"Mom?"

My throat is scratchy and my voice is hoarse. How long have I been here?

Was it as long as last time?

The stench of blood and flesh and heat in the lab slithers into my nostrils and tickles the back of my throat, causing the chunks to rise in my mouth. I gag, though nothing parts my lips.

The glowing warmth enveloping me is unbearable and oppressive. It drains my body of all energy, and I can't focus on anything other than the worsening of the pain.

That's when I realise that I'm crying.

I'm crying so severely, I can hardly breathe, let alone call for help. My voice escapes my mouth in pathetic whimpers.

The volume of my guttural wailing tears away at my throat and vocal chords; the desperation seeping through as my body suddenly tenses. My breathing begins to rapidly increase.

I attempt to pull away, to writhe myself free of the leather straps securing me to the bed, but it's too tight and I'm in too much pain to continue.

"Mom!"

She isn't here.

I haven't got it in me to shout anymore. I can't bring himself to scream. I just whimper and suffocate on my sobs while the blinding heat begins to fester throughout my body and crawls up my throat.

The warmth embeds itself deep into my skin and grazes the bone.

My whole body feels as though it's been set on fire. Every second worse than the last. I clench my teeth so hard, I can feel them begin to loosen in my gums; my mouth coated in sickly metallic tasting fluid.

I want my death to come quicker.

I mean, isn't that what happened to all of the others?

Please. Please. Please. Please.

But it doesn't. And the pain so horrific, I don't know how I'm still alive.

I'm still alive when He appears beside me, the sheer sight of Him is enough to make my skin crawl. He takes out a clipboard from the draw beside me, jotting down notes with an infuriated expression on his face, as if I have failed him.

"Maya! Unsuccessful. Fucking unsuccessful! You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" he yells as he bursts through the doors and into the hallway, in search of my mother.

The burning stops, though I know soon enough, I'll be back for another 'meeting' and it will resume all over again.

—

My eyes snap open and light begins to cloud over my blurred vision, as well as the familiar surroundings of my bedroom.

Relief overwhelms my body and practically restrains me to the bed, weighing me down, it feels impossible to lift any of my limbs. I stare at the ceiling and listen to the seconds tick by on my alarm clock until I manage to muster up enough courage and hesitantly drag myself out of the covers.

The clock reads half-past six in the morning. It took a while for my brain to shut off last night, meaning the four hours of fitful and broken sleep have left me feeling even more delicate and exhausted than I had expected. Reliving the 'meetings' practically every night is having a detrimental effect on my mental health. Perhaps I should take a leaf out of Dad's book, stop even trying to get some sleep, it always makes things worse.

When I first moved in, I hadn't come to grips with Tony Stark's anxiety and messy personality, and I hadn't realised that every minute of sleep he endures should be seen as rare as gold dust.

On one of my first evenings at the Tower, Pepper had been wrapped up in bed, I had been crying, Tony had fallen asleep sitting up at his desk in his workshop, his head lulling and resting on his shoulder. Even in sleep his hands were twitching, which I suppose is a trait I inherited from him as even without the frequent anxiety, my fingers relentlessly jitter.

Spreadsheets were littering the table, empty coffee cups and the quiet whispering of Queen left to accompany him. I didn't have access to his workshop back then, it had only been days after my arrival. When I had emerged from my room the for the first time, pushing myself through the debilitating grief and trauma that had seemed to be weighing me down, like heavy manacles hanging around my wrists and my ankles, slowly but painfully embedding themselves into my skin, the house seemed to be completely empty. I hadn't thought to ask J.A.R.V.I.S about where everyone had gone, Tony had given me access to him while he was crafting my own A.I, despite the fact I hadn't any idea or any experience dabbling in that sort of scientific area.

I hadn't thought about much other than the fact my Mother was dead and that I couldn't control what was happening to me. I started flinching when people would dance around that word, walking on eggshells around me. Happy would use the term 'gone,' while Pepper would say 'passed,' Tony had seemed to be the only person who said it how it was; she was dead. Nothing more, nothing less. That's just how it was. Dead, dead, dead.

I had stumbled out of my bedroom, furiously rubbing my eyes until a kaleidoscope of colorful blotches had clouded over my vision completely, in attempt to wake myself from the what seemed to be permanent dazed state.

The violent thumping of my heart batting against my ribs was physically painful, and made me feel overcome with a wave of nausea. I managed to croak out a rather pitiful call for Tony. 

Not here. Not here. Gone. Alone.

My brain had become toxic. My brain had managed to convince me that just like dominoes, once one is down, it takes the rest with it. I had believed that Tony and Pepper had left me too. Which is ridiculous, and the pathetic tears burning my cheeks were unneeded, as as soon as I had managed to pull myself down the staircase and to the workshop, I found Tony stirring in his sleep, breaking from the cusp of unconciousness, as the almost inaudible padding of my feet against the freezing floor came to a sudden halt, mistaking the glass door for an open path and very nearly hitting my head on it.

"You okay, kid?" The door of the office slowly opened as he rubbed his eyes, attempting to bring himself back to reality.

I froze, rapidly searching my brain for a plausible reply, not feeling comfortable enough to explain that while I wanted to be left by myself, I never wanted to be alone. "I... I couldn't find... y-you or P-Pepper... and I-"

He cut me off, "You were afraid that we had disappeared, just like your Mom?"

I let my head drop in shame, intensely studying the floor with my eyes.

He paused and examined my face, before gesturing to the wooden stool beside him. "Sit."

I picked up my heavy limbs and dragged myself over to the chair before he gently placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

I jumped from his grasp in fear, "Don't! Don't touch me. I don't wanna burn you."

"You're fine. You're fine," he reassured me, "We got all of that stuff out of your system, okay? You're completely cool." He placed the back of his hands against my forehead to check my temperature, finding my skin to be cold, rather than the previous burning which it had been for almost the past two years.

He took a deep breath before opening his mouth again, "Look, I promise, I'm not leaving. I won't leave you. You can spend as much time as you want locked away in your room, but I swear, I won't leave. And definitely not without telling you first."

A silence enveloped us. Not an awkward or excruciating moment of uncertainty and unfamiliarity with each other. Just a silence of acceptance.

"Do you like Ben and Jerry's? What am I saying? Of course you do. Come on, there's a couple tubs in the freezer, if you won't tell Pepper then neither will I." He gestured to the glass doors.

"At least this time it won't melt in my hands before I have a chance to eat it."

We spent the rest of the night sprawled on the couch in front of the television, eating our body weight in chocolate and caramel while watching The Breakfast Club and Back to the Future and hitting the surface of each others' personalities, before I had returned to my bedroom and burrowed under the covers, deciding that the previous interaction was enough for the day. Which turned into several. And eventually weeks.

I suppose that having attempted to erase my thoughts, disconnect from my body completely was most definitely a terrible idea.

It made me do things that I didn't want to it intend to.

Tony had to change my lightbulbs in my bedroom six times in the week that followed our conversation in his workshop because I kept making them spark out and explode, no matter how much I tried to stop.

Having filled the days since my arrival with either hours spent sleeping and burrowed under my covers or staring at the ceiling until the complete nothingness consumed me, the latter definitely being more prominent, I hadn't explored the maze that was Stark Tower.

Sometimes I would gaze out of the window and stare longingly at the raindrops running down the thick glass. The day I spent seven hours watching raindrops was a bad day.

Tony would personally bring me meals to my bed, stopping to talk for a while, though the majority of my answers would consist of grunts or complete silence; the idea of opening my mouth and using energy to talk and hold an actual conversation felt too overwhelming and unmanageable.

My heart would be constantly aching while my head would turn empty and bare, simultaneously being bombarded with reliving the 'meetings'. I would long for the relief of security and familiarity, I just wanted it to feel as though everything in my life hadn't been failing apart, even a stolen second wouldn't have gone a miss.

Looking back on it now, I have come to terms with the fact that when you experience such intense darkness, you subconiously learn ways to ignore yourself. Remedies for numbing the aching in your chest and the indications of the pain worsening would go unseen, slipping away from your crowded yet bare, rotting brain.

The grief has stripped everything and everyone from you.

The absence of Pepper is overwheming. My first thought when Dad began practically living in his workshop after the announcement of the Accords, was to go to their room, where she'd usually be laying down with a book in her hand and a bar of dark chocolate by her side, and ask her what she thinks about the situation at hand.

She probably would've gotten into an argument with him about making sure he doesn't get me involved. The Avengers have no place for a teenage girl- according to her. She would've just wanted to keep me safe. I suppose since she knows Tony inside out, it's only natural to expect me to be his carbon copy. Ready to risk everything to save the people I love. Or maybe she just thought I had already been through so much for a teenage girl.

I take out my journal and reluctantly scribble down my previous nightmare, not going into too much depth as to not experience it again, but recording it down on paper so that I can get it out of my system for the day, and Dad won't find it stored in Antares.

After Tony had finished making my very own A.I, he asked what I would like it to be called. It was slightly difficult explaining the meaning behind Antares, the brightest star in the Scorpius constellation. Though he didn't seem too surprised, after all, J.A.R.V.I.S was named after his father's butler.

I do my usual checks, mentally scanning my body for any trace of the burning, and exhale deeply upon finding myself completely cool.

The days following the Secretary's announcement of the Sokovia Accords have left the Compound and almost unbearable place to live, with the team divided and hardly thinking of much else than the future of the Avengers.

Dad is constantly working.

Nat is in Vienna for the Accords confirmation meeting, Steve and Sam left for London a few days ago for the funeral of Peggy Carter, the woman Steve has spent his life pining over. And I feel awful, I really really do.

He liked talking about her. And I'd always catch him staring at the picture of her he has stashed in his compass. Though that would never stop me from trying to convince Steve that his true love was Bucky.

He would chuckle fondly and wave me away, his lips still curled into a grin. And then it would falter and fall. And he'd be sad again. Because the two people he loved most in the world had left him behind. Unwillingly- but I suppose that didn't matter to him.

My door bursts open, a flustered Wanda with disheveled hair and an almost slightly green tinge to her complexion from shock.

"What's wrong?" I ask, jumping up from my bed.

She doesn't reply.

She turns and starts down the hall, where Dad, Rhodey and Vision are huddled together in the communal  living room.

"More than 70 people have been injured at a UN conference in Vienna, and 12 killed, including Wakanda's King T'Chaka after a bomb explosion ripped the building down. A video of the suspect has been released by Officials, picturing James Buchanan Barnes, The Winter Soldier. Linked to numerous acts of terrorism and assassinations-"

"N-Nat. Has someone spoken to her? Is she alright?" I grab my father's phone from the coffee table beside him and begin attempting to crack the password on his phone and get to his contact list to call her and make sure she's still alive.

"Bonnie-" Dad begins, though I don't bother listening.

I try several number combinations, growing frustrated with the device as I am unable to figure out the code. My fingers tap against the screen so aggressively, I'm sure I'll end up breaking it.

But instead, it's a lightbulb that smashes and makes me jump out of my skin.

"Bonnie," he takes his phone from my grasp, "Nat is fine, we've spoken to her. Steve and Sam are still in London, they're fine, too. And for the record," he gestures to his phone screen, "my password is your birthday."

He sighs deeply before heading into the kitchen and starting up the coffee machine.

"Do you really think it was him? Barnes, I mean." I lower my voice and whisper to Wanda.

"Who else would it be? There's proof he did it."

Confined to the walls of my room for the remainder of the day; the Compound has fallen into chaos. A lot of the people gathered here I recognise, most I don't. It shocks me how Dad knows the name of every single person, and knows exactly it is what they're supposed to be doing, while I struggled to get to grips with remembering the names of the main security workers for my father, Happy clearly being the only one I still have stored away in my memory.

Wanda is also a raindrop-watcher. She's like me, she watches the rain drip down the window in a dazed state, longing to be outside.

We've made our way through the first season of Friends, despite neither of us paying any attention; too distracted with the bustling and pandemonium of the main building, which we can hear from my bedroom.

The idea of going back to sleep this morning seemed comical and unimaginable to the both of us, as did trying to do anything remotely productive. I'm terrified that if I even move, I'll send glass shards of yet another lightbulb flying to the ground. Most likely alongside the books from my shelves tumbling to the floor, the windows probably shattering, too.

Usually, the sarcastic wit of Chandler Bing is enough to somewhat distract me and calm me down to a state of remote 'serenity', or 'relaxation', but if anything, this time it makes me feel even worse. The laugh track of the audience seems menacing and intimidating, as if they're laughing at me specifically. Laughing at my weakness. Laughing at my lack of control over my own mind.

That's the fifth bulb since I woke up.

The second time I've sent the books flying off their allocated shelves.

Wanda doesn't even flinch.

I carefully lift myself up from my bed, avoiding any hasty movements, and pull open the drawer from my night stand. I retrieve yet another bulb, and drag out the stool from my dresser, standing tall to reach the lampshade hanging from my ceiling.

As my fingers brush against the metal screw, I very nearly topple over, as the heat penetrates my skin and boils my blood.

Cold.

I have to stay cold.

"That's five, right?" Wanda gestures to the bulb, I nod my head in confirmation. She pauses for a moment, almost preparing herself for what she is about to ask next. "You never told me what happened. I asked Steve and he told me to be patient and wait until you're ready."

"Yeah? Maybe you should do that then," I reply while swapping the broken bulb for a brand new one, swearing to myself that I will not damage this one. Not again. I will be able to control my mind.

After I step down from the chair, glad to be on steady ground again, Wanda mumbles, "It's frightening, coping with it alone. I was beginning to think that I had it all figured out, that I was in complete control. Now, look at the destruction I've caused."

"I'm not ready to talk about it yet, what happened. But just know that I am the way I am because of it. These," I gesture to the smashed bulbs hidden away in an old shoebox, "it's because of what happened to me. It had a lasting effect on my brain, like a permanent scar or stain, and no matter how hard I scrub away at it, it won't wash away down the drain pipe. It's engraved in me now."

"And you're scared of it, what you can do?"

"Yes."

"If anything, you should fear fear itself, Bonnie. It is the root of all evil and hatred." She rises from her curled up position by the window and lets me know that she is going to find Vision, leaving me alone in my room with her words playing on repeat in my head.

"If anything, you should fear fear itself, Bonnie. It is the root of all evil and hatred."

I scribble it down on a piece of paper and stick it above my bed, so that when I wake in the morning it will be the first thing I see. Perhaps it will be like a mild sedative. Perhaps it will calm me down and ease the permanent nerves.

"You have one new voicemail."

"Hey, kid."

Dad's voice sounds through Antares, clouding over the synthetic laughter of Friends.

"I decided to leave this message through your pal, Ant, rather than calling you. Honestly just because I know you'll try to guilt trip me into letting you tag along, but it's too dangerous. And I made a promise to myself that when you came here, I would do anything and everything in my power to keep you safe. And then Ultron happened and I put you at risk, and I can't ever do that again.

Steve and Sam have gotten into some trouble in Germany, and I need to figure this all out with them. There's more to it than that, but I know you're probably too busy watching Harry Potter or one of those Lindsay Lohan films you like so much. Maybe you're watching serial killer documentaries or looking at pictures of that guy from Friends, whatever. I've left Wanda and Vision back at the Compound, if you need anything then call me. And if you do something stupid— like accidentally blast all of the electrical circuits in the building and end up setting it on fire; call Happy, your old man can't handle that sort of stress. I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I won't be long, two days max. Call me if you need anything.

Love you, Sparky."

And then the call cuts out.

His voice lingers in the space around me for a moment, quietly reverberating against the walls.

The clock reads 4:30pm.

I shudder.

The time of my first ever 'meeting.'

When I manage to heave myself into the kitchen, Wanda is at the stove stirring a steaming pot, while Vision occupies the stool opposite her. He tells me that Dad left around three hours ago, and has left money for us- meaning Wanda and I- to order a pizza. This doesn't settle well with her.

I know she's longing to leave, envious of everyone else who can freely walk from the grounds whenever they please, it hadn't been up until now that she realised she had been unknowingly on house-arrest.

—

The Compound feels bare and lonely without the constant distraction of the rest of the team in the days following their departure. The minutes drag into everlasting hours, and I've found myself waking up in the morning only to spend my day waiting by the doors in case they arrive home. Everything feels off-balance and askew without the sound of my father and Steve constantly bickering between each other, Nat and I training together at three in the morning when the ideas of the nightmares are too terrifying to even cross my mind, the essence of sleep found nowhere in my system. Rhodey and Sam poking light-hearted fun at each others' 'costumes' and 'gimmicks.' The only thing that has stayed comfortingly the same is the amount of TV that Wanda and I have been watching, alongside the long-winded conversations with Vision, which mostly consist of him giving different coping mechanisms and remedies to ease anxiety.

I'm even starting to miss being called Sparky by everyone.

And they've hardly been gone for three days. I suppose, despite my wanting to be completely left by myself, I never truly want to be alone. It's a terrifying thought.

But I'd never tell.

Replace it with a witty self deprecating joke.

When Dad arrives home in the late hours of Sunday night, past dusk but not quite dawn, I can't help but tell him straight. "Wow. You look like shit. Are you alright?"

"Always." Though the black eye tells me differently. His voice is slightly hoarse, yet he struts around the living room with a direct stride in his step; he has a mission to complete, and nothing with get in the way of it.

He collapses on the couch momentarily, throwing his head into his hands and aggressively rubbing his eyes with his fists, attempting to make himself up from the exhaustion and resume life with that normal arrogant Tony Stark Attitude.

The shocking contrast between the freezer fully stocked with Ben and Jerry's ice cream, is still surreal, as when Mom was alive, the fridge was always practically bare, aside from the usual skimmed milk and half eaten block of cheese.

"What are you doing?" Dad heaves himself into the kitchen, resting his palms upon the counter and attempting to catch my eyes while I attempt to pry the lid off the tub. He sighs and raises his eyebrows, "Really? Ice cream at two in the morning?" before taking the pot from my hands and effortlessly pulling the lid off. He wants something. I can tell.

I pull out a spoon from the drawer and roll my eyes, before sauntering over to the couch as he follows close behind. He manages to sit through an entire episode of Friends, though from the corner of my eye, I can see his leg furiously bouncing up and down. It's quite surprising that he stayed, because he cannot stand that TV show, no matter how good looking he thinks Jennifer Aniston is.

He slowly turns to me as the credits begin to roll and the faces of Joey and Chandler fade, "Look, I need you to do something for me."

"Dad, if this is about your work divorce with Steve, I really don't want to hear it." I sigh, spooning more of the icy chocolate into my mouth.

"I need you to step up. I'm letting you be an Avenger for a day," he mentions casually, as if being one of the words greatest heroes is as natural as waking up the morning.

I scoff, "If you think for one second that I'd be willing to guilt trip Steve into signing the Sokovia Accords-"

He chuckles as a smile plays on his lips, perhaps for the first time since Pepper left. "Nothing like that. I need you for recruitment. There's a kid-"

I cut him off, aggressively digging my spoon further into the freezing tub, the condensation dripping down and in between my fingers which sends an icy chill throughout my body. At least I'm staying cold. "If they're not Chandler Bing, then I'm not interested."

He chuckles again. It sounds empty. "Please, Bonnie, his name is Peter Parker, he's your age."

"What do you want me to do? Seduce him with interesting scientific facts?" I suggest sardonically, though he remains completely silent and it dawns on me, "Oh my god, you want me to seduce him with interesting scientific facts."

"Well-" his voice wavers as he comes to the realisation that no way would I be willing to play any role in this at all.

"No. Absolutely not." I stab the spoon repeatedly into the quickly melting chocolate and caramel to expel some of the annoyance, I will not allow my mind to become overridden by emotions again, before pushing the lid on the tub and tossing it onto the coffee table in front of us.

He pauses momentarily, thinking about what to say before opening his mouth again. "You've hurt your ice cream."

"And I'll hurt you if you genuinely believe that I'd be willing to manipulate some boy into joining your team." I snap at him, frowning in appal that he would possess the audacity to request me to do it.

"Look, you're a teenage girl, all you have to do is smile at him and he'd be interested. Trust me, I was a teenager once."

"Are you—a man— seriously telling me to smile?"

"Okay, fine," he sighs exasperatedly, "I take it back. Bonnie, you don't even have to smile, you're a pretty girl. Of course you are, who am I kidding? I'm your father."

I sarcastically chuckle, "You're funny. Anyone ever tell you that you should do stand-up?" I throw the blanket off from and around my shoulders and stand from the couch, storming back into the kitchen before furiously throwing the spoon into the sink and the half-eaten ice cream back into the freezer.

He looks at me with desperation in his eyes, and I cave.

"Okay, fine. I'll try, but I'm not making any promises that I'll be able to do it."

I think I'd do anything for him. After all, he is the only person I have left.

He braces himself, the knowledge that what he is about to say next will infuriate me even more, "So, you'll be enrolling at Midtown School of Science and Technology-"

"Is that really necessary? I'll just go up to him and smile, you know, just like you said." I throw my arms in the air in desperation as a sharp sigh escapes my lips, though his voice doesn't falter at all.

"It's not too far from the Compound, Happy'll take you there tomorrow, well, this morning, at eight AM-"

"No. No. Absolutely not. I'm not drawing attention to myself with one of your stupid fancy cars."

Granted, the world had found the news of Tony Stark's estranged daughter from a chaotic background and ran with it. I remember for weeks after moving in with him and Pepper, extra security was hired to patrol the grounds of the mansion and the Tower, and I wasn't allowed to leave without someone, usually Happy, accompanying me. Blurred photographs from cheap and extortionate reporters had gone incognito and flooded the media and were printed in a wide range of magazines— though non were willing to turn down the money traded for their secrecy. The world knew of Tony Stark's daughter; they just didn't know Tony Stark's daughter. And that's way it should have always been, and I'm not willing in the slightest for the world to know who I am.

"Well, you'll be the new kid, you'll already have all of the attention, especially if you go around sparking out all of the lightbulbs and throwing people across the room." He notices the scowl on my face, "You want my advice? Don't talk to the popular girls, or the jocks, you're practically asking for trouble. But, stay away from the nerds, that's even more trouble. You know what? Just don't talk to anyone at all besides Mr Parker."

"You know, that persuades me so much more!" I say, sarcasm flooding my voice.

"Really?"

"No."

He stares at me expectantly with helplessness glinting in his eyes, "He's more likely to join if he knows there's a pretty girl involved."

"So you're just going to pawn me out?"

"Of course not. Bonnie, can you please do this one thing for me? Look, we have thirty-six hours to find Steve, or else... Please. I know you're having a hard time with everything going on here. I need you to help us." I stare down at my twitching fingers, running my eyes across the black nail polish finishing off my bony hands. His face scrunches up and he proposes rather excruciatingly, "I'll take the rest of the night off work, I mean, you'll have to be up early for school tomorrow," he chuckles as I groan, "but we can watch as many serial killer documentaries and eat as much pizza as you want until you either throw up or pass out."

Ever since the major disagreement between Steve and my father began, he's been spending more and more time locked away in his office. He already spent practically every hour of the day in there, the absence of Pepper around, clearly plaguing him like my nightmares tormenting me.

A small grin begrudgingly twitches up the corners of my lips, "So how will you be paying me for my service? Cash is preferred."

We watch true crime documentaries until I finally face up to knowing I'll inevitably need to sleep at some point tonight, no matter how much I wish I didn't have to. Well, I watch it, Dad begins snoring half-way through the first half-hour. I know he hardly sleeps, and considering I'm a night owl myself, and considering the formidable nightmares wake me every ten minutes, I can usually always feel the pounding music of AC/DC vibrating throughout the floor and shaking the foundations, I doubt he's had more than five hours of sleep in total this week.

I leave him curled on the sofa. He could do with some rest after the last few days he's endured.

Sleep is a valuable thing when it comes to Tony Stark. He may be one of the wealthiest men on earth, but when it comes to sleep, if it were in dollars he'd be living in poverty.

My thoughts turn into a chant as I drag myself down the hallway to my bedroom and prepare myself for a slumber filled with nightmares and flashbacks.

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

Perhaps if I say it enough times then I'll convince myself to disconnect completely, remove myself and my emotions from the situation and just do what must be done.

Perhaps it could be like an incantation or a magic spell.

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

"Hey, Antares, pull up everything you have on Peter Parker." I push the door shut as I reach my bedroom and collapse onto my desk chair in front of my computer.

"You don't have access to these files."

I throw my hands down onto the desk, drumming my painted fingernails against the cool surface. "Shit." I mutter under my breath, "How about a Google search? I have access to that, right? Give me everything on... Midtown School of Science and Technology."

"Pulling up the school website."

I sift through the boring details on timetables and school openings, making a mental note to return to it in the morning before I'm forced to go, just so I'm slightly more prepared.

"How about extra curriculars?"

Antares brings up the long list of school clubs, ranging from debate to theatre and then football. I sigh in defeat, "Just show me all of them, I don't care how long it takes. I mean I doubt he's in band but... You know what? Never mind."

A file on the school's marching band is pulled up, alongside yearbook photographs of all of the members. My eyes flick through pictures of teenage boys with acne and braces and girls with shiny lips and long eyelashes, "God, I hope I'm not gonna have to flirt with some total-" before reaching upon a boy with chocolate eyes and a bashful grin. "This is Peter Parker?" I ask Antares, holding my breath in anticipation.

"Yes, that is him. He is also in Robotics Club and on the Academic Decathlon team."

"So he's smart." I mumble under my breath.

"The school doesn't disclose students' grades to the public."

"Yes, thank you, Antares." I pull myself up from my desk and pace around my room until I'm sure the soles of my shoes have worn holes through the carpet.

Peter Parker. Fifteen. Science nerd and part time trumpet player.

And also...

The newest Avenger?

And if so, then does this count as my very first 'mission?'

Is Dad finally trusting me in doing something big?

My stomach turns and I swallow back thick bile as the idea of going to the school tomorrow floods back into my head. But it's a mission. I have to do it. No ifs, ands, or buts. I'm doing it. No matter how much it will physically and mentally pain me to sit in a room with thirty other people for a whole six hours while restraining myself and my brain from destroying everything.

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