/the following are text messages/

Tony: How did the meeting with Ross go?

Rhodey: Fine..the rogues are getting cleared of their charges and are on house arrest for 2 months. They're coming home.

Tony: Shit.

Rhodey: It'll be fine.

Tony: I rlly don't think it will. Just the thought                  
           of him...

Rhodey: Things are different now.

Tony: Ur right. Now i gotta kid to protect.

Rhodey: Just call me tmr before the funeral. I think Nat might stop by.

/end of text messages/

  Tony shut his phone off, dragging a weary hand down his face. He glanced at the clock.

  12:34am.

God, i don't have time for this, the billionaire thought. He looked down at his fiancé sleeping soundly next to him, strawberry-blonde hair splayed out against the pillow like a glowing halo. He so wished he had time for her.

But no, the demands of Ross and the Avengers always seemed to get in the way.

  Tony sighed heavily. That, and the fact that he was now supporting an enhanced super-teen spider-child.

***

  Peter clambered through his bedroom window, ripping his mask off his face to reveal tear-streaked cheeks and puffy eyes.

  "Damn," the teen panted, perching himself on his window sill. "Couldn't breathe in that thing." And you know, the fact that you had a panic attack halfway though patrol because you found yourself swinging past your old apartment. But sure, the mask if why you can't breathe.

  Peter groaned, resting his head in his mask as he recollected his jumbled thoughts. He hadn't meant to pass his old apartment building while out on patrol, that's just what happened. Things happen. Just like his Aunt May didn't tell her own nephew about her stage four cancer and the fact that her funeral is tomorrow. But yeah, things happen.

  Peter yanked himself from his seat, stumbling over to his bed. He checked his phone. 12:46am.

  "Shit," Peter muttered. He meant to come back sooner. That was before the crippling panic attack that left his curled in a ball on the roof.

  So, things happen.

The teen sighed and double tapped the spider logo on his chest, the suit falling loosely off his shoulders. He took his time, even though he knew he should get to bed. Tomorrow was a big day-it was the day of Aunt May's funeral. He'd been dreading this day for years, but now he couldn't wait for it to be over.

  Peter kicked off the suit, walking into the bathroom to clean up. He'd done okay on patrol-stopped three muggings, a potential rape, and helped a lost dog find its owner. Not his best night, but also not his worst.

  The teen superhero stood in front of the mirror, the shower running behind him. His body was littered with cuts and bruises, dried blood from a bloody nose he didn't remember getting staining his face. Peter knew he was getting sloppier as Spider-man, knew his emotions almost completely dominated his fights. Peter guessed he was the blame for that.

With a heavy sigh, Peter stepped into the shower. His muscles screamed in release as the hot water singed his skin, his body melting from the pure pleasure of being warm. The vigilante scrubbed at his scabbing skin, blood dribbling down the drain along with sweat and grime. But no matter how much he scrubbed, his many times he washed and rinsed, he still felt dirty.

Dirty with guilt, with loss, with sadness.

The boy was overgrown with it all.

Suddenly exhausted, Peter leaned his head against the wall and let the hot water run over him. Standing there in a shower with hot water that didn't run cold after three minutes, with tiles that reflected his face, Peter felt like an intruder, an imposter. He knew he didn't belong, but now he didn't know how he got there. How was it that just last week he was a semi-normal kid going to school everyday, living in a tiny Queens apartment..and now he was to be attending his last living relatives funeral in less then twelve hours? Peter decided he didn't believe in God, after all.

The water shut off.

Peter started, his body snapping up as the cold bit at his dripping skin. He stumbled out of the shower and reached for a towel, wrapping it around himself. He stepped back into his bedroom and nearly shit himself when he found a random woman sitting at his desk.

"Well, i just have to say, I've never taken a shower that long," the woman spoke, and Peter had to admit, even her voice was a bit creepy.

"W-who are you?" Peter asked, hugging his towel to himself.

The woman tapped one of Peter's pencils against the edge of the desk, creating an eerie, melodic sound.

"Some call me the Black Widow," the woman said, voice as soft as snow yet as hard as ice. "But you have the pleasure of knowing me as Natasha."

Peter's spidey-sense was going haywire. His  skin prickled and tingled, the blood in his veins screaming of danger. But Peter knew the Black Widow was a friend of Tony's. She wouldn't hurt him...would she?

"I'm not going to hurt you, Spider-man," the Black Widow said, reading Peter's mind. "I'm just here to make a first impression, before the others show up at the funeral tomorrow."

Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. "O-others?"

Natasha nodded, red hair catching a sliver of the moonlight coming through the window. "The rogues. They've decided to somewhat crash your aunt' funeral, put the fun in it, some may say."

That doesn't sound like my idea of fun, the teen thought to himself, reminded of his tiny breakdown in the shower moments ago.

Natasha moved to the door. "I was never here," she said, opening the door. "And i never told you Winter is coming." And with that, the Black Widow disappeared, gone as soon as she'd come.

***

  Tony always hated the color black.

  It was too dark, not flashy enough. And it always reminded him of death. It brought him back to standing over his parents grave in the pouring rain while only mourning his mother.

  The man shivered and straightened his tie.

"Peter!" Tony called, stepping out of his bedroom and into the hall. "You almost ready, bud?"

Peter couldn't do it, not again. He just stared at the black suit draped over the back of his desk, chair, the fabric glistening under the light.

Nope, he couldn't do it.

Peter ripped the fabric off the chair and chucked it at the wall, the material tearing in the process.

The teen gripped at his hair. "Shit," he muttered, too shaken to look at the ruined suit. "Mr. Stark's gonna kill me."

  "Peter! You almost ready, bud?" Came Mr. Stark's voice right on cue.

  Shitshitshitshit, the word played on repeat inside Peter's frantic brain. "Almost!" He shouted back, quickly slipping on the ripped suit. The tear ran down the left side, from the bottom of his breast to above his hip bone.

  Thinking on his feet, the teen superhero grabbed his webshooters and shot a line of webbing down the rip, sewing it up to a point where it was barely noticeable.

  Mr. Stark poked his head in the boy's bedroom a moment later. He must've seen the post-horrified look on Peter's face because he said, "You okay?"

  Peter ran his hands gently over his front, the shirt slightly sticky by the webbing. "Y-Yeah, I'm fine," he muttered. "Just..a hard day, is all."

  Tony's expression softened. "I know, kid. I understand. But the sooner we get it started, the sooner it's over, right?"

Peter nodded sullenly.

Tony pursed his lips. "Soooo, breakfast?"

Peter followed the man out of his bedroom and towards the kitchen.

  Tony walked into the kitchen to find a familiar redhead sipping coffee out of his favorite Ironman mug. He barely started, just greeted the woman.

  "Hello, Natasha," He said, picking up his own mug and holding it out for her to fill up. "When did you get in?"

  Natasha sighed heavily. "Sometime late last night. Oh, hello Spider-man," she said, blue eyes trained on the teen.

  Peter flinched. "H-Hi," He stammered.

  Tony rolled his eyes. "Took you long enough to find out."

  Nat smirked. "Who says?"

  Peter glanced between the two of them, not really sure what to say. Should he tell Mr. Stark about what the Black Widow said to him last night? Should he ask her what she meant by it? Or should he just stuff it and try to focus on getting through the day without having a mental breakdown?

  Peter chose the latter and sat down at the island for whatever food he could stomach with his nerves so high.

  Nat peered at the teenager quizzically. Even after countless hours of research and meeting him last night, she still didn't know what to think of this Spider-man figure. She couldn't quite figure out if he was a threat or not.

  "What's with the suit?" She asked. "Funeral today or something?"

  Peter's head jerked to her, hands immediately going to cover up the rip he'd patched up.

  "Yeah," Tony said, hanging his head. "The kid's aunt."

  "Damn," Nat said, eyeing Peter and taking a sip of her black coffee. "I'm sorry."

  Peter nodded stiffly. Everyone is always sorry, but they never do anything about it.

  Tony glanced at the clock on the coffee machine. "Shit," he said. "I gotta go call Rhodey. Eat something kid, I'll be right back," the genius said, hustling down the hall.

  As soon as he left, Nat got right up in Peter's face.

  "I'm sure you didn't tell him about our little conversation last night," she said, long red nails picking at the tear in Peter's suit. Peter was frozen with fear. "Now what do we have here?" And she ripped the webbing out of Peter's suit.

  Peter gasped, covering his chest in shock. "W-what the hell?!" He exclaimed. "I was trying to fix it!"

  Nat tossed the spider webs over her shoulder. "Obviously you didn't know what you were doing after your little temper tantrum. Let me do it. Strip."

  Peter hesitated before taking off his suit jacket and button down, handing it to the mother spider, who easily fixed the tear with a stray string and a bobby pin from her hair. When she was done, she handed it back to the shaking teen who breathed out a thanks.

  "No problem," the redhead said with a small smile. "I'm no enemy, Peter. Just a watching eye. Remember that."

  The Black Widow went back to sipping coffee.