"Hey, actually, Bonnie is coming, too."

I make out Peter standing a few feet away from me as I heave my suitcase over to the school bus.

"What's she doing here? She's not even on the team," Flash spits out in his his arrogant and inflated sense of self-importance way.

Mr Harrington turns to me with a nervous smile plastered across face. "Bonnie! Great to see you, I got a call from your father this morning, Mr Hogan, is it?" Peter chokes on his chuckles beside me, and I elbow him in the ribs. "You're all set to be our second alternate, next to Flash?"

"This is so unfair! Peter quits the team then decides to show up last minute and I get demoted? My father will be furious with this!" Flash moans.

"Pack it up, Draco Malfoy. It's 8am and too early for your whining." I drawl sarcastically as I push past him and into a seat my the window near the back of the bus. Peter slides in beside me, while Ned takes the seat across the aisle from us.

"How does it feel? Having someone call Happy your dad?" Peter giggles, even my harsh glare not enough to stop him.

"There are so many things that I could say to you right now to make you dissolve into a puddle of tears, Parker. Don't push me."

He falls into silence after this and hands me the matching headphone to the one in his ear, letting me control the music being played just like he had promised. Sleep deprivation and being awake for hours and hours, even days, on end is enough to shape anyone into a bad mood. I decide on a slow song and press play, finally letting my eyes fall heavy, leaden with the lack of slumber.

-

It was one of those rainy nights, when the clouds had broken and a torrential downpour caused the windows to turn blurry with raindrops. Despite the windscreen wipers going from left to right, left to right, rapidly, it didn't make a difference or make anything easier to see in the slightest. The traffic lights swirled together in a vivid and multicoloured mess, contrasting against the deep grey clouds.

Mom had just turned onto the highway when a car cut right in front of us. Everything is a mess after that. She attempted to break quickly and swerve. The road was too slippery and I suppose that in her moment of panic, she had forgotten that we were in London, not New York. We had been on the right side of the road.

I think we came off one of the exits on the highway. Everything just went black- and then white- as a blinding pain cut through my left arm. Then I passed out.

-

I wake to the tune of an old Joy Division song humming in my ear, my head rested gently on Peter's shoulder as Liz stands at the front of the bus and asks the team quick-fire questions. He tries his best not to move, as to not wake me, but the bump in the road shook me from my sleep.

A nightmare.

My heart thuds in my chest, my breath catching in my throat. I grasp into my left forearm to check for any injuries and breathe a sigh of relief— it's okay now. Peter turns to me and smiles as I pull the headphone from my ear, which I return with a fragile grin, still recovering from my memory.

He quickly taps the bell as Liz finishes asking a question and rushes out, "Uh, strontium, barium, vibranium." He grins triumphantly as Liz praises him for answering correctly, while I remember all of the times Wanda and I had stolen Steve's shield to take it sledging in Central Park during winter. I also remember how much trouble we got in, and how worth it it was.

Peter's phone chimes in his pocket, a phone call from Happy, which he takes at the back of the bus and away from the disruption and chatter of the rest of the team.

I pull my copy of The Bell Jar from my carry-on bag and earn a smirk from MJ, as she sits in the row behind me with her head stuck in a copy of Lady Susan.

Arriving at the venue, some people coo and gasp in awe over the size of the building and it's modernized professionalism, while others stay completely focused on the competition at hand. I know that I most likely won't be needed to compete, but I feel included as a team member all the same when we check in at the front desk and all register with our names. Even writing mine under 'alternate # 2' gives me a buzz of excitement. How depressing.

Liz invites me to stay in her hotel room as it's the only one with a spare bed, which could pose as a slight inconvenience, though I suppose I'll deal with that hurdle when I reach it. She chatters excitedly the whole time as she unpacks her suitcase and hangs her colourful outfits in the closet across from her bed, as I hide my medication in the nightstand quickly while her back is turned.

"I mean, it's nationals, you know? This is important and I'm not going to screw it up. I really appreciate you coming Bonnie, you've really helped us out, just in case of any disasters. Can I ask you a question? "

I sigh and prepare myself for what is coming, "Shoot."

I busy myself with unpacking while she asks, "Why did you move to Midtown? I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad that you're here, but why? Usually you have to apply to get in during summer. "

"Yeah, I did. I moved from my old school in Brooklyn. I applied over last summer, just had some difficulties with... paperwork and whatever." I lie. She doesn't notice. She just carries on with hanging shirt after shirt on the plastic coat hangers in the closet.

"Which school did you go to?"

"Brooklyn School of Science."

"Hey! My cousins ​​go there. Do you know anyone called Kathryn Toomes?"

"No, sorry." I offer a half-hearted smile.

"Yeah, well, you probably wouldn't want to anyway. She's a bitch. Hey, we were all thinking about sneaking down to the pool if you wanna come? I know you're friends with Peter, so maybe you could ask him, too?" She turns to me with a glint in her eye which rubs me completely the wrong way. She doesn't seem so sweet anymore and I don't seem so surprised to be getting along with her. I didn't think she was my kind of person, and I stand correct. She has an ulterior motive with speaking to me; Peter. She wants to get through to Peter through me. Malicious or not, I don't owe his girl anything, I shouldn't be made to feel guilty for not wanting to be the person used for someone else's pining. Plus, Parker and I have a mission— this is a work weekend—not some sort of vacation for him to spend gazing into the eyes of Liz Toomes. After all, I am only in Washington for him.

"Yeah, well, I didn't bring a bathing suit. You could ask Peter, though. I'm sure he'd love to go swimming with you all."

"Bummer, it would have been so fun," she says as she changes into her swim suit before fiddling with the mini fridge and sorting through the various range of candy bars and chips until she settles on something with a silver wrapper.

"Well, I'll see you later. Are you sure that you don't want to come to the pool? I might have another bathing suit if you wanna use it? I don't mind." Her usual sweetness has returned and almost causes me a toothache, a trip to the dentist almost in dire need.

"I'm sure. But thanks, Liz. I'll see you later."

She gives me a sickly smile and closes the door behind her. I rummage to the bottom of my suitcase and pull out my white combat suit. As I slip it on, I catch sight of the scar on my hip, fondly reminding the night in Berlin; ignoring the circumstances of our trip. The crimson blood stain is undetectable and could be mistaken for never existing to begin with if one hadn't known. I sigh.

I tug on a sweater and a pair of baggy jeans before sliding on my Converse to hide the bright white skin-tight fabric. I check my bag multiple times to make sure that all of my pill bottles are inside— non left scattered around the room for Liz to find and poke questions at later— before readying myself and starting for the door.

As my fingertips graze across the brass doorknob, a knocking from the other side of the door penetrates the thick wood. "Bonnie? Are you ready?"

I swing open the door and hear it slam behind me as I take a step towards Peter in the hallway. Twisting my curls into a claw clip at the back of my head and pulling out a few strands to frame my face, I take a deep breath, "Whenever you are, Parker."

Immediately, Liz and the rest of the team quickly tip-toe past us, coming from the direction of Flash's hotel room. They giggle and chuckle between each other about their 'rebellious' act, acting as though they're robbing a bank or hacking a multi-million dollar private database for one of those exploitative blood-sucking corporations, rather than staying out past curfew and eating more than the daily recommended serving suggestion of sugar.

Peter tenses up beside me at the sudden whispering, and almost shuts down completely at the sight of Liz. Her hair is effortlessly messy and voluminous, constraining greatly to my usual frizz of cotton candy curls. She's tall and slim in a way that makes her look like a model, whereas I'm average height with massive legs that make me look like a spider. Though I suppose, that should be Peter's exact type. I shudder. Even the thought of any sort of romantic feelings towards him is enough to send me reeling.

"Hey, Liz" His voice is shaky and startled.

She gracefully and delicately glides down the hallway towards us. "Perfect timing. We're gonna go swimming." She gestures for the rest of the group to follow, and they bounce past us, buzzing with adrenaline and excitement. Few of them wave at me, most are more consumed in the idea of breaking the rules than actually being able to acknowledge my presence, which is always a bit disappointing. Flash slaps Peter's ass as he rushes by, leaving Peter in an embarrassed mess. I chuckle; he only turns a deeper shade of crimson.

"I was— I was gonna go study in the business centre," he manages to stumble out.

"Peter, you don't need to study you're, like, the smartest guy I've ever met. And besides, a rebellious group activity the day before a competition is good for morale—"

"Should've just pushed me off this balcony, right here, and left me to die. That's rebellious enough," I mumble under my breath. It slips by unnoticed by Liz, though Peter shakes his head beside me.

"I read that in a TED talk, so— I— I head it in a TED talk. And I read a coaching book." Liz further explains.

"Are you really— This is really important to you."

"Yeah," Liz replies, "It's our future. I'm not going to screw it up. Besides, we raided the mini bar and these candy bars were like, $11. So get your trunks on, "she tosses a chocolate bar which lands perfectly in Peter's outstretched hands, "and come on."

She skips down the rest of the hall to catch up with the rest of the group, Peter's eyes lingering on her as she progresses further and further away from us. I can see he's hesitant— he wants to stay. And I hate myself for my brain won't stop screaming pathetically, 'please don't stay. Please say you'll come with me.'

He quickly rips his focus away from her and takes off down the hall, while I follow close behind. He's upset— he feels left out, I know he does-- but I have no idea what to say or even how to comfort people in general. This situation only makes it more difficult; he doesn't necessarily have to leave, he doesn't have to come with me, it's completely his choice.

He pushes through the front doors and we hide around the back of the building to slip out of our first layer of clothes, leaving us only in our fighting gear. He climbs onto the glass roof as I push my bundle of clothes into my bag and readjust the dagger holsters on my thighs. He watches Liz as she laughs and smiles and jokes on with the rest of the team in the swimming pool, not-so-secretly wishing he was included. That immature and unfamiliar voice keeps lingering in the back of my mind and I hate it. Instead, a more stubborn and harsh voice takes over.

"Stay here, if you want. I don't care. It's your mission." My voice comes out in a spoilt and cold dig, rather than an immature and ungrateful whine. It hits him almost like a slap across the face; his brow furrows slightly before his expression softens.

"No. No, of course I'm coming with you on the mission. It's more important." He pulls his mask on over his head, the vivid blue and red off his suit lighting up like Christmas lights. He jumps, startled.

"Hello? Hello! Ah— Thank you. Uh... I put a tracker on someone. He's a— he's a bad guy. Okay, well, as long as we make it back in time for decathlon."

I assume Peter says to the A.I controlling his suit, before he jumps down from the roof as grasps hold of me. He nods his head reassuringly and squeezes my hand to tell me that we'll be okay, before we swing off.

The wind on the highway sends my hair tumbling out of its hair-clip and I curse myself for not having pulled it into braids earlier like I usually would. It almost completely covers my eyes like a blindfold, yet I'm too afraid to let go of Peter to unblock my vision, in case I fall and get hit by a car or a truck.

The truck we are hanging onto feels as though it's about the break down at any minute, or come tumbling off the road. As do I.

"Okay, I'm gonna jump down now, okay? We're here." Peter updates me on our journey and path, just like he had promised from the first time he had taken me swinging across the city, because he knows how anxiety provoking it is for me.

We leap from the truck, his hands gripping around my waist tightly, his thumb just grazing the scar on my hip. We're sent tumbling to the ground as the hill just off from the highway is a lot steeper than we initially anticipated, and Peter pulls me tight to him in order to break our fall so that I won't get injured. My head is about to hit the floor with a thud and I scrunch my eyes closed in order to prepare myself for the impact, though Peter quickly slips his hand through my hair and guards me from getting a concussion from hitting the hard ground. I groan as sharp rocks dig into my back and my daggers press firmly into my skin while we roll in a heap down the hill.

When we eventually slow to a stop, after all of the head banging and bruises, he lands underneath me, his hands still wrapped firmly around my waist. My legs are on either side of him, and our faces inches apart. If he hadn't been wearing his mask, I'm sure he would have felt each breath part my lips and hit against his skin; I would have been able to individually count each and every eyelash on his eyes.

I groan and clutch at my neck, pulling my hands away to find sticky crimson blood coating my fingertips and freshly painted-black nails. He stiffens underneath me; unsure of how to approach the situation. Lifting his shaking hand to my neck, he gently brushes against the wound, his fingertips coated.

"It's okay. It's just a scratch," I murmur.

And I think there's a moment. The tiniest faintest moment there could ever be, but one where I'm certain that even under his mask, his eyes are locked with mine. It would take the slightest move forward, the smallest nudge in the right direction...

He reaches to pull his mask off, almost forgetting that we're in a field in public with the people we're trying to hunt down only a matter of metres away.

The faint whispering of voices clouds over our moment and disturbs us from our gaze, and I pull myself up from on top of Peter. We run over to the bushes and hide amongst the foliage by a run-down-looking gas station. The red and white colour scheme fading to a a rusty brown and chipping away.

"Why is their secret lair in a gas station. That's so lame." Peter whispers beside me.

"They probably want to keep it casual or under the radar. I mean, what do you expect? A huge mansion or some shit?"

He clambers up the gas station sign to get a better look while I sneak forward and out of the bushes, hiding behind an empty and clearly abandoned car. I think I manage to hear one of the weapon-sellers mention something about always being able to benefit from any mess that 'They' make. But I'm still to far away to find out who 'They' are.

I shriek as a loud strike pounds against the floor in an unsatisfying crunch, followed by an excruciated groan.

"Peter? What the fuck are you doing? Are you alright?" I whisper-yell at him.

He scrambles up from the floor and shakes out his limbs, "What the hell was that? What just happened?"

He attempts to sling his webs onto the towering sign above us, though it just hits against it pathetically. I chuckle despite Peter being frantic.

"Suit lady, what's wrong with my web-shooters?" I hear him whisper worriedly to the A.I controlling his suit. I roll my eyes and return to my avid watching of the suspects during their heist, trying my best to pick up on any valuable information that I don't already know; these people are fusing alien technology with ours and creating and selling illegal weapons. I try to listen out for any names or locations, to no positive result.

In the second that my back has been turned, Peter has managed to land himself in even more shit than I though was possible. He darts back and fourth around the concrete while shooting out strange webs, trying his best to just turn it off. I regret agreeing to come, then again, he's probably get himself killed if it wasn't for me. I edge closer to the truck and hide behind a gas pump, gasping in tightly to the handles of my daggers just incase.

I turn my head around to check on Peter, though he is absolutely nowhere to be seen. I scan frantically around the gas station, terrified that he's been caught, before I find him on top of one of the trucks driving up the highway. I dart through the station and our through the bushes, desperately trying my best to catch up with Peter. I eventually reach him, despite every inch of my body almost bursting from adrenaline and pain, before the vulture swoops past us, almost taking my head off. I hang on tightly to the side of the truck and heave myself up to the roof, where Peter is wrestling with the guy with the wings over a backpack.

I grab onto the other strap of the backpack and heave with everything that I have in me. I reach for my dagger and attempt to cut through the fabric so that the vulture-guy will let go, but the struggle is too rough and the road is too bumpy, and I end up slicing through the side of my wrist. I gasp and freeze up in shock while blood immediately begins seeping through the white fabric of my suit. If only the padding I had on my chest for protection was spaced out throughout the suit. I shake off the pain as best I can and continue heaving as much as possible, until, suddenly, Peter and I are sent flying backward and through a matter-phase-shifter and into the truck. Everything turns black.

—

"Bonnie... Please, wake up- Fuck, I've killed her. It's all my fault... Mr. Stark is going to kill me... going to kill me. Bonnie?"

The voice. I think it's familiar. Is it?

It definitely isn't Dad and it doesn't sound anything like Steve. It's crackled and whining and paired with choking sobs. Wanda?

No. There's no Sokovian twinge to the words.

A numbing sensation rushes in and a slight ringing sensation sounds over the sobs of the person beside me, their fingers running through my hair and shaking my shoulders. Someone is speaking to me, but I can't quite make out what they're saying. It seems as if the whole world is underwater, everything is moving in slow motion, and all sounds are garbled and indecipherable like a damaged recording.

My head throbs aggressively, almost as if my brain is about ready to explode out of my skull. My wrist aches and burns as if it's been set alight from the inside. My skin feels sticky.

I lift my hand to the one gripping onto my left shoulder as if I'm about to slip away at any second, and reluctantly open my eyes to find the crumpled face of Peter Parker looming over me. His expression floods over with relief as his eyes appear slightly glossy. Had he been crying?

"Bonnie, you're not dead!" He exclaims as he pats his hands across my face to make sure I'm really here and I'm really awake.

The room around me is spinning, "Well, what a brilliant observation. I was only unconscious, don't start wishing it was more. Where the fuck are we, Parker? And what the fuck happened to my arm?" I pull myself up to a sitting position and catch sight of my blood-stained sleeve.

"I don't know," he looks frantically around the container walls, "they must have hijacked the truck and taken us to their evil lair." He jumps up and begins shaking out the nerves, "We're gonna have to fight our way out of this one. Okay, three, two, one!" He bursts through the wall of the truck.

I couldn't even imagine standing up with the state I'm in, let alone readying myself for another fight. Peter lets out a concerned and frightened grunt, and I heave myself up into a standing position, shakily stumbling out of the truck and clasping onto my dagger in case he's gotten himself into a dangerous situation and needs backup.

"What? Where the fuck are we?"

"We're in the most secure facility on the Eastern Seaboard. Damage Control deep storage vault!"

The vault is vast and intimidating. There is so much emptiness despite the boxes and boxes piling high to the ceiling. It seems too sterile, too clean, almost hospital-like. Everything is so white and industrial. The air seems thicker and hard to breathe no matter how deeply I attempt to inhale. The walls are closing in on me, I'm sure of it.

Peter runs to the door and attempts to pry them open with all of the strength he can muster, while I stay rooted to the spot. I think that if I move even the slightest I'll be sent unconscious again. My legs feel as delicate as glass as I struggle to hold myself up. The pain of my wrist is excruciating. My knees give way and I hit the floor with a thud. My vision becomes distorted, as if I'm watching everything around me through a fish-eye lens.

Peter rushes over to me and props me up against the side of the trunk. "I'm fine, Parker. I'm fine. Leave me alone, I'm just tired. Just let me nap, and-"

"No! No, you can't go to sleep, okay? I need to clean and bandage this cut or else it's gonna get infected. Don't go to sleep, Bonnie. Here-" He unscrews the lid from a water bottle and hands it to me, helping me shakily lift it to my lips and take a sip.

My eyelids feel leaden. All of the energy has been drained from my body and quite honestly, I wish he'd just stop talking and leave me to go to sleep. He continues asking me questions while he rummages through his backpack and shakily pulls out a miniature version of the first-aid kit that he took to Berlin. Even in my half-conscious state I manage to giggle fondly over his practicality and preparation. He gently rolls the bottom of my left sleeve up and grimaces slightly as he sees the gash across my arm from the dagger. He grimaces, though he tries to disguise it so that I won't get worried or concerned. But, quite frankly, I'm hardly even conscious and aware of everything going on around me.

"Hey, doesn't this remind you of Berlin?" He asks as he dabs at my arm with a cotton ball. His voice seems distant and metallic, robotic and unfamiliar as my hearing alters.

"Here, here. Water," he hands me the water once again and helps me take a small sip while I try my hardest not to drift off. After cleaning my wound, he gently ties a bandage around my arm and secures it in place with some medical tape. I suppose the mild concussion from hitting my head during the fall and the blood loss from my injury is making me feel quite delicate and queasy. Though, I try my best to stay awake for him.

After fixing me up, he patches a piece of medical tape over a small cut on the side of his cheek, sticky blood smudges across the high point of his cheekbone. I suppose it's time like these when one would be extremely grateful for super-strength.

His hair is floppy and hangs down in front of his eyes. Caramel curls weave within chocolate waves that trickle down his forehead and tangle together in a messy nest. Though it looks effortlessly enticing. If I had the energy in me, I might want to reach out and push the stands out of his eyes. His eyes...

The usual collision of velvety warm shades are haunted with a red overlay of gloss. The tiny bloodshot patches are either from stress or lack of sleep, probably both. His top lip glistens slightly with a tiny droplet of perspiration. His expression screws up momentarily as he sticks another piece of tape over a cut on the back of his neck, though he disguises the pain impeccably.

"Thank you, Peter. I have no idea what I'd do without you... I'd probably be dead by now if you weren't around." I groan.

"Definitely the other way around." He mumbles as he packs his medical case into his backpack. When he looks back up at me and shakes the hair out of his eyes, I catch his gaze. I bring my eyes up to look at Peter and attempt to memorise every detail on his face. Every freckle, every eyelash, every barely noticeable crack and line in his complexion. He really is beautiful, but in a sort of sad way. He is the type of beautiful that knocks all of the air out of your lungs and makes the idea of performing a coherent sentence seem impossible, but he is so damaged by himself that he is simply hollow on the inside. It's almost as if he has carved into his skin and scooped out all of his insides to be discarded. Perhaps he could feel himself rotting, just the way I can feel my brain decaying inside of my head. Perhaps he believed that there was nothing left of him that was salvageable. But it's no matter, I know that he isn't completely and utterly bare and empty inside. I know there is something left inside of him. It's almost like a fire burning in his stomach, that's what is keeping him able to function. That is the source of his unbelievable selflessness and generosity. That is what makes him so deeply endearing.

But he's also a fucking nerd and the one who got us stuck in this storage vault in the first place, so at the moment I'm not too fond of him.

He leaves me to regain my strength laying in the back of the truck, using my bag as a pillow and his coat as a comforter. I hear the little echos of his voice and the sounds of his webs slapping against the walls and the sound of the velocity of his swift movement through the air, while I try to forget the fact that we're stuck in one of the most secure facilities in America.

I think I hear him mention Liz as he talks away to the A.I in his suit. Then he chuckles and I can practically hear the toothy grin poking through his voice. Definitely her. Though I don't blame him.

I stay on the cusp of sleep for what feels forever; terrified of yet another nightmare leaving me in a sobbing mess, though too exhausted to keep my eyes open much longer. I fight my slumber with all of the strength and restrain in me, to not much success. I fall asleep, but there's no nightmares.

I sometimes wish that I could fall asleep with my eyes open, so that way I could watch out for any threats, much like in the way I much always sleep facing the door. I think it's important to map out the escape routes and fire exits whenever you enter a room. I certainly learned my lesson.

"Should I tell Liz that I'm Spider-Man?" He mumbles to the A.I, "Who's Liz? She's- she's the best. She's awesome. She's just a girl who goes to my school. And... uh, I really wanna tell her but it's kinda weird like, 'Hey, I'm Spider-Man.' What if she's expecting someone like Tony Stark? I mean, imagine goes disappointed she's be when she sees me."

"Thanks Karen," he says after a while. "Hey, how long we been here anyways? What? Thirty-seven minutes? That's insane, I cannot take this anymore. I got to- I gotta get out of here."

I bite the bullet. I know what I have to do and I know I'm the only one here capable of doing it. "Wait," I call as I stumble up, grabbing onto the crates in the trunk in order to steady myself, "I can do it."

"Bonnie? Bonnie, what are you doing? Come on, you need to rest." He rushes over to me and gently grips my arm, taking all of my weight. I brush him off, determined to be independent despite my current fragility.

"It's fine, it's fine. I've got this." I take a deep breath and ready myself in front of door after shakily making my way over, Peter standing only steps behind in case he has to suddenly intervene at some point and save me from another collapse. I close my eyes and exhale a breath I hadn't realised I had been holding. I feel my body tense instantly as I shakily lift my arm and feel the energy immediately rush to my fingertips.

My body fills with a rush of seething heat. A sudden pounding in my skull breaks me from my focus as I clasp my hands tightly to my head. It feels as though my brain is about to burst from my skull at any possible second, and I scream out in pain, collapsing to the floor. My knees thud against the concrete and a crunching sound reverberates throughout my body, but the pain in my head is too overwhelming to even cast a second thought to my skinned kneecaps.

Peter immediately jumps over to me and attempts to lift me back to my spot in the van where I had been sleeping, though I push him away. "It's fine. I can get us out of here," I choke out through gasps. I ready my self again after pulling my fragile frame up from the ground and outstretch my arm once more. Nothing happens.

I try again.

Nothing.

No loathsome telekinetic abilities causing the door to fling open so that Peter and I can get back to our boring and rather average weekend; if we ignore the vulture guy and the alien weapons.

"What?" I spit out, "Why isn't this working?"

My head continues to throb, sending pulsating pounding throughout my entire body and causing my knees to turn weak- my vision blurring.

"What the fuck? Am I fucking broken or something?" I think this is the only time when I have ever been in need of my abilities; the one time when I could use them for good and not just accidentally smashing lightbulbs.

"Bonnie, it's okay. We'll find a way out." His positive tone only infuriates me more, if I had the energy left in me then I'd maybe find a way to get angry enough to channel whatever this power inside of me is and I'd be able to use it to my advantage. I haven't got any control. At all. That only makes it more terrifying; the unpredictability.

Any other time, I'd scream at him for being so fucking optimistic all of the time, though now I can only scoff and refrain from allowing the burning tears to spill over.

"I'm never going to know, am I? I'm never going to figure this out. I'm never going to be able to have control over whatever this is inside of me." I sit against the truck with my knees pulled up to my chin, burying my face away from him as he sits opposite me.

"Don't cry, come on. Look, I'll see if there's anything in here that I'll be able to open that thing with. We'll find a way out of here, Bonnie, I promise." Peter says with a false optimism leaking through his voice.

I feel pathetic. Useless. Embarrassed. I'm locked in one of the most secure facilities in America with Spider-Man, unable to get us out as I'm attempting to prove myself worthy of becoming an official Avenger. And I can't even open a fucking door.

"We'll find a way out-"

"You don't get it, Parker!" My harsh tone stuns him into silence, but I'm far too distraught and infuriated with myself to be rational. I bury my face in my hands and clutch at my knotted curls. Mom would find a way out - I hate my inner voice sometimes.

He pipes up after a while, "Tell me. Help me understand. I mean, what mind-set are you usually in when your powers come out?"

I sniff. "It's not really a particular mind-set. But it almost always comes out when I'm upset or angry. Clearly not now, which is why I'm never going to understand this."

"Do you know why it's happening? I mean, were you injected with some super-soldier serum or whatever?" I know he's kidding, trying to lighten the situation. But the truth...

My body begins to shake and I absolutely cannot hold myself together any longer, because all I see is His face. And the car crashing. And I feel the burning rush through my body... but it's not there. Like a phantom feeling attached to me forever and always. Something is going to happen soon and I know it.

"Hey, come on. Don't cry." He wipes away at my tears with his thumb as I lift my head to look at him, utterly mortified that Peter Parker has to witness me in a sobbing mess yet again. It seems we only hang out when the world is about to end or something truly destructive and catastrophic is about to happen. "Shit, I'm so sorry, Bonnie."

We sit in silence for a while, neither of us really knowing what to say or what to do. Unable to open the door in anyway, I feel utterly defeated by myself. I clear my throat, "Actually, no one really knows. I mean, aside from Dad and Pepper, maybe Rhodey, too. I don't know. I never told Wanda, I was embarrassed and it's too difficult to even think about, let alone talk about. Fuck, you're gonna think I'm some sort of freak."

"I was bitten by a radioactive spider. Trust me, nothing surprises me anymore." He chuckles infectiously, causing the faint hint of my smile to stretch on my lips.

"Mom was a scientist. She met Dad at some sort of New Years party or whatever, they didn't really know each other that well. My dad being Tony Stark, and my mom being Mom... whatever, it doesn't matter. Some guy left his card for Mom at the party and she called him. He owned this research agency— A.I.M— his name was Aldrich Killian. Fuck, even saying his name makes me..." I shudder.

"They developed this groundbreaking form of gene regeneration therapy, it really could have changed the world. Mom quickly picked up everything and we moved to London after he started suggesting using me as a test subject. We stayed there under the radar for a few years but he found us after a while... always found us. We were in a car accident. I don't remember that much. Just coming off the highway and waking up in the hospital... my arm was gone from the elbow, they said it was unsalvageable due to the injuries sustained from the crash. Everything had been going so well in London until then, almost too well, suspiciously well. Then the accident happened, Grandpa died, and soon enough we were dragged back to New York. Mom couldn't afford to stay in London any longer, money was tight and it was hard to find new jobs in her field. I got put in His system when we got back, 'Subject Thirteen.' It worked, it fucking worked. 'Subject performed almost perfectly' he'd say over and over again until I was the closest test subject to 100% development. The rest were taken away into the isolation ward or just disappeared— I hardly ever saw anyone other than Him, Mom and the scientists. The only positive to come out of the experiments was the fact that I got my fucking arm back, but stuck with the lasting effects in my brain. Altered the parietal lobe of my brain, the part responsible for integrating sensory information; touch, temperature, pressure, pain, y'know, all that shit. As if everything had been dialled up to eleven. I just remember that room— that goddamn room— I hated it. I hated my life. I just wanted to be like the other subjects, I wanted them to kill me so that I wouldn't have to do it anymore. I fucking tried, I tried. I didn't see a way out."

I pause to gather myself, "Mom died on Christmas and I spent the day by myself waiting for her to come home and trying to convince myself that she hadn't forgotten about me, until Tony Stark showed up at my door. I threw up all over his shoes, I was so fucking mortified, when he told me that Mom had been killed. It was a disgusting feeling, I've never even admitted it to myself. In some way, it was as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders; I knew it was over and that He would never find me again- He was dead, and so was she. Then Tony took me and I hid away— didn't want anyone to know I existed—which is really fucking difficult when your Dad is on the face of every magazine, even Vogue at one time." I pause and exhale deeply, "So, spider bite, huh? Did it hurt?"

Peter goes to speak but snaps his mouth shut, mimicking a goldfish, as he searches every inch of his brain to find anything to say to me.

"Wanda said to me one time, 'I can't control their fear, only my own,' and it's something I'm trying to get on board with. I mean, people will be afraid of me no matter what, but the most damaging thing is the fear that I have of myself— of what I can do. It just makes it so much more complicated."

He takes hold of my hands in his and intertwines his fingers in mine. I can't help but wish that he hadn't been wearing his suit so that I could feel his skin against mine. It's been a while since someone touched me, terrified that just like glass, I'd shatter. Broken— they'd think.

"I'm not scared of you, Bonnie. Do you intimidate me? Definitely. But am I actually scared of you? No. Not at all."

His eyes meet with mine as I finally manage to bring myself to look at him properly. He isn't afraid or blank, he's sad. He looks heartbroken. He looks at a loss. His eyes almost feel as if they're searching desperately within my body for any sort of answer or clarity in how to make it stop- how to make it all go away. The trauma, the questions, the fact we're locked in this vault with no way of getting out; he just looks. His face softens though his brow slightly crinkles.

His eyes remind me of pure black coffee on those freezing winter mornings when getting out of bed feels as difficult as attempting to break through vibranium. The coffee reminding you what it feels like to be alive and awake and aware in your own body. He reminds me what it feels like to be alive.

His face is mere inches from mine. His delicate breath hitting softly against my lips and brushing through my eyelashes. His demeanour is awkward and stiff, though he raises his hand to brush the cotton candy curls from in front of my face. The nerves are practically radiating from him, but I have never felt so calm and secure in my life.

I could connect the freckles on his cheeks as bright constellations in the sky and build the universe around them; him.

This shouldn't happen, even if we both want it.

His thumb grazes my cheek as he nestles his hand in my hair, our foreheads almost touching. Suddenly, the pounding in my skull doesn't feel quite as harsh and the fact that we're locked in the vault doesn't seem so annoying and inconvenient.

Our lips are practically grazing.

I want to kiss him.

"Is this alright?" he drawls, whispering while no one is here aside from myself.

Yes.

"We probably shouldn't."