Nick Fury, Natasha, Coulson, Captain America:???
When I type a question mark, it's not because I'm confused—it's because I think YOU'RE the one who's confused.
What do you mean, 'Let's fight to warm up'?
Ever heard of respecting your elders?
Be nice to the ninety-year-old, you punk!
After a brief daze, Captain America didn't jump at Peter's challenge; instead he asked meekly:
'Um… could someone first tell me where I am, and… what year this is?'
Hearing that, Nick Fury's eyes lit up. He hip-checked Coulson aside and planted himself in front of the Captain, desperate to max out goodwill with his future 'star enforcer':
'Captain, welcome home! It's 2009. I'm Director Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D.—the Strategic Scientific Reserve you remember.'
He'd expected the legendary hero from the past to show immediate respect once he learned who was standing before him.
Before Captain America could answer, though, a lazy voice drifted over:
'Bet you didn't see this coming, Captain.'
Peter, hands in his pockets, slouched against a lab bench and spoke in a tone that begged to be punched:
'These days, a Black man can run a big outfit. My beloved America really is thriving~'
Nick Fury: (╯°□°)╯︵ ┻━┻
You little—will you never quit?!
Captain America: (˘•ω•˘)
Crude, but… he's not wrong. After a blink of surprise, the ever-PR-savvy Captain flashed his trademark heroic smile and politely nodded to Nick Fury in greeting.
Then he turned to Peter and said:
'Young man, thank you for saving me, but the Director deserves respect. In America we're all equal.'
As he spoke he flexed his still-stiff body, and a formidable aura rolled off him.
'About that spar… let's skip it. I'm still getting used to this body; I don't want to hurt any—'
He never finished. A sharp whistle of air split the space beside his ear.
On pure super-soldier instinct, Captain America snapped his hand up and caught the incoming fist.
SMACK!
The instant fist met palm, the sound cracked like a whip through the air.
Hiss—
Captain America sucked in a breath, his handsome face twisting.
What strength!
He followed the arm to its owner—and found the clean-cut, college-aged kid who'd looked harmless a second ago.
No honor among youngsters—ambushing a ninety-something senior!
Peter pulled back his fist and gave the Captain a radiantly 'friendly' grin:
'Looks like your bones haven't rusted solid after all.'
He dropped into a stance and beckoned:
'Come on. This is part of the therapy; a real fight beats any rehab workout.'
Peter wasn't a battle-junkie or grand-stander.
He simply wanted to crush, in the most direct and brutal way, every last shred of hope Nick Fury still clung to.
He'd already shown the 'magic' deterrent with his Giant Rasengan.
Now he meant to floor the man Nick considered the 'ceiling of close-quarters combat' using nothing but raw physical power.
He would make it crystal-clear, across every category of force, that Peter Parker was an opponent Nick Fury could never overcome.
If Fury ever nursed another shady idea again, not even Captain America could protect him.
Across the room, Nick Fury was secretly delighted each time Peter provoked the Captain.
He'd worried the Captain might refuse to help against Peter out of gratitude.
Now that Peter was shoving the legendary soldier right into his arms, Fury wasn't about to object.
Let the Captain beat some sense into you first, kid—show you what a real gap in power looks like!
With that in mind, Fury called out:
'Captain, since Peter says it's therapeutic, why not humor him? It's for your own good.'
He egged Captain America on, stopping just short of yelling, 'Captain, get in there—don't wimp out!'
Captain America flexed his still-tingling hand and studied the unfathomably strong but clear-eyed boy in front of him.
After a second's hesitation he nodded:
'All right.'
He hopped off the lab table, blue eyes meeting Peter's as he said softly:
'Young man, bring it on.'
The words were barely out when Peter blurred to him, far faster than Nick or the others expected.
BAM-BAM-BAM!
In the blink of an eye they'd traded a dozen blows, leaving after-images in the air.
'Captain, my body outranks yours—don't hold back; you'd better use that shield.'
Captain America gave a reflexive nod; the brief exchange had already shown him how formidable Peter was.
The kid was easily super-soldier tier, with superb fight sense and technique.
He hadn't faced anyone this troublesome since before the ice!
Realizing it, the Captain felt a long-lost surge of excitement. He unslung the Vibranium shield and warned:
'Watch out!'
The shield whipped out like a lethal comet, slicing at Peter's neck from a vicious angle—a battle-tested kill-stroke, fast, precise, merciless.
Peter caught the shield one-handed, vaulted off it, and snapped a reverse hook-kick at the back of Captain America's head.
Alarm bells rang; the Captain threw up an elbow and blocked hard.
They separated, neither gaining the upper hand.
In that instant they locked eyes and saw the same thrill mirrored there.
Peter thought: Worthy of the 'Marvel 50-50' legend—still not fully recovered, yet with reflexes and experience he's turning every speed- and strength-based strike aside.
To Captain America, Peter's silhouette flickered, overlapping with another figure—Buggy Barnes, his best friend.
'Again!' they shouted in unison and crashed together once more.
BAM-BAM-BAM!
The tempest of fists left the other three spectators stunned.
Nick Fury, Natasha, and Coulson huddled in a corner, faces white with shock.
So this… is Captain Berry's true might?
Incredible!
But… why on earth is Peter Parker, a high-school kid—and supposedly a mage—trading blows with him blow for blow?!