It was Him.

Pitch black; just his taunting and terrifying sickly drawl filling the empty space.

Too much empty space.

Too much room for grabbing hands and delayed reactions.

But when I open my eyes, the terror drains from me, soon replaced with nerves.

All while I was tossing and turning for endless hours, I was in a cruel limbo, the cusp of sleep and consciousness causing my head to pound with the lack of rest and the amount of stress clinging to me.

"Wake up! Big day today, kid."

I jump out of my skin and critically scan over the door, but there is no one to be seen. That's when I realise Dad must be using Antares to talk to me. He knows I hate that. My room is a space for myself and myself only; a place of peace to ease the stress and chaos of the world around me, which seems to have been crumbing for as long as I can remember.

"I'm not going. Leave me alone. I'm sleeping,"
I snap, nibbling at the skin on my lower lip and pacing around my bedroom, desperately trying to think of an excuse to get out of this. Desperately trying to refrain from bursting another collection of light bulbs.

"Yes, you are. And no, you're not. I'm making pancakes, get your ass in the kitchen or I swear, I'll get Vision to drag you out of your room." He disconnects from Antares and the space around me is flooded with silence, until the inevitable chatter and overwhelming clamour of my thoughts becomes too overwhelming, that I'm willing to do whatever it takes to shut it all out. To separate my mind neatly into files and sections regarding certain subjects and memories, the tune of songs that I'm not certain on the lyrics, the anxiety-provoking task ahead of me, and about one thousand loose ends and problems I have yet to resolve. The trauma and memories of Him to be buried deep, not to be provoked or prodded with even a ten-foot pole. Though I know He'll break free from the restraints soon enough, trespassing back into my life.

He's dead, Bonnie. Let it go.

It's strange, but I quite liked my old school. It certainly wasn't my favourite place, and I would have much preferred to be painting or skating, but it was... tolerable.

I liked being submerged with other people, I liked the bustling atmosphere and the laughter sweeping through the corridors. I liked English class and Chemistry and $1 pizza on Fridays. I liked to shrink down and slip by without people noticing, while knowing I wasn't by myself.

I suppose the loneliness began to eat away at me from the inside, despite being surrounded by hundreds of other people. I suppose it happened without realising. All at once or over time- I'm unsure- but I know that it's still plaguing me.

Over the years, I have conditioned myself to despise loneliness, yet bask in the empty space. Perhaps it's down to the fact that I know it isn't healthy to be alone continuously, though it feels much easier to be by myself instead of dragging others down with me.

Self destruction is desirable to a rotting mind.

I fling the door open and heave myself into the kitchen before collapsing onto a stool at the counter, Natasha beside me and scanning through a copy of The New York Times, a mug of black coffee clutched in her other hand.

Dad pushes a messy stack of pancakes smothered in whipped cream and chopped strawberries over to me while I make myself a cappuccino. Though, once I'm sat down with a knife and fork clutched clumsily in my nimble fingers, the nausea once again rises in my throat, and coffee is the only thing that I could even think about stomaching right now.

Natasha notices my pained expression without tearing her eyes away from the newspaper, "You've got to eat something, Bonnie."

I force myself to take a sip of coffee, the hot liquid singeing the back of my throat and the roof of my mouth, the steam erupting should have been enough to signify its boiling temperature, though I suppose I'm too nervous to care about hot drinks and burnt tongues.

"Why aren't you eating? You love pancakes,"
Tony questions me before pulling the plate across the marble counter and proceeding to dig into the fluffy stack submerged in light cream himself.

"I feel like I'm about to hurl," I mumble, quickly snapping my lips shut, threatened by the chunks residing in my throat.

"Aim for your Dad, not me." Natasha folds her newspaper and sighs heavily while tossing it onto the counter, clearly not ecstatic about the contents. "At least there's nothing in the paper about us personally, or Steve and his whereabouts. Though on the other hand, Lagos is still headlining. Apparently silver linings don't exist anymore."

I drum my fingertips against the side of my mug, feeling the heat penetrate the porcelain and embedding within my skin. Though the stinging sensation is a reminder that I am still alive. I have spent so long feeling completely disconnected from the world around me, the the slightest physical feeling doesn't go a miss.

"Happy's gonna drive you a block away from the school, because of course, you're far too cool to be driven to the gates. You'll finish at 2:45 and bring Mr Parker here. If he's acquainted you beforehand, gotten on your good side, if you even have a good side, then he'll be more likely to join the team, and we need all the help we can get," he says causally, without taking his eyes off the pancakes.

"Don't you think another person on the team with make it, I don't know, off-balance?" I whisper to Nat while Dad turns his back and begins rummaging through draws on the search of something that seems to be of vital significance.

"We need to find Steve, and if bringing in someone else is what it takes, then so be it. It's better we find them rather than anyone else, bullets won't do any help. We are seriously understaffed, Bonnie,"
she explains while taking a sip of her own black coffee.

I sigh in defeat and fiddle with the silver ring around my middle finger before turning to Dad. "Anything else?"

He crises from his crouched position by his corner desk in the lounge, "You can't tell anyone you're you. I mean, no one should recognise you considering you're practically Edward Cullen and have been living in the shadows your whole life, but your name's gotta go."

"How about Bonnie Delilah Rogers?" I suggest with a smug grin plastered across my face, knowing exactly what to say to piss him off.

"I think the hell not. Bonnie Hansen, that's the name you're using. You'll get your timetable at the front desk. Happy'll wait for you outside of school at the end of the day, make sure Peter gets in the car and bring him here. I don't have time to go running around Queens to find a teenage boy. We're leaving for Germany early tomorrow morning."

"You're letting me come?" I ask in shock, anticipation catching in my voice.

"Did I say 'we?' I meant Nat, Rohdey, Mr Parker and I. You'll be staying here with Wanda, I'll have Happy come check up on you. You've got Pepper's phone number for emergencies, though I wouldn't recommend calling her."

I throw my mug onto the counter with so much force, I wouldn't be surprised if it had started to shatter. "Are you kidding me? So, you want me to recruit this teenage boy that non of us have met before, to then leave me here while you go off fighting Steve over some stupid petty argument?"

"You're staying here. I'm your father, you have to do as I say until you're eighteen. It's the law- as is the so-called 'petty argument,'" he orders monotonously, not caring about the scowl on my face.

"This is not fair at all! I'm trained in combat, I'm ready for a real mission. What is the point in getting me to manipulate this boy into joining your stupid team if I'm not even going to be fighting too?"

"The point is-"

"Well, I'm not-"

The lights begin flickering and a slight wind picks up in the space around us.

"Zip it! This is the point where you listen to me, Bonnie!" he shouts over me. I back down and clamp my mouth shut, biting my tongue to restrain any words from escaping my lips. "You're not coming. It's took much of a risk. That's it."

I sigh in annoyance, making my irritation evident, for once wishing I did smash a bulb- just to piss him off, crossing my arms firmly over my chest, "I'll be fine. I'm in control of my abilities now." I lie. "If you don't let me come to Germany, then I'm not recruiting him."

He groans exasperatedly and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hands, minutes pass by before he reluctantly replies, "Fine. Get ready, you'll be late." He's pissed.

I hop off the stool and stride out of the kitchen and up to my bedroom with my head held high, riding on the satisfaction of winning the argument.

What sort of person does he take me for? I'm not made of glass, I'm not prone to shatter at the slightest touch. I am not a lightbulb. At least I'm attempting to convince myself that way.

But then again, there is always the possibility etched into the back of my head as a safety net, for me to barricade myself away from everything and burying deep into my duvet covers and never face the nauseating reality of the world around me seeming to crumble and fall into chaos, with or without Tony Stark conveniently being around to support me. I deliberate on whether to let the isolation devour me completely from the inside. Let the heaviness weighing my body down squash me to a pulp, the delicate morsels of blood evaporating and draining from my body, the skeletal cadaver to be left until it eventually decomposes. I wanted it for the longest time.

It turns out that despite the cripplingly awful mental state of the Avengers', they have learned to ignore the warning signs of the onset of a mental break. Observing the team for many years, I'm surprised Bruce hasn't reached his. Perhaps he has, I haven't seen him in a while.

Do I look like myself?

Is this really me in the mirror?

Nothing feels real.

Is it happening again?

No. No.

I'm fine. There's more important things to be concerned about then falling back into the state of emptiness that almost devoured my brain completely.

"Antares, is it going to rain today?" my voice croaks, before I plaster a determined expression over my face. I examine my eyes and make sure the usual
desolation has been replaced with boldness. I must catch Peter Parker's eye. I must pick his curiosity. I have to go to Germany. I need this. I need to prove to myself that I can handle it.

"No, it will keep a steady temperature through the day, cloudy skies but no showers." she replies in her articulate British accent.

My heart flutters in my chest as I catch a glimpse of the clock while I reach for my bag; 7:30am.

"Happy's waiting outside, there's a latte on the kitchen counter for you and lunch money." Dad announces through Antares, causing me to roll my eyes practically out of the back of my head.

I steady my breathing and glare critically at myself in the mirror, before reminding myself of the time and the fact that arriving late to first period on my first day is definitely not my idea of a good time nor a good first impression. But then again, when would I ever class school in general as a necessarily good time?

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

I resume my chanting as I reach the kitchen, the sound of the soles of my shoes hitting firmly against the hard floor.

Handing me my latte in a disposable cup, Dad lowers his voice from its usual firm tone, "You've got this, okay? You're a teenager, going out and making friends should be second nature, and besides, you could do with a few."

"Wanda is my friend. Natasha is my friend." I take a gulp of coffee and feel it burn the back of my throat as it trickles down to my stomach, forcing myself to keep my composure and not let my determined facade waver.

"She doesn't count, she's an adult. And anyway, it's not safe for you to be here twenty-four-seven. You need to learn how to handle yourself out in the world, Sparky." He hands me two $20 bills, though I roll one up and bury it into my pocket despite slamming the other note down onto the counter. So much for not drawing attention to myself.

"Don't lecture me on safety when you're Iron Man."

He sighs sarcastically, "You see, that's exactly why I am lecturing you. Now get to school, Happy's waiting outside." his tone is firm; the stress is getting to him.

He goes to place a reassuring yet firm hand onto my shoulder, though I sweep out of his grasp and stride down the corridor, throwing open the doors and yelling over my shoulder, "You're a dick."

"She's definitely your daughter, Tony. She's got your bitchy attitude." I hear Nat mention, her voice slowly fading as I progress further.

"I heard that!" I stick my middle finger up at her, without turning around to see her expression, or the undoubtably astounded yet amused smirk on Tony's face.

On the ride to school, I can feel my confident facade begin to fade, as pulling at the tiny threads in my lace tights has created a small ladder, which could be mistaken for part of the pattern if one noticed, though I still curse myself for being so careless. I distract myself by scrolling through the school website and pulling up the picture of Peter Parker, committing it to memory so that I'd be able to recognise him.

"Your Dad said you'd want to be dropped off a few blocks away, it's a five minute walk straight ahead from here." Happy stops the car and adjusts the mirror so he can see me sitting in the back, nervously tapping my foot.

"Thanks, Happy. Pick me up from here?"

"Have a good day." he says before driving off to run errands for my father.

I steady myself on the pavement and follow the other groups of teenagers around my age, hoping they'll lead me to the right place combined with Happy's directions.

I sigh in relief when I see a group of boys by the football pitch wearing Midtown School letterman jackets. Thankfully, I've reached the right destination.

I think I forgot just how hectic school can be. The pandemonium in the bustling corridor is enough to give me a migraine, I linger by the entrance to prepare myself before submerging into the crowd of teenage boys with braces and lanky girls with glossy lips.

After jostling through the various cliques of cheerleaders and theatre kids, noting the rowdy footballers who I most definitely don't want to associate with during my time here, I manage to find my way to the front desk and ask the middle-aged women for my timetable.

She looks rather slim with a pair of chunky glasses slipping down the thin bridge of her nose. The wrinkles and lines on her face are barely visible, except for the ones on her forehead, which I assume is a result of frowning at rebellious teens over the top of her thick lenses, and staring at a computer all day. She sighs when she asks my name, seeming as though she would much rather be anywhere else than here. I don't blame her.

When she hands me my class schedule and points me in the direction of the science labs, due to having Biology for first period, I notice the lack of metal bands pushed into her boney ring finger. She scowls at me and disappears behind her desk, clearly finished with our conversation and with being somewhat pleasant.

I make sure to arrive before the second bell, so that I won't have to endure the awkward routine of getting there late and having to introduce myself to the class. Hopefully, the teacher forgets I'm there, if I sink down in my chair low enough then I might be able to blend in with the rest of the burnt out teens.

I scan the room for a familiar mess of loose brown waves and molasses eyes from the school website. My mind turns blank when my eyes latch on his, as he watches the doorway intensely, most likely waiting for a friend, or perhaps he just really fucking likes his Bio teacher.

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

I remind myself of those three key words, and settle in the empty seat a row behind Peter, partially so that I can hide behind him, and also so that I don't look so oddly eager to talk to him. I don't want to come on too strong, or else he'll get freaked out and I'll completely fail my task, and I can't disappoint Dad. And most importantly, I have to go to Germany.

I rummage through my bag to find a packet of gum and unwrap a piece before pushing it between my lips, tossing my bag onto the floor beside my feet and grazing my black polished fingertips against the side of my disposable coffee cup.

"You don't wanna be chewing gum in here, and you should probably toss that in the trash," he drawls as he twists around in his seat and gestures to the coffee cup lightly clutched in my hands, "Mr Hales will give you a straight detention. I don't recognise you. Are you new? I'm Peter Parker."

Upon seeing him in person, it shocks me how enticing his eyes are. Sweet and velvety, almost like chocolate, with intense darker rays swirling towards his bottomless irises, complimented with delicate caramel crescent moons, framed by an obsidian ring.

It's a kind of brown that I can't imagine I've ever seen before. Almost like the scent of woodsmoke and the taste of a steaming hot chocolate residing on my lips during autumn and the feel of fluffy knitted sweaters against my skin. They mimic the effects of crisp, cold air, knocking the breath out of my lungs the longer my eyes take it all in.

I clear my throat, "Hey there, Peter Parker-"

A boy sitting in the row in front of Peter, with charcoal hair, slicked with gel, cuts me off, "Hitting on the new girl, Penis Parker?" he scowls at Peter before turning his attention toward me. "You look familiar. Have we met before? I'm Flash Thompson. If you want to get off on the right foot around here, you might want to get to know me, I'm kind of a desirable person-"

"Oh my god, Flash, are you seriously trying to flirt with the new girl after five minutes of her being here?" A pretty girl with brunette ringlets scraped back off her face, contradictory to the bangs framing her high cheekbones and flopping into her eyes, leaps to my defence.

Luckily, the teacher enters the room and we all fall into silence as he glances between us in curiosity. I sink down in my seat and avoid looking at him, though I can feel the piercing sensation of his eyes fixed on me. "I believe you're a new student, would you like to come to the front and introduce yourself to the class?"

I refrain from rolling my eyes, though the annoyance bubbles in my stomach and spreads like a fire throughout my chest, and drag myself to the front of the room. "Hi," I ensure my voice doesn't waver, "my name is Bonnie... S-Hansen." I avoid lifting my eyes to meet the tired faces before me, keeping my gaze firmly fixed on my boots, and the worn parts of the dark cherry-colored faux leather.

"Well, it's wonderful to welcome you to the class, Bonnie." Mr Hales greets before dismissing me off back to my seat, his droning voice clouding over my thoughts for the next hour.

I devise a plan on how to get Peter to come to the Avengers Compound complex with me, while Mr Hales proceeds to educate us all on the cell structure of a leaf, which is something I learned in Middle School and don't feel the need to revisit.

Though that plan is quickly discarded as Peter disappears out of the door as soon as the bell rings, and I don't see him again until the period before lunch.

As I walk into Miss Jones' English classroom, the smell of old books practically chokes me, and I fight the several urges to sneeze. I cast my eyes across the faces, recognising a few from my earlier classes, but I can't see him anywhere. I sigh helplessly and throw myself into a chair near the back, hoping to not have to go through the excruciating introductory routine of standing at the front and telling everyone my name, which I have had to endure in all of my previous classes.

A soft sigh immediately makes my eyes drift up, and I slowly turn my head to the person taking the seat beside me; Peter Parker.

Miss Jones' storms into the room with an angry glower embedded into her expression, she's clearly not too thrilled to be here.

She throws her bag onto the desk and tells us to get our texts of Romeo and Juliet out, panic floods my body as I realise that I don't have a copy with me, no one informed me that I required any books, so I assumed I'd be given anything I'd need.

I fiddle with the ring on my finger and debate with myself on whether to raise my hand and ask the teacher if she has a spare, but I'm really not looking to get a detention considering I have a mission to complete, and staying after school will definitely derail my plans.

Peter's eyes shift across the table after he grabs his copy out of his backpack and he whispers gently, "You can share mine. I mean, if you don't have one."

"Thank you, Peter. I owe you." A wave of relief washes over me as he pushes the book into the space between us, and my fingers brush against his as I adjust the slightly creased pages in my hand. He whips his hand away at the slight tingle of our skin colliding, and avoids looking at me for the rest of class.

He's compellingly odd; I've never met someone quite like him before. I suppose with living alongside the Avengers I'm surrounded by pretty big personalities the majority of my time, contrasting to Peter. But he's still friendly all the while.

"I like your shirt. Joy Division, right?" He gestures to my chest, sporting an old album cover, as we pack our things away at the end of class. A light chatter begins to arise as the chiming of the ear-piercing bell nears.

"Yes, actually. You've got good taste, Parker." I grin at him as we get dismissed to the cafeteria for lunch. I hesitate slightly at the sheer volume of people in the hall, before taking a deep breath and reassuring myself.

You always used to like crowds. What changed?

Peter notices my reluctance as I linger by the doors, "I know you're new so you probably don't know anyone, but you could come and sit with me and my friends. I mean, that's only if you want to." he rushes his words out toward the end of his sentence, stumbling over letters and syllables in attempt to save himself from appearing too presumptuous.

I accept his offer, and battle through the lunch line, firmly clutching a slice of pizza in my hand and avoiding the cliques that could cause me trouble; the nerds and popular kids- just like Dad warned me. When I settle down in the seat opposite Peter, the boy perched next to him introduces himself as Ned. He has one of those contagious chuckles that could instantly put someone at ease within seconds of hearing it.

Throughout the duration of lunch, Peter glances repeatedly over my head, his gaze seeming full of longing. I twist in my seat when the curiosity begins to get the better of me, and follow the cause of his trance-like state, to find a very tall, very pretty girl with perfect facial structure. She looks as though she could be a year or so older than Peter, and is the exact example I'd use of the 'girl next-door.'

"Who is that?" I turn back to question Ned, as Peter rips his eyes away from the girl who Ned explains to be called Liz.

I can understand why he's in such a daze. She's stunning. I could imagine her to be on the debate team, with perfect grades and an equally just as perfect family. I suspect she could possibly be a cheerleader, but I'm not completely certain.

"Peter, you're practically drooling. It's weird." his face crumples as his brow furrows at my sudden impertinence. Though I suppose it's just because he doesn't know me too well, he doesn't understand my charming and bubbly personality. Sarcastic too.

Dragging my feet up to sixth period- Physics- I am at a loss for ways to get Peter back to the Avengers Compound. Clearly, the original plan of 'seducing' him is not working out, considering he spent the majority of our lunch period together staring longingly at some girl. Some extremely pretty girl.

What else am I supposed to do? I mean, I can hardly skip up to him and tell him I know he's some sort of superhero that Tony Stark is desperate to have on his team over some legal disagreement with Steve Rogers. I mean, Steve Rogers. Captain America. The man is practically a god.

My brain pounds in my head as I struggle to simplify the equations spiralling, numbers jumbling together into a confusing and unbreakable code. But I can't leave myself unoccupied, I can't leave my brain without something to think about. Perhaps if it is without something to keep it busy, even for half a second, I'll remember Him. I can't stop thinking about Mom. About what happened. How sudden it all was. How the nightmares still stick like thick glue that won't wash off no matter how hard I scrub.

I bite down hard on my tongue as a way to expel some of the nerves and restrain myself from sparking out the lights, and scribble down a note on a piece of paper before tossing it across the room to hit Peter lightly on his forehead, breaking him from his intense interest in his computer screen. He jumps in fright as the crumpled paper grazes against his skin before he unravels it.

I feel his eyes burning into the back of my head as I snap around to face the front of the class and fix my attention onto the PowerPoint regarding radioactive decay.

"Hey, I can't come over because we have a Bio test tomorrow that I really have to study for, but you can come study with me if you want?" Peter approaches me at the end of class and I struggle to think of something he won't be able to refuse, making him come to the Compound with me.

"Well, if that's the case, then I don't see why we can't study at my house."

"I have all of my textbooks at my apartment, so it would make more sense to stay there." he explains. I nod my head in agreement before we take off for the subway, saying goodbye to Ned as we reach the school gates.

A shriek escapes my lips as I take a step to cross the road, and a car comes flying into me, missing me by no more than half of an inch.

"Oh my god, are you alright?" Peter, who was safely stationary on the pavement, rushes over to me urgently.

"I-" I begin, though get cut off from the person driving the car.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Watch where you're going, dumbass. I swear, if you've damaged my car, I'm sending you a bill." Flash Thompson. He slams his car door shut and struts over to me, his nasally voice droning in my ear. He brushes past me and shoved me out of the way, due to my feet staying rooted to the spot, and examines the hood of the car.

And I can't stop shaking.

"It wasn't her fault. You're not supposed to be driving that fast around here, you could have killed her." Peter's voice shifts in volume— and it seems so strange for such a friendly and light-hearted boy to yell.

"Whoa, calm down, Penis Parker. No need to be so dramatic, I'm just telling her to watch herself." Flash looks at me with disgust embedded into his expression. He looks at me as if I am worth as much as the dirt on the bottom of his shoe. And it infuriates me.

"Don't— don't talk about her like she isn't here." Peter.

A burning hot sensation washes across my body, boiling my blood and making my insides seethe. My ears being ringing and my head feels about ready to explode. I snap my eyes shut and try to distance myself from Flash's insults being thrown at me, and Peter attempting to defend me.

I exhale deeply, attempting to balance the pressure in my head with the shaking throughout my body.

"Are you honestly crying? I didn't even touch—What? What the fuck? My Dad is going to kill me!"

The front lights in his car explode, followed by the engine, sparks flying from the hood, followed by a smoky haze. And for once, I don't curse myself for letting my abilities get the better of me. I stand satisfied as I watch Flash almost break down into tears, as he pops the hood of the car and takes a look at the damage done. He got what he deserved, and I relish in the knowledge that I was the one who got the better of him.

Peter chuckles fondly, despite his expression being twisted in confusion.

"Hope your daddy isn't too pissed about the car. I guess you did hit me after all, Flash." I give him one of my sickly-sweet smiles before I take off towards the subway.

Flash screams behind me to one of his shitty 'friends,' "She's so hot until she opens her damn mouth and is so arrogant."

"Thank god I don't exist for you to find me pretty, Flash Thompson. Anyway, pretty girls don't tolerate disrespect. Nice car."

When we arrive at the subway station, Peter is still bubbling away with how happy he is that someone finally put Flash Thompson in his place. I send Happy a sly voicemail while Peter is busy being frustrated at the ticket machine for taking his money and not reimbursing a train ticket, explaining that the mission isn't exactly going to plan.

I curse myself with every stop at each station, knowing they the further we get from the Compound, the further I am from going to Germany. I can't fail a mission. I have to finish it. I just need some time to think of my next move.

"Wanna listen?" Peter hands me the matching earbud to the one which is blasting Nirvana in his ear and silently echoing throughout the train carriage. I take the headphone- trying to ignore the tingling of my fingers where my skin brushed against his- and push it into my ear.

"'Smells Like Teen Spirit?' You know, they have much better songs. Here, pass me your phone," I pry his phone from his hand and begin flicking through his playlist, adding songs that I think he'd like and grimacing at a few by The Beatles that sting every time I think about them; the memories of Mom still haven't faded. I shake away the thoughts after allowing them to linger for a moment, and carry on the conversation in attempt to lessen the aching in my chest, "I think you'd really like The Smiths, I've added a few songs that you should listen to, give me your thoughts after."

He nods his head in confirmation that he will listen to the music I've recommended, though my brain is completely elsewhere, still struggling to think of a way to get him to the Compound.

There's no way Dad will let me go to Germany if I've failed this mission, considering the agreement was that I'd be able to go if  I got Peter to come too. I should probably consider the benefits of joining Steve's team and where in Germany he will be, because at this point, joining up with him is my only possibility of going.

A familiar black car catches my eye as we reach Peter's apartment building. Happy.

As Peter fumbles around in his bag in search of his keys, I knock lightly on the blacked-out car window, before Happy rolls the window down.

"What are you doing here? I left you a voicemail and specifically told you not to come! The mission isn't going to plan. He won't come to the Compound." I snap harshly.

"Well, your Dad wanted me to follow your location, and he was concerned about you, so I-"

"Followed me?"

"Not exactly..." he defends himself while dancing around the reasoning behind him being here.

I whip my head around to face Peter, just as he manages to get us into the apartment building, not before admiring the car parked at the side of the road. Happy's car.

The elevator ride up to Peter's floor is slightly awkward due to his nervous demeanour and my internal panicking that I definitely won't be able to go to Germany, and without Peter there too, Dad could be in deep shit.

"Where did you say you lived again? Wait, sorry, I didn't mean to sound creepy or anything. But, you never told me which area you're from, and why you moved to Midtown." Peter stumbles over his words while he pushes his key into the door. At the sharp click of the lock opening, he pushes it open and I'm hit in the face with the smell of freshly baked goods.

At the Compound, I'm used to the smell of ink and printer paper, aside from the lavender candles in my room. Pepper told me that lavender was good for relieving stress; after buying eleven candles, a diffuser and learning how to make my own lavender soap, she came to the conclusion that I went slightly over the top.

"Hey, May." Peter calls before turning to me. "We can go to my room if you want. Or we could study here. I don't mind."

"How was school today?" a honey-like voice drawls from behind me as I turn to follow Peter.

"It was okay. There's this crazy car parked outside..." he stops dead in his tracks, staring in disbelief over my shoulder, picking my curiosity and causing me to follow his gaze.

Beside the beautiful and sophisticated looking lady, who I suspect is May, sits my father, that typical smirk playing on his lips that always finds a way to boil my blood.

"Mr Parker." he greets without shifting his eyes over to me.

Peter stares in bewilderment, his lips twitching up into an toothy grin. "What are you... Hey! Uh, I'm Peter."

"Tony." I roll my eyes as he introduces himself, as if it isn't clear that Peter is already fully aware of who he is despite his stuttering and nervous demeanour.

"What are you doing here?" Peter asks as he takes a step towards my father, and I can't clamp my mouth shut any longer.

"Exactly. What are you doing here?" I snap exasperatedly while folding my arms tightly across my chest.

Peter glares at me in confusion, as Tony rises from the couch and pulls me over to the side of the room, leaving Peter and May to whisper furiously to each other about the circumstances of Tony Stark's presence in their apartment.

"Thought I told you to bring him to the Compound?" he mumbles harshly.

"Yeah, well," I sigh in defeat and keep my eyes firmly glued to the laces on my shoes, drinking in the slightly fraying ends and making a mental note to replace them as soon as we get home, "he told me he had a Biology test tomorrow and invited me over to study with him, I couldn't convince him otherwise."

"That is exactly why I told Happy to keep watch."

"You were spying on me?" I gasp in disbelief as my jaw drops open in appall.

"Technically, it wasn't me. Anyway, it all worked out in the end, you didn't recruit him which means now you're not going to Germany, that was the deal, wasn't it?" he utters in an all-knowing and taunting tone. "It's about time we met. You've been getting my e-mails, right?" he questions Peter upon deciding our argument has come to an end and returns to the couch beside May, leaving me shaking in anger by the door.

Peter nods his head in confirmation, though I know he's just following along with the charade until he has the chance to ask Tony why he's really here.

May asks him why he didn't let her know about the grant for The September Foundation, Dad occasionally dropping into the conversation every now and then to steer Peter on the correct path and keep their lie coinciding with one another's stories.

"Let me just stop you there. Has this grant got money involved or whatever? No?" Peter hesitantly inquires.

"Yeah, it's pretty well funded. Look who you're talking to." My father turns to May after casting me a quick glance, "Can I have five minutes with him?"

Peter's pleading eyes shift to mine and search my face for any indication of annoyance. I twitch my lips into a fake grin, though appearing perfectly authentic to him, as he and Tony gather into his bedroom for a discussion regarding 'The September Foundation.' At least, that's what May believes.

She tells me to take a seat on the couch before cutting me a slice of walnut date loaf and pottering into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. Her sweet humming obstructs any faint whispering coming from the bedroom and I struggle to hear anything.

I know eavesdropping is bad, but if you live with Tony Stark for long enough, then you'll learn to come to terms with the fact that if you want information on anything, sneaking behind doors and pressing a cup up against the wall to amplify the faint murmuring will become a new normal.

"Could I use your bathroom please?" I clear my throat and ask May, before she points me in the direction of the door. I make sure to keep my footsteps light so Peter and my father won't hear me, and lock myself in the bathroom, pressing up against the wall in order to hear.

A lot of it comes out in inaudible muffles, until a loud clattering and a short yelp from Peter raises the volume, the conversation taking a more serious and direct turn.

"You're the Spider-ling. Crime-fighting Spider. You're Spider-boy?" Dad.

"Spider-Man." Peter mumbles in a defeated tone.

"Not in that onesie you're not."

"It's not a onesie." Footsteps echo to the far side of the bathroom and I stand on top of the toilet to be able to get a clearer sound. "I don't believe this. I was actually having a really good day today, Mr Stark. Didn't miss my train, this perfectly good DVD player was just sitting there... and Algebra test, nailed it."

I sigh as the chatter lowers to a undistinguishable murmur and turn the lock on the door to enter the living room again, before the sound of Peter growing frustrated with my Dad causes a sly giggle to escape from my lips. I know how he feels; living with him can be extremely annoying.

"What gets you out of that twin bed in the morning?"

"Because-" Peter stammers, "I've been me my whole life, and I've had these powers for six months. I read books, I build computers. Yeah, I would love to play football, but I couldn't then, so I shouldn't now." My Dad grunts in understanding before Peter continues, "When you can do the things I can, but you don't... and then the bad things happen... they happen because of you."

The room falls into silence, making me conclude that the conversation has come to an end, before my Dad interrupts and causes me to jump in fright. My heart drops as my arm brushes against a shelf of various hair products and pill bottles, and several clatter into the sink in a deafening rattle. My hands begin to shake and my face burns in embarrassment as I quickly replace everything back to where it was previously.

"I can't go to Germany." Peter protests as I return to my position of being pushed up against the wall.

"Why?"

"I got... homework."

"Might be a little dangerous. Look kid, my daughter is outside, the girl you came home with. She's your age, single, and she'll be tagging along too. Not that the idea of her being there thrills me, but she'll most likely hold it against me until the day I die if I don't let her come." A rush of excitement and relief causes my whole body to weaken, I clutch onto the door handle to steady myself. He said I can go to Germany. The anticipation doesn't last long as my chest begins to ache and my skin starts to tingle as I realise that the only reason I'm being allowed to come to Germany is just so Peter will agree to join.

"Better tell Aunt Hottie I'm taking you on a field trip-" Dad mumbles as I tear the bedroom door open and rush back to my space on the couch as May finishes up talking on the phone.

"I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your name." She sighs as she finally manages to escape the draining conversation and pours me some coffee into a large porcelain mug.

"Bonnie. Stark." I press my lips into a polite smile before taking a gulp of the steaming coffee as to not appear rude, having her gone through the trouble of making a whole fresh pot just for me.

"Stark? I-" her voice heightens in curiosity before breaking off as Peter and my father exit his room.

"So, thank you for that, Mr Parker, and the lovely May." Tony thanks Peter for their discussion and May for the coffee and cake with a side of flirting, before he turns to me, ignoring my intense glares.

I know he wanted me to persuade Peter to join the Avengers, but I had expected that the whole charade of pretending to be interested in him would be discarded considering, in my fathers books, I'd 'failed my mission.'

I am not being sold out to some teenage boy that I hardly know, just so he'll stick around and come to Germany.

I curse myself for actually believing that I'd be fighting too. How silly of me. The shadows don't have an exception and let you escape just because things need to be done. I have lived my life on the sidelines, the thirst to prove myself to fuel my every action.

"So, do you two want to take down each others' digits?" He gestures to Peter and I, May's curiosity deepening as faint creases on her forehead begin to show.

"Dad, no one says 'digits' anymore. It's not the 90s." My eyes practically roll out of my head, the slight sharpness I inherited from my father sneaking out.

He frowns at me before turning back to Peter and May, "Peter, there are a few more things we need to discuss. Dinner on me. Bonnie and I will wait in the car, you should fill in your Aunt about the events for the next few days." He fires a sly wink at Peter before we take off for the door.

The chime of music that reminds me of the doctors office and hospital waiting rooms fills my brain with an overwhelming sense of nerves and worry. I shake my head to excuse the thoughts and return to the annoyance, like a hot ball of lead, weighing my body down.

"You're being awfully quiet. What's going on?" Dad asks me while I fiddle with the silver band adorning my middle finger and shift my weight from each leg.

"I can't believe you're selling me out to some teenage boy I hardly know." I bite my tongue, only partly telling him he reason why I'm so annoyed. Because, the truth is, I just wanted to go to Germany and fight. I wanted to prove myself worthy of being able to join the Avengers. I wanted to show I was ready for a real mission. And now I'm only tagging along to keep some boy occupied and to convince him to stick around.

"I am not selling you out, Bonnie. Look, I'm sorry. But we need Peter-"

"What about me? Don't you need me?" I snap back.

I think perhaps one of my worst qualities is how stubborn I am, and matched with my father, every argument we have consists of me ignoring him for days until he eventually calls a peace offering, the majority of the time involving pancakes smothered in strawberries and whipped cream, or a night set aside to watch old 80's flicks together.

"I need you to be safe. I know you want to fight, I really do-"

"Then let me! Come on, it's not as if Steve is going to kill me." I cringe at myself for throwing a tantrum like a child not getting their way, or a bitchy girl from the suburbs when her daddy won't get her a new Jeep.

"Steve isn't the one I've worried about."

The elevator lets out a sharp ring to signify that we've reached the bottom floor, and I storm out of the entrance and to the car.

"You think I'm the one that will cause the damage?" I accuse him while throwing the door open, I slide into the backseat while Dad turns to hop in beside Happy, keeping the space beside me vacant for Peter. I scoff at his audacity.

"Come on, Bonnie. You've got to help me out here. What do you want me to do? Tell Peter he can't come?"

But he didn't deny it.

"Yes!" I shriek, when truthfully, no. I don't. But I'm angry and pissed off and feel completely useless.

His frown deepens as a strong wind picks up in the air around us and the windscreen wipers begin frantically swiping from left to right without the car even being turned on. He slams my door in frustration, "Are you kidding me? Stop it!" He opens the front door and shouts from the passenger seat, as my eyes flicker to Happy who is sitting at the wheel with his head in his hands. This isn't the first screaming match between Tony and I he's endured.

"No!"

"You really want me to go up there now and tell him that he can't come just because you're being a brat that I care about your safety and would rather him fight than you?" his sharp-toned bellow scolds me into silence, as I fold my arms tightly across my chest while an awkward silence envelops the atmosphere around us. The windscreen wipers freeze. My blood is no longer boiling. Though the annoyance remains.

I can tell a wave of relief floods my Dad as Peter jogs up to the car, a stupid grin plastered onto his lips infuriating me even more. Chatter between him and Happy echos through the car. I recognise the directions, the several right turns, causing my heart to plummet as we begin heading to an Italian restaurant that I remember visiting with Dad and Pepper for my fifteenth birthday dinner. The absence of her makes me nauseous.

Peter glances at me nervously throughout the journey, and when we stop at a red light he opens his mouth in attempt to spark up a conversation. "So, Germany..."

I cut him off, "We don't have to talk, okay? Just because my Dad wants us to get along it doesn't mean we have to." I snap, guilt rising inside of me as his cheeks flush crimson in embarrassment.

I think in this situation I'm definitely the bitchy girl from the suburbs. And I hate it. But the petty anger won't rid.

When Happy pulls up at the resturaunt and leaves my father, Peter and I, there's no denying the awkward energy between us. Dad tries to get me involved in the coversation, and although I'm trying with everything in me to not seem so immature, I can tell my ignorance isn't helping the fleeting likelihood that Dad will cave and let me fight. I keep my eyes fixated on the menu and study the font, tacing my fingertips over the looping of the lettering on the laminated pages.

"How was school, Bonnie? Did it meet your awful expectations?" Dad asks me as he spoons pasta into his mouth; his blazer managing to stay pristine and clear of the rich red sauce coating his spoon.

Peter looks up from his plate expectantly. Our eyes catch for a moment, until I rip away from his coffee-colored irises. "Awful. Though I think Peter enjoyed lunch." I sneer at him from across the table as his face flushes slightly crimson in embarrasment, expecting me to run my mouth about Liz and his very obvious crush on her.

"What are you talking about?" Tony questions me, clearly suspicious about the events of today.

I clear my throat and drop my fork down onto the porcelain plait, the slight clatter of the collision of metal against china makes my teeth grind together, like fingernails on a chalkboard. I clear my throat and curl my lips into a sweet smile, "Nothing. He did really well on his algebra test earlier, he was kind of on a high after it."

"Good job, Pete." Dad congratulates him, before Peter shoots me a curious glance. "So, the arrangments for tomorrow; I'll have Happy come pick you up from May's at 4am, okay? Got it? We can't be waiting around. You'll take the jet to Berlin, and we'll meet you at the hotel." I tune out of the coversation, my father's voice turning into a droning mumble as I decide I don't want to hear about Germany; I'll just be stuck in a hotel room by myself for the majority of the time.

"Will you guys be on the jet too, or...?" Peter asks as he leans back in his chair, his eyes fequently flicking over to me and searching my face for any reasoning on why I'm in such a bad mood, or if this is just my permanent personality and I'm truly an excellent actress, considering my friendly performance at school earlier.

"Me? No, I have things to sort out, I'll get there in my own time. But, you'll have Bonnie and Happy to keep you company." Dad pulls me into a tight side hug, and I wince as my elbow digs harshly into he corner of the table.

"What? I thought I was going with you and Nat."

"Please, Bonnie we're not doing this now." Tony hisses at me before strutting over to the front desk and paying the check.

Peter clears his throat and opens his mouth before snapping it shut and gathering his words. "What's up with you?"

"I think you'd be pretty pissed too if you had to spend the next two days locked in a hotel room in Berlin while everyone is off fighting."

"Isn't Mr Stark just trying to keep you safe?" He leans in closer to me and rests his elbows on the table.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand, Peter. You're the Spider-boy-"

"Spider-Man." he corrects me.

"Yeah, whatever. Point is, you don't have to prove yourself to anybody. Practically the whole of New York loves you."

"Clearly not everyone." he mumbles under his breath, taking me by surprise.

"Bite me, Peter Parker."

Dad pushes the door open and gestures for us to follow him outside, where Happy is conveniently parked and waiting for us. The drive to Peter's apartment is surprisingy not as awkward as the journey to the restaurant, as the heavy tune of AC/DC is there to break up the tension.

"Well, Mr Parker, we'll see you tomorrow, bright and early." Dad says goodbye to a very excited looking Peter as we pull up to his apartment building before beginning the short journey home.

The car falls back into silence aside from the radio playing, and it remains this way until we arrive back at the Compound.

Dad tosses his keys onto the coffee table as we reach our floor and stroll into the living area, where Nat is passed out on the couch, most likely from exhaustion, while the credits of The Green Mile roll on the TV screen. I head straight for my bedroom in order to avoid any confrontation with my father, as I know I've acted like a spoilt brat this evening. But I can't help it.

Sometimes it feels like there's something boiling inside of me and waiting explode, almost like when you shake a can of soda too vigorously and the sticky liquid spurts out everywhere.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Just... breathe.

Mom would have understood. But no. She's not here anymore. She had to go and get herself killed by fucking around with Killian.

Why is it that the tiniest things could cause me to explode? Nat told me it's from bottling up my emotions and not having a healthy coping mechanism. I did, at one time.

When I first moved in with Tony, he took me to a private therapist. Needless to say, I don't see her anymore and have had her replaced with another shrink almost as soon as we met; I called her a whore and told her to stop flirting with my Dad. She refused to see me after that.

Maybe I am way more fucked up than I thought.

I slam the door behind me as I reach my bedroom and watch as the draught causes several posters to drop from my walls. I sigh in frustration and collapse onto my bed, holding my head in my hands and concentrating on my breathing. Another smashed lightbulb is definitely something I could live without.

Several ideas on how to convince Dad to let me fight tomorrow cross my mind; though non of them seem manageable. Perhaps I could devise a plan on the jet, perhaps I could ask Peter to help, if I decide to stop being so petty.

I drop to my knees and pull my suitcase out from under my bed to begin packing, making sure to add my white combat suit just incase I manage to find a way to sneak into the fight. I bury it underneath several sweaters and pairs of jeans to conceal it from the curious eyes of Nat, who will most likely go searching through my case for a hair tie or pin as the majority of her's have seemed to mysteriously go missing.

As the clock hits midnight, I sit on top of my suitcase to keep it from bulging open and tug the zipper closed before heaving it over to my bedroom door.

My phone chimes and signals a new message, who I suspect to either be Wanda texting me from her bedroom or Nat asking if I'm still awake. But it's neither of them, it's from a phone number that I don't recognise.

I type back a blunt reply of asking who the digits belong to, and shortly after receive a picture of Peter Parker standing in front of his suitcase with his lips pulled into a grin, complimenting his glinting and excited eyes. In the corner of the image, his wiry hands are curled into a thumbs-up and I allow my eyes to linger as my mouth twitches up into a smirk, before I recreate his picture, though this time discarding the pleasant hand gesture and sticking my middle finger up.

I collapse onto my bed and feel my body turn limp, and the terrifying onset of sleep begins to hold me in it's grasp.