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The battle’s almost over. Peter knows in the way the Avengers have the leading guy on whatever attack is happening in New York now. Peter takes a breath in an alley, and that’s where it all goes wrong. He stops, huffing a breath. His hands are shaking, there had been a couple close calls with civilians, and he’s a little upset it was as close as it had been. He’s supposed to be Spider-Man. He’s supposed to save them.
He stands up, ignoring the pull in his muscles, they’ll heal on their own. He moves back out towards the fight, but something stops him. A tingling sense in his neck. He turns, a gun aimed at his chest. Shit.
“Woah, buddy, don’t-'' The hand shakes, finger on the trigger. Double shit. “Hey, hey, dude, no one needs to get hurt-'' Masked face, no identity. Looks to be one of Evil Guy’s men. Okay. Sure. He’s got this. No sudden movements-
Peter gasps out a breath. Fuck. he doesn't hear it, Or maybe he does, but he knows it happened. They disappear, hopping over a wall, and running far away. Peer does not chase him. Why would he?
He can hear the cheers. The battle’s over. Tony’s voice rings though his comm. Masked man disappears. Peter breaths. Ashes fall around him. He looks out from the alleyway. Sunlight through the trees. It’s over. Everyone’s safe. It’s okay.
People stand, looking around at the damage. They’re safe. He can see gratitude in their eyes as the firefighters put out the smoldering ashes of the latest villain's fire. They swirl around Peter’s face. He wants to take off his mask, to feel the wind in his hair one last time.
Someone points at him and shouts. Maybe they’re chastising him for taking a break. It was only a second. He wants to defend, but he knows they’re right. He wasn’t doing his job.
He slides down a wall, sitting down. Was standing always this hard?
He coughs, something wet catching in his throat. Blood pours from the wound in his chest. People reunite with loved ones after being separated in battle. It shouldn’t be like that. They should always be safe. His eyes close, the world blinking away to the only dark behind his eyelids. He can still see the green flashes of the alien's weapons,
"Iron Man!" Someone shouts, their voice a far away echo in his ears. He hears his name, Spider-Man, but it's all gibberish from there. He shakes his head. Or, he would if he had the energy. One fight and he feels like he could sleep for a week. He's so tired.
There's a loud sound, like repulsors, he'd know the sound anywhere, landing next to him. The voice they belong to is far away, muddled in his ears.
"Peter. Peter?" He's sure that's a voice he knows, it brings up muddy memories of a lab and music he likes, but he can’t remember who the voice belongs to, all he knows is that he’s safe. That’s just enough for his eyes to slip closed. The voice grows more urgent, but he doesn’t care. He’s so tired. Safe and tired. The voice will guard him, of that, he’s sure.
Peter does not expect his first thought when he wakes up in his room at the tower to be the word failure, but he assumes it’s a fitting juxtaposition. Spider-Man is supposed to be strong, not fainting out on the streets like a Victorian maiden. There are bandages around his midsection, tainted pink with blood. This is better. He thinks with slight horror. He’d been worse off when he’d fallen unconscious, whenever that was, and this was him doing better. So much so that he wasn’t in the medbay anymore, which is new.
He sits up slowly, flexing his fingers. It’s cloudy out, It could rain soon. Peter always likes rain, nice sounds to contrast his often loud mind. It's harder to hear every little thing happening when the rain drowns it out.
He watches the rain start, slow at first, then faster, faster, until his window is covered in little droplets. He used to pick two out for him and Ben to have a pretend race. He shakes the thought. He’s Spider-Man now, he should be saving lives, not racing raindrops down glass. There's a knock on his door.
“Kid? Fri said you were awake. Not doing anything irrational while injured, are we?” The door opens slowly, giving Peter plenty of time to protest. He does not. “Hey, kiddo. Brought you some food and new bandages. What’s got us looking out the window all philosophical, huh?” Peter jolts. Caught. Mr. Stark’s voice says in the back of his head, jovial and carefree, like when Peter doses off in a lab session after staying up late to watch the newest episode of a show right when it drops.
“Just watching the rain. It's nice on my senses, you know? Drowns out all the other stuff.”
“Literally.” Mr. Stark tells him, setting the plate down on the nightstand. “Eat first, then bandages. Don’t want it getting cold.” Peter does, slowly picking away at his food. His mind races. How long was I out? Who got hurt because of it? He shakes his head. New York was fine before him, and it’ll be fine again. That doesn’t erase the nagging in the back of his mind.
It doesn't get better.
He sits in class, itching to get out, to patrol. It’ll be his first day out again, and he’s sure someone in New York missed Spider-Man. There’s been nothing, Friday’s assured him even though he couldn’t go out to fix it. It's a bit obsessive, Mr. Stark tells him as much, but Peter knows it’s his responsibility. Mr. Stark understands, but he worries. Peter doesn’t blame him.
“- and that could be why crime is so high in New York. All of this could be happening because there are people to challenge them, like the Avengers, or even Spider-Man.” Peter does a double take, looking up from his assignment to the teacher. This year’s Social Studies teacher was not Peter’s favorite, with his wild ideas and crazy rants. “Especially this past week, a whole crime syndicate was uprooted with the help of Spider-Man, so they attacked the whole city. Spider-Man has so many close calls, and the Avengers still have the heart to call him one of their own?” Peter’s breath stalls in his chest.
Do other people think that? There’s got to be someone else in the world who thinks like that. He can’t be alone. The bell rings. Peter packs up fast, rushing out the door. He feels sick.
Spider-Man has so many close calls, and the Avengers still have the heart to call him one of their own?
He flexes his fingers, takes a breath. It’s not true. He’s taken worse slander from the Bugle, but that’s just one person. Now he knows Jameson’s ideas are spreading. It was inevitable, he knows this, but it doesn’t change the nausea floating around in his chest. He passes by the field, watching everyone play around, unbothered.
The sound of the subway beneath his feet does not ground him the way it normally does. Here he has time to think, and thinking is always dangerous. He texts Ned, a perfect distraction, because Ned can always talk about anything and everything and that’s what Peter needs. Anything and everything but his teacher’s words.
Peter does not go out as Spider-Man that night. He works on his homework in his room, and cooks dinner for him and May at seven. He’s asleep before she gets home, but he knows she appreciates it even if it’s cold.
It doesn’t rain that night. Peter ends up with music playing loudly through his headphones to drown it all out.
Peter goes out as Spider-Man that Friday. It’s a decision he makes to keep May from worrying about him, because though she worries while he’s out as Spider-Man, she knows how much he loves helping people. If he stops, she’ll want to talk, and he doesn’t want to talk about it. He kinda wants to talk about it. He needs someone to tell him it’s not his fault, but he’ll cry if someone does, and Spider-Man shouldn’t cry.
He’s out swinging when Karen tells him about a potential situation just south of Stark Tower, which is convenient, because Peter had been meaning to swing by and pick up some extra webfluid.
He lands in an alley between a girl and a mugger. Typical, run of the mill, even though it shouldn’t be. The streets should be safe.
It’s not run of the mill this time. The girl has been stabbed. He’s already too late.
“I was waiting for you, Spider-Man-” he doesn’t have time to finish. Peter fires one web, sticking the hand with the knife in it to a trash bin. He fires another, the other hand sticks to the wall. Karen’s already called the police and an ambulance. With the mugger dealt with, Peter rushes over to the girl.
Her hands are over the wound. Good. That's good. Stop the blood. She's crying, hiccupping sounds that tear at Peter’s heart because she’s a civilian, not a superpowered hero. She’s handling it better than he ever could. Peter tries to console her. It works, but just barely. The first responders are almost here. A minute, at most. They’re close to the station. Peter’s lucky. She’s lucky. The mugger is shouting, but Peter doesn’t hear it. There’s blood on his suit, but Peter doesn’t feel it.
When the first responders do get there shortly after (it had just been a few minutes, but to Peter, it had been an eternity too long) they usher him to the side, taking her away. The mugger is gone soon after that.
Peter goes to Stark Tower for his webfluid refill like he’d planned. Just like with his teacher, his mind feels detached from his body. The words replay over and over in his head.
I was waiting for you, Spider-Man.
I was waiting.
I was waiting for you.
Peter lands on the balcony.
“Kid!” Mr. Stark’s voice echoes from the entryway. “How are you?” Peter can see the exact moment he registers the blood. The joyful crinkle at the edge of his eye fades, and his nostrils flare when he takes a shocked breath. The most telltale sign, his heart rate picks up. “What happened? Friday said you were-”
“I’m fine.” Peter interrupts, the first time he’s ever done so, sensing his mistake. “It’s not my blood. I should’ve called first.” he curses himself. How many times does Mr. Stark have to tell him he has a heart problem? Stupid, stupid, stupid. “Sorry.” the thudding sound of Mr. Stark’s heart slows, relaxing. “There was a mugging. A girl, she got hurt.” Mr. Stark nods, looking over Peter like he hadn’t believed his earlier claim. He still looks worried.
“Is she okay now?”
“She went to the hospital. Karen called them.” Mr. Stark nods. Clouds are building overhead. Peter can already smell the rain, even though it hasn’t fallen yet. Or maybe it has, somewhere else, and the wind has carried the scent all the way over here.
They tinker in the lab for a while, but it doesn’t help Peter like it normally does. After an hour or two, Peter admits defeat and just heads to bed. He only makes it an hour before having a nightmare so bad, Friday has to wake Mr. Stark, because Peter won’t wake up to any of her signals.
The rain’s started, Peter notices when his breathing is steady and his mind is relaxed enough to take in his surroundings. Mr. Stark sits next to him, shoulders just close enough to that they bush every time Peter inhales.
“When you said I could come to you for anything, you mean anything?” Mr. Stark tenses beside him. He thinks something is wrong. Wrong with Peter. There is, because when isn’t there? But this time it’s not in the way he thinks.
“Of course, kid. Anything, anything.” The rain starts up, like the tears that threaten to spill out of Peter’s eyes. How unfair is it, that the sky can cry so easily, but Peter finds it so very hard?
He listens to it, closing his eyes and drowning in the sound. It’s bliss, a break from the everlasting turmoil in his chest.
“Would the world be safer without us?” Peter asks, not making eye contact. “Without me?” The words of the accords swirl around his mind, people protesting out on the streets to take away the rights of people like him. Enhanced people. It’s not his fault he ended up like this. He stares at his hands, folded in his lap. He doesn’t feel like Spider-Man right now. He feels like Peter Parker, sixteen years old.
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, the only reason the bad guys exist is to challenge us. The people like me who aren’t… normal. We try to be good, to use what we’ve been given to better the world, but what if by existing, I'm doing more harm than good? If I didn’t exist, the bad people wouldn’t feel threatened, and then everyone would be safe. There wouldn't have to be a fight at all.”
“Oh, kiddo.” Mr. Stark’s voice is soft. Peter traces the lines on his palm. “You can't really think that, can you?”
“And if I did?” Peter narrows his eyes at his hands. “The mugger from earlier, he only went after that girl because of me. Spider-Man is the whole reason she got hurt.”
“And Spider-Man’s the reason she was saved, too.” Mr. Stark swallows, like he’s trying not to cry. “Peter, you aren’t hurting anyone by existing. With or without you, the bad things would still happen. In a way, it’s like what you told me when we first met. But nothing, none of this, not the spider bite, not people getting hurt, not the bad things, none of it is your fault. By trying to take the blame, you’ll only end up hurting yourself. Trust me kid, I know.” Peter sniffs, scrubbing a hand over his eyes.
“Sorry. Sorry. I’m sorry.”
“You’re just a kid, Peter. There isn’t anything to be sorry for. Emotions, self doubt, it’s part of the job. They’ll happen, no matter what.” He looks lost, floundering for what to do. Peter’s heard it a hundred times, don’t get emotional on me, kid, I can’t handle emotions. And yet he’s trying. Trying for Peter, not Spider-Man, because he wants to. Because he cares about Peter. Mr. Stark wraps an arm around his shoulder, pulling him close.
“I’m sorry you feel this way, kid. I wish I knew how to make it better.” Peter nods into Mr. Stark’s shoulder. “One day, far from now, you’ll have a protege that looks up to you, and you’ll realize that maybe you aren’t all bad. But until then, I’ll be Spider-Man’s biggest fan.” Peter smiles into Mr. Stark’s shoulder, tears still running down his cheeks. The weight on his chest shifts a little, and the knots inside his chest loosen, if only a little. He’ll allow himself to apologize profusely for getting snot and tears all over Mr. Stark’s clothes are like some kind of toddler in a moment. Right now, he closes his eyes and breathes deep, the scent of cologne and ink, something like home to fill his nose, and starts to feel better.
When Peter’s spring break comes, Mr. Stark extends an invitation to him for a trip upstate. Peter hesitates for hours, leaving him on read until May replies for him.
“But Spider-Man-”
“Can wait, Peter. You need a break.” She smiles at him. “Pack your things. I’ll be okay, you know that.”
She ends up helping Peter pack, because he’s all panicky, what if he messes up? Or ends up bringing the wrong thing? He wonders if he’s overstepping, or making Mr. Stark feel obligated, he did cry onto his shoulder after all. He’s spent loads of time in the penthouse, so much that he’s even managed to catch Pepper in passing. May even bring it up in her futile attempts to calm him
“You’ve done this before, Peter. It’s just at a cabin this time. Relax, there isn’t anything you could do to scare him off. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“You did?” Peter asks, but it comes out a little more deadpan.
“When he came about Germany, before he told me about the whole September thing, or whatever he called it.” She says, not looking up from the suitcase. I didn’t want him to have anything to do with you, considering his past. But he’s changed. Or at least, he cares about you. And that’s all I needed to know.
Peter smiles. "Thanks Aunt May."
"Thanks?" She echoes. "I thought you'd be a little more mad." Peter shrugs.
"You were looking out for me. Doing what you thought was best. I can't get mad at you for that." She sniffs, bringing him into a hug.
"You're supposed to, you know. Get mad. It's in the teenager handbook."
Peter snorts, leaning into the warm hug. "I got the wrong copy, then."
"Explains a lot." She kisses his hair.
He sits out in the rain on the dock. Peter swings his feet, breathing in deep. The rain hits his arms and makes his hair stick to his forehead. Footsteps splash in the puddle filled dock behind him.
“Mr. Stark?” The man sits next to Peter, wrapping a coat around Peter's shoulders. Peter leans into his side, and Mr. Stark wraps an arm around Peter’s shoulders.
“Yeah kiddo?”
“Thank you. For everything. I know I don’t say it as often as I should, but it really means a lot.” they'd talked a lot over the weekend. About Peter. About Spider-Man. About what it means to be both. How he can be a kid. That he doesn't have to feel guilty all the time.
“Just you being at my side is enough for me. You don’t need to say thank you.”
“That was cheesy.” Mr. Stark nudges him in the shoulder. Peter laughs, feeling lighter than ever.