Stories Focussed On Spider-Man

Too Young to Die

"Avengers? Anyone? Do you copy? Can you hear me?" Hawkeye muttered into his comm. He was met only with the horrible roar of silence. No one was listening. He was all alone. Well, aside from the vigilante perched a few feet away from him, but he doubted the man would have a trick up his spandex sleeve big enough to save them both. "Hate to break it to you, Spidey, but your first Avengers team-up might be your last!"

"Dang it, stupid Parker Luck!" Spider-Man groaned, letting his head rest on the wall behind him. Explosions and gunshots rang in his ears as he tried to focus his senses and pull himself together to complete on last save, but to no avail.

They were going to die.

"They've got us completely closed in, unless my team can make it to us, we're toast," Hawkeye grunted, confirming the wall-crawler's thoughts.

"Thought I'd at least graduate before I kicked the bucket," Spider-Man commented, oddly calm. The archer gave him a look.

"You still in college?"

"High school. I'm seventeen."

"Wh-what?" the Avenger choked out. Spider-Man was seventeen. No freaking way. "Your parents know about this?"

"Bold of you to assume I have parents," the teenager snarked back, though he laced his voice with good humor to show it didn't bother him.

"Oh, sorry," Clint apologized, the octave of his voice displaying his obvious discomfort, causing his companion to chuckle to himself.

"Chill, man, I've come to terms with it and all that," Spider-Man smirked, waving his hand along as he spoke. They both winced at an especially close explosion. "Guess we really are going to be pushing up daisies soon."

Something in Clint's blood chilled. He was a father, he couldn't sit back and watch this-this kid resign himself to death. There had to be a way out. There had to be a way out. But, he wasn't about to give his comrade false hope, especially when he seemed to be taking the news well. He'd figure out a way on his own and distract the teenager perched beside him. "So, what grade are you in? Senior?" It made sense, it was only September.

"Junior, actually. My birthday was back in August."

"Got a girlfriend?"

The vigilante tensed and let out an embarrassed laugh. "Uh, yeah. She's, uh, she's pretty awesome. Hates it when I show up to her place with a stab wound."

Clint frowned at that. He constantly was reminding himself that he was talking to a boy young enough to be his son. A boy who had taken down major villains and human trafficking rings and crooked gangs and drug trades all around New York. "Oh yeah? What's her name?"

"Michell Jones, but she prefers MJ. She thinks I'm a loser and a nerd, not that she's wrong."

"Spider-Man is a nerd? Didn't see that one coming," Clint snorted, eyes trailing the opening and watching just where the guns were aimed and potentially lethal spots were located. "So, what nerd-things do you do, Webs?"

"I guess I read a lot. I'm good at math and science and stuff," the teenager shrugged. "I wanted to be a scientist."

Oh my gosh, was that past tense? A portion of Clint's heart cracked, but he tried to tune out the splintering sound in favor of actually coming up with an useful solution. "What'd you want to study, specifically?"

"Chemistry. I made my webs, so I think I stand a shot in that field."

Right, Spider-Man used artificial webs he shot out of web-shooters. It struck Clint just how intelligent the seventeen year old was. He couldn't let such a young, brilliant mind just-just die. "You have a lot of friends? Who am I kidding, with your winning personality, you probably have the whole school wrapped around your finger!"

"Yeah, no. I have one friend other than MJ, who is officially more-than-a-friend. His name is Ned," Spider-Man amended, amusement lacing his posture.

"Is Ned nerdy, too?"

"Yeah, he's a big Star Wars fan, and we built lego sets together all the time! I preferred Star Trek, but he doesn't know that because he seems to really like the idea of it being both of our favorite movie series. I didn't have the heart to tell him."

The ghost of a smile appeared on Clint's face. Not only was he slowly coming up with a solution to their predicament, he had a wild thought. "When we make it out of this, I'm introducing you to my son, Cooper. You two would get along great."

"When? D-do you have a plan?" the webhead stammered, his mask's eyes going wide. The stutter caused something to lurch inside Clint's chest. Spider-Man was faking being okay mentally. He was pretending he was fine so Clint didn't feel as bad.

"Maybe. You've got freaky senses, right?" Clint interrogated. "Cap mentioned that yours are better than his."

"Uh, y-yeah," he gulped. "Yeah, I do. What of  'em?"

"What are they telling you?"

"That we're in a lot of danger."

"Kid," Clint sighed exasperatedly, giving the boy a pointed look he gave his own children when they didn't give it to him straight.

"Even if we make it past these first guys and their booby traps - and there are plenty of booby traps - there's miles left of hallway to cover before we're out of the base," Spider-Man explained. "Hawkeye, my sixth sense is screaming that it's a bad idea."

"Call me Clint."

"But-"

"No buts, I know your age. I'm one of the few people on the planet that knows this about you. You get to call me Clint."

"I-okay."

Something down the hall caught Clint's eyes, something so small that he hadn't noticed it prior. If he could just... Maybe they could... If they were quick enough... If the way was remotely clear... It could work.

"Hey, kid," Clint said, turning to the hero, "what're your senses telling you about the vents?"