My heart pounds in my ribcage as the adrenaline disperses throughout my body and causes my nimble fingers to jitter.

There are many similarities and messy cross-overs concerning nerves and excitement.

Too many.

It can be difficult to differentiate between them.

Especially now. Especially in this situation. As my eyes remain fixed on my father and the scene unfolding right before me.

Perhaps if the airport hadn't been evacuated, and if it were still bustling with hurried business owners and important people who I'd expect to work in an office and complain about the weather while talking to their colleagues and clients over an ear piece, as well as families dashing to their correct gate as they jostle throughout the crowds in order to catch their flights in time, then I wouldn't be so nervous. I'd have something to focus on; the chatter and chimes of the airport PA system flooding into my ears.

I struggle to read my father's lips as Peter furiously whispers and reminds me of the plan, for what I assume is the fifteenth time since we left the hotel.

"So, when Mr Stark calls me over, you're going to stay here until the fight inevitably starts, don't come out any earlier because your dad will see you and you'll get in so much trouble-" he stumbles over his words as he anxiously paces beside me.

"Peter, I get it," I cut him off, "you've already told me."

"I'm sorry, I'm just nervous and when I get nervous I can't stop talking. It's sort of like a natural reflex, you know? And considering it's as if my senses have been dialled up to eleven, I kind of feel everything a little stronger now-"

I shoot him a sharp glare, causing him to immediately snap his mouth shut. He fiddles with the camera in his hands as I roll my eyes. Of course, only Peter Parker would think of documenting his first fight with the Avengers.

I struggle to make out Natasha's guilty yet forgiving whisper. I know how badly the constant arguing between Steve and Tony has effected her. They've always been at each others' throats and the relentless bickering would never tire... but this is different. This is serious. It isn't just petty disagreements and my father's ego getting under Steve's skin; it's regarding the law- the future of Earth's greatest heroes.

Nat and Steve have always been extremely close, not the type of affectionate intimate feelings I had always picked up on concerning her and Bruce, but regardless, they were two peas. So, for Natasha to put her friendship with Steve at stake, it makes the severity of the situation seem all the more intense.

Nat never seems shaken or distressed by anything.

But she seems as though she might be crumbling.

Maybe she's reached her breaking point.

"Okay, there's Captain America and Iron Man and Black Widow... who's that new guy?" Peter whispers into the camera, causing Nat's painful mumble to become inaudible. Annoyance sets off through my body and I clench my jaw to restrain the irritation as Peter points the camera in my face, "Here's another new guy- well- new girl. This is Bonnie Stark, her superhero name is... well, she doesn't have a name yet, but she's-"

My father's voice drowns over Peter's nervous and excited murmur.

"Peter, it's your cue. Go," I whisper furiously before he settles the camera in a stable position to catch all of the action indefinitely.

"That's me. I gotta go," he crouches in front of the lens, his body practically vibrating from anticipation, before he turns to me with his voice wavering, "and remember; don't come in yet."

Naturally, I'd already decided to completely ignore his instructions before the order had even finished tumbling out from between his lips and through the flexible fabric of his mask.

I watch in astonishment as he flips through the air with ease and lands gently on top of a tug. My lips twitch into a smirk as he holds Steve's shield effortlessly in his arms, the traditional blue and red colour scheme matching Peter's suit impeccably. I suppose for a teenager from Queens, this would be a pretty distinctive moment in his life. I think for any teenager, this would be a pretty distinctive moment in their life. That shield is heavy, really fucking heavy.

"Holy shit, Parker," a bewildered gasp parts my lips as I watch in anticipation, my eyes drinking in the scene and feeding my pounding heart. My lips curl into a smile as my gaze casts upon Steve's wrists, which are bound in manacles formed by Peter's webs, restraining him.

"Nice job, kid," my father praises him.

Any sort of veneration I had for Peter is fleeting, as his rambling and conversing during such an important fight, causes my eyes to practically roll out the back of my head.

"Thanks! Well, I could have stuck the landing a little better, it's just... new suit," his familiar rambling soon returns as he furiously explains himself, not wanting to be perceived as rude or ungrateful, "It's nothing, Mr Stark. It's perfect. Thank you."

"Yeah, we don't really need to start a conversation,"Tony sighs in irritation, clearly sharing my annoyance as well as the slight weakness for Peter's need to always do good.

"Okay. Cap- Captain." My insides cringe and fold within themselves as he salutes Steve, his awkward demeanour residing as usual. "Big fan. I'm Spider-Man."

"Yeah, we'll talk about it later," Tony snaps slightly at Peter before returning his focus onto the issue at hand.

"Hey, everyone." Peter gives the team a final wave, before abruptly fading to silence. I could imagine his cheeks flushing crimson underneath the bright red fabric of his mask.

I fiddle with the daggers secured to my thigh in order to distract myself and anxiously run my fingertips across the engraved iron handles. I think I'm most nervous that I'm going to mess up and cause something truly awful to happen, or that Dad is going to go ballistic. Which, he most likely will. I suppose I should have thought that part through a little more in depth.

It's a mission. It's a mission.

I am in control of my mind.

"I'm trying to keep," Tony sighs exasperatedly, "I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart." His voice cracks slightly, and my heart aches in my chest.

"You did that when you signed," Steve bites back.

My hands curl into a fists at my sides, my palms turning sticky as my nails dig crescent-moon indentations into my skin. I feel around and grip my dagger for reassurance and discard Peter's earlier instructions to wait until the fighting has inevitably begun; that way we theorised I could slip in without my father noticing and have Peter cover me the majority of the time to make sure I don't get hurt, by the time Dad eventually sees me, the fight will most likely be over and there'll be no real reason for him to be infuriated with me. Though I'm positive that I'd not be the one getting hurt.

I quietly slide out from my crouched position by the tug and march towards my father's side, feeling Peter's eyes glaring at me the whole time. I flicker my gaze to him, as he shakes his head at me vigorously, signalling for me to stop approaching the group and resume crouching in my hiding position.

"Bonnie? What are you doing here?" Steve notices me first, as he tears his blank glare away from Tony.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here? Come home, Steve. Are you all just here over some disagreement? Because, Steve, you're obviously wrong and not thinking straight," I announce into the empty air that stings my lungs whenever I inhale.

"How the hell did you get here, Bonnie? Are you kidding me? Leave. Now. Call Happy, I'm getting you on the first flight home. Clearly, you need a babysitter-" My father turns to me, practically shaking with anger. The lack of sleep and the amount of stress he's been running on lately definitely hasn't gone by unnoticed, and I know my sudden arrival has tipped him over the edge.

"No," I snap.

"'No?' Sorry, did I just hear you right?"

"I'm staying."

"Bonnie, I-" he tears his infuriated glare away from me, knowing that I'm adamant on staying, and if he can't get me to leave then his next best bet is persuading Steve to drop the whole charade of bickering with the team. Even in such severe situations, Tony Stark's stubbornness will never rid. He must have the last word. "All right, we're done. You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us, now, because it's us... or a squad of J-SOC guys with no compunction about being impolite. Come on."

An arrow soars over Tony's head and slices through the webs bounding Steve's wrists, freeing him. I immediately reach for my daggers before Dad shoots me a glare, evidently meaning 'Don't even think about it,' without having to open his mouth at all. His mask slides over his face as he turns to locate the source of the arrow, who I suspect to be Clint returning from his 'retirement.'

Though, I suspect Dad would much rather I used my daggers in comparison to putting my abilities to some use, good or bad; most likely the latter. At least I can control a blade, with my mind it's as if I've been locked away from my body, chained up in a cage, just watching the destruction occur around me and knowing I'm the cause yet not holding the power to stop it or control it.

And frankly, silver linings are fucking stupid. Why would I ever desire to use or associate with the trauma He made me endure for good? I'd much prefer to carry on living as if these abilities never existed to me, and still do not now.

"Hey, guys, something-" I snap my head to the side at the sound of Peter groaning and crashing onto the hood of the tug.

I fiddle with my ear piece and struggle to hear the person who has all of a sudden appeared next to Steve, dressed head to toe in an upgraded and slightly more durable looking motorcycle suit, as they hand Steve his shield and mumble something in a smug manner.

Dad sighs heavily before taking off and flying away, "Great. All right, there's two on the parking deck. One of them's Maximoff, I'm gonna grab her. Rhodey, you wanna take Cap?"

"Got two in the terminal, Wilson and Barnes,"Rhodey replies back, before grunting as Steve slings his shield directly into the centre of his suit.

"Barnes is mine," an unfamiliar voice catches in the breeze around me.

"Hey, Mr Stark, what should I do?" Peter's slightly wavering voice inquires into my ear and I can't help but roll my eyes at how eager he is yet his need for assurance. I can tell this is his first mission, he's clearly not too experienced with thinking on his feet at such a big scale and in such a severe situation. Though, I suppose that's quite hypocritical of me, considering it is also my first mission too.

"What we discussed. Keep your distance, web them up. And make sure Bonnie gets out of here," Tony drones in my ear.

Peter jumps from the top of the tug and rushes over to me. He grasps onto my arm and attempts to usher me away from the centre of the fighting and back towards the safety of the deserted airport building. I slide my wrist from his clutch with ease, noting the gentleness of his hold, and back away from him.

"Peter, are you kidding me? This was your plan, remember-"

"Hold on, this was not my plan. You didn't listen to anything I said! Come on, Mr Stark wants you out of here." He takes another step towards me and reaches for my wrist once more before I snatch it away and clutch onto my dagger.

"Behind you," I catch sight of two unrecognisable people sprinting through the halls of the airport and gesture behind Peter's head. He deliberates on whether to remove me from the premises or whether to resume the fight. With him being so indecisive, I make his choice for him, the latter, as I sprint towards Nat and the enemy in the motorcycle suit.

"Wait, what are you? Like fifteen?" Their voice is deep and sardonic.

"Wow, you have eyes. Good observation." I snap back at them.

"Bonnie, you shouldn't be here," Nat mumbles from beside me.

They continue, clearly not having heard Nat speak, "Seriously, what do you all think I'm going to do? Do you seriously think I'm going to fight against a- child-"

I shove my dagger back into the holster around my thigh and aim my knee for the area straight between their legs, figuring that whoever they are, it'll hurt like a bitch.

They double over and wheeze in pain, "It's the worst, I can't even hit you back. I have a daughter, and you're just a teenager," before disappearing from sight.

Nat pushes me to the floor as the motorcycle man appears once again at Steve's side, and tosses what I had expected to be a toy model of a white truck, which collides with a blue disk and enlarges to proper size. I hit the concrete harshly just in time, missing the van by less than an inch, as it crashes forcefully into the ground and explodes into an angry mess of amber flames.

I splutter to clear my lungs of the thick tendrils of black smoke crawling down my throat, as Dad offers Nat and I a hand, pulling us up onto our feet.

"I thought I told you to go."

"Why should I?" I snap back.

"Because I said so! Look, I can have Happy here in less than-"

"Was that part of the plan?" Nat interrupts our bickering as she brushes the ash and dirt from her suit and glares over at Steve anxiously.

"Well, my plan was to go easy on them. Wanna switch it up?" Dad spits in a defeated and begrudging tone.

Wanda and Clint follow Steve and the rest of their team in their dash towards the jet, due to our sudden distraction from the explosion.

And just when I contemplate on risking it; using my unpredictable abilities for more than just unintentionally smashing lightbulbs and exploding soda bottles, and just when I begin to assume that we've failed the mission; they stop dead in their tracks. I follow their gaze to Vision, the stone in his head glowing and slicing through their path toward the plane.

Peter lands harshly on the concrete beside me, along with Rhodey and the rest of our team. He looks at me, and I can tell, even though his mask is covering his face, there is uncertainty forming in his eyes. I can practically feel his adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream and pounding into the ground, penetrating my skin and festering throughout my body.

Steve begins to march forward; his fighters follow suit.

Natasha mutters something inaudible under her breath, which gets caught in the wind and doesn't quite manage to completely reach my ears, drifting away into a light murmur. I push my ear piece further into my ear in order to make sense of her quite syllables, to no result.

As our jog breaks into a run, Peter's slightly panicked voice wavers, "They're not stopping,"

"Neither are we." Dad.

I slip between the several cars that Wanda hauls effortlessly towards Peter and I, skinning my cheek on the concrete as I push myself into the ground, a wheel barely missing my head.

It barely registers in my mind, I hardly think it through. But before I know it, my arm shoots out at my side, a familiar orange glow erupting from my fingertips, matching the colour of glowing embers, though freshly set alight. The glow curls around the cars, shakily heaving then from Peter's path, though too unpredictable and too delicately powerful for me to master. My body begins to drain of energy. My blood boiling. My skin burning.

Focus.

Until the memories come flooding back.

Not now.

Fuck, please not now.

And it fades to black.

And I'm back there. Killian is inches from my face. My hands strapped to the thick metal bed beneath me. I'm crying. No, I'm screaming. My throat feels like it's burning and bleeding, my skin is painfully stinging; my whole body feels as though it's been set alight.

Stop.

I am in control now.

Then I return to reality. I shake my head violently to ground myself and clear the foggy glaze over my eyes. The fight in Germany.

My arm must have dropped to my side during the removal of cars from Peter's path, as I turn my head to the right and find the silver mini-van I had previously in my fiery grasp, is now discarded and destroyed by the feet of James Buchanan Barnes.

Barnes glares at me. I shudder.

Their fighting continues, unbeknownst to the intentional use of my abilities. Wanda is frozen in front of me in shock, she has never seen it first hand. She knows how much I despise it, or more accurately, the circumstances and causes of what I can do.

"Do you have superpowers? That... is... so... awesome-" Peter chokes out breathlessly as he uses his webs to prevent the sudden cars resuming their action of crashing into us, before dragging me up to my feet.

I brush him off, causing him to flinch slightly. "You don't talk during fights, Peter."

As Wanda slips out of view I scan my surroundings to search for anyone who is struggling, and any people defending Cap's team that may have let their guard down.

That familiar glint of blue and red metal catches the corner of my eye as it slices through one of Peter's webs, sending him tumbling to the floor in a messy and painful heap.

Steve.

"That thing does not obey the laws of physics at all,"Peter gestures towards Steve's shield.

"Look, kid, there's a lot going on here that you don't understand-"

"Mr Stark said you'd say that. Wow," Peter scoffs in disbelief. He is perhaps the only person that I'd expect to have a full conversation during such a severe fight, though it doesn't surprise me.

He uses his webs to latch onto Steve's shield to pull it from his clutch, though his grasp stays firm, holding it tightly into his chest. The webbing coils around his ankles, his head hitting against the concrete in an unsatisfying crack as Peter heaves him over to us.

Once close enough, Peter clocks Steve harshly in the face, sending him flying forcefully back into one of the storage containers.

"He also said to go for your legs," he chuckles in a smug and mischievous tone, as we watch Steve claw himself back up from the ground and regain his composure. He stalls, before jumping up to grab his shield, despite sticky webs latching onto his wrists and restraining him from moving any further.

I sprint over to him, as he struggles to escape from the tight webbed manacles secured around his hands.

"I'm not going to fight you, Bonnie," he spits out.

My hand curls into a fist and I strike him harshly in the nose, his eyes watering profusely with tears collecting in his eye lashes. He clenches his jaw and grunts as I knee him in the stomach, unable to double over due to Peter's hold.

I feel slightly guilty.

He gathers enough strength to rip himself away from the webbing, hauling Peter to the ground as a scream escapes his lips. My hands grab at Steve's shield in attempt to distract him, as my feet knock him harshly behind his knees; he stumbles.

"I don't want to hurt you, Stark," he snaps as he slips his shield from my clutch and whacks it across Peter's head, sending him tumbling to the ground again, though it's only seconds before he's back on his feet. "But if it comes to it, so be it," his fingers curl around my braided locks and heave my head toward the floor, before striking me in the stomach with his fist.

I groan as chunks begin rising in my throat and swallow harshly. "You're pulling your punches."

I reach for my dagger and press it firmly into his neck, as he latches onto my wrist and twists my arm behind my back. I catch the blade on his cheek, sticky blood slashes across his skin and trickles gently down his face.

"Bonnie, I know you don't want to hurt me," he utters as he pushes me to the ground and takes hold of his shield, which fell from his grasp in the brawl.

My breathing turns ragged as I try to inhale more fresh oxygen into my lungs to clear the nausea from being winded.

"Stark tell you anything else?" Steve.

"That you're wrong. You think you're right. That makes you dangerous." Peter.

I shakily pull myself to my feet, swaying slightly while wiping at the blood sticking to my cheek from earlier.

Peter grunts as I watch him hit the floor, not knowing what happened to him. My vision alters as the blood rushes to my head and pushes me off-balance from jumping up so quickly.

"Guess he had a point." Steve.

He throws his shield at the metal pillar supporting the corridor connecting the planes to the airport, almost squashing Peter to a pulp. He groans as he attempts to hold up the passageway, his legs shaking underneath the weight of it all.

"You got heart, kid. Where are you from?"

"Queens."

"Brooklyn." Steve smirks before jogging away with a man I recognise from the old S.H.I.E.L.D files back in the Tower, labelled 'Classified- The Winter Soldier,' so naturally, I read them all.

I run towards Peter and attempt to alleviate the pain by taking some of the weight. I shakily raise my arm again, focusing all of my energy on the corridor as well as the fiery tendrils curling out of my fingertips, hough he yells at me to stop where I am, to leave him. "I've got this. Come on, Spider-Man," he mutters words of encouragement repeatedly to himself under his breath, as he slowly begins to remove the broken corridor from his shoulder. He heaves it over his head, and it hits the floor in a deafening collision.

"Come on, we better... holy shit!" he scoffs in bewilderment as the man in the motorcycle suit has enlarged to a drastic scale.

"Okay, tiny dude is big now. He's big now," Rhodey's panicked voice rushes into my ear as he struggles to escape the clutch of the giant man. He's tossed into the air and sent hurtling backwards, too disoriented to activate flight in his suit.

"I got him," Peter slings his web to coil around Rhodey's wrist, causing him to be dragged alongside him. He just about manages to stabilise himself on top of a bus, preventing Rhodey from crashing straight through the windows of a plane as he heaves him clear from the obstacles.

Tearing my daggers from my holster, I sprint to the giant man and dig them forcefully into his legs, as Rhodey and my father shoot at him, and Peter begins coiling his webs around him in order to prevent him from moving. He gasps as I tear my dagger through his thick suit and down the length of his shin, forcefully shaking his leg and kicking me to the hard concrete as I very nearly pierce through his skin.

A burning and searing pain paralyses me for a moment, and I hiss as the blade pokes through the thick spandex material of my suit and slices the side of my hip. I curse myself for being so careless in the moment of panic, attempting to slot my dagger back into its holster to free both of my hands and break my fall.

I press my palms against the gash while clenching my teeth, the chunks rising in my throat in shock. As I pull my sticky hands away, my eyes catch sight of the blood trickling between my fingers and staining the white material of my suit.

My vision begins to blur as black spots consume my sight, while I pull myself onto my feet and drag my legs over to resume my fighting, despite the tearing of my skin and the wound gaping wider with every move. I grimace as the sharp tugging of the stitching catches on and rubs against my broken skin. Taking advantage of the adrenaline running through my body and dulling the pain momentarily, I throw myself back into the fight, latching onto my dagger once again. My hands begin to shake as the shock sets in, gazing down in paralysing fear at the blood coating the blade and staining the skin of my fingertips.

The voices echoing into my ears from my ear piece seem slurred and unfamiliar, until I look up and recognise the people that are screaming.

My dagger clatters onto the concrete beside me, slipping through my fingers.

Peter bounds the legs with his webbing, quickly swinging past me as I push against the giant man's shins to send him stumbling back.

"High now, Tony. Go high." Rhodey.

I watch with blurred vision as Tony and Rhodey strike the man in the jaw, reeling backwards and crashing harshly onto the concrete.

I collapse to my knees, grimacing at the ground skinning my palms as I break my fall and steady myself.

"Bonnie? Bonnie. Shit-" Dad.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," I bat his hands away and clutch at my hip to hide the crimson blood stains. "It's not a lot of blood," I lie through my teeth, regaining my composure and staggering to my feet.

And that's all it takes before he explodes into a furious lecture.

"Are you kidding me, Bonnie? I told you to call Happy and leave. You stayed, and you got hurt. And you know what? That's on me. Because I'm your dad and I should have been taking better care of you."

"You're being dramatic, it's hardly a scratch." I hope the wavering doesn't show through my sarcastic scowl.

"I need to get you to the hospital. Now-"

"Oh my god, Dad. I'm fine. It's nothing a band-aid can't fix." I'll definitely need more than a band-aid to stem the bleeding.

I squint over his shoulder to make out the colourful heap of limbs tangled on the floor. Peter.

"Shit," I utter under my breath as I sprint towards him, my whole body tensing as I feel the blood beginning to coat my thigh.

I tear his mask from his face, revealing a bloody nose, as he struggles against me. He relaxes in my grasp as the recognition of my face shows through his relieved expression.

"Kid, you alright?" Dad's voice is broken and cracked. Defeated and disappointed. "You're done, okay-"

"What? No, I'm fine-" Peter retaliates.

"You did a good job. Stay down-"

"No, it's good. I gotta get him back-"

"You're going home or I'll call Aunt May. You're done," Dad snaps before he turns to me, pulling me into a tight embrace. I rest my weight on him as I feel the energy drain from my body. "You're grounded. I hope you know that." He plants a soft kiss on the top of my head.

"I'll call Happy, I promise. Go find Rhodey and Nat. Please, Dad." He hesitates and clutches onto my arms, searching for a flicker of confirmation in my eyes that I truly am okay, before nodding in agreement and flying off.

"Mr Stark, wait! I'm not done..." Peter groans as he attempts to stumble to his feet, before accepting defeat and collapsing to the ground, writhing around in pain.

—

When Happy picks us up from the airport, the drive back to the hotel is so silent, I could hear a pin drop. I immediately threw on my jacket in order to hide the blood stains and open gash on my side. I noticed Peter's expression flicker in curiosity when I tied the belt around my waist and flinched at the pressure of the fabric sticking into my bleeding wound.

"Is that the Brandenburg Gate?" he inquires excitedly, stretching over me to get a better look out of the car window. He gasps in awe over the intricately designed gate and towering pillars, complimented with a collection of horses sitting on top.

I remain silent, clamping my lips shut and focusing on not throwing up in the backseat of the car. I swallow harshly as we suddenly come to a halt, a cab in front stopping in the middle of the road and almost causing a catastrophic accident. As we lurch forward, my seat belt locks and keeps me bound to my seat. The edge of the fabric digs firmly into my wound and shifts the open gash, and I clasp my hand to my lips to stop from wailing in pain.

Peter's eyes frequently drift down to my hip and my hand clutching the covered wound during the journey, examining my appearance for any obvious injuries.

As soon as Happy hands us back our keys to our hotel rooms, I attempt to slip through my front door and avoid Peter, wanting to only tend to my injury, take a shower, and sleep for the remainder of the day, despite it only being mid-afternoon. My plans are derailed, as he pulls me into his bedroom without Happy noticing.

He rips the mask from his head, brown waves disheveled and all, and turns the camera lens to face the two of us, as he practically bounces off the walls with energy and excitement regarding fighting alongside the Avengers. During his explanation and reasoning as to why Tony Stark looks shorter in person than he had originally anticipated, chunks threaten the back of my throat, and I make it to the bathroom just in time.

I clutch at my wound, every heave and retch causing the pain to worsen, and the aching to become so intense that the idea of walking, even standing up, seems to be impossible. Peter gently knocks his fist against the closed door.

"Bonnie, are you alright? Do you need to to get Happy, or call Mr Stark-"

"No!" I yell, jumping in fright as the words aggressively part my lips, "No, I... I'm fine, Peter, really."

"Can I come in?" he mumbles, before I reluctantly reach up from my slumped position over the toilet bowl and twist the lock on the door. Peter gently slides in and hands me a bottle of chilled water, the condensation dripping between my jittering fingers. I hold it against the burning on the back of my neck, feeling the sharpness of the low-temperature penetrate my clammy skin and instantly ease the nausea.

Peter sits on the cold tiles in front of me, leaning his back against the wall while I remain slumped in the empty space between the toilet and the bathtub, fiddling with the water bottle in my hands. It takes him a while before he opens his mouth. "Are you alright?"

"I feel better now I've thrown up. I'm sorry, Peter. This is your bathroom and I-"

He cuts me off, "Don't apologise."

I shakily lift myself to my feet before he gently clutches onto my arms and helps to keep me steady, leading me to take a seat on the edge of his bed. I tug at the belt around my waist and slide the coat from my shoulders, the pressure from the fastened fabric pressing painfully into my wound becoming too much to handle. Peter's jaw hits the floor as an excruciated gasp parts his lips; his eyes catch onto the crimson staining the majority of the right side of my white spandex.

I groan as I push myself further up the mattress and elevate my legs, attempting to relieve any unintentional pressure worsening the pain.

"Bonnie, you're... bleeding..."

"No shit, Sherlock. It's not as if I didn't notice the gash across my hip. It's not that bad, honestly," I croak out as I pull apart the shredded patch of my suit to further inspect the cut.

"Oh my god, I'm calling Mr Stark-" Peter reaches for his phone and begins dialling my father's phone number.

"Don't! Peter, don't. Just... just let me take care of it. It's not too deep, it's just a surface injury, I just need to clean it and wrap it," I shriek.

He drops his phone onto the nightstand and begins rummaging through his suitcase, tossing several sweaters and pairs of sweatpants he had yet to unpack. He pulls out a green plastic box before stepping over the scattered mess covering the majority of the floor, removing the lid when reaching the bed and tossing several small vials of various solutions onto the duvet.

"What the hell are you doing? Why did you even bring all of this?" I protest as he rips the material of my suit to expose the wound further.

"Do you want me to clean it properly or not?"

I snap my lips together as he disappears into the bathroom, and quickly returns with a wet washcloth. He explains it's to 'gently clean the wound and the dry blood and dirt surrounding it.'

"Motherfucker! You're a dick, Peter Parker," I grimace, as the liquid seeps into my broken skin and the deepest part of the cut, the stinging sensation making me feel the need to hurl all over again.

"You're lucky, an inch to the left and you could have hit something dangerous. It's only surface level, so you'll be fine. It'll just hurt for a while until it heals." He dabs an antibiotic cream onto the gash, before covering it with a bandage.

"You know, non of this would have happened if you had just listened to me," he mumbles hesitantly as he packs away his first aid kit, throwing the vials and cotton balls back into the plastic case, embedding it back under his sweaters and hoodies folded messily in his suitcase.

"Excuse me?" I snap in disbelief.

Silence.

"I'm sorry, but did you actually expect me to turn up to the fight and not fight?" I continue.

He avoids lifting his eyes to reach mine. "Mr Stark told you not to come."

"Are you being serious, Peter? I don't understand why having you fight alongside him was totally acceptable, yet the moment I try to put my combat training to good use, I'm shut down."

"Bonnie, I-" he takes a step towards me.

"I'm not finished. This was my chance to prove myself, and nobody had any faith in me at all. Not even Nat," I reach for the bronze handle and heave open the front door, my head spinning with the fragility of my current state.

"Where are you going?" he calls after me as I storm through the hallway.

"To take a shower!" I shriek back.

"But I just put your bandage on-" his voice cuts off as I slam my door shut and feel prickling tears threaten my eyes. The calendar by the doorframe slips slight askew from the force of the draught. My shaking hands reach up and tear it from the cream-colored wall and toss it to the floor in fury.

After pacing around my room and attempting to calm myself down to some sort of state of stability, deciding than another smashed lightbulb is definitely something I could do without, I peel my newly crimson suit from my blood-stained body, taking extra care not to provoke any more blood from spilling out of my wound.

I scrub away aggressively at my skin, as the boiling water hits against me and burns my bruised back. I hiss as the water becomes too unbearably hot, reminding me too much of the heat I endured during all of those 'meetings.' I have to stay cold. Clutching at my head as the thick steam in the unventilated bathroom rids any source of oxygen and sends me off-balance, I turn the water to freezing and yelp at the sudden drop in temperature, continuing to scrub away at my skin and my hair, watching the bubbles lather up and wash away, repeating it again and again until I feel clean enough. Until the water flushes down the drain as transparent and colorless, instead of the original deep red tint. Until I have fully analysed the argument between Peter and I prior. Until I have finally managed to revisit the fact I had intentionally used my abilities earlier in the fight, and it hadn't ended up- horrifically.

When the thoughts become too real, I decide to run through the argument with Peter once again. I deliberate in my head, contradicting myself and attempting to decide who was in the right and who was in the wrong. Switching between the sickly feeling of guilt, and the powerful sense of righteousness.

I curse myself for not bringing another bandage with me, yet being too stubborn and clutching to my ego far too much to be able to drag myself back into Peter's room and ask for help. I wrap a thick layer of toilet paper onto the wound, sighing heavily as it crumples to the ground with having nothing to secure it to my skin.

My phone vibrates and signals a new message in my inbox, after an hour of laying in bed and flicking through the same German TV channels despite being fully dressed. I suppose I had subconsciously expected for our plans to get pretzels after the fight to still be scheduled, before overthinking the situation so critically, I doubt I could even look in Peter's direction.

bug-boy
are you okay?

bonnie
piss off, peter

bug-boy
here, i've attached an image of the dead sea, it's the saltiest thing on earth,
second to you. 

bonnie
wow.
took you almost two hours
to think of that one

bug-boy
come on, i'm joking.

I throw my phone onto my duvet and flick through the TV to find a pay per view movie, the majority of them being low-budget rip-offs of huge Hollywood movies, and films I didn't even know were allowed to be sold through the hotel...

I settle on watching Scott Pilgrim vs the World and curl up under my duvet, getting ready for a long night by myself, clicking the play button on the remote just as a gentle knock hits against the front door.

"Hey, Bonnie..." Peter's hesitant voice echos through the thick wooden door, "I'm sorry. Can we just, I don't know, get along?"

I push back any negative thoughts threatening to take hold, gritting my teeth and staying firmly fixed to my bed. Perhaps if he thinks I'm sleeping, then he'll leave me alone and I won't have to speak to him for the rest of the trip. And hopefully when we return home.

"Come on, we're kind of stuck here so we may as well try to be friends. And besides, it's our last night in Germany. I've brought that triangle candy bar, I wasn't sure if you had it in your room."

I resist the temptation to fling open the door and scream at him until the foundations of the hotel come crumbling to the ground. I'm not going to cause a scene.

"I hate arguing with someone who is supposed to be on the same team as me," he mumbles.

I slide off from my bed and reluctantly push myself towards the door, dancing my fingertips across the handle before tearing my hand away, as if the bronzed metal sears the skin on my hand.

He sighs in defeat, "Or you could just not talk to me."

My hand slips back onto the door handle, pulling it open with ease despite the heavy weight. Peter's head lifts up from pushing the key into the lock on his door. His eyes flicker around my face before he tears away and shifts his focus on the door once again.

The candy bar slips out of his grasp and hits against the floor, as he becomes slightly flustered with my eyes intensely watching him. He drops down to his knees to collect the chocolate, before resuming his attempt at unlocking his door.

I clear my throat, deliberating on stumbling out an apology. "I... I need some more bandages," I force out. He finally manages to twist open the lock and effortlessly pushes open the heavy door, before he trails into his hotel room, the sound of a zipper opening and closing, his feet hitting softly against the carpet, it's almost inaudible.

He returns to my door with the chocolate as well as the bandages and antibiotic salve, "I know if I just give it to you then you won't treat it properly."

He brushes past me and begins unravelling the bandages by my nightstand, leaving me frozen to the spot momentarily. I perch on the edge of my mattress, pulling down the waistband of my jeans slightly to expose the wound.

His fingertips graze against my skin as he begins to
delicately apply the soothing balm to the gash, he bites his lip in concentration as he makes certain he is being as gentle as possible.

The silence is deafening.

"Do you still feel nauseous?" he asks me after patching on the bandage.

"No. I feel fine now. It just stings."

I keep my eyes fixed on the floor as he packs away the contents of the first aid kit yet again. "You cuff your jeans."

"Is that a bad thing? Should I stop doing that?" he asks worriedly.

I can't hide the giggle parting my lips over his concern, "No, I like it. It's a good look. Very vintage."

He looks up from screwing the lid back onto the tube of antibiotic balm, catching sight of the TV as I press play and the familiar chimes of the video game version of the Universal theme begins to fill the silence around us.

"No way. This is Scott Pilgrim, isn't it? That's my favourite movie," he gestures to the screen.

"Yes, of course. I should have guessed that Ramona Flowers was your wet dream."

His cheeks flush crimson and his body noticeably stiffens beside me.

"Oh my god, I'm kidding." I shuffle over on the mattress and pat the empty space beside me for him to take a seat, as he passes me the candy bar with slightly crumpled wrappings.

A peace offering.

When the girl with magenta hair appears on the screen, he pulls the candy bar from my grasp. I shove him gently, causing him to slip through the covers and almost topple onto the floor.

"If I remember correctly, you have your own."

"And if I remember correctly, wasn't this supposed to be some sort of apology gift, or consolation prize. A peace offering?"

He cocks his head to the side to revisit our previous dispute and process the statements made. He sighs in defeat once remembering his apology, "Touché."

"But, I'm not a total bitch, Peter Parker. So, here you go," I toss him back the candy bar as a triumphant grin curls onto his lips.

"You know, you're quite like Ramona Flowers."

I groan as the words part his lips and he throws his hands in the air in defeat.

"What?" he inquires curiously at my distaste.

"Don't get me wrong, she's pretty and she's bisexual, so I'll give you that. But I think those are our only similarities. I mean, don't you think her character was wasted?"

"What do you mean?" he grimaces as he sinks his teeth in to the thick slab of chocolate and struggles to bite through.

"Look," I gesture to the screen, "she had real potential to be a strong female character, but she didn't get the development she deserved. She's just another variation of a character whose sole purpose in the movie is being the hero's love interest, get them out of whatever rut they were in, in this case; getting Scott out of his one sided relationship with Knives and getting over Envy Adams. I just think it's a little disappointing, she had a lot of potential to be interesting. Sure, her hair is cute, but she lacks in personality a little. If you want to talk about the real antagonist of the film, it's Scott. God, I hate him."

Peter's brow furrows as he takes in everything I said, "I agree with you, but why are you watching it?"

"It's one of my favourite movies."

His eyes dart across my face before latching onto mine, before he breaks into light chuckles over my contradictory opinions.

"Can I ask you something?" he sits cross legged on the duvet, his back to the screen and facing me directly. As if placing his sole focus on me.

"You're going you ask me anyway," I groan.

He pauses for a moment, "I mean, you're not wrong." Processing what he is about to say, it takes a few minutes before he approaches the question, "Are we just not gonna talk about earlier? I mean, the cars and the orange stuff shooting out of your fingertips; your superpowers."

"Peter, I'd hardly describe it as a superpower."

"Well," his tone is eager and his expression is filed with excitement, "what can you do?"

I hate to be the barer of bad news, but fuck all. I can hardly even process the fact I have these 'abilities', and I've had them for a long time.

"I guess you would describe it as telekinesis, you know, moving shit with your mind. But I can't really control it, in all honesty, it's probably one of my biggest fears; not knowing what I'm capable of. So, I never use it, intentionally that is," I chuckle fondly, "Dad always calls me Sparky, because I'm always sparking out the lightbulbs and the electricity. You'd expect pyrokinesis, I know, because of the orange sparks. But I think that's probably just because of the-" I trail off as I remember the circumstances.

"Because of the..." Peter repeats, expecting me to follow up.

I pause, almost allowing myself to become consumed once again. "Nothing," I give him a half-heated smile, "look, I love this part." I gesture to the TV screen, as Peter's expression crumples slightly as though he wants to press the topic further, though is hesitant of upsetting me or bringing up any unresolved trauma.

And honestly, if I can't even manage to talk about it to Wanda, I'd hardly be able to bring myself to spill it all to a boy I hardly know.

He adjusts his position on the bed again to lay beside me, and takes another grab for the candy bar, breaking up some of the heaviness residing in the atmosphere.

As the sun begins to set, and Happy lets us know the arrangements for the flight back to New York tomorrow, Peter and I are two films deep into my favourite 80s classics and have demolished the all of the snacks from both his room and mine.

He turns to me as the scene in Pretty in Pink when Duckie dances in the record store begins to play on the screen, after flicking on the light switch on the nightstand. He chuckles lightly as a yawn parts my lips, so wide I'd not be surprised if I had swallowed him whole. My eyelids are leaden with sleep as the tune of 'Try A Little Tenderness' by Otis Reading begins fading in and out of audibility, I reluctantly come to the conclusion that I absolutely must go to sleep.

"Peter, I should probably go to bed," I quickly lift my head in order to refrain from dropping it onto his shoulder; my whole body feeling as if it's been sculpted out of thick, heavy lead.

"Wait, I have an idea," he sits up suddenly, a grin flooding with anticipation and excitement curling his lips.

"Okay, fine. I'll bite."

"It's our only night in Germany, and we never got those pretzels."

"Peter, it's eleven o' clock at night."

"Yeah, but, I'm Spider-Man."

"Are you completely forgetting that I was also in the fight today?" Moments before, I could have sworn that sleep was the only desirable thing, the only thing to cross my exhausted and overworked mind; but now I'm wide awake. I feel as though I've just woken from a month long hibernation, the word 'sleep' tasting foreign and unfamiliar on my tongue.

Excitement floods through my veins as picturesque scenes and landscapes fill my head; the Berlin Wall, the Brandenburg Gate, the Fernsehturn. Everything complimented by the glistening shimmer of street lamps and reflecting moonlight.

"Okay. Just let me get changed into something nicer."

A small chuckle parts his lips, as he jumps up from my bed and crouches down to tie his laces, "I'm getting my suit."