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Peter heard it and he hated how it sounded.
The click of a gun, the snap of hands, reloading. The way the footsteps echoed down the empty hall of Midtown high. His breath caught in his throat.
It was English and Peter had been daydreaming, lost in some memory of Mr Stark’s lab from the weekend before. Maybe if he’d been alert, he would’ve heard it faster.
Now, he snapped to attention, and Ned looked up from one desk over, eyes wide.
“What is it?” Ned hissed.
“Gun,” Peter replied, louder.
Miss Adler looked over, eyebrow raised. “What was that, Mr Parker?”
“Gun,” Peter repeated. “I heard it.” He heard it closer now, the footsteps one after the other. They were so lazy, so calm. They were not worried, they were not in a rush. Peter hadn’t gotten up this morning prepared for a school shooting, but neither had anyone here. “Get down.”
“Mr Parker-”
“Please,” Peter said, moving out from his desk. He ducked over to the door and peeked through the rectangular window. He saw the shadow of the figure, moving down the hall and he ducked back. There was a snicker somewhere in the room but he ignored it – why didn’t the door have a lock?
“Mr Parker,” Miss Adler said, quieter this time. “Please take your seat.”
“I can see him,” Peter said, peaking through the window. “He has a gun. Get down or something.” Peter ducked back from the door – he’d seen the man, dressed in black, the semi-automatic in his hands. He stared at his teacher with wide, pleading eyes until she nodded.
“Alright, let’s treat this like a drill,” she said. “Hide now, stay quiet.”
“Miss Adler,” a student protested, but she cut them off.
“If he’s wrong, it’s good practice. If he’s right then Mr Parker’s saving our lives. Down, now.”
The students moved as quickly and silently as they could, trying to move out of sight of the door. Peter crawled by the desk, hiding at the other side of it and out of sight from the door. He listened to the footsteps, one by one, and the class fell silent.
Peter had no idea what to do. He was Spiderman. Shouldn’t he be jumping out there to stop him? But Mr Stark’s warning span around his head – stop jumping in the way of danger, Peter. That’s the quickest way to die. He chewed on his lower lip and then almost smacked himself in the forehead.
Of course he’d forgotten. Peter pulled up his jacket sleeve and looked down at the Iron Man red watch Mr Stark had given him. There was a small button on the side and Peter pressed it twice. Panic button, Mr Stark had said. It’s for emergencies, got it?
This felt like one.
The footsteps had slowed to a stop and Peter could hear the gunner’s breathing, could hear their fingers tapping against the gun. He gritted his teeth. He couldn’t let people get hurt – not when he had a better chance of surviving. But moving would attract the gunner to their class.
In the end, it didn’t matter.
The gunman’s booted foot collided with the door and it slammed open, hitting the wall behind it. Curses and yelps were cut off with hands clapping over their mouths and Peter peaked around the side of the desk, looking at the gunman. Dressed in all black, Kevlar across his torso, he looked around the room with a steely gaze.
“Parker,” the man said, his voice like gravel. Peter felt every eye in the room dart to him then jump away. There was an acidic taste in his mouth and he swallowed the vomit that threatened to spill out.
There was a gunman in his school and he’d come for Peter.
“Peter Parker,” the guy ground out. Peter’s hands were shaking. Shit. He’d dealt with worse than this, surely. He’d fought the Vulture in a suit that was more pyjamas that protection. He’d been stabbed and shot and bloodied. He’d taken on five guys at once but that was Spiderman. This was Peter Parker.
“Alright,” the man said after a few seconds. He stepped further into the room, reaching down and grabbing someone. Peter glanced around the desk, watching Cindy Moon be pulled to her feet, a gloved hand around her hair and tugging. “Either Parker shows himself or this one dies in the next ten seconds.”
Peter’s eyes widened and Cindy let out a sob. No, no, no. Where is Mr Stark? He pressed the panic button again, just in case.
“Ten, nine-”
“No, stop!” Peter lurched up onto his feet and he hoped he looked braver than he felt.
Immediately, Cindy was dropped and she crawled to the other side of the room as fast as she could. The gunner hefted his gun, tilting his head for a second.
“Peter Parker.”
“Y-yeah, that’s me. Wh-what do you want with me?”
The smile on his face was grotesque; lips pulling the scars on his weathered face in awkward angles, eyes too dark for it to be anything but cruel. “Someone’s been giving out your name,” he said. “If it’s not me, it’ll be the next one Toomes talks to.”
There was a rock in his stomach pulling him down. Sinking, drowning, and Peter felt like he did in the Hudson; like he couldn’t breathe, like he was thrashing about and tangled in the parachute meant to save him.
“H-hey, hey, I’ve got an idea,” Peter said, holding his hands up in surrender. The gun was pointed at him now and he only had a few seconds. God, these were going to be his last seconds alive. “H-how about we don’t shoot me?” Peter suggested, trying for a smile though it came out as a grimace. He figured talking might buy him some time – maybe Mr Stark could get here before anything bad happened. “I’d make an ugly corpse. The worst. I’d have to have a closed casket funeral and then funeral costs would probably send my family into debt – you know what, how about we reschedule this? Next Tuesday, maybe? I have a pop quiz tomorrow that I wasn’t planning on missi-”
The bullet landed in his stomach and everyone in the room jumped. He heard the screams, somewhere, of students running from the gunshot, of people who weren’t stuck in this room hiding and leaving the building. But Peter – Peter was staring in shock at the red that was soaking through his t-shirt. For a moment, it looked a bit like a flower.
Then he looked back up to the gunner. How hadn’t he seen it coming? Was he so full of fear that it had blocked out his danger sense? He didn’t have it in him to question it, just took a long, shuddering breath.
“You’re going to regret that,” Peter said, strangled.
The gunner smirked. “I don’t think so, Spider-guy. I don’t think you’ll be able to make me regret a thing.”
Peter leaned forward, holding himself up on the desk. There were spots in his vision and a metallic taste in his mouth. His hands slipped on some of the papers, spreading the blood on his hands across them – since when had there been blood on his hands?
He didn’t register the way his classmates looked at each other, the way they mouthed the word Spiderman like he was going to save them now. Spiderman had been shot in front of them. Spiderman wasn’t helping anyone. Peter Parker was making sure of that, because Peter Parker was dying.
“It won’t be me,” Peter promised, trying to keep his voice strong while his knees threatened to buckle beneath him. “It’ll be Iron Man.”
The gunner barked out a laugh. “Yeah, right, kid. Do you see Iron Man anywhere around here? ‘Cause I sure don’t.”
“No,” Peter agreed, though it came out more like a hum. “But I can hear him.”
He could, and it was one of the last things he could hear as his legs gave way and Peter collapsed onto the floor, his stomach feeling like the surface of the sun, burning, burning. He heard the Iron Man thrusters nearing, the shattering of the window as he entered, the repulsors charging.
Then Peter! Peter, can you hear me! Kid, c’mon.
Peter couldn’t open his eyes – that would take too much energy and he didn’t have much of that anymore. He could feel himself being moved and lifted, could hear sirens closing in on the school.
You’re gonna be fine, Pete. I promise. You’re gonna be fine.
Peter didn’t have enough energy to reply to Mr Stark – because it had to be Mr Stark, no one else ever spoke like their heart was breaking in two – but he had enough energy to smile. So he did, and let his head loll back, and the sound of the Iron Man thrusters be the last thing he heard before he slipped into sleep.