Chapter Text
I'm winded and breathing heavily from running. That was a close call, the security guard almost got me. I just barley made it back to ally were sleeping in tonight. "Pete," I call softly. "Sissy!" comes the exuberant reply, as my grinning little brother jumps up and looks at me expectantly. I hold up the bag of stolen pastries and two hotdogs. His eyes light up when sees this two favorite foods. Normally we scavenge from Dumpsters outside of restaurants and nab stale loafs of bread or day old fries, maybe if we are lucky something with meat in it. But on my little brother's birthday he will get the best I can give him, even if its not close to what he deserves. He's 11 years old for God's sake! He should have a normal kids life. But unlike normal kids, who have parents and family, we are on our own. Except for each other we can't trust anyone. See when he was about six and I was almost nine our dad was shot by a guy who broke in to our Queens flat. I need to thank the shooter doing us a favor and killing that abusive asshole. When he was killed Mom was so devastated that she killed herself. I will never forgive her for swallowing a bullet and leaving us to the wolves. I loved my mother, but after that we were alone. Then we went to live with our only remaining family, Ben and May Parker. They were sweet and kind to us. That was some of the best time in my life, living with them. They never hit us or called us worthless or freaks because we have special powers like the things Dad did. But Aunt May died of cancer when I was ten. Not along time after that Uncle Ben had a heart attack. He was stuck in the hospital on life support for a week before they unplugged him. Then the state of New York transferred us into whatever nincompoop runs New Jersey's orphaned kids program. They then shipped us off to a shitty orphanage. From there we moved from foster home to foster home, trying to find a place to stay. See, I am apparently a "troubled child." Its another reason we move around so much. So in our last foster home they tried to drug me out. I was on like five different types of meds. That was the line. I woke Peter up and told him too pack. We were leaving this hellhole. We ran back to New York. We have learned how to fight, how to steal. We've been lucky really. I'll run drugs if I have too. Once or twice I've had to sell my ass for food. That was not pleasant, and the Johns were not very forthcoming in cash. But that's how we live out here in the Brooklyn streets.
We were leaving a press conference about the Avengers Initiative when it happened. It was about eight o'clock so there was only a bit of sunlight left. Of course all the streetlamps and bright neon signs were on so we could still easily see out side. But that's New York for you. One of the nosy reporters shoved her mic straight in Bruce's face and started bombarding him with questions. AT one point, she asked, "Is it true that you attempted to kill the Avengers?" I could feel Tony sending her a glare without even turning around. "No, I did not, I repeat for the fifth time tonight, I did not attempt anything to harm the Avengers," Bruce said, said forcibly shaking from the anger of sitting through questions like these all day. I don't blame him. These modern day reporters have no respect whatsoever. But the blonde continued, "Then why did this report," she says as she holds up a thick SHEILD secret file that she most definitely shouldn't have,"say you injured several of them?" She smirked and raised an eyebrow, as if she was proud of herself.
And the dam breaks lose. Natasha tackles the green Bruce as he's changing but still normal sized. The reporter shrieks and all of the interviewers and camera men run for the door, except for us. The SHIELD agents close off the floor while Tony calls the Iron Man suit. Clint nocks some sedative arrows, specially made by Tony for these occasions. The Hulk roars angrily and I have to duck to avoid a flying black conference table. "Hulk," I yell ,"Stand down!" But all I get in response is a "Smash tiny lady!" This situation has just escalated dangerously and quickly. My husband shows up in his overly flashy tin can and screams over the, com ,"Look out Hawkeye!" But he's a second too late in his warning. The arrow Clint released hits its target, The Hulk, perfectly. But Hulk backhands Clint pinning him up into a glass wall. Clint's left leg is injured badly and he himself is leaning on the wall heavily. The the Hulk moves to strike him with a large green fist. I see Hawkeye dodge the punch and I breath a sigh of relief. Until I see the glass window shatter and watch Clint slowly fall 80 stories toward the solid concrete looming below.