~Iron Family~

Some Dude Gets Taken to Jail

Peter was trying his best not to panic, but Bernard had pulled a gun out of nowhere and was now pressing it to Billy's head. He held the squirming boy around the middle, gritting his teeth in anger.

"Come on in, I dare you!" he yelled. Peter was starting to think Bernard had had a lot of an adult drink or something after he'd beaten the guy up last night.

The door was suddenly kicked down and a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent entered, followed by Mr. Stark and a very disgruntled-looking Happy. The man stood in a defensive stance with his gun raised, aiming at Bernard's head.

"Don't! You'll shoot Billy!" Peter tried to yell, but it came out as a throat-scratching wheeze. The agent lowered his gun and glanced at Peter, apparently getting the message.

Peter lowered his volume and rasped his words out as clearly as he could. "Put Billy down, Bernard."

"I'll do what I will when these hooligans leave," he slurred. Peter gritted his teeth and looked into Billy's tear-filled, terrified eyes. One of his hearing aids was missing.

"Sir, drop the child and we'll work this out!" the agent shouted, losing his defensive gesture but not the gun.

"We want to help," Mr. Stark supplied, raising his arms above his head for effect.

"These kids are mine," Bernard mumbled, getting choked up with what was supposedly emotion. Peter knew it was all a lie--he just liked the paycheck. "You ain't takin' them anywhere."

"We won't," the agent said, which was hopefully not true, "unless you keep that gun."

Bernard adjusted his grip on Billy and the gun. Peter quickly darted a glance over his shoulder at the kitchen table, where Diego and Arnwaldo were staring, open-mouthed. Kayla was hiding under the table, and Peter motioned for them to hide with her.

"I--I--"

Bernard was obviously weakening, noticing how his house was now surrounded and he wouldn't gain or prove anything by keeping the kids hostage.

"Just drop the gun, Bernard," Peter said again, able to raise his voice a bit more this time. Bernard's glazed eyes zeroed in to where Peter was standing and an angry expression suddenly came across him.

"You!" he shouted, dropping Billy and aiming the weapon at Peter's head. As Billy dropped to the floor and crawled away to safety, Peter quickly ducked as his spidey-sense warned him of the bullet. Before the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent could raise his gun again, Peter launched himself at Bernard and went to snatch the weapon from his hand.

He felt his stab wound reopen as he forced his arm up and reached, but ignored the tearing sensation.

When the gun was in his grasp, he then noticed the warm blood trickling down his arm to his hand, dripping off the gleaming black surface of the artillery. It wasn't as much as last night, but the fact that his healing factor hadn't totally kicked in yet worried him.

The agent motioned for his men to come in and they had soon formed a circle around Bernard. They forced him to his knees with his hands on his head, which they snapped together with handcuffs. Peter clenched his jaw, a feeling of justice swelling through him as they led Bernard out.

Two more agents ran upstairs and soon came down with Miranda, who was handcuffed as well. She had some kind of green face mask on and was having trouble seeing anything because of the cucumbers covering her eyes.

Peter didn't know what to feel.

He wanted to laugh, he wanted to scream, he wanted to yell at Mr. Stark for being such a jerk and sending him here in the first place. Well, maybe not sent him directly, but he had taken Peter away from his little alleyway and simple homeless life all the same.

It's not Mr. Stark's fault, a little part of himself tried to tell the other. He was just trying to help you.

He decided to go for silence, because of his throat. He tossed the gun to the ground with a clatter and ran over to where Billy was cowering in the wreckage of the kitchen.

You ok? Peter signed, using his good arm. Billy nodded, then pointed to Peter's arm.

You H-U-R-T.

Same, Peter sighed, pointing to Billy's various cuts and bruises. He was sure to have a severely bruised abdomen, too, considering how hard Bernard had punched him last night.

Feel B-E-T-T-E-R now, Billy signed with a sigh. He then proceeded to show Peter the sign for 'better.'

The agents escorted them outside, where the warm late summer breeze felt good. He ignored the medic's demands to remove his hoodie, shaking his head and calling them a bad piece of bread in sign language. Billy was giggling.

Peter had been purposefully tuning out the sounds of Bernard and Miranda being taken away, but now that the air was more silent he told Billy he was going into the house.

The agents were inspecting the building now, collecting all weapons and such. One waved to him and another demanded that he get his arm fixed, but Peter just ignored them.

He sat down hard at the kitchen table, the same place he'd eaten his sandwich by himself all those nights ago on his first time here. It felt like ages ago, but it had only been a little over three weeks.

S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had taken the rest of the kids outside, where they were doing medical evals and probably making sure they were doing all right. This wasn't something you could just walk away from, physically and mentally.

He glanced down at the table, which now had a growing puddle of red liquid from his arm. He slowly dipped two fingertips in the stuff, watching the beads drop from his fingers and splash back to the puddle.

Blinking away his sudden dizziness at the sight of the blood, he straightened his back and looked at the front door. Although there were countless agents scouring the place, Peter could distinguish Mr. Stark's footsteps approaching. He had a different gait--less stealthy than the agents, more quick and confident.

He looked out the window and pretended not to notice as Mr. Stark apprehensively approached him, fiddling with his pen. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter saw his eyes widen when he caught sight of the pool of blood.

"Peter! You're bleeding!"

Peter glared at him as if to say, Thanks, I noticed. Mr. Stark bit his lip and rushed over to him.

"We've gotta get you some...medical attention."

He tried to get Peter to stand up and lead him out the front door, but Peter stayed rooted where he was with a determined air about him. Mr. Stark sighed and sat down in the opposite chair.

"What's wrong?"

"What's--wrong?" Peter rasped, his voice scratchy. "That's a--stupid question."

"Okay, got me there," Mr. Stark admitted. "Avengers after your new bestie, foster parents abusing you, probably getting bullied at your new school--"

"Alright," Peter snapped. "You--don't have to sum it up."

Mr. Stark sighed again and ran a hand through his hair. "I know. And... I'm sorry."

What?

"I'm sorry for putting you through all this," the mechanic continued, gesturing to the Wagners' house. "Turning you in. Indirectly sending you to this heck-hole. Chasing your buddy Spider-Man, whom I'm sure is very nice, not inviting you to the compound sooner, not offering you more rides, making Morgan play with you--"

"Alright," Peter laughed. "You don't have to--to sum it up again--" He broke into a gross-sounding coughing fit. Apparently laughing wasn't what he should have done. Mr. Stark's eyebrows wrinkled up in worry.

"Hey, kid, don't talk. I understand."

He gave Peter a warm, loving smile, and Peter had to believe at least that was true. He did understand...in a way.