"I took control"

Peter grimaced and tried a new search before clicking open a few actual articles that seemed recent, and they mentioned something that was actually familiar. The Sokovia Accords, he pointed at the screen, "So...I know a little bit about this, I remember May watching about it on the news I think just a couple of weeks ago. It was supposed to have a bunch of countries signing it and had something to do with deciding when and where the Avengers would go to help out." which seemed really weird. Weren't they already doing that themselves? It wasn't like they were trying to do what the police did. Peter did that, as Spider-Man, but he was just one kid not a whole group that had fought off aliens before. That was way different.

Looking at the article though, it looked like only some of the Avengers were okay with it. They weren't naming who was and wasn't, but that already didn't sound good.

"That tracks." Gwen admitted, leaning against the couch as she still read the article quickly, then turned towards Peter. "There are a lot of powers that would like to decide when and where the Avengers act." She told him.

How to explain this, however.

"Vigilantism, you know that better than anyone, has some... issues." To say the least. "A vigilante can do a lot of good, and a lot of bad too. There is Spider-Man, and then there's the Punisher." She explained. "And in a way, the Avengers act the same. Some people think they should have someone telling them where they can act, even if they might be late. Some people think that letting others dictate what heroes do turns them into super-cops, which might be very dangerous."

And that, she knew, was a very nuanced situation.

"Or this is what I'm gathering."

It wasn't really doing a great job if they didn't have any actual information on things.

In one movement he was sitting upright on the bed next to Gwen again, something there was no way he could have done a few months ago, and holding a hand out for the laptop. It was going to be closer than his computer and they would both see the screen better that way, "So if we don't look at the news to figure out what happened to have them fighting, what do we look at instead?" he wanted to ask Mr. Stark more about it, and Peter really probably should have thought about that when the man was still there. Now he didn't even know where to start.

So she gladly handed him the laptop, and rested her elbows on her knees, sitting cross-legged as she was.

"We look at all the news. All of them, not just what one channel is saying. We try to find videos that haven't been edited." She tells him. "We try to find anything that could help us understand, and remember that everyone, us included, has a bias. And so we cannot account for it all." She added, before fondly tapping his nose. "We just try our best, and don't trust blindly."

Many lives would still be there if she hadn't trusted blindly, if she hadn't been a fool. Then again, she knew it, she wouldn't be there either.

Just the sights, the views of a place close enough to home that it would work and wasn't that a werid thing to try and think about. That he might see her around more now, that it wouldn't be for him but just the sights. With where his head was still at right now, Peter welcomed the idea for the relief and break that it was.

"....you come back and just want to sit and have your space, I'll leave you to it. If you're not coming to look for a fight, I'm not going to come and start one." it was the closest thing to a truce he could offer, and likely the only one that would stick. Peter wasn't going to stand down and let her or the rest of the team she lead hurt people. Not going to ignore if others from the multiverse suddenly needed his help in a fight. Not if she was going to keep going like this. What he could do, is agree to leave her alone if all Gwen was there for was a few minutes of quiet where hopefully no one would go looking for her. Peter could give her that.

But sometimes it got to her, what she did. What she was trying to accomplish, what she was trying to change in a multiverse that was as vast and heartless as theirs. And sometimes, this was enough. Just the assurance that as long as she came in peace, there would be peace.

And why wouldn't she come in peace, when she was already too late here?

"I'll take that." She settled for. Not looking at him, not risking her expression faltering after everything, because she'd already shown enough weakness.

But she still could be enough of the person she'd once been, especially in a day like this, to have manners.

"Thank you." She settled, daring to glance at him again.

He didn't really expect to hear anything, not right away. Not on a first patch up. Most of them didn't say anything about if the pain was worse now, but Peter preferred to not have his patient pass out and slip out of the chair if he could help it. Or slump over the table and make it harder to place the stitches.

Careful of whatever injuries might have been there, he moved the clothing out of the way to check her side and grimaced at the burns there. Red, angry, and painful just to look at, "Should have given you another burger on the house." he said, carefully looking and touching around the uninjured skin to see if there was anything else- broken bones, bruising, cuts- before Peter looked back at the first aid kit and started digging around, "Can you hold stuff out of the way for me? It'll go a little faster and smoother if I can work with both hands but if not, I can manage fine." a bottle of burn cream was pulled out and a roll of bandaging first, "What else hurts? Or should hurt but very suspiciously doesn't."

There was no revenge to fuel her now. Not when Madame Web was more than likely dead, and Gwen herself hadn't expected to survive, and right now all she had was someone she didn't fully trust, someone with a face far too familiar, trying to help. And she knew better than to show any weakness she could hide.

And so she simply nodded, as he checked over the wounds, and forced herself to take a peek as well. He regretted it, of course, but that had never stopped her. Not as she considered how to move, as he asked her to hold some of the clothing away. "That's the worst of it. My left calf is also too quiet, but I'm not so worried."

It was far smaller. It might even be gone by morning. The wound on her side, however... She was glad she wasn't feeling it just yet.

She was also glad she could have someone else there as a distraction of sorts.

"Have you ever got hurt, doing this?" She asked him.

That seemed like a good thing.

"Yeah but I'm not going to see him for a couple of days when someone picks me up to take me to the airport." He told Gwen, "And I don't think it's even Mr. Stark picking me up, I mean I'm sure he's got other stuff he has to do that's way more important." maybe he was even already back in Germany. Peter bet Mr. Stark had a bunch of planes that could have flown him over. He twisted his mouth slightly as he thought, "So....how do I find out what might be going on if he's already gone until the fight, and I have no way to talk to Captain Rogers and ask him what's going on either?" which would be super weird, and Peter wasn't sure he'd be able to stop talking soon enough to actually ask the question.

"....are the Avengers doing stuff in the news right now?"

Luckily for them both, Peter was far kinder that Gwen had long been.

"Then we have a couple days to find out more." She settled for.

It was not ideal, but it was something. Even if she had to admit that the chances of seeing Stark in person were slim.

"Whoever comes to pick us up might know something." She settled for. "And until then, the news might not say anything useful... but you're good with a computer, aren't you?" She poked him. "Let's find out what the other Avengers are doing, or where they are, and what happened before." She suggested. "That way we can figure out how they got to this point."

If she went back, if people saw her, they would know it was true. If she stayed away from home, where people were missing her, they would want her to stay. Ask questions of what and how and why, beg her to stay.

A dozen of his own questions swam across Peter's mind and he looked away to try and drown all of them. To not start going down those roads of trying to understand himself. He was quiet and watched the cars below, wanting to say something, but wasn't sure what. That she could still go back? How so many people must be missing her and devistated that she was gone, just like she'd seen echoed around the multiverse out to corners Peter himself probably hadn't even dreamed of. That she should go back? Give up what she'd been doing and go home where people could still be holding on to that hope? None of the other times had changed Gwen's mind or her perspective before, he couldn't imagine one evening on a rooftop would do much more for it. Not much, not really.

She'd shown some of the cards close to her chest...

"She knew, you know..." his eyes watched break lights below light up and fade out, in some mind numbing rythem that Peter couldn't keep track of, "You mentioned being told the secrets that could have gotten you killed, but Gwen knew here. I told her, tried to stay away to keep her safe. She didn't want me to, I didn't want to, but I tried." that was what had hurt her. Not keeping Spider-Man from her, trying to keep him away from her, "....I told her I wasn't going to try and stay away anymore, and that was the night. She even showed up where the fighting was, said it was her choice and that she could help and..." and he did what he said, he didn't try to push her away. Didn't try to make sure she couldn't follow him to the power plant that night and for a few seconds when the dust had settled was even grateful that Gwen had been there at all.

Peter wished he'd tried harder...

And so, for a moment, as Peter spoke, Gwen simply listened. Closed her eyes, for a moment, then opened them again and regarded him quietly, and tried to imagine it.

Tried to imagine a confession, tried to imagine what she would have done.

"Of course she wanted to help." Gwen sighed, and it was a sound of exhaustion and some very dark amusement. "Of course she was fearless."

Gwen had wanted to help, before. She'd been fearless. She still was, on most days that she wasn't tasting the shadow of all her many regrets.

"I'm not sure if that makes it better, or worse." She admitted, voice unsteady, not looking at Peter. "It doesn't change anything, but at least... at least she made her choices."

At least she'd known.

Peter could say this much, his life was pretty far from dull at this point.

A shot glass was set down on the table next to Max and he set the two bottles down next to it, "I don't really have anesthetic but, the popular opinion is bottom shelf vodka or whiskey help take the edge off. Your pick which one you want, but I wouldn't recommend more than two shots at the most. Starts really thining the blood otherwise and neither of us want that." he summed up before setting the kit down and opening it up. Gauze pads, bandages, needle and thread, antiseptic, burn creams, even a scalple and pliers. Anything that had been useful before, and there was a long list of those, that could fit was shoved inside the box. Peter grabbed a clean pair of gloves and glanced at her, "So...how bad is it and what hurts the most?"

"Doesn't sound like the safest of hobbies." She replied. Still unsteady, still wondering, still not exactly believing just yet but nevertheless staying still. There were far too many good liars out there in the world, very much including her.

The offer of alcohol, however, was one considered. And after a moment, she chose the vodka: it was going to have the same effect, which was none if at all, but with her exhaustion... maybe it'd dull the disquiet at least for a few minutes.

She downed the shot in the way of someone used to the burn and to ignoring the effects, and then considered the absolute mess that were her pain receptors.

"My side is bad enough. Can't feel a good chunk of it." She added, pointing towards it.

Worse: she knew they were bad burns, and she could feel some of the nerves trying to re-grow, and she knew they would certainly hurt, in a short while.

How could someone who did that be wrong about who was doing something they shouldn't be?

But Captain Rogers was an Avenger too. Been in the same battles, saved lives in World War Two when he was alive back then. He had to know what the right thing was too. And now Gwen was saying the same thing about Mr. Stark as he had been about Captain Rogers. That he thinks that he's right, but maybe he isn't. They couldn't both be right could they? One of them had to be the person doing the wrong thing. Or were they both wrong?

Peter got up and went to sit next to Gwen on the mattress, letting out a huff and flopping backwards to stare at the ceiling, "This was so much easier when it was just helping stop bikes being stollen and giving out directions. Avengers stuff is way harder." he decided, still frowning and still trying to think about it before turning his head to look at Gwen, "...I want to do the right thing." he stated, sure about that much, "But I already told Mr. Stark I would go to Germany to help him so...what happens if he's not doing the right thing? Or what if they're both right...or wrong...or...." this was so much easier when it was just stollen bikes.

"Choosing sides is never easy." She pointed out, not unkindly. "And choosing sides to go fight cannot be."

She would really have benefited from someone telling her this, wouldn't she? But there was little point in those regrets. Instead, there was a situation to deal with.

"You can always ask him, along the way. Decide, consider it. Maybe they won't even have to fight." She considered, unlikely as it was, and she was sure it was clear in her voice. "Maybe they're both right, or wrong, and they fight anyway, and you have to decide if you fight, and who for." And then, "I'll support whatever you choose."

It was why she was going with him, because she didn't really care about Stark and Rogers' conflict, unless it affected someone she cared about. She didn't think she had enough morals left for more.

Something jerked and twisted painfully at the idea, sickened and started to ooze and bleed. Something that laughed and grinned and added sharper teeth to those nightmares and fears that kept him up at night and well through the rest of the week.

The answer she finally offered was a mery to pull him out of the spiral before it could pick up any real momentum. An answer that surprised Peter more than anything. Didn't know for sure what he'd expected her to say but it hadn't been that. That she came to his universe could remind her of her own. Of home. Something different but just familiar enough to remind her of it and he wondered if that was the sights, the people, the events that maybe she'd known about, or some mixture of the three. That no one came looking for her here, that felt like something she tacked on. Something to take away from the first admittance, "Becuase they don't expect you to hang around where Spider-Man is or..."

Or because they didn't think that maybe, just maybe, Gwen was homesick?

But that was partly the truth, and only partly: she spent so much of her life being strong and being unyielding, keeping the Sinister Squad under control, and she couldn't be just Gwen for that. A moment of peace, when so much in her very soul yearned for blood, was not so much something that she wanted as something that she needed, every once in a while.

But it was far from the whole of it. And this... this, she had never told anyone, and hadn't expected to speak of it until she did.

"When I became who I am," she told Peter, hands held together, shoulders just slightly hunched until she noticed it herself, "I faked my death."

It had been the smartest thing to do, it had also been the kindest, in the long term.

"But there was never a body, so going back is not an option."

Not for a short while, and certainly not if someone saw her, because then there would truly be no way to come back again. And she didn't think she could handle seeing her family like this.

"But this is," she lied, "close enough."

Whether he fully believed her answer or not didn't matter, Peter was officially "on the clock" and he kept an eye on the one on the wall.

A few more drinks poured and he watched Max pay and leave. There wasn't much of a tip but he didn't really charge her much either, and he'd absolutely gotten less. Three more tabs closed and Peter told his co worker he was going to be working in back, catching the glance and sigh before they nodded and stepped out to take his place. Two bottles of bottom shelf alcohol were grabbed on the way, he wasn't sure if she'd take them or even had a preference, and a shot glass. Both bottles placed in the break room and the kit he'd made and kept stocked for just this reason pulled out from his locker where it was stashed away. Safer than the store room.

Once everything was where he needed, Peter went to the back door of the bar and pushed it open. It was more of a relief than a surprise to see Max actually standing there and he nodded her in, holding the door open more, "First door on the right, take a seat."

It didn't change how nodding and walking past him without making sure to keep her back safe was a learned habit, and one she was mildly grateful for, as she followed him, and his instructions, and was glad to see there was actually a chair she could sit on, and no strange labs nor body parts.

"Do you do this often?" She still asked, pretending she hadn't just slumped over the chair, because poise took too much energy, and she was no longer so sharply injured, no longer at risk of keeling over because food and water, little as they were, did make a difference.

But it still didn't change how she was far from at her best, and the faint smell of a first aid kit did not help.

Even if it was just to the homeless kid who didn't even have any information for her.

He looked over finally at what sounded like a joke and shrugged slightly, "That just means it'll taste even better, right?" another growl came from his stomach at the thought and reminder. This one painful, like his insides were twisting and cramping with nothing left in them. Peter hadn't even been to FEAST in a while, not since the last people in suits he saw at the front came looking for him. As soon as he'd seen them he'd grabbed his bag and gone out through the roof door, making a run for it before he could be noticed. Was too worried the place was being watched to think he could go back yet and hope that a bed was still open for him to take.

Old habits, he'd done it without even thinking.

The burgers were set down in front of them and Peter reached up to take the one indicated to have no onions. It was warm and smelled fresh in his hands. Another growl cut through his thoughts as he looked at the other burger and then over at the woman next to him, unsure, "...they're really both for me?"

And really, she knew she shouldn't be there. This was a waste of time, and she was supposed to be ruthless. The blood on her hands was proof enough of who she was, of what she was. This was just needless, useless sentimentality.

It still didn't change her mind, not when she was faced with his uncertainty. It only steeled her resolve further, as she paid, then handed Peter both burgers.

"They are." She told him. "And they're going to get cold."

So he better eat, or take them somewhere safe, or whatever he chose to do.

"Will you be okay?" She still asked. Almost matter-of-factly, for all she was a little, senselessly worried.

The question she followed turning on the laptop with didn't really help him much either.

Peter frowned, "What do you mean?" it wasn't like Mr. Stark had a reason to lie about that, not one that Peter could think of. Tony Stark and Steve Rogers had been working together for years, and really well too as far as Peter could tell. They were Avengers, they saved lives and helped people, why would Mr. Stark suddenly lie and say Steve was doing something wrong if he wasn't? That wasn't being on a team that was just...being mean? Lying and knowing it? Wrong? Peter wasn't sure what the right word for it was, but Mr. Stark had to have stuff that could check to make sure it was actually true. Make sure that there really was something wrong that needed to be stopped before people got hurt. And if Captain Rogers wasn't doing anything with wrong, they would stick with him and stand up with him to do the right thing. They wouldn't go and fight each other.

He shifted uncomfortably and frowned, watching Gwen and half watching the laptop screen to make sure it worked, "....you don't think he is?"

Alas, Gwen had long been part of that world, even if in the wrong side of it all. And she had long stopped being trusting: she wished she didn't see so many concerning details about tbe whole situation, but she would not pretend otherwise when it was her new little brother in danger.

She just wished she knew of a way to keep him safe beyond risking shattering his hopes. Alas, there was lesson to be taught there, wasn't it?

"I think Stark believes he's right." She sighed, softly, eyes gentle as she regarded Peter and turned to face him. "And I think so does Captain America." And then, "They wouldn't be fighting otherwise. So, if you're going to go and fight for any of them," and that was his choice, in the end, or else she expected he'd just do it anyway, "you need to figure out if you think he's right, too, with as much information as you can get." She told him. "And I'm happy to help you, whatever you choose to do." And then, however, "But I don't think he's giving you much in the way of information, at all."

"Gwen Stacy, a staple of the multiverse." he didn't know if the idea hurt or if it made him feel better. This Gwen wouldn't be doing what she was doing if they had happy endings to them, and he couldn't accept that at a rate, guessed or not, of ninety-nine to one that they all ended with tragedy. That so few of them turned out okay and got to go on and have something. That all of them went bad somewhere and there was only grief and anger left behind after all the dust had settled. He didn't want to ask about it, wouldn't ask about it. Not now, maybe not ever, however long this whole thing lasted, "I don't know how she'd have felt about that idea. Weird, I guess..." was all he'd let himself say about it.

It was quiet, Peter turning topics over in his head, weighing them. Putting them aside, staring out at the buildings, remembering things he held onto so tight they could never stop being a part of him, "....why do you pick coming here?" he decided, vaguely, feeling somehow far away and right there at the same time. He was trying not to think about it, trying not to think about Gwen when she sat right there next to him, trying not to think about--

"What do you like about here?" he knew it wasn't him, so there had to be something if she'd been willing to come back and not have it be about a fight.

She still wanted to save them from death, and from this. But it was not always easy.

"It's never an easy conversation." Gwen sighed, in the end, more than a little bit rueful. "Take it from someone who's had it from both sides."

Who had more than enough blood in her hands, and would keep having more, because what else could there be done?

She let the silence blanket them, however. Closed her eyes, for a moment, before common sense won again.

And then there was a question she had asked herself several times, and the answer was ridiculous, but she was not about to laugh. She almost didn't answer, until she found herself holding back a small sigh. Choosing a truth, and keeping the truce, and not looking at him at all.

"It reminds me of the New York I grew up in." She told him. And then, "And no-one has any reason to look for me here."

She could just be, if she didn't want to fight, and needed to feel a bit more Gwen, and less The Green Goblin. Case in point, that very night.

Peter glanced down the bar at a slightly distant rap on the counter and “hey, Parker” to get his attention, “I’ll be back again.” he said and was off to the others again. A shot for the road, a tab closed for the night and tip pocketed, before he went back to Max again and was quiet a moment before finally addressing the elephant in the room, “You okay, Max?”

The torn up sleeve, the injuries he could see and the scars he was personally going to ignore was nodded to and Peter went quiet again. Watching her carefully but not with any insistence in it. Just worry, the same worry he had for everyone else that stumbled over to the bar in her condition or worse. Just not usually through the front door, “I’m not,” he offered after the pause, “asking you to explain what happened, that’s not any of my business. But if you need a hand getting cleaned up, or you need the stuff for it…I don’t ask questions and I’ve gotten pretty good at giving help for that kind of thing.” she wasn’t a vigilante, not unless she was new at it and lost her mask somewhere on the way there, and there weren’t any fights on the news. No one coming looking around to find where she was hiding at, and Max didn’t give the impression of looking for trouble either.

He believed that she was looking to start over, and was pretty sure whatever she walked away from seemed like it was a lot. She might not be a vigilante but she’d been through enough to still be grateful for water and warm fries and that was really all Peter needed to know, “Look, if you’re needing help, and you’re willing to actually have it…when you’re done eating there’s a side door outside around the left that leads to the back. Give me ten minutes and I’ll meet you at it. I can do more than just mix a good drink and deliver fries.”

She was not, however, someone used to accepting help. Not to giving it, no, but accepting it put her in a position she had long refused to entertain, because she could not trust anyone she worked with. And trusting a stranger was just as reckless, despite an almost-familiar face and an almost-familiar name, and Gwen knew she'd heal.

In time. Actual help would be better. And if this was a trap… well, she had walked into many of those, hadn't she?

So while it still took her a moment to consider it, to give him an answer -and certainly only nodding that no, it had not been his business, and she was a bit too exhausted for more than, much more so where anyone could hear- and consider that answer carefully, in the end she regarded him for a long moment, before offering him an "Okay".

An 'okay', and patience, and it took her several minutes to watch the bar, and finish eating, and pay what she could and even the tip she could afford, before she decided to follow his offer. She almost didn't, in truth, but in the end she took that leap. There, in the darkness, with nothing to lose and only some relief to gain, from a stranger a bit too used to seeing wounds, apparently.

And still, she's grateful. Because so many others wouldn't have listened, and she knows she'd have exhausted herself fighting them off even if it had been the last thing she did. It might have been. Now, however... well, she regards Lovebug, cautious and unsteady and wary, but slightly less so.

And then, at that 'please', she breathes out, and gives her a name, both because she wants to know what happens and because she doesn't care anymore.

New York wasn't that bad, bad stuff just happened in it.

He stood next to her again, slightly behind but watching the man taking the orders who eyed him briefly, "...you ordering too?" it sounded doubtful.

"...no onions on one of the burgers? Please?" he tried, watching the man glance back at the person who was actually ordering before nodding and turning around to start the order. Peter gave another look up and down the street, hands pressing deeper into his jacket pockets like it could pull up farther to hide him more or would suddenly stretch down further and provide the same. No warning, no one headed their way looking intent on reaching them, and still no sign of the woman's sister. His jacket wouldn't stretch and his senses were still calm, and he looked over to the side again, "...thanks. For getting me lunch." he offered, listening to the sound of the burgers sizzling on the grill, the smell hitting shortly after and his stomach gave a wanting, desperate plea of a growl to. Peter's eyes went back to the grill to watch the food get made, "I can't remember the last time I had a burger..."

It had to be when he was till being kept by SHIELD, right? It had to be then, but he couldn't remember it.

It wasn't long until they were before the stand, and she nodded once he made his request, knowing the one making the burgers had heard them. And if she'd ignored the bit about her ordering as well, well...

They smelled great, however. Maybe she'd pick up something before checking on the Squadron, she considered, but for now she still wanted to be careful. About who saw them, about who noticed them or any unexpected spider noises, unlikely as they were.

And yet his words brought her back to reality, and she offered him an easy shrug.

"I try to keep my word." She settled for. "Don't worry about that. And really," she even added, almost amused, "it feels like a crime, not having a burger for so long."

And she was somewhat, mildly glad she could at least help with that.