Tony had just finished his lunch when the call came in. He rushed to the table, where his laptop was open with an "Incoming Call" alert on it. Pressing accept, his breath caught in his throat as the camera footage filled the screen.

Six kids-- three girls, three boys. MJ, Ned, Peter, Jack, and two girls he didn't recognize. An automated voice began to speak over the video. "If you want them out alive, you'll meet us in Central Park by the obelisk tomorrow at 8. If you don't show... well. How 'bout a little example." An armed gunman appeared at the corner of the screen. He raised his gun... and fired.

In the room, Claire gripped her shoulder, fighting back a scream. Kaia wrapped her arms around her, holding her, rocking her slightly. Jack jumped to his feet, ready to make the shooter pay. Claire grabbed him with her uninjured arm. "Don't," she choked out.

The image froze, and Tony sat frozen, staring at the six. They had all looked so strong a moment before, but now... they seemed to have lost hope, or at least some of it. He didn't know the two girls, but he could tell they knew the others they were trapped with.

"If you don't show, next time there'll only be five crying."

He understood. He would go to the obelisk-- but he would also figure out where they were so someone could be there to help if something happened. He was already working to figure it out right now as the call ended. He just had to do one thing. He picked up his phone and called May Parker.

May paced back and forth across the room. She'd called MJ and Ned's parents and told them they were staying the night with her kids, and almost called the school before remembering it was Friday.

Now she allowed herself to worry.

She realized that she had begun to think of them as her children, even the newest arrivals, and smiled a little to herself.

She sat down at the corner and flipped through Jack's sketchbook. He'd written their names in the corner: Castiel. Kelly. Sam and Dean. Claire and Kaia. Alex and Patience. Jody and Donna. Mary and John. Bobby. Charlie. Maggie. That-one-shapeshifter-whose-name-the-author-doesn't-remember.

Her breath caught in her throat as she turned to the next page. May, Peter, Ned, and MJ. The sketch was beautifully accurate, if a little rough-- it was incomplete.

She went to bed early that night, hoping with all her being that Tony Stark would be able to save her children.

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