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With three doctorates and two masters underneath his belt, having been the creator of self-sustaining clean energy, and least he forget how many artificial intelligence’s that had been scrounged together over his lifetime,

The most Tony could think to say was one thing.

“Goddamnit!”

His genius had seen better days.

A thick trail of smog blew out from the exhaust pipe of Cap’s motorcycle, forming a swirling heap of gray around the bottom of Tony’s otherwise shimmering gold Iron Man boots. He watched, stunned — and downright pissed — as Rogers sped off.

“Shit!”

Yeah, he decided, his lexicon now downsized to only the most colorful words his brain could produce. His genius had seen much better days.

"Are you — shit!” The curse didn’t feel strong enough to express his frustration. So he tried again. “Goddamnit, Rogers, what the fu —!”

Going to pull at his hair, Tony instead smacked an armor clad hand on the helmet still covering his head. He was stuck — dead in the water wearing an equally dead suit, no juice left to get even the smallest flicker of his HUD going. A goddamn energizer battery had more life to it, surely enough voltage to at least get him out of the damn thing.

Wait.

Wait, wait —

Tony’s head whipped around, the reflection of a smashed and crumpled Honda Civic practically shining against his armor.

That was it.

There was an Iron Man shape dent on the roof of the vehicle, but it wasn’t the thing he was paying attention to.

“Avengers,” Steve’s voice cut into the comms, “what are your positions?”

Tony leaped forward, as quickly as his body would take him under the weight of a lifeless suit. He had felt the familiar feeling all too many times before, like his body was encased in cement, each pull of his legs burning with a fire only hell could contain.

“Widow here. Queensboro Plaza, making my way on 36^th Street.”

“He’s heading down 36^th Avenue, Nat.” Clint grunted, the sound of his grappling hook louder than his words. The sound it made breaking into concrete was unmistakable, the archer already making leaps and bounds across rooftops nearby. “What are you doing going in the opposite direction?”

Metal boots dragged along the pavement, sending sparks flying up Tony’s calves — leaving harsh, black marks on the asphalt below.

Natasha let out a puff of air that smacked into the microphone of her comms. “I’m getting ahead of the game.”

By the time Tony reached the car, he was more than out of breath — his chest heaved and he panted air ike there wasn’t enough to take in.

And with one frantic move, he forced open the hood of the crushed car.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” Leaning over the damaged vehicle, he pulled away mangled parts with little disregard. “Still be in tact, please still be in tact, for the love of all that is holy be in tact…”

The radiator was smashed, leaking fluid everywhere. An abundance of oil made it nearly impossible to see what he was looking at. Tony wasn’t sure how high his fall was — twenty feet? Thirty? Hell, it wouldn’t have mattered — if he had fallen from a two story window, the Iron Man suit still would’ve mangled the car like a crushed soda can.

“I’m right behind him, Cap,” Sam added. Wind coated his voice. “Looks like he’s heading for the Broadway station. Not sure what his plan is, though.”

Parts of steel cluttered the way; the hood was crumbled and bent, blocking view of most everything.

With a curse, Tony forced back as much of it as he possibly could, peeling away aluminum one push at a time.

“There is no plan,” Steve was quick to speak. Cars honked around him, but going by the sound of his motorcycle engine, he paid them little attention. “Peter’s not in his right mind anymore. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. If we don’t stop him, he’s going to hurt someone else.”

“Bingo!” Tony opted out on a much needed victory shout and instead stuffed his hands inside the cars hood.

Reaching for the battery, he quickly pulled out the wiring, working it diligently into the open panel of armor around his forearm. Frantically but with precision, his fingers twisted thin, copper threads along the red and black casing that sat near the cars engine.

Where there was voltage, there was life. All he needed was a little juice to get going.

“This is either going to work out exactly as I need it to…” With the connections in place, Tony stumbled to the drivers side. Immediately, he leaned over and in through the window, careless to the broken glass that scratched the metal along his chest plate. “Or this is going to be one very humiliating death.”

Fried to a burnt crisp at the hands of a 1998 Honda Civic?

That’d be just his luck right about now.

A pause stole his breath, though Tony wasn’t sure if it was from the weight of his armor pressing heavily on his rib-cage, or the anticipation that followed each spark of wiring underneath the cars steering wheel.

It had been a while since he hot-wired a vehicle. A grin almost broke free on his face — it was just like riding a bicycle.

“Kid’s got no plan, understood,” Sam chimed in. “If that’s the case, what’s ours?”

“I’ve lost target—he’s picking up too much speed.” A clipped edge took over Clint’s voice, thick in his throat. “Don’t know where he’s going, but he’s getting there fast.”

The wind hitting against Sam’s comms picked up pace. “I’ve got full visuals. Let me—”

“Not so fast. Follow my command—Hawkeye, hold your position,” Steve ordered. “Falcon, drop your advances and get to Clint. Take him where he needs to be.”

Within seconds, the engine came sputtering to life.

Tony clenched his eyes shut, listening as the battery worked itself up, sputtering and spitting with as much energy as it could put out. With each turn-over of the engine, the line connected directly into his suit surged with electricity.

"C’monc’mon’c’mon COME ON!”

“Po… — wer…” Static crackled maddeningly through his helmet, both in sound and visuals.

Tony cracked one eye open, watching with baited breath as his HUD fought to come back online.

“Sou—source… ins-insu-insufficient…”

All he could see was gray static, fizzling and flickering like a television station that failed to receive proper signal.

But goddamn if it wasn’t something.

"FRIDAY!” There wasn’t any response. It didn’t make a difference to him. “Engage Protocol U-332003 — for the love of God, get it started yesterday!”

“Detour to 36^th to pick up the wingless Hawk.” Sam sounded irritated, and he certainly didn’t hide it. “I’d like to make a note now—for the record—that there is no longer anyone in Peter’s proximity.”

“That’s a negative, Falcon,” Steve boldly stated. Screeching tires practically drowned out his words. “I’ve got a lock on him. Making advancement now.”

It would have been heavenly to hear the drawl of an Irish accent speaking through his systems, even if it had been for a millisecond, even if it had been drowned out in static and poor connection.

But Tony got something even better in response.

His suit, rigidly locked around him, opened all at once. Parts that were sealed shut and tight around his frame cracked open, freeing him from the inside. The armor practically spit him out, and he stumbled onto the pavement with knees that initially refused to cooperate.

No more than a second later, Tony shot his head to the sky, eyes wide yet determined as he watched what almost looked like a shooting star come soaring towards him.

He smiled.

“That’s my girl.”

Miles ahead of Steve, the projectile shot through the sky, high above his head as he sped his motorcycle down the streets of Queens. It cut through the atmosphere with a boom.

He craned his neck up, catching a brief sight of it before it continued on its path.

“Tony, don’t make this harder than it has to be!” Steve bit his tongue, his gloved hands clutching bike handles even tighter. “Clint still has four arrows left. That’s four chances we still have to take Peter down without a fight!”

Taking a sharp corner, he leaned his body far to one side, his knee almost completely touching the street as his motorcycle dipped low to the pavement.

At the same time, the resounding echo of a landing missile couldn’t be mistaken.

The sound dissipated in Steve’s ears the further his bike sped away.

“You started the fight, Cap.” Tony spoke through the comms, every bit as stubborn and resentful as Steve expected him to sound. “I’m ending it.”

What Steve didn’t expect was to see another projectile soaring through the air almost immediately after, cutting through the night clouds at a speed his motorcycle couldn’t dare keep up with.

It was a second too late that he realized what he was seeing wasn’t a projectile, or a missile, or anything of the like.

It was Tony.

And he wasn’t just catching up with Steve — he was damn near at his side.

The speed of the Iron Man suit could have knocked Steve’s bike to the ground. He gripped the bar handles tighter to keep his balance. All the while, he craned his neck to the side, muscles tense as he watched Tony fly directly next to him.

“Don’t get in my way,” Tony insisted, his voice filtrated with a metallic timbre.

The LED’s of the helmets eyes blazed to life, brighter than the city lights around them. The sleek and polished metal of a new Mark armor glistened from the head beams of Cap’s motorcycle. The boots of his repulsors kept him at pace, lit to life and discharging copious amounts of energy.

Steve narrowed his eyes beneath his own helmet, the heat of the repulsors hot against his face.

“Tony, we don’t have a choice!” He yelled over both the roar of his motorcycle and the jets of the repulsors. “You tried reason, you tried talking with him! He’s lost control, he’s a danger to —!”

Tony shot a repulsor blast to the ground, aiming for the front tire of Steve’s bike. Only by quick reflexes and sheer luck did Steve manage to jerk his wheel to the side, missing it by mere inches.

His bike came to a screeching stop, tires burning rubber on the road beneath him, leaving a trail of smoke where there was otherwise clean air.

Right at the same time, Tony boosted power to his jets and flew up high, becoming a small dot in the skies ahead.

Steve pursed his lips, his sigh held back tightly in a clenched jaw.

“Kid’s heading further east,” Sam spoke up. “Looks like Iron Man is hot on his tail, too.”

Steve shook off his frustration, his wrists forcefully yanking back on the handlebars as he cranked the throttle to life.

“Don’t lose sight of them.” It took longer for him to blink than it did to get his motorcycle going again, his wheels spinning only for a moment before he took off. “Clint, how long until you get into position?”

High in the sky, a stream of torn clouds were been left behind from Iron Man — tracks that told Steve exactly where he needed to go. He didn’t hesitate to pick up pace.

“There and waiting,” Clint replied, stoic and

Steve’s forehead creased, concentration and focus hard on his face.

"Copy that. Whatever you do, don’t let Tony get in your way. Take the shot when you get it.” A sharp turn that dipped his bike low to the ground occupied the beat that followed. “And Clint?”

“Yeah, Cap?”

“Don’t miss.”

Sixty miles, seventy miles, eighty miles — his bike picked up speed as fast as he could go, approaching a fine line between getting to his destination and slamming into the next wall before he could turn the corner.

Queens was a city, like any other in New York. It was a grid, something that both played in his favor and fault. Every time he reached high speed, he needed to pull on his brakes for the next corner.

Just as his wrist pulled back on the throttle, a weight slammed heavily on his backseat, slumping the bike low.

Steve jerked his head around, startled yet somehow not surprised at the red hair that flew into his face.

“Mind if I hitch a ride?” Natasha hollered over the wind around them.

Steve quickly looked back to the road, offering her only one brief double-take.

"What happened to getting ahead of the game?” Steve focused on the streets, the buildings passing by a blur in the corners of his vision.

Natasha nodded straight ahead, pointing to the road with her eyes.

“That’s what I’m doing.”

Her arms wrapped tightly around his waist as they tilted low to the ground, taking a corner at the end of the block. Once back up and able to increase speed, Steve could see exactly what Natasha was talking about — miles ahead was Spider-Man, his swinging getting faster with each web that connected to the buildings above.

"We've got visuals on him.” Steve could feel the determination ache in his shoulders, his chin dipping as he kept his gaze straight ahead. “Clint, can you take the shot?”

Silence.

Then,

“Buildings blocking my way. Not a good shot.”

The unmistakable blast from repulsors thundered above. Steve craned his neck to the side, Natasha mimicking him. Each gap that separated the buildings they passed by showed Tony, easily picking up speed faster than any of them.

Until a rush of wind all but threw Steve forward, the grip on his steering handles becoming dangerously uneasy.

“I got this!”

Wings soared above them. Steve shot his head up just as Falcon flew ahead.

“Sam, wait —!”

Bright, narrowed sparks of light littered the sky as Sam closed his wings in tight, losing his momentum in favor of firing ammo.

Each laser hit high above Spider-Man, most missing completely as his body swung and bent to avoid the blasts. His movements were flawless, as if there were no bones in his hips to lock him in place, a seamless agility that couldn’t be outmatched.

Yet one hit was all that Sam needed. One shot cut right through the webbing, a bright red laser tearing the string apart.

Immediately and unexpectedly, Peter dropped down from the high skylines.

Steve pushed his motorcycle as hard as it would go, accelerating his gears and leaning forward until his chest pressed heavily on the front of the bike. There wasn’t anytime to consider Peter’s fall — seconds before Steve would’ve been able to catch him, the kid shot out another web from his wrists.

This time, heading exactly in the direction where Steve and Natasha had just come from. 

Screeching to a halt, Steve fought to spin his bike around. His tires screamed against pavement as they heedlessly turned in the other direction.

At the same time, a weight lifted off his back.

Natasha ripped the shield off his holster, barely having time to hold it before she tossed it high into the air like a glorified frisbee.

Steve was almost positive that had she meant to aim directly for Spider-Man, she would’ve met her target.

Instead, the reflection of the silver star cut right through the opaque, dense webbing that anchored Peter in the sky.

Lifting his forearm high, the magnetic return on the back of Steve’s gloves activated with a spark. Vibranium slammed into him, no sooner than the moment a THWIP! echoed in the sky.

Another strand of webbing quickly attached to the buildings they passed by.

"Kid's a fast thinker,” Steve mumbled, barely heard over the roar of his engine.

Natasha ripped the shield from his arm, quickly re-attaching it to the holster on his back. “Fast mover, too. Clint?”

A flicker of static came from the comms.

"Target acquired," Clint finally said. "Aiming to fire."

Natasha shot her head to the sky, craning her neck far behind her as the motorcycle drove past the building where she knew Clint to be.

High on the rooftop and sitting firmly on his knees, Clint held his bow steadfast against his shoulder. Not a single muscle in his body twitched, his fingers tight on the bowstring of his weapon — his eyes unblinking as they followed Spider-Man through the skyline of the city.

A second passed.

He took a breath in, his chest rising, his arm pulling back.

As he exhaled, the arrow released.

It sounded like a knife cutting through the air, whizzing and piercing like a whistle.

Red and blue swung around the corner, sharp and direct.

The arrow came hurdling towards its target. Precise in aim. Mere inches from hitting.

Peter’s body twisted hard as his wrist shot out another web. One that never connected with a building, this time around.

Rather, as the arrow whizzed towards him, his wrist shot out a sticky ball of white. Directly at it, latching onto the weapon with the unmistakable sound of contact.

Clint dropped his arm, his bow falling to his side as he watched the arrow fall to the ground. Heavily covered in web fluid, it dropped to the sidewalk far down below. It bounced like a child’s toy before slipping into the nearest gutter.

His jaw fell open.

“Son of a —!”

He never missed.

He never missed.

Hastily, his arm swung back into his quiver. Four had turned into three, only two left in his holder as he grabbed another arrow.

A rush of wind blew his hair back, nearly knocking him flat on his backside. Clint shot his head around, the residual energy from Tony’s repulsors leaving a murky steam on his night-vision goggles.

Right as Spider-Man swung around the next corner, out of sight and out of aim. Iron Man flew right behind him.

Clint gritted his teeth.

"This is Budapest all over again.” Quickly, he jumped up and off his knees, running to the edge of the rooftop. His boots hammered against the pavement, his quiver bouncing against his back.

Grunting, he activated the device along his forearm, sending out a grappling hook to the next building over. Right in the direction of the clouds ripped apart by repulsor energy. As quickly as he could, he zipped along to the next rooftop, following the trial left behind by Iron Man.

Tony could move faster — he knew that, unequivocally, without any doubt in the world. The only thing more frustrating than watching Peter outrun him was the knowing that with one single boost from his suit, he’d have the kid taken down in a heartbeat.

He didn’t want that.

He didn’t want any of this.

So as he passed by Falcon, the man gaining close traction to Peter, Tony may have intentionally knocked a hand against the mechanical wings that kept him air-bound.

“You’ve gotta be —!” Sam tumbled to the side, just barely scarping by the brick wall of the nearest building before regaining his balance.

He shook his head, brushing off the vertigo that swam in his vision — just in time to see the sharp, mercilessly targeted repulsor blasts that littered into the sky. It was worse than his own lasers, bigger and bolder, faster and more dangerous.

“Oh, that’s rich!” Sam watched as Tony aimed an open palm directly ahead, each blast that came from his hand directed straight at the red and blue swinging away from them. “You don’t want us handling the kid, but you got no problem turning the potato into a french fry!?”

Despite the Iron Man helmet covering his head, Sam swore to every God in possible existence that he saw Tony roll his eyes. Craning his head around, he shot three more blasts from his palm, each lighting up the sky with bright, blue sparks.

“That’s always been your problem, Wilson.” Tony didn’t let up. His arm stayed steady, his boots kept him high in the air as his repulsors fired away. “You think fast. Not smart.”

Sam furrowed his brows, looking between Tony and Peter, the latter far ahead and gaining distance. A quick switch of his red goggles and he zoomed in, squinting harshly as the lasers nearly blinded his eyes.

It was unmistakable to recognize the final blow, the thinnest blast hitting directly against Spider-Man’s wrists. Sparks sizzled and flickered, and for the third time, Peter went down.

This time, he didn’t make it back into the air.

Tony was the first to soar forward, the increased blasts that propelled him putting him far ahead of the others. But it didn’t stop Sam from hastily following behind. He barely noticed Steve and Natasha on the ground directly below them, riding a motorcycle that moved impressively fast to keep up.

Dirt and leaves wafted in the air as Peter tumbled onto a rooftop, rolling mercilessly onto his side, barely coming to a complete stop before forcing himself back on his feet.

He swayed forward as he desperately ran ahead, hitting at his wrists, repeatedly pressing his fingers down on the center of his palm.

Sam let up his pace, his wings slowing down.

“You took out his web shooters," he realized.

Down below, the whites of Spider-Man’s lenses widened as realization hit him harder than Tony’s repulsor blasts.

Sam was sure that even from the ground, Steve and Natasha could put two and two together. Their motorcycle came to a sudden, harsh halt, right at the bottom of building to the rooftop Peter stood on.

Right where the road for them had ended.

High above their heads glistened the lights to the Queensboro Bridge, the sound of cars rushing across nearly deafening from below.

Peter fumbled on the belt of his suit, his fingers pulling away empty, the web cartridges that lined his waist now nothing but sizzling smoke.

“What —?” He twisted around, reaching along his hips. Desperate to find a working web cartridge anywhere on his body. “How — no, no, no!”

It was Sam who met in the middle of them both, equal distance between the 59^th street and building Peter landed on — one high enough that the birth of the bridge met the same height.

It was with a concerned eye he craned his neck behind him, looking at the structure that connected Queens and Manhattan into one.

“Uh, guys?” Sam looked down, tens of twenty of feet distancing him between Steve and Natasha.

As quickly as he spoke, the whir of repulsors resounded to life. Energy that lit with such intensity, it put the bridge to shame.

Sam shot his head over, his throat closing tightly, his eyes locked harshly on Iron Man’s open palm. The distance between them did nothing to quell the blazing hot, electrifying blue that was aimed directly his way.

Tony didn’t even look at him— his sight was set on one thing and one thing only. His head never wavered from where Spider-Man stood.

Yet the beam from his palm still sizzled with activity. Though there had been no intention to harm Peter — each single repulsor blast having taken out only the individual web cartridges carried on him, nothing more, nothing less — Sam knew the same wouldn’t be said about himself if he intervened.

And the repulsor aimed his way said exactly that.

Sam looked down at the road far below him, the red of his goggles concealing the intimidation that flooded his eyes.

Steve shook his head, with tension that could have rattled the entirety of New York city. An unspoken command, one heard loud and clear.

'Don’t move.’ His eyes said it all. ‘Don’t engage.’

The three didn’t dare get any closer.

It was Tony who hovered high and close, yet the spacing between both him and Peter somehow far too much for what the situation called for.

The Iron Man helmet retracted in on itself. The face beneath the metal somehow looked more wrecked than the sizzling, burnt web cartridges around Peter’s waist.

“I don’t want to do this, kid.” Tony’s eyes fastened hard, tight as the knot in his chest, unwilling to look away even as the chill air began to burn his eyes dry.

Yet no matter how hard he stared, there was no telling what was behind the frantically wide, white lenses obscuring Peter’s eyes. He was concealed, hidden by the mask.

Tony only could assume it was panic — fear — as the kid wildly shook his head, his feet stepping backwards.

Stepping away from Tony.

There was no making up the distance — Peter’s pace picked up, his feet moved faster. Further away. The rooftop was only so wide. Only so much space to give them.

Quickly, they both burned through what length there was.

Tony let out a shaky breath as his boots landed on the cement. He could feel his heart skip a beat at impact.

Peter kept backing away.

Tony clenched his teeth. “Let’s knock it off with the ‘catch me if you can’ gimmick, Parker.”

His plea, disguised in authority that failed to reach his voice, lingered in the air for far too long. The silence, stolen by the city life around them, felt like daggers digging into Tony’s ears.

There wasn’t a single sound coming from Peter, hidden behind the Spider-Man getup. It was more frightening to him than anything else. Tony couldn’t take a guess at what he was thinking. Couldn’t assume emotions based off expression. He was clueless, no instruction manual to guide him.

The Spider-Man in front of him didn’t feel genuine.

Didn’t feel like his.

“You want to see who’s faster?” An inch forward and Peter moved further back. “You win, okay? First place, grand prize, it’s all you.” Tony tried — goddammit, he was trying.

And yet nothing he said mattered.

The edge of the rooftop neared until finally, the back of Peter’s heels hit the ledge.

White eyes on the mask shrank away, the black aperture lenses squinting as he peered to the ground below. Down where traffic coursed along the street, where road turned into bridge and high cantilevers blocked the skyline.

Tony swallowed, hard.

"Just stay where you are, okay?”

Tony watched as Peter’s head looked to his left, panicked movements accompanying the sight of Captain America and Black Widow down below. Just as quickly, his neck jerked to the right, where hovering in the sky was Falcon. The red wings caught the light of the bridge and illuminated his figure, blocking his path and his way back into Queens.

His options were limited, bare to none.

They had him cornered.

Tony didn’t want to think of where he was planning to go next.

“Let us help you.” The desperation in his voice sounded foreign, raw. It split within his throat. “That’s what we do, right? This one — it’s our pay-grade, I promise. Avengers written all over it. We can get you back to saving cats from trees in no time if you just...just stay where you are.”

The only thing more painful than the gnawing sensation in his chest was watching Peter crane his head around, eyeing the drop from the rooftop below.

“For the love of —” The hand Tony outstretched was useless — it was instinct. It shook and trembled, faster by the second, matching the exact speed of his hammering heartbeat. “Please, Peter, I am begging you.”

The kid had no webs, no means of making a getaway. A jump like that would lead to one thing and one thing only.

“Just stay where you are.”

Peter spun his head around, every bit of his face hidden beneath his mask. The lack of expression only intensified the burrow digging a hole into Tony’s stomach, horror rolling through the fibers of his every muscles.

This didn’t feel like talking to Peter.

Hell, it didn’t feel like talking to Spider-Man.

Even without being able to see the brown eyes normally so lit to life with joy, with hope, with love and compassion — Tony could tell this was undoubtedly and undeniably not the same Peter from a mere ten minutes ago.

His kid was stubborn, sure, every day that ended with Y.

But he’d still listen.

Not knowing who, or what, he was talking to...it sent a harsh shiver straight up Tony’s spine.

“Give me a chance here, kid. Level with me, just —”

Watching as Peter spun fast on his heels, his knees bending low and his arms tight at his sides, Tony finally gave in.

He broke the distance that spread between them.

"Peter, don’t —!”

A blur of red and blue jumped off the rooftop.

“Peter —!” Tony flew ahead, his arms tight at his hips, propelling him forward. “Goddammit!”

Van der Waals force — it was the most studying he’d ever done on the particular subject. Back when creating Peter’s suit; easily performing the most research while watching grainy YouTube videos of some skinny boy scale the walls of Queens without the technology others would require.

No chemical bond was needed, it was all organic — the ability to stick to any matter like glue. It was part of his skill set — his powers, his newly acquired spider DNA. All Tony had to do was create material that allowed this unique ability to work beneath fabric, to keep the kid from wearing fingerless gloves that left DNA prints everywhere.

Carbon nanotubes — he had been so proud of that inclusion in the suit.

Watching Peter run across the girder of the Queensboro Bridge, using only the soles of his feet, Tony began to feel a burning resentment for his own speck of intuitive genius. 

The very same carbon nanotubes that allowed Spider-Man to climb the walls of buildings while wearing a suit now had him fastened to the dirty metal bars that held the bridge upright.

The kid ran at a pace that didn’t seam real. 

Didn’t seem human.

Especially as Tony found himself falling behind, suddenly putting more and more power to his jets, forcing his repulsors to work harder. Faster.

“FRIDAY!” He grimaced as his helmet formed back around the fragile space of his head, his HUD appearing across his eyes with a sharp, crystal blue illumination. “Whatever his speed is — match it!”

The HUD targeted and locked around the increasingly blurring Spider-Man scaling horizontally along the foundation of the bridge. His body ran diagonally on the structure, as if gravity wasn’t a thing that applied to him.  

Tony had seen the kid pull off some impressive moves before. His strength was never to be doubted; untapped, certainly, nearly reaching the ranks of Captain America and closing that gap more and more each day. His agility went without saying.  

But speed? 

Tony had never seen him move this fast.

He’d never seen any human move this fast.

The heat of repulsors from his boots burned painfully hot against his heels as he pushed forward. Tony reached an arm out, distressed, determined.

Fingers barely touched the fabric of Peter’s suit before his body leapt ahead, legs moving faster — faster, faster, faster —

“Full speed, FRI!” Tony gritted his teeth beneath his helmet.

His body jolted as his suit thrust forward, his stomach dropping at the feel of motion set forward by his armor.

Tony shot his arm out, fingers brushing against Peter, just barely — never enough. Centimeters became their distance, only goddamn millimeters being the rift that kept them apart.

The speed of his jets created a reverse rain from the Hudson River below, sputtering up in the air, droplets sprinkling along the cement of the bridge and the cars that rushed by.

"Tony, you’re as close as anyone’s going to get to him!" Steve practically hollered in his ear. They had forced a distance so far that not even his motorcycle engine could be heard. "Just grab him already!"

The lights along the bridge and cars speeding by blurred into one, a gleam of warm colors zipping past him. Straining forward, Tony’s hand found a hold on Peter’s wrist, the metal coating his fingers sinking in to the fabric of the kid’s suit.

“Peter!”

His hand clasped around bone, gripping Peter tight, giving one hard yank at his arm before —

“Pe — guHCKK!”

Sprouts birthed of oil and sludge shot out without warning, coils launching out like possessed limbs, screeching a scream so loud that not even the overpass of traffic could muffle the noise.

Each strand slammed into Tony’s body, a direct attack. The force sent him spiraling through the air, his body spinning. Uncontrolled flight that sent his HUD haywire.

FRIDAY’s diligently designed code worked quickly to fire the repulsors back to life — though they flickered and fluttered upon reboot. Tony hastily fought to regain his balance, fumbling with flailing legs to stay vertical in the air.

By the time he was flying upright, he realized he’d already lost miles of distance on Peter.

"Grabbing him is not gunna happen, Cap!" Tony shook his head, blinking away the dizziness that had gave stars to an otherwise starless skyline.

It took two and a half seconds for his HUD to come back in view. Tony was sure of it, because every damn second counted, and he counted each one wasted. With blazing jets, he shot forward, dashing across the Queensboro Bridge.

"I’ve got Clint positioned on the other side at 60^th street," Sam broke through the comms. "Making my way back now!"

“FRIDAY, get a lock on him.” Tony narrowed his eyes hard as he focused intently on his HUD. “I need more than the documents from OsCorp. I want a full analysis on this virus. Now!”

His shoulders pulled back at the force of his thrusters, speeding ahead and yet still so far behind. The red and blue figure racing across the bridge became more and more of a blur, a tiny speck the further it went.

The circular radar danced across his vision, bouncing from one corner to another. It struggled to land and stay in one spot.

His teeth gritted against one another, a pain in his jaw taut with tension.

“Kid certainly ate his Wheaties this morning.” Tony briefly savored the sound of honking traffic, the rush of cars just enough to ignore the enormous, inescapable panic that erupted from within. Adrenaline was quickly turning into fear, entering forcibly.

The halfway point of the bridge had long since been met. If Spider-Man kept at this pace, he’d be crossing into the city any moment now.

Tony pushed harder, the water below the bridge now splashing up at full force, drenching the lower half of his suit. It sounded like pennies hitting his armor, clinking in a chaotic pattern. The only thing more tumultuous was the radar darting across his HUD, never fixating on one spot.

Until finally,

Tony wasn’t sure he had heard anything more beautiful in his life.

FRIDAY’s voice accompanied a target lock on his HUD, flashing rapidly with success. No sooner after her announcement did an assortment of data flood his screen, taking up nearly every inch of space. Only his line of sight to Peter remained clear.

He was closing the distance. Just as the bridge was coming to an end, right on the other side — right where the city began.

For being an AI, there was simply too much life in her voice. Trepidation lined her Irish accent in a way only he should be able to feel.

As Tony flew forward, instinctively, he held his breath.

The HUD highlighted an image to the right of his screen, what looked to be a scan of a brain — surely Peter’s.

FRIDAY confirmed his suspicions. Even without a larger picture to study, and even without being anything remotely close to a medical doctor, Tony could tell that something was one-hundred-percent wrong with that scan.

Tony could feel the skin around on his face tighten as his eyes studied the images. “It’s a growing infection, got it.”

Numbers began to toll downwards in the other corner of his HUD. A countdown. Miles that turned into feet, the distance left before the bridge came to an end and they entered the city entirely.

Queens was one thing. Manhattan was another. Too many eyes, too many camera’s. If this mess got over there, then there’d be no recovering from the damage.

“You telling me the kid is schizophrenic now?” His tongue burned at the taste of his own words. Every passing second and the situation was becoming more of a living nightmare.

The data on his HUD rearranged, bringing different images closer to the forefront while others were shuffled to the back. His eyes multi-tasked between them, keeping a lock on the running figure ahead.

FRIDAY’s voice was labored with stress.

Three quarters of the bridge had passed, and the countdown in the corner was approaching double digits. Tony’s arms ached as his repulsors went harder.

"The runaway act…” Closer, closer, closer...his teeth gritted as the distance between them began to dissipate, “it’s not him deciding to do this?”

"I’ve got him in my sights —" Sam’s voice took place of FRIDAY’s. Tony shot his head to the right of him, to the other side of the bridge, where the other flight-bound individual soared in the opposite direction. "Cap, I can get him!"

Falcon cut through the cantilevers of the bridge, soaring past the cars on the road until he squeezed his wings through the other side.

At the same time, FRIDAY frantically spoke.

Tony used what little air was left in his chest to yell at the man flying his way.

“Wilson, don’t!”

The attempt was well made. Sam cut through the other-side of the bridge and nearly slammed into the fleeing Spider-Man. It could have been their hail mary, he could have grabbed hold of the kid and finally taken him down.

He never got close enough to lay a finger on his body.

A piercing, corrosive screech hit so hard that Tony felt it in his eyes, stinging and vibrating his entire vision. His HUD shook, static crackled at the edges.

The only thing louder was the impact made to Sam’s body, fragments of viscid ringlets launching out like cannonballs.

The strike sent him barreling through the cantilevers, flying overhead the bridge’s traffic. Taxi cabs blared their horns as he tumbled onto the road, his back slamming onto the pavement, bouncing as he rolled past and through the cars speeding by.

A high-speed motorcycle was one of the many vehicles he just barely dodged.

Natasha whipped her head around, red hair catching in her eyes as they sped past Sam. Each bounce became more controlled, his knees slamming onto the ground below before he caught his legs underneath him.

Just barely, he let his body slam into the shoulder of the bridge, flesh making harsh contact with the metal barrier.

Steve craned his neck around, his brows drawing together. “Is he — ?!”

"Out of traffic’s way, keep going!” Natasha yelled, slowly but surely rising on the back of his motorcycle seat. She sat on her knees before lifting entirely, hunched over but standing as they weaved across the bridge.

Steve kept looking back. “Nat, what’s his condit — !”

“Keep going!" Natasha didn’t look his way. "I’ve got a lock!”

Her one arm shot outwards, the other holding it steady at its forearm. Peter was still far ahead of them, but as the bridge came to a close, so was the space he could run on.

Quickly and precisely, Natasha activated the device strapped on her wrist. It sparked with blue electricity, lighting up the frame of her black suit.

A slew of widow bites took to the air, one after another. As the motorcycle sped along the bridge, and as Peter ran across the outside, the energy blasts hit the metal barricades separating them. Harsh sparks left black smoke in their wake.

Natasha didn’t dare look as the bridge came to a close. She didn’t so much as glance as Iron Man flew far ahead, past the end of the bridge and finally far in front of Spider-Man. Her focus was intent on each widow bite she shot out, her eyes burning dry as she aimed at her target.

It took twenty-two shots before one finally landed, directly on the back of Peter’s neck. The shock was visible, blue voltage coursing along his body, spasms sending him tumbling down and finally off the cantilevers of the bridge.

His body dropped down below, landing in an area covered in green grass, separated from the city along the Hudson River.

Steve cranked his throttle forward, tearing through the remaining cars along the bridge until his tires finally met the pavement of the streets.

They had entered the city, though just narrowly.

"He's landed below the east river 60th street pavilion,” Steve curtly announced, waiting until Natasha grabbed hold of his waist again before he cut a corner that sent them both low to the ground. “Clint, I repeat, below the bridge on Green Park!”

"I see him. ETA three minutes." Clint’s breath was heavy in the comms, his pace making itself known in his voice. "Keep him distracted until I get there!"

It didn't take long for Steve to cut through the roads that took them underneath the Queensboro Bridge. The motorcycle bounced harshly as it hit grass and mud, tearing through at a speed that would leave the soil damaged.

Long before even approaching destination, the sight of Iron Man making impact on that same green grass clenched tightly at Steve’s gut.

The tires of the motorcycle came to a harsh break. Once at a complete stop, neither two wasted a second jumping off the bike.

Their movements only slowed once they saw the prone and unmoving Spider-Man laying in a heap on the ground up ahead.

The window bite to his neck still sizzled with electricity.

Each step his boots made on the ground sounded like fireworks. Steve warily approached where Iron Man stood, hovering almost protectively over Peter.

“Tony…” His arm reached across his back, gripping the edge of his shield in anticipation.

The Iron Man helmet retracted like melting butter, the face beneath turning to Steve’s direction faster than he could take in a breath of air.

“Stay the hell away.” Tony flared, both in tone and in action, his hardened look accompanying the unmistakable whir of repulsor energy. Both were pointed Steve’s way. And yet the simmering heat pulsating from the Iron Man glove was somehow not as intimidating as the stare locked onto him.

Steve’s fingers latched onto his shield, slowly but surely removing it from the holster attached to his back. There was an anger in Tony’s eyes that he hadn’t seen in years. His shoulder’s tensed, his feet slow with each step.

The scorching eyes staring him down looked all too familiar. Steve didn’t want to think about the last time he’d seen that look, seen that unbridled rage saturating through the colors of the other man’s pupils. Just the thought sent a shiver through him, as cold as the winds of Siberia.

“You said it yourself…” Steve started, careful with each word that formed on his lips. “He’s not in control right now. He’s —”

"Mine to deal with!” Tony snapped back, the heat emitting from the core of his gloved repulsor coalescing with the same heat burning in his expression.

Any other day, any other situation, and Steve wouldn’t have dared to get closer. Not with knowing how quickly Tony could react, how easily his anger fueled by protectiveness could lead to an outcome they’d both regret.

A hard swallow came with two large steps forward.

“Not if you can’t get near him!” Steve attached the shield to the bracket on his forearm. The magnetic technology echoed louder than his own shout.

“I’ll try!” The ridges along Tony’s neck became dangerously pronounced, veins bulging as he clenched his jaw.

Steve vigorously shook his head. “You already have!”

“And you’re doing any better!?”

A shot rang through the air, followed by the whiz of electrifying voltage.

Both Steve and Tony snapped their heads to the source, eyes wide, defenses high.

“Boys…”

Natasha held her arm straight ahead, first clenched tightly with a blue current pulsating around her wrist. She approached them both slowly, her feet practically making no sound on the dirt ground.

Quickly, Tony whipped his arm around, mimicking Natasha’s stance. His repulsor hastily redirected, moving from Steve’s direction right over to Peter’s.

Peter — no longer still, no longer unmoving. The same cobalt electricity flickered ahead, dressing the kid in a ray of current, reflecting off Tony’s armor and Steve’s polished shield. A lightning storm thrived on the ground, splashing in the mud and lacing through the Spider-Man suit Peter wore.

What little of the suit that was still visible.

Natasha fired another widow bite ahead, the electrical discharge latching onto its target. Only to die out with a whimpering, crackle of static.

“Perhaps now’s not the time for squandering.” Her words were nearly suppressed in the sound of thick, dense drips that hit the pavement, raining down with force far harder than what sweat would ever produce.

Tony swallowed hard, his throat momentarily quivering, his eyes wide with a fierce panic that ran deep into his pupils.

With an indescribable sound, Peter dragged himself onto his knees. His hands laid palms down in the dirt, fingers digging into the soil beneath him. His back heaved with rasping breaths and yet the movements were swallowed whole, muted by the grease that began to pour down from his shoulders, dribbling from the tip of his chin.

Black oil crept along the fabric of his suit, spasming with each voltaic shot that hit him, the sludge seemingly eating up each taser — one by one.

Natasha didn’t let up. With each widow bite she shot, she reloaded another cartridge into the device on her wrist.

Arm still outstretched, repulsor still lit and aimed, Tony risked a brief glance at Natasha’s waistline. Her ammo was nearly out.

He wasn’t the only one that noticed. Steve’s jaw tensed as he brought his shield up high.

“Clint…” The star of the shield nearly covered the entirety of Steve’s face. “Now’s a great time for that tranq.”

A rush of wind gusted from above. It kicked up enough dirt from the ground that Tony almost couldn’t see what was in front of him.

"On it."

No more than a second later and the wind was gone. Right as Falcon flew high and away, releasing Clint from his hold.

The archer dropped from the sky, nimble and lithe, body stiff as his feet landed on ground below. Mere inches from where Peter knelt, approaching from behind. He barely let his knees buckle upon landing, his only movement the swift reach into the quiver on his back, yanking out an arrow from the container with impressive speed.

“Nothing personal, itty bitty.”

Clint threw his arm forward, his hand clenching the arrow in a death grip, the metal tip going right for Peter’s neck.

“Barton!”

Tony didn’t get the words out in time — the repulsor on his palm lit brighter, but he didn’t fire. Not as Peter spun around, black branches of the symbiote latching onto Clint’s arm, taking ahold of his limb and the arrow that he held in his hand.

“Shi — gu-ahh!” Clint grimaced as Peter snapped the arrow in half, both pieces falling to the ground with a sound no one could hear.

Not over the waxy, slippery hiss that stole the silence of shock between them.

Tony could’ve sworn the sound came from the creeping, spasming tendrils that slithered along the course of Peter’s suit.

If he didn’t know better, Clint was thinking the same thing. The man’s face managed to repress the fear he didn’t dare let show.

Two pieces of the arrow became too many to count as Peter’s foot slammed down to the ground, shattering and splintering the device into crumples of plastic.

Steve’s brows shot up high. “Son of a — ”

"Shit." Tony inelegantly finished. His fingers curled into a fist, the whir of his suit somehow audible through the sounds of repulsion in front of them.

With a pained expression, he turned to look at Steve. A wordless exchange. Muted answers that they never would’ve been able to vocalize had they needed to.

The Iron Man helmeted reappeared from the back of Tony’s neck, reaching over until it covered the integrity of his face, molding around the bone structure of his head.

With his arm still wrapped in black vines, Clint shot a look to the same man, the soldier unable to look them both at the same time. A hardened expression somehow appeared more bleak underneath the bridges lights. The shadows casting along Clint’s forehead brought attention to the distress that his face conveyed.

His eyes narrowed with each drip of darkened sap that hit the ground.

Steve pulled his arm back, his shield raised high, and his chin down low.

With the smallest movement his body could possibly make, he nodded. A wordless exchange. Muted answers that they never would’ve been able to vocalize had they needed to.

“Avengers!” Steve hollered, bracing himself. “Attack!”

Clint didn’t waste another second.

Punch after punch — one handed and limited in range, Clint threw every move he knew on Peter. The symbiote yanked and tugged at his arm, throwing him off balance, turning hits into misses.

For what he couldn’t do, the others did for him.

Steve ran forward, swinging where Clint missed, pulling the archer back when he couldn’t dodge. A synchronized movement, no pause for hesitation, no lull that dared to break the dance.

On the other side, Tony pulled and jerked, desperate to get Peter into his grip, seizing any opportunity the kid was distracted by the other two men. His hands never made contact, sliding away on a vile substance that bleed through the very fabric covering his body.

Tony gritted his teeth, his jaw clenched tight. “Peter!”

Peter snapped his head over, the whites of his lenses growing darker — soaking in a black that wasn’t mechanical.

"G̢̧̥̥̖͖̖͒́̅̈͡Ě̴̳̩̼͈̞̘͛̈̿̑͡ͅͅT̸̨̡̧͓͍̥̅̑̏̍̎͆̈͘͡ͅ A̖̫̺͍͇̍̈̄͆́͗́͘Ẇ̸͉͓̹͓̥̃͒̈̃̋̊́͘͘͢A̼̤̭̼̠̜̘̮̤̣͋͑̓̐̈́̿̾̅͠Ŷ̴̺̩̬̠̖̫̥̣͛͛̄̓͋͑͘͡!̛̥̥̪̼̥͇̆̓͒͟͡!"

Each assault thrown his way was dodged — some without looking, most with little effort. All the while, Clint’s arm stayed captive in the sediment fused to him. A sentient ligament driven straight from Peter that refused to let go.

The palm of Tony’s suit glowed bright, aiming directly at the branch wrapped and twirled around Clint.

"Kid, listen!” The pulsating whir of the repulsor grew louder. “You’ve been inf —!”

“I said G̗͓̲͛ͥ̈́̐Ȅ̝̬͒̌̔̐T͕̺̰̍̿̈͌̑̀ͬͅ ̦͍̖̦̲̩͈̩̮̅̀̏͒̅ͥ̍̏ͫO̪ͧ̄̒̊̈F̯̼͔ͥͨ̂̂͌̀ͅF̦̦̩̮̖ͥ̂̇̊̂ͥͣ! ”

Just as Steve threw forward a punch, a multitude of ooze submerged stems shot out in every direction. The strike threw them back, Clint tumbling into Steve along the way.

Their impact to the ground was stifled over the shrill outcry that tore from Peter’s throat.

Tony grimaced, quick to his knees the moment he hit the dirt, his suit digging deep crevices into the ground below.

“You’ve been contaminated!” Tony shouted, his palms lighting back to life. "Infected!” He held his arm high, unsure of what exactly he was aiming at. What wasn’t attached to Clint and what hadn’t knocked Cap ten feet away was spasming out from the Peter’s body, secretion that convulsed and entwined all around him.

His hand began to shake, his arm trembling at the shoulder. The repulsor to his palm was charged at one-hundred-percent, and yet even as he watched the possessed substance tangle around both teammates far ahead, Tony couldn’t fire.

Eyes wide, he swung his arm away, blasting a shot at the ground near Peter’s feet.

“Will you —!” Another blast. Followed by another, and another. “Let us help you!”

Dirt kicked into the air with each fire that ripped into the ground. Peter stumbled back, dodging each one by a hair, the lenses of his mask tightening in size — an anger that became visible through the substance wreathed around him.

“I don’t need your h͠ee͘e̶l҉̕l̶̡l͢҉p̶̧p̧͢p̷!̴̧! .” His voice reverberated against the narrow confines of his windpipe, a deep rasp that coated his words—gurgling within his tone.

Tony immediately pulled back on the repulsors, locking aim but withholding another shot. He furrowed his brows, unable to see through the cloud of dust that now surrounded them. Not even the lights from the bridge above were bright enough to break through the thick, ominous debris of dirt.

A dense cyclone obscured his view, making it hard to tell if the sounds he heard came from Peter, or his own imagination. Arm still high, repulsor still aimed, Tony stepped forward. Cautious but quick; hasty to configure his HUD into something that would see through the sandstorm that he created.

Yet before he could activate the infrared mode to his helmet —

"Gotcha!”

The electricity startled Tony more than the voice. Lightning rays smoldered through the dissipating dirt, bright blue bolts crackling into the dust that settled away.

A hard look with focused eyes, and Tony could see Natasha straddled against Peter’s shoulders. Her legs wrapped around his front as her body twisted to the side. One hand dug deep into the extended vine that stretched and connected all the way to Clint, a widow bite between her fingers that fizzled with electricity.

The pitch black ivy shrank away, melting back within itself. Precipitating with an airy, whistling cacophony.

Right as Peter grabbed Natasha’s legs — the ones wrapped tightly around his neck — a grip so sudden that she failed to see it coming.

“Don’t T̡͉̭̭̐͆͗̓̄̈ͥͬÔ͓̞͈̲̘ͪ͠U̶͍͙̬͓̿͌͛ͪC̟̲̣̔ͤ̍͛̐͢H̦̳̙͂̂ ̢̦̯̫̗̮̑̎̏̔M̘̪̂ͥ͑̌̚̚͠Ȩ̧̲̻͓͙̲͙͔ͪͭ͌̌̽̋ ”

She hastily went for his shoulders, her hands digging into the crevices of his collarbones but slipping away on the substance that her fingers couldn’t latch onto.

One forceful movement and Peter threw Natasha by her ankles, her body spinning in the air, soaring alongside the banks of the Hudson River near them.

Without so much as a second thought, Tony darted forward with metal boots skidding into the dirt. He could almost feel the rush of wind at his side with Steve mimicking the same actions. But neither of the two could lift a second foot and make it in time.

They froze, as sonorous shrill tearing through the softest layer of their skin, sending shivers down the course of their spine.

She hit the ground with a muffled cry, tumbling into the dirt before reaching the edges of the water, rolling mercilessly with her hands protecting the most fragile parts of her head.

"Nat!"

Clint leaped forward, free of the sinew that had been tethered on his arm. His knees slid into the mud, grabbing her arm, briefing tumbling alongside her across the river bank.

Just narrowly, he kept her from falling any further out of reach. They both came to a clumsily halt only once gravity had done its job, bodies damp from the murky waters — suits covered in filth. A few more feet and they’d both have been neck deep in the river.

He grabbed her by the shoulders, pulling her up only until she found her own footing. Once on her feet, he let her go.

"You just had to train the little spider-brat how to fight,” he derisively said, sparing her a wryly look.

Natasha let out a huff of air, blowing away the now damp hair that covered her face. Restraining a groan, she fought to keep her attention back to where Tony and Steve continued to try and confine Peter.

“Yeah, yeah…”

A deep inhale lifted both their chests, simultaneous, synchronized. No time to dwell on aching bodies, not a minute to waste on cuts and wounds.

They darted forward with feet running through the mud and dirt, the sounds of stifled groans by both men ahead overtaken in reverberating screeches. Sounds that seemed to stem not from Peter’s mouth, but the very marrow of his body.

"Peter!” Tony shouted, his voice growing hoarse, his words a broken record. “Kid, this isn’t you! This isn’t —”

"G̖͙̳̝̘E̲̞̗̪̖͕T͖̺͕̞͎͍ ̯͙̳͇̦ͅA͓̙̹̥̗̻̯̥W̯͖͈̫̻A̪Y͈̩̲̤̳ͅ!̮̙̜̪̯͙͓̠"

His arm reached out for Tony, a curled fist never making contact. It was what grew from his suit that latched onto the red and gold armor, curling around Tony’s torso before lifting him off the ground.

Tony grimaced, his teeth grinding. His chest constricted as his heart beat wildly, his HUD fizzling into static and sending alarms in every direction of his line of vision.

He lifted his arm, the palm of his repulsor blazing hot, whirring into full power.

Aim, target. Lock.

Shoot.

Peter whirred around, grabbing Steve’s arm — the arm that held his shield.

Steve’s eyes grew wide as the repulsor blast hit straight ahead, colliding with the star right in the middle of the Vibranium plate.

It bounced off like rubber.

Tony barely had time for shock. “Shi —!”

The spineless hold on his waist released as the blast of his own repulsor energy shot him through the sky. His boots sputtered to life, jets quick to keep him balanced in the air, to prevent a hurdle like Natasha’s just mere seconds ago.

With his arm still in Peter’s grasp, Steve ground his teeth, throwing a hard punch with his free hand. Knuckles struck Peter in the open spot between his rib-cage.

"Parker!” Steve yelled, his arm released and his shield back where he could use it. And he did, throwing the shield forward as Peter darted towards him.

It was the barrier between them both.

“You’re better than this! I know that — you know it!” Steve grunted as he dug his boots into the dirt, struggling to stay in place. Peter pressed both hands against the front of Steve’s shield, pushing him, dragging his feet backward. “Listen to us and stay down! ”

The pause of stagnate movement was all Clint needed. With Natasha on his left, he ran forward, an arrow clenched tightly in his grip. His body followed the widow bite she shot into the air. It latched onto the back of Peter’s shoulder like a magnet to metal.

Steve kept his ground, his knees buckling as he pushed against Peter. Black twines reached over the edges of his shield.

Electricity seared in the air, the smell of burning oil overwhelming as it hit their nostrils.

The widow bite unfazed Peter.

Clint’s attack, however —

"Barton!”

“Clint!”

Neither Steve nor Natasha’s shouts could be heard over the sound of Clint’s body hitting the bridge’s brick pillar.

His back met the wall with force, his face crumbling at impact — his mouth shut tight as Peter shoved him against the column containing all of Queen’s traffic.

The arrow was stolen from his grip. The bow he clutched with his other hand was knocked away, not by Peter’s hand, not by a kick or shove.

Clint craned his head down below to where his weapon laid, skidding into the dirt, a crawling black substance slithering away from it. He went to grab the hold on his chest, his hands slipping on contact, realizing too late that it was neither Peter’s hands or his feet that had pushed him against the pillar.

Tony soared above, his legs outstretching in front of him with jets that pulsated heat into the air. “Barton, watch ou —!”

The sharp edge of a metal arrow scraped against the skin of Clint’s cheek, a shallow cut that barely brought blood to the surface. Hardened brick cracked behind him, fracturing and splintering with pieces that fell onto his shoulder.

Clint shot his head up, eyes wide and bulging, his chest suspended with a breath fixed in his lungs. Just barely, with his eyes tugging to the side, Clint could make out the arrow.

His arrow, embedded in the brick wall behind him.

The shaft cracked in two as Peter broke it in half, the arrowhead staying in the pillar. Fluid spilled down the column upholding the bridge, dripping with a liquid so strong, so poisonous to the average human that had Peter aimed to hit, Clint was sure he’d be dead.

A thin line of blood trickled down from his cut, the shallow slit in his skin made by his own weapon.

The very thought was enough to still every muscle in his body, aside from a hard swallow that visibly rattled his throat.

Peter's hands shook as he dropped the broken half of the arrow to the ground. The lenses of his mask constricted, the creeping black latching onto the bends of his shoulders travelling upward.

"N̳̥͓̺̞o͔̞̦t͈̺͉̰̗̝ͅh͎̩͕͉̯i̖̪̦n̹̜g̫͕̬̩̳̥͙̼ ͎͇̙p̞̘͎̤̥e̮̦r̹̱̞͖̜̰͍̳̤s̹̱o͉͈͔͍͖̟͚̠n͍̗̫̙̤̬̪̙ͅḁ͖l̯̫͈̱͎ͅ?̖̥̯"

Too busy staring at the metal spear now buried deep into the brick behind him, Clint failed to notice Natasha’s attack from the side.

He would’ve warned her had he did.

“DON’҉T!" Peter spun fast on his heels, grabbing Natasha’s arm, a sizzling widow bite resting in her grip.

Her last, from the looks of her belt. Empty of any more ammo.

One arm captive, Natasha lifted the other.

Peter latched onto that one as well.

Jets roared as Tony lifted himself higher in the air, putting further distance between them.

“Parker!” His shout was barely audible as a slew of hot beads shot down below, densely contained repulsor blasts that rained out from the center of his palm. They beat against Peter’s back, sparking with bright heat as they landed — gaining no attention from the teenager.

Steve noticed, acting quickly as Peter’s grip on both Natasha’s hands grew noticeably tighter. One swift move and he tossed his shield forward, the Vibranium zipping through the air at the same speed of each blast Tony fired.

A sickeningly crack caught them off guard, one that didn’t come from the Steve’s shield landing on target.

Blackened tentacles latched onto the shield — consuming it, hiding it. Right as a long sinew of symbiote grew from Peter’s chest, wrapping around Natasha’s legs before she could gain leverage to escape.

As quickly as her eyes grew wide, she narrowed them with deep crease spreading along her forehead.

Steve froze, unable to read the emotion that suddenly overtook her face.

"͛T̿͆̿̊hͨa̽̄ͣͥͮ͌t͒ͩ̀̃ͣ ̉͋̒͌ͫfͪͦͦ̓̑ͪ̚eͮ̽͌̊̐̉ͭe͊̔̅́́̇̚l̒̏͗ͥͪͧ͛ȋn̑g ̐ͩ̌ͤyͯ͒ͨ̓ͫ͂ó͂͌u̾̉̌͒̿͌͐ ̒ͯȟaͩͧ̋v̓e̋̽ͤ̏̔̐̅ ͂ͧ̿͐͆͋ͣr̀̏͂̌ͧi̐̎̃̓ͣ̒ͦg̾̍̎͑ͫ̑̋hͨtͨͦ͋ ̑̔̍ͮn͆̐ͪ͌͆͌̑o͂͋ẅ͋͑̚?"

Peter cocked his head to the side, one lens opening wide while the other nearly twitched into a close. His face neared closer to Natasha’s, inching forward until vines of sludge brushed against her skin.

"͉̫͙̭̱U̝ͅs͇͔̰̫̘e͈ ̞i͓̭̤̺̗̠͕̮t̻͍͔͎!̘̣̝̣̳̪"

Off to the side, Clint practically surged forward. “Nat —!”

Tony soared down from the sky. “Peter, don’t!”

Neither got to her in time.

The strand of symbiote attached to her legs worked by itself, as if it were its own entity, moving without Peter controlling it. It swung into the air, a crane without control. Tossing her body into the sky like a rag-doll without any limbs to hold her down.

The sky ruptured with lightning, pulsating with blood red waves that raged through and through.

Any commands Tony sent through his suit went unheard. The HUD within his helmet immediately wiped away with a layer of static, too bright for his eyes to handle.

“FRIDAY!” His jets rolled to a hard stop mid-flight, his hand automatically raising to his face — blocking the light that blinded his vision. “Shit — Rogers!”

Chaotic, red hot energy pirouetted down with a wail, coursing along the buildings of Queens, into the streets of the city. It fell from the sky with a twist, wrapping around in glowing crimson with a surreal, almost magical thickness.

Steve’s voice was strained as he spoke through the comms, one hand covering his brow to lessen the hardship on his eyes.

Only once it dissipated, washed away like heavy rain, was Tony able to regain focus.

His HUD flickered back to life, narrowing in on multiple bodies that stood below him — Steve standing tall, his shield held firmly in front of him.

Clint barely a foot behind, arm pulled back with tension, arrow between two fingers. A now empty quiver on his back.

Tony snapped his neck up high, looking around to the heights of the buildings he floated over. Far to his left and he found Sam, his wings just barely keeping him afloat, his red goggles masking any expression he may have carried.

He was closer to the bridge than any of them, a firm distance kept from the river bank. From the way his one wing sputtered and sparked, Tony easily made the assumption that his suit had been damaged in his fall.

They were the only two air bound.

Or so they should have been.

The coiling, maroon cyclone gleamed with intensity as it drew closer to the ground, coloring the dark waters of the river bank with rouge blush that no other light could set off.

Tony’s eyes followed the source. Only once the blazing storm came to a stop, did his eyes do the same.

“Huh.” The words slipped out before Tony could process anything more. “I’ll be damned.”

In the air, Natasha hovered barely a few feet from the same height as both Sam and Tony. No suit, no wings to keep her air-bound. Rich crimson entwined around her, dispelling along the dirt and mud below, reaching the ground and becoming a thick fog that covered the sands.

Slowly, the energy enveloping her began to descend, bringing her to the ground with a gradualness — almost gentleness that seemed illusory. Unreal.

If Tony hadn’t seen it before, he’d damned well assume it was.

Clint's strained, stiffened voice broke through their trance. “I’ve got a lock, I’m taking it —!”

"Don’t!” Steve shouted. He threw his arm out towards Clint, palm outstretched to match his command. The other kept his shield high.

Clint threw his head over. “He’s not moving, this is our chance —!”

"That’s your last arrow,” Steve bent at the knees, his stance becoming defensive, “and you know it won’t break through her magic.”

Tony slowly gravitated downward, almost matching the same speed and height as the girl far in front of him. There was a vivid difference between them, though — her descent was brought on solely by the out pour of magic flooding through her very skin.

“Peter…”

Wanda’s feet landed on the ground no later than Natasha’s, the distance between the two noticeably great.

The same couldn’t be said for herself and Peter, the boy enshrouded in the magic that had once kept Natasha from falling to a distance that very well would have killed.

Peter was frozen, trapped in the swirling twister of flaming red.

"Please, Peter…” Wanda’s voice was strong, and yet there was an anguish that laced through her tone as heavy as the red entanglement pouring from her hands. “Listen, and let us help you.”

Tony could feel his next breath pull between both his lungs. The barrier of magic that cascaded through Wanda’s fingers had wrapped around Peter, swaddling his every limb, freezing him in place against his will.

Even with his mask concealing his face, Tony could see the anger it had sparked. A part of him wanted to believe the animalistic sound he heard was actually part of the crackling sorcery that soared through the air.

But even he couldn’t trick himself into that much denial.

“Lê͑ͣ̓t̆.̽ͧͨ̾̎..̐me ̐̓....͇̥̘̝̤͔̲.̝͙̠.͓̠ͅg̘͕̦͚̟ͅo͖̰.”

Peter stood frighteningly still, trapped in layers of scarlet red that could have blended in with the color of his suit, had it not been coated with fibers of seeping black.

The oily substance glistened brighter underneath the sheen of her power. A sickening gloss that highlighted every spasm of each tendril protruding from Peter’s body.

Tony arched an eyebrow, hidden beneath his helmet.

"Anyone want to clue me in on where the hell she came from!?”

Sam’s descent to the ground was quick and swift, and he practically stormed over to where Steve and Clint stood, with Natasha not far behind him.

"Screw that — where the hell has she been?!” Sam’s wings began to shut, the beaten side not fully closing in as it sparked with damage. He turned to look at Steve, who looked less than pleased. “She’s finally got a hold of the kid — let’s grab him and go!”

Ahead, Wanda’s face twisted into something wretched, afflicted with torment that shook her hands into trembles visible from far away.

Whereas Tony kept his eyes glued to Peter, it was Steve who couldn’t look away from Wanda. Only slightly did he lower his shield.

“This is not you.” She swallowed heavily, shaking her head. Her fingers moved in demented ways, joints cracking with each out-pour of magic that slewed from her skin. “You are not well.”

Peter’s chin dipped low, the dark chemicals creeping up from his shoulders reaching higher, becoming larger.

“͓̩̲̘̣̘L̼͙͇e̪̰͉t̖͍̥̺̦̖͔.̪̮̩ ̣M̘͕͈̜e̮̞͖̬̫̟̠.̭̥̳͔̬ͅ. ̴̛̹͇̬͕̾ͨ̉͛ͪͫ̃͞Ģ̭̩̼̌ͭͩ̇̓̾̕o̞͉͚̫̪̠ͬͪ̀.͈͓̟̠̦͍̞͆ͤͣ̿̌”

Steve clenched the handle of his shield and shook his head. “She shouldn’t be here.”

Clint’s scoff didn’t go unheard. “I told you she’d find out sooner or later.”

Pessimistically, he turned to look at Cap with an expression that couldn’t be named — not that Steve spared a glance to take it in. He watched with baited breath as Wanda kept a hold on Peter, a tremor in her arms quickly becoming an uncontrollable vibration.

Joining Clint’s side, Natasha heaved out a weary breath. “Doesn’t mean —”

A splintering crack resounded like thunder, echoing in equal parts to the cry that tore from Wanda’s throat.

The shock-wave it brought on was forceful enough to send even Tony back on his heels. His repulsors lit to life as he dug his boots into the dirt below.

“I promise!” Wanda’s face clenched, her eyes burning fiercely with unshed tears. Her arms shook harder by the second, what started as shivers quickly turning into convulsions. “We are here to help you!”

Realization dawned on Steve.

"She’s losing control on him.” His eyes never moved from where Wanda stood.

The red entanglement around Peter began to flicker, the black strands wrapping around his body spasming and seizing, smacking into the barrier of crimson that surrounded him like a net.