"Spider-Man must be stopped! He is a menace to the public, and monster to society! I, J. Jonah. Jameson, refuse to rest until the authorities take the correct means of ridding us of this web-slinging trouble-maker!"

"Ugh, don't you ever shut up?" Peter asked the giant screen he was perched upon. The picture of a middle-aged(ish) man with a mustache (startlingly similar to Hitler's) continued his raving report about the "terrors of the masked vigilante, Spider-Man".

It was ridiculous really. This guy, who should rightly be referred to as J. Jonah Jerkface, made it a daily (or lifely - was that a thing) goal to make the citizens of New York hate Peter Parker - well, technically, to hate Spider-Man. The public didn't actually know Peter was Spider-Man, but they still inadvertently hated him too. He was just thankful that no one knew his secret I.D. (It's bad enough being hated as Spider-Man; if Peter Parker got trash thrown at him when he walked the streets as well as when he was web-slinging, than he was pretty sure that'd be the start of his villain-origin)

Really though, he wouldn't harm a fly! Burglars and crooks on the other hand...

Peter glared down at the screen and stuck his tongue at the giant news reporter, before pointing his wrist toward the closest building and shooting a web that latched sturdily on the wall. Without a second glance (or thought), Peter jumped off the jumbotron and swung through the air with his webs as his only means of not falling and going splat on the pavement.

Normal people walking on the sidewalks below stopped and pointed up to him, some of them shouted insults and threw trash at him, but others - Peter was thrilled to find - regarded him with a smile and a wave of greeting.

Granted there were more trash than smiles, but still! It was definitely a step-up from just trash and curses!

Despite the profanities yelled his way, Peter waved back to them all (mostly the ones waving to him) and whistled merrily as he continued his trek through the buildings. It was nice to know that his relationship with New York was steadily entering a positive area.

Looks like Mr. Let's-All-Hate-On-Spider-Man wasn't having that big of an impact anymore. Ha! Serves the toothbrush-mustache wearing editor right!

"Alright New York," Peter grinned, stopping momentarily on the edge of a building to scour the city rooftops. "What have you got planned for me today? Burglary? Purse-snatchers?" the sudden high-pitched wailing of police sirens answered. From where he stood - er clung - Peter could hear screeching tires, the slimy sound of gunk hitting into police cruisers, and crazy laughter.

"Ah, has Trapster decided to to take a stroll today." he hummed. "Alrightie, let's go say hi!" jumping from the building, Peter pin-pointed the direction of the commotion and set his sights for it. It didn't take long to get there.

Trapster stood in the center of the street, his hands clutching the mega-sized glue-guns, looking more like a greyish brown water gun, which spurted out thick tendrils of sticky, goop that took forever to wash out of your hair! (not your typical arts and crafts glue guns).

Some people said that Trapsters glue guns were similar to Spider-MAn's web-shooters - Peter greatly disagreed. His web-shooters are a beautiful and well-functioning piece of art and masterpiece, and he would shoot a web at anyone who dared make such a crude similarity of precious wrist-devices. Besides, he shot webs, not glue! There's a difference people!

Anyway, back to the fight, Trapster had shot a glob of glue at the approaching police cars, halting the officers dead in the street. Did it stop them? No. The officers rushed out of the cars and aimed their guns for their attacker, while smoothly finding cover from the crooks attacks behind their cars.

Ugh, Peter's already fought Trapster 3 time already! Couldn't the guy just stay in his knucker-hole, or, more importantly, a jail cell. What the heck Trapsty! How dare he make Peter look bad!

Oh well, duty calls. Time to see if he learned anything from his past mistakes.

A small device nestled comfortably in Peter's ear hummed to life; he was so used to wearing it he no longer even felt it in his ear.

"Peter," a voice called from it; the familiar and comforting sound of his mentor and godfather resonated in his ear.

"Present and accounted for." Peter chirped. "And aren't we supposed to use our code names? I'm Spider-Man and your Daddy Longlegs - who knows who can be listening to us."

There was a small, exasperated sigh from the comm. "You call me Daddy Longlegs one more time, than your grounded." the voice said. "Besides, our frequency his guarded by some of my best soundwalls and viruses."

Peter made a noise of disagreement, he was close enough to the fight that Trapster now noticed him. "Aw come on!" he whined, not about the soundwalls. "Your nickname goes with you so well! I mean, the eight long metal legs, your glasses look like spider eyes - Daddy Longlegs is perfect."

"No."

"Okay, fine, if not Daddy Longlegs, than how about...uh...uh...hnnn, let me see. 8 limbs, slippery as an eel, scientist - Ah-HA! Doctor Octopus! Yeah, you could be an octopus. How does Doctor Octopus sound."

"Not happening. Now focus or you're going to get a face full of glue."

"Aw don't worry about it Doc Ock - see what I did there? - I've fought Trapster 3 times already. This is sure to be a piece of ca-ahhhhhhhhhhh!"  Peter barely managed to dodge a glob of glue careening toward him - aimed at his face no less. He steadied himself as he scrambled to grab onto the nearest wall, and then flipped safely onto the top of a car.

"This is why I worry." Octavius clarified.

Before Peter could respond Trapster shot another stream of glue. "Ahahahaha, ready for round 3, bug!" the guy smirked, holding up his glue guns with a wide smile stretched across his face.

"Bug?" Peter scoffed. "Looks Trapster, obviously you're as smart as you look, and I'm sure you'll appreciate my straight-forwardness; so I'm just gonna say it. You see, spiders are not bugs, they have two body parts  - the head and the body - and 8 legs, which distinguishes them as part of the arachnid family. Whereas insects have three body parts and 6 le-whoa!" Peter ducked as another spray of sticky gunk sailed over his head. "Hey, at least let me finish explaining first!"

Trapster look anything but amused. "Ugh," he groaned. "Hold still so I can glue your mouth shut." he shot a few more times at the teen, but when he moved to take a step forward, Trapster almost tripped over the bag of money at his feet.

"Whoa, watch your step." Peter called, his face pinching in mischief. "I'd hate for you to fall. Know what, let's just be safe about it. I'll hold the bag of money for you, and we'll see if we can get you a free ride in one of the police cruisers! Won't that be fun."

"No way, bug, the money sticks with me."

Peter stopped moving as he deadpanned at Trapster, "Can all you make is glue jokes? Do you have no other material! Come on man, get a little variety!"

"Peter, you have absolutely no room to talk." Octavius blandly pointed out.

"Hey, my jokes have lots of variety!" he huffed, startling Trapster a little.

"Talking to yourself again?" the older man sneered, "Maybe you should be the one going in the police cruiser. I'm sure they'd love it if you stuck around."

Peter groaned as Trapster laughed. Where were all the witty bad guys hiding? Certainly Iron Man or Captain America didn't have to deal with low quality quip material with their bad guys! Dr. Doom has some taste, and Peter's heard that Loki was pretty witty. What he wouldn't do for someone who could keep up with him.

Oh well, as the old saying goes: If you don't like them, defeat them; or something like that...

"Ugh, I think we've all had enough of your mouth." Peter said dismissively, "Let's get this over with, I have some Mac n Cheese waiting for me at home." Peter vaulted off the car and rushed toward the crook.

Trapster growled and pulled his guns, unleashing a wave of sticky gunk. Peter yelped and dodged the first of it, but the second one was a bit luckier and he was slammed into a wall  within impact. A thin layer of glue coated his right side and wrist, effectively sticking the two in place.

Peter grunted as he tried to pull them free, but after a few pointless tugs, he knew it was useless. Trapster chuckled at the hero's fruitless attempts and raised his guns once more.

"Aiming to finish the job I see," Peter weakly commented as the nozzles centered at his chest and head. "That last one was a lucky shot."

"Peter, the console containing the glue on his back is damaged. There is a cluster of wires sticking out of the top right side. A bit of web fluid should do the trick."

"Thanks Ock." Peter replied quietly, his voice small with sincerity. Trapster smirked, not catching Peter's words and taking the heroes silence as defeat. He pushed the trigger and the glue burst out.

But Peter was quicker. As the glue came careening toward him, he rolled to the right. The glue still had that side pinned, but he was pretty flexible, and was able to curl in on himself so that he was crouched on the wall with his right side still stuck securely; the glue splattered on the spot had had been in, a mere couple inches from where he was now crouched.

However, his left wrist was still dandy and free.

Before Trapster knew what was going on, Peter retaliated by shooting a flurry of webs over the criminal's eyes, rendering him blind. The older man shouted and dropped both of his guns to pull the webs from his eyes.

With the other guy distracted, Peter maneuvered around again so his feet were planted firmly on the wall while he clutched the bare part of his arm sticking out of the glue, then he heaved and pulled with his feet and arm. Slowly, the glue began to stretch and thin as it was pulled from the wall from the force of his strength.

Behind him, Peter heard Trapster shout in frustration as he tore at the webs on his face and knew that the distraction wouldn't last long. Out of the corner of his eyes, Peter saw the police rushing toward their culprit, intent on bringing Trapster down as he was temporarily blinded.

But Peter knew they wouldn't make it in time, he could already hear Trapsters huff a breath of victory as the last of the webs away were torn away.

And there was no way Peter was going to let Trapster hurt those officers.

Pulling with all his might, the glue gradually gave away and snapped off the wall, just as his spider-sense tingled at the base of his skull. Peter stumbled and hit the ground, right in time as another glob of glue painted the spot he had been in seconds before.

The teen looked up to see Trapster now attacking the officers, catching more than one in his trigger-happy state. "Okay you over-sized glue stick," Peter grumbled, pushing himself to his feet. "I'd say it's time we wrapped this up."

Without waiting for a reply, Peter vaulted off the ground and toward the crook. Trapster, seeing the movement from the corner of his eyes, stepped back in surprise ad fumbled for his guns. But before he could properly work them, Peter was in front of him with a fist already pulled back.

The force of the punch sent Trapster sailing through the air and crashing through the glass of a cake shop. Peter winced as piece of glass clinked onto the concrete with raindrops of frosting and batter sprinkling down besides it, "Oh...oops. Uh, sorry!" he called to the gaping store owner in the shop.

He was met with a rapid river of curses and threats.

Face grim and apologetic, Peter said sorry once more before turning to take his leave. The earpiece under his mask buzzed, and Octavius's calm voice said, "Good job Peter." Peter was surprised that it sounded soft and genuine.

"Good job?" he parroted in disbelief. "I just wrecked someone's shop."

"But you DID stop Trapster."

"Yeah, but not without ruining someone else's property. Their life." Peter sighed in small defeat, his fist clenched in irritation. "I must be the worst hero out there."

"Peter," Octavius said gently. "You're still new to this, I'm sure even the Avengers weren't perfect when they first started; they're probably not perfect even now. Besides, I doubt this is going to stop you from wearing that ridiculous costume and leaving the lab every night and morning - right."

"Right." Peter mumbled, knowing full and well that it was true.

"I didn't think so," his Godfather said, a smile in his tone. "I may not like you out there, risking your life for strangers who don't even appreciate you, but you have been getting better. Take it from me. Your fumbling less than when you first started."

Peter hesitated, "Really?" he asked tentatively.

"I promise."

Feeling a little better, Peter straightened up and allowed a small smile. "Thanks." he said, voice light and genuine.

"Anytime."

Peter held up a wrist to take his place among the skyscrapers, but jumped with a yelp of surprise when he almost bumped into a figure who seemed to have come out of nowhere. He hadn't even sensed them.

"Peter, what's wrong?" Octavius demanded right as the other guy asked, "Who are talking to?"

Peter, ignoring both, calmed his heart and looked up at the unexpected guest. "Nick Fury?" he gaped in surprise. The black leather trench coat, the bald bead, the slogan on his gun holster, and the eye patch hiding his left eye - there was no mistaking the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.

The super spy was one of the guys who helped form the Avengers; he was a mysterious man, as elusive and sly as the corporation he directed.

S.H.I.E.L.D : Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division (a real mouthful). But the big guy on top never came down to pay a visit, especially not to Spider-Man, of all people!

Usually, a squad of S.H.I.E.L.D agents flew in to take "extra special" bad guys like Trapster to some fancy-smancy cell located on the ever-floating Helicarrier. (Not that it ever really kept the bad guys locked up. They always somehow managed to get out and back on the streets.)

So why was ol'Nick coming down here? Peter's spider-sense hadn't gone off, which probable meant the Director wasn't here to harm him. That was good to know.

Swallowing down his nerves and the mass of inferiority that threatened to make him run away, Peter said with the most casual voice he could muster, "You super spy's make it a point to sneak up on hard working heroes?"

"Kid, we need to talk."

"What'd I do?" Peter demanded right away, backing up a little with his hands held up. "I know that store owner was ticked off, but it could've been a whole lot worse! I mean, the store could've blown up! I mean, at least I caught the guy, right? And-and-"

"Hold up." Nick Fury interrupted, holding up a hand to cut the young teen off. "No one is saying you didn't catch the bad guy, and this isn't about some store owner."

Peter folded his arms in an attempt to calm down, but his heart was still jumping and his nerves skittered like a nervous pigeon. There was something else going on. "Peter, get out of there. We don't associate with S.H.I.E.L.D, I don't want you talking to him!" Octavius said, the worry was thick in his voice. 

Peter didn't answer, unwilling to risk exposing his Godfather's presence in his ear.

"Then why are you here?" he asked with a hint of exasperation, "You know, if not to throw me in my own little cell on your floating palace?"

He was surprised to see a hint of humor in the Director's eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as he caught it. "I'm here to to talk, mostly about this," Fury swept his hand around them, gesturing to the glue plastered on walls and the bricks and mortar on the ground. Peter looked around at it all, feeling a strong sense of guilt as he watched mothers pulling glue out of their kids hair and clothes, officers helping unstick civilians who were stuck to the walls or concrete, even a police horse that was neighing and flipping its head wildly because it couldn't move its hooves. The debris on the ground, the ruined stores and buildings. He had thought he did a pretty-okay job, but...but perhaps not...

Peter's shoulders sagged and a sigh pushed past his lips. "Okay," he whispered dejectedly. "Point taken. But I didn't do a horrible job."

"Sure, sure," Nick Fury dryly agreed. "For a clueless rookie."

"Yeah - Uh...wait..."

Fury shook his head and stepped closer. He looked down at the teen with his lips set in a straight line, but his eyes held an interesting shadow within them. "Everyone starts out clueless. Even Iron Man when he first started. But would if I told you that I could change that?" the man asked conversationally.

Peter's eyes widened and he took a step back.

"Peter," Octavius whispered, as if worried the Director would hear him. "Get out of there. Now! Don't listen to a word he says. Hurry!"

Even if he wanted to run, Peter knew he wouldn't get very far. There were S.H.I.E.L.D agents scattered around; Peter wasn't ignorant to the fact that they happened to be blocking potential escape routes for himself. Besides, Fury's eyes were trained on him like a hawk, the super spy could take him down before he even twitched a finger.

Instead he gulped silently, and went down the path of humored ignorance. "I knew it!" he exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at Fury. "You want me to buy a line of self help books." Peter humphed and spun on his heel to subtly walk away, whereas the older man rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Besides," Peter called over his shoulder. "I'm tapped out till payday. So if we're done here, I'm going to-"

"I'm serious Peter Parker."

Peter whirled back around, gawking, as his heart spiked like a rabbits again.

He knew. Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D, knew Peter Parker was Spider-Man. Panic sucker-punched him in the stomach and Peter felt an ansty sensation crawl up his arms and backs as he glanced around, suddenly anxious for an escape.

A million questions raced through his head. Who else knew? When did they find out? How did they find out? Did they know about Octavius? Was his Godfather at risk of exposure?

Peter didn't hear Octavius calling to him until his mentor was almost shouting in his ear, "Peter, get back to the basement, now! Go through the sewer entrance. There's a man-hole a few paces to your left, if you're fast enough you can make it without anyone hurting you." the "basement" was a codeword they used for the lab the two inhabited. Peter could hear the older man's voice was verging on panic as well.

His eyes flickered to the left, where he saw the man-hole out of the corner of his eye. He was suddenly thankful he wore a mask. But Nick Fury was still watching him, studying him for a reaction; Peter couldn't give away his intentions of getting away until just the right moment.

"You-you know?" he asked quietly.

Fury seemed to scoff slightly, "Super spy, remember." he said.

Just like that, Peter felt a big part of his life slip through his fingers. He thought his identity could be one of the things he could actual control in his life - with Octavius constantly watching over him back at the lab, and always being in hiding from Norman Osborn - he thought Spider-Man could be the one solid, independent factor in his life. How naive he felt.

"I know you lost your parents, as well as your Aunt and Uncle at a young age; that you're an orphan."

"Ouch." Peter winced. "You waste no time in ripping off that bandage; no mercy at all."

A touch of an apology reached Fury's eyes. "But you wouldn't have to be alone." the man added. "You'd have allies and resources at your disposal. You wouldn't have to roam the streets in that silly onesie you've got going on."

Peter tried not to be offended.

But one thing still pestered his mind. Did Nick Fury know about Octavius. Technically, he wasn't completely an orphan. Otto Octavius was still family. Besides, if Fury was trying to draw him into his rag-tag expedition, wouldn't he offer to help Otto too. Peter wasn't sure, and he still didn't trust the Director. Why would Fury decide to approach him now? A year after he first wandered these streets. It was strange and, yes, suspicious.

"With your talent and my training, you could be one of the greats. The next Captain America, the next Iron Man." Nick continued.

Peter's nerves squirmed inside him like a swarm of gnats, he felt as nauseous as seeing a swarm of gnats. Octavius was urging him to move, to get away, in his ear. Nick Fury was still watching him expectantly.

"Uh, thanks for the offer," he said, casually, "but I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." Peter scooted closer, in what he hoped was discreet, toward the man-hole. "So, uh, have a nice life." Nick Fury rolled his eyes. "Cool?" Peter gave him a small thumbs up and he continued to back up.

Fury didn't seem to care; only watched as he got further away. None of the agents made any move to stop him, and his spider-sense was quiet. Feeling a little better that he wasn't going to be shackled and taken away, Peter found himself by the manhole and quickly opened the cover and jumped down.

He welcomed the darkness and hurried to the Basement, though glancing over his shoulder the whole time.