Tony fiddled with his cufflinks for the billionth time ten minutes. They had been stuck in traffic for over half an hour now on the way to the Supreme Court. He'd dropped the Civic off at a garage in Chelsea, and then slid into the Rolls Royce that Happy had pulled up to the curb in a deserted side street.

The car lurched forward again, skipping a few feet closer to the Court – Tony could see it through the window now, but the mass of media littering the streets was making it almost impossible to reach. Tony threw his head back onto headrest. He was struggling to stay awake – which was not a new sensation, but he was steadily finding that the kind of sleep-deprivation that stemmed from working all night in the lab, and the bone-weary exhaustion of sitting up all night with the image of the kid bleeding out in an alley somewhere, were very different. One left him with itchy eyes, but a sense of achievement that tended to override the discomfort of being awake for forty plus hours. The other reduced him to an aching, nauseated, mess that – despite his exhaustion – just couldn't stop shaking.

The door across from him swung open despite the still crawling car.

"Wha-" Tony breathed, pulling back in his seat and throwing a look up at Happy, who sat at the wheel. The sudden thundering of his heart calmed almost immediately when a familiar set of leg braces began to fold themselves into the back seat beside him.

"I meant the baby-sitter comment, you know." Tony scowled as Rhodey slammed the door closed behind him, cutting off the camera flashes that had caught his every step into the Royce. "I can sit in a courtroom all on my own – despite what you and the Captain seem to think."

"Oh, I have no doubt." Rhodey said, glaring out the tinted windows at the paparazzi that were all but pressing their noses up against the car. "I'm here to protect Ross more than you." He pulled at his uniform, straightening out the creases must have formed during his shoving match to get to the car. "And I think Steve's just getting a bit antsy, locked up in the Compound all day." He added. "He's nervous something's going to happen when he can't be there to help."

Tony huffed, his attention turning out to the paparazzi as Rhodey's eyes drifted over to him. "It's Steve now is it?"

Without even sparing a glance in his direction Tony knew that Rhodey was throwing him a pointed look. "Fresh slate – that's what we said wasn't it?" Rhodey said. Tony shrugged. "Besides – even you call him Steve occasionally." Rhodey went on, clearly prodding for a response, his eyes boring into the side of Tony's face.

"Yeah, well, it's petty if I hold a grudge." Tony moaned zealously, pulling at his cuff links again. "Which is why I was reliant on you – my best-est, and oldest friend – to hold it for me, but I see how it is." Tony huffed. A smile was pulling at one edge of Rhodey's lips as he shook his head in the corner of Tony's eye. "Brawn over bros." Tony grumbled. "At least the kid still attempts to hate him – in that puppy-like, adoring, I would literally eat my web-shooters if you asked me to, Steve kind of way-"

The shadow of a smile had disappeared from Rhodey's lips. "You're babbling." He said, not an inch of room for Tony to argue. He was too experienced with Tony's brand of bullshit. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Tony shrugged, eyes still firmly fixed on the photographers blocking their way to the court stairs, and not on Rhodey's searching gaze. "Just looking forward to another wasted day of staring at Ross's face and waiting for it to spontaneously combust – I think I got close last time. Just a few tweaks of the 'force' and I'll be able to-"

Rhodey cut him off.

"-Happy said you went to see the kid."

Tony's eyes pulled away from the chaos outside the car to glare up at the back of Happy's head.

"Traitor."

Happy's eyes flashed to the rear-view mirror – his silent judgement wafting from the front as the privacy divided rose up, secluding Rhodey and Tony in the back seat.

Rhodey was still waiting for an answer – and would keep waiting until Tony got his shit together and started talking, if past experiences were anything to go by.

Tony bit the bullet.

"Yeah, we talked." He murmured, leaning back in his seat as the car started up again and they inched forward.

"And?"

"And he hasn't been shot, which is always a win." Tony answered without pause. The media storm pushed in close against the car as it moved, jogging to keep up as they slid towards the courthouse. Rhodey waited for him to elaborate. The silence stretched until Tony couldn't take it anymore. "There's not much to say – I laid it out for him, you know." Tony went on, aiming for casual and missing the mark completely.

"And how did he take it?" Rhodey asked.

"Like a trooper." Tony shot back. Silence met him again. "It's not like he has much of a choice – none of us do." Tony muttered, cracking under Rhodey's probing silence and dragging his eyes over to meet Rhodey's. "Keeping our heads low is the only way we're going to get through this."

Rhodey nodded. "And after?"

Tony's eyes, which had been drifting back to the window, shot back to Rhodey. "What?"

"When we're through this – because Ross doesn't have a leg to stand on. He knows it, and we're going to damn-well ensure it," Rhodey elaborated, a sternness in his voice that even Tony wouldn't dare argue with. "What then?"

Tony's confusion only grew. "What do you mean?"

Rhodey's eyes softened. "You can't push the kid away because he might get hurt, Tony."

Tony fidgeted in his seat to cover the almost painful spasm in his shoulders. "Pulling him close didn't exactly do him any favours."

Rhodey's reply was instant.

"Then pull him closer." He said. Tony's eyes darted back over to him. Rhodey was openly staring now – considering every inch of him – and Tony had to fight the urge to shy away. Those eyes always saw too much in him. More than even Tony saw.

The Royce glided another few feet. Rhodey stayed silent.

"You know, he reminds me of this friend I had in college." He said finally, just as Tony's impatient leg bouncing had reached new levels – threatening to stamp a hole in the floor of the car. "Small, scrappy, kid with a heart and brain that were too big for his own good, dumped all alone in a world that did everything it could to swallow him," Rhodey shot him a look as Tony shook his head – but couldn't help the small smile that tug at the sides of his lips. "But he was not nearly as breakable as he looked – with a little bit of backup there wasn't anything he couldn't do." Rhodey went on. "Still isn't."

Tony stared for a moment, and then lifted a hand and moulded it gently against the side of Rhodey's face. "I think you just touched my soul there, Pooh-Bear."

With a roll of his eyes Rhodey ducked out of Tony's hand. "That kid has imprinted on you like a duckling-" Tony huffed, starting to cut in, but Rhodey ploughed on. "And you know it."

"A terrible decision on his part, really-"

"We'll agree to disagree on that." Rhodey said before levelling Tony with a serious look. "Don't leave him out there all alone, Tony. He doesn't deserve it." Rhodey's eyes lingered. "And neither do you." Tony's irritated shifting softened – but Rhodey wasn't done. No. He was saving the hardest hit until last. "Way I see it, if it weren't for you, the kid wouldn't have made it off that lake." Rhodey added, the words lingering in the car as they finally pulled up at the courthouse steps. Apparently sensing Tony's imminent meltdown – or simply watching the blood drain from his face as his eyes darted back up – Rhodey cut him off before he could even begin to argue. "-don't say anything. Just consider it." Rhodey said firmly as they pulled to a stop. "Consider for a minute, maybe, that you're not the centre of the universe," Rhodey shrugged, that ghost of a smile flickering across his face. It did reach his eyes though. "And that bad things just happen."

Tony's attention darted to the window when a surge of movement outside caught his eye. Ross was standing atop the grand steps, and the paparazzi were stampeding up to record him as he preached out at the crowd – his arms waving and eyes fuming.

At the sight of his fury, Tony's own loathing seemed to freeze in his gut. Solidifying into something cold, hard and consuming. It polluted upwards, into his chest, and along his every limb. Leaving them tingling.

"It didn't just happen."

"She legit kidnapped you?" Ned gawked up at Peter from his seat at the back of the computer lab. Peter was leaning over his shoulder, staring down at the computer screen and keeping an eye on the lab teacher who was making his rounds. "Like voodoo'd you all the way to Midtown." Ned breathed, eyes wide and wistful. "You are so lucky-"

Peter's fingers were rapping quickly against the desk – his eyes darting up to where the teacher was knelt down with another group of students.

"-is it working?" He asked.

"Give it a minute." Ned said, fingers flying across the keyboard. "What ever is on this thing, it's huge."

"We've given it forty minutes." Peter grumbled, his unease growing as the teacher moved a group closer. He leant a little closer, blocking the screen from view. "Can you tell what it is?"

Ned shrugged. "It's a bit of everything, I think." He said. "Video. Audio. Documents." His fingers stilled, and a green loading bar appeared on the black screen. Inching upwards too slowly. Ned's hands pulled back from the keyboard only to mash together – twisting erratically. "...Should we really be looking at this?"

The lad teacher suddenly moved away from them – called to the front by another group of students – and Peter's anxiety eased, just slightly. He folded himself down into the chair beside Ned, pulling in close to watch as the loading bar crept up. "What do you mean?"

Ned's erratic hand twisting increased. "Well, she said to give to Mr. Stark, didn't she?"

"Yeah – but, he's – you know – kinda busy right now," Peter said, nodding up at the muted TV squirrelled in the corner of the room, playing live exerts of the trial. Tony was front and centre – staring blankly up at Ross as the man roared something out across the crowd. Peter's eyes darted back to the loading screen. "And she didn't say not to look at it, so-" Peter argued, Ned's apprehensive expression only growing. "Besides, she said it would help Mr. Stark, so we have to know what's on it." Peter added, firmly. "We might be able to help."

"How?" Ned asked. Peter was saved from answering when the loading screen finally came to an end and the hard-drive finally unlocked.

An endless line of files streaked down the black screen.

"Holy shit, what is all this?" Ned said, scrolling through the hundreds of files. He clicked on one at random, opening some kind of report. Both of them bent closer to the screen. "That is not English or Spanish." Ned said as the two of them scanned over the report – well as much as they could. The whole thing looked like gibberish.

"I don't think that is a language." Peter said, "I think it's coded."

"Awesome." Ned breathed.

"Open one of the videos."

Ned did. He closed the report and scrolled down to the closest media file. The first frame had the two of them leaning in so close that their foreheads were in serious danger of smashing together. "Holy shit." Ned croaked, eyes glued to the screen. "Is that Ross?"

It was. He was standing right in the centre of the frame – waiting. There was no sound for the video, but it was clear he was waiting for something.

He was pacing the expanse of a small warehouse, wooden boxes stacked all around him, checking his watch every few steps, and throwing furtive glances to something out of screen. He was out of uniform – no suit, no nothing – just him in slacks and a dark sweater with his hair smoothed back and his hands glued to his sides. After just a few seconds another man entered the frame – this man immaculately dressed, with a suit that practically oozed money and shoes that gleamed in even the low resolution of the video.

An uncomfortable tremble crept up Peter's spine.

"That's the man I saw last night." He breathed.

"What!?" Ned hissed, his eyes darting between Peter's face and the man on screen. "The guy who was..." His voice faded away as he watched Ross and the man speak.

"Selling Wanda." Peter finished.

Something moved in the shadows behind the two men. A moment later three more men came into view, a dark coffin resting on their shoulders. They set it down slowly, but didn't opening it.

"Oh god," Despite already being at risk of popping out of his skull, Ned's eyes widened even further. "Is there another person in there?"

Realization hit Peter like a brick to the solar plexus.

"He's selling them."

Ned's bulging eyes swivelled to Peter's face. "Selling who!?"

"Enhanced people." Peter said, tracking the two men's every move across the screen. "He's selling them to Ross."

Ned's eyes darted back to the screen. "Holy shit."

Everything fell into place. "She was setting him up," Peter breathed. Ned's brows furrowed. "Wanda," Peter elaborated as both Ross and the well dressed man left the screen, the three coffin bearers hoisting the dark casket back on their shoulders and following suit. "She meant to be sold."

Ned's eyes jumped back to Peter's as the video stopped on its last frame – the now empty warehouse frozen on the monitor. "Oh." Ned said, chewing his bottom lip. "Whoops."

Peter reached over and closed the video with a quick click, tabbing back into the hard-drive to scroll back through the seemingly endless list of files.

"How many are there?"

"What, videos?" Ned asked. Peter nodded as he scrolled. "Dozens." Ned said, his eyes darting nervously between the screen and Peter's face. "You think every one is a sale?" Peter paused for a second – and then nodded. "Shit." Ned swallowed heavily, his pallor from the night before returning. "We need to get this to Mr. Star-"

Without warning the monitor flashed, and then went black.

"What the hell?!" Ned muttered, both he and Peter leaning back in towards the screen.

"What just happened?" Peter asked as Ned typed manically.

"It shorted." Ned said, "-it just cut out-"

Peter's stomach was churning, the hair on the back of his neck rising –

And then the lights went out.

The lab was plunged into darkness. Students all around them yelped, the sounds of chairs – and their occupants – tipping over echoed in the darkness alongside the teacher's insistence for calm. A couple of students had the sense to stumble to the windows, yanking open the blinks to let a least a sliver of daylight into the room. It illuminated the startled faces of the rest of the class – and Ned's terror filled one.

"What the hell." He panted as Peter threw frantic looks about the room. "What's happening?"

There was something outside the lab that Peter could only just make out – a sound that rang out every few seconds, and then disappeared as soon as it came.

"Wha-" Ned began. He never got the chance to finish.

The fire alarm cut through the room a second later – echoing deafeningly – drowning out the strange sound that only Peter seemed to be able to hear. It didn't matter though, because Peter had already figured out why it sounded so familiar.

Why the pop pop pop cut deep into his chest and stayed there.

Oh god. Oh god.

"Stay here." Peter breathed, rising from his chair slowly, barely daring to breath as he strained to make out the gunfire over the fire alarm.

"Peter-" Ned started.

"-Stay here." Peter hissed, moving through the room quickly. He couldn't hear it. He couldn't hear it anymore – not over the fire alarm.

The lab door burst open just as Peter reached it – startling him so badly that he jumped a full foot in the air and onto one of the nearby desks, crouching down and covering Ned – who had crept forward behind him – from sight.

No took any notice of him. The class were much too caught up with Flash, who had shoved the door closed behind him before falling to the floor, trembling.

Before anyone could even ask what the hell was going on he spoke.

"They're storming the school!" He shrieked, tears streaming down his cheeks. Several other students were crying as well, already huddling together and taking cover under the desks. Peter thought he might be sick at the sight of them.

The lab teacher moved towards Flash, starting to speak. Peter cut him off before he could start.

"Who!?" Peter rasped, leaping from the desk and reaching Flash before the teacher could take more than a couple of steps. Flash was shaking, his whole body convulsing as he fought to suck in even a single breath. Peter's hands clenched around his shoulders, trying to ground him despite Peter's own racing heart and rapidly deteriorating ability to speak. "A student? Who!?" Peter asked, shaking Flash just a little as he began to hyperventilate.

"I don't know-" He gasped. "I don't think so – they – they were wearing like military clothes-"

Peter's hands fell away from Flash's shoulders, letting Flash crawl beneath a nearby desk and curl up there, sobbing. The other students were not far behind his hysteria. Even the teacher had given up trying to comfort – he was busy pulling upturning desks for students to crouch behind.

Every face was stained with tears – but the only wailing came from the fire alarm. No one was making a sound.

No one dared.

Peter rounded on Ned who was still standing just behind him – paler than Peter had ever seen him, and clutching the hard-drive to his chest.

"We need to go," Peter breathed, his heart clenching somewhere up in his throat. "We need to go right now."

Peter didn't give him a chance to answer. He seized him by his jacket and tossed them both towards the door.

"No! What are you two-" The lab teachers voice echoed behind them as Peter shoved them through the door and slammed it closed behind them – snapping the metal handle clean off and tossing it down the hallway. There were no windows from the hallway into the lab – and the door was pretty sturdy. No one else was getting in. They'd be okay. They'd be okay.

But what about everyone else?

"What do we do?!" Ned muttered rocking back and forth on his toes as he kept the hard-drive clenched against his chest. "What do we do!?"

"I – I dunno-" Peter breathed, dragging Ned down the hallway and shoving them both into the emergency staircase just a couple of doors down. The fire alarm was still going strong – but the gunfire was definitely getting louder. "I mean – if it's Ross, he won't really hurt anyone, will he?"

Ned didn't answer.

Peter was clenching and unclenching his fists to quickly that his fingers were beginning to cramp. "We need to get it to Mr. Stark."

"Yeah," Ned nodded, his head bouncing so fiercely that it had to hurt. "Yeah-" He tried to push the hard-drive into Peter's hands.

Peter pushed it right back.

"-You need to take it."

"What!?" Ned screeched – both he and Peter clenched a hand over his mouth. Another round of gunfire echoed loud enough to drown out the fire alarm. Peter and Ned jumped apart, slamming against the concrete wall. "No. No. No, no, no." Ned was muttering, still trying to push the hard-drive into Peter's hands.

"Ned!" Peter hissed, seizing him by his hoodie and pulling them both down into a crouch. "You need to do this!"

"-I can't!"

"You can!" Peter insisted. Ned's head was still shaking. "You are the only one – I have to take care of the soldiers-"

Ned's headshaking mounted to a whole new level. "No! No, Peter-"

Peter pulled him a little closer. "I trust you – more than anyone!" He hissed. "You can do this!" Tears were slipping from Ned's eyes now, his very real fear cutting Peter to the bone. "You can do this!" Peter said again. A few more tears trekked along his cheeks, but finally Ned nodded. Peter nodded with him. "They're coming – they're coming from the gym." Peter said, turning his attention to the intermittent gunfire and stamping boots that were making their way along the north wing to them. "Okay, you need to cut through the Chem. hallway to the back parking-lot – you know the one that leads into the Wendy's drive-through-"

Ned was nodding dizzyingly fast now. "-Yeah."

"Good – then you need to get to the SI building-"

"What, in Manhattan?!" Ned screeched. "Have you seen me? I'm wearing a Star Trek sweatshirt – and not even a Next Generation one, it's Voyager! They're not going to take me seriously!"

"You have to make them!" Peter said, pulling the staircase door open and pushing them both back out into the hallway. "You have to get it to Mr. St-"

No sooner had they taken a step then they were face to face with a black balaclava and the wrong end of an assault riffle.

Not that there was a right end, really. Not ever. But in this particular situation it was definitely the least desirable end.

Peter shoved Ned behind him with more force than he had ever dared use on his friend – but that gun was rising and Peter's senses were shifting into hyper goddamn overdrive.

Ned stumbled back into the stairwell, tumbling down the flight of stairs closest to them. A pistol whip from the barrel of the riffle sent Peter tumbling after him – but Peter was only down a minute. Before the shooter could take more than a step inside the stairwell Peter was on him – one hand clenching around the mussel of the riffle and the other clenching around the man's exposed throat.

His fingers wrapped around the flesh there, clenching hard. The action should have frightened Peter – he'd never gone the throat before. Not ever. Legs, and arms and even a torso occasionally, but never a throat – he never wanted to kill anyone. But something had taken hold. It had slid down from where it had clogged his throat – threatening to suffocate him – to the very corners of is innards where it churned and burned.

Terror.

He wasn't Spiderman here. He wasn't a hero.

This was school. These were his friends.

This was his life – his real life – and whomever this man was, who was currently reaching into a holster at his back for a pistol, he threatening that life. Threatening his friends – and with them everything Peter really was.

Peter's fingers clenched even tighter. The hand still grasping the mussel of the riffle flexed painfully, and the metal cylinder groaned. And then bent. Peter ranked the riffle from the soldiers grip with everything he had – almost taking the soldiers' arm with it if the cracking in his shoulder, and muffled cries of agony were anything to go by – and hurtled it over the railing.

With his now free hand the soldier grasped a hold Peter, glove covered hand finding purchase at the joint where Peter's arm met his shoulder, and squeezing. It was Peter who cried out then.

Whoever he was, he was strong. Too strong. Enhanced strong.

Peter needed to end this – he needed it end it like yesterday.

The soldier's hand finally fell upon the pistol at his back. He drew it before Peter could move, extending the arm, but the mussel never found its way to Peter. Instead it paused on Ned, still struggling to his feet a flight of stairs below them.

"NO!"

Webbing shot from Peter's wrist, catching the pistol and propelling it back towards the wall.

But the gun had already fired.

Peter didn't get to see if the bullet hit home.

The force of the webbing had thrown the soldier off-balance, sending him stumbling into the railing, and Peter – practically on top of the man now as he fought to keep a hand clenched around his throat – stumbled with him.

They followed the riffle over the railing and into a five-story free fall to the subbasement floor.

Peter hit the concrete first – his head smacking against the cool floor with the added force of two hundred pounds of super-soldier.

A moment later that same, glove covered, hand clamped around his throat. And squeezed. Black spots crept further across his vision. He couldn't move. He couldn't feel...anything. He couldn't. He couldn't –

And then, between one gasping attempt to draw in breath and the next, it was all gone.

"Objection."

The Judge's eyes dipped down to where Tony sat with his feet propped up on the table despite the Judge's many warnings. His eyes narrowed.

"To what, exactly, Mr. Stark?" He asked, slowly.

"To the fact that we've been over this, and I'm really bored." Tony said. His lawyer, who had been sat next to him for days trying to keep him from interrupting too much, threw his head back against the headrest of his seat in defeat. "And kinda hungry." Tony added.

The Judge's eyes narrowed so much that Tony doubted he could even see through them anymore. "Sustained." He ground through his teeth.

"That, that right there, is the point I am trying to make Your Honour. Mr. Stark has no respect for our policies-" Ross's voice cut across the court room again. Tony could barely make out words when he spoke now. His voice was such a common background noise that it was becoming almost synonymous with elevator music. Only less calming – through Tony had never really found elevator music calming. More perplexing. The ride was really only a minute long at most – anywhere – who decided that they needed a whole genre of music to fill that gap –

Buzz.

Tony's phone vibrated deep in his jacket pocket. He ignored it. He'd already been scolded for looking at it this session.

He pulled himself up in his seat and cut Ross off mid-sentence. Or what he assumed was mid-sentence. The man never seemed to end his sentences, so technically there never was a mid section.

"I have as much respect for policy as anyone – what I don't have respect for is time-wasters. We've been over this, extensively." Tony pointed out, waving a lazy hand in Ross's direction. "Yes, I call out an asshole when I see one, you know why? Because it's my goddamn right in this country!" That earned more than a few hoots from the crowd behind him – and a scowl from Ross. "If that's what we're here about then you have subpoenaed the wrong person – your issue is with the constitution not me."

Buzz. Buzz.

Tony's phone vibrated again. He ignored it. Again.

"My issue is with your blatant disrespect for the institutions that make this country great-" Ross started back up.

Buzz.

God – that was getting really annoying.

"No," Tony cut in. "My blatant disrespect is reserved for you, and you alone." He clarified. "Last time I checked you did not embody the American military service – and thank Christ for that." He swivelled in his chair to get a better look at Ross's pink-spotted face. "All offence indented, there's a reason they never put your face on recruiting posters."

Ross's teeth ground together so forcefully that Tony swore he could hear it, even over the bellowing laughter of the courtroom. "Slander-"

"-it's only slander if it's not true." Tony insisted over the top of him. He threw a glance up at the Judge. "And I assure you his face has neverbeen on a recruiting poster Your Honour, I checked."

Even the Judge seemed to be loosing his patience.

"Mr. Stark-"

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Jesus Christ. Scolding be damned.

Tony reached into his jacket and yanked out his phone. The screen flashed to life.

And the entire courtroom froze.

Tony's eyes flicked up from the screen slowly – a haze settling over his vision. Over his everything.

What he could see was the hint of smile that curved at Ross's lips as he watched the blood drain from Tony's face. There was no rage anymore. No frustration. It had all been a ruse. A distraction.

Those lips moved a moment later – but no sound came out. It wasn't meant to. This message was for Tony.

Checkmate. They mouthed.

Tony was out of his seat and halfway through the courtroom before the Judge had broken out of his stupor enough to call for him.

"Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark – get back in this-"

The double doors of the courtroom boomed as they were thrown open with enough force to dent the walls on either side.

And Tony was gone.

< Messages Less Hot Legolas Contact

Get to Midtown High.

Now.

Now Tony.

Now.

Right the hell now.

Pick up your goddamn phone.

For FUCK SAKE PICK UP.

QUIT DANCING LIKE A GOD-FUCKING-DAMN-SHOWGIRL ON ONE OF CAP'S 40'S FUCKING-TOURS

AND GET YOUR OVERDRESSED ASS TO THIS FUCKING SCHOOL RIGHT THE FUCK NOW.

< Messages Least Favourite Arachnid Contact

Peter's gone.