Disclaimer: I don't own anything :)

This is my first ever fanfic ever...or publishing a story ever...so I'm sorry if it's bad lol. But I love everything Spidey and the Avengers and I've wanted to write this for a long time. I'll probably finish it no matter what and I'll try to post updates ASAP but getting feedback would definitely motivate me. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE write reviews because I need it! Criticisms, suggestions, concerns, rage-rants if you must, I don't care! Hope you enjoy and more to come soon! :)

Chapter 1

The moment Peter's eyelids slipped open, he let out a groan. At his bedside his alarm beeped wildly, and with a trembling hand he switched it off, marveling in the silence as the pains of his late-night endeavors crept back into his skinny teenage body. A punch to the face from a sneaky but rather cliché burglar, a cheap shot to the ribs from some psycho with a crowbar, a stripe of claw marks on his neck from a pickpocket who seriously needed a manicure, and the many more bumps and bruises sprinkled across his body that he could feel with his every movement. He laid a hand against his forehead and let out a heavy sigh. It was going to be one of those days.

With effort, he sat himself up and swung his legs off his bed, which he noticed were still sporting his blaring red and blue suit. He stood and began peeling his achy body from the Spider-Man costume as he heard a familiar voice holler from downstairs.

"Peter?" his aunt called from the kitchen. "Sweetie, it's almost eight. Come eat your breakfast before you head off to school, alright?"

"Alright, Aunt May," Peter answered begrudgingly as he slipped his arms free of the clingy fabric and stood staring at his face in the mirror. He couldn't help but wince at his appearance. Black and blue splotches peppered his face and neck, and an impressive array of scratches were visible along his arms and chest. "Geez, what a wreck I look," Peter almost laughed to himself. He splashed his face with water, ran his fingers through his hair, and threw on some baggy clothes before slumping down the stairs.

"Eat," Peter's aunt commanded, plopping a wobbling stack of pancakes in front of her nephew that gave the Leaning Tower of Pisa a run for its money. He snorted and dug in gratefully. He'd noticed lately how his enhanced metabolism was making his stomach feel like a bottomless pit, and apparently so had his aunt. She gave him a gentle smile, but he could see the fear and worry that clouded her eyes, which had slowly begun to worsen ever since he'd started coming home all beaten up. Peter knew it wasn't fair to show up each night as he did with no explanation, but what other options did he have? Knowing the truth would only worry her more, and it could endanger her safety if anyone knew she was affiliated with the masked vigilante. Fortunately or unfortunately, she didn't ask him about it much anymore, but he knew she'd never stopped wondering. He focused his attention on his plate, but could still feel her concerned eyes combing over every inch of his battered form.

The amazing Spider-Man does it again! Last night, Spidey saved a family of five from a burning vehicle that caught fire after wrecking into a stoplight...

Peter instinctively rubbed the side of his leg and grimaced. First degree burns from a flaming SUV, he added to his mental list. Forget about those.

"Quite a mystery, that spider guy," Aunt May noted as the footage of Spider-Man zipping into the burning car and dragging a pile of screaming people from the wreckage just before the vehicle exploded was relayed on the television. Peter's chewing slowed and he stared up at his aunt's curious face, wondering if there was any way she could possibly know the truth. Fear rose into his chest as she looked back at him and placed a soft hand on his cheek.

"I just wish he could help protect you from, you know..." she began, eyeing the many bruises on his neck that were peeking from beneath his sweatshirt, and guilty relief rushed through him. He took her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"Thanks for the pancakes, Aunt May," he said quickly, then snatched up his backpack and skateboard before heading out the door. He dropped the skateboard on the pavement and began rolling down the sidewalk towards the hell that was Midtown High.

"Peter!" he heard behind him, and he looked back at the porch to see his aunt's frail figure standing in the doorway. Her face had a million different emotions on it: frustration, sadness, worry, desperation, loneliness—but with a warm smile and a gentle wave of her hand, she expressed her most prominent: love. Peter forced a smile and waved back gingerly. He had no idea how his aunt was always so strong.

The Council's decision is unanimous, Councilwoman Hawley retorted indignantly. The woman's projected image lit the dark room with a dim white glow. This isn't some petty police business anymorehis existence extends far beyond his vigilante occupations.

A single dark eye glared back at the four seated figures on the screen. "I understand that. However, considering the fact that he's done nothing but good for New York City as well as the rest of the world, I don't think any of this is necessary. My team's job is to protect the world from those who endanger it, not hunt down people who are helping them protect it."

Director, Rockwell's raspy voice chimed in, his actions in the Curt Connors/Lizard ordeal were impressive to say the least. Too impressive. With his abilities, he is more than capable of damaging the order and safety of humanity on a global level. I understand there's no indication that this could happen anytime soon, but the World Security Council isn't taking any chances. The debate is over.

"So what exactly do you want my team and I to dig up for you?" the one-eyed man asked coldly.

Everything. Identity, family relations, superhuman capabilities, residency, age, etc., you get the picture. The woman gripped the armrests of her chair tightly. We need to know everything about this masked vigilante before we decide what to do with him.

"You do realize that literally no one has any information on who this guy is, right?"

Nothing that "Earth's Mightiest Heroes" and the most esteemed intelligence agency couldn't figure out, correct? Councilman Pierce retorted smugly. The one-eyed man let out snort. So now they expected the Avengers to get the job done right. Guess they'd learned their lesson about firing nukes at the first sign of danger.

That's your assignment: bring this guy in so we can find out everything about him. If, after that, we conclude that he is not a threat, we will consider leaving his fate in the hands of you and your team. He could be useful to S.H.I.E.L.D. in the near future. Until then, find this Spider-Man. With that, the screen went black.

Director Nick Fury switched on the lights and rubbed at his temples. This whole mission seemed completely and utterly meaningless. Why were the most powerful beings on the planet being used to run errands for a bunch of paranoid old people? It's not like this spider guy was going to go from kicking lizard tail and saving the citizens of Manhattan from becoming reptiles to releasing an army of giant spiders upon the earth to rule the world in arachnid-themed ways or whatever.

But Fury had to admit it: he, too, was interested in knowing who Spider-Man really was. He had, however, already gone through every available news report, every blurry video, every quarter-dollar newspaper, and every damn article written over the guy, and he wasn't kidding when he'd said that no one knew anything about the identity of the man behind the mask. All the information was hysterically scattered and unreliable. The only constants about Spider-Man seemed to be that he was between 5'6 and 5'9 feet tall, lanky, and donned a red and blue suit made from spandex material. Not to mention he could scale walls like a real-life spider, fight like a ninja on steroids, and had devices he wore on his wrists that shot some sort of webbing material which he used to swing around New York City and immobilize his opponents.

The thing was, Fury would've loved to leave him alone. Despite his gnawing curiosity, he didn't want to waste time hunting Spider-Man down and asking him a bunch of questions he knew the guy would not be particularly thrilled to answer. He was doing a great job protecting the city, and his heroics gave the Big Apple's citizens an emblem of hope. Even New York's police department had stopped trying to pump him full of lead and instead now appreciated Spider-Man's help in dealing with the untamable crime in the city that never sleeps.

But it was out of his hands. Spider-Man had to be brought in, with or without force.

Fury left the conference room with a frown on his face, pinching the bridge of his wrinkled nose in frustration.

"Everything go smoothly, sir?" Agent Coulson addressed Director Fury hesitantly. The one-eyed man gave him a sharp look that almost made the hardened agent jump. Not even the great Phil Coulson felt at ease under the powerful man's gaze. With a weary sigh, Fury folded his hands behind his back and stared out the window, where the ocean glistened far below and curved with the earth as it met the horizon.

"Assemble the Avengers."