Doomed

Chapter Seven

Jessica Drew, Natasha Romanoff, and Clint Barton were walking the halls of Avengers Tower when the front door caved in. In an instant, pistols were drawn, arrows were nocked, and venom blasts were charged. The weapons lowered when they saw that the person coming through the doors was Spider-Man.

"Hey, Spidey," Jessica said, "what're you doing here? I figured you'd still be cooped up in your lab."

Peter yanked off his mask and walked past them. The three of them exchanged worried looks. Spider-Man not talking? Something was wrong.

They followed him into the common room, where more Avengers were sitting, resting between Earth-shattering events. Cage sat with his wife, watching their daughter play with some toys on the carpet; Iron Fist stood off to the side, half-watching Cage's family, half-engaged in a conversation with Mockingbird; and Cap was sitting at a small table, sipping a cup of coffee.

When Peter saw Steve sitting there, looking like he had not a care in the world, his temper boiled over. "You!" he yelled, charging Cap and slamming him against the wall before Steve had a chance to react. "Where were you?!"

The other Avengers in the room stood in stunned silence, though Clint and Natasha had their weapons drawn again. Cap made a gesture, and they put them down. He could tell Peter was angrier with himself than he was with anyone else.

"Where were any of you?!" Peter turned to the rest of them, lowering Cap to the ground. "I send out the S.O.S., 'Avengers Assemble' and all that, and who comes to help me? Wolverine and Thor. Iron Man showed up there at the end, but I think he might have just been flying by."

"Peter," Steve said, placing his hand on Spider-Man's shoulder. "What happened?"

"Doom! Doom happened!" Peter screamed, throwing Steve's hand away. "He attacked my lab! He stole my research, Steve!"

The rest of the team gasped. They all knew that Peter was working on a cure for Carol. The specifics, however, what he'd found, and what he'd been given, had stayed between Peter and Steve.

Cap stared at him, and Peter could see the wheels turning in his head again. "We should speak about this privately," he said, gesturing for Peter to follow him.

But Peter wasn't about to receive another pep talk. He'd failed, he knew it, and he had no interest in Steve trying to cheer him up or tell him it wasn't his fault. This was something he needed to fix on his own. "No," he said. "You know what? Clearly my presence on this team isn't valued." Just then Thor and Iron Man walked in, carrying a still-unconscious Wolverine. "Thank you, Thor, and Logan, if you can hear me, for answering the call when I needed you. Tony, I'm not sure if you heard me or were just passing by, but thank you too, I guess."

Peter took his Avengers I.D. card out of the small pocket he had on the inside of his costume. "But I'm done," he said, throwing the card on the ground. "I work better on my own anyway." Peter walked away, toward his room in the tower. Several of the other heroes tried to call after him, but Steve ordered them down. Quietly, however, the squeaking of small wheels was heard coming down the opposite hallway. As the figure entered the common room, all of the Avengers, save Cap, were on their feet and nearly shouting, but Steve ordered them down again. "This one needs to happen," he said.

XXXXXX

Rummaging through his closet, Peter found what he was looking for: His belt of extra web fluid. It was rare that he wore it into battle anymore, as he'd refined his fluid more and more since his teenage years to last longer, and grant more time before he ran out and had to replace a cartridge. He stood, pulling off the red-and-blues. He stared into the closet for a moment, then grabbed the black suit off the rack. It wasn't the symbiote, he could never go back to that, (though he admitted that the power boost it gave him wouldn't hurt), but there was something about it that made his anger feel like a strength instead of a weakness. The black suit funneled his rage in a more potent direction, let him use it as a weapon. He wanted that, then. He checked his web shooters, made sure they were full, fired a few web lines to ensure they were functioning properly. He pulled the gloves on over them, then put on the belt, and finally the pants and boots. All that was missing was the mask, which he could put on during the walk to the Quinjet he was planning to take whether someone gave him permission or not.