scott," Pym says, stepping back from the door. "It just so happened, and I decided to run with it. The more, the merrier, as they say."

"What 'they?'" Scott scoffs.

"Which other 'they' but the proverbial 'them?'" Grinning at his own enigmatic parting words, Pym closes the door. Luis mutters a Spanish swear word, puts the van in gear, and pulls away from the curb.

Rolling his eyes, Scott mutters, "I really shouldn't have shown him that page on the Bielefeld conspiracy. Ever since, it's been nothing but a string of 'Them' jokes from this guy..." He buries his face in his hands for a moment. "Whoops, where are my manners? I'm Scott Lang, and our driver is Luis. And you guys are...?" Once he gets all our names, he adds, "So it's true. About half you guys being turned into teenagers. I'm not sure why they didn't see fit to change me, but whatever. I guess they figured a teenager wouldn't be any better at working the Ant-Man suit than an adult."

"Who knows how their minds work?" I ask.

Wanda goes ahead and answers my rhetorical question. "Not me. They're very good at hiding their thoughts whenever I'm around."

"Don't tell me you believe in 'Them' too," Scott says.

"This is no generic or proverbial 'Them,'" Wanda says. "Just Fury and Strange and Ultron. Oh, and Dr. Banner. To be fair, though, I wouldn't expect any less from Banner. Not after what happened the last time I got into his head."

"'Gotosleepgotosleepgotosleep?'" Peter asks, pretending to be Age of Ultron's Tony Stark laying a string of iron-clad Hulkbuster punches on an enraged Bruce.

"The so-called Science Bros don't have the same kind of connection as Bruce and Nat," Steve laughs. "Or teenage Nat and Barton."

At this point, Bucky starts snickering under his breath. When Sam finally asks him what's so funny, he responds, "The real reason Science Bros have less chemistry is 'cause Stark's totally in love with you, Steve."

With a shrug, Steve says, "I'm used to it. And I sorta know the feeling - Stark's heart goes in so many directions at once. Mine too, but not as much."

"Ooh," Bucky says. "Don't tell me - one of those directions is mine?"

The boys, Peter and Pietro and Sam included, burst out laughing. As do I - it's just so hard to imagine Steve being in love with anyone who isn't Maggie. Over the last week or so, I've seen the way those two, in particular, don't look at each other. It's something Peter and I used to do all the time before we got to know each other. I'm talking about not only our real pasts, in New York, but also our fake past in San Cas. It's a pretty universal sign of feelings being shared, but not really acted on.

"And if you look to your right," Luis says, adding a few layers of ham and cheese to his voice for a better tour guide impression, "you'll see the house our benefactor built - Pym Technologies. Good times, eh, Scott?"

Scott smirks. "Yeah. Good times. But I still miss Antony, you know?"

"Antony, like Mark?" I ask.

"He was his ant BFF," Luis says. "Hence the punny name."

"Unfortunately," Scott says, "Antony died in combat recently at Pym Technologies. RIP, BFF."

"Yeah," Luis says. "Oh, and I just realized - none of you could see the building right now, huh? Stupid me. I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, it's okay," Scott says, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I'll just show them what they missed. You keep your eyes on the road. Not like we're in a car chase or anything."

"You make it sound like you don't trust my driving skills, ese," Luis says, turning around just long enough to glower at Scott.

Just as Scott's about to show us a picture of the Pym Technologies building, Peter and I both stiffen and look up. A second later, the van trembles, as if there's an earthquake rumbling under our feet. Except it's not rumbling from below, but above.

The tires screech as Luis struggles to keep the van in its lane. "¡Madre de Dios!" he cries. "What the hell was that?"

"There's something on the roof!" I yell, hearing whatever it is step around a couple of times. There's also a scraping sound as something drags against the metal.

The rhythmic sound of an electro-rock song with a female vocalist fills the van for two seconds before Scott hastily answers his phone. "Doc, what do we got?" he asks, thumbing the screen again and putting Pym on speaker. "Is it who I think it is?"

"Yeah, it's Vulture!" Pym says.

"Dammit, and I don't have the suit on me..." Scott gnashes his teeth, cursing to himself.

Pointing out the windshield, Peter says, "Look, up ahead! An overpass!"

"I see it!" Luis floors it, nearly sending all of us to the floor. He raps on the ceiling with his fist as the Bayshore Boulevard overpass approaches. "Watch your head, pajero!"

The overpass goes by, but Vulture's not done yet. "He's coming back down!" Pym says.

I lock eyes with Peter. We seem to have the same idea - before anyone can stop us, we run to the back of the van, open the door, and look up to see the Vulture bearing down on us, his freakishly realistic black wings beating in an eerie imitation of a real raptor. (By which I mean "bird of prey," not Jurassic Park's favorite monster.)

"Pull over!" Peter yells to Luis.

"Are you sure?" he yells back.

"I'd listen if I were you!" says Pietro.

Luis listens, cutting across the road diagonally as he brings the van from the carpool lane to the shoulder in less than ten seconds. As soon as he brings it to a stop, Peter and I climb onto the van's roof. He throws his mask on and attaches webshooters to his hoodie cuffs, then hands me a pair as well. Along with a white mask.

"When did you have time to make this?" I ask.

"Surprise?" he says, shrugging.

That's as good an excuse as any, I guess. I clip my webshooters into place and put on my mask. Without any time to tuck the longest parts of my hair underneath it, I just tug it over my face and pull my hood up over the top of my head.

Then I look up and see the Vulture hovering over us, his wings still flapping slightly, creating a bit of downdraft like we're standing under a helicopter. His mouth, surrounded by a silvery-white mustache and small beard, twists into a frown as he gazes down on us.

"Two Spider-Men?" he asks nobody in particular. Then he gets a better look at me. "Oh wait - one of you is a Spider-Woman."

"I'm glad you're just a fake evil Nightwing instead of a real bird," Peter says. I can only assume he's glaring at the Vulture under his mask, matching the villain's contemptuous expression. "Otherwise, I'd be afraid you might drop a big, white, splotchy shit on my shoulder."

"At least I'm talking to the right hero," says the Vulture, crossing his arms over the red chevron on his chest. "The real thing, and not a cheap imitator."

His wings continue to flap, and that's when we strike. I jump over to the front end of the roof and shoot a webline at the Vulture's left wing, while Peter aims at his right. Once we're connected to our targets, we pull hard, hoping to drag him down.

Surprisingly, however, Deadpool's tip does us no good. All it takes is one powerful thrust, and the Vulture breaks away from our weblines. Then he dips down to our level and scoops Peter up by his still-upraised arm.

"NO!" we yell at the same time. Peter struggles to break free, but the Vulture's grip is too strong. And I can't land a webline on him - he's flying away too quickly.

Then a perfectly round bubble of blue light, containing a human figure, collides with the Vulture in midair. He bounces off the bubble, borne backwards while it remains in place. Peter, meanwhile, drops fifteen feet down to the side of the road, barely managing to fall on his ass.

"Are you okay?" I shout, carefully lowering myself from the roof before running to his side.

Groaning, Peter rolls over and stands up, then pulls up his shirt to see a huge bruise forming on his side, under his left pec. "Oh, that sucked," he whispers. He fingers the bruise, and I hear him gasp - did he break a rib or two?

"LOOK OUT!"

I have no idea where the female voice comes from, but I heed her warning anyway, dropping to the asphalt and staying low.

Sadly, Peter, probably because he's hurt, doesn't hit the deck quickly enough. Once again, the Vulture captures him, and this time, he gets away. Wanda tries to bring him down telekinetically, but he's too far out of range by the time he escapes from the van.

Then the blue bubble descends to the ground, and I can see the person inside it - a blonde girl, maybe Wanda's age. The bubble vanishes, and she takes a huge breath before turning to me and Wanda. "You two, come with me," she says, beckoning us forward. I can recognize her voice - she's the one who tried to alert us to the incoming Vulture a few seconds ago.

"Who are you?" I ask.

"Sue Storm," she says. "Whatever you do, don't scream. It kills my focus."

She gulps down more air, and a pit grows in my stomach as I sense what's coming next. "Is now a bad time to mention I'm afr-" The words slam back into my throat as Sue, Wanda, and I are surrounded by another blue bubble - a force field, I realize. Then we rise into the air and take off, following Peter and the Vulture.

Chapter Text

***GWEN***

The Vulture stays about a mile ahead of us the whole time. Eventually, he and Peter disappear into the entrance to some underground facility on Angel Island. It's pretty much accessible only from the air, being surrounded by fences both on land and in the water.

Sue lands us on the concrete surface outside the entrance, taking a deep breath as her force field vanishes. It's like she's a competitive swimmer or something, except she's the only one who was holding her breath. Wanda and I, on the other hand, were practically hyperventilating, trying our damnedest not to scream.

"You all right, girls?" Sue asks, stretching her arms. "It's not every day you get to fly by force field for the first time. I swear to God, I almost puked when I first tried it, and I'm the one making the damn thing!" She chuckles lightly.

"I don't think you really answered our question," Wanda says. "Who are you, exactly? You're not an Avenger, and you're not X-Men, so..."

Sue shakes her head. "Nope. Think of it this way - the Avengers and X-Men are like Target and Walmart - big-box stores. And my people, the Fantastic Four, we're more like a mom-and-pop store. Indie superheroes, if you will."

The dark depths of the passageway into the island beckon, and I'm the first to set off into the unknown. Wanda, however, pushes ahead of me, using her powers to illuminate the way. The flickering red light is somehow even more eerie than the previous pitch-blackness. "Since when can you be a human flashlight?" I ask.

"That's nothing," Sue says brightly. "You should see my brother. He can literally set the place on fire."

Snickering, Wanda says, "What an appropriate thing to say."

"How would you know? You've never met my brother." Sue pauses, then adds, "Have you?"

"I can see it in your mind," Wanda says. "Your brother's name is Johnny. And he's black - is one of you adopted?"

"I am," Sue says. "I'm from Kosovo originally. And you? You're definitely from somewhere in that neighborhood."

"Born in Transia, raised in Sokovia," Wanda says, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Now, quiet. We should try and sneak up on the Vulture if we can."

Male voices echo faintly down the tunnel to us. One of them might be Peter's, but I can't be sure. "So what's your story?" Sue asks me. "I don't think I ever heard of you being one of the Avengers. And the X-Men prefer mutants to mutates, so I'd be surprised if they had you as a veteran member."

"No, but they've tried to recruit me," I whisper. "I'm Gwen Stacy," I add, shaking Sue's hand. "And the guy we're here to save is my boyfriend, Peter Parker."

"Peter Parker, as in Spider-Man?" Sue grins. "If only Reed were here. He'd kill to meet him."

"And now we've started talking about boys," Wanda says with a sad clucking noise. "Are we, as a gender, forever doomed to fail the Bechdel test?"

"Does it really count as a failure when we're talking about rescuing a dude in distress?" I ask.

"Good question," Wanda says. "But shut up - we're getting close to the action."

Rounding a corner, we see a cavernous open space looming beyond the windows of a small control room. Inside said space, the Vulture is busy stuffing Peter into a pod of some kind. After we all drop to the floor to stay out of sight, I raise my head slightly, tilting it so I can hear them better. "I'm only gonna ask one more time," says the Vulture. "Where is Miles Morales?"

"Like I'm gonna tell you, birdbrain," Peter says. Jesus, he doesn't know when to shut off his smartass streak, does he? "Sorry to disappoint you - and Norman, in case he's listening!" - he raises his voice on this part - "But you're just gonna have to fly away home empty-handed. Or is that empty-winged?" he asks, pronouncing a second syllable in "winged," like a Shakespearean actor.

"Who's Miles Morales?" asks Sue.

"Peter's neighbor in San Cas," I say.

"I thought he was from New York."

"It's a long story." I narrow my eyes, trying to focus better on the hero-villain talk going on in front of us. "Although...who knows? Maybe they were neighbors in New York too. Peter doesn't talk much about his old life. He never has."

"We know he's somewhere on the other side of this portal," the Vulture says in that smooth, silky voice it seems all supervillains are required by law to have (if they'd obey the law, anyway.) It's the voice they have right before they break into the silly-ass lines like "No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die!"

"And that's all you need to know," Peter says. "But good luck finding him. Miles, he's a crafty little dude. You should've seen the days when we'd play hide-and-seek. Haha, he'd always find the most impossible hiding places..." He lets out a long, strangely contented sigh. "Ah, memories," he says, and I can hear him grinning stupidly at the Vulture. Even if his mask is still on - which it is, because I got a brief glimpse of his face earlier and saw the red spandex and triangular white lens still in place.

Looking up, I realize that the portal the Vulture's talking about is right behind him. And that the pod containing Peter is mounted on a pair of rails leading directly to it. And that the portal isn't on - which it can't even be, probably, because it's broken. However, if not for it lying in at least three twisted pieces, each one flecked with patches of rust, it would be nearly identical to the operational one through which we've flown too many times in recent days.

"They can't possibly use that," Wanda says, listening to my thoughts. "Unless they've got Magneto or someone to fix it?"

"YOO-HOO!" A loud, Russian-accented voice rings out across the room beyond, followed by the sound of something mechanical. "When do you want me to fix this stupid thing, huh, Sokolov?"

Bemused, Sue asks, "Who's Sokolov?"

"Our avian friend," says Wanda sourly. I take a wild guess and ask if Sokolov is Russian for 'vulture,' but Wanda says it actually means 'falcon.' I suppose it's better, being nicknamed after a cool raptor (have you ever seen a falcon fly? I highly recommend it.) as opposed to a butt-ugly carrion feeder.

"You can get started right now," says the Vulture. It's strange how he sounds so unusually polite with everyone, including his villainous comrade (joke intended). He doesn't seem to like to raise his voice, for one thing. Instead, he talks to the Russian - whoever he is - in a perfectly neutral tone, while treating Peter to a voice that absolutely drips with passive aggression.

I look up and see what our Russian friend is meant to get started on - fixing the portal. To lift the pieces into place, he's using a huge metal suit of some kind. In fact, I assume the metal suit's back is turned, because I can't see his face. All I can see is that bulky mass of steel, easily ten feet tall, lifting chunks of the portal ring with huge, clumsy claws. Adding to the suit's height is a long, deadly-looking spike on its top.

No, not on its top, I realize when I get a better look at the suit's shape. It's designed to resemble a rhino.

Bingo, the writer says. Give the girl a gold star and a peanut-butter cookie!

What if I'm allergic?

The writer snorts. You're not. There's only character in this story who is, and that's Hiro.

Annoyed at my weak bluff being called, I say, Unless that's gonna be important later, leave. In any case, I'm kinda pissed that you had me and Peter focus so much on Deadpool's charades, and then that tactic went and failed us. Spectacularly, I might add.

You used it at a pretty inopportune moment, unfortunately, the writer says, sucking air through his teeth. Yes, I actually hear the sound of air getting teeth-sucked on his end. Wherever "his end" of this cerebral conversation may be. Maybe if you two try it again later, you'll take him by surprise, and it'll work.

As the writer, shouldn't you know already if it's gonna happen? I ask, unsure if I want to hear the answer.

I do, the writer says. After a fashion. But as a character, you are not supposed to know what happens. Except maybe in the broadest of strokes. He pauses, then adds, Shit, get down! They're gonna see you!

Long seconds pass by after I drop out of sight. I wait with bated breath, but nobody's seen me, if the lack of alarm being raised is any indication. As soon as Vulture starts talking again, spouting off some shit about needing Miles to be "Subject Echo" for Norman, I poke my head up again like a superpowered prairie dog. I notice that I'm the only one of us girls engaging in this behavior. Then again, it's only to be expected. Whatever horse Sue has in this race, it's not as strong an investment as it is for me and Wanda. Speaking of which, she seethes silently every time I look up - it's a very bad move, and we all know it. But if it were Pietro in that pod, she'd be doing the same thing - because it would be someone she loves and cares about in danger.

While the Vulture blathers away, Peter turns his head as much as he can. His masked gaze lingers on me for a moment, but no more. No doubt he's afraid he'll give away our position. But looking back at us a second time ten seconds later wouldn't? I look down and see Wanda narrow her eyes in his general direction, as if to say, "Come on, really?" Then I turn back to Peter, who's rotating his head once again, slowly but surely.

Once I'm sure he can see me again, I pull my mask off the lower half of my face and mouth, "It's all right. Sit tight. We got this." I don't think his lip-reading skills are anything to write home about, exactly, but hopefully he gets the gist anyway.

"So...my friend is your Subject Epsilon, huh?" Peter asks, turning back to the Vulture. "Who are the first four Greek letters in that list, I wonder?"

"It's Echo, actually-"

"Yeah, yeah..." Peter says, waving his hands. Not one hand, but both - because they're bound by handcuffs. "Let me guess - Norman, Harry, me, and Gwen, from Alpha to Delta, in that order? Correct me if I'm wrong."

"You're wrong," the Vulture says, his voice turning neutral. It comes across as deadpan mockery, however. "You, Peter, are Subject Bravo, and Harry is Subject Charlie."

"Haha, that's funny," Peter says.

The Vulture looks like he's about to regret his next word: "Why?"

"When I was a kid and Harry Potter was the big thing in books, all the other books were trying to copy him. One of the best ones that nobody's ever heard of was called Midnight for Charlie Bone. Harry, Charlie, ha ha ha..." Peter giggles like a little girl. For anyone else, that would be a sign of imminent madness, but I know better. I know he's just turning to the favorite playbook page of villains everywhere - monologuing. Except, unlike most villains, he's using it as a distraction. Weaponizing it.

He picked up more from hanging out with Deadpool than I thought, the writer says in an awestruck voice.

"But seriously, though," Peter says with an abrupt, jarring shift in tone, "why is Harry further down the list than I am? That must really chap his hide, as my uncle would say."

"You can discuss that with Mr. Osborn," says the Vulture.

"You're not on a first-name basis with Norman?" Peter asks. "Yeah, it's no wonder I'm Subject Beta. He clearly holds me in higher esteem than you, and you're his colleague, for fuck's sake!"

I barely stop myself from gasping in surprise. Peter's not normally known for swearing at any level above PG-13.

"What was that?" asks the Vulture. I drop out of sight immediately, but I guess the bad guys need to be sure they're not being observed, because the Vulture then says, "Aleksei, go back and check out the control room."

As he climbs out of his mechanical monstrosity (judging from the lighter clunking noises, not the same as the metal-on-metal of him doing heavy lifting), Aleksei growls a few choice words in Russian, which thankfully go without translations from Wanda. "You make me get out of this goddamn suit, Sokolov?" he mutters once he's done reverting to his native obscenity. "First you tell me, 'Fix the portal,' then you says, 'Look at the other room.' Like I'd find any-AAAAAHHHH!"

He's screaming only because he's flying backwards across the room, surrounded by two different energy signatures - one red, one blue. Wanda and Sue have struck at exactly the same time, and the results are, for lack of a better word, awesome. Aleksei collides with the rhino suit, then falls to the ground. His stocky form stays put, other than one of his arms stirring feebly. The other one is trapped under his chest, very likely broken by the impact.

That's when the Vulture turns around and sees the two other girls. Not me, at least at first, because I'm still hunkered down. Then I rise, showing myself, and the Vulture rolls his eyes. "You again, Spider-Woman?" he grumbles.

"Finally, a breakthrough," I say, rolling my own eyes under my mask. (Given how tightly the spandex stretches over my face, this is a hell of a lot easier said than done.) "Now, my good wingman - once more, with feeling!"

"Do I really have to do everything by myself?" the Vulture asks nobody in particular as he stalks past Peter. He spreads his wings and flies up, surveying us with an imperious eye, more appropriate for an eagle than a vulture. (Ironically, despite being revered as majestic symbols the world over, eagles tend to be carrion feeders just like vultures do. Maybe Ben Franklin was on to something when he, according to history, suggested that America's national bird be the turkey instead. It would almost lend a Catholic-style "body and blood of Christ" layer to the traditional Thanksgiving meal, I'd think.)

This is Sue's cue to turn invisible. Wanda and I exchange glances, then we dive forward, under the Vulture, making our way to Peter. Curiously, the Vulture completely ignores us, concentrating all his efforts on Sue instead. Not that he can see her. I watch him as Wanda works to psychically unlock Peter's handcuffs. He drops almost to the ground, then keeps flapping, spreading his wings wide and spinning around in place. He must be hoping to knock Sue out of place and shock her into becoming visible again, but to no avail. Every time he comes close, however, I can tell. Sue never loses a second pushing him away with her force field.

Repeatedly seeing the Vulture bounce off Invisible Sue bores me a bit, so I turn my attention back to Aleksei and the portal. The latter is nowhere close to finished - Aleksei managed to lift one of the two broken pieces into place, but it's not properly attached yet. It looks like even an insignificant, less-than-a-three-pointer tremor could shake it loose with no effort. As for Aleksei, he's starting to move again. He groans in pain, seemingly every time he shifts so much as a molecule, but he's a strong-looking guy. He could get back on his feet any moment.

Seeing this too, Peter says, "Wanda, I, uh, don't mean to rush you-"

"As well you shouldn't," Wanda says, her tongue between her teeth as she guides tiny tendrils of red light through the handcuffs' keyhole. "'You can't rush art,' yes?" She twists her fingers, causing the energy filaments to move. The cuffs pop open and fall off Peter's wrists, then we help him climb out of the pod.

"He took my webshooter," Peter says, checking his wrists after he rubs them both. "Good thing he didn't think to search me, 'cause I've still got one spare left." He fishes this webshooter from his pocket and clips it on.

"Maybe we should try that thing with his wings again?" I ask, jerking my thumb at the Vulture.

"While he's distracted by this other girl?" Peter nods. "I'm game."

Behind us, Aleksei groans even more loudly. "I'll shut him up," Wanda mutters, going off to do exactly that. I see her kneel by his side, then fire a stream of red energy directly to his forehead. Psychic HeadOn, as it were.

Oh God, why'd you remind us all of that stupid ad? the writer groans.

Please, not now, Peter groans back in his head.

Not wanting to know what the hell Wanda just did, I take a position to one side of the pod, with Peter on the other. I lift my hand and aim my webshooter at the Vulture's right wing. Peter aims at his left, which would allow us to criss-cross our weblines and, theoretically, do a better job of pulling the Vulture's wings in two directions at once.

This time, because it's a surprise, our attack works, tangling the Vulture's wings and forcing him to hit the ground, knees first. How painful, but at this point, I don't really care, and neither do any of my friends. Before we leave, Peter and I run circles around the Vulture, wrapping those weblines with which we brought him down tightly around him, and then adding more to gum up his wings. Finally, Wanda stops to do her screwing-around-with-his-head thing on him, just like she did with Aleksei. Once she's satisfied that his brains have been sufficiently egg-scrambled, she moves on, not even bothering to look and see whatever havoc she's wreaked.

Becoming visible again, Sue follows us back through the control room and out through the passageway (which Wanda lights up for us once again.) Once we're on the outside, a grateful Peter hugs us all, even Sue, to whom he hasn't been introduced yet. She doesn't mind, though. "If we were in each other's shoes," she says after giving him her name, "I'd probably have had the same reaction."

I look up at the land above the entrance, which rises steeply into the heart of Angel Island. I don't remember ever being here even in my San Castiel life, but I do remember that this place is supposed to be a state park - which means that while this one corner of the island is isolated, there must be public areas somewhere nearby. I suggest that we make our way to these public places, and from there, find a way off the island.

"You think they'll notice if we try and take the ferry without tickets?" Peter asks.

"That's why I thought we could fly off," Sue says. "Trouble is, though, I don't think I can take more than two people at once."

"You'd fly us in your force field or whatever?" Peter asks.

"That's how I got us here in the first place, yeah."

"Then I'll stay back," he says. "You take the girls back to the city. I'll wait here."

"Is this some stupid sexist thing?" Wanda asks, glaring at him.

"You don't have to prove how tough you are," I say. "Not with us."

"No, no, not sexist," Peter says hastily. "Think about it. Combine me with either Gwen or Wanda, the total weight would be heavier than if you were just taking the girls." He bites his lip and raises his eyebrows. "Unless weight's somehow not an issue for your force-field thing?"

"Not really," says Sue. "I've carried two of the other Fantastic Four before. They're both guys, and one of them's basically made of rock, so he weighs, like, half a ton."

Wanda moves over to the entrance. "In that case, I'm staying. Once Sue gets you two back to the city, she can come back and pick me up again." She smirks dangerously. "Besides, if I get in trouble, I can always signal for help." She waggles her fingers, trailing red streaks into the air around her.

Realizing we can't change her mind, Peter scuffs his shoe against the dock's surface, then takes Wanda's hands and says, "We'll see you soon, then. Good luck."

"Spasiba," she says with another grin. Sue and I wave goodbye as well, then she turns back around, crouching slightly in a boxer-like stance as if expecting a Vulture-fight at any second.

Before Sue sets up her force field, Peter leans over and kisses me on the lips, whispering, "For luck."

He's always wanted a girl to do that for him, says the writer. But he'll settle for doing it himself. Come to think of it, so would I.

At this point, we take off in Sue's force field. Peter, having not gotten the same pre-flight message as me and Wanda, screams his head off for a few seconds before I elbow him in the ribs. It doesn't really interfere too much with our navigator's bearings, but Sue does get her small revenge by dipping us dangerously close to the rocks around Alcatraz.

Finally, we land on the end of Pier 39. Sue tells us to wait for her and Wanda at the Krazy Hats store on the other side of the carousel, then she jumps over the wooden railing and flies away north, back to Angel Island. We take off our masks, which Peter stuffs into his jacket pockets, and then we set off, holding hands like so many other young couples who are also treading the boards of the pier.

The store may be called "Krazy Hats," but the namesake items are mostly stocked towards the back, with the front largely devoted to hoodies. Peter and I spend some time gazing at the displays. Pokémon, Harry Potter, My Little Pony (we give this one a wide berth). Finally, we see a number of Marvel-related hats in one corner. One large display has Spider-Man on one side, and Deadpool on the next.

As Peter and I amuse ourselves trying on the Spider-Man hats, a young dude, maybe in his early twenties, picks out a Deadpool hat - one with those long, floppy string things hanging down from its sides, and strategically-placed eyeholes. He tries this one on and looks in the mirror, but then laughs his head off when he sees how ridiculous it looks on him. Especially since he's got glasses on underneath the eyeholes.

When he instead tries a much more ordinary-looking beanie - black with a red stripe in the middle, and a round logo in the shape of Deadpool's masked face, Peter nods his approval. "Thanks," the guy says. "Yeah, my mom's gonna hate this, but I know a girl who's gonna get a real kick out of this." He checks the price tag inside the hat. "$21.99. Seriously? Whatevs. I say it's worth it."

Something about his voice sounds oddly familiar. Hoping to get him to talk again to figure it out, I say, "You know, you look a lot like Spider-Man."

"How would you know?" the guy laughs. "Nobody's seen his face."

"I just have a hunch," I say.

"You've definitely got his build," Peter says.

The guy snickers. He's just as tall and slim as Peter, but he looks a little softer, less athletic. He also has a pretty terrible posture - but then, so does Peter, who's always been a serious sloucher as far back as I've known him.

"You flatter me," the guy says, "but that's easy for you two to say, being so much prettier than I am. Oh well. Time to blow a hole in my wallet!"

Only after he walks away to the cashier with a bit of a spring in his step does it finally dawn on me who this guy is. I look at Peter, and from the look in his eyes, he's drawn the same conclusion.

"Hey!" Peter calls after the guy, but he ignores us. "Hey, wait up! Are you-" The guy rejoins another group of people - his parents and sister, from the looks of them - and leaves the store for good.

"That was him, wasn't it?" I ask, seeing Wanda and Sue approaching out of the corner of my eye.

"Yeah," Peter says, fighting to keep his jaw from dropping. "Yeah, we...we just met the writer." He looks down at the floor, barely containing his laughter. "Oh God, when Deadpool finds out about this..."

He's gonna kill you from sheer jealousy, the writer says. At least now you have a face to put to my voice, right? And before you ask, no, I'm not related to Peter in any way. I'm just a silly goose of a fan with too much time on his hands.

We weren't gonna ask, I say, crossing my arms. And speaking of asking, I'm surprised you didn't ask for our autographs or something.

I actually wasn't here for real, the writer says. In about three months' time, I will be, and I'll be buying that same Deadpool beanie. But for now, I just went and wrote myself a cameo, so you guys could know me a little better.

But if you're not supposed to be here, asks Peter, does that mean you can do other stuff to, I dunno, change events?

I'm not supposed to change anything, or interfere, or whatever.

I snort. Sounds to me like your little surprise guest appearance was unauthorized. You better not have screwed up our timeline or anything with that little stunt.

The writer laughs nervously. Y-Yeah, I hope so too.

You hope so? If this were spoken out loud, I would've screamed it at the top of my lungs.

"Hey, lovebirds," Wanda says, waving hi to us as she and Sue finally arrive at the front of the store. "What's up? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"In a way, we kinda have," Peter says. "And this ghost might've just changed our history."

"I have no idea what that means," Sue says. "But that's okay - you guys don't even know why I happened to show up when I did, do you?" She steps into the sunlight outside the door and sets off down the pier. "Let's hit Boudin's for lunch. We can talk more there, okay?"

I look at Wanda, who shrugs and says, "I'll let Pietro know where to find us." She follows us, talking to Pietro on her phone - in Russian, most likely so passersby won't understand her unless they happen to be Russian or Sokovian or Transian tourists.

Along the way, Peter takes my hand again. But he's looking around nervously, clearly on edge, even more so than usual. Even through a layer of cotton - he's wearing one of those funny T-shirts of his, the ones whose sleeves wrap around the palm of his hand like fingerless gloves - I can feel his pulse racing.

I want to say it's just a little lingering stress from being briefly abducted by the Vulture.

But I think his fear's centered less on the past than on the future. Specifically, any and all potential negative effects of the writer's appearance.

I really have to say it again - the writer better not have screwed up our timeline, or there'll be hell to pay. I'd see to it personally, even if I have to come back from the dead...again.

Chapter Text

***PETER***

Ever since I was taken by the Vulture, my body's been running on pure adrenaline. Now that it's finally getting a chance to wear off, I'm reminded that I busted a rib or two when I fell earlier, and the pain is...well, not exactly excruciating, but, at the very least, annoying. Whatever injuries you've had in your life, they've probably not included the bonus of making it actually hurt just to breathe.

When we finally reach the crowded Boudin bakery near the entrance to the pier, I lean against the wall, sticking my hand under my jacket and feeling my ribs. It's like, why do I actually want to feel the pain? Maybe because it's been missing for a while? Even when we were in flight and Gwen nudged me in the ribs to stop me screaming and whooping it up like a kid on a roller coaster, it didn't hurt like this. Not even close.

"Hey," Gwen laughs, tapping my hand - she and the other girls are looking at the menu, which is posted in front of the steps leading down into the bakery. "They got fish tacos. Sourdough fish tacos."

"Sounds interesting," I say, bemused, "but if you're okay with smelling like an Atlantic salmon farm..."

She almost elbows me in the ribs again, but she stops herself at the last second. Instead, she resorts to the tried-and-true favorite tactic of NCIS - the Gibbs-slap, upside the head.

"Don't do the tacos, actually," Sue says. "They're tiny and overpriced. Stick with the sandwiches. Or the bread-bowl soup. I recommend the tomato."

"Not the clam chowder?" Gwen snickers.

How could I forget how much she loved fish? Even that first time she invited me to her place for dinner, the Stacys were having branzino. I looked like such a prole, being the only one there who went in with absolutely no idea how to eat a whole fish like that. (And they say I'm a genius - but there's a reason why I was salutatorian to Gwen's valedictorian. A reason that runs deeper than me slipping up slightly on my grades here and there throughout junior and senior years due to my secret life as Spider-Man.)

"I say let's order two bread bowls, one of clam chowder and one of tomato," Wanda says. "And we all share them. How's that?" She pauses, then says, "Enough with the communist jokes, guys! Believe me, I've heard them all before."

"What, you mean like, 'In Soviet Russia, bank rob you?'"

Taking a swipe at me and forcing me to dodge her hand, Wanda growls, "Never say that again until you learn how to do the accent properly! Jesus, you sound like Helena from Orphan Black."

I chuckle at the thought of my favorite psychotic, blonde-curled Ukrainian cherub. "Don't you kinda wish Orphan Black were real too?" I ask all three girls. I don't know about Sue, but apparently Wanda's into it too, and I'd gotten Gwen to watch the first season and a half before we graduated.

"I wish," Wanda sighs. "I'd love to meet all the sestras. And Felix. You cannot not love him; it's impossible!"

"'My work here is done,'" I say, channeling my own inner Felix. "'Adios, dragsters!'"

"How is it that you're able to do a British accent right when you imitate Felix," Gwen asks, "but you can't do an Andrew Garfield impression to save your life?"

"Maybe 'cause I've known the source material longer for my Felix impression?" I ask, still in character.

"Good point," Gwen says. "Now if we could get Peter Parker back, Fee?"

"Tomato soup?" I ask. My voice is still very chirpy, but I've reverted to my normal accent.

"Why do you not seem to like fish?" Gwen asks as we finally get in line.

"Hey, I do like fish," I say. "But Aunt May doesn't. Except tuna, for some reason."

We order the two bread bowls, then take a seat on the outdoor patio. I say "outdoor," but it still feels indoor, because it's got the pier's upper-level walkways above it, so there's much less direct sunlight on our backs and/or heads. The tomato soup goes largely abandoned, however, as we all dip our spoons into the clam chowder instead. That one's much more fragrant and inviting, while the tomato is steaming and boiling hot and actually burns Sue's tongue when she takes a taste. She ends up having to go inside and refill her cup of ice water.

"Didn't think to add powdered basil to your soup, did you?" Pietro appears behind me and Gwen, startling us not only with the gust of wind generated by his speed, but with his out-of-nowhere talking. Thankfully, neither of us has anything in hand, so we have nothing to drop and stain our clothes with.

"No, Pietro," Wanda says in a long-suffering voice. "Most places don't think to cater to your tastes, I'm afraid."

"Is this another Avenger?" Sue asks, taking in the sight of him as he sidesteps the flower bed separating our table from the walkway. He gamely attempts to brush back some of his hair, but it simply returns to its previous unruly state the second he puts his hand down.

"If you want me to be," he says, scratching his ever-present stubble with his thumb. "Pietro Maximoff, aka Quicksilver, at your service. And you are?"

"Someone without whom we may still be searching fruitlessly for Peter," Gwen says.

Blushing in response to a compliment must come just as naturally to Sue as it does to me. "Never let it be said that you don't have fun meeting new people," she mutters to herself.

"Whoever said a stupid thing like that?" asks Pietro.

"One of my Fantastic Four friends," Sue says. "Reed Richards. He's our unofficial team leader and resident mad scientist in the making. As you can imagine, he's not really a people person."

"My kind of guy," I laugh. "I usually end up defeating his type in battle. Until their superpowers kick in and their lightning bolts and lizard tails kick my ass."

Sue barely stifles a snicker. "No lightning bolts and lizard tails here," she says, "but yeah, if you piss Reed off enough, he'll try to kick your ass. Although...seeing him do that? It's kind of...kind of a stretch." Here, she really fails to hold in her laughter, for whatever reason.

"What's so funny?" I ask.

Grimacing, Wanda says, "Trust me, you don't wanna know."

"Hey, we can handle a bit of unfunny humor," Gwen laughs.

Wanda, however, really thinks we're better off not knowing what this Reed's superpower is, so she changes the subject. "Where are the others?" she asks.

"I outran them all, of course," Pietro says. "Cap, Bucky, and Wilson should be along any second now, though. And Team Ant-Man? They're circling around looking for parking."

"Good luck," Sue snorts.

"Yeah, especially with that big van," I say.

Rogers, Wilson, and Bucky show up within less than a minute. They mostly hang around on the other side of the flower bed, because our table would get way too crowded with eight people sitting around it. By doing so, they block us from view, in case anyone walking on the pier is another bad guy. Not that we expect any more bad guys to come after us just yet.

Speaking of which... "You never said what you were doing here," Gwen says to Sue. "How come you were going after the Vulture too?"

"I'm doing it for Reed," she says. "That Vulture guy stole something of his, and he's kinda agonizing over it 'cause it's the only one he's got."

"What'd he steal?" I ask.

"The original wingsuit," Sue says. "Which...yeah, now I think about it, it looks like Oscorp made it look even more like Reed's original prototype this time around." She shows us some pictures on her phone. "Look, here's the original, with all the fake feathers - 'Project Icarus,' Reed called it. Kinda prophetic, 'cause the first and only time he tried it, all the feathers fell off. Which might explain why Oscorp's first shot at reverse-engineering it went featherless. Totally mechanical." She shows us a second picture of an ugly metal rig attached to the Vulture's back.

"How'd you get this footage?" I ask.

"Black Cat," Sue says. "She was always an invaluable inside woman." She looks at me and Gwen, and, seeing the matching expressions of confusion on our faces, she says, "You guys don't remember her? She sure had a lot to say about you, Peter."

"Uh..." I scratch my neck, feeling as if Sue's about to say something neither I nor Gwen want to hear.

"Nothing bad, don't worry," she laughs. "Unless you count the fact that she was always sad you were never interested in her. Not enough for a date or two, anyway."

"Why do you talk about her in the past tense?" I ask. "She's not dead, is she?"

"No," Sue says, "but even if she were...I mean, look at some of our present company." She does, in fact, look at them - the previously deceased ones, that is. Gwen, Pietro...and Steve. One of these days, I'll have to get a more complete picture on the circumstances of Steve's apparent death. "Felicia's just gone into hiding," Sue adds. "Where, I have no idea. She said only this one hacker chick in New York knew where, and she wasn't telling. The hacker, I mean, not Felicia."

"Bye, Felicia," Pietro jokes. "Nice not knowing you."

"Hey, don't hate," Sue says. "She may have been in bed with the Sinister Six - literally, I think, in Harry Osborn's case - but she was good people anyway."

Gwen looks down at the now-nearly-empty clam chowder bread bowl. "Let's not talk about that creep," she says. "Or whom he's slept with."

"He's the one who killed her," Rogers says.

I look up at him and the other two guys. "Nice of you to finally join us," I say. "Want some tomato soup? It's got cheese in it, direct from your athlete's foot."

Bucky and Wilson try not to laugh at this, but they completely fail to restrain themselves.

"At least you're not looking too psychologically screwed-up," Rogers says, "considering you got bug-napped by a big old bird." He comes around to our table, and Pietro decides to get up and leave, taking his place in the circle of Avenger bodyguards. "Not to mention that big fall you took before. If Stark were here, he'd have made a hundred 'Humpty Dumpty' jokes by now."

"Yeah," I say, laughing and then wincing as my ribs cry out in pain again. "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

"Of course you are," Rogers laughs. "You young people are always trying to work through the pain - physical and emotional."

"'Us young people?'"

"Don't forget - despite my youthful appearance, I'm quite the old soul." Rogers points at his chest. "This heart of mine is shriveled like a prune. What do you expect for a guy born almost a hundred years ago?"

"So the rumors are true," Sue says. "The Avengers really are an eclectic bunch. A Russian assassin, a science guy with issues, an archer with issues, these Wonder Twins" - she gestures to the Maximoffs - "a good guy with a wingsuit" - Wilson hears this and gives her a thumbs-up - "a billionaire philanthropist-"

"Genius billionaire playboy philanthropist," Rogers corrects her. "Get it right or Stark hates your guts forever."

"An arachnid fellow," Sue continues, earning a laugh from me for her Sleepy Hollow reference - it had to be intentional. "And you, the formerly frozen World War II super-soldier." She punches Steve in the arm, then pulls her hand back, waving it in front of her and gritting her teeth. "You may be an old soul, but you really don't look your age." She looks around at all of us. "Half of you don't, really," she adds. "'Cause I'm pretty sure most of you guys aren't in your teens."

"Or early twenties," Wanda points out.

"Or early twenties, yeah," Sue says, nodding in agreement. "Not that you could tell the difference just from looking at us."

"Yeah, don't they usually pick twentysomething actors to play teenagers in the movies?" asks Wilson. "I mean, don't go the extra mile for authenticity, moviemakers of the world. God knows your product would suck ass if you did."

"Language!" Rogers says, leveling a glare at his friend.

"He's got a good point, though," Wanda says. "I mean, your actor, Peter - Andrew Garfield? He's over thirty!"

"Funny," I say. "I sure don't look that old."

Sue buries her head in her hands as she laughs up a storm - pun intended. "I'm afraid you've lost me," she says.

"It's all right," Bucky says. "They tend to lose me too."

"Well," Wilson says, adjusting his sunglasses, "you're kinda new around here compared to the rest of us. Same with you," he adds to Sue.

"That's okay," Sue says. "I probably won't be here very long anyway, but at least I'm not hopelessly lost."

"Aww, you wouldn't stay?" I ask. "We could always use another superhero on our side."

Sue shakes her head with a small smile. "I've kinda learned to not get too involved with the big superhero teams. I still need to work on forming a good working relationship with the rest of mine - especially since one of them's my brother." She scratches her temple, then leans back in her seat. "I mean, we're kind of a dysfunctional team - me and Johnny, plus two guys who were childhood best friends until...until the accident." She shudders. "Reed was the lucky one - he fled before the government could start experimenting with us and our powers. Ben, understandably, felt much more betrayed than the rest of us. We did end up working together to take on our own supervillain..." She looks up at the wooden ceiling. "Yeah, but let's face it, we've still got a ways to go until we work out all our kinks."

"Are you and your brother close?" Gwen asks.

"As close as we can be, I guess." Sue wraps her arms around herself - and not just because of the breeze picking up around us. "We were never estranged or anything, but...he can be a little tough to handle. Hotheaded - literally and figuratively. But honestly, I think the accident was the best thing that ever happened to him. Not only can he control fire, but he can fly around like a rocket."

"Flying is so cool," Bucky says. "If I could've gotten one superpower, that's what I would pick."

"'Cause it gives you a sense of freedom, am I right?" I say.

"Exactly." Bucky gives me a thumbs-up. "That's why you swing around on those long weblines, don't you? You can't fly, but you can get pretty damn close."

"You need to teach me how to swing, Peter," Gwen says, tapping the webshooter still attached to her hoodie sleeve.

Her words spread laughter around to everyone. "I'm sorry," says Rogers, "but there is no way for that to not sound like a little girl asking her big brother to show her how to do a cool playground trick."

"Maybe I should say it in an actual little girl voice?" Gwen asks. "Like...like Ariana Grande?"

"Oh God, no," Pietro groans, covering his ears. "If you start talking like Cat Friggin' Valentine, I'm gonna snap a neck. Probably my own."

"You can't snap your own neck," says Bucky. "Believe me, I've tried. And if I can't do it..." He flexes the biceps on his real arm, showing how much more muscle tone he has than Pietro even through his hoodie.

Suddenly, Sue perks up, staring in the direction of the Embarcadero. "You guys hear that?" she asks.

"What is it?" I tilt my head, trying to figure out what sound she's talking about.

"I hear it too," says Rogers. "It's music." He cranes his neck and adds, "Yeah, there it is. There's a really loud street performer out there."

I'd move faster to get a look, but my ribs protest when I move faster than half an inch per second. Eventually, though, I get to Rogers' side and catch sight of a rock trio performing a cover of... "That's 'Dragon Attack,'" I say.

"You know that song?" Wanda says.

"It's my favorite Queen song," I say, humming along with it. "Who's performing, I wonder? Anyone famous?"

Sue actually checks her phone. "Um...they're called Dragon Attack, actually. They must've named themselves after the song."

In the distance, I hear the song come to an end, and applause breaks out. Once that's died down, the band starts on a new song. One that's much more recent, but just as cool and catchy - "Lampshades on Fire" by Modest Mouse.

"Let's get a better look at these guys," Wilson says. "I love this song."

"Who wants to finish our tomato soup?" Gwen asks, holding the bread bowl out to the boys. Rogers takes it and holds on to it while Bucky and Wilson occasionally dip spoons into it - spoons which Pietro grabs for them. He, meanwhile, gets the last of the clam chowder bread bowl, which Wanda holds out for him, telling him to come get it faster before the pigeons (which, here, are ubiquitous) do.

"Before we get there," I ask, "by any chance are there any dragons in the Sinister Six?"

"I don't remember any," Sue laughs.

"Don't worry," Wanda says. "There are no reptiles in the Sinister Six, unless you count the Osborns - both of them. So I doubt the name of this band is any great prophecy about our next adventure."

I half-expect the writer to pop in at this point with a pithy line about how wrong Wanda is, or to start obnoxiously humming the Game of Thrones theme. No such bad luck, though.

We get to the crowd just in time to catch the last minute of "Lampshades," which is then followed by an extended drum-and-bass break. By which I mean the band's actual drums and bass guitar, not a certain subgenre of English electronica. Gwen, who's probably never heard the original (except maybe on the radio in San Cas, because I know it came out very recently, long after her death), is having a ball, fist-pumping along with a good chunk of the audience.

I turn away from her and see Dr. Pym approaching, along with Scott and Luis - they must have finally found parking. No doubt they're not done with us just yet. But for another minute or so, we're all able to just stand here and mingle with the people, doing what they do instead of what we do. What sets us apart. The great powers that give us our great responsibilities. I can't help but tear up - Uncle Ben's last words to me before his own death, while I largely ignored them at the time, were powerful ones.

All these people, keeping them safe and sound when the universe is out to get them for the simple crime of being human...that's what being a superhero is all about.

That's what being an Avenger is all about.

I look over to Sue for a second. She says she wants to work on perfecting her own superhero team, away from the Avengers, and I respect that. All the same, though, I think she would be just as well-off working with us. After all, as dysfunctional as the Fantastic Four must be based on her description, the Avengers are, if anything, just as screwy, if not more so. There's no reason she shouldn't feel right at home with us.

But that's just my opinion, and I'm not going to force it on her. So I don't.

Instead, I just savor the moment along with everyone else.

It might be the last good one for a while, if the stony poker face Dr. Pym's got going on is anything to go by.

Chapter Text

***PETER***

"Aww, is the party over already?" I ask as Dr. Pym reaches us.

"Not exactly," he says, finally cracking a ghost of a smile. "In fact, it's barely gotten started."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah," Luis says, clapping Scott's shoulder. "You haven't even seen this guy in action yet!"

"I do wanna see what an Ant-Man can do," says Wilson.

"Yeah," Rogers chimes in. "I thought it was what we all came here for."

"And see it you will," Scott assures us, flashing us a thumbs-up for good measure. "I promise. Even if we end up not having to do anything else with that stupid Vulture."

"Speaking of which," Dr. Pym asks, "what'd you kids do to him, anyway?"

The girls exchange glances, then laugh uproariously - especially Wanda. "You wouldn't wanna see the results," she says, "so let's just say they were good for getting Peter out of his feathery clutches."

"And for that," I say, draping my arms over Gwen's and Wanda's shoulders (the former pulls Sue in as well), "I'm forever grateful. Spidey's Angels, everyone!"

"Stop it!" Gwen laughs. "You're embarrassing us!"

"I dunno," Sue says, grinning sheepishly. "I could do with a bit of excessive flattering."

"Really?" asks Wanda.

"Sure, why not?" Sue moves around Gwen so she can punch me in the arm. "This guy's so good at it."

"That's why we love him," Gwen says, "'cause he knows how to respect women."

Pym claps his hands. "All right, let's get back to the van. We're in that big parking garage over there - you wouldn't believe the devil of a time we spent looking for parking."

"You had no problem parking that sweet sporty ride of yours," Luis says, "but our van? Forget it - I had to double-park it!"

"Better hurry up," Rogers says. "We don't want our hosts getting a parking ticket on our account."

Scott matches Rogers' wry look with one of his own. "Believe me, nobody's gonna care about a van double-parked on the top floor. The cops have better things to worry about." He stops and looks around. "Like this kid over there," he says, pointing at a young dude wearing a trenchcoat and ambling on over to the pier.

"Isn't he a little young to be exposing himself to little kids at the park?" Pietro asks.

Loud laughter breaks out all around us, then Scott says, "I dunno so much about him being a pedophile, but as for thieving...look at how his pockets are bulging. I'd say he's lifted a lot of merch already today."

"And with the prices all the touristy bullshit around here goes for," Gwen says, "that's not much of a surprise."

"Then we should go after him and teach him a lesson," Bucky suggests. "Isn't that our superhero job?"

"Nah, looks like the everyday heroes got it covered," I say, pointing to a pair of uniformed officers who are in the process of catching and searching the guy.

"Cool," Gwen says. "I'd hate to see us put them out of a job."

"Of course you would," I say with a small smile. I don't think I've ever really been able to smile when thinking of Gwen's dad before - unless you count laughing, in hindsight, at his "mayor of Tokyo" joke. Maybe it helps to know that, thanks to Doctor Strange, he's alive again in the other San Castiel.

Climbing the nearest set of steps, we soon find ourselves on an upper-level walkway leading across the street to the massive parking garage nearby. There, we climb two more flights of stairs to reach the top floor. The van is visible about halfway across, towering above all the other cars around it.

"We're not all gonna cram into the van again, are we?" I ask. "I dunno about you, but I was feeling like a sardine earlier."

"Yeah," Pietro says, his eyebrows rising for a second. There's something I've noticed during our days of Avenger-style exercise - Wanda likes to use her powers to get him to involuntarily lock himself in tiny, cramped supply closets. It never ends well, because it doesn't take long before he starts pounding the door, screaming in pure fear. Then, when he finally gets free - either from Wanda unlocking him, or from him busting down the door - he puts as much distance between himself and the door as possible. Which usually entails him running through the woods, halfway to Xavier's place.

I know this because Wanda actually had me go out there and wait for him to show up on Thursday after the umpteenth time she'd done this. At that point, what was funny the first time finally lost all its humor - at least, to me. When we got back to the Avengers facility, I finally put my foot down and told her, in no uncertain terms, to stop experimenting with her brother. "You're not a Hamada, you're not Fitz-Simmons, you're not Stark!" I said. How I managed to not pin her to the wall so she would get my point, I have no idea. "So stop using him as a goddamn lab rat!"

"All right, already!" Wanda said, holding up her hands.

"You promise?"

Biting her lip, she said, "I'm sorry for looking into your head-"

"Not that you could help it-"

"But at least now I understand why you feel so strongly about this." She looked up at me with wide, innocent eyes. "And you should understand - this is something we've done so many times. Ever since we were taken by Hydra, he's been very claustrophobic. And I..." She choked up and wiped the beginnings of a tear from her eye. "I've tried to use my powers to cure him of his fear."

This was news to me. "Is that so? I'd think you were just making it worse."

"It's like...like some kind of extreme immersion therapy," Wanda said. "Just like I can make you live your worst fears, I can use them to cut those fears out of your system. But it's only temporary." She looked up at me, her expression one of mingled shame and dismay. "I wish I could know how he feels, but Billy refuses to do it to me. And, for whatever reason, I can't do it to myself."

Taken aback, even slightly, I asked, "Not even if you look in the mirror?"

"Believe me," she said with a rueful laugh, "I've tried. Just like I've often tried to shut down my own empathy abilities. But just like when I try to eliminate Pietro's fear, it doesn't last."

"Fears are hard-wired for a reason." This was Gwen talking - she'd overheard us for a minute or so. "You shouldn't try to get rid of them."

"'Cause it makes us human, right?" I asked.

"And if we're not human," Gwen asked, "then what are we?"

"Dancer," I said, referencing an infamous line from a Killers song. Based on the light, polite way both girls laughed at my joke, I think its real significance went over their head.

I'm brought back to the present when Scott says, "Nah, we're not gonna be in the van. We kinda need to be outdoors to do this anyway." He steps into the van, then comes out with a strange suit held in his hands, which he proceeds to put on right in front of us. It actually reminds me of Star-Lord, especially when Scott puts on a metal mask to complete the red-and-gunmetal-gray ensemble, but by way of a schlocky sixties movie.

Once he's fully suited up, he holds up a handheld switch that looks suspiciously like one of the dead man's variety. It's a lot less lethal, though - instead of exploding, when he presses the button, he just disappears.

Or, at least, he seems to disappear. He's just shrunk.

Now barely an inch tall, Scott stands on the asphalt, waving energetically up at us.

"Holy shit," I whisper, awestruck. "Uh...he can hear us, right?"

"Yeah," Gwen says. "If he's saying anything, we can't hear him."

"Oh, right," Pym says, smacking his forehead. He pats his chest, then reaches into his jacket and pulls a few earpieces out of an inside pocket, distributing them to - well, not everyone, but almost everyone. Only Wanda is left out, but she doesn't mind - she says her telepathy still works on Scott regardless of size, so she can hear what he's saying because the words are running through his head before coming out of his mouth.

One by one, we all put the earpieces on and hear Scott laughing his miniaturized ass off. "You should see the looks on your faces, guys!" he says. "What's the matter? Never seen an Ant-Man before? Don't answer that - it's gonna be 'no' anyway, right?" He seems to look directly at Wilson, Rogers, and Bucky - although, with his size, it's hard to tell. "Of course, you guys worked with me before during the whole Civil War bullshit, but you don't remember, do you? Good - that's not something I'd care to relive, fellas. It happened a little too recently for that."

"'Civil War?'" I repeat with a small laugh. "Sounds like you guys had a pretty intense reenactment of the Battle of Gettysburg or something."

"We wish."

Luis climbs into the van (prompting Scott to mock-scream, "Nonononodontsteponme!" - but he's in no danger of being crushed under his buddy's boot) and retrieves what looks like a toy drone. Specifically, it's modeled after one of those Osprey plane-chopper hybrids. He places it on the ground next to Scott, who enters the drone. Seconds later, its tilt-rotors fire up and it rises to head height. Scott's in the cockpit, discernible only by his suit's red markings.

In addition, Luis has an app on his tablet which allows him to control the Osprey-drone - or, at least, so it would appear. "I run this baby," Scott says over our earpieces - I even hear a light smacking noise, which I guess is from him fondly patting the controls. "She's not as cool as the ants, but she's wild in her own way."

"I'd love to show you guys the ants," Pym says, "but practicality has to come over the wow factor, and the ants won't be able to go where we're going."

"And that's where?" Rogers asks.

I, however, have a shrewd idea. "Angel Island," I say. "Am I right?"

When Pym nods, Gwen sighs and says, "Déjà vu all over again."

"They'll still be there, I bet," Wanda says. "The Vulture and the Rhino, that is."

"Just how badly did you mess with their minds?" asks Bucky. "And can you do it to me to save me the endless guilt trips?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"Only about that last part," Bucky says, his face turning pink. "My guilt trips are an indispensible part of my character."

"Oh come on," Rogers says. "Don't say that. You're not a bad guy."

"You definitely weren't born that way," Wilson chimes in.

Pym clears his throat and says, "If we hurry, we can catch the next boat to Angel Island. From there, we can 'pilot' Scott into that underground base," he adds, complete with air quotes.

"I saw that, Doc," Scott snickers, the drone turning Pym's way.

"We're not all gonna go there, are we?" Pietro asks. "It sounds like a two-person job at most. And besides," he adds while looking meaningfully at me and Gwen in particular, "some of my friends look like they could do with a break."

"We're all going," I say firmly.

Gwen nods along with me. "I don't wanna stay behind."

"Yeah," Sue scoffs. "Miss all the action? Please."

"Then let's go," Pym says. "But you're all buying your own tickets."

Checking my wallet, I say, "Thank God I didn't buy anything in that store with the beanies, huh, Gwen?"

"Could've been worse," Gwen says, reaching around and shaking my shoulder, on the other side from my still faintly-throbbing ribs. "You could've bought something for me."

"How is that worse?"

"You've bought too much for me lately," Gwen laughs, pulling a little of her mask out of her pocket. She also pulls her hood over her head, then pouts at me from underneath it. Only her mouth is visible, and it's making me want to kiss her. I hold back, though, especially when Wanda just barely manages to stifle her laughter.

"Only 'cause I love you," I say.

After we board the Angel Island ferry, Luis hands the tablet to Pietro and lets him take the controls, citing his super-speed and enhanced reflexes. Scott agrees with his decision - "It should look like you're running the show, and Pietro, logically speaking, would be the best one at pretending to simulate whatever moves I make when, exactly, when I make 'em."

"Good idea," Pietro says, "but you also forgot to take into account that my concentration has an alarming tendency to...wander."

A second viewing window pops into place on the corner of the tablet's screen, showing Scott's face. With his mask on, I can't make out any kind of expression, but he sounds more than a bit disturbed as he says, "Okay, forget it. Pietro, your drone privileges are revoked. Give the controls to Cap, dude."

"You're kidding me, right? Dammit, Wanda!"

She waggles her fingers at him, smiling broadly as she telekinetically lifts the tablet from his hands and turns it over to Rogers instead.

A question occurs to me. "Uh...Scott, how long can you be in, um, Ant-Man mode?"

"What, you think I can't do it forever?" he asks. He snickers, then spins the drone around in the air - vertically, like he's running on an invisible roller-coaster loop-de-loop. "I actually can't, but I can go a pretty long time. Maybe...two hours before my air tanks run out?"

"Miniature air tanks," Gwen muses. "Imagine that."

"How do you do it?" I ask Pym. "Make the shrink suit, I mean. How does it work?"

He looks very glad I asked. "Steve, could I borrow this, please?" he asks. When Rogers gives him the tablet, he places it on the next, empty seat long enough to expand the image of Scott from a small section in the corner to the entire right-hand half of the screen. "See the red parts of the suit? Those are full of what we call 'Pym particles.'"

"Did you come up with the name?"I ask.

"I'm not that much of an attention-seeker," Pym says. "But SHIELD considered themselves indebted to me for my role in their discovery...until they realized I was serious about not letting them get their hands on it." He picks up the tablet again, and uses his other hand to munch on a pretzel drizzled in mustard. "Of course, by then the name kinda stuck."

"You're not a fan of SHIELD, huh?" Rogers asks.

"'Fraid not." Pym continues to eat his pretzel.

"It's kinda our fault," Luis says. "Mine and Scott's. That we introduced Ant-Man to SHIELD again."

"Don't pin any of the blame on me," Scott laughs. "You're the one who knew a guy who knew a guy who knew the Falcon."

"You mean me, right?" Wilson asks.

"How many other Falcons do we know? And how many have I beaten up while shrunk?" In the distance, a laughing Scott zips away in the drone, which disappears around a rocky outcropping. From there, the live footage broadcast from the drone displays the entrance to the base.

"What do your particles do?" Gwen asks. "I mean, obviously they're the secret ingredient to the whole size-changing thing, but...and they give Ant-Man increased strength and density proportional to his decreased size, right?"

"Exactly," Pym says.

"And the stylish helmet protects me from the Pym particles' unwanted and adverse mental side effects," Scott quips, his voice sounding scratchy as he goes underground and reception on his end suffers. "Please don't forget that."

"There's always a catch with superhero stuff," Sue says. "Is it, like, the law or something?"

"Maybe," says Scott. "Okay, now I think I'm coming up to the portal."

"Have you guys been in there before?" Gwen asks.

Shaking his head, Luis says, "Not me, and not the boss. But Scott has."

"It was part of a little experiment between our two good doctors, Pym and Strange," Scott says. "Huh...what's that?"

Gwen and I look at the screen - the half that has the exterior drone-cam view, anyway. Scott's piloted the drone into the portal chamber. The one-third of the Sinister Six is nowhere to be seen - but the portal is sparking. I'm about to ask if Vulture and Rhino went through it, but the portal is still broken, so they can't have.

As if anticipating the burning question in my mind, Pym says, "I'm no expert, but if someone's trying to open the portal when it's broken...we could be looking at a pretty catastrophic chain reaction."

Goosebumps break out on my arms. "How catastrophic?"

"Again," Pym says, "I'm no expert. But...I think the ensuing explosion would blow out a good quarter of the island, causing at least that part of it to settle..."

Luis chortles darkly. "At least then all those 'Tsunami Evacuation Route' signs on the Embarcadero would finally come in handy, huh?"

"Scott, you should get out of there," I say. "Now, not next week!"

"I think I can dismantle the portal a bit more," Scott says. "Either that, or...yeah, I got it!" He brings the drone down and runs out of it, then takes something off his utility belt - a small, circular shuriken with a red dot in the center, matching the color of his suit.

"What's that?" I ask.

"These discs have Pym particles inside them," Scott says. "Red to shrink, blue to grow."

With a loud snort, Pym says, "I hope your aim's improved, Scott."

"Come on, do you see the size of my target?" Scott hefts the disc - it looks roughly the size of a quarter, although that's relative to his current size - and throws it at the portal like a Frisbee. Despite the tiny size of the disc and its thrower, it manages to fly a very long distance, all the way to the portal.

On contact, the lower half of the portal, the largest intact section, vanishes into shrunken near-nothingness. With nothing to support them, the metal chunks of the upper half fall to the floor with a series of loud clunks.

"That oughta take care of that," Scott says.

The heavy accent and loud voice of the Rhino ring out over the tablet's speakers as Aleksei walks in, his broken arm now in a sling. My guess is that the Vulture secured his arm, unless there's another villain on the island with medical knowledge. The only one of the Sinister Six I can think of who would fit that bill is Doc Ock, but we haven't seen him yet. I know Deadpool said I've faced him before, but I don't remember it at all.

The Rhino's speaking Russian, but Wanda's quick to translate. "'Who's there? Say hello to Aleksei Sytsevich, svoloch!'"

Tilting my head as Aleksei continues to rant in his native tongue, I say, "I didn't hear him say 'svoloch.'"

"I edited it," Wanda says. "I'm not giving Steve a chance to call me out for my language."

"She's not kidding," Bucky says, leaning over her shoulder. "That was some seriously foul mat." I look at him questioningly, and he explains, "Russian swearing. They call it mat."

The connection to another Russian curse I've picked up from too much reading - in this case, from Ian Fleming's From Russia With Love - as well as from Pietro. "Oh, like yob tvoyu mat?"

"What'd you say about my mama, dipshit?" Pietro's death glare quickly gives way to a wide grin, but for a second there, he really looks like he's about to throw me into the water. If he can lift me - I don't think he's as strong as I am.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Wanda holds up her hand, listening to Aleksei's next string of Russian. "He's spotted the drone!"

"What?" Scott spins around and sees Aleksei stomping over to the mini-Osprey. "Oh, hell no!"

"A bit attached to that drone, isn't he?" Rogers comments.

"Hey, Mr. Freedom Pants, this is my daughter's end-of-school present we're talking about!" Scott runs after Aleksei, then leaps into the air and grabs hold of his ankle just as he raises it to step on the drone. It takes only a tiny push for Aleksei to lose his balance and fall on his ass, mercifully sparing his target.

"Jesus H. Christ," Scott groans. "This guy needs to clean his shoes! I can smell it through the goddamn helmet!"

He runs back to the drone (which, now I think about it, really shouldn't be called a "drone," technically) and jumps into the cockpit, then fires it up. "I got a few words for you, buddy," he says, hitting a button and talking to Aleksei over a loudspeaker. "Lay off the Cheetos and cigarettes!"

With that, he flies away, down the passage and out into the daylight before Aleksei can follow him.

Three minutes later, the ferry arrives on the island at last. At the same time, Scott disembarks from the Osprey after landing it behind the visitor center, where he reverts to normal size and strips off his suit. He then carries it with him, along with the Osprey, as he rejoins us.

"Well," he says after taking a huge, theatrical breath. "Who's up for yet another trip down the rabbit hole?"

"You're not serious," Wilson says. "How many times are we gonna go in there?"

"Ever heard of something called 'one and done?'" Rogers asks.

"With luck," says Scott, "this will be the last time." He approaches Pym, who gives him the remaining two-fifths or so of his pretzel. "Thanks, Doc." He scarfs it down, wipes a yellow blot of mustard from the corner of his mouth, then burps. "Excuse me. All right, let's go!"

Leading the way, Scott calls on his inner tour guide, loudly extolling all the virtues of Angel Island for the world to hear. Soon, we come to a point where we have to step off the beaten path, at which point he finally gets quiet. The fewer people we attract to our location while sneaking through a hole in a cyclone fence, the better.

Just as we approach the secret entrance, the ground trembles beneath our feet. At first, I'm scared that one of the villains might be emerging from the "rabbit hole," as Scott so eloquently put it. But the shaking is soft, and doesn't have any kind of regular rhythm to it. It just feels like any number of tiny temblores the Bay Area tends to get every so often.

Scott looks over the cliff's edge above the entrance, then signals us to get down. As I do so, my injury radiates pain throughout my torso again, but I force myself to ignore the signals and crawl up to the edge anyway.

Standing on the concrete platform between the rabbit hole and the fenced-off dock is a very familiar brunette. She's looking out at the water, so her back's turned to us - but I know who she is anyway. I remember working with her before back home - an assignment that featured a lot of property destruction, a hidden subway-car lab (belonging to someone who was A) alive, and B) not my dad), and, for whatever reason, occasional relentless flirtation on her part.

I turn to Sue and say, "I thought Black Cat was in hiding."

"She was," Sue says. "Is. What...but she's...that's impossible."

My eyes turn back to Felicia for a second. "I dunno. See for yourself."

Doing exactly that, Sue creeps up next to me, as does Gwen on my other side. "You sure that's her?" Gwen asks.

"It is her," Sue whispers. "My God...but if they found her...I think it's a trap. We should get outta here!"

Nudging my foot, Luis says, "I got a scope if you wanna take a better look."

"Thanks." I take the scope and look through it just as Felicia turns around, looks up, and sees us. She mouths a single syllable - "Run!"

The ground shakes again, and this time, a long, flexible metal object pokes out from the rabbit hole before grabbing hold of the ground above it. It's less than a foot from my nose, but only for a moment as I reflexively back away.

A second metal tentacle surfaces a few yards away, and the shaking gets worse.

We finally obey Felicia's command before we can be confronted with Doc Ock himself. "Run!" I yell, urging everyone ahead of me. "Don't look back, just run! Run!"

Chapter Text

***GWEN***

I'm sure it's very well-known by now, but one of my biggest pet peeves is people feeling the need to protect me. Not that I can't appreciate it - and I do - but I wish people could trust me to protect myself.

By "people," I of course mean mostly the two most important men in my life. My dad, and Peter.

So when he pushes me ahead of him as we run from a metal-tentacled supervillain, I spare a moment to glare at him even as we keep running.

By the time we escape through the cyclone fence and get back onto the path, though, it seems that Doc Ock isn't interested in chasing us anymore. Maybe if Kraven were in his place, we'd have to keep running, but...

"He must've just wanted to scare us?" Peter asks.

"Gee, you think, Captain Obvious?" Pietro dusts himself off.

"Is everyone all right?" Sue asks, looking around. I join in a chorus of "Yeahs" and "Sures." "Good," Sue says. "Now what? We're not gonna try and go into that base again...are we?"

"Oh no," Bucky says. "Now that she's said it, that's what we're gonna do."

"Not necessarily," says Scott. "I can always just go in again. But not with the drone this time - I think I'll lead the charge with the ants."

The ground trembles under my feet again - but not in that earthquake way. Instead, it's in a Spider-sense way. I look down and hear something clinking in a nearby storm drain. A split second passes between the time I jump across the road and the time the grate over the drain pops out, unleashing one of Doc Ock's tentacles.

"Are you kidding me?" Peter groans. Right away, he and I start webbing the end of the tentacle. It works for a few seconds, until the tentacle pops open at the end, revealing a small, glowing red dot surrounded by three deadly, pincer-like appendages.

Pietro, however, has another idea. He approaches the tentacle, jumps up to grab it, then takes off running. He tugs it with him for about ten feet, but then stops short as the tentacle refuses to play out any more length. Cursing in Russian, he pulls harder and harder, but the tentacle refuses to budge. It's stretched taut between the drain and Pietro, like a piano wire on steroids.

"Stay where you are!" Wanda orders him. She raises her hand, allowing a long stream of red psychic energy to ripple into the air like an aurora. When it rises to a height of about ten feet, she brings her hand and arm down in a karate-chop motion, taking the light down with her and landing it right on top of the tentacle's shiny, silvery surface.

With a short scream, Pietro lets go of the tentacle's business end as the energy diffuses through it and shocks him. "What was that for?" he grumbles.

"I was trying to cut this thing in two," Wanda says, "but failing that, at least I've managed to short-circuit it!" She proves her point by poking the tentacle, which has now fallen to the ground, and is lying eerily still.

"For how long?" Sue asks.

"Don't ask me," Wanda says. "My telepathy only works on organic brains."

"Should we just keep running?" Peter asks, his hand on his ribs.

"And go where?" asks Steve. "We can't run forever!"

"Once again," Scott says, hurriedly stepping into his Ant-Man suit, "you forget who you've got with you! Auf Wiedersehen!" He presses the button on his glove as he's all suited up, then disappears from view, except for the tiny, speck-sized running man on the path at Pym's feet.

"Don't worry," Pym says as we all stare at the ground, trying to follow Scott's progress. "He knows what he's doing."

"Damn right, old man," Scott says. "Huh. The ants are actually running scared of this sea monster. Not for long, though." A patch of moving darkness rises out of the grass just on the other side of the fence, with the red parts of Scott's suit the only way to discern his presence. "Whoa! These babies are seriously spooked!"

"Are we gonna hear every order you give them?" Peter asks.

"Yeah," I say, "every creative way you've got to wrangle your microscopic war beasts?"

"It's mostly telepathic!" Scott says. "Sort of - not real telepathy like you, Wanda. Ant telepathy."

"Telepathy is telepathy, regardless of species," Wanda says. "Human, mutant, mutate, even ant."

"I don't exactly do brainwaves, honey," Scott says, sounding creepily like Deadpool for a second. "Mostly raw animal magnetism."

"He means pheromones and shit," Luis says.

"And thank you for depriving me of my thunder." Scott falls silent - or, at least, we no longer hear him because he's strictly communicating with the ants. I'm pretty sure he's not using pheromones, as Luis suggested - unless the Pym particles also grant him the ability to simulate those kinds of chemicals and signals? I doubt it, but you never know. I hadn't even heard of Pym particles before today - and I'm pretty sure I never heard of them in my first life either - so I can't exactly call myself an expert on the subject.

The ants swarm through the fence, then stop short about halfway to Doc Ock's tentacle. They start up again, but their advance is much slower now. Scott starts exhorting them in ways we can hear - "Come on, guys! It's just a bunch of steel and wires! It's not gonna hurt you! Look, I'll prove it!"

I kneel near the still-frozen tentacle - a risky proposition, because it can easily unfreeze at any moment. Scott dismounts from his chosen ant - I hadn't realized he was riding one like a horse, and the sight makes me laugh. Same with Peter when he asks what's so funny, and I explain it to him. Then he runs up to the tentacle, knocking on it. None of us can hear the knocking, except for a faint thud in the background on our earpieces.

The tentacle twitches, its business end making menacing clicks as the triple pincers connect. "Wanda," I ask warily, "you think maybe this guy could do with another shot of the good stuff?"

"I got this," Scott says. "Just let me...haha, here we go." He steps back and appears to throw something - probably one of those particle-loaded disks.

It doesn't hit its target, though. Because the tentacle whips back to life, rising to head height and surveying us with the red dot in the center of its pincer end. Somehow, I know that red dot is a camera. As does Peter, who waves at it and says, "Hey, Doc. Long time no defeat."

By focusing on Peter and me, Doc Ock makes the mistake of not sensing other attacks coming. Or, more accurately, other attack - which sends the tentacle flying backwards as if it were hit by a bullet from an unusually low angle.

Not a bullet. Scott.

Practically in slow-mo, the tentacle bends backward in a way that would cause it to snap if it were a human neck. It crashes down on top of a section of the fence, crushing it.

That's when a second tentacle just pokes into view, scraping against its friend a few times.

Bucky sees it too, then runs up, jumps above the drain, and smashes his metal elbow down. Tentacle Numéro Deux recoils. I half-expect it to issue an agonized screech too, but no such luck - just more scraping against Numéro Un as it slides down the drain. When it resurfaces, two of the pincers, as well as its own red-dot camera, have been crushed to various degrees.

"Sorry about this, guys," Steve says, appearing at Bucky's side. He grabs the two tentacles and clunks their ends together like misshapen metal coconuts.

"Did you really just apologize to the tentacles?" Sam asks. He joins the other two guys and lifts one tentacle, while Bucky lifts the other. Steve then takes both and ties them together into giant steel shoelaces.

"Why not?" he asks.

Sam just scratches his head. "Now I can't tell if you were just being polite, or if you were being ironic."

"I know the answer," Wanda says in a singsong voice, "but I'll never tell."

For a second, the tentacles try and untangle themselves. Steve and his friends have tied them too tightly, though, so in the end, they just give up and sink back into the drain.

"Is that it?" Peter asks. "That's...disappointing."

"I know." I creep over to the drain, wondering how long it'll be until Doc Ock comes back with his full might. The tentacles are nowhere to be seen, however. Instead, there's a small, shiny piece of metal left behind on the edge of the drain. It looks like it may have come off of one of the tentacles - it's roughly the same shade of silver. Or whatever metal the tentacles are made of. I hope it's not vibranium like Ultron or Steve's shield - that would make Doc Ock so much harder to defeat if we ever have to face him again. For real, that is.

"Wait!" Scott cries as I reach for the little metal piece. "The ants will tell us if it's safe."

"You sure?" I ask even as he sends some of his insect horde to inspect the piece.

"It could be laced with poison or something," Scott says. "Except maybe not - they're not reacting to it in any way. 'Cept confusion, 'cause it's man-made."

"You sure of that?" Peter asks.

"Definitely," Scott says. "Last I checked, there weren't any other species building and/or using flash drives."

"It's a..." I pick it up and confirm that fact - the jack was turned facedown, which is why I didn't realize the object's nature until now. "What's on it?" I wonder.

"Probably the secrets of the universe, all password-protected," Peter says. "Who among us is any good at hacking?"

The answer is, of course, "nobody." Sue claims that she's had a little experience with "computers and junk" (her exact words), but not enough to really know her way around strange equipment at a glance.

There's someone else whom I think would be capable of helping us. The trouble is, she's nowhere near here. She's on the other side of the broken portal somewhere under our feet. And the nearest other portal is way off in the middle of the country, high in the air. Far from convenient.

That still doesn't stop me, however, from making the suggestion. "Should we ask Jane Foster?"

"Jane Foster?" Steve repeats. "Thor's girlfriend Jane Foster?"

"I thought his girlfriend was that Asgardian chick he's always going around with," Bucky says.

"No, they're just friends," Peter says. "It really is possible between a guy and a girl, and those two are proof." He looks at Wanda for a second - the two of them are proof as well. Me and Pietro, not so much, but only because he's got a harder time connecting with others than his sister does. Although he makes up for that with his playful nature.

"Where do we find this Jane Foster?" Pym asks. I tell him, and he says, "Oh? But as I recall, Scott ruined the portal here...oh." He puts one finger to his scraggly chin as he thinks. "I know, I have beaucoup money to spend on jet fuel and airport security bribes, but that money doesn't exactly grow on a Sequoia sempervirens in my backyard."

"A redwood," Peter and I say in unison. Sue nods along with us.

"Are you sure you're not originally from around here?" Luis asks.

Scott returns to normal size and pulls off his helmet, taking a deep breath as he gets access to fresh air again. "Only you, old man, would have a real live redwood in your backyard."

"I actually don't," Pym stage-whispers. "They're endangered, so you're not allowed to have one at home."

"I thought that law applied to sun bears, honey badgers, and ferrets," Sue says. "Or whatever else Paris Hilton likes to own."

"Ferrets aren't endangered," Scott says, "but I think they're illegal to keep as pets in California, for some reason."

"They're carnivorous little beasts," Pietro says. "That's probably why."

"Actually," Pym says, "most states that do ban ferrets, they ban them because they've been known to carry rabies."

"Same with dogs," Wanda says.

We make our way down the path, heading back to the ferry landing. How we've managed to not get spotted by tourists or park rangers by now, I have no idea. Along the way, Peter asks, "What about Felicia?"

"Uh..." I scratch my head. "I'm not sure. Do you think she's still stuck with the bad guys?"

"I sure hope not," Peter says.

"If I know one thing about Felicia," Sue says, "it's that she's just ferret-like enough in her craftiness that California wouldn't allow you to keep her as a pet either."

"I agree," says Wanda. "I didn't pick up any hint that she was in danger herself. Of course," she says darkly, "like I said, I can't read inorganic minds. Like those of the tentacles."

"I'll make one more pass with the drone to see if I can find anything," Scott says.

Pym, who's been holding the drone since Scott last went Ant-Man, hands it to him reluctantly. "You sure?"

"I didn't come on the ferry like the rest of you," Scott reminds us, "so I don't have a return ticket. I'll just fly down to the dock, then back to the city, and I'll be waiting for you at the van when you get back. Okay?"

We all agree, and Scott disappears behind a nearby tree to put on the Ant-Man suit. Just as we get onto the ferry, he reports back to us from the drone. "No sign of the bad guys, or Felicia," he says. "But they might just be inside."

"Don't go in," Pym says. "We need to get this flash drive mystery solved. Hell, I'll get my daughter on it too."

"Will that help?" I ask.

"She said incredulously," Scott laughs. "If that Jane girl doesn't get us the results we need, at least Hope will."

"We can't copy protected files, can we?" asks Peter. "I mean, if you wanna have a version to show Jane, and one for...Hope? Yeah, if we can't get into the flash drive to begin with-"

"Well, you never know," says Steve, ever the optimist. "It may not even be password-protected to begin with."

Later, when we get back to the mainland, Pym plugs the flash drive into a laptop and says, "Yep, it's locked." He glares at the screen for a second, then says, "All right, we'll go to Hope first. It might take some convincing, but as long as she's aware it's for a good cause..."

Pym leads the way through the city to a nice, pricey-looking Victorian-esque mansion on one of the city's many hills. Inside, we're introduced to Hope van Dyne, his daughter. When we first see her, she's in the kitchen, wearing a piece of headgear that looks like the Ant-Man helmet without the helmet - just a metal headband. She looks down intently at the tabletop, on which she's arranged herself a cup of tea and a sugar bowl. Three cubes climb out of the bowl, seemingly on their own, and move across the table to the cup. There, they climb in and slide into the steaming light-brown liquid.

"How do you get the ants to not eat the sugar?" I ask.

Removing the headband and picking up the cup, Hope says, "Easy. Tell them they're lifting blocks of anthrax."

"Do they even know what anthrax is?" Scott asks. "Am I gonna need to know this for future missions?"

"They get the message anyway." Hope sips her tea, even putting her pinky up - but I think that's just to make us laugh. She looks a little more conservative than, say, Sue or Wanda, with her pantsuit and neat bob haircut, but that doesn't mean she can't have a sense of humor. "So," she says, "I hear you have a piece of potential supervillain tech?"

"Right here." Pym fishes the flash drive from his pocket. "And yeah, before you ask, I tried it on my laptop earlier."

"Where?"

"At the Pier 39 parking garage."

Hope removes her neural-cranial transmitter (I'm using Hiro's term for his own similar microbot-controlling invention), takes one more sip of tea, and walks into the hall, muttering "Excuse me" as she keeps accidentally bumping elbows into me and/or other Avengers. The hallway is way too crowded. I'm sure the house is well over its weight limit at this point. "We better pray you didn't accidentally unleash a virus into the Wi-Fi in that part of the city," she says, climbing the stairs.

"I'm sure the gaggles of tourists will suffer no ill effects," Pym says.

Upstairs, Hope runs around and unplugs a router before holding out her hands and taking the laptop from her dad. She plugs in the flash drive. "Who gave this to you?" she asks when the prompt comes up asking for a password.

"Nobody gave it to us, per se," says Sue, "but it was Doc Ock."

"Octavius, you mean?" Hope tilts the laptop and examines the flash drive more closely. "Hmm. Yeah, it looks like his style. I'm just going by the color." She opens up a new window, a command prompt, and types in some lines of code. Several times, she hits Enter, but the code fails to do its job, if the long strings of error messages are anything to go by. "Not to worry," she says after six such errors in a row. "I've got one more secret weapon." She types her longest, most complex code yet - and this time, she finally cracks the flash drive.

"You did it," Sue breathes, looking awestruck. "What was it? What'd you do?"

"A little something I like to call 'Fsociety Party,'" Hope answers. "I don't like to use it if I can help it, though, because if I do-"

"You have only ten seconds to download the contents before they self-destruct as the drive melts from the strain of having its walls forcibly broken down," Pym says in as few breaths as humanly possible, snapping his fingers. "Quickly, Hope!"

As her fingers fly across the keyboard again, Scott says, "Yeah, your program's nothing but a holy hand grenade."

Five seconds later, the flash drive sparks, then sizzles. "Crap, it's stuck there now," Hope says. "This machine better not have been important, Dad."

"It's warranty's expired," Pym says. "Let's leave it at that. So what have we discovered?"

"Files with a bunch of names on them," Hope says. "Two of you...no, three. Gwen, Steve, Pietro."

I exchange glances with the other two. "The ones who died," I whisper.

"Definitely, yeah," Peter says. He leans down and gets a better look at the screen, as do I. There are no other names on the list, not even Tadashi's - any files on him, or anyone else, must have been lost as Fsociety Party did its dirty work.

"Open mine," Steve says.

I look at him. "So you can maybe find out how you died, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"It's a painful experience," I say.

"Traumatic, even," says Pietro.

Tendons tighten in Steve's neck as he swallows. "This might be the only way I find out. They haven't made the movie where I die yet, and I don't wanna wait another year for that." He turns to Peter and adds, "Besides, if we wait another year, we won't be able to save you two."

Hope moves out of her chair and steps aside for Steve. "Read at your own risk, I guess," she says.

Taking his seat, Steve leans down and looks over the laptop's surface. He hesitates at first - I'm not sure how much of that is from is anxiety over what will be in his file, and how much is from him showing his barely-evident age and limited experience with technology.

I hear him take a deep breath to steady his nerves, then he dives into the file.

A picture slideshow opens. The very first image is an article from the Time Magazine website, with the headline, "Public Support For SRA At All-Time Low." This is followed by a smaller tagline before the byline and date from last November: "'Civil War' between Avengers largely blamed on controversial Congressional proposition."

The next few pictures in the slideshow are close-ups of snippets of text from that same article. Steve skips past most of these until he finds what he's looking for. "'A government representative, who asked to remain anonymous, told us that he believed the SRA is 'secretly being funded for the express purpose of destabilizing and/or destroying the Avengers.' If true, the many who undoubtedly share these sentiments may also cite the recent shocking death of Captain America as evidence of a massive anti-hero conspiracy.'"

Upon reading this, Steve gasps, then pushes the chair back as if he doesn't want to look at the screen anymore. He probably can't, because all he can see must be memories of his death. Maybe even of his resurrection in the blue tanks.

"What do you see?" I ask.

Steve's chest heaves as he stares into space, horrified. "She...she killed me," he whispers. "I don't...I can't believe it. Why would she kill me?"

"Who's 'she?'" Peter asks.

"Carter..." Steve says.

"Carter? Maggie Carter? No way!" I cry. "You're right, I don't believe it. I...I won't."

"I agree," Sam says. "She's a legendary badass, but-"

"It's not Maggie," Steve says. "It's her niece, Sharon. She's the one...she's the one who killed me." 

Chapter Text

***GWEN***

"I know that name," Sam breathes. "She's a SHIELD agent. Or she used to be. I think she was a CIA plant or something? Like how Hydra had its plants, but less evil."

"Maybe not 'less evil,'" I point out as Steve mechanically cycles through more of the slideshow. One of the pictures is of an article announcing the arrest of Cap's killer, who remains unnamed in the article proper. "Is that her?" I ask, speaking more to Sam because he's not lost in a flood of restored memories. "Is that Sharon Carter?"

"I..." Sam falters. "I don't really remember her face. She's not as pretty as her aunt, that's for damn sure."

"Nobody's as pretty as Carter," Peter says. "Present female company excluded."

I smile at him and mouth, "Nice save." Then I return my attention to Steve. He's still looking through pictures related to his murder. "Steve?" I whisper, laying my hand on his shoulder. "Steve, you shouldn't keep looking. You'll just find yourself stuck in your own memories. Chasing the rabbit," I add, remembering the term Peter used to describe that mental phenomenon. At first, I'd thought it was an Alice in Wonderland reference, but Peter says he got it from the movie Pacific Rim instead.

Snapping out of it, Steve looks up at me, a stricken expression on his face. "Here, get up," I say, grabbing his wrists and tugging him to his feet. I wouldn't have been able to do it this time two weeks ago, but now I can. Thank God for my spider-powers, huh? "You need a hug, don't you?" I don't even wait for an answer before wrapping my arms around him.

He tries to hold back the tears as long as he can, but I encourage him to do the opposite. "Don't be a guy," I laugh. "That's Peter's biggest problem, I find. That, and the fact that he's got too big a heart by half."

"She's not wrong," Peter says, joining us in our hug. Sort of - he's hugging me more than he is Steve. But he's got his arms around both of us at once. Which I'm glad to see, because as much as Steve needs it, I'm finding myself in need of some love as well. Because this level of closeness reminds me all too strongly of the people to whom I'm close and yet so far - my family. Who, as far as I know, are still in the alternate universe.

I miss my parents. How brave Dad was, and how he always had the right witty remark for every occasion. How much of a good cook Mom was. How much they both comforted me after my first boyfriend cheated on me back in junior year. (And I'm pretty sure Dad did something to put the fear of God into James Norris after that. I think he even transferred to another school rather than risk incurring further wrath from Dad.)

I miss my brothers just as much. Was it only three weeks ago that Simon brought me his English homework to correct, and I saw that when he was told to write a sentence using the word "backpack," he'd written, "I use my backpack to take my broken bone to school?" I'd gotten such a kick out of that - as did Peter when I told him about it earlier this week.

That same day, he told me how much he'd been missing his own family. He's dying to contact them in some way, let them know he's okay. I need to do the same for my family. There's just one problem - nobody seems to want to help us get through to the other side of the portal by phone from the Avengers facility. Between the two of us, we've asked Ultron, Doctor Strange, Fury, even Loki. Nothing.

Peter did, however, say he'd been considering asking Deadpool. At that point, we both lost it, dissolving into peals of laughter.

Today, though, the situation is a hell of a lot less funny. Steve finally breaks down, and I hear his breath shuddering as he cries in my arms.

"Hey, it's all right," I say as his tears fall on top of my head. "You're taking it so much better than I did when I found about my death."

"Thanks for trying to make me feel better."

Peter edges aside so Sam can get in and ask, "You need a moment, buddy?"

"No," Steve says, maybe a little too forcefully. "No," he repeats in a softer tone. "I'm fine. Let's just...what's next?" He turns to Pym and Scott for answers.

"Well," Pym says. "I brought you kids here to see about dealing with our Vulture issue. And it seems you've done exactly that, so..." He purses his lips in thought. "Well, now we know where at least two-thirds of the Sinister Six are lying in wait, so we can go after them anytime, ourselves. And as for you kids...I can fly you back home now. Unless you wanna play tourist in the city a little longer?"

"No thanks," Bucky says. "I don't wanna feel useless. No offense."

Steve wipes his eyes and gives him a watery grin. "Useless? Far from it."

"Here," Hope says as we head downstairs after saying our goodbyes to her. "Take this," she says, handing me the laptop. "You guys could probably get more use out of it than we can."

I try to wiggle the flash drive out of its port, but it really is stuck fast. "Note to self," I say. "Fsociety Party is never to be attempted." I close the laptop and tuck it under my arm. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Hope lays her hand on my shoulder for a second and smiles at me before i turn on my heel and join the others going out the door.

An hour later, we get back to the plane. Scott and Luis say goodbye to us there - they're staying in the city to keep an eye on the Angel Island crew. Sue is also going back home to her secret base, which she says is somewhere in the far north of California, in the mountains above Central City. "Reed's gonna want to know the status of his lost wingsuit," she says. "And who knows? I might be able to get him to come outdoors for the first time in forever just for this."

"You gonna fly home by force field?" Peter asks. "Central City, that's a couple hundred miles north, right?"

"I can handle it," she says with a smile as she hugs him goodbye first. "How do you think I got down here to begin with?" She then delivers her own goodbyes all around, coming to me last. "Take care of yourself," she says. "And Peter."

"If I didn't," I say, hugging her tightly, "the guilt would be enough to kill me."

Sue pulls back, smiles, then lets me go. "Hope to see you again, Spider-Lady."

I grab the hem of my hoodie and curtsy to the best of my ability. (Which isn't very good, because the one thing Mom tried to teach me, but never could, was curtsying. Hell, my dad does it better, and he only does it when he really wants to get a laugh out of me and my brothers.) "Same to you," I say, waving to Sue as she takes a deep breath, forms her force field, and soars hundreds of feet into the air before streaking off into the northern sky.

"You're something else, Gwen," Peter says as we both look at her one last time before boarding Pym's jet. "But Sue? She's something other."

"And what does that make Wanda?" asks Pietro.

Snickering, I say, "Something otherworldly?"

"Haha, that's a good one," says Wanda.

We laugh together before turning to look at Steve. It feels like this isn't the first time we've seen him stare out of a plane's porthole, lost in troubled thought. Sam and Bucky talk amongst themselves, undoubtedly wondering about him as well. Pym, meanwhile, is in the cockpit. Wait...I thought this jet had autopilot. Or am I just remembering it wrong?

As for Steve...well, I would like to speak with him some more, but something about him and the way he's just staring prevents me. It seems a little...how should I put it...forbidding. Or maybe that's too strong a word. "Forbidding" and "Steve Rogers" don't belong in the same cinematic universe, much less the same paragraph.

"You think he'll be okay?" Peter asks.

"If he's anything like me," I say, "he will be."

"You mean as strong and tough as you?" Pietro asks.

"Physically, probably," Wanda says. "Emotionally? Not a chance."

"All right," I say, laughing sheepishly. "Enough with the heaping praise. You guys are like Nightwing fans, the way you gush about me."

A few hours later, the plane descends over upstate New York, flying over Xavier Mansion before landing on the Avengers' runway. And speaking of Xavier and his X-Men, who do we find inside the hangar, arguing with Tony (who's wearing his Iron Man suit, sans mask), Natasha, and Deadpool? That's right - Xavier himself, along with that big, muscular guy with the slice-and-dice knuckle-blades and a lightning-powered black lady, whom I remember as one of the mutants Xavier had Peter and me watch in action the other night. Wanda helpfully reminds me of their code names: Wolverine and Storm, respectively.

For some reason, it seems unusual to me that Wolverine's doing the talking. "First off, we can't trust you guys 'cause you supported the friggin' SRA," he grumbles. "Something no self-respecting superhero would do."

"Dude." Tony crosses his arms with a metallic whirr. "Did you forget we forgot most of the shit that's happened to us?"

"Second off," Wolverine continues as if Tony hadn't spoken, "you're working for this giant bag of dicks." He clenches one fist and extends his blades a couple of inches in Deadpool's direction.

"I prefer the term 'assclown' myself," Deadpool says, stroking the handle of his gun through its holster. "Or 'chimichanga lover.'" He looks up, and his eyes widen as he recognizes us. (Since his eyes are concealed behind small white holes surrounded by raccoon-like black circles, it's a freakish, eerie effect.) "Hey, Spider Soulmates!" He waves to Peter and me before asking, "Did my little pro-tip work? Did you give that big-ass bird the old what-for?"

"With a little help from our friends, yeah," Peter says, tapping two fingers against his webshooter.

Not even turning around in his wheelchair, Xavier says, "Mr. Parker. Miss Stacy. I trust you've had sufficient time to think further about our offer?"

"Sorry," I say, "but we're not accepting."

Peter nods along with me, no doubt thinking the same thing for Xavier's benefit.

"Are you sure?" Storm asks, her voice soft but still carrying a faintly thunderous undercurrent. "We'd really love to work with you. All of you," she adds emphatically, gesturing to the room at large.

"Not me, I presume," Pym says - he's standing to one side as he refuels his jet. "I'm retired." Xavier cocks his head, and Pym amends, "Semi."

"No, you too," Storm says. "Semi-retired or not, you're still sharp as a knife, aren't you?"

"Isn't it 'sharp as a tack?'" asks Pietro. "Or did my English just fail me?"

Storm shakes her head. "It is, but a tack is so small and insignificant compared to a knife. You wouldn't get much use out of a tack if you were trying to weaponize it, would you?"

Continuing to finger his gun, Deadpool says, "I might."

Wolverine scoffs. "How typical."

I cross my arms as I look at the X-Men. "So what are you guys doing here today? Another recruitment mission?"

Xavier spins his wheelchair around and gazes at Pym. "For a moment," he says, steepling his fingers Sherlock-style, "I suspected that you may have somehow developed a telepathic mutation not unlike my own."

"Or like mine," Wanda cuts in.

"Or like yours," Xavier says, nodding her way. Turning back to Pym, he continues, "Because it seemed like just as logical an explanation as any for your coincidental arrival and spiriting away of the exact same set of Avengers to whom I was hoping to speak."

Raising his hands in denial, Pym says, "I assure you, it really was nothing more than a coincidence."

"Of course," Xavier laughs. "I would hate to consider you an enemy."

"What about us?" asks Natasha. "I get the nasty feeling you see us that way."

"How can I?" Xavier asks. "Thanks to the sorcerer and the supposedly reformed and refurbished metal man, you've physically and mentally regressed. Your actions of which I've spoken, your support of the Superhero Registration Act, they may as well have not happened, considering whom I'm speaking to."

"Aren't prepositions not for ending sentences with?" Tony asks, wagging his suit's finger at Xavier.

"I'm English," he retorts. "I shouldn't have any problem understanding the rules of my native language - or breaking them as I see fit." He raises an eyebrow. "Unlike you, my double-negative friend."

"I'm also a teenager now," Tony reminds him, "which gives me the right to speak in a less formal dialect. No Queen's English for me!"

Sam raises his hand and turns to Storm with his question. "Um...okay, so you guys were coming to talk to us? All of us who went to San Francisco just now?"

Xavier and Storm both nod. Wolverine probably would if he weren't busy engaging in some sort of male-dominance staring contest with Deadpool. Next thing you know, they'll be circling each other, sniffing each other's asses and trying to mount each other or something. Knowing Deadpool, he'd enjoy all of the above.

"Okay," Sam says, scratching the corner of his mouth with his thumb. "Okay, so does that really include me and Bucky? We're not mutants, nor do we have powers."

"I dunno," Natasha says. "Does Bucky count as not having powers? He didn't age for seventy years, and he wasn't frozen in a block of ice like Cap."

"I was kept in Siberia most of that time, wasn't I?" Bucky points out. "That counts as frozen to me."

"Tell that to the Russian girl," Natasha chuckles.

"We are a safe haven for mutants and mutates," Xavier says, "but that doesn't mean we only work with them exclusively."

"No," Deadpool snickers, finally breaking his eyehole contact with Wolverine. "It's just me you don't wanna work with, 'cause you guys just don't get my sense of humour. And I do mean 'humour' with a 'u,' meine freunde." I swear, one of his eyeholes winks at us. This guy has everything wrong with him, honestly.

"That's not why we're not willing to work with you," Storm says calmly. (Oh my God, the sneaky little pun in there...I must be a better match for Peter than I thought.) "It's more to do with the fact that you're a loose cannon."

"It's not just the cannon that's loose," Deadpool says, tapping his head. "Can you hear my gray matter rattling around in there, Scary Spice?"

"I can," Xavier says. His voice is so flat, I can't help but laugh. Neither can Peter.

"Of course." Deadpool's mask distorts slightly - I guess he must be smiling underneath it. Working with Peter as long as I have, I've actually gained a sort of ability to read expressions under skintight spandex like that. It's not perfect, but it's better than my lip-reading skills. "Now," Deadpool says, "while I'd love to stay and chat, I have something to show my friends. Relax," he adds, seeing Wolverine tense up. "It's all kosher, old man."

"What do you know from kosher?" Peter snickers.

"You'd be surprised." Deadpool beckons us forward, then turns around and leaves. "As for you, Xavier and entourage, you guys can just go on home. Most of the bosses are out of town today - urgent business at another classified SHIELD location, or so my favorite Inhuman told me - and I'm pretty sure you'd rather eat Kaiju shit than talk to Loki. So at this point, I think it's safe to say you have no business here today." He stops just long enough to ask, "Unless you're here for pleasure instead?"

Refusing to so much as dignify that with a response, all three X-Men leave. Pym also says goodbye to us before we go into the main building - he's almost done refueling his jet. The last thing he tells us is, "Fury knows where to send the bill."

As we go into the main building, I ask Deadpool, "Are Fury and everyone really away?"

"Would I lie?" Deadpool asks without breaking his stride or turning around.

"Isn't it really annoying when people answer your questions with questions?" I respond.

"Mmm...no, not really. At least, I don't think so. Why, do you?"

Steve looks around the building. Other than us, it appears to be totally empty, but maybe the others are just hanging around in other areas. Like the gym, or the labs, or something. "Where's Maggie?" he asks. "I wanna talk to her."

"Down in DC with Vision, the Asgardians, and a few others," Deadpool says. "They'll be back soon - or not. I kinda hope not, just so we can get some action. Anyway..." His voice trails off as we follow him into the basement, where Fitz-Simmons have their lab. The two Brits look up as we come in, wave hello, then discreetly vacate the room. "Plausible deniability," Deadpool says, picking up the piece of machinery Simmons was just working on - it looks like a big iPad, about a foot long.

"Looks like something straight out of a Dan Schneider show," I laugh, remembering Robbie Shapiro from Victorious and his habit of using a comically outsized "pearPad."

"It's a bit of a bitch to carry for extended periods of time," Deadpool says, swiping the screen and pressing a number into its digital keypad. "But it gets the job done. Now I've heard some of you" - here he looks at me and Peter in particular - "have been asking about how to get through to...wait for it...THE OTHER SIDE!"

"Done hamming it up yet?" I ask.

Peter's got his hands over his ears as he yells, "Am I talking louder than I usually talk right now?"

Everyone laughs, except for Deadpool. "Believe it or not, guys, this is serious business. Don't you ever watch Survivor or Big Brother and see how emotional everyone gets when they get to see their loved ones again?"

On the screen, a woman's face appears. She could almost be an older, genderswapped Peter, with her dark hair and eyebrows, her long, straight nose, and her high cheekbones. If this woman is who I think she is, then perhaps that explains why Deadpool likes to get flirty with Peter so much.

"Weren't you supposed to call me last week, Wade?" the woman asks, her smile gleaming.

"Sorry, babe," Deadpool laughs. "I kinda got caught up in a little urban warfare this time last weekend." He turns to everyone else and says, "I'm sure by now you guys know I'm originally from the 'verse where you were all living your boring civilian lives. Well, I left behind someone too when I came through the portal. And this is that someone." He holds up the screen as high as he can so the rest of us can get a better look. "Friends, Avengers, lend me your ears - not literally, of course, that's just disgusting - and say hi to my one and only lady love, Vanessa Carlysle!"

He lowers the screen and blows a kiss to the camera. "I really have missed you, my sweet baby Copycat. :D " (I've added the smiley myself for emphasis.)

Chapter Text

***PETER***

I'm almost jealous of Deadpool because he's got such a beautiful lady to call his beloved. Almost - because let's face it, until proven otherwise, Gwen's the fairest of them all. Not this Vanessa chick, not Skye, not even Snow White, or so the mirror, mirror on the wall would have us believe.

"'Copycat?'" asks Bucky, his eyebrows rising with curiosity.

"I've got a little power of my own," Vanessa says brightly. "Anyone want me to copy their face? Don't worry, I'll give it back when I'm done," she laughs. She scans the crowd gathered around Deadpool and his tablet, and settles on - is it me or Gwen she's looking at? "You, with the adorable brown eyes," she says - yes, it's got to be me. "That'll make it easier for me to copy you, 'cause we have that much in common, at least."

"So that's where she gets the name from," Stark mutters somewhere behind me.

Vanessa cracks a smile, which then stays on her face even as her features change. Her nose gets longer, her eyebrows get thicker and more prominent, her cheeks lose a little layer of fat, and stubble rises on her now-stronger jawline. As promised, she's become a clone of me.

"Whoa," Gwen says, blinking rapidly as she looks from me to...well, Other Me.

"Holy shit," I say.

"I only did the face, though," says Vanessa - whose voice remains her own at first. However, as she speaks, her throat quivers just a bit. An Adam's apple grows to match mine, and her voice changes accordingly, falling into a masculine register. "I can do an all-out full-body shift," she says in a voice nearly indistinguishable from my own (other than a hint of Canadian in her accent - she says "all-out" a tad bit more like "all-oat"), "but when it comes with gender-bending, I tend not to want to keep a full form for very long. It's 'cause my brain can't change with the rest of me, and it just knows that I'm not supposed to have a cock and balls." Shifting back to her original face, she chuckles at her own joke, then says, "Don't worry, I'm not trying to make fun of transgender people or anything. Wade's bi - but I'm sure you're already aware of that by now - so you won't find me badmouthing any segment of the LGBT community anytime soon."

I raise my eyebrow at her boyfriend - and, like a delayed reaction from the mirror, she does the same two seconds later. "Your girlfriend, DP," I say.

"Of course you'd get it," Deadpool laughs. "That's why we love you so much, Petey." He turns around to gaze fondly at Vanessa. "Both of us, actually. We've been huge, huge fans of yours for, like, forever."

"Haha, thanks." I laugh nervously, as I usually do when someone gushes about me and I'm not in costume.

"And fans of Gwen's," Vanessa says, turning to look at Gwen instead. "Don't forget that, Wade." She smiles at the crowd at large. "I haven't forgotten any of you," she adds before addressing them all by name. She and her guy seem to be big fans of Bucky's as well - why does that not surprise me? What does surprise me, though, is how much Deadpool's into Captain America. "Want me to prove it?" Vanessa asks, turning her camera (or tablet, whatever she's using to talk to us) around to show a wall decorated with adorably bad crayon art of Rogers slinging his shield and decapitating Dark Elves and Hydra agents right and left.

"Very, um, sanguine," Rogers says, laughing as nervously as I did just now, if not more so.

"Are you kidding?" Stark cries. "They're friggin' awesome!"

"'The blood is the life,'" Deadpool quotes in an uncannily accurate Bela Lugosi impression.

Rogers peers more closely at the tablet's screen. "What does that one say?" he asks. "The one in the center of the top row?"

Obligingly, Vanessa zooms in on that one picture, where Rogers' crayon form surveys the gory carnage surrounding him (the blood is the most realistic part of the picture by far). Above his bright-blue two-ball of a head is an equally-crude speech bubble bearing only three letters, plus punctuation: "WTH?"

"That," Deadpool says, "is the polite way of saying 'WTF?' Which is, itself, the polite way of saying-"

"Thanks, but I know what it means," Rogers says.

Cocking his head, Deadpool asks, "Do you now? So, tell us - what does 'WTF' mean?"

Rather than try to back out of it, Rogers simply says, in a flat, bored drone, "'What the fuck?'"

Even Deadpool looks taken aback. "Hell," he says, his mouth clearly wide open under his mask, "I never thought I'd be the one who got the great Steve Rogers to cuss out loud!"

"It's not as if I can't," Rogers says, blushing hugely. "I normally won't. But considering I found out today I was supposed to be dead..."

"So that really does happen?" Vanessa's eyes widen. "Aww, that really sucks. I was hoping you'd make it as far as the Infinity War."

"And that's...?" Stark asks.

"That's what Marvel's got planned as the grand finale for all you guys," Vanessa says. "It's not gonna be the same without you, Steve. Hell, I'm not even sure Tony would be there - he retired after the second Avengers movie-"

"We know that," Stark says. "We just saw that movie yesterday too."

"You really got it? In your 'verse?"

Deadpool tilts his head towards the ceiling. "Fury has his ways," he says. "And if he knew we were chatting, he'd probably terminate our call the first chance he got."

"Where is Fury, anyway?" I ask. "You said 'classified?'"

"Funny you should ask." Honey walks up behind us with a tablet in her hand, looking like a Latina version of Skye in the process. "It's officially classified-"

"But not enough for us," says Tadashi, joining her.

I look between the two San Fransokyans. They're looking a little on edge - even the normally perky, unflappable Honey has a strained smile.

Getting the same vibe, Gwen asks, "Something wrong?"

Behind us, Deadpool says, "I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I'm thinking this is important. I'll have to call you back."

"Oh, okay," Vanessa says in a sad voice. "I understand."

"Seriously," Deadpool says, "one of these days I'll just bring you over to our side and have you come play with us."

I might be able to work that in someday, the writer says. But his voice is muffled, because now I'm focusing on Honey and Tadashi. The former turns her own tablet around and shows us security-cam footage of a place where we all spent some time recently - the SHIELD facility in DC. Staring out the panoramic window in Coulson's office - I think it was Coulson's office, anyway, just based on the Marvel action figures grouped on one side of the desk - is a guy copying the pose on the Fifty Shades poster.

Trust Norman Osborn to make himself out to be a real-life Christian Grey. I can totally see him wooing a naïve young woman with his money and whatever limited charisma he may have, and luring her into an abusive "relationship" of bizarrely-glorified rape. It'd be more disgusting in his case, because he's older and of even less sound mind and body. I suppose it could be worse, though. It could instead be Donald Trump doing the same thing.

For some reason, all these unwanted thoughts wake up another memory - one of me and a girl with dark red hair seeing the Fifty Shades poster at the movies, and making fun of it. Who is this redhead, and when did I go to the movies with her? It must've been after Gwen died, but before I was taken to San Castiel.

Then I remember Tobey's redheaded girlfriend - the original MJ Watson. Was there another MJ, one I met myself? Was she my neighbor like the original was Tobey's neighbor? And where has she been this whole time?

But back to the present. "So he thinks he can just take over our property?" I ask. "This guy's the most unwanted houseguest since the invention of the cockroach. Actually, I take that back - it's an insult to cockroaches."

"The poor things," Deadpool says - he's ended his video chat with Vanessa. "They spent years being eaten by the thousands on Fear Factor."

"So is that what the others are up to?" asks Carter. "They're going down to Washington to liberate the place?"

"Mm-hmm," says Honey.

"And I need to get down there right away," Tadashi says, "'cause you know who's decided to go with them, totally without permission?"

"Hiro," Gwen whispers.

Tadashi's mouth hardens into a grim slash, and he does a facepalm. "If the Dark Elves don't kill him first, I probably will. Unbelievable."

"The Dark Elves are still there?" asks Gwen, shuddering.

"'Fraid so," Honey says. "Look, they're powered off in the hangar, awaiting our people."

"You've warned them, right?" I ask.

"Of course," says Tadashi, "but that's not enough to stop Fury and Strange. They're hella determined to get that place back."

"Which makes sense," Natasha says. "It's theirs, after all."

"Yeah, but..." Tadashi clears his throat. "But that's not the only reason why they're taking back the DC facility. And there's a specific reason why it's being done today."

"I know what it is," Deadpool says. "It's 'cause you guys did what only a complete espèce d'imbécile would do - you ordered yourself a Krei portal."

Honey hangs her head. "We were gonna use it to connect back to San Fransokyo more efficiently - that way, we wouldn't have to waste so much jet fuel taking the Bus across the country and back every time."

"Good idea," I say.

"Until the DC facility gets overrun by bad guys," Deadpool says, "and the bosses have so much trouble trying to get Krei to cancel the order, or at least send it up this way instead." He wipes his nose, Chappie-style, and adds, "But it seems bureaucratic business hell is something that only gets worse with interdimensional commerce. I personally don't recommend it for precisely that reason."

"If it's a fight our people want..." mutters Stark.

"Remind me," I say, "who's gone down there?" I look around and take stock of who's nowhere to be seen. "Barton for sure, Thor and Sif-"

"Yeah," Natasha cuts in, "and Hiro, apparently. Fury and Strange are in charge of the mission - and they took Skye and Fitz-Simmons too."

The phone on Coulson's desk rings, prompting Norman to cease his creepy Christian Grey impression and stalk away from the window to answer it. He spares a second to check the caller ID, then picks up the receiver and says in a falsely cheery voice, "Director Fury, I presume?"

He thumbs the speaker button, allowing us to hear what Fury has to say. "Spare me the bullshit fake respect, Osborn. You know why we're here. Consider your house-sitting engagement terminated."

"I don't think so," says Norman. "Hell, I'd say my 'engagement' has just begun. And yes, I do actually know why you're here. But you're too late - Harry took the liberty of signing for your delivery from Krei Tech." He bites back a laugh, sort of - it still escapes his mouth in a brief, high-pitched creak. "It really is laughable, my friend. They had Coulson's name on the packages, and they just let him sign for it anyway. All they needed was his photo ID - under a fake name, even, because he's officially still incarcerated at Ravenwood. Such a joke."

"Note to self," Fury grumbles on his end. "Always do the secret experiment shit in-house from now on."

"Capital idea," Norman says. "Well, by now our portal should be ready to use. If you don't mind, I'll have to call you back."

"I'm ten minutes out anyway," Fury says.

"By then we'll have already got what we're waiting for," Norman says, "but I'll be sure to have you see what that is. Or, more accurately, 'who.'" He hangs up on Fury, then dials another number. "How much longer, Harry?" he asks.

Harry clears his throat before responding. "Two minutes, I think. Unless the bird's late."

"He's always very punctual," says Norman. "He'll bring us Subject Echo right on time. Count on it, son."

Subject Echo...why does that sound so familiar?

Tadashi takes back the tablet for a second, then swipes it a few times. "Okay," he says. "I've found the portal. Huh - they're keeping it in the hangar."

Suddenly, it hits me. "Oh God," I breathe. "I know what they're doing with the portal. They're taking Miles Morales!"

"Who now?" asks Stark.

"M-My neighbor," I say, unable to stop myself stuttering. "He's only thirteen, and...and why the hell do they want him so badly anyway? Shit, they've probably already got him by now! We need to get down there right away!"

"Are you crazy?" asks Honey, flabbergasted. "It's bad enough that a huge chunk of our team's going down there without backup - we can't lose you too!"

"He won't be alone," Gwen says. "Does any of you know how to fly a quinjet? I think there's still one left."

Tadashi swallows nervously. "I'll get Ultron," he says. "But you guys can't all go - only five at most, including Peter and Gwen and me."

"Why five?" Deadpool asks. "I say about six will do. And with Ultron on board, we'd make a nice lucky number - seven."

"I can't hang around here much longer, or my head might explode from boredom," Stark says. "Count me in."

"I need to back up Barton," Natasha says. "I bet he'd be useless without me."

"Don't you think your presence would distract him?" Rogers suggests. "I mean, 'cause you're...well, what is your relationship status, anyway?"

"Complicated?" Natasha shakes her head upon realizing that came out as a question - I'm guessing that wasn't her intention. "Forget that, Cap. As soon as Peter said this was a thirteen-year-old kid we're talking about, I knew I had to go."

"You sound so cliché when you say that," Deadpool says, "but because it's you, Nat, it's more than okay."

"Thanks, I guess." Natasha reaches back and pulls a scabbard around her waist, moving it to her hip. Then she pulls out the knife within and detaches a smaller knife attached to the main one. "I've been itching to use this baby for a while," she says.

"Wish I had something like that," Deadpool says. "Seriously, I do. The whole knife-within-a-knife thing...what's next, Knife-ception? I'm down for that."

"Take it up with Fury next time you see him," says Ultron - Tadashi's just come back with him.

"Who's coming with us?" Tadashi asks. Stark, Natasha, and Deadpool raise their hands. "Okay. The rest of you guys, just hold down the fort. Hunter and Bobbi are in charge until we get back, okay?"

"All right," Carter says, flashing a thumbs-up. "Good luck, everyone!" She and everyone else wave goodbye as we board the quinjet, Ultron leading the way.

Just as we take off, I have Tadashi lend me the tablet so I can get a glimpse of the villain's progress. Before our eyes, the portal flashes once, twice, three times. Harry has to shield his eyes for a moment, it's so bright.

Then the Vulture comes out, dragging the familiar form of Miles Morales behind him. I haven't seen the kid in over a week now, but I know I've never seen him look so freaked out before, not even the time when he discovered a half-dead snake being devoured by ants under the apple tree in his backyard.

Harry claps his hands and walks up to Miles, looking down at him with what I can only assume is a nasty, snaky expression. We can't hear what he's saying - he's too far away from the camera to pick it up - but whatever it is, Miles isn't liking what he hears. He says only four syllables - I think it's four, anyway.

"Go fuck yourself," the writer says.

Excuse me?

Miles said it, not me.

I wrinkle my nose. Thanks, writer, but I figured it out for myself anyway.

I return Tadashi's tablet and sit in my seat, arms crossed. We can't get down to DC soon enough. I'll be damned if I let Norman turn Miles into yet another unwanted, arachnid-infected lab rat.  

Chapter Text

***PETER***

Tadashi holds out his tablet again. "You wanna-?"

"No," I say, pushing away from him with more force than is necessary. "If I look at that and see they've already got Miles bitten, then I'm really gonna get pissed at myself for failing him."

"Peter Parker," Deadpool says, chuckling as he puts on a fake deep, raspy voice, "you have failed this Miles. Prepare to die!"

"Did you just combine two antiheroes' catchphrases?" Stark asks.

"So what if I did?" asks Deadpool, crossing his arms. "Honestly, Petey, ever since I found out you went to Star City - back when it was still Starling, that is - and you met the Arrow, I've been so super-duper jealous of you, it's not even funny." He cocks his head as I stare at him, stunned by yet another lost detail from my past - although this time, the memory itself isn't coming back to me. Probably because my mind's mostly elsewhere.

Outside the window, Washington, DC approaches. The Triskelion, the famous old SHIELD headquarters, looms across the Potomac, still under reconstruction. The new SHIELD HQ, the super-secret one where we stayed until the day Norman took Gwen, is a half-mile upriver on the same shore.

"Cloaking off in three, two, one," Ultron announces from the cockpit as we come down towards that low-slung, nondescript building. "Now they can see us coming, but who cares? It's not like they'll be able to do anything about it."

"'Cause they're already dealing with our friends, right?" asks Gwen.

"You got it, dude."

"Whoever let you watch Full House should be shot," Stark gripes.

Ultron narrows his eyes at him. "That would be you, creator."

Stark lets out a long groan. "Just another regret for the list. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I hope I die before I get old."

"You mean, before you get old again?" I point out, feeling the need to try and distract myself with a joke of my own. It works for maybe two split seconds.

"I was never old," Stark says. "And I look pretty young, but I'm just backdated."

Okay, make that more than two split seconds. Unless Stark's out of The Who's most quotable lyrics? Because I'm not. "Gonna get on my knees and pray we don't get fooled again," I say, doing exactly that. Trouble is, at this point, I've kinda lost track of who's most likely to answer my prayers. God? The writer? Deadpool?

"And thank you," Natasha says, "for not doing the CSI: Miami 'YEAAAAHHHHHH!' thing."

"You're welcome," I say. Finally drained of humor at last - for now, anyway - I take off my street clothes and clip two webshooters to my wrists. Norman and Harry need to know that in spite of whatever they're planning, there's only one Spider-Man, and I intend to keep it that way. (I said "one Spider-Man" - there's still room in this story for Spider-Man and Spider-Gwen, always.)

Gwen and I exchange glances, and we see that we've both suited up. "Looking good, as always," I tell her.

Under her mask, Gwen nods. "Likewise."

As soon as Ultron brings the jet to a stop, still in midair over the building, he says, "When I open the hatch, all hell is gonna break loose, if you'll excuse my cliché."

"Are we supposed to use our weblines to lower ourselves down?" I ask.

"As quickly as possible, too," says Ultron. "Before the Dark Elves think to cut them."

"What about the rest of us who don't have weblines or rocket-propelled armored suits?" Tadashi asks, nodding to me and Stark.

"I'll carry you down, unless you're okay with also climbing down the webline or piggybacking on Stark," Ultron says. "The latter, I don't recommend."

"I probably wouldn't do it either," Stark says, his mask sliding into place over his head. "Especially if you happen to have balls. They might get crushed between your body and my suit."

"I'm already used to the ball-crushing thing," I laugh, scratching my shoulder - and forgetting, as I often do, that I can't scratch through spandex.

"As am I," Deadpool says, "but probably not in the way you guys are talking about, if you know what I mean. Wink, wink." At least this time, his mask doesn't wink at us. I know I'm not the only one disturbed beyond disturbed by that.

"If Barton were here," Natasha says as Ultron crouches in the back of the jet with his hand poised over the hatch release button, "this would be his cue to lead us in with a countdown and say, 'Give 'em hell.'"

Gwen cocks her head - I can tell she's smiling under her mask. "Now it's your cue."

Natasha gives Ultron the thumbs up. "Four...three...two...game time."

"A different catchphrase for you, huh?" Ultron asks, hitting the button. As the wind floods the inside of the jet with its sound and fury, he yells over the noise, "I like it!"

Natasha and I edge aside as Stark gets a running start, then rockets out into the air. "I'll never get enough of this! WHOOOOO!" he cries as he does a loop-de-loop before pointing himself down, perpendicular to the ground, and firing the repulsors in his hands and feet.

"Time to go," I mutter to myself. I reach out, squeeze Gwen's hand for a second, then take the plunge. My webline sticks to the inside of the hatch, right next to the button, and I trail it behind me for a while as I fall.

Then I look up and see that Gwen hasn't jumped yet. Is it from her fear of - no, wait, there she goes. She was just a little slow, is all. I wait for her to reach my level, at which point I see that she's looking up. Deliberately, I think.

"Boo!" I say, waving my free hand at her. She screams, then slaps me in the face, almost breaking my webline. Then we both yell apologies at each other.

"You guys might wanna move!" Stark yells, coming in to hover noisily behind us. "Just look down below - there's so much chaos, and I'm not causing it!"

I look down, but Gwen doesn't. She's really determined not to show her fear - so determined, in fact, that she won't let herself feel any. "It's okay," I say, taking her hand again. "You can just take Stark's word for it."

"Really?" she snickers.

"I can vouch for what he says," I say, jerking my thumb downward just as I see someone get defenestrated. Or something, it being a Dark Elf. Why the hell are these things so...everywhere?

Gwen finally looks down at this point. She swallows nervously, but doesn't break her gaze as she watches the Elf stir around on the ground despite having fallen and broken its legs. Then she says, "Is that our way in?"

"What, you mean the busted window?" Stark asks. "Yeah, I'd say it's better than knocking on the front door and saying 'Avon calling!'"

"Do people even do that anymore?" Gwen asks.

"Or just in Edward Scissorhands?" I ask.

"Shit, I dunno," says Stark. See, Deadpool, that's how you wear a mask - one that's totally, entirely incapable of changing its expression. "Ask me when I develop such extreme body-image issues that I need makeup even when I'm wearing this baby."

"Can't relate to those," I say. Actually, I can, but I kinda outgrew those issues when I finished puberty - with an arachnid assist, of course. But hey, when the vast majority of comments on my superhero appearance are Tumblr posts about how fine my ass is, versus the occasional YouTube troll demanding that I put on ten pounds because I'm too skinny (I've always had better things to do than make a possibly-disastrous attempt to pack on the muscle ), it tends to make me feel proud of my body. Just so long as nobody tracks me down to where I live and captures a snapshot of me in my underwear...and thank God Deadpool can't read minds, because if he could, he'd die of laughter right about now.

I look up just long enough to see Natasha about to climb down Gwen's webline. "Stop!" I call up to her. "Let us get in first!"

"All right!" she calls down, retreating into the jet.

Gwen and I continue descending towards our target. When we're about thirty feet shy of the window, a twitch alerts me to the incoming pair of missiles zooming directly at the jet's starboard wing. I'm about to say something to our people upstairs, but Ultron sees the missiles too, and adjusts the jet accordingly. Actually, no, strike that. The jet's wild, airsickness-inducing swing is a side effect of Ultron's next move. Which is to swing out, balance himself on the wing in a one-handed handstand-type pose I might strike while executing a particularly tough skateboard or parkour trick, and blast the missiles with blazing red energy beams from his outstretched other hand. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am.

It's hard to believe he was ever a bad guy.

"Keep going!" he orders us. "Time's a-wastin'!"

I let go of my webline, allowing more of it to stream out as I lower myself further. Gwen and I go down faster, allowing us to reach the window in only ten seconds. Then I swing, gaining speed and momentum with each pass. It helps that Ultron disappears into the jet and repositions it so I can do this without standing as much of a chance of colliding with Gwen as she does the same. I'm first to reach the window, and when I do, I kick out some loose shards from the edge of the hole so I don't cut my suit - or my skin - going in. Then I crawl through the hole and leap into the air, looking for something to stick the other end of my webline to.

Behind me, a Dark Elf comes into the room, sees me, and leaps into the air to try and take me down. In response, I spin around in the air, forming a loop with my webline and wrapping it around the Elf's neck. This one's a secret cyborg Elf, because its head pops off quite cleanly, leaving nothing but a few sparking wires protruding from its shoulders and the bottom of its head.

Good. It'll do. I web it up, emptying my cartridge in the process. Then I tug on the webline still trailing up and out of the hole. It holds, steady and solid. While I change webshooters, Gwen crawls in on her own webline, closely followed by Stark, who blasts out several more panels in the panoramic window through which they've just come.

I take a moment to look around and see where we are. We're in the mess hall, the same place where Gwen first told me about her blue-tank dream. It doesn't look the same as it did when we were staying here, though. Even though we've only been away from the place for a little over a week, it's already dusty as hell. I pick up my foot and see a coating of white all over the sole. Gross, but I'll live. I mean, have you seen the disgusting fights I had with the Lizard? Those were the worst, involving sewers and slime and, at one point, him destroying a toilet as he escaped Midtown Science.

So, if this room's mostly unaffected by the fighting, then where is everyone? As Gwen dismounts her webline and attaches her end to the headless Dark Elf, I tiptoe over to the door, keeping my eyes and ears open for signs of Avenger or Dark Elf activity. At the moment, I pick up a few distant noises, clearly those of scuffles between opposing armies.

One of these scuffles soon finds its way into this room. The door opens, and Sif backs in, waving a burning mop at the Dark Elf chasing her. She must have found her way to the janitor's closet at some point - smart girl. How she lit it on fire, though, I'm not so sure. Unless she has that power and I haven't seen her demonstrate it yet?

After breaking the mop handle a few times, Sif finally subdues the Elf, whacking its head repeatedly until bloody. I have to step in and stop her before she goes full berserker. She turns to me with wild eyes, but then relaxes. "Peter?" she says. "Oh...good. Good. Where are the others? Who else came with you?"

"I'm here," Gwen says, waving to Sif from next to our Dark Elf anchor.

Sif waves back and says, "Is that your new supersuit? I don't recall seeing you wear it before. It's...it's fetching on you."

"You sound like Jemma or Maggie when you say that," Gwen chuckles.

"I know," Sif says, chuckling back. "I think I'm starting to finally learn how to blend in with the human race, LOL."

"You didn't seriously just say that?"

"I did, actually." Sif's eyebrows rise for a second. "Er...who else is with you?"

I look around to see if Stark's still in the room, but it seems he's gone back outside. "Stark's here," I say. "Somewhere."

Sif shudders at the thought. "Great. Just what we need. How can a grown man, even one who's aged backwards, be so incredibly immature?"

"He must never have learned how to adult," I say.

"What did you just say?" Sif looks confused.

I rub the back of my neck. "That must not translate into Asgardian, huh?"

"Not directly, at least." Sif shrugs, then changes the subject. "Who else?"

"Tadashi, Natasha, Deadpool, and Ultron," I say. "We should expect them to get in here soon. They just gotta climb down these weblines first."

Sif approaches the weblines and plucks one of them, allowing it to vibrate like a guitar string. "At least they'll have a decent grip on it," she says, "because it's so sticky. Thor's still not happy with Stark for having gotten his hammer covered in this crap."

"It's...effective," I say.

Through the open door issue distant screams and yells. I take Sif's hand and run to the door. "Let's go!" I say. "Gwen, stay here until everyone else comes in!"

She looks up through the broken window. In the distance, two figures - Natasha and Tadashi, I think - are halfway down the webline from the quinjet. "That'll be a while," she says.

"As long as it takes," I say. "But I'm gonna help the others out if they need me."

"And we very well might," Sif says, craning her neck around the door. "Well, not so much Thor. Look, see?" I follow her gaze down the corridor and see Thor swinging his hammer into numerous Dark Elves, crushing them all just like in Washington. The only difference is that here, he doesn't have Steve and his shield to play Avenger baseball with. But he's still more than capable of taking care of himself.

I run past Thor, allowing my Spidey-senses to guide me as I avoid the impacts of his hammer and the Elves' weapons. Thor says my name, surprised, but I barely hear him as I push onward, racing for the room where the portal's been assembled. I don't know if Miles is still there, but if he isn't, I can easily retrace his movements. I think.

Luckily, that's exactly where he is - I see the top of his head beyond the heads of a group of Dark Elves filling the entrance to that hangar. The first thing I do is snag the cattle prod from one of the cyborg Elves. This cattle prod serves me well, allowing me to shock half the Elves into a smoking, comatose state, and fry the circuitry on the other half.

That leaves Harry to deal with. He's got Miles in a headlock, aiming some kind of weapon at him. I don't know what it fires, and the last thing I want to do is learn. Knowing the Osborns, it's probably some kind of poison. Or, worse, an aerosolized form of the spider serum.

"Let him go," I say, lowering my voice and sounding more than a bit like Oliver Queen.

"Or what?" Harry snarls. "My dear old daddy needs this kid. He's gonna test a unique form of the serum on him. One that doesn't just include spider DNA."

"He's just a kid!" I yell.

"So what?" Harry yells, waving his weapon wildly. "You were a kid yourself when you got bitten!"

"Barely! I was sixteen! And that's beside the point - Miles is innocent! We can't-"

"Peter?" Miles blinks in shock as he recognizes my voice.

Harry turns his head to Miles, allowing me a very narrow window in which to strike. I fire a webline at his weapon, pulling it away. Then I fire another, dragging Miles out of Harry's grasp and pulling him into my arms.

"No point beating around the bush," I say. "It's me, buddy." I look up, seeing Harry looking at me with unadulterated fury. "Don't worry, I'm gonna get you home." Slowly, I walk Miles up to the portal, which, for whatever reason, Harry's stupidly left active.

Behind me, Gwen's voice calls my name, but I don't turn around. I can't stop, otherwise Harry might find a way to stop me himself. Which, of course, I can't allow.

"Look out!" Miles cries.

I pivot, pushing Miles behind me as Harry runs up, ready to attack. But even if Miles hadn't alerted me, the Spidey-sense kicked in at the right time, allowing me to block and repel him with a high kick.

"No," I say in a deceptively calm voice. "You're done here, Harry." I finally look back at Gwen, who's running past the fallen Dark Elves at the front of the room with Sif, Thor, and Hiro right behind her. "Guys," I call out to them as an idea sprouts in my brain, "meet me where we first met Ultron!"

"Peter? What are you doing?" Gwen stretches out her hand as she approaches me.

"I got this," I say, feeling tears prickle my eyes. "Just do what I said, all right?"

"Peter? Peter!"

I turn around, Gwen's cries fading into a barely-audible buzz. Then I take Miles' hand and lead him through the portal. Two seconds of bright light later, we're on the other side, on Angel Island. I zero in on the glow on the other side of the control room's Plexiglas window. There, I seek the controls to shut the portal down.

"Like this, Peter," says a familiar female voice next to me. She stretches out one slim finger towards a touch-screen display and hits a button, turning it from green to red. In the chamber beyond, the portal's light winks out.

The light in the control room, however, is still on, allowing me to get a glimpse of my helper. "Never thought I'd see you again, Felicia," I say.

Black Cat reaches out and touches my head. "I'd ruffle your hair if you weren't wearing your mask." She then turns to look at Miles. "Hey there," she says, waving to him. "Ready to get back home, kid?"

"As long as you don't keep on calling me 'kid,'" Miles laughs. "Only Peter gets to call me that." 

Chapter Text

***GWEN***

If only I hadn't stayed frozen in shock as long as I did. Sif assures me that my temporary paralysis lasted only about twenty seconds, but had it been only half that time, I would probably have been able to run through the portal and join Peter on the other side. In San Fransokyo, or San Castiel, or wherever the hell he ended up with Miles.

But no. I just stood and stared as the portal continued to shine for those twenty seconds, before abruptly shutting itself down.

That leaves me, Sif, Thor, and Hiro in the hangar alone with Harry. "The last time I had two girls sharing space with me," he says, "it was in my dreams. Before I, uh, went mad, you understand."

I refuse to dignify his disgusting comment with a response, as does Sif. Instead, we turn our backs on him. We're counting on him not having the balls to attack us when we're vulnerable like that. Lo and behold, he doesn't. That actually disturbs me - more, I think, than it would have if he'd attacked us.

"Hey, don't ignore me," Harry calls after us. "Come on, ladies, I can be more cultured when I wanna be."

I grind my teeth. "We don't have time for this. We need to get our friends and get outta here. We have another place to be, a whole universe away."

"And besides, Gobby," Hiro says, "you kinda reek of reptiles, you know?"

"That's Dr. Connors you're confusing him with," I say, trying not to laugh.

Hiro tilts his nose back, sniffing the air loudly and melodramatically. "Um...no, I think I'm describing this guy perfectly."

"You're really just gonna leave our business unfinished?" Harry asks, sounding almost petulant about it.

I'm not supposed to respond to trolls, but... "I have a loved one to reunite with," I say. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"That seems a bit odd for you, Gwen," Harry says. "I thought strong women were supposed to be all about proving they didn't need a man."

"First off," Sif says, "'strong women' is itself considered a demeaning term by some, because of the implication that women are supposed to be neither strong nor fierce nor powerful."

"Of course, I'm not among that 'some,'" I say. "I consider myself a very strong woman, because in more than enough ways, I am. And as for me going after Peter - yes, I do need him, because I love him and I would do anything for him." God, I'm making myself so emotional - I feel myself tearing up, to the point where I peel back my mask enough to stick my hand underneath it and wipe my eyes dry. Emotional or not, though, I'm still being honest, and that's all that matters in this moment.

Hey, no biggie, the writer says. I'm starting to cry a bit myself. You ever considered going into the movies, Gwen? Between your voice, your eyes, and everything else, you'd slay everyone who saw you act.

Under my mask, I smile tearfully in spite of myself. Thanks.

"Who was that?" Harry looks around, his face bearing the typical freaked-out expression of people hearing the writer's voice for the first time.

Goddammit, I got in the wrong head again, didn't I? The writer sighs, then says in a voice that puts an image of a bespectacled Peter look-alike offering a handshake in my head, Name's Ricky Pine, and I'm the writer of this amazing fanfic trilogy. Nice to meet you at last, Harry Osborn.

I don't know if he's just laying it on with a shovel or what, but Ricky's got me convinced that he's being genuinely polite to Harry. And hey, bonus - now I finally know his name. Wait till Peter hears about this!

"We're outta here," I say, beckoning to the others. "Come on, guys. Let's move."

No sooner do I step out the door than I feel a small vibration under my feet. Not a Spidey-sense vibration, but more like the typical perpetual small vibrations one tends to feel underfoot in California as the Earth's tectonic plates shift ever so slightly. I almost forgot Skye was here - she must be shaking down a few Dark Elves. Pun intended.

Actually, my Spidey-senses can still apply in this situation. Another key difference between San Castiel Gwen and Spider-Gwen is that, thanks to my newfound genetic enhancements, I can actually pinpoint the direction which the mini-earthquake is coming from. In this case, down the hall and around about three or four corners - I lose count pretty quickly, because the shaking gets stronger as I approach its source, wrecking my concentration.

Skye's in the weight room, surrounded by machinery and equipment that manages to stay stable in the face of her powers - for the most part. She mostly targets the disc-shaped weights, the ones that slide onto barbells. These, she vibrates across the floor, rolling them along without having to actually lift them - and I bet she couldn't lift the biggest ones, the ones that are clearly meant for someone with an Asgardian's upper-body strength. Speaking of which, Sif and Thor find themselves grabbing these off the floor as they roll into the hall. I hit the ceiling and stick myself in place, while Hiro shows how fleet of foot he is, dodging the weights that Sif and Thor miss.

"Oh God, I'm sorry!" Skye cries as she sees us. "I-I thought you guys might have been Dark Elves or something!"

"You know," I say, peeling myself off the ceiling, "since you've got earthquake powers like that, you'd think you'd be able to tell us apart by the patterns of our footfall vibrations."

"I'm just trying to deal with this crap as best I can," Skye says, cracking her knuckles, then clenching her fists. "I probably could tell if I focused hard enough, but right now, my nerves are shot."

"Why?" Hiro asks, resting his foot on one fallen weight. "You're all by yourself in a room full of weaponizables. You've got nothing to be frazzled about."

"I was separated from everyone else," Skye says, crossing her arms. "And I haven't been able to leave this room, 'cause every time I tried, the damn Elves ambushed me."

"Well, now you have us to help you out," Sif says.

"Exactly," I chime in. "And we can go find the others? Who else is here right now? Maggie, right? And Fury?" For some reason, the thought comes into my head that Fury must be in some big battle royale with Norman Osborn. Or maybe not - Norman's Peter's archenemy, and mine, not Fury's. Besides, Fury doesn't seem like the battle royale type. He's somehow too awesome for that.

"By any chance is Rogers here?" Thor asks, holding a weight in one hand and his hammer in the other.

"No," I say, "but those weights could be a good substitute for his shield."

"I like the way you think," Sif says, "but I can do you one better." She holds up one of the smaller weights - it must be feather-light to her. But then her hands catch fire, and the flames spread onto the metal.

"How'd you do that?" Hiro asks. "Do your hands produce some kind of oil in addition to-"

"Don't ask me the scientific explanation," Sif says. "I just know that Loki's not the only Asgardian among us with Jotun DNA."

"So...wait, what?" I ask, confused.

"Loki's adopted," Thor says. "He's a Frost Giant - a different species. But he's small enough for said species to blend in amongst the Asgardians. Let me tell you, he was extremely angry when he learned the truth."

"He could've taken some tips from me," Sif says, "if only I'd known my own heritage at the time."

"You're mixed-race, correct?" Thor asks.

"In more ways than one," says Sif. "My half-brother Heimdall is black - if you want to speak of him in human terms - and Asgardian. I'm half-black, half-white, half-Asgardian, and half-Fire Giant."

"That's too many halves for one person," I say.

"Well, look at me," Skye says. "Half-human, half-Inhuman, half-white, half-Chinese."

"Oh yeah, right," I say.

Sif turns around just in time to spot another Dark Elf, the first in a trio, coming down the hall. She throws her burning weight at this first Elf's head, knocking it out. Then she lights two more up and tosses them within range of Thor's hammer. As they're borne down the hall, they trail flames and electricity behind them. The Elves, it seems, are allergic to both, as they catch fire pretty easily and end up on the ground twitching from the shock of Thor's lightning.

Skye then uses her earthquake power to bring the weights back. She can't get them all at once, though, so Hiro and I help her out with his microbots and my webline, respectively. Good thing too, because another swarm of Elves comes down the hall, requiring our attention. I cross my weblines as I fire them in their faces, then pull, tugging the front of the swarm down. Hiro, meanwhile, taps his neural-cranial transmitter and sends the microbots after the Elves in a swarm of their own. Even better, they take on the form of a swarm of bats.

"Where'd you get that idea?" I ask. "The Batcave?"

Hiro grins through his visor. "No, not really," he says. "In video games, there's this type of enemy called 'Goddamned Bats' - they attack en masse like the Elves. Not so much to kill you as to piss you off."

I nod curtly. "Well, if these Elves are supposed to be these Goddamned Bats, it's working. I just wish they'd stop coming so we could take on a real enemy."

"Exactly," Hiro says.

Skye raises her hand and fires pulses of quake energy at the next layer of this Elf squadron. The first few pulses are enough to knock them down, but then she hits them with a continuous stream of heavy fire until they're literally shaken to bits. They're cyborg Elves, so no doubt it's easier for her to break them this way. The few organic Elves that get caught in this same attack just end up as bloody, gurgling messes, clawing at their throats and broken arms.

"The difference between video games and reality, though," Hiro says, "is that usually there's less blood in the game."

"I dunno," Skye says. "What kind of games have you played?"

"Mostly kid-oriented stuff like Kingdom Hearts."

"Which even its own creator admits isn't really for kids, but whatever," Skye says.

"There you are!" cries Tadashi, running up behind us and leaping over the fallen Elves. Big mistake - they're not dead, and one of them reaches up, taking hold of his ankle in mid-leap.

"NO!" Hiro and I cry out in unison. I race out, firing a webline at Tadashi's chest, pulling him out of the Elf's grasp and into mine. His weight knocks the wind out of me for a second, but I'm quick to get him back on his feet. I then detach the webline, which leaves a few stray strands on his shirt, but he cleans those off himself. "You okay?" I ask.

"Better now that I've found Hiro," he says, running up to his little brother and embracing him tightly. "Dude, really? What is wrong with you?"

"We'll have time for a lovely reunion later," Thor calls, hammering the next layer of Elves into thunderstruck oblivion. "Right now, we need to run! Carter's up ahead!"

"Guys!" Maggie calls out from behind the Elves. I can't see her, though. Thor can - and, apparently, so can Tadashi, judging from the way he looks down the hall and the way his face lights up. They're the only ones tall enough to look over the Elves' heads.

Seized by an unexpected idea, I ask, "Maggie, is there a light switch on your end?"

She pauses, no doubt checking the walls around her. "Er...yeah! Why?"

"Shut the lights off!" I order her. "Let's see if these Dark Elves have night vision like mine!"

"Since when do you have night vision?" Hiro asks, his jaw dropping. "And why does nobody tell me anything?"

"Get ready to go dark, guys!" I hiss to everyone else on this side of the Elves. Why I'm keeping my voice down, I'm not sure. I mean, it's not as if the Elves can speak and/or understand English. Can they?

Maggie hits the lights, and everything goes black - for a split second, anyway. Then my night vision kicks in, and I see the Dark Elves whirling around, clearly just as stunned as the others by the sudden lack of light. They're illuminated - to me, at least - by a faint silvery glow, which takes on different colors of the rainbow as I tilt my head, cracking my neck just a bit. Then I leap into the air, further distracting the Elves by blasting their faces with web and kicking them in the teeth until they're on the floor.

When the muffled howls of pain subside to occasional groans, Maggie (who's squinting through the darkness, hoping to catch some glimpse of what's going on) asks, "Is it safe to turn the lights on yet?"

I grin at her, even though she can't see me, because I see that she's got her hand glued to the light switch. "Go ahead," I say.

Turning the lights on, Maggie reveals to the others what I've done. I don't regret it or anything, but I also don't like the disturbed looks on some of their faces - particularly those of Sif, Thor, and Tadashi. Skye and Hiro, naturally, are pretty awestruck.

I turn away from them and focus instead on Maggie. "Do you know where Fury is?" I ask, walking up to her as she changes clips on her Night-Night Gun. She's got a whole belt of them in place over one shoulder, and she tosses one to Tadashi as well when she sees him hold out his hand.

"He was looking for Osborn," she says.

"Which one?"

"The elder," Maggie says with a sniff. "Of all the humans who deserve a few of these in their arses..."

"I agree," Skye says, "but we're not here to tranq an evil corporate overlord. Today, we're here to get our lost portal back, and maybe even take it home." She puts her hand on the door behind Maggie, then says, "Nothing on the other side. Let's go."

We cross through this door into another long hallway, then Hiro adds, "Hell, if we can get that thing home and active soon enough, we won't have to fly across the country to pick up Peter."

Tadashi's about to scoot up to a corner and round it with his Night-Night Gun drawn, but he stops short upon processing Hiro's words. "Wait...what?"

"Oh, did nobody tell you yet?" Hiro asks. "Peter went through the portal with that Miles kid."

"Unbelievable," Tadashi groans, doing a facepalm. "I swear, your teenage stupidity is contagious, Hiro." He finally goes around the corner, then fires off a couple of shots.

I follow him and see that he's shot not Dark Elves, but actual humans. Oscorp soldiers, dressed identically to the ones who chased us through the streets of New York after I escaped from Oscorp Tower. Hell, maybe they're from the same group. Maybe they're even among the ones who chased Peter - I heard Deadpool cut off their hands and sent them back to their boss as a warning.

Speaking of Deadpool, after we pass the soldiers, I look out a window and see him outside, slashing up more soldiers with his katanas. The nearest door, I open it, running out to him. "Deadpool, this way!" I say, waving my hand behind me. "We're gonna get the portal outta here!"

"Great idea, sweetheart!" he says. "Maybe then we can get Petey back!"

"How'd you know...oh. Of course. Ricky."

"You know his name now?" Deadpool stops moving, his blade pointing backwards under his arm. A hapless soldier doesn't see it in time and impales himself on the katana, twitching a few times until he finally falls still. Deadpool turns around, sees his unexpected piece of sword ornamentation, and pulls away from him with a disgusting squelching noise. Then he wipes his blade clean on a nearby rock, the metal grating my ears as it scrapes across it.

Over our heads, Tony flies in, with Ultron close behind, running up and down the roof. The big guy is using his own deadly hand-beams to fend off a number of laser shots from wherever the distant laser gun is, the one that fired on the quinjet when we arrived. I'm still not sure whether or not that's one of SHIELD's defenses, or if Norman took the liberty of installing that one himself-

"Tony, look out!" I cry as I see a second laser shot streak in from behind him. Ultron's already off to the other side to deflect the first gun's shots, leaving him nearly defenseless against this one. I immediately hit my webshooter, firing it high in the air in the hopes of pulling Tony out of the way.

There has to be a time when my webs fail me, though. It's happened to Peter before - though he doesn't like to talk about it. And now, it's my turn.

The second laser shot hits Tony's suit before he can react to my panicked yell. It fries his suit on contact, shutting down the repulsor jets. Then he falls through the air from a hundred feet up. Even more eerily, he's not even waving his hands or anything. He's doing nothing to try and stabilize himself.

He's not moving at all.

Ultron catches sight of this as well, and leaps into the air, catching Tony twenty-five feet before he impacts on the ground. Then he gently lowers him down to my and Deadpool's level, and taps the side of his mask, making it retract. Underneath, Tony's face is still, his eyes not even fluttering from struggling to return to consciousness.

"That laser can't have done this," I breathe. "Can it?"

"I dunno," Deadpool says. "I can think of...okay, turn him over."

"I do hope your intentions are strictly honorable," Ultron quips before obeying.

Deadpool peers at the suit's shoulders. "Just like I thought," he mutters. "Look, see? Whoever programmed these stupid laser turrets knew exactly where to hit Tony - right in the weak spot on his spine joint, see?"

I examine the ugly burn mark on the right-hand side of the suit's spine, at the level where the cervical and thoracic vertebrae meet. "Lucky shot?" I ask, even though it feels hollow just to say it.

"Wait...guys, look!" Ultron says, turning Tony so he's on his back again. "Strange was right!"

"What?" I blink as Tony's face starts to glow a bright blue - the same shade as the contents of the tanks from my dream.

"The last, most important ingredient in the spell," Ultron whispers.

He presses his chest, and a recording of Strange's voice fills the air. "If they die," he says, "they'll still come back - once. But they'll have reverted to their adult forms."

"And will they have their memories back too?" asks Ultron - on the recording, that is.

"Those will come back fully. Slowly, but surely."

As the recording stops, so does the glow around Tony's face. Now it's changed - he's no longer his youthful, teenage self, but instead Robert Downey, Jr., complete with scraggly facial hair and rugged handsomeness.

Finally, he wakes up and grins at us. "I didn't get to go in the light, guys," he says, sounding disappointed. "Saint Peter literally pushed me back down the steps."

"What happened to you being a goddamn atheist?" Deadpool asks.

"That was just a phase," Tony says, raising his legs and vaulting into a standing position. "Didn't you have phases when you were a kid, LFM?"

Deadpool hugs Tony. "Oh thank God," he says, sounding ludicrously misty-eyed. "Finally, you remembered your old nickname for me!"

"'LFM?'" I ask.

"'Lucifer's Favorite Minion,'" Ultron says. "Don't ask me how I know that."

"All right," Tony says, putting his mask back into place. "Now that I'm old and having my post-retirement fun, what say we kick Norman Osborn's ass?"

"Actually, we were gonna...you know what? Never mind." And I thought Peter was the reckless Spider-Hero between the two of us. But there's just something about adult Tony Stark - you're better off going along with his brand of insanity. Not unlike Deadpool, but with much less of a death wish.

He takes off into the air, "Rock Me Amadeus" blasting on the suit's hidden speakers. "That's the spirit, Spider-Gwen!" he yells down. "And I know where to find your evil zom-boss! Right this way, peeps!"

"Adult Tony is so uncool, he's cool," Ultron laughs before becoming the first to follow him.

Deadpool shrugs, then races back into the building while I signal the others to follow us. "Change of plans," I say as they cut across the courtyard. "I'll explain on the way." 

Chapter Text

***GWEN***

German-language 80s rap continues blasting as Tony runs into the building again, his suit's feet clanking with every step on the tile floor. Deadpool scats along with the song as he follows us - I doubt he knows the actual words, but he's doing a game job of pretending otherwise.

"Where are we going?" Tadashi asks.

"To Norman Osborn," I say. "Right, Tony?"

"Right," Tony says tersely.

"Something wrong with your voice?" asks Natasha. She must not have witnessed the transformation as it happened. Judging from the looks on Tadashi's and Hiro's faces, the same goes for them.

Clearing his throat, Tony says, "I aged. Like a fine wine. Unfortunately, now I'm thinking I'm too old for you."

"What in the ass?" Deadpool laughs. "You old perv. Glad to have you back."

"You got old?" Hiro asks. "How? Did Strange's spell wear off or something?"

"It would've done so anyway on its own soon enough," says Deadpool. "You guys weren't around to see my glamour fail. But fail it did, and epically so, I might add."

"You guys don't wanna see the results," I say to everyone else - I was the only one of us who was there when Deadpool showed his diseased skin at him Snoqualmie hotel room. The others are so much better off not knowing.

"Can we see your new face?" Hiro asks. "Just out of curiosity, you know. I wanna see if you really do look like Robert Downey, Jr."

Tony's mask slides up for a moment, just long enough for Hiro and everyone else to see his properly-aged face for the first time. "Petey looks like Andrew Garfield," he says. "Why shouldn't I look like RDJ? And hey, Nat, since you're destined to grow up to be Scarlett Johansson..." He winks once before masking up again.

"Deadpool's right," Natasha says, shaking her head in exasperation. "You are an old perv. I mean, what in the ass?" She copies Deadpool's strange swear in a near-perfect imitation of his voice.

"I think you mean 'What What (In The Butt),'" Deadpool says, barely able to stifle his snickering. "But that's just me."

"All right, we get it," Ultron gripes. "We're all old pervs here. Now can we move on? I'd kinda like to meet this man who mass-produced an army of me. Without my permission, I might add."

"Need we remind you that you attempted to destroy the world without anyone's permission?" Tony asks.

"Definitely not, creator," Ultron snarks. "I live with my sins every day, because I actually try to atone for them."

"Good for you, buddy," Tony says. "Now hush. We're getting pretty dangerously close to Norman Osborn."

I lean forward and hear, on the other side of a partially-ajar double door, two male voices. One is Norman's, I think. The other, louder, more distinctive voice belongs to Fury. "...realize you're gonna get recast too, even if you keep insisting on allying with the studio?" he asks. "Same with Harry. You may have thought you were gonna finally eliminate Spider-Man and prevent him from blowing your secrets wide open, but when you initiate this kind of metaphorical deal with the devil...it's a fire sale. Everything must go."

"Don't think of it as ending Spider-Man," Norman says. "More as a rebirth. But I'm a scientist, not a philosopher. I'm not one to stop my experiment purely on moral grounds. Hell...I'd say it's working like a charm."

"Did he say he's working for the studio?" Thor whispers.

"As in Marvel Films?" asks Natasha.

What I like to call "Marvel's Folly," says Ricky. The whole reason why I'm writing this - a critique on the utter scrap-metalling of my favorite movie series.

"'Scrap-metalling?'" Deadpool snickers.

I was gonna go with "shellacking," but I believe President Obama took that one first.

"Good thing you went with the other one," Tony says. "Even though it's offensive to my people, 'scrap-metalling' gets the message across loud and clear."

"Whatever," I say, following Deadpool's example and speaking out loud to Ricky - I get the feeling that he's in everyone's heads at this point anyway. "Can we go in and confront the head honcho now?"

Since when do you need my permission? Ricky asks.

Taking that as a yes, I lead the charge into the conference room, where Fury and Norman face each other across a table like it's some kind of ordinary business meeting. Fury's the one facing the door, which suggests that either Norman's less smart than we thought, or so confident as to have it be his fatal flaw. The latter seems the more likely scenario to me.

"Is that who I think it is?" Norman turns around in his chair, smiling in a would-be paternal way that comes across instead as cold and reptilian, even more so than Harry's sick grin. "Gwen. How are you? And you brought your friends. Excellent."

"Norm!" Deadpool cries in a New England accent, Cheers-style. He comes around to Norman's side and drapes one arm over his shoulders. "What's up, old chum?" He holds his other fist in front of him, but Norman stays frozen, clearly unsure what to make of this. Has he never witnessed Deadpool's outgoing personality before? "Aww, come on, don't leave me hanging!" He then thrusts his chin in Norman's direction before rounding on Fury instead. "Director, you know what to do in this sitch, right?"

Fury narrows his eye, but returns the fist-bump with a crooked smile. While Deadpool makes an over-the-top explosion sound, I turn around to see Hiro nudge Tadashi and say "Bata-lata-la!" like Baymax does when he gives fist-bumps.

"See, another difference between you and me," Fury says, "is that my associates and I, we have a sense of humor."

Yeah, Norm, snickers Ricky. I get the feeling he's purposefully doing a shit job with his impression of a New England accent. Then again, it's not as if Deadpool could do any better. His fake accent is about as clam-chowder broad as it gets. "Pahk the cahr at Hahvahd Yahd," indeed. (If you're a New Englander, don't be offended by this, please. I promise, we New Yorkers don't really hate your guts so much. Just the ones in Red Sox.)

It's not on purpose, Ricky whispers, hearing my thoughts. I'm usually pretty good with accents, but New England defeats me every time.

Good to know.

"Not to change the subject," Norman says, looking far from apologetic about doing so, "but...rebirth, Nick. I'm not just thinking about myself, or about my longtime nemesis. In a previous life, I was the first arch-villain to face Spider-Man. I lost, big time, but thanks to Doctor Strange, I was gonna get a second chance." He drums his fingers on the dark wooden tabletop. "And then, as fate would have it, that second chance went to Harry instead, and he grabbed it so hastily and recklessly. He's lucky he didn't lose his life in the process...but that day will come soon."

I don't think I've ever been more dispassionate and uncaring than when I respond to Norman with an uncharacteristically vicious "So what?"

"While I applaud the Amazing Spider-Man writers for giving me and mine some additional motivation in the form of a debilitating, hereditary illness," Norman continues, "their failing is that it contributed to an overstuffed, complicated, hard-to-follow script."

"I dunno about you," laughs Deadpool, "but I've got a lower IQ than you and I had no trouble keeping track of events in that movie."

"But I believe your immortality and continuous healing actually improved your brain capacity better than a single dose of NZT-48," Norman says, raising one finger and pointing it at Deadpool. "That's the source of your ability to freely speak to the readers and writer, isn't it? And that's why all the other Avengers have that ability too - after all, your blood was part of the cocktail that turned you all into teenagers."

"Some of us not so much anymore," Tony says, crossing his arms.

Ultron steps aside and starts whispering lightly in the background - he must be talking to somebody. Vision, maybe? I recall someone mentioning he was here too. Before long, Ultron returns and says, "We've got what we came here for, kids. Let's move. Director?"

"You heard the man, Norman," Fury says, rising from his seat and walking around the table to join us at last. "We're done here."

"All right," Norman says, folding his hands.

"Wait...you're gonna let us go? Really?" I narrow my eyes at him under my mask.

"You guys have a comrade to find, right?" Norman waves off-handedly at us. "Go find him. I'll honor a cease-fire until then."

"You better not be bullshitting us," says Tony.

"I can assure you I'm not." Norman leans back and, mercifully, falls silent. We take this as our cue to leave. No battle royale, I guess. Hell, there aren't even any more Dark Elves in between the conference room and the hangar, where two quinjets are parked.

Vision waves to us from one of those quinjets. "Is everyone ready to return home?" he asks.

"I'm taking Gwen through the portal," says Ultron.

"Thanks," I say, nodding to him. "Anyone else wanna come with me?"

Deadpool raises his hand and says, "Duh."

"I'll go with you too," says Natasha.

"And me," says Hiro.

Tadashi holds him back. "No, you're not," he says pointedly. "Not without my permission."

"Are you gonna give it to me, then?" Hiro asks. "Or do I have to break your grip and-"

"Not that you could anyway," Tadashi laughs. "Just...guys, keep him safe, okay?" he asks the rest of us.

"Count on it, Tadashi-kun," Deadpool says, patting Hiro's head.

"Dude." Hiro grits his teeth at his brother. "Come on."

"Why do you think Peter took Miles through the portal?" I ask him. "It's a big-brother instinct."

"Tell me that like I don't understand it, why don't you?" Hiro mutters, rolling his eyes before stepping into the second quinjet.

Ultron goes in as well, ducking his head. "Bon voyage, Vision," he says. "And everyone else."

"Good luck," Sif says, waving goodbye as the rest of us file into our respective jets.

"Hey, at least now you'll be able to surprise everyone back home!" Natasha laughs, pointing at Tony before he disappears into the other jet.

"They're gonna love me, Nat!" he laughs back.

"Yeah," I call out. "They're gonna love you for being elderly and distinguished and...and...and I can't think of any other way to say it, but believe me, I will eventually."

"You know who else has to see this?" Tony asks, leaning out of the jet just before someone starts closing its hatch. "Peter!"

"We'll bring him back just for that!" I laugh as Ultron closes our hatch too. Seconds later, we're taking off. The other jet streaks off into the northern sky before cloaking, while we fly due west, into the sunset.

I feel like there's been many a time when Peter set out to find me, thinking something along the lines of, Hold on, Gwen. I'm coming. Now, he's the subject of those same kinds of thoughts coming from my head.

We're gonna get him back, or die trying. I know, it's really taking chances to say that, but it's the truth. As long as Norman honors this cease-fire he's proposed, the plan should go off without a hitch. I hope.

Chapter Text

***PETER***

I’m disoriented when I remember that it’s three hours earlier in San Fransokyo - assuming that’s where the portal took me and Miles. Felicia, however, says it is, and when we leave the underground bunker and get a glimpse of the city skyline across the bay, it’s confirmed by the Japanese-styled skyscrapers and bridges. The sun is shining much higher in the sky than it was in DC, where it had been approaching dusk.

We scramble to the other side of the island and sneak our way onto a ferry. Felicia being Felicia, she naturally has a number of fake ferry tickets just in case she ever has to get off the island and blend in with the natives. “I’ve just used the last of them on us three,” she says when we take our seats in the ferry’s café (technically, it’s more of a bar, but that’s a distinction not often made in some parts of the world - namely Europe.)

“Thanks,” I whisper. Miles mutters something to the same effect.

Felicia offers to buy us drinks, but I insist on paying for my Coke and Miles’ cherry limeade. Felicia, on the other hand, gets two cups of espresso con panna, downing them both like Jell-O shots or something. The smell of the rich, dark coffee tantalizes me, but it’s too late in the day for me to have any - even with my accelerated metabolism, I’ve been known to stay wired till two in the morning just from drinking a single espresso at dinnertime. I think I’ll just have to settle for a contact high instead.

“You okay, Miles?” I ask him as he stares out the window to his left, occasionally leaning down to sip his drink through his straw.

“I’ll be better when I’m back home,” he says after another minute of that behavior.

“Where you probably shouldn’t stay,” I say. “I mean...they grabbed you from your house, didn’t they? Osborn’s people?”

Miles shakes his head. “They found me in City Park, actually.”

“Your mom take you there or something?”

Another head-shake. “I walked.”

I whistle to myself. “That’s a long walk. Up and down a bunch of hills, too.”

“It’s worth it,” Miles says firmly. “I gotta train for the basketball team, man.”

“You’re still trying out next year?” I ask.

Miles nods. “It’s easier to get in when you’re an eighth-grader.”

“I bet.” For some reason, I still have what are obviously fake memories of Miles being twelve years old in San Castiel and still a little short for his age, maybe a year ago. Since then, though, he’s grown above five feet, and, based on what he’s shown me on his Instagram (which he created as soon as he turned thirteen, kind of like how Uncle Ben used to make jokes about me eventually having my first drink on my twenty-first), he’s been improving his trick shots considerably.

“You’re right, though,” Felicia says to me, wiping whipped cream from her upper lip. “Vulture and Octavius would probably just find him all over again if we left him at home.”

“That’s who they sent to take you?” I ask Miles.

“I guess,” he says. “One guy had a wing suit, and the other had these creepy metal tentacles that kept crushing the asphalt every time he took a step.”

“That’s them, all right,” Felicia says. She shudders, then adds, “I can’t believe I’ve managed to stay working with them this long.”

“Are you saying-”

“Unless Norman decides to count himself as a member and not just our superior,” Felicia says, “it’s no longer the Sinister Six. Not anymore.”

“He’ll probably count himself,” I say, shaking my head. “He’s got a ridiculous ego, don’t you think?”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Felicia laughs.

When we land in San Fransokyo, Felicia heads off to get us a ride. “I bet it’s not gonna be as simple as just hailing a cab?” I ask. “Or getting an Uber ride?” I shudder at the thought - Barton and Natasha, when they went to the city to see Haim perform in March, tried out Uber. His two-word description of the service: “Never. Again.”

“I don’t think you really wanna know the details,” Felicia says with a wink before disappearing down a street while Miles and I sit side by side on a bench, watching the tide of tourists walking up and down the Embarcadero.

Miles and I don’t talk for a few minutes while we wait. Then, after a long quiet period, he speaks up at last. “Peter...where are we gonna go? Me and my mom?”

Admittedly, I haven’t thought of this. “Do you have any family you can stay with?”

“I got an aunt in Spellman,” he says, “but...do you think that’s a little too close by? I mean, what if those goons come after me again?”

“True,” I muse. “The further out from San Cas you are, the better.”

Miles buries his face in his hands for a moment. “You know...they said they’d make me just like you. Why would they wanna make a whole new enemy for themselves?”

I blow a raspberry that somehow coincides with a short-lived lull in the noise around us. As a result, it sounds more like a gunshot, enough to scare the pigeons pecking away at a fallen hot dog bun nearby. “Norman has his evil reasons,” I say. “Which, I think, involve him just wanting a serious challenge to face. One Spider-Man is tough enough, but what about Spider-Man and Spider-Gwen? And Spider-Miles?”

“Who’s Spider-Gwen? Oh yeah, your girlfriend.” Miles clicks his tongue. “I wish I could’ve seen her face under that mask. I bet she’s hot, right? I mean, of course she’s hot - she’s your girl, dude.”

“She’s more than just a pretty face,” I say, matching Miles’ silly grin. “When you’re my age, you’ll realize you can’t just get a girl based on her looks alone.”

“Hopefully by then I’ll be as much of a stud as you are,” Miles laughs.

“Hopefully you’ll be one naturally,” I say. “And not enhanced with spider-steroids.”

“Good thing you’re not on any sports teams,” Miles says. “You’d fail the drug tests.”

“I dunno, though,” I say. “They can’t test me for screwy part-arachnid DNA if they don’t know they’re looking for it.”

“I wouldn’t say ‘screwy,’” Miles says, raising his eyebrows in a way he could only have learned from me. “I’d say ‘fucked-up.’”

If I were so inclined, or so uncaring of the health of those around me, I’d probably light up a cigarette right about now, then stare up at the sky while blowing smoke. “It’s not my DNA that’s fucked-up,” I say, doing the sky-staring thing. “It’s my karma.”

A horn honks a few yards away, and Felicia opens the window of a silver Tesla. “Boys?” she calls. “Let’s go!” We pile in, and Felicia drives off, the car humming along almost silently. Electric cars have a way of doing that - there are a few times when only my Spidey-senses, as opposed to my human ones, saved me from getting hit by Teslas and/or Priuses.

“You’ll have to tell me where you live, Miles,” Felicia says as she navigates us deep into the maze of downtown streets off the Embarcadero. “But let’s get back to San Castiel first.”

I turn around to see Miles’ face brighten. “Thanks for not assuming I don’t know how to get home,” he says. “I dunno why, but people think I don’t just ‘cause I’m a kid.”

“He’s very smart,” I tell Felicia. “Maybe leans a little more to the street-smart end of the spectrum, but-”

“But that counts as smart too,” Miles says, finishing the running joke we’ve had going on as long as I can remember. Felicia chuckles along with us as well.

“Yeah, and don’t forget comic-book-smart,” I laugh. “Is that why you’re so surprisingly cool with all this?”

“You mean why I’m not questioning everything? Why I’m believing your story?”

“Yeah, that.”

A long time passes until Felicia finally gets us back to San Cas. From there, Miles directs her into the neighborhood where we both live. When we turn onto our street, we pass my aunt and uncle’s car as they drive in the opposite direction. Miles spots them as well and says, “They’ve been really worried about you from what I hear.”

“I’m not surprised,” I say ruefully. “I mean, I’ve been away for hella days. Literally.”

Felicia parks the Tesla in front of Miles’ house. He lets us in, and while he runs to his room to pack his bags (and to call his Mom and let her know what’s happening), Felicia and I stay in the living room, watching the front door. “How are you planning to get back home?” she asks.

“I told the others to come meet me at Augustine High,” I say. “They’re probably not gonna get there anytime soon, but…”

Felicia stretches, Black Cat-like, then leans against the wall. “You don’t need to stay here,” she says. “I’ll handle Miles myself.”

“Can I trust you?” I ask, tilting my head.

She crosses her arms. “Peter, I meant it when I said I was done with the Six. I’m going straight. Relatively.” My cheek twitches. “I mean, it’ll take a long time to un-learn my skills, so I should put ‘em to good use. Maybe with Finch and Reese and Root back in New York.”

“I heard they lost Shaw at some point,” I say, thinking back to the Person Of Interest people - and the cast of Elementary, whom I now remember were also working with us that time, about five months after Gwen died. Deadpool was right - they’re not as fictional as I thought.

“That’s why they might need me,” says Felicia. “They have their own supervillain to contend with.” She uncrosses her arms, her shoulders relaxing. “You gonna head out, then?”

I shrug. “Maybe I should. Just in case.” Miles returns to the living room, hanging up his phone as he drags a duffel bag across the floor. “Hey, I’m sorry, but I gotta leave now. I need to meet my friends. The other Avengers, you know?”

“You mean Iron Man and Black Widow and Captain America and them?”

I look at the small cabinet next to the TV, where I know Miles keeps his collection of Marvel movies. This universe’s Marvel movies, that is, with the alternate versions of all the heroes. “Yeah, that’s right. So Felicia’s gonna stay and keep an eye on you now, all right?”

Miles looks from Felicia to me, then steps up and hugs me goodbye. “Thanks, Peter,” he says.

“Stay safe,” I say, ruffling his short, curly hair. “And good luck with the old b-ball, huh?”

“You got it, dude.”

I crack a smile at him, but it fades when I turn to Felicia. She’s not looking happy to see me go. I remember her being attracted to me and not really bothering to hide it. Sure, she’s a very good-looking girl, but I think the attraction between us was, mutually, strictly physical. There’s no way we could ever be good together long-term. She and I don’t click the way I do with Gwen.

But I see no reason not to hug her goodbye too. Other than the fact that she kisses me on the cheek. I want to think it’s a chaste gesture, but that’s a foolish thought. “If I ever come back here and he’s not safe and sound where he belongs,” I whisper, “you’ll have me to answer to.”

“No need to worry,” Felicia whispers back. “And hell, maybe once this whole mess is resolved, I’ll take him back to our world. That’s where he belongs.”

“Dude, isn’t she a little old for you?” Miles asks in a stage-whisper.

“I’m older than I look,” I laugh, breaking away from Felicia and waving to her and Miles before heading out the door. I wait until I hear the deadbolt slide into place before setting off down the steps and the front walk.

“Peter? Peter, is that you?”

I stop short as I reach the sidewalk and hear a girl call me from across the street. It’s MJ Watson, and she’s wheeling a mint-green motorcycle down her driveway to the street. “Hey,” I say, waving jauntily. “What’s up?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” MJ says, brushing her auburn hair behind her shoulder. This MJ has that much in common with the one who was Tobey’s girlfriend - although her hair’s a little longer and darker. She also has very fair skin, and gray eyes roughly the same size as Gwen’s. “Where’ve you been?” she asks, those eyes blinking a few times. “Nobody’s heard from you since-”

“Since the science fair, I know.” I look up and see fog rolling in from the west, as it usually does in the early evening. Sticking my hands in my hoodie pockets, I add, “I’m really...not able to talk about it. It’s a bunch of secret government crap, you know what I mean?”

“I don’t think the government can do what happened at the science fair,” MJ laughs.

“Because it worked?”

More laughter from both of us. “Hey,” MJ says tentatively, “if...if you don’t have anywhere to be, do you wanna go get some coffee or something?”

“Hold on a sec…” I pull my phone out of my pocket and make a huge show out of pretending to check the old schedule. I’m really looking for any messages from Gwen or Tadashi or any of the other Avengers. However, there are none. “Yeah, I can make it,” I say. “But don’t be surprised if my SHIELD handlers call me into action any minute.”

“I thought that was who took you and Tony,” MJ says.

“What?” I ask, shocked.

MJ puts her helmet on. “At least one person got a picture of that SUV that drove you two out of school that day. It had a SHIELD logo on the side, just like on TV.”

I nod, smiling lightly. “Sometimes,” I say, “the truth is just as strange as fiction.”

“Don’t you mean ‘stranger than?’”

“In this case…” I shake my head.

MJ snaps her fingers and runs back into her garage, grabbing a second motorcycle helmet. “Here,” she says, tossing me the helmet as I cross the street. “Hope you don’t mind holding on to me.”

“It’s a dream of mine,” I say, positioning myself on the bike’s seat so I can ride girlfriend. (Don’t tell Gwen I said that.)

“What, me taking you on a ride?” MJ asks, laughing as she starts the engine.

“No!” I say, shouting over the noise. “I mean...not you specifically, but - whoa!” Holy shit, MJ knows how to blaze her way up and down the asphalt. I’ve seen Natasha burn rubber with one of these babies back at the Avengers facility in New York, but nothing like this. MJ’s motorbike is an ancient Vespa-type, a skeletal European creation that looks ready to fall apart if you so much as sneeze on it, so the fact that it’s capable of this level of speed is that much more impressive.

While she takes us down to Maguire Mall, my mind flashes back to the two of us living as neighbors in Queens. I finally got to know her around the time the Sinister Six, starting with Rhino, began wreaking their havoc in earnest. Very quickly, MJ learned my secret, because she witnessed an encounter between me and Kraven at my house, and, for her part, accidentally ran over his foot with her motorbike. Was it even the same one she’s got now? I think it was. But I remember less about the motorbike itself, and more about the fact that she had me sit on it behind her while we pursued Kraven across Queens and into Manhattan.

“Jane and I saw Gwen here the other day,” MJ says, parking her motorbike in front of the Barnes & Noble. We go into the store, passing a display for Taran Matharu’s new book right at the front, then make tracks for the Starbucks. “Along with Steve Rogers and Nat Romanoff.”

“Wow, really?” I ask, pretending I know nothing about it. If I remember correctly, that was the day they blew up the Fry’s in Palmer City.

“They couldn’t stay, though,” MJ says. “They just asked Jane to work some hacker black magic to find someone else - I forget who - and then they took off running.” She shields her eyes as we enter Starbucks and the amber spotlights shine brightly in her face. “Haha, speak of the Devil - there she is!” She waves to Jane, who’s sitting by herself at a corner table, typing away at a Macbook. She closes said Macbook, takes off her glasses, and comes across the floor to MJ, hugging her hello.

Afterwards, MJ and I place our orders. She gets a Java Chip Frappuccino, while I, still unsure of how long I’ll get to stay, just ask for ice water. I’m reluctant to take a seat with the two girls, especially when they both turn to me and Jane asks, “So, Peter, where’ve you been? And where’s everyone else? I swear, it feels like half our class went missing after last Friday and Saturday!”

“Yeah,” MJ chimes in. “Like you guys walked out of the universe or something.”

I shrug. “Something like that, yeah.”

“The theories have been flying thick and fast,” Jane says. “Me, I think you guys were abducted by aliens and replaced with clones.”

“Which means we can expect you to abduct and clone us, right?” MJ asks.

I really have no idea how to respond to this. But then, as usual, one of my favorite movies inspires me. “If I were an alien,” I say, “don’t you think I’d be unable to drink this water without getting burned or scarred or whatever?” I take a huge sip for effect - and, of course, I inhale it into my lungs, making myself choke and spit for a few seconds. So embarrassing.

“That proves it,” Jane deadpans, rubbing her cheek with her knuckle. “You’re an alien.”

“But I already knew that,” I say.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I check the screen and see a text from Gwen: “Landing @SFO. Are you there yet?”

“I’ll get to Augustine in about fifteen minutes,” I respond. I then look up at Jane and MJ and say, “Sorry, ladies, but duty calls.”

“Aww, really?” MJ pouts at me.

“The interrogation’s barely started!” Jane cries.

“It’ll have to wait for another day,” I say, picking up my water and leaving the table. “Sorry, but I really do have to go. But I’ll tell you guys everything someday, okay?”

MJ continues to pout as she says, “Okay.”

“Cool. Oh, and could you say hi to my aunt and uncle for me, MJ? I think I must’ve just missed them earlier.”

“I will,” she says, her expression softening. She gets up and hugs me, triggering another memory flash - this one of the two of us on her doorstep in Queens, hugging - and even kissing. I feel the urge to replicate the latter, but unlike Felicia, I resist said urge. I then hug Jane before leaving and walking down the street to Augustine High.

When I get there, the same SHIELD SUV is idling in the driveway in front of the school. Tadashi’s in the driver’s seat, with Gwen behind him. I climb into the backseat, kiss her for a moment, then we embrace tightly, glad to be reunited.

“Where’s Miles?” she asks.

“He’s with Felicia,” I say. “She was waiting for us on this side of the portal. She’s taking him to a safe place.”

“Good,” Tadashi says. “You guys ready to get home?”

“It’s not really ‘home,’” I say with a huge yawn, “but it’ll do. I mean, Jesus, when do we get to sleep, huh?”  

Chapter Text

***PETER***

Gwen and I fall asleep on the quinjet, the two of us holding hands. At some point, Stark - who's somehow reverted back to adulthood since I last saw him ("because magic," he said when I asked about it right away when I boarded the quinjet) takes a picture of us in this pose, and by the time we land at the Avengers facility, he's threatening to tweet it to the whole world.

"You know what?" I say, yawning for what has to be the tenth time this hour. "You're an adult now, so don't let me stop you." At this point, with midnight coming on, I comically fall onto my bunk in the barracks, barely even having the strength to shed my street clothes (my Spider-Man uniform stays on) before drifting off to sleep.

Maybe because of my having slept on the quinjet, I wake up very early on Sunday morning - around six-thirty, according to my watch, which sits on the haphazard pile of my clothes on the floor next to my bunk. Selecting a more fresh pair of pants, T-shirt, and hoodie, I stagger out of the barracks, passing by an empty bunk on the way. Rogers' bunk, I think. Where could he be, I wonder?

Down the hall I go, into the shower. There, the water (which is, at first, as cold as the ninth circle of Hell) does a better job of waking me up than any cup of coffee. When I get dressed again, I decide to leave off my uniform for now. I'm sure I'll need it later, but for now, after close to eighteen hours straight in that thing, it needs a little airing out, I think. So I just put on my regular threads, transferring my wallet and phone into the pockets of my next pair of jeans.

By sheer coincidence, I walk out of the men's locker room at the same time that Gwen emerges from the women's. She's still wearing her uniform hoodie - I really need to invest in a similarly less-skintight Spidey-suit for myself.

"'Morning," I say sleepily as we toss yesterday's clothes into the laundry chute. Yes, this place has a laundry chute, not to mention some pretty impressive industrial-strength machinery to take care of all our supersuit needs.

"Happy Sunday," Gwen laughs.

"I hope we have a less long day today," I say with a smile. "Yesterday was too much overload."

"Tell me about it." She pushes her blow-dried hair back. I'm assuming it's blow-dried, anyway - how else would it not be so dripping wet? Like mine, because I do very little to style my hair after I shower, other than sometimes putting gel in it.

I kiss her behind her ear, allowing her hair to tickle my nose. She moans softly. Huh - I didn't know the story I'd once heard about ears being erogenous zones was true. "Yesterday was too much overload," I repeat, smiling into her hair.

"That's not what I meant," Gwen whispers, reaching around and placing her hand on my side, the one facing away from her. Her fingers curl under my shirt and touch my skin, making me shiver despite the warmth of her hand. I respond by pulling her in and kissing her deeply. Neither of us has brushed our teeth, so we both have the same morning breath. It doesn't stop me, however, from being turned on simply by how close we are. And how touchy-feely we've become in the last few seconds.

Gwen breaks away long enough to ask, "We're not gonna do this where everyone can see us, are we?"

"Looks like the supply closet's gonna come in handy once again," I say. In my head, my brain is short-circuiting. How far will we go? All the way? This seems like the most random time to lose my virginity, but considering who would be taking it...

"Not the most glamorous place, but...you have a condom?" she asks, reaching for the nearby closet door.

Yep, home run for Team Gweter. "I always wondered what that was doing in my wallet," I laugh. Well, at least, I did before I got my memories back in San Cas. Until then, I just assumed I was carrying it on a "just in case" basis, not that I really needed it.

Fifteen minutes later, I emerge from the closet, my hoodie hanging haphazardly off one shoulder...and I think my fly might still be open, but a quick glance down confirms that it's not. I check to see if the coast is clear, and when it is, I beckon Gwen out. She adjusts her skirt, then reaches out to fix my hoodie in place a little better. "That was great," she whispers, still panting. "But...next time, could we do it on a mattress or something? Hell, even a beanbag might be more comfortable."

"Yeah," I whisper, grinning at the very freshly-formed memories. "Yeah, when it comes to sex, I'm not really a stand-up kind of guy."

Trust the universe to ensure that Barton walks out right when I say that. When he hears it, he puts two and two together very quickly, and his laughter is loud (hopefully more to do with the lame pun than anything else) even after he covers his mouth to try and stifle it. Even after he disappears, you could fry an egg on my face.

"Don't look so ashamed," Gwen laughs, making me blush even more. "It's not like we went and killed a guy and did it over his corpse or something."

"What even...what?"

Gwen gives a casual shrug that carries her shoulder directly into mine. "I'm just saying, it's not a crime for two young and hungry superheroes to bang in the broom closet on a nice spring morning."

"Why are you the one making the crude jokes?" I ask, unsure I want to hear the answer.

"You don't have a monopoly on those," Gwen chuckles. "Not in this relationship."

We grab ourselves some breakfast. The mess hall's all but empty - it's still very early - but Barton's out on the balcony, laying aside his bow and arrows and munching on something while he watches the sunrise. As much as I'd love to not risk further embarrassment, I'm thinking there's some more laughs he'll need to get out of his system.

"I'm a little surprised it took you guys this long," Barton says knowingly, barely even looking up as he scarfs down a bagel with cream cheese.

"What? Really?" I ask.

"Mm-hmm." Barton puts down his plate for a second so he can stretch his arms - and yawn, because he's apparently not fully awake yet. "I mean, you got Iron Man's sense of humor, Petey, but you also have Cap's manners."

"Oh yeah," Gwen says. "You tend to be pretty apologetic when you do your clumsy-geek thing." She takes a seat on the bench next to Barton's, and I sit to her right, between the two of them. "Kinda defeats the purpose, doesn't it? Saying 'ImsorryImsorryImsorry!'"

"Don't forget 'I'm all thumbs today!'" I say.

"That too."

I look at Barton's weapon. "You up here for some kind of target practice or something?" I ask.

"Loki said he'd make ice sculptures for me to shoot," Barton says, nudging his bow with his toe. "Haha, knowing him, they'll all look like us."

"How tasteless of him," comments Natasha, who's just arrived on the balcony and is sitting on Barton's other side.

"Well," Barton drawls, "I figure it'll be good practice in case the zombie apocalypse happens and someone I love gets bitten."

"You wouldn't shoot me if that were the case, would you?" Natasha asks, her eyes going wide and innocent-looking.

"I sure as hell wouldn't leave it up to anyone else," Barton says fiercely. "Especially not you. I know, I know, the movies said we're not supposed to be together. But I still feel...connected to you."

"Aww, that's sweet," Natasha says. "But you're not just saying that 'cause...you know...?"

"You can say it," Barton says. With an offhanded tilt of his head to me and Gwen, he adds, "We're all deflowered here."

"You too?" I ask. "No, no, wait, don't tell me. I don't need to know the details."

"Thanks for not saying you don't want to know," Barton laughs. "'Cause that would be a big fat lie." He covers his mouth and laughs into his hand again. "You really had to say that, though, didn't you? 'I'm not a stand-up kind of guy?'"

"What does that...oh." Natasha's lip trembles before she explodes with laughter as well.

I take full responsibility for not editing that one out, says the writer, who's also snickering to himself. But almost everything else, I kept out of the narrative. What happens in the supply closet, stays in the supply closet.

"Should we thank him?" Gwen asks.

No need for that. Just looking out for my readers. Some are as young as thirteen, maybe even younger. I trust them to know that the sausage was made, but not to know all the gory details.

"'Gory?'" Natasha repeats, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah," Gwen laughs. "Ricky's not kidding. Our first time was an Aztec-style sacrifice of virgins."

"Who's Ricky?" I ask.

Before anyone can answer that question, I hear Skye approach us. "Guys, guys, guys!" she calls, Abby Sciuto-style, as she joins us on the balcony with Rogers in tow.

"You find something?" I ask, snapping into Avenger Business Mode.

Skye looks down at her tablet. "Is anyone else awake? The others might wanna hear this too."

"We know who killed me," Rogers says.

"It wasn't Maggie's niece?" Gwen asks.

Rogers shakes his head. "I knew it couldn't be her. No relative of Carter's could be a killer, except for someone who really deserves it."

"Admirable optimism," says Natasha. "So why did she take the blame if she's innocent?"

Skye checks the tablet's screen again. "We think she's been tricked. Mind-controlled."

Gwen nudges me. "Okay, who do we know with mental powers like that?"

Seemingly reading Gwen's mind, Skye shakes her head. "It's not Xavier," she says. "This is the guy who pulled the trigger and got Sharon Carter put away for his crime." She shows us a grainy surveillance picture of a man pulling a gun on adult Cap in a cell. Then she swipes the screen, revealing a second picture which shows the same man from the front, close up. He looks like he could be an older version of me - dark hair that sticks up off his head (but he styles it better than I do mine), brown eyes, heavy five o'clock shadow. His wardrobe, however, makes him look like an evil Doctor Strange, or evil Dr. Henry Morgan - he wears a black suit jacket with a purple scarf draped over his collarbones. He stares down his long, aquiline nose at something off to one side, something out of the camera's viewing range.

"Who is he?" Barton asks.

"He looks familiar," I say. "I dunno why."

"He calls himself the 'Purple Man,'" Skye says. "Like some lame Stephen King villain. His real name is Kilgrave. I have a friend in New York - she's dealt with him before, so she confirmed his identity for me." She swallows. "Thing is, though, Jessica also said this is a little low for him - not to mention a little out of character. Kilgrave's a manipulator. He's not normally known for getting blood on his hands. So why would he kill Steve directly?"

"'Cause he's incorruptible," I say. "Not to mention, he's probably immune to any kind of mind control B.S."

"Yeah, and this Kilgrave hated that about Steve so much, he took it upon himself to kill him?" Gwen suggests.

Rogers' eyebrows crease together. "I've been trying to recall the actual time of my death for the last couple of hours, since Skye found this," he says. "All I can remember is him saying - and he was British, too, if that helps" - he puts on an accent nearly identical to that of Simmons, with a bit of a Northern English twang - "'Osborn underestimates me. But no longer.'"

"Everything goes back to Osborn in the end," I say. "What does he think he is, ancient Rome?"

"Now the only question is whether or not this guy is really affiliated with Oscorp," says Skye.

Rogers cracks his knuckles. "Yeah, not to mention, we gotta find out where - oh my God!" He points out over the edge of the balcony. We follow his gaze and see, to our horror, a number of huge metal objects pounding on the force field surrounding the campus.

Not just any metal objects either - they're Doc Ock's tentacles.

"Does he seriously think he can get in here?" asks Skye. "The deflector shield is too strong!"

Good for you, quoting from Phantom Menace, says the writer. Seriously, am I the only one who doesn't hate that movie? Childhood nostalgia, I guess.

"Wait...what is he doing?" I shade my eyes against the sunrise, as well as the bright light shining around the points where Doc Ock's tentacles - all four of them - are in direct contact with the force field. "Does he think he can just lift it away or something?"

"He's not doing that," Gwen says. "I think he's trying to use the tentacles to break in!"

"What metal are those tentacles made of?" asks Natasha.

"Vibranium, I think," Rogers says. "Remember when we encountered him on Angel Island yesterday? They felt like they were made of the same metal as my shield."

"If that's the case," I say, my pulse accelerating, "he could stand a chance of bringing the force field down!"

"He could?" Gwen asks. "Try 'he does!'"

Speedster-like, Barton trains an arrow on Doc Ock. "Even if he does," he says, "I'd like to see him keep on fighting with one of these babies stuck in his chest."

"Talk about bow-hunting practice," I say. "Looks like you're gonna get to do some of that sooner than you think - he's coming in!" It's true - the shine around his tentacles fades as they finally penetrate the force field as much as a foot. Then all four tentacles (whose ends look like they've sustained some kind of minor acid burns) spin, the pincers whirling like helicopter rotors. Sparks fly, and the force field flashes white before failing completely. Then Doc Ock steps back slightly, with Vulture and Harry flying out from behind him. Ock picks up two more men - Norman and Kraven, I think - and then, finally, a fully-suited Rhino smashes through the electric fence.

Alarms ring out over the campus. Ten seconds pass by, but nobody runs out to take on the Sinister Six. It looks like it's up to us now.

"Natasha, Steve, go inside and get whatever weapons you need!" Skye says. "Clint, you stay here and cover us!"

"On it!" Barton fires a single arrow at the Vulture, while Natasha and Rogers follow Skye's orders as well. As for me and Gwen, we use our weblines to slingshot ourselves to the ground, and Skye piggybacks on me the whole way down.

"Whenever Nat and Steve rejoin us," Skye says, "that'll mean we each get one villain. Let's choose wisely, guys!"

"I bet Harry's gonna come after me," I say, "so I'll take him."

"I'll trap Doc Ock's tentacles," Skye says. "What about you, Gwen?"

She pulls her hood up. "Norman," she says. "He's mine."

"Let's go!" I say as we break off, running after our targets. Harry's easy to spot - he's looking particularly green and Goblin-esque in the light of day. "Hey, buddy!" I taunt him, snagging both ends of his glider with my webline. "You used to be a CEO, right? I think we've got some unfinished business! What say you?"  

Chapter Text

***GWEN***

Norman, unlike his son, is equipped with no weapon other than his hands. When I approach him, he holds up those hands and says, "I don't think I mentioned this before, but I love your outfit. Unlike Peter's, it can double as ordinary college-student clothes."

"Cut the crap," I say, getting ready to use my webline on him. "You're not gonna win, Norman. Even if you get us erased...well, just look at what Doctor Strange did for the original Peter and MJ."

"Speaking of MJ, isn't she still on the other side of the portal?" asks Norman.

I snort at him. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"And why would you find it preferable to be immortalized on DVD than to just die and be done with it?" Norman asks. "I can only imagine the horrors of that kind of digital quote-unquote 'life.' Forever stuck in binary form, only able to show signs of life for five minutes at a time when someone plays a disc, and even then only after Strange has worked his magic on that disc...sounds like endless hell to me."

"How would you know?" I ask. "Have you ever experienced it yourself?"

"Have you?"

Obviously, I have no answer, but I don't need one. The fact that he had to parrot my own question is proof that he knows no more about Doctor Strange and his metaphysical mind-fuckery than I do.

After about a week's worth of training, I've finally started getting used to having webshooters on my jacket cuffs at all times. I strike, firing webline at Norman's midsection before he can react, even with the aid of Spidey-senses. Is it possible to undo the effects of the spider serum? I'm not asking for me - more for him.

I wouldn't advise that, says Ricky. Every time I've seen any kind of 'mutant cure' in fiction - be it X-Men or Witch & Wizard - whoever gets that cure loses such a vital part of themselves as a result. I wouldn't wish that sort of empty feeling on anyone. He snickers, making me wish I could see him, because I can only imagine how hilarious his accompanying facial expression is. Well, there's always a first time. And right now, we're facing a pretty nasty guy, aren't we?

Don't "royal we" me, I think, tugging on the webline as Norman struggles to pull himself free. Or whatever that "we" is. We're both pretty evenly matched, so I take the opportunity to look around and see how the others are doing in their own fights.

Skye generates sinkholes around Doc Ock, trapping his tentacles for about five seconds at a time.

Clint sends arrows flying at Vulture, and when he finally hits his target, the arrow is stuck in Vulture's wing, wrecking his flight pattern.

Natasha and Steve have taken on each of the two Sinisters we've left unopposed. She's engaged in hand-to-hand combat with Kraven - just the way he likes it, I think. And as for the Rhino, his massive suit is no match for the powerful whacks it's receiving at the hands of Steve and his shield

Peter's managed to use his own webline to tie Harry's glider to the ground, preventing him from flying away. This, of course, only serves to piss Harry off further, and he fires his glider's weapons - mostly guns - erratically in all directions. Norman and I are both forced to dive to the ground to avoid some of the bullets from this random volley. In the process, the webline between us breaks, allowing him to get closer to me when we both get up again.

I'm ready for him, though. As he runs after me, I crouch in a runner's pose, then spring up and out. I pull my arm back, rotating it a bit so I can put a little more power into my punch. Norman's suitably surprised when he finds himself falling backwards rather than running forwards. He clutches his jaw, and I hear a creepy click-like sound - I didn't actually dislocate it or anything, did I?

"Getting stronger, are you?" he asks. "I'd almost say I was proud of you, but I know you'd consider it an insult."

"You're no father of mine," I say, preparing to land another strike - only for Norman to stop my fist with his hand. He then aims a kick at my solar plexus, which I avoid by jumping back.

The alarms continue to sound all over the place as Norman and I get into a real fight, doing a pretty reasonable imitation of Kraven and Natasha. Unlike them, however, neither of us is terribly experienced with martial arts. For him, of course, it's understandable - he's an old, bored rich dude who got ahead in the world with his brains, not his brawn. As for me...well, two of my brothers take karate classes, and I used to do so as well, but I couldn't really get into it as much. Now, if Norman and I were fighting in the water, that would be a different story. I haven't taken swimming lessons since I was eleven, but I still remember the two basic strokes I was able to learn in one year's worth of classes. I can keep myself afloat for a long time - and, when I was fourteen, I did exactly that for forty-five minutes during a beach trip with the family, longer than anyone else except Dad.

The other Avengers, agents of SHIELD, Asgardians, reformed murder-bots, etc. spill out of the building. It looks like we might be able to turn the tide against the Sinisters - and then Harry unclips a pair of little spherical grenades from his belt, tossing them at the building. Because its exterior is largely glass, immediate destruction is guaranteed. Anything the glass might be supporting gets wrecked as well.

Including the balcony where Clint's still standing with his arrows. It collapses all around him, bringing him crashing down too. I join Peter and Natasha as they abandon their fights and run to him. Before we can get there, though, the same white glow that illuminated Tony when Strange's spell wore off from him has erupted from underneath the rubble. Next thing we know, Clint pushes his way out, no longer a teenager either. He turns around on the spot, looking around wildly, then stops and feels his face.

"Is it too late to sign up for Botox?" he jokes.

"Never," laughs Natasha. She helps him to his feet, then steps aside as Peter takes him by webline to another, less destroyed high perch.

"He better not get crushed again," I say.

"I'm gonna kill him if he does," Natasha says, her eyes gleaming darkly as she picks up a shard of broken glass. "Now, where were we? Oh yeah." She runs back to Kraven, sliding over the grass and between his legs. He howls, falling to his knees and grabbing one of his ankles. How deeply did she cut him?

I don't stick around to find out. Norman's bearing down on me, and I need to deal with him. I don't have any shards of glass or knives or anything else sharp, but I nevertheless decide to imitate Natasha's technique, the whole sliding-and-slashing thing. I don't get to cut Norman's tendons - I'm assuming that's what Natasha did to Kraven, and I think I've seen part of the horror movie she probably borrowed that idea from. Not a pretty sight. I do, at the very least, screw up his footwork, tripping him up. He lands facefirst in the rubble where Clint fell earlier, and when he gets up again, he's got cuts all over his face, plus some ugly markings that look like the beginnings of bruises. Huh - who knew he was capable of bleeding?

"Ooh," I say mockingly. "That's gotta hurt. Wait...you don't have super-healing, do you?"

Norman hocks a pink loogie onto the ground. I think he even loses an incisor. "That would've been in the next version of the serum," he says. "That is, if I could keep Deadpool in my lab long enough to extract some of his blood - it's the key ingredient, you know."

"I almost wanna give you my blood, Goblin Senior," Deadpool says as he jumps in behind Norman, sticking the landing and drawing his katanas. "Maybe when you catch my unending terminal cancer, it'll undo all the other enhancements you've given yourself."

"Cancer's not contagious," I point out.

"Try telling that to every cell in my body," Deadpool retorts.

"You know," Norman says, "neither of you two is being targeted today."

"Oh really?" I ask. "Why is that? No, wait, I don't wanna know."

"I dunno about you," Norman says, "but I'd be much more comfortable fighting you guys on a more level playing field." He blinks, and for a split second, his eyes shine purple. But only for a moment.

"Spare me the cryptic lines," I hiss, kicking at his head. He grabs my ankle and twists it, bringing me down. My cheek lands in the dirt, my limbs splayed out around me.

While I'm on the ground, I get a few glimpses of the rest of the action. It's not going well - quite the opposite, actually. Steve may be able to run circles around the Rhino, but one well-placed jab from its horn-like appendage sends him flying. And then, to make matters worse, one of Doc Ock's tentacles whips out and connects with him in midair. Even someone as strong as Steve can't resist this kind of force, and he's already glowing before he hits the lawn. I don't even need to look to see that he's also lost his adolescent appearance.

Speaking of Doc Ock, I roll over (to dodge Norman's boot-clad feet) and see Natasha and Wanda run out to lend Skye a hand to take him down. He doesn't take kindly to being triple-teamed, so he lashes out even more strongly. Insert god-awful "Watch me whip, watch me nae-nae" joke from Deadpool here - I'm not making this up. Leave it to him to come up with an effective, if lame, way to describe the motion we're seeing. I would've settled for "angry Omnidroid" myself, but I'm sure most people wouldn't get the reference, am I right, Ricky?

No, I'm sure my readers have seen The Incredibles pretty often. On your right, Gwen!

My hand snaps out, grabbing Norman's ankle (seriously, why is it always the ankles today?) and making him lose balance. While he's distracted, I jump to my feet and take another look at the girls. Just as I do so, however, one of Doc Ock's tentacles rises up a few feet, then drops sharply, flattening Natasha. Wanda reacts instantly, telepathically raising the tentacle, but it's too late - Natasha's losing her teenager spell too.

It finally dawns on me what Norman meant. Many of us, because of Strange's spells, literally have an extra life. The Sinisters are here to take those away. And judging from the way Harry's flying around laying waste to everything he can with his Goblin bombs, if they can get away with destroying this facility, they'll consider that a bonus.

"We have to get out of here," I whisper. "Deadpool, where's Pietro? He can speed us out of here!"

Deadpool doesn't respond right away, because he's busy doing what he does best - slicey-slicing villains with his trusty sword. He takes off one of Norman's arms - the whole arm, not just the forearm like with the Oscorp soldiers in New York. Discarding the arm like a chip bag, Deadpool turns around and says, "I think I just saw him over - oh shit! Wanda!"

Following his gaze, I see Wanda standing under Doc Ock's tentacle, which she's been lifting telepathically so she can bring Natasha out from underneath it. Eventually, she realizes she can't do that kind of multitasking, so she just muscles Natasha out to safety - but she herself gets her torso pinned in the process when the tentacle falls again.

Abandoning Norman at last, I run out and fire my webline. When it sticks to the tentacle, I lift it up and off Wanda. A second tentacle sinks as Skye sinkholes it again, and this time, she does a good job of burying it too. The newly-re-adulted Steve, now taller and more muscular, teams up with Thor and Sif to work the third tentacle with their tried-and-true hammer-and-shield baseball attack, now with a flaming assist. And the last one? Peter fires a webline at it from a perch high in a tree on the edge of the grounds.

"Copycat!" I yell.

"Love you too!" he shouts back. "Don't hate me!"

He ties the webline to the tree, then climbs it, and the tentacle as well, skittering in a way that only a spider on speed can. Then he reaches Doc Ock's head, vaults above it, and grabs the man's skull to force him down to the ground.

Peter, however, doesn't go down with Doc Ock. He barrel-rolls a couple of times, spiraling through the air like a human football. Harry hovers less than twenty-five feet in front of him, with his back turned as he rains a seemingly infinite supply of grenades and bullets onto the building below. He literally can't see him coming.

Wait! Ricky sounds horrified. PETER, STOP!

Peter's going too fast to listen. He grabs one grenade from Harry's belt and shoves it into an open pipe, then lets himself fall. I run out to create a crash pad for him from my weblines - and his, as he's busy adding to its size as well.

The glider explodes, raining debris everywhere. I hit the ground to take cover, and when I look up again, Peter and Harry (who jumped off the glider at the last second and therefore survived the explosion) are tangled in the weblines above me. I jump up and pull Peter down to the ground, glad to see him still...

I turn him around when he lets out a sharp cry of pain. He's got shards of metal, shrapnel from the explosion, in his back. Lots of it, embedded very deeply.

"That's why I said...'don't hate me,'" he whispers before falling with me still holding on to him.

"What's happening?" Deadpool cries as he joins us. "Gwen, Peter, talk to me!"

"He's been hit!" I yell, showing Deadpool the shrapnel. I turn around and see Natasha, Skye, and Steve kneeling over Wanda, who's been unpinned but is just as unconscious as Peter.

Behind them, Rhino, the last Sinister standing, charges.

I, however, don't even have time to yell at them to move before the scene changes all around me in a silvery-blue blur. Next thing I know, we're all in front of the gates to Xavier's mansion, with Pietro standing in front of the big metal X, demanding that we be let in.

When the gates open, it's a glimmer of hope for all of us. But only a glimmer. 

Chapter Text

***GWEN***

"Coming through!" Natasha yells, running in front of me and Deadpool as we carry our two unconscious ones into the mansion. We don't even have time to get them to any kind of well-equipped infirmary - we just lay Peter and Wanda on the stone floor. I lay him facedown so the shrapnel doesn't penetrate deeper into his body. Then I look at his face - it's pale and still.

"All right, guys, back up," Deadpool says, kneeling between Peter and Wanda and pulling up their sleeves so he can exchange blood with them.

"What the hell are you doing?" booms Wolverine's voice - he's looming over us.

With speed to rival Pietro's, Deadpool rushes Wolverine, pinning him to the wall with a knife to his throat. "I'm a universal donor, and I'm extremely emotionally invested in the lives of my friends, so back the fuck off, you filthy animal!"

He runs back to Peter and Wanda, cuts their arms and his, then lets their blood mix.

I stand back, waiting with bated breath. Natasha, who's next to me, takes my hand. "Please let them live," I whisper. "God, please..."

"It'll be all right," Natasha says. Now that she's an adult again, her voice has changed, matching the husky tones she had in the "official" Avengers movie. "They'll be fine. He knows what he's doing."

"I know," I say. "He's saved my life once before, just like this."

"So I've heard."

I watch as others from our group come into the foyer. Not all the Avengers have been re-adulted - Sif and Thor are still the same. I'd like to bet that their being Asgardian may have afforded them extra protection to keep Strange's magic intact.

One of our friends wakes up with a gasp. Wanda's body then stretches, and we hear her bones crack for a few seconds. Deadpool's healing factor must be taking effect. Pietro exclaims something which I can only assume is Russian for "Thank God!" and picks Wanda up, tears of relief pouring from his eyes.

Peter, however, stays still. There isn't a single sign of life from him.

I let go of Natasha and run to his side, feeling his neck. No pulse.

Deadpool, realizing how futile his efforts are, resorts to a last-ditch attempt to save him. He rolls him over, ignoring me when I beg him not to, and initiates CPR. Chest compressions, mouth-to-mouth (he has to take off his mask, of course), the works.

How far into his body did the glider's debris go? How many internal organs got pummeled and pulverized?

Is this really what the moviemakers intended? I refuse to believe it, as much as I refuse to believe myself when I reach out and take hold of Deadpool's wrists, stopping his endless, mechanical chest-compression process.

"It's no use. Wade...he's gone."

There. I've said it.

I break down completely, crying silent tears as I clutch my lost soulmate to my chest.  

Chapter Text

RICKY PINE presents

DEADPOOL SYNDROME: SPIDER SOULMATES

CAST:

ANDREW GARFIELD - Peter Parker/Spider-Man

EMMA STONE - Gwen Stacy

RYAN REYNOLDS - Wade Wilson/Deadpool

CHRIS COOPER - Norman Osborn  

AARON JOHNSON - Pietro Maximoff/Quicksilver 

ELIZABETH OLSEN - Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch

PAUL BETTANY - Vision

DANE DeHAAN - Harry Osborn/Green Goblin

CHLOE BENNET - Skye

CRYSTAL REED - Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow (Teen)

DYLAN O'BRIEN - Tony Stark/Iron Man (Teen)

HUGH JACKMAN - Logan Howlett/Wolverine

RYAN POTTER - Hiro Hamada

DANIEL HENNEY - Tadashi Hamada

DAVID HENRIE - Steve Rogers/Captain America (Teen)

AML AMEEN - Sam Wilson/Falcon (Teen)

THEO JAMES - Thor Odinsson

HOLLAND RODEN - Ginny "Pepper" Potts

SAMUEL L. JACKSON - Nick Fury

MARK RUFFALO - Bruce Banner/Hulk

ALAN CUMMING - Kurt Wagner/Nightcrawler

ELLEN PAGE - Kitty Pryde/Shadowcat

PATRICK STEWART - Professor Charles Xavier

CHANDLER RIGGS - Billy Kaplan/Wiccan

SHAWN ASHMORE - Bobby Drake/Iceman

EMMA WATSON - Maggie Carter (Teen)

SCOTT ADSIT - Baymax

BENEDICT CUMBERBATCH - Doctor Stephen Strange

JAMES SPADER - Ultron

JARED PADALECKI - Kraven

TOM HIDDLESTON - Loki Laufeyson

TOBEY MAGUIRE - Himself

KIRSTEN DUNST - Herself

ELIZABETH HENSTRIDGE - Jemma Simmons

IAIN de CAESTECKER - Leo Fitz

ROBBIE AMELL - James "Bucky" Buchanan/Winter Soldier (Teen)

MICHAEL DOUGLAS - Dr. Hank Pym

PAUL RUDD - Scott Lang/Ant-Man

MICHAEL PEÑA - Luis

JOHN MALKOVICH - Adrian Toomes/Vulture

KATE MARA - Sue Storm/Invisible Woman

PAUL GIAMATTI - Aleksei Sytsevich/Rhino

FELICITY JONES - Felicia Hardy/Black Cat

ALFRED MOLINA - Otto Octavius/Doc Ock

EVANGELINE LILLY - Hope Van Dyne/Wasp

HALLE BERRY - Ororo Munroe/Storm

MORENA BACCARIN - Vanessa Carlysle/Copycat

DANI DARE - Miles Morales

ROBERT DOWNEY, JR. - Tony Stark/Iron Man (Adult)

SHAILENE WOODLEY - Mary Jane Watson

VICTORIA JUSTICE - Jane Foster

DAVID TENNANT - Kilgrave

CHRIS EVANS - Steve Rogers/Captain America (Adult)

SCARLETT JOHANSSON - Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow (Adult)

JEREMY RENNER - Clint Barton/Hawkeye (Adult)

ANTHONY MACKIE - Sam Wilson/Falcon (Adult)

HAYLEY ATWELL - Peggy Carter (Adult)

TOM HOLLAND - Himself

and STAN LEE - NYC Boat Owner

FEATURED MUSIC:

"PSYCHO KILLER"

Written by David Byrne, Chris Frantz, and Tina Weymouth

Performed by TALKING HEADS

"EVEN BETTER THAN THE REAL THING"

Written and Performed by U2

"THE WALKER"

Written by Michael Fitzpatrick, Noelle Scaggs, and James King

Performed by FITZ AND THE TANTRUMS

"THE WORLD AT LARGE"

Written by Isaac Brock, Dann Gallucci, Eric Judy, and Benjamin Weikel

Performed by MODEST MOUSE

"THE CHAIN"

Written by Lindsey Buckingham, Mick Fleetwood, Christine McVie, John McVie, and Stevie Nicks

Performed by FLEETWOOD MAC

"SMOOTH OPERATOR"

Written by Sade Adu and Ray St. John

Performed by SADE

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME"

Written by David Gilmour, Rick Wright, and Polly Samson

Performed by PINK FLOYD

"HOLIDAY"

Written and Performed by VAMPIRE WEEKEND

"MAD WORLD"

Written by Roland Orzabal

Performed by TEARS FOR FEARS

"THE KID IS HOT TONITE"

Written by Paul Dean and Bernie Aubin

Performed by LOVERBOY

"WAKE UP"

Written and Performed by ARCADE FIRE

"ZERO"

Written and Performed by YEAH YEAH YEAHS

"I'M IN TOUCH WITH YOUR WORLD"

Written by Ric Ocasek

Performed by THE CARS

"DRAGON ATTACK"

Written by Brian May

Performed by QUEEN

"LAMPSHADES ON FIRE"

Written by Isaac Brock

Performed by MODEST MOUSE

"THE MIRACLE (OF JOEY RAMONE)"

Written and Performed by U2

"LITTLE QUEEN"

Written by Ann Wilson, Nancy Wilson, Michael Derosier, Roger Fisher, Steve Fossen, and Howard Leese

Performed by HEART

"ONE WAY OR ANOTHER"

Written by Debbie Harry and Nigel Harrison

Performed by BLONDIE

"MR. MALUM"

Written and Performed by THE DEAR HUNTER

"CLOCKS"

Written by Guy Berryman, Jonny Buckland, Will Champion, and Chris Martin

Performed by COLDPLAY

"I'M AN ADULT NOW"

Written by Moe Berg

Performed by THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS

"SAME OLD SONG AND DANCE"

Written by Steven Tyler and Joe Perry

Performed by AEROSMITH

"SMILE AT YOU"

Written by Stevie Nicks

Performed by FLEETWOOD MAC

"GOING AWAY TO COLLEGE"

Written by Mark Hoppus

Performed by BLINK-182

"THE DIFFERENT STORY (WORLD OF LUST AND CRIME)"

Written and Performed by PETER SCHILLING

The heroes and villains of SPIDER SOULMATES will return in MARVEL'S FOLLY.

Chapter Text

***PETER***

A howling rush of wind.

Blue light. Lots of blue light.

Then I find myself in an infinite room with walls made of video screens. Images from various Marvel movies flash by jerkily, in freeze-frame flashes. Ultron tilts his head as he delivers a snarky, Stark-esque one-liner. Rogers, freshly enhanced way back in World War II, emerges from an ancient diesel-punk machine with more muscles than he knows what to do with. These images stick in my brain, which is already overloaded and horrified as it is.

I'm not alone. There are two other people in the room. Both guys, both white with dark hair, both looking away from me.

"Hey!" I call out. "Wh-Where am I?"

They turn around, and right away, I recognize my predecessor, Tobey Maguire. "I can't believe it," he says, his wide blue eyes blinking with surprise. "They really killed you? No freaking way!"

The other guy, who looks like he could be my younger brother, shakes his head. "Better believe it, dude," he says, his accent English. "Welcome to cinematic purgatory, I guess. Ghost of Spidey Past" - he gestures to Tobey - "Ghost of Spidey Present" - he nods to me - "and Ghost of Spidey Yet To Come." He points to himself.

"You...y-you're the guy who's supposed to replace me?"

He nods again, approaching me and holding out his hand. "I'm Tom. Tom Holland. Wow, I never imagined this is how I'd meet you. I mean, you're Andrew Garfield! Seriously, there's a reason why Ricky holds you as the gold standard of Spider-Man, now and forever." He looks down for a second, then makes eye contact with me again. "Come on, Peter, don't leave me hanging!"

I'm too floored by what's going on to be polite. I spin around, seeing nothing but clips of adult Avengers fighting Loki, Bucky, and various other enemies. "Gwen," I say, my voice hoarse. "Gwen! Gwen, where are you?"

The movie clips vanish, and are replaced by a video of a guy in glasses, holding his chin in his hand. "I tried to stop it," he says, his eyes gazing at something off the side. "I guess they were right. I was just a foolish fanboy. Weak. Insignificant. Unable to effect any real change."

He sounds - and looks - familiar, but I'm in no shape to place his face at the moment. "Who are you?" I ask, hoping he'll jog my memory.

The guy reaches off camera and grabs a beanie - black, with a red stripe, and Deadpool's logo printed on the side. When he puts it on, he appears completely, in the flesh, not just a holographic projection. "Some call me Ricky Pine," he says. "But that's not my real name. In any case...you know me better as 'the writer.'"

I look between Ricky and Tobey and Tom, several times. Then I say, "I'm surprised I'm gonna say this, but...I'm very glad to see you."

"So am I," Ricky says with a sheepish grin. "It's an honor to finally meet you - all of you. Spider-Man's my biggest creative inspiration."

"Thanks," the rest of us say in unison.

"But now we need to solve one sticky little problem," Ricky says, his eyes darkening behind his glasses. "How the fuck are we gonna fix the Marvel 'verse?"