**Goodness, I am SO sorry this is coming so late!! As some of my followers know, I had a very unexpected life thing happen (I hate life things) and I needed some time to recover. Updates may still be kind of slow and erratic, I am still figuring things out and trying to get back to my good ol' self. Thank you for y'all's kind messages and comments in the last week or so, and thank you for your patience! You know those comedy shows where so many things go wrong at once and you're like "That's impossible!" Well, that just happened to me, but it was real, and it wasn't funny, it was just one sad/scary thing after another. Enough of that, though! Get ready for this one, guys, this chapter is... heavy. In addition to that, I had half of it written before my impromptu hiatus, so it's extra long. Enjoy!**

"Peter, don't go too far in!" May called, lowering herself onto the beach towel as the 6 year old took off towards the water. Little feet left small prints in the wet sand and he tripped every few steps.

"May, May! Watch!" Peter jumped up and down in the waves, kicking up water in a huge arc of spray.

The older woman laughed, watching her nephew enjoy himself.

"May, look! I can-" Peter was sucked under the waves, an undertow pulling him out into the deeper water. He thrashed in the water, fighting for air and searching vainly for which way was up. Water spun him around, the undertow and the tide fighting for his limbs and body. Wharf and sand muddied the water, making it impossible for the child to see. Lips parted, a scream trying to push out, but water choked Peter's lungs and he spluttered. He felt air against his face and hair as he bobbed, but each time, the water pulled him right back under.

Suddenly, the water seemed to calm, and Peter was released from the tides. Opening cautious eyes, he looked around, little hands and feet treading water. He was farther out into the ocean now. He could tell by the way a dark cloud of sand and wharf, clearly the shore, was swirling out of his reach. Peter reveled in the calm, cool waters as he began to float, his body righting itself in the water.

Breaching the surface, the child took a deep gasp of air and began swimming back towards shore, where May met him with frantic eyes and panicked sobs.

"Don't ever scare me like that again, young man," she scolded. "I would never forgive myself if something happened to you. You're all I have now."

Peter didn't know how he ended up on top of the bridge in the first place. He perched, hands steady against the cool concrete and steel. He crouched, staring down at the world below. Water, seemingly miles below him, gently oscillated. His eyes were unfocused, taking in the scene, May's words from years ago echoing in his mind as he stared down into the river.

May was gone now. He'd abandoned her, the only thing she had left, and no there would be no way to get that back. No way to hear her voice one more time. No way to call her and tell her that he'd found his mother after...

Peter wished he could go back, even just a month. Back to when May was there to hug him, back to when he was just a SHIELD agent, back to when he at least thought he knew who he was.

Pulling out his phone, Peter pulled up his voicemail.

May, September 7th, 9:14am.

"Hey, мой маленький паук, I'm so sorry I can't be there for the first day of school. I'm going to switch shifts tonight so I can be home for dinner. Pick up whatever you want, okay, even Delmar's if you want. I know I said I never wanted to eat there again, but I know it's your favorite and - Oh, merda, I have to get back to my patient. Okay, ti amo!" (Translations (in order): My little spider, shit, and I love you.)

Tears rolled down Peter's cheeks as his hand clenched over the phone. He just needed that. He needed May. He needed to think about something else. He needed to calm down. He needed...

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Peter's mind whirled, spinning and spiraling out of his control. He wanted to feel calm. He wanted to just relax for a moment, just relax, just...

Shrugging off his jacket, the teen carefully bundled it and set it on the support of the bridge next to him. He put his phone down, making sure it was nestled into the fabric, then pulled out his thigh holstered knife, his wallet, and his keys. 

Looking down one last time, Peter lifted his hands and tilted forward. No where left to run. He let the air take over as he fell towards the water, bracing himself for the rush of water and taking a deep breath of air.

Cold water hit Peter's body like a bullet, the familiar feeling of sudden force and shocking pain barely eliciting a gasp from the teen. Plunging deeper into the water, Peter waited for the bubbles to dissipate and for his body to begin floating.

Eyes opened.

The dark of night was only made worse by the murky water of the river, but Peter's senses were able to pick out the shapes and shadows.

Weightless.

In that moment, suspended in cool water, free from everything but the pull of the flow, Peter felt fine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"How long have you had him, you sick son of a bitch?" Natasha asked, one hand pointing in Fury's face, the other twitching at her waist.

The director didn't even look bothered. "I don't know why you would care, Natalia, it's not like he ever knew he was adopted."

The ex-assassin bristled slightly at her name being used, but shrugged it off. "It matters because I want to know how long he was tortured by whatever fucked up doctor the Russians gave him to, and how long he was tortured by you. That way, I can at least help my son."

Fury shrugged. "I got him when he was about a year old. I gave him to Mary and Richard, but they died shortly after, so he went to May. I started training him at 9 years old, and up until a month ago, he had no idea who he was, or that I knew who he was before he became an agent."

Tony was still seated on the couch, dear and shock plastered on his face like thick coasts of paint. He kept looking between Natasha and Fury, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly. There was something incomprehensible to the billionaire about Natasha being a mother, about Fury using Peter for his own personal gain, and Peter... sweet, smart, gentle Peter, who desperately wanted to be a hero even after everything that had happened to him. So much like Natasha. So much like Tony had been after his time in Afghanistan.

"Where did you find him?" Natasha asked, morbid curiosity and desperate need to understand getting the best of her.

"Find him?" Fury asked. "We didn't find him, Natalia, we bought him. HYDRA, SHIELD, the Russians, biochemists wanted here in the States... A child born with genetically mutated powers, whose parents were highly trained assassins? It was the biggest auction of the century."

Natasha crumpled, unable to keep herself upright and stable and...

Her baby... Sold, like some... some...

Tony raised himself off the couch, backing into the kitchen and out of the living room. He was quick to pull out his phone, hastily sending a message to the rest of the team. He could only hope they would wake up and come back him up. God, he was about to do something so stupid. 

"You honestly thought they just let something like this happen?" Fury asked, inching closer to the woman on the floor. "You thought they just forgot to check up on you and Alek? No, that was all planned, and Alek? He was paid off for his part in the whole thing."

Fury crouched by the woman. "Peter was always going to be sold to the highest bidder. They only wanted him if he turned out to be a girl, but... Well, when things didn't go to plan, he was up for grabs. Dr. Osborn put on quite the scene, promising genetic manipulation for all assassins in the Red Room, but he didn't have the same money as SHIELD and HYDRA had." Furn leaned closer, bringing cold words directly to the woman's ears.

"He is mine because I paid them off in SHIELD information. He is the reason Mary and Richard were killed, his price was their plane. And when he comes back, and he will come back here because he has no where else to go, I will tell him exactly who he is, and he will be mine again."

Fury pulled back, only to be struck at the base of his neck and to crumple backwards. Steve caught him, setting him in the chair that Bucky had pulled over. Clint crouched by Natasha, pulling her into his lap and trying to get her to calm down.

"What are you going to do to him?" Steve asked, gesturing at the director as Tony came closer.

"First," the billionaire said, wrapping a length of duct tape over the man's right wrist and chair arm. "I am going to duct tape him to the chair, gag him, and put him in the basement. Then, we're going to have a conversation with Natasha and I'll go get Peter."

Bucky looked around, as if just now realizing the teen should have been at the table. "Where is Peter?"

"I have no idea."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ned's hands shook as he opened the door slowly, his breathe ragged and quick.

"Peter?"

There, on his porch, was Ned's best friend. Peter's clothes were sopping wet, the only part of him that was dry was a sweatshirt, which was held protectively in front of Peter's chest.

"Hey," the spider boy said, teeth chattering in the cold. "Could I come in?"

Ned shot a look behind the door, then nodded and let Peter in.

"Thanks. I know it's a school day and like, we should probably get to school," Peter started, heading farther into the house without a glance back at his friend, "but I was wet and I can't go back to the tower right now so I hoped- wait. Why haven't you left for school yet?"

Peter turned, looking back at Ned, who was standing ramrod straight, a gun pointed at his head.

"Nice of you to drop by," the man holding the gun said, skin dancing with green hues. "I've been waiting for you."

Peter stood a little straighter, his hand discretely finding his knife in the sweatshirt.

"And to whom do I owe this pleasure?" Peter asked, his face playful and light despite the dire situation.

"Oh, you and I go way back, Spidey. All the way back. I was good friends with your parents, see," the man said, eyes glowing. "I was the one who made you who you are. My name is Green Goblin, but you knew me as Doctor Osborn, I think."

Peter paled. Harry's dad? The one who had...

"You knew my parents? Natasha?"

The Goblin let out a whoop of laughter. "Now we're getting somewhere! Yes, I knew Natalia, when she was just 14 years old! I knew her when you were born. I watched her scream and thrash and fight me as I twisted your cells into something better!"

The Goblin laughed again, throwing his head back, leaving a space for Peter to lunge forward. Knocking the gun out of the Goblin's hold, he struck careful blows to the man as Ned leaped out of the way and up the stairs. He knew better than to stick around and get in Peter's way.

"I see you've been trained! Yes, I had a feeling Fury wanted you for an agent when he sold those  files!"

Peter wanted to ask about Fury, ask about what the hell this man was talking about, but he was too busy dodging bullets and mounting his own attacks.

"Maybe it was wrong to come here for your friend. You seem attached. Maybe I should have saved your aunt for the trap. It was all so easy to set that bomb, you weren't even there when it went off, and I doubt you would have fought this hard for her. You didn't seem to worried about her at all."

Peter lunged forward, a wave of anger and pain and burning rage forcing him forward. He plunged a knife deep into the man's arm, spinning backwards as the Goblin screamed in pain.

The Goblin's screams subsided into laughter as he stepped forward. "Missed me," he taunted, his voice taking on a sing-song tone.

"Did I?" Peter asked, cocking his head to the side.

The Goblin looked down at his arm, pulling the blade out with ease. A gush of blood surged from the wound. He looked up at the teen, eyes blown wide.

Peter winked.

In a moment, the man was crumpled on the floor, blood oozing into the carpet. Peter would have to help Ned get that out later.

"Peter?" Ned called, coming to the stairs. "Can I come back down?"

"Yeah," Peter said, sitting on the stairs. A steady drip pulled Peter's attention back to the fact that he was wet. From jumping in the river. From the bridge. Because he found out Natasha Romanoff was his mother and Fury had known all along. Because May was dead.

"Peter?" Ned asked, his voice softer now that he was standing right behind his friend.

Peter looked up, his eyes swimming with tears. "Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

The brunet shook his head. "I have no where left to run."