Chapter Text
Whish! Zoom! Bing! Bullets flew past Peter Parker as he narrowly avoided blows from a group of five or six thugs. He had trouble knowing exactly how many because he had suffered a blow on his head not that much earlier which was truly screwing with his vision. Still, that was nothing compared to the knife currently planted in his left shoulder.
One of the thugs, wearing a black mask, threw a right hook at him. Peter ducked, crouching down on his legs, before winding his arm back and returning a punch in his gut. As soon as he was out of the way, the thug was replaced by another. This pattern continued on and on. Every time he managed to land a good hit, the opponent would back out of the fight and return when he had recovered, letting his teammates fill in the gap for him. All in all, it was quite exhausting.
Well, he supposed, this is what I get for attempting to take on the New York Mafia by myself. These men were very skilled, and even more importantly, very well paid. Shady rich businessmen tended to hire nothing by the best, after all.
Still, while they were talented, they paled in comparison to the one and only Spiderman.
He punched and kicked his way around the group of fighters. While webbing one to a wall, he dropped and kicked another’s legs out from under him. Every move he made, albeit slightly hindered from the stab wound in his shoulder, was meticulously planned multiple steps ahead of his opponents. That’s what made Peter such a great fighter. It wasn’t just his powers. It was his smarts.
Despite this, people tended to be unpredictable. Again, hence the knife in his shoulder. That was a mistake he regretted very much. Still, he had suffered much worse before, and the wound was a clean one, so it wouldn’t be too much trouble to clean up. Peter made an educated guess estimated that it would be healed in, at most, two days.
Despite handling himself well, the fighters were managing to gain ground on him. If they kept up, he would soon be backed against a wall. After carefully blocking a few blows, a break opened up in their onslaught. Peter took the chance to look around the room. He spotted something that might help.
“This fight’s getting a little quiet, eh?” Peter quipped. The other men were too preoccupied to respond. “Might as well liven it up a little.” He smirked.
He was now completely flat against the wall. Tsk. If only he was a few inches to the left.
A smooth side flip put him in the perfect position, quickly solving that issue. He reached behind his back with his wounded arm, carefully feeling around the wall while fending off the attackers with one hand. He was searching, searching…there!
His hand was now resting on top of the bright red switch which he had spotted earlier. He flipped it without hesitation. Anyone would be able to recognize it for what it was—a fire alarm.
Almost instantaneously, red lights began to blare, and a harsh alarm shrilly rang in his ears. After a couple of seconds, the sprinklers began to stir. They whirred to life with and escalation of water pouring down from them.
The thing was, this current scuffle was taking place in the basement of a rather high-end skyscraper. As such, the floor was slick, tiled, and regularly waxed. The addition of water on top of these factors made it nearly impossible to walk straight on, much less fight. However, due to his powers, Peter could stick to almost anything, rendering him immune to these elements.
In an almost comical manner, the mercenaries began to slip. One after the other, they fell to the floor like graceless ballerinas.
Now they were easy pickings. Peter wasted no time in webbing up the remaining men (and women) against the wall next to their coconspirators. He dusted his hands off, mentally patting himself on the back.
He left a note on the wall, as well as a flash drive with proof of their wrongdoings, and then bolted out of there. He didn’t want to be anywhere near them when the police showed up.
#
Later that night, Peter tasked himself with the ugly job of getting the knife out of his shoulder. Somehow, through some miraculous effort, it had managed to stay in his shoulder throughout the rest of the fight as well as the journey back to the apartment.
He grimaced as he gripped the handle of the knife that was currently embedded in his shoulder as a result of the scuffle earlier that night. Blood was freely flowing from the wound. He, despite it not being his favorite option, decided that his best choice was to grit his teeth and pull it out.
He had to bite his lips to keep himself from making a sound, so that his Aunt, May, wouldn’t wake up. It would be quite difficult to explain his situation right now, and Peter didn’t feel like having to go through that sort of trouble.
Despite it feeling like hours, only a few moments passed, and the knife was soon out of his shoulder. With practiced movements, he stitched himself back together.
Now that the hard part was over with, he found it easy to disinfect and dress the wound. The disinfectant stung, but he pushed through it. After that, he tasked himself with the troublesome duty of cleaning the bathroom. He had to admit, the current state of it was quite alarming.
He picked up all of his bloodied bandages and threw them into the trash. Taking Aunt May’s favorite brand of tissues, he threw them on top of the bandages as camouflage. Lastly, he wiped the floor clean until there wasn’t a speck of blood left. This part took a while, because every time he knocked his shoulder into anything remotely stiff, he would wince in pain and have to take a break.
Still, he managed to finish the whole debacle in approximately thirty minutes. He tiptoed quietly to his bedroom and shut the door behind him.
He took out his phone as he laid down on his bed, scrolling through the news, already seeing a few reports of his earlier battle. He smiled to himself, proud.
To the criminals he put in jail, to the muggers he had webbed against the buildings of New York City, today was the day of their downfall. But to Peter, it was just another day of protecting his home.
#
Earlier that day, Tony Stark, known to many as Iron Man, was traversing back in forth in his office. Despite the luxuries and beautiful view from the penthouse of Stark tower, he found himself very tense. With every pace, he became more and more anxious.
You see, in two hours an important decision had to be made, and Tony just couldn’t make up his mind.
This conundrum had started a few months ago when Pepper had told him that he needed a protégé. At first, he laughed. but then he began to see the reasons behind her proposal. And, matter a fact, they were good reasons.
People in his field of work tended to have short lifespans, and Tony himself wasn’t doing too well in the age department. Plus, there was the matter of his wealth and assets. Who would he leave them too? He had no heirs, no next of kin. In addition to that, there was also the matter of Iron Man.
All in all, Tony found himself quickly agreeing with Pepper, and began the hunt. It took a while, but he managed to narrow it a few prospects.
One candidate stole the show, however. Eugene “Flash” Thompson. Stellar grades and an even more stellar list of extracurriculars and sports. On the Decathlon team, Varsity football, and Basketball, he was the very definition of the overachiever.
On the downside, he was often written up for fights. However, one look at his usual opponents showed them to be part of a not so savory crowd. Regularly skipping class, slipping grades, the works.
Tony concluded that Flash most likely fought out of a sense of justice. Tony admired that.
A door opening startled him out of his train of thought. It was Pepper.
Hey Pep.” He said.
“Tony! There you are. I’ve been looking for you all over.” He said, exasperated.
“Why didn’t you just ask Friday?” He chuckled, gesturing towards the ceiling.
“Oh.” She paused. “Didn’t think of that.” She replied. “Anyways, the reason I’m here is for your final decision on the matter of a protégé. Have you found the right person yet?” She strolled over to the horrendous stack of papers on Tony’s desk. “Looks like you’re not making any progress.”
"Hey! Don’t judge my selection process. There’s a method to the madness, I swear!”
“All right, all right, I’ll bite. If it’s so organized, then tell me; name your top five picks.”
“I. Um.” Tony stammered. Pepper laughed. She walked over and grabbed the paper that Tony was currently holding right out of his hands.
“Eugene Thompson, eh?” She asked. Tony nodded. “Seems promising. Everything you’re looking for. So, why haven’t you picked him?”
Something about her words reached Tony. He found it astounding how Pepper knew him better than he knew himself.
“I don’t know.” He said. “Just a feeling. Like there’s someone better out there that I haven’t found yet.”
“Tony,” she lowered her voice. “Whoever you decide, that feeling’s always going to be there. It’s impossible to look through every person on this planet and beyond. So go with the flow. Do you want Eugene? Then go and hire him.”