Chapter 10: New York
"Where's Spider-Man's family?" Fury asked, bracing one hand on the table.
"Spider-Man's aunt still isn't aware of what happened to him. Should we tell her?" Coulson asked as he wiped the corner of his eye.
"No. Not yet. Send S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to keep her under protection," Fury instructed.
Aunt May was getting older, and Fury worried she might not endure the shock if she heard Spider-Man's situation too abruptly.
"Understood."
"Send our best operatives," Fury added with emphasis.
"Yes, sir. And… there's something else. Iron Fist and the others all went to the North Pole after waking up. They said even if Spider-Man is dead, they must find his body." Coulson reported.
Fury didn't answer right away. He stayed quiet for a long moment before he finally responded.
"Let them go. Spider-Man gave his life for them. If searching for him gives them a way to vent all that grief, let them."
"Yes, sir."
"Coulson, you can go now. I need a moment alone."
"Director, my condolences. With enemies unknown in the North Pole, SHIELD still relies on you to hold things together," Coulson added with concern.
"Don't worry. I'm not that easy to knock down." Fury waved him off, signaling for him to leave.
Once Coulson confirmed Fury truly looked steady on his feet, he slowly stepped out of the room.
The moment Coulson left, Fury's strength drained away. He collapsed into his chair, unable to hold himself up.
Memories of Spider-Man flashed through his mind. He had personally recruited Peter into S.H.I.E.L.D., placing his hopes on the kid who never once let him down. Not even this time. Spider-Man had successfully rescued the other heroes… but at the cost of his life.
Fury powered on a nearby computer. The screen displayed a model of a jetpack.
He had designed it just for Spider-Man, something unique that matched the young hero perfectly. He'd simply never found the right time to present it.
Now, he would never get that chance.
"You were a hero," Fury whispered.
…
Across the city, at 20 Ingram Street, the two-story apartment in Forest Hills, Queens…
Aunt May sat at the dining table, waiting for Peter to come home for dinner. The apple pie on the table was exactly what Peter had asked for.
"It's so late already… where is that boy?" she muttered, glancing at the clock on the wall.
She dialed Peter's number, but the call wouldn't go through.
A growing unease tightened in her chest.
"Ben… please watch over Peter," she murmured.
She tried another number — Sam's. He worked at S.H.I.E.L.D. alongside Peter, so he ought to know something.
This time, the call connected right away.
"Uh… Mrs. Parker? D-did you need something?" Sam's voice sounded hoarse, and there was noisy commotion in the background.
"Sam, what's wrong with your voice? It sounds like you've been crying. And what's all that noise behind you?"
"Crying? Why would I cry? My eyes… they're just irritated. As for the noise… I'm, uh… near a construction site. It's loud out here," he replied, stammering through the explanation.
"Construction? At this hour?" May frowned.
It was already past ten at night. No construction crew should be working at that time.
"I… I'm not quite sure. Maybe they've got some special permit. Anyway, let's not talk about me. Did you call because something's wrong?"
"Do you know where Peter is? He promised he'd be home for dinner, but he hasn't shown up. And he's not answering his phone." Her voice trembled. "Since you both work for S.H.I.E.L.D., I thought you'd know what's going on."
"Peter? Of course I know. He's on a very important mission right now, which means he might be out of contact for a while."
"What kind of mission is so urgent he can't even stop for dinner?" she pressed.
"It's… extremely urgent. He's carrying out one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s highest-level assignments," Sam answered nervously.
"And how long will that take? Peter won't be in danger, will he?" May asked, her worry growing stronger by the second.
"Maybe a few days, maybe a few months. I don't know much about these top-level missions, and as for danger, there definitely won't be any."
"Sam, are you sure you know where Peter is?" Aunt May's suspicion sharpened.
The idea that S.H.I.E.L.D.'s highest-level missions would be safe seemed like nonsense to Aunt May.
"Of course I know where he is. No one knows better than me." Sam's tone was low.
"Sam… tell me the truth. Is Peter safe?" May felt something was terribly wrong.
"Safe… yes, yes, of course. He's Spider-Man. How could someone like him ever be in danger?" he answered, sweat gathering at his brow.
"Mrs. Parker, I— I have to deal with something here. We'll talk later."
Before Aunt May could say anything else, he hung up.
Beep… beep… beep…
Aunt May set the phone down with trembling hands.
Everything Sam said was full of holes. Peter was in trouble. She could feel it.
She lifted the apple pie from the table. The one Peter had asked for. It was cold now.
As she took a small bite, tears involuntarily streamed down her face.
"Peter…"
…
Meanwhile, in the Marvel Cinematic Universe…
A sudden wormhole opened high above New York City. Spider-Man, clad in the Iron Spider Armor, tumbled out of it.
The wormhole sealed behind him in an instant.
Peter didn't even have time to react before gravity pulled him into a rapid fall.
"Parachute… parachute!"
He stretched both hands out, trying to fire webbing to form an improvised chute.
But the web shooter on his right wrist was destroyed, and the one on his left had already run out of fluid.
"…Great. This is how I die," he muttered.
He was falling rapidly through the air when, at a critical moment, he remembered the wingsuit function of his suit.
He extended his arms slightly, and wings unfolded between his arms and torso.
In an instant, the glide-wings stabilized his fall.
"I almost forgot how amazing freefall feels."
A few minutes later, he touched down on the roof of a tall building.
"This New York looks a lot like mine… just older," he murmured as he watched the crowds below.
"This feels like ten years ago. No… it is ten years ago."
He glanced up at a large plaza screen displaying the date.
"I'm early. Way too early. Ten years ago… the Avengers haven't even formed yet. They will soon, though."
He sighed. "I just hope Doctor Strange in this universe has already become the Sorcerer Supreme. I have dinner to catch." He instinctively flicked his wrist, trying to web-swing away.
A single short strand fired from his left web shooter, then sputtered out and died.
"Next time, I'm adding an alarm to remind me when the fluid's low."
He pulled fresh web fluid from his belt and reloaded the left shooter.