Everyone always says, 'if you're good at something, pursue it,' and 'utilize your talents.' But when your skills are in grey areas that would often be deemed illegal, suddenly you're not supposed to do what you're good at. Not that I actually care though.

Because I can't help that I have a surprisingly unique talent for getting out of and avoiding sticky situations. Evan always tells me it made me a nightmare to babysit me when we were younger. Now, all he can do is utilize my little trick to keep the 'family' business running. Especially with the 'friendly neighborhood' hero that runs around stopping everyone.

In our crew, they call me 'Delphi' in some silly comparison to the legendary Oracle of old. It originally started as a joke, something Evan started to keep my real name out of the system and mock the Institution's codename for me. Now, it's a trademark. People clamor and vie for Delphi to watch over their exploits, to give them the slightest bit of advice on how not to get caught.

Sometimes I wish I wasn't gifted.

I wish that I could be an average girl. You know, the kind that doesn't help run the mafia or is the baby sister to its kingpin. The one who can go shopping on the weekends, or be invited to a party without watching the door and analyzing escape routes because someone's running a job.

I wish that I could be me. No Delphi, just Y/N.

Evan gives me a smile from across the pulsing club, happy to see another job running smoothly, and it's like a punch in the gut. Because even if I could leave this life, I can't betray my 'brother'—my family and all that I have left to in this world. We made a promise when Pop's left—we go together, no matter where it may be.

There's a tug in the back of my head, a familiar hum beneath the pounding of the club's pulsing beat. Someone's coming. Probably just a rival, looking to bust another one of our ops to boost their own profits, yet they always forget about me.

I hop over the railing and slip against the wall to Evan's direct line of sight. His green eyes shift to me ever so slightly and watch my rushed movements over the shoulder of whatever stranger he's dealing with tonight. My gloved fingers tap my wrist and continue through a flurry of coded movements to relay the message. Exit 3 now. Close call.

He offers me a barely perceptible nod, and I allow a ghost of a smile to dance across my features. Poor guys have no idea what they're getting left behind to face. It sends a small pang of guilt through my chest, but the feeling is quickly left behind me in the twisting crowd. They chose this life; it's bound to catch up to them eventually.

Although, as I slip out the back into the alley, I can't help but wonder if one day it will catch up to us too. It's not as if we aren't just as guilty. Evan helps broker the biggest deals—everything from guns to drugs to art and everything in between. Of course, he always keeps the details hidden; I'm just not stupid enough to believe he's dealing in rainbows and happiness.

The New York chill bites down through my jacket as I weave through streets, false turns, and narrow alleyways to the safe house. My thoughts sour like the dumpster's trash the longer I walk. With each step another reason for me to hate myself pops up.

Step. I aide criminals every day.

Step. I help more weapons and illegal items to hit the streets.

Step. People die because of it.

Step. Not once have I had the courage to say 'no.'

Step. I keep doing it despite knowing its wrong.

Step. I've never tried to stop Evan.

Step. Evan's never asked me stop.

Step. And I've never said anything.

Tears brim in my eyes as I try to push away the tsunami of self-loathing that are building up in my chest. It's utterly pointless though, there's no fighting it. You can't just will this stuff away. The only way I could fix it would be correct my mistakes, which I don't see myself getting the courage to do anytime soon.

The hum of danger slowly builds as I cross into another alleyway. It's a nagging in my head and chest that screams at me to run—to get out as fast as I can, but something else—something stronger whispers for me to wait. I don't recognize the feeling, and the unfamiliar, gentle whisper seems to fight against the hum until it feels like a war raging inside my skull.

Run. Stay. Run, you freaking idiot. Stay, this is what you've searched for.

"Shut up!" I scream at the sounds in my head as I knead my palms against my eyes. It sends a flurry of lights and colors through the blackness and a comforting kind of pain. My hands shake as I continue to try to calm the pounding, to gain a moment of peace.

I'm so wrapped up I don't notice the knife at my throat until its too late. The blade sends a shiver through me as the brute presses it further into my neck and whispers, "Can't see everything, huh, Delphi?"

My stomach twists at the name. Evan has always made sure I remained unidentifiable; it's part of why I stay. He keeps us invisible so that they will never find us again. "I don't know what you're talking about." I whisper fearfully and silently pray to make it through this. Although, a part of me has been expecting it to end like this. Everyone always says the only way out of the business is in handcuffs or a body bag.

Still, I try my hand at a proper lie. "Please, you have the wrong person." My voice and body shake in terror. Especially when the man's exposed wrist brushes against my neck and the flashes come.

Images splice together of the possible outcomes of this scenario. One with me lying in a pool of my own blood, and the other—harder to decipher with the thick haze over it—the man trapped against the alley wall with some sort of unknown restraint.

A chuckle escapes the man as he presses the blade deep enough to break the first layer of skin. "Oh, I'm certain I've got you, Delphi. You see, I went to jail cause of you, and while I was inside, I asked around." A bitter laugh escapes him as he releases me long enough to slam me against the bricks so that his green eyes can mock me as he continues. "Turns out, there are some people looking for you and your friend. Quite a pretty penny for you two."

Everything goes dark and cold in that split second. My heart drops to the filthy concrete and stops beating in terror. "Who?"

"You know who, sweetie." He teases and rests the blade on the dip between my collarbones. "Only thing is—they didn't specify how they wanted you. So I'm gonna assume they don't mind if I take my pound of flesh before handing you over to them."

Tears brim in my eyes. This is it, I think to myself, this is how I die. Because there's no way I'm ever going back to that place. My voice is steady and resigned as I spit in his face and tell him, "Go ahead then. Do you worst, but know that your future is pretty bleak too."

"Why, you little bi—" He shouts and moves the knife to plunge it into my gut, and I screw my eyes shut to be sure I won't have to witness his sick joy as I die. But something—or better said someone—stops him. Instead, there's a searing pain across my abdomen as the man shouts.

"You know, that's not how you treat a lady." A voice calls, and I turn toward the source to find a familiar figure clad in red and blue spandex. He gives a quick tug on the webs, which sends the thug to the ground. "Didn't your mother teach your manners?"

Spiderman just shakes his head and webs the guy's mouth shut before securing him to the alley wall. "Now, wait here for the cops to come." He jokes, but the laughter fades from his voice when he notices me.

I follow his gaze curiously to find a wide, shallow gash across my stomach. "Well, that's gonna need stitches." I mumble to myself, not quite feeling it through the adrenaline and shock. Spiderman watches me, white lenses squinting in what I believe to be disbelief. "Looks like your gonna need some too." I tell him and motion to an injury on his shoulder. "Come on, Spandex. I know a place to patch ourselves up."

He watches me as I stumble to the mouth of the alleyway with a hand clamped on my stomach and the other using the wall for support. "You're not going to make it far like that." His voice is soft and kind as he loops my arm over his neck and picks me up with ease. "Not by yourself at least."

"Who said I was expecting to go alone?" I tease through the haze of the encroaching pain. The fabric of his mask stretches ever so slightly as I assume he smiles. "There's a clinic about five blocks—" I pause for a second and scramble to remember exactly where I am, "—that way."

...

I can feel him watching me as I finish bandaging myself up, wincing every time I move at a certain angle. "Here," He sighs, "let me help you."

My head rests against Spiderman's chest as he follows my directions to the clinic. "Hold on, I've got a key." I tell him as I squirm out of his grip and search through my pockets for the spare key that I 'borrowed' during one of my shifts. The door sticks like always, and I wince at the extra pain that comes as I wedge it open. "Come on, I'll get you patched up."

I can feel his eyes on me as he follows me inside. "Shouldn't you be taking care of yourself first? Mine isn't that bad compared to yours." He tries to argue as I gather the supplies.

I make a point to ignore him as I shove him toward the table and press a disinfectant-soaked gauze to the wound. "Hey! A little warning would be nice." He cries at the contact of it, and I have to bite back a chuckle.

"I didn't realize the famous Spiderman was such a baby." I tease as I continue. "This isn't gonna feel good. I have to take the bullet out, which is really gonna hurt. So I suggest you brace yourself."

He nods and wraps his fingers around the edge of the table. The fog in my head lingers as I go through the routine motions of patching him up. It's become a bit of second nature to me. After all those years in the Institute, where they treated us like monsters and animals, and the times Evan's plans went south, I've learned how to patch up a wound.

"How are you so good at this?" The boy in front of me questions, and I merely shrug. His voice softens and white lenses shrink as he watches me. "Are you okay? You're bleeding pretty badly."

"Don't worry, I'm almost done. Then you'll get your chance to play doctor. And to answer your question, I've gotten used to it." I tell him as I wrap his shoulder tightly. The moment I finish, he slides off and gently places me in his spot. "Okay, let's see how bad it is." I mumble to myself as I lift my shirt up, which immediately causes Spiderman to look away in apparent embarrassment. Not that I can bring myself to care at the moment.

"Huh, he barely broke the skin." I finally look up to see Spiderman's eyes darting anywhere else but me. It makes me chuckle a little bit to see him like this. "Pass me the disinfectant and some bandages, please?"

"Y-yeah, sure thing." He replies as he scrambles for the items. I cringe when his ivory lenses widen when he notices the scars that litter my shoulders, abdomen, and back. "How—how did those happen?"

"Trust me. You really don't want to know." I whisper with a wince as I clean out the shallow wound. Spiderman watches for a moment before he takes the bandages and gauze from my hands. "What are you—?" I don't get the chance to finish before he picks up before I left off.

"You're really not gonna tell me. Are you?" He pauses and waits to see if I'll answer him, but when I remain silent, he continues. "I mean, you can't blame me for being curious. Most pretty, normal teenage girls aren't covered in scars like that."

"Who said anything about 'normal?'" I retort as he finishes wrapping the bandages, always pausing at the round scars on my abdomen. My eyes dart away to a random poster before the memory of their origin takes hold. "For all you know, I could be a criminal."

A piece of my brain screams at me to shut up before he can figure me out, but the same gentle voice from before urges me on—to finally put a stop to this facade of a life.

Spiderman shakes his head with an uncomfortable chuckle. "You don't exactly seem like a criminal." He pauses, ivory lenses meeting my eyes as he tilts his head and asks, "Wait—-are you?"

I move my gaze away from him as I gently slide off the table and move to the employee lockers in search of a shirt to replace my blood-stained one. My voice is regretful as I finally give him an answer. "I suppose I am—in a way. Aiding and abetting is a crime, right?"

Spiderman stiffens, obviously on high alert now, but there's something still tender about him as he watches me. And I wonder if he knows that I want out—for good. "What do you mean?"

I stay silent for a moment as I rummage through my coworker's locker and pull out a simple graphic tee she keeps for emergencies or accidents. "I mean, I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of. I've protected someone for years now—someone who works and helps most of the criminal underbelly of New York run smoothly.

"I've helped him avoid trouble, watched the deals, and said nothing for three years. I've lied to myself that it was for good reasons, that he was only hurting the people that hurt us, and that I was right to help him because once he helped me." I pause and keep looking at the floor. "You probably know of him—and me."

"Who is he?" He asks immediately but pauses for a moment in consideration as he steps closer. "And why are you telling me all this?"

Tears brim in my eyes as I fight the arguing voices in my head to get the words. "Because—I can't live like this anymore. It hurts too much. I can't live knowing people are hurt by my silence and that my abilities are used for harm, and I'm sick of being someone's weapon again. I spent so long in a cell--like their pet. When he got us out, I thought I was free. Turns out, I exchanged a cage for a tight leash."

Spiderman hesitates for a second but reaches out and wipes my tears away with a gloved hand. "Talk to me. Maybe I can help you."

I bite my lip, unsure if I can actually trust the masked hero. "If I tell you, there's no going back for me. Either he or they will find me, and I'm good as dead either way. If I tell you, you have to promise to turn me into someone you trust—someone who won't try to use me for my abilities."

"I promise." He replies after a long moment. "But you have to tell me who you're running from and who you've been working with."

I sigh as I settle myself back on the table and start my story as Spiderman sits down next to me. "It's a long story, but I have to start at the beginning for it to make sense." He nods and waits patiently for me to speak. "I don't remember much from when I was a kid. All I have are snippets of parents, a few friends, and a dog named 'Bosco,' I think.

"Everything beyond that is just 'the Institute'— that's what they called themselves at least. An 'institute for the development and education of gifted individuals' is what they drilled into us for the longest time. It wasn't until we got out that I found out their real name, Hydra.

"They're the reason I got the scars. I was only a kid when I realized what I could do, and they took no time to use me for them. They called me 'the Oracle;'" I pause and look up to make sure he's still with me. He tilts his head, slightly puzzled. "I can tell when something bad is going to happen. It's like this buzzing in my head whenever danger is coming, and if I touch someone, I can see possible futures—outcomes of what may happen to them, unless the event is set. When Hydra found out, they would bring me agents before a mission or smuggle me into key events. I had to tell them everything. Because when I didn't cooperate," I lift my shirt and show the scars to elaborate for me, "they would use the cattle prod, hit me, and toss me in a cell until I learned to behave again.

"It's how I met him, Evan." I twist the gloves around my fingers as I struggle to continue through the tears and emotions of finally telling someone my story. "He was different like me—being used for his gifts and punished when he rebelled. We used to talk through the grate to keep each other company, to keep each other going.

"I was only twelve when we escaped. Evan broke his way into my cell, picked me up, and put a blanket over my head as he carried me out. It's mostly a blur, but I remember Evan holding onto me so tightly like he was gonna lose me any moment. We barely made it out alive, even with my abilities. But we ran, and we kept going until we knew no one could hurt us again.

"Evan used his gifts of persuasion to earn himself a job for a crime syndicate. I thought nothing of it at first except he was trying to find a way to support us. There was a boss that toon us Evan in as an underling and treated us like his own. He even had us call him 'Pop.' And when he left to run from the authorities, he handed the reigns to Evan.

"I thought it was nothing at first. Just odd jobs like Pops would do. But then he came into my room one night and told me to come with him. He needed someone to have his back. What he really wanted was the Oracle to protect him. So I did."

"Because you felt like you owed him." Spiderman finishes for me, and I nod. "You don't owe him anything anymore,—" His voice drops off as he's not sure what to call me.

"Y/N. My name's Y/N." I tell him with a soft smile. "But you probably know Evan and I by different names."

"Which are?"

"Evan is known simply as 'the Ghost.'" Spiderman's lenses widen in shock.

"Does that mean you're—?"

"The infamous Delphi?" I confirm with a bitter laugh. "Yep, that would be me. I always hated that name, but Evan convinced me it would be a way to mock the name they called me all those years. Although, I'm pretty sure he just wanted a cool name to use when he bragged."

"I thought you were just a myth. It's why Evan got called 'the Ghost,' because he's never been caught. I've heard other people talk about you like you're a good luck charm." Spiderman says, and I nod in shame. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Y/N. You shouldn't be treated like someone's tool; you're a human being."

"You're the first person who's ever said that to me," I whisper through the tears and barely think as I pull him into a hug. "Thank you."

"You shouldn't have to thank me." He whispers as he hugs me back. "C'mon, I think I know a way to help you. Just give me a minute to make a call."

I nod and pull my knees up to my chest. The room suddenly feels so much colder, and the voices in my head continue to scream at each other. One tells me to run now before he can turn me in, and I get locked up again. The other is kinder and reminds me that I needed to get out of Evan's grasp eventually. Spiderman is my best bet to doing that.

"Okay, I called Mr. Stark; he'll help you get somewhere safe." As if he can sense my lingering apprehension, he steps closer and pulls his mask off so our eyes can meet. "Look, I promise you, everything's going to be okay, Y/N. You have my word; I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you're okay."

I nod and uncurl myself from the tight ball as I slip my gloved hand into his. "Alright, let's go meet Mr. Stark."

...

My whole body shakes with nerves as we walk into the tower. Peter, as he introduced himself on the way over, keeps his hand in mine and reminds me it's gonna be okay. "Mr. Stark?" He calls as we exit the elevator and enter the empty penthouse.

"Kid," A voice calls as he rounds the corner. Tony Stark's eyes lock on me the moment he comes into view. "who's your friend?"

Peter begins to introduce me and talk to Tony about my situation, but I can only halfway listen. There's a small but growing hum that starts to emerge and take over everything around me. It sends a panic flooding through my veins as I tug on Peter's arm. "Something's wrong," I whisper to him and start to shake even more. "Something's gonna happen."

"What? No, Y/N, you're safe now. Mr. Stark is gonna help you." He tells me as he looks between Tony and I. But the look in Tony's eyes only confirms my fear. Peter seems to notice it too. "M—Mr. Stark?"

"I need you to step away from her, Peter." He tells the boy as he takes a step forward. Peter steps between Mr. Stark and me and extends his arm in a protective manner to me. "She's dangerous, kid."

"No, she's not. I promised her you would help. I—" Peter argues, but he's quickly cut off by my scream. A pair of arms wrap around my waist and lift me off my feet. "Y/N!"

"Peter!" I scream and fight the men holding onto my arms. "No, please, no." Tears stream down my face as I watch him yell and fight against Tony's hold as they drag me away.

His voice echoes in my ears as they tie my hands behind my back. "No, Mr. Stark! I promised her. Y/N! Y/N!" My heart lurches in my chest as the doors close, officially sealing me off from Peter, whose last image is of fighting Tony with tears streaming down his face. It's the last thing I see before the men place a blind over my head and block everything out.