Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter screwed up. A big time.

He's screwed up often enough lately. Making decisions while misguided by his heart and completely ignoring every rational part of him that said to take different actions and stay out of trouble.

But Peter was a curious soul, reaching for things he shouldn't touch and playing with fire on a regular basis, disregarding consequences or simply underestimating them. It was in his nature, and it was something that ended up with him getting bitten by a genetically modified and radioactive spider some odd years back.

(It also led to him ending up in space, billions of miles away from Earth — and then, later, to the fiasco of Mysterio and everything that followed it, but Peter elected to ignore those particular thoughts for the time being, for the sake of his own sanity.)

He should've considered the consequences that would arise from meddling in a fight between several sorcerers, but he did not. What was supposed to be a simple visit to Doctor Strange's place, born out of boredom and genuine wonder, turned into a trip back in time, roughly a dozen years back.

Because Peter refused to listen to a clear order to stand down or go home altogether and instead hastily put on his suit and jumped into the fray of the fight. Just like he did when Thanos brought his army to Earth. Stephen was furious — and, Peter presumed, would get even more angry once he'd come to take him back home.

Peter appeared at a strange moment — when the Tesseract activated, presumably creating the perfect tear in space to also become the ideal door for Peter to exit from after getting sent from his end. He ended up in the hangar — the hangar, where the Tesseract was hidden prior to Loki's invasion in the year twenty-twelve.

Speaking of Loki: the God of Mischief stood an odd distance away from him, exchanging blows with some people he could only vaguely recognise as SHIELD agents. Peter, using the opportunity — Loki's sole focus turned to the agents and vice versa — ducked behind the nearest furniture. He couldn't begin to guess what it was, but it proved to be just big enough to give him a second to find a proper place to hide.

And so he did, ducking in a spot he was sure nobody had a reason to check, and settled down to wait for the commotion to pass.

Nick Fury went down. With a shot in the head, the man fell down onto the ground, motionless. Peter had to bite back the gasp building in his throat. He watched, with battered breath, looking at Fury's face, reaching out, trying to listen.

The thing about Peter's senses and enchanted hearing meant that he heard everything that happened in the room with him. Everything included heartbeats, and, weirdly enough, he could still hear a rapid one coming from Fury.

The man's eyelid lifted up. He looked up at Peter, meeting his gaze straight on. Peter's own eyes widened, and this time he had to muffle his gasp with a hand against his mouth. He ducked back behind his hiding spot and sat down to listen, eyes closing shut.

Loki was leaving shortly after, the Tesseract in hand and several brainwashed agents flanking his sides. Peter let out a relieved breath. His hand slumped at his side, and he leaned back against the hard surface of whatever device he'd hidden behind, letting himself relax once more.

He had a moment to think now, to take a deep breath and consider his situation.

He was back in time, somehow. Whatever spell that unnamed sorcerer used had sent Peter to what was, no doubt, the beginning of the New York invasion. He was in a hangar — or warehouse, no matter — and miraculously dodged getting involved in a fight against a god.

Peter wasn't sure enough of his abilities to be certain that he would win, especially not with the brainwashing spectre that Loki was carrying. Even getting away would have been a problem.

Another issue, still present at hand and screaming for his attention, was the fact that he was back in time. An insane thing to say, but considering what Peter knew and what he lived through, not entirely impossible either way. The Avengers did it twice. Doctor Strange protected a stone that specialised in this exact matter.

So, the situation at hand.

Nick Fury noticed him and would no doubt have many questions. Peter had a choice in front of him, the metaphorical red and blue pills: take the red one, run away and safely wait for Stephen somewhere out of SHIELD's reach, or risk it all by taking the blue pill and cooperate with Fury to spill some tea about a thing or two.

What were the rules again? Time travel as they knew it didn't alter the main timeline — it merely entered a branch, often created by the action of time travel itself. So Peter's own future had to be safe, right?

So what would be the harm in throwing a bone to guys in high places in this timeline? Peter, too, had connections — being publicly acknowledged as Iron Man's protégé did that — and he possessed quite a bit of information. He could answer a question or two. Perhaps he could change things for the better — prevent a fight or several by explaining Ultron and the Sokovia Accords situation.

Then there was sound again. A pained groan and shuffling of clothes, a person standing up on their feet. Nick Fury, no doubt. Peter tilted his head to the side, listening to the footsteps approaching him past the frantic beating of his own heartbeat. He reached up to pull off his mask, hissing as the fabric pulled at the taut skin around the various scrapes he gained in the fight with the unnamed sorcerer.

A familiar face leaned over into his line of sight, one eye closed behind the eyepatch and the other fancying a visible note of distrust and curiosity. Peter must have been quite a sight, with blood from his own wounds smeared on his cheek and a red-and-blue spandex suit covering his body.

"Hi." Peter grinned, blinking a few times in feigned innocence.

"Hi," Fury grumbled back, incredulous, an eyebrow shooting upwards. "Mind telling me who you are, Mr Intruder?"

"I'm Peter."

A pause. Fury's expression looked more and more exasperated with each second.

"And who would you be, Peter?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

Fury unceremoniously hauled Peter up from his place and dragged him to his car, pushing him into the backseat. Peter followed with no questions asked, keeping compliant — for the time being, at least — only wincing at the throbbing pain that the sudden motions caused on his fresh wounds from the day's fight.

Nick Fury was a superspy above any Peter had met during his time as Spider-Man. He was secretive beyond measure, lying left and right and using said lies to manipulate people to do what he wanted and needed them to.

But there was one undeniable, unshakeable truth that kept the man in high authority in the eyes of the Avengers, even after the inevitable fall of SHIELD: everything Nick Fury did carried a purpose, and his was genuine and aligned with what the Avengers themselves believed in. Nick Fury was not a tyrant, nor was he a 'villain' in the sense that would make him Peter's enemy.

So Peter pushed past his own bitter memories of the encounter with the man— 'Clearly you weren't ready'— and swallowed the lump in his throat to speak up.

"I will tell you whatever you need to know," Peter said, as honest as can be, as soon as they left the warehouse-hangar place they were at and sat down in the car. "But not at the SHIELD headquarters."

Fury glanced into the rearview mirror, raising an eyebrow at him. If he was startled by Peter's use of his super-secret organisation's name, he didn't visibly show it. "Elaborate."

Peter wanted to; he really did, but he wasn't sure if he could. Would there be bugs in the car, he wondered, placed by HYDRA to detect any and all possibility of being found out by Nick Fury himself? If HYDRA learnt that Peter was from the future, then they would, no doubt, try to apprehend him, because regardless of whether their plans had succeeded or not, should Peter say that he comes from any year past twenty fourteen, it would mean knowledge of Project Insight's existence.

Because at this time, SHIELD was swarming more with HYDRA than with its own loyal agents. Peter had to treat his every step with as much precision as he could muster.

Peter mulled over what to say, thinking of the best way to word his thoughts to make it sound reasonable and, most importantly, convincing. Nothing particularly good came to mind, only a catch and a slim idea.

"Can we make a pit stop at a gas station somewhere?" He tried, sighing to himself and slumping against the backrest. "I need to take a breath away from prying ears. Preferably in the privacy of a bathroom. This was horrifying; I think I'm gonna puke."

He turned to meet Fury's gaze in the rearview mirror — trying, as best as he could, to convey his resolve to the man. Fury paused for a long moment, staring right back at him, his eyebrows set in a frown. Peter raised his hand, fingers indicating the standard zipping motion at his mouth, and then quickly settled his chin on the same hand. He gestured with his eyes to the car's dashboard and turned away.

He missed Fury's reaction, but it didn't matter.

The man was making calls, now. Giving orders to various people whom Peter could only vaguely recognise by name. Maria Hill — her he knew for certain; had personally met her during the Mysterio fiasco. Coulson was a familiar name, too, but Peter couldn't recall where he heard it from.

Nick Fury didn't say a word about him.

Five minutes later, and they were pulling into a gas station, just as Peter asked. Fury, to Peter's utter delight, left the car with him — with his phone laid down on the car seat, the earpiece now gone and out of sight. Peter couldn't help but cheer to himself.

"You seem convinced that someone was listening," Fury asked right off the bat, as soon as they entered the men's bathroom. Peter leaned back into the sink, hands supporting himself against it. "And, considering that you were willing to talk to me, it's not SHIELD that you're worried about."

'Funny you should say that,' he thought. Peter hummed but didn't dignify the statement with a response — it was, indeed, SHIELD that was compromised, after all.

"Now spill," Fury pushed on, not wasting a second once he realised Peter's reluctance to answer. His hand shifted in his pocket. "Who are you, what are your intentions, and how do you know about SHIELD?"

Peter's senses, dull but noticeable, buzzed at the back of his skull. Fury was holding a gun in that pocket, already loaded and — he heard a quiet click — with the safety turned off.

Peter took a deep breath. He listened in, searching for the distinct hum of audio recorders or any curious heartbeats nearby. Once he concluded that there were none, he started: "My name is Peter Parker. I'm also a vigilante, Spider-Man. And I'm from the future."

Chapter Text

"My name is Peter Parker; I'm also a vigilante, Spider-Man. And I'm from the future."

Fury stared at him, unblinking, for a long and uncomfortable moment. Peter started fidgeting in place, rocking himself back and forth on the balls of his feet and biting at his bottom lip. He couldn't bring himself to look straight at the man, so he averted his gaze to the floor.

The lights flickered.

Finally, there was a sigh. The dull throb at the back of his mind eased: Fury let go of his hold on the gun, or, at least, held no intention to shoot him immediately. In the corner of his eye, Peter saw the man shift his weight, a hand raising to rub at the bridge of his nose. He was frowning, an expression so exhausted on his face it would make Peter laugh had he not been on the receiving end of it.

"I wish I could confidently say, 'you're lying.'" Fury muttered. "But we have a literal Norse god running around on Earth right now, and there's another one I'm sure will appear soon enough. Alright, I'll bite: when are you from?"

"Wait, that's it?" Peter looked up, blinking several times. "You're just gonna believe me right off the bat?"

"Are you implying that I should not?" Fury tilted his head.

"Well, no, obviously not, but I mean—" Peter sputtered. "I expected a little more disbelief? More convincing? I was ready to go into a rant to prove my words and all."

"Oh, no, don't be mistaken, Mr Parker; I will still require some spoken evidence for your claim." The man snickered. "I'm simply saying that it's not a claim that I will dismiss on the grounds of whether it's realistic or not. So, I'll bite: when are you from, who sent you, and for what reason?"

Peter regarded the man for a second. This Nick Fury, somehow, felt different from the one he'd met and worked with during the fiasco orchestrated by Quentin Beck. He seemed more assured and more collected; less abrasive and emotional, too. He mirrored the face of a seasoned spy that Peter would imagine much better than the other Fury did. There was a tilt to his expression that spoke of prolonged experience and hardened morals that he hadn't seen in the Nick Fury from a decade in the future.

Were they even the same person? Had Stephen's theory been correct, and the Nick Fury he had spoken to was merely a Skrull?

Peter swallowed down the lump quickly forming at his throat, the earlier awkwardness getting replaced by tight unease.

"I'm from 2024," he started, shifting in his spot. He crossed his arms at his chest and tried to avoid direct eye contact. "I wasn't sent by anyone, technically — I, uh, got caught in the crossfire of a fight between two sorcerers, and I think I was shot by the bad guy's spell?"

He chanced a glance at Fury. The man, if it was possible, looked ten times more exhausted than he did five seconds ago, before Peter started speaking. He gave him a sheepish smile, shrugging and waving his hands with the palms turned up.

"Because of course it gets even more complicated with every word you speak." Fury said. "Who are you affiliated with, then?"

"Uh, well, I'm a freelancer? A vigilante? But—" Peter grinned. "I'm also kind of an Avenger? An honorary Avenger, if you will. Or I was? I don't know. But, yeah, I worked with the Avengers, mainly, and I still help them out from time to time."

There, that should be enough. Peter would wince at his own rambling, but it's no matter — he spoke of the Avengers Initiative, which was a super-secret project made by SHIELD that they had just gotten the chance to go through with because of Loki's arrival.

Fury contemplated that, humming. "Those sorcerers you spoke of. Are they, too, members of the Avengers? Or some of them, I suppose, if they were fighting against each other."

"Uh, no— neither of them are. And I don't know if I'm allowed to tell you about them. Doctor Strange— the wizard I was helping— is a friend of mine. I wasn't supposed to be there, to be honest, and he did tell me to leave once all hell broke loose," Peter winced. "But I didn't listen, so now I'm here. Stuck until he's free to take me back to my time."

"So a troublemaker, too, then."

Peter pouted.

A momentary silence fell between them as Fury mulled over the information Peter gave him. The man was looking at him, staring at the emblem of the spider embedded in the chest of his suit. Peter, in that moment, only wished to be able to read the man's thoughts. Fury grimaced, something complicated sparking in his eyes, and then came the question Peter had been expecting since the start of their car ride.

The light flickered again.

"You didn't want us to be heard by others," Fury said slowly. "Who were you afraid of?"

"That's— uh. Promise me that you won't freak out?"

"That is the last thing you want to ask from someone if you want them to remain calm."

Peter hummed. He tapped his foot against the tiled floor. "I can't tell you the whole story now, not before the Avengers— not until Loki gets taken to prison." He looked up, shrugging. "It's a long one. But I'll tell you the gist of it, because it's important. You can't tell anyone that I'm from the future."

"We're on a time hunch here; be a dear and drop the suspense, Parker," Fury cut in. He seemed panicked, in a way. Straightforward and suspicious of something.

But that was the issue — Peter was stalling because of the answer to that one simple question. There was no guide that would help in Peter's situation. He winced.

So better to bite the bullet, right? Rip off the bandage in a single move and forget all about it.

"SHIELD is compromised," he blurted out. There was a little, barely noticeable twitch in Fury's posture. He heard the minutary racing of the man's heartbeat, going off the rails at the sudden admission. "By HYDRA. Had been for a long, long time."

The mood in the room shifted. Peter could sense that swift change, an air of ominous dread hovering between them. It pressed down, a tension almost palpable. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

Fury's heartbeat was still loud, echoing in his ears as clear as his own tapping against the floor. The man stared at Peter, frozen in place, expression as blank as it ever was, and, Peter noticed, he actually stopped breathing. And only that single, rhythmic sound betrayed to Peter any of the emotions he actually felt.

Suddenly, with a hitch, as though broken out of his gaze, Fury took a deep, pained breath. He tilted his head down, averting his gaze towards the tiled floor. Something heavy and complicated clouded his gaze that Peter couldn't discern. Guilt, perhaps, or even regret. "Shit, sometimes I really hate being right," he whispered.

Peter doubted the words were intended to be heard. For a second, he blanched.

"You— You knew?" He hissed.

"I consider myself a fairly smart man. I take pride in being harder to crack and more intuitive than most. There hasn't been a time when my gut betrayed me. Of course, I had my suspicions." Fury admitted, staring away at nothing in particular. The man licked his lips and shook his head. "That famous gut feeling. I hoped that I was wrong; dreaded what it would mean if I was right. I told myself I was imagining things. Evidently not." He waved his free hand at Peter.

It made sense, Peter decided. It would be a mere two years until the HYDRA takedown in SHIELD had begun, which seemed like quite enough time to formulate a theory and either deny or confirm it. Tony did tell him, once, that he only had a mute idea of Fury's sources of information.

"I'm always right. A shame I tried to tell myself otherwise."

"Do you—" Peter hesitated, rubbing his hands together. "The HYDRA takedown was all over the news, back in my time. I can— I know a few things. Followed the news, got a few briefings of 'faces I should avoid or report if seen', and then some insider information after I met the Avengers. Every school did, actually, I think. I could give you some tips, if you want."

"I'm inclined to agree, Mr Parker." Fury shook his head. "But not yet."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Uh— no?"

He shrugged, and then, like a switch, his entire mood suddenly shifted. The man turned around, composing himself in an instant.

"No. You're right; we have more pressing matters to attend to." Fury clicked his tongue. "Loki, namely, and whoever is following him. I cannot allow myself to hesitate when I face someone I know for sure is a traitor, so for now I'll leave myself in blind denial. I assume I can allow myself that, judging by whatever happened in your timeline. Now, you're coming with me."

And then he simply strode forward, pushing the bathroom door open. He only stopped in the doorway for a brief moment, turning to face Peter, and cast at him a considering glance.

"Do you have anything under that spandex?" He tilted his head in Peter's direction.

"Uh, no, actually," Peter shook himself out of the solemn mood hanging in the air. He quickly gathered himself and joined in on the new tempo, smiling sheepishly. "Just— underwear. I tend to wear the suit without other clothes."

Fury nodded. "No matter. Go wash away any blood off your skin, then, lest someone call the cops on us. I'll be waiting outside. You have five minutes; any longer and I'm leaving you behind."

And then he was out, leaving Peter to his own devices in the relative privacy of the bathroom stall. Peter listened to the man's footsteps, echoing through the corridor, until they grew distant enough to be a muffled echo. They didn't falter, so Peter knew the man wasn't simply standing about to wait for him to get back.

He knew Fury wouldn't leave him behind. A liar or not, bluffing or pouring his heart out, Peter had the potential to become a useful asset. He knew, from both Tony's stories and his own experience, that Fury valued that greatly. But there was still the threat of Loki hanging above their head, so there was really no reason for Peter to stand still anyway.

The light flickered once more. The place might not have the best maintenance, Peter mused.

Peter hurried to get the suit off himself, careful to not pull at any of the blood patches that dried to his skin. With the dirty fabric of the suit off of him, he turned to face the mirror, inspecting both his face and his body. There were several cuts littered across his arms, right over a bruise or two. They looked healed up enough, no longer bleeding or throbbing with pain, so Peter simply washed the blood into the sink until the water running down was clear and dismissed the injuries as insignificant. He did it to all blood smears he could find, too, and then, after turning off the water, pulled the suit back on.

With one last look in the mirror, Peter smirked to himself, satisfied.

He left the bathroom as clean as a sink could allow him to get.

Fury was still in the store, speaking to the cashier at the counter about the price of something he bought. Peter approached him as he was exchanging money for several brown paper bags and a bundle of clothes. Fury turned to look at him and then swiftly handed one of the bags and the clothes into his hands.

"What's this?" Peter asked, inspecting the bag he'd been given. The smell coming off of it seemed like a weird mix of several vastly different things, so he didn't even try to discern it. Instead, he unfolded the fabric — all plain black, a jacket and a pair of pants.

"Food. Some bandages and alcohol wipes, too. I assume you know what 'clothes' are."

"…Uh, thank you, of course," Peter sputtered. "But why?"

Fury raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. "You just said that you came fresh out of a battle. Did you expect me to leave you starving and bleeding?" The man turned away, walking towards the exit. Peter followed suit with a wince. "Besides, I can't let you run around in what I assume is a supersuit, spiderboy."

"Uh— kinda, yeah." He frowned. "And it's Spider-Man."

"I must be more of an asshole in the future than I am today, then." Fury hummed. "I suppose we're not as acquainted as I assumed, either. Well, tough luck; I actually try to take care of my agents, so if you're not used to it, it's the perfect time to get used to it."

"Sorry— your agents?"

"Correct, Mr Parker. You're hired, effective immediately." Fury exited the store, and Peter slipped after him before the door could shut close. "To everyone we meet, you are an assistant I picked up from the street. Or we can blame favouritism. Call me a family friend. I don't care. Think of this as a temporary internship in exchange for a favour."

"Huh," Peter hummed. "Alright, I suppose…"

They were approaching the car, then. As Peter hastily threw on the new wear he'd been given, almost falling off his feet as he jumped into his new pants, a thought came to his mind.

"Uh, Mr Fury?" Peter stopped in his tracks, right before they would get in.

"No need for the 'mister'. It's a mouthful," Fury muttered, already reaching out for the door — but Peter didn't let him, a hand darting up, and with a sharp thwip, a webstring shot forward, halting the man's movements as his hand got stuck to the door handle, too tight to twitch even a single finger.

He startled, turning around to shoot Peter an incredulous look. The boy grimaced and raised a finger, pointing for Fury to give him a word.

"Uh, right. That aside, I should probably tell you that— well, I have this ability; I call it a 'spider-sense', and it's basically a very simple form of precognition. It alerts me of danger and similar things. I can dodge a bullet before the gun fires, sense a punch before it hits, things like that…"

"Calling it a 'spider' sense sounds like a stretch," Fury sneered. "But it's a handy power, I'll admit. The webs are on par with the theme, though."

"Uh, right, anyway. So, uh, basically, if I say that something is coming—"

"Then I should duck."

"Yup."

"Duly noted," Fury blandly retorted. "We'll talk about your other powers later." He gestured with his free hand at the one stuck to the door handle. "Now get me out of this. Is that stuff coming out of you?"

"Right, give me a second— and, uh, no, it's not." Had he heard the question merely a year ago, Peter would have been appalled, but after meeting the Peters from other universes, the idea no longer seemed as ridiculous as before. "It's spider silk, but artificial. I invented the formula in a school lab."

"You've got quite the brain in that head of yours, then?"

"Uh, I would hope so. I mean, Mr Stark—never mind."

Fury glanced at him curiously but otherwise didn't pry.

This time, Peter properly settled down in the passenger seat instead of sitting in the back, and to his utter relief, the seatbelt did not rip right out of its holder with the little use of his strength that it required to pull on it. Fury settled in the driver's spot and put the other bag down.

He started the car, and soon they were driving onto the highway, back on the road to the headquarters.

"So, uh," Peter coughed, "What now?"

"Now we meet with the council, and then assemble the dream team." Fury tapped the wheel and momentarily glanced at Peter. "Are you familiar with Steve Rogers?"

Peter gasped. "We're going to recruit Captain America? Really? Hold on— I get to see the first time the Avengers assembled?! Holy shit, this is, like, one of the best days in my entire life— right up there with meeting Mr Stark!"

Fury snickered. "I hired an Iron Man fanboy, eh?"

"Well, of course, I mean—" Peter's face flushed with warmth. "Any guy my age would be— a fan. If they're not, then they're weird. Or holding a grudge."

And it wasn't simply Peter's opinion. Tony Stark laid down his life for humanity and for the world; negative opinions towards the man were met with scepticism and distrust, even in the face of hatred that their society carried towards him in the past.

"Quite an accusation to make." Fury chuckled. "Now, here's your first order, Parker: sit tight and don't stick your head out too much. Listen to my every word and try to remember them. Whatever I say, you go along with it; cut the improvisation to the bare minimum. Capisce?"

"Capisco."

"Good. Now settle in; we're still several hours away from our destination."

Peter, before he became a vigilante and started inserting himself into the world of superheroes, secret agents, and government authority, fully believed that the Avengers' work was fast and sudden. He thought that every decision was made in the spur of the moment, with the enemy standing on the other side of the battlefield. He imagined the New York invasion of Twenty Twelve as a day-long conflict, an immediate response to an imminent threat, as the citizens knew it.

In his imagination, all people involved in one incident or another were constantly on the move; he thought that between each step there had not been a minute to take a breather and settle down.

But in truth, things were much more prolonged and complicated. Peter properly learnt about it during the fiasco with The Vulture. He waited in the warehouse, bored out of his mind, expecting action to meet him right out of the corner in a blink of an eye. He waited for the date of the ferry, unable to take any step before his supposed enemies showed themselves.

Sitting in that car, just as bored with the monotonous passing of trees and buildings outside the window, and watching the dashboard display flicker with a date several days before the main battle, Peter was harshly reminded of just how intricate any mission had actually been to carry out.

He thought he could keep his cool. Stay quiet and focused for the duration of the ride, and then smoothly switch to a professional demeanour once they meet that council Fury spoke of.

But half an hour passed. And then another. And they were only one-third of the way to their destination. He had already finished the meal Fury gave him and bandaged any cuts visible or still bleeding, so all that was left was to sit back and wait.

Peter hadn't got the best track record with that, as with lots of other things.

He flung his legs onto the dashboard with a pout, crossing his arms.

"Feet off the dashboard."

Peter scoffed but politely tucked his legs under himself and leaned against the backrest.

"How's Goose doing lately?" Peter blurted, watching Fury's expression from the reflection in the window, conveniently illuminated by the dashboard's lighting. He almost preened at the horrified spark that passed in the man's eye.

"That is classified. Far above your clearance level."

Peter couldn't help the burst of laughter slipping out of him.

The council was not what Peter had envisioned. He didn't have a clear image or a set of expectations in his head prior to this moment, but seeing those people with his own two eyes still felt a little disappointing. They looked like simple government officials docked in suits, and even the holoscreens couldn't take away the bland look. Only the shadow falling over their faces helped to give them an air of ambience.

Peter was pouting throughout the entire meeting, standing in the doorway and leaning against the wall, hands stuck in his pockets.

Some of the words made Peter frown. What, exactly, was phase two? Did it have anything to do with Project Insight that failed in year fourteen? Was it an entirely separate project of some sort, abandoned after the Avengers were assembled?

He would have to ask, once they were out of the danger zone with the Loki situation. Besides, now Peter got the chance to witness from the front-row seat the day the Avengers were assembled, and he couldn't quite stop shaking with excitement on their way to pick up Captain America.

The building they entered looked a lot like a training facility, and the closer they got to the gym, the louder a certain beating sound echoed through Peter's ears — until it culminated in one particularly loud bang. Peter winced, placing a hand against his ear to try and soothe the ringing in his head.

Fury sent him a curious glance. "You've got sensitive hearing?"

"All senses dialled up to eleven," Peter nodded in confirmation. He rubbed two fingers against a spot right under his ear, and when he was confident that no other sound would hurt his ears, retreated the hand. "Enough to know that there's only one heartbeat in the room ahead, and it sounds really familiar to what I remember from meeting Mr Rogers."

Fury whistled. "Artificial webstrings, enhanced senses — enough to recognise a heartbeat. Got the strength to match?"

Peter smirked gleefully. "Mr Stark— the Avengers didn't recruit me for the pretty eyes, after all."

Every momentary mention of his mentor left a bittersweet taste on the tip of Peter's tongue, reverberating through his chest with sharp pain. He shifted his shoulders and bit down at his bottom lip, blinking away the sudden mist that clouded his vision. It was not the time to fall back into the memory void. Peter moved on.

Fury looked like he wanted to ask some more questions, but, luckily for Peter, they finally approached the source of the sound. The gym was poorly lit and looked unlike the one at the Avengers Compound. At the centre of a room, dragging a destroyed punching bag away and instead taking a new one from the pile, was Steven Grant Rogers. Captain America, in the flesh, hands wrapped up and breathing heavily.

Peter, if he were alone, would have probably squealed from the nerves that ran shivers through his body. He still remembered their awkward first meeting at the airport in Leipzig. He was new to the scene, meeting his idols for the first time in his life, stuttering and talking about nonsense all the way. But now he got a second chance on proper introductions, and he wasn't about to lose it.

Fury spoke up first, leading Peter further into the room. He walked past the net, but Peter was ordered to stay back and avoid attracting attention unless spoken to first. Peter pouted but reluctantly complied — he would get the chance to properly meet the Avengers once they were all on the helicarrier. Mr Rogers answered, and like that they fell into a conversation — a short summarisation of the mission. Peter listened, curious, glancing between the two men.

Peter must have done a terrible job at keeping quiet, shifting in his spot as he was, tapping the floor with the boot of his suit, because eventually Mr Rogers glanced his way. The man tilted his head, and Peter waved a hand at him.

"Hey," he greeted. To Fury, he asked, "And he is…?"

"An assistant of mine." Fury beckoned him to come closer. Peter did, with a spring to his step. "Peter Parker. I recommend you two get acquainted, as you will be working closely in the near future."

Peter reached a hand towards the man, offering a handshake. Steve accepted, looking at him with a spark of concern.

"Steve Rogers," the man introduced himself, giving a friendly smile. He raised an eyebrow at the red fabric of Peter's gloves, tapping a finger against the raised webbing design on it. "What's got you mixed up in the field, son?"

"I might be young, but I have the experience to back me up," Peter smirked. They broke the handshake, and the boy hastily shoved his hand back into the pocket of his jacket. "It's an honour to meet you, Mr Rogers. I'm a big fan. I must say, the PSAs they show us at schools do not do you justice."

Steve chuckled and rubbed his chin. "Oh, god. They still use those? Embarrassing."

Peter grinned. "In PE, sometimes, if the teachers got lazy. Always had those in detentions, too."

"And you know a lot about getting detention?"

Peter's face flushed red, and he lifted his hands up in surrender, at which Rogers only laughed. Fury shook his head, muttering to himself something about 'this is why I never got kids'— Peter turned to him, suddenly feeling terribly offended.

Fury pointedly ignored him, swiftly turning the topic back to the matter at hand.

"The point is," he began, "the world got even stranger than you already knew it."

Peter couldn't help but agree. Ever since the Battle of New York, weird things kept popping up, one worse than the other, until it all culminated with the day Thanos arrived on Earth, bringing with him power that humanity couldn't even imagine. He shook his head. It was not the time.

Mr Rogers stood up, however, turning away, and clicked his tongue, sceptical. "At this point, I doubt you've got anything new that could really surprise me."

Peter grinned, biting back a giddy laugh. Fury smirked, throwing Peter a side glance, and then told Mr Rogers, "Ten bucks says you're wrong, for everything I manage to surprise you with."

They made the deal.

Fury and Peter gathered themselves, heading out and straight for the docks— from where a quinjet would then take them to their next stop. Peter couldn't keep down the bounce in his step, a thrill of excitement shooting down his spine.

To the helicarrier.

Chapter Text

The flight to the helicarrier lasted for only two hours, and in the meantime Peter had managed to have another proper meal — made of fast food again, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and Peter was barely keeping up with his enhanced metabolism as it was, so he had no place to complain. The rest of the flight Peter spent asleep, only startling awake once Fury announced five minutes left to landing.

Peter, truth be told, would have loved to have another conversation with Fury about the future and all the technicalities Peter knew about it — but he was certain that the quinjet was stripped of privacy.

The thought unnerved Peter, something clenching uncomfortably.

Looking at Fury, a frown plastered on the man's face and wearing an expression of focused intent, Peter couldn't help but wonder about what was going through his head, how much Peter's revelation — or, rather, confirmation — about the infiltration within SHIELD had affected him.

He had to push the thought aside as the ramp finally lowered, opening for Peter to get his first look at the view of the helicarrier. He froze in his tracks with an awed gasp, looking out at the sight of the vast blue ocean that surrounded the platform from all sides.

"We don't have all day, Parker."

Peter shook himself out of his trance, directing his gaze at Fury instead, who had already walked down and onto the helicarrier's tarmac. The boy followed suit with a spring to his gait. Despite the chilly air and cold winds blowing at them, sending shivers through his skin, the sun was still blinding, and Peter raised a hand above his eyes to properly see his surroundings.

He hissed at the short pang of pain that the light's reflection off the surface of quinjets and other vehicles around them had caused. As with all of his abilities, enhanced eyesight had its own downgrades. He was lucky that none of the villains he had fought against were clever enough to exploit that weakness.

Peter stopped in his tracks as soon as he stepped foot off the ramp and onto the tarmac. His spider-senses buzzed on the back of his neck, a silent warning of a danger nearby, not an immediate threat but a potential enemy — of being watched, surveyed, of someone intentionally directing their attention to him.

He sharply turned to the side, meeting eye-to-eye with a very familiar face. He sucked in a breath, his entire body suddenly going as still as a statue.

Maria Hill was standing here. Fully docked in the familiar combat gear, her arms crossed against her chest and looking at both him and Fury with an expression Peter couldn't discern.

But she wasn't the centre of Peter's attention. Maria Hill was familiar, albeit associated with memories of a more negative variety.

Because right at her side, smirking like nothing was amiss, also stood Brock Rumlow, one of the few HYDRA operatives that evaded capture in year fourteen and had lived for long enough to return to the scene two years later. He'd announced himself under the alias 'Crossbones', quickly gaining himself a name. His face was perhaps the most prominent during the many briefings done in schools all over the continent and beyond it after HYDRA's lasting presence in their society had been revealed to the world.

'Do not approach under any circumstances. Leave the area immediately and notify the authority,' they were taught at school.

Standing there, only a few feet away from the man he was taught to fear since he was merely thirteen years old and still a baseline human, Peter felt cold shivers run down his spine and raw terror grip at his insides. It was manageable, in a way, his confidence in his own power overriding the initial reflex to run, but he couldn't keep the terrific associations out of his mind.

He tried to control his expression as best as he could, grasping desperately at the lingering awe that stayed still after witnessing the ocean for the first time. Rumlow was looking at him, inspecting, clearly curious but not particularly bothered. Peter's senses told him to 'Watch his back!', but there was no indication that the hostility was anything more than distrust towards an unfamiliar face.

Peter hoped that meant he did a good enough job at concealing his apprehension.

"It's good to have you back, Fury," Rumlow spoke, slowly tearing his gaze away from Peter to focus instead on the other man. "We've got a ton of work on our hands, and people need someone at the control panel. Otherwise, it's all, frankly, chaos."

"Good to know my input is still of such high value among those places." Fury retorted, bland and dismissive.

Peter tensed, expecting something to happen — a shift in his spider-sense, perhaps, or a twitch on Rumlow's face that would betray suspicion. But none of that happened, and Rumlow simply barked a laugh — and so did Hill.

"The entire division is walking on eggshells right now. Everyone's nervous about the Avengers Initiative finally settling into place in their own way. For some it's like a dream coming true. Speaking of which," Hill finally turned everyone's attention to him, and Peter squirmed under the sudden scrutiny directed at him. "Who might you be, kid? Another Super for the team that I haven't been told about?"

The last part was sharp, directed at Fury with a cutting glare. Fury gestured a vague hand at Peter and then, in a similar fashion, gestured at the two agents standing across from them.

"Mr Parker, meet Brock Rumlow and Maria Hill. They're both highly valuable assets of SHIELD and have years of experience under their belts. Rumlow, Hill, meet Peter Parker, an associate of mine that I hope could provide us with useful insight on the Loki situation. An outsider perspective, if you will."

Hill raised an eyebrow, contemplating, but then gave a short nod.

"You've got interesting associates, Fury," Rumlow said. He shook his head. "I'll be asking for a proper introduction later. We should get going."

Rumlow and Hill turned around to walk, and Fury followed suit. Peter did, too, biting at his lower lip and trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart lest he allow something to show on his face. Peter looked around the tarmac as they went, noting the people they passed and what they were doing. Some of them turned their way, but none paid any more attention than one might to a passerby. Everyone was busy doing their own task, finalising the preparations for takeoff.

Peter was quickly growing paranoid. He understood, suddenly, why Fury asked to keep the blind denial. Peter, remembering himself the faces and names of some of the HYDRA agents, couldn't stop feeling like he was teetering on the knife's blade. Even with none of Loki's followers around, every corner of the helicarrier made his spider-sense buzz a sharp warning as they passed, and Peter couldn't stop himself from drilling his memory for the faces he was warned of.

The floor before them was open; a ramp raised to allow a view of a short staircase that led down into a long and dimly lit corridor.

While they were weaving through the labyrinth of repetitive corridors of the decks, Fury turned to Hill and asked for a status record. Peter tuned in, pushing the buzz at the back of his mind in favour of here and now.

"All engines are operating at their best capacity. The cabins are properly loaded, and all personnel is aboard. We've only got to wait for Coulson and the potential Avengers team members to arrive," Hill reported. She passed Fury a tablet, and the man scrolled through it as they went.

Peter peeked at the screen, noting boards of numbers and names that didn't make much sense. Some of them were dossiers on the Avengers, he realised.

"Whom are we expecting at the moment?" Peter chimed in.

"Coulson got Rogers. Romanoff got Banner. Both are on their way via quinjets and will be landing on the tarmac within an hour. Stark should show up; however, Coulson was very vague about whether the guy agreed to help out or not." She frowned. "He's still testy with us after the stunt you and Romanoff pulled on him two years back."

"Understandable," Fury huffed. "But not ideal. Once we get a trace for Loki, I want you to send it straight to Stark. I assume he'll be more cooperative once he has a clear task at hand."

Peter frowned, looking sideways at Fury. He wasn't particularly comfortable with that wording, he decided, reminded of his own 'recruitment' process. He pursed his lips.

They ended up in a vast room, filled with ruckus and activity. Various agents busied themselves with preparations for the takeoff, running about in a long-learnt rhythm. At the centre of the room was a round table, lined up with empty chairs — exactly six of them, which, Peter thought, conveniently reflected the count of the original team members. The far wall looked like glass, gleaming under the overhead lights; the outside of it was clearly covered by the carcass of the helicarrier, however, obscuring the view of the ocean's depths. To separate the window from the mass of water that currently surrounded it, Peter supposed.

On a raised platform further into the room was a round control panel. Rumlow broke away from them at the entrance, moving to join his colleagues at the lower level of the room. Fury, however, led him and Hill straight towards said panel.

They started up a conversation again. Technical stuff Peter couldn't quite understand at first: things surrounding the behind-the-scenes part of missions that Peter had the luck to avoid before. Briefings, he quickly learnt, were the worst part of any job that would include them. He understood why Tony took every chance he could to skip the meetings thrown his way.

The back and forth continued for some time, interchanging between work-related speak and mindless banter, depending on the topic at hand — until one of the agents at the panel on the lower level announced to the room that several quinjets were incoming, confirming that, yes, they carried the awaited Avengers.

"Here come the stars of the show," Fury droned. "Get ready for takeoff. We're going into the air as soon as the dream team lands."

Peter beamed.

In the end, the takeoff turned out to be just as grand as Peter imagined it to be. The cover lifted off the glass as soon as the window was above the water level, so despite still being inside, Peter had a decent view when they started ascending into the air. It was breathtaking — vastly different from any flights he'd taken on Tony's planes.

There were footsteps coming from behind him, he realised. Peter turned to watch, enthralled, as three of the original six Avengers descended the stairs towards the table. It didn't matter how often he'd interacted with them — which, the count was severely limited, all things considered, so he intended to savour every second he got in this timeline — he would be awed over and over again.

Fury came up to meet them, and Peter noticed with glee the moment Mr Rogers slid a certain bill from the lost bet to the man. Peter had a feeling it wouldn't be the last exchange that Rogers would have to make.

Peter slid his gaze to the side, and the first person he'd unconsciously focused on was Dr Banner. A legend of the scientific world, his face was plastered in several classrooms in Peter's school. Despite the dread still wrapped tight around him like a blanket in scorching heat, the excitement from properly meeting the man still made Peter vibrate in his spot. He noticed, absentmindedly, that he started tapping the floor with his foot again. No matter.

There would be time for introductions, Peter assured himself, so he looked off to the side, where Romanoff stood with arms crossed on her chest. And while Dr Banner didn't have much of a concrete point to look at, as every part of the room was unfamiliar to him, so he opted to inspect everything from top to bottom without paying Peter any particular attention, Romanoff had been staring directly at Peter since the moment she stepped foot into the room. He couldn't read her expression, as solid and refined as it was, but Peter got the feeling that she would feel particularly curious about an unfamiliar presence.

Peter met her stare, smiling as sincerely as he could in the face of someone he knew would be dead a decade from that day. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

Peter, come to think of it, only had the chance to properly meet with only two of the original Avengers: Tony, who took him under his wing and stood by his side until the very end; and Natasha, whom Peter met on their way to Germany and talked to shortly afterwards before she abruptly disappeared from the radar. Went into hiding with the others, Peter assumed, as Tony told him that she switched sides in the last moment — or simply dropped the act she played from the very beginning once the curtain closed; he wasn't sure.

Other Avengers either fought for the opposite side or were simply absent from the picture, evidently fighting for Asgard from what he was told by Professor Hulk and Thor. Even the short time after the war against Thanos wasn't enough for Peter to really get to know them.

So it was Peter's chance to start anew. Better provide a good first impression.

He didn't get a chance to do that, as in that moment one of the agents sounded the alarm. They found Loki. A sighting in Germany, causing a ruckus and instigating havoc as he did, already with several probable deaths reported.

Fury, first and foremost, sent Captain America and Black Widow to suit up — they obeyed, Romanoff dragging Rogers towards the appropriate suite with a last parting glance thrown Peter's way. Hill quickly excused herself, directing her attention to sending instead a party invitation to Iron Man.

Peter was already vibrating in place, ready to jump into action as soon as possible, eager to help as he bounced in his place and looked back and forth between Fury and Hill, awaiting his own order to follow Natasha. He finally found an answer when Banner, hesitant and still clearly feeling like a fish out of water, asked Fury for his own directives.

"I'll ask you two to sit at the table," Fury stated. "This isn't big enough yet to send in Hulk. I'll ask you to stay behind and review any data we might grab from the encounter."

Banner simply nodded, lingering at the edge of the room, but Peter turned sharply to face Fury, a sort of ridicule rising up at the dismissal. Fury had no issue sending him on a mission a decade into the future, as hazy as the situation was.

"Oh, come on— Why can't I come?" Peter protested. "I'm a great combatant! This wouldn't be the first alien I've met, either! I've been to space, for Thor's sake!"

Peter probably made a bad call, speaking of it so openly while surrounded by so many agents of mixed loyalties, and he did lower his voice once he caught a few incredulous stares thrown his way, but the words were out of his mouth before he could put a stop to them.

"Your ability to fight has nothing to do with my decision!" Fury snapped right back at him, a spark of interest glimmering in his expression despite the harsh tone. "Loki is currently carrying on his person a device capable of seamlessly brainwashing people— and none of us know of its full range of capabilities. You are too valuable to lose, Parker, and it would be too much of a risk to let Loki get his hands on you."

'You know too much,' hung unsaid in the air between them, tense and sharp like the dagger's blade. 'About the future and about us. One wrong move— and we lose our advantage in knowledge.'

Peter pouted, falling back into his seat, but opted to keep his mouth shut. He threw one of his legs over the other and leant against the backrest. He couldn't fight against that logic, he knew. Peter was aware of the mind stone — from what Tony had told him and from speaking to Vision both — but he had no idea how it behaved back when it was concealed within the Sceptre, and how Loki could manipulate its behaviour using his own magic.

The Arc Reactor did resist whatever effect it had on people, he knew. Tony spoke of that with such unconcealed smug glee that the memory made Peter smile.

He propped his wrists against the table and tapped his fingers against the surface of it. He looked on at the holoscreens that surrounded Fury — recording live from the quinjet's inner and outer cameras — and settled in. Banner took a seat at his side, and Peter was suddenly aware of just how much his outburst resembled a toddler's tantrum.

But Peter couldn't sit still. He'd spent several days in this year now — not a lot, but enough in close proximity to Fury to retell everything he knew of the future that's to come. But instead he was walking on eggshells, afraid to breathe in the wrong direction lest he miss the moment the void started staring right back at him.

It made his skin itchy with an urge to make a move and partake in the action.

He sighed.

"I'm sorry, Dr Banner," he said, turning to face the aforementioned man and smiling sheepishly up at him. "Not the best first impression, eh? Not how I imagined meeting one of my idols would go."

The man smiled, soft and only a little awkward — a spark of confusion in his gaze, and, Peter mused, the man might not have had that much experience with fans, certainly not after the birth of the Hulk.

"I will admit everyone here has made a weird first impression so far," he nodded. "In some way or other."

"So, maybe you can give me a chance to redeem that?" Peter grinned, offering forward his hand. "I'm Peter. Peter Parker. Huge fan of your scientific work, sir! I've read all your papers; I particularly loved the ones on gamma rays. It's fascinating!"

The man looked curiously at the fabric of the gloves of Peter's suit, bright red with contrasting white of the webbing, but took the offered hand for a handshake nonetheless. The man seemed to glow from his words, tilting his head at Peter.

"Well, I suppose there's no need for me to introduce myself, then. I'm honoured."

Peter, somehow, managed to rope Dr Banner into a prolonged conversation regarding the man's work. Peter, himself, despite being good enough in engineering to keep up in the labs with Tony, still appreciated biochemistry on a closer personal level. Tony promised him, in the original timeline, to get him a session with 'Brucie-bear' as soon as they heard of his whereabouts. There he was, Peter supposed, getting that chance at last.

Fury glanced his way a few times, considering and listening, and so did Hill, he could tell, but they made no move to stop or reroute the conversation. Peter didn't know if they understood what he and Dr Banner were talking about, but it was a contrasting experience to how quick they shut down his ramblings at the possibility of the multiverse's existence, all the years in the future — when he met Beck.

It was freeing. So, so freeing, to be able to talk to someone about his interest in science once more — and the familiarity of it made Peter's heart both ache at the thought of what he'd lost and soar at the opportunity to relive it that he'd gained.

He and Dr Banner— 'Call me Bruce, please'— had to switch the topic of the conversation only later on, once Loki was finally captured and the quinjet, containing most of the remaining Avengers, was interrupted on its course towards the helicarrier.

Because Thor made an appearance.

Peter didn't expect how terrifying meeting Loki would be. He sensed the Asgardian God's presence before he had the chance to appear in sight, and Peter turned to the glass walls moments before a troop of agents led Loki through the corridors and past them. His spider-sense screamed at him under the arrogant glare sent their way, the ache at the back of his skull during his encounter with Rumlow paling in comparison to what he felt under Loki's direct scrutiny.

As the troops led Loki to the containment cells, Peter's senses screamed with danger, demanding for him to get away from the threat as quickly as possible.

'Tread carefully,' his senses whispered, low in his mind. 'There's something much, much more powerful than you are in the room now.'

Peter swallowed the lump stuck in his throat, gasping as his entire body flinched as soon as he was out of Loki's radar.

"Oh, I hated that," he whispered.

"You don't say," Bruce echoed from his side.

Peter shook his head, directing his attention instead to the entrance to the room — from where another horde of footsteps echoed, blessedly not alerting his spider-senses with blaring alarms.

The Avengers arrived.

Thor was looking at him weirdly. With a bewildered expression and a strange spark in his eyes, contemplating something Peter couldn't see and discern. He saw that same spark in Loki's eyes just moments earlier, he realised.

Peter recognised a familiar heartbeat before anything else. The sound wasn't quite the same as how he remembered — less worn out in a way, lacking the burden of battle and the vestige of death, and had an overlaying hum to it that Peter had come to recognise in the Arc Reactor tech attached to the Iron Man suits. But Peter had learnt that heartbeats to someone like him were akin to fingerprints, and an occasional scrape wouldn't deem them unrecognisable.

Peter froze, his breath leaving him in a single instance, his gaze sliding to the entrance, watching, transfixed, as a familiar figure entered the room. Dressed, as always, in some fancy suit, Tony Stark swept through the room like the whirlwind of energy that he was, unceremoniously walking around as if he owned the place, talking a mile a minute about the Tesseract and making cutting remarks to anyone who would reach his interest. Peter let a breathless huff of laughter escape him at the awkward introduction between him and Bruce and followed with precision as Tony walked right up to him, standing right at the table.

And then the man turned to face him, giving him an inspecting glance. His eyes caught on the spider emblem in the middle of Peter's chest, considered the rest of Peter's suit and then ended up on his face, meeting his gaze head-on.

"Hey, kid," the man said, in the end, and Peter's world suddenly stopped spinning. "Didn't know SHIELD picked their agents straight out of kindergarten. Should've expected it, I suppose; the guys don't have the best track record, eh?"

Peter winced. The obvious dismissal stung, hurting him more than he wanted to admit. Peter wanted to cry, to wail loud and obnoxiously, to rush forward and engulf his once-mentor in a long-due hug, lean into his chest and experience again how wonderful it felt, back on the battlefield, to be held in the man's caring embrace.

But this Tony didn't know him. Wouldn't appreciate that kind of affection. If the Tony he knew from year sixteen would tolerate it — stand around awkwardly, maybe give him a pat on the back, and say, 'We're not there yet' — then this Tony would most certainly be scandalised beyond measure, if not outright aggressive at the breach of personal space by a snotty stranger.

His hands were shaking, Peter realised. He must've been staring at it without blinking for too long, too, because his eyes suddenly felt very wet, a misty layer falling over his vision not unlike a veil. Peter sharply turned his gaze to the floor, blinking away the tears that threatened to slip.

He didn't see the speculating and uncomfortable look that Fury had given him, the pained understanding in the man's expression as he connected the few dots he had collected over the course of the last few days. He did, however, see the uncomfortable shift in Tony's posture, the grimace twisting his expression.

"Jeez. Sensitive, are we? Relax, spiderling. Who let you on the board?" Tony clicked his tongue.

Peter grinned, blinking away the last of the tears left over in his eyes. He pushed himself away from the table and, with a voice a little too choked up to go unnoticed, spoke.

This wouldn't be the first time he would have to talk in front of Tony's ghost.

"I, uh, I suppose I should give you all a proper introduction now, right? The team's together— uh, mostly, at least—" Peter's gaze shifted momentarily towards Fury, seeking the sign of approval and permission to go on. It felt wrong to ask Fury for directions with Tony standing right in front of him, but he pushed the bitter taste of it out of his mind. "My name is Peter— Peter Parker. I am an assistant hired by Fury to aid the Avengers Initiative."

From there, Fury took over, droning on about tasks and orders Peter had certainly never received nor taken part in, repeating himself once again. It was still a censored version, secrecy kept for the sake of any unwelcome ears listening in, but the man didn't seem to care much about the truthfulness of it.

There was no reason, Peter mused, as HYDRA wouldn't be able to trace any kind of identity back to him either way. Namesakes and doppelgangers aside, unless told straight-on that Peter was from the future, nobody would have the mind to connect the little boy currently running the streets of Queens and the guy in a supersuit that stood before them in the room.

At the end, Peter could see the way the people in the room regarded the story. Romanoff had not believed a single bit of it, he could tell — and her expression told that in vivid colour. Thor, Bruce, and Rogers seemed to be intrigued and interested to various degrees and for different reasons. Tony might've called out the lie outright had he not been put by him into something of an awkward situation just a few minutes prior.

Yeah, Peter hated introductions.

Excluding the constant scrutiny of the HYDRA agents around him, the first major problem that Peter encountered in the past, he realised, was the lack of proper details of the events that transpired in the past few years. The Chitauri invasion, as described to him by Tony one late evening, went like this: they got called in by SHIELD as a response team for an emergency. They met, they talked; some of them got along well from the beginning, and others did not. They successfully captured Loki, but the guy made a dramatic exit, and the Avengers had to give chase — which concluded with the infamous Battle of New York.

He had no idea how, exactly, those events would transpire. 'When did Loki escape? Under what circumstances?' Peter glanced at the display on the holoscreen, searching for a date. It was the day of the Battle of New York, so it couldn't possibly be too long before Chitauri entered the scene, but he had no idea how they would do that.

'Come to think of it,' he recalled, 'doesn't Loki have several people on the side waiting for orders?'

Fury seemed to notice his anxious fidgeting, because he turned to him, a frown on his face. "Something wrong?"

The man seemed incredibly attentive to all of Peter's words and reactions. He wondered, briefly, if that was his way of keeping tabs on the situation from Peter's standpoint.

Peter wished he could relay the exact information he'd heard both from Tony and from the news, but under the scrutiny of several easily recognisable HYDRA agents seated in the same room as them, just behind Peter's back, he had to get by with only vague phrases that had no solid intent behind them.

"No, no, it's good. I just—" Peter tapped his fingers against his knee. "I know that we will win. The good guys do all— almost all the time. I'm just not sure how we're gonna pull that off."

He hoped Fury would understand.

"Reckless to believe we're gonna win just because we're the 'good guys'," Romanoff chimed in. Peter turned to look at her, tilting his head. "Even worse is calling us that."

Peter could see the matching winces crossing Bruce's and Steve's faces and could hear the snort that Tony let out.

"I see," Fury tilted his head, paying no mind to Natasha's remark. "Anything in particular troubling you? You are here to provide an unbiased outsider's point of view. Do tell if we're missing something."

Peter licked his lips. "I don't think Loki will stay inside that glass cage for much longer," he concluded. "I think he has a plan, and he's waiting to use it. No idea what it is, though."

'Loki will escape,' Peter wanted to explain. 'He'll leave the helicarrier and I have no idea how it will happen.'

Fury seemed to understand him either way, because the man grimaced, looking suddenly more alarmed than he did a second ago.

"You know, I think you're not the only one." Fury sighed and then turned on his heels. He said, "I might have to take a look," and strode forward to leave the room, presumably to go check on Loki.

"May I come with?" Peter asked. An idea sparked in him — a simple catch, a momentary thought he caught by the tail and wasn't willing to let go now that it held his attention. "There's no Sceptre with Loki now. And I think— I think I might have a few things to say to him."

"I shall accompany you, too," Thor chimed in, arms crossed. His tone left no room for argument, and Fury looked at him with an expression full of pure exhaustion. "I said it before, and I will say it once more: Loki is mischievous and holds his own misdoings, but he is no mindless scoundrel. Such a blatant attack does not fit his taste, and I want to know what inspired it."

Fury sighed, dejected, and waved a vague gesture with his hand. "Alright. Let's go visit the peanut gallery. Hill, be a dear, and show Stark and Banner a way to our laboratory. I want everyone started on research now."

Hill nodded, and Tony and Bruce both stood to attention at hearing a clear task given to them. Peter threw one parting glance his mentor's way and then followed Fury and Thor out of the room.