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If there was a place Peter Parker wanted to be right now, it was not here. There was a very good reason for this of course, even if it was the least obvious one. It wasn’t the huge slime monsters (seriously these things are like 6 feet tall, where did they come from), nor was it the fact that he had an essay due tomorrow that he hadn’t started, hell, it wasn’t even the fact that he had to fight alongside the Avengers despite how much effort he put into avoiding them.
No, it was none of that. Instead, it was the fact that Aunt May was making her cookies. She wasn’t the best cook, but when it came to baking sweet treats almost no one rivalled her, not that Peter would tell anyone that besides the most trusted of friends. He didn’t want to have to share, after all. (It was the least obvious option for a reason. May’s cookies were a closely guarded secret, and any who dishonoured the secret would face the wrath of half the vigilante community in New York)
Despite the tragedy of his situation, being Spider-Man came with a duty, and that was to help his city. And that meant saving it from amorphous slime monsters at the cost of fresh out of the oven raspberry triple choc chip cookies (he was so bitter).
Although, it would be decidedly easier to do his duty if the slime blobs would actually stay down.
Of course, nothing seemed to actually damage the things. Webs just disappeared inside, punching them got your hand stuck, if you split them in half then they either reformed together or grew into new ones. That meant all the standard moves of incapacitation were out, and the most anyone was able to do was stop them from getting to civilians.
Now that he thought about it, it rather was a shame that these slime blobs were evil and destructive. They’d be a pretty cool pet. They came in different colours too. Maybe he could convince Wade to keep one, if anyone could figure out how to subdue them, it’d be him.
He was ripped quite violently out of his thoughts by the sound of a repulsor blast (and wasn’t that a sound he’d done his best to forget) which was quickly followed by a delightful spattering of slime monster onto everyone. Unfortunately, it didn’t have the desired effect, as while these ones didn’t grow or re-join, they definitively were not dead. No, now there was just roughly a hundred tiny blob slimes that were hell bent on destroying as much as they could, which admittedly wasn’t much given how small they were (one just ate a hamburger and got itself stuck).
Now only half focussing on keeping the blobs back, Peter watched the small blobs. One caught his eye, a small blue-purple one. It seemed to be eating the other bits of slime around it and growing, so it had this lovely swirl pattern on it, but more importantly, it was getting bigger, and the slimes around it seemed to have figured this out too.
The repulsor fired again, splattering slime across the street and onto the sides of buildings. Peter made to move towards one crawling across a balcony, when it just exploded. The reason quickly became apparent as he caught sight of the live wire sparking in the breeze. Hell of a safety hazard, but it also meant that this shit could be done faster (if he could get back while the cookies were still warm, he’d go to church with Matt one day) Switching his webs mid swing, he started making sure the slime blobs well and truly exploded.
He knew the electric webs would come in handy one day, regardless of the fact that they were created by Wade accidently mixing the wrong chemicals and causing an explosive electric reaction, once they were refined and perfected, they did a lovely little sparky electric effect that gave a shock to anything that came in contact with it (insulating his gloves against that had been a lovely game of trial and error). In the case of the slime blobs, they got the shock and exploded in a lovely array of coloured slime.
Once his street was cleared, Peter started moving towards the main roads, and suddenly shit got a lot more complicated. There were more slimes, more civilians and also more heroes. He had no problem working with other vigilantes, although he did have a select few that he preferred, but damn it he hated working with the Avengers, especially Iron Man. But, never let it be said that Peter would put his personal feelings over the health and safety of his city, so, shoving his bitterness aside (there was a lot of it) he moved towards the densest area of slimes.
“What the fuck.” Rang out across the street as several vigilantes looked up after being rained in the slime (which would be a nightmare to wash out of their hair, thank the gods he wears a mask.)
“There are children around!” Peter scolded as playfully as one could when dodging slime attacks. “Electricity kills them, use live wires or something, just be prepared for them to-“
A loud bang, and the largest slime disintegrated from across the street.
“- explode.”
Faced with the option to take their anger at the situation out via explosions without harming anyone in the process meant that the next few minutes were filled with colourful explosions of confetti slime and the joyful cries of the local crime fighters as big explosions occurred. Once the main street and the surrounding areas were well on their way to being eradicated of alive slimes, people started leaving from where they had taken shelter and going about their lives again (never change New York, never change.) Heroes reconvened on the road, forming small groups of unofficial team ups and close friends within the community.
Peter looked around for Jessica. He’d caught sight of her during the earlier fighting and wanted to check that the Defenders’ movie night was still on this week. He didn’t find Jessica, but he did catch sight of different Avengers trying to talk to some of the vigilantes. Most were met with cold stares and occasionally some biting remarks, but that was pretty much par for the course. What was interesting that some of the Fantastic Four had engaged Bruce Banner into a conversation, especially given how Johnny Storm had been ranting to Peter about how much he hated the Avengers and them trying to make his team trying to sign the Accords.
He’d been so caught up in thinking about the implication that Banner might be slightly sympathetic to their cause, that he forgot to pay attention to his surroundings, until he was rudely snapped back to reality by the clanking of metal landing on concrete. Iron Man. Wonderful.
Don’t misunderstand Peter, he didn’t hate the guy, he just didn’t like him. At all, really. He’d certainly been making some updates on his suit since the last time they’d run into each other. (In another life, maybe those upgrades would have been for Peter as well, but that isn’t this universe, so why should he bother wondering.)
The face plate flipped up, and Tony Stark stared back at him.
It had been years since he’d seen Peter. Up close anyway. Seeing pictures of him in the media, catching glimpses of blue and red swinging around corners with whoops of joy and cheering from crowds below.
There were many things Tony regretted, but not seeing Spider-Man for years didn’t quite fit into that category. He knew he shouldn’t have dragged the sixteen-year-old into his war (strong word for what was essentially an argument between two people that should have been friends that turned into a bar brawl.) He knew he should have been there for Peter after he had, not just given him a suit and no instructions. He should have gotten involved when the Vulture happened, should have done more than provide assistance from the shadows. But he hadn’t, and there was nothing that could be done about that, except learn from his mistakes.
So no, he didn’t regret not seeing Spider-Man. He’d screwed the kid over, then abandoned him, but on his own he’d become someone worthy of the title hero. And he’d done it without Tony’s help, without having to deal with the issues that came from being such a chronic mess as the famous Tony Stark was. (It was better that Tony cut contact, it meant he had no chance to poison Peter.) And now that Peter had come into his own, Tony had high hopes that he could try and fix his mistakes, extend an olive branch, apologise and re kindle a relationship with the young man before him. And that was what Peter was now. A young man.
Four years had done a lot for him. At twenty, he seemed more confident, stood taller and fought better, but without any of the arrogance that usually comes from someone so proficient at such a young age. (And couldn’t Tony just speak from experience there, when as a child he’d let his genius go to his head and he’d try to do anything to gain even the scraps of attention from his father.)
He shook himself out of his musings, getting a quick glance at the man in front of him, seeing the tension in his shoulders, the way he seemed ready to make a quick get-away or start fighting if the situation called for it.
“Hello Spider-Man.” It was a weak attempt at a greeting, but there was nothing else that Tony could say. There were in public, and if he tried to air their dirty laundry here it’d end up with Peter’s identity being revealed. At the very least, Peter’s shoulders seemed to drop a bit, although the tension never completely left. He’d count that as a win.
“What do you want?”
The bitter resignation surprised Tony. He’d never heard a tone like that from the kid (not a kid, not anymore, and its not like he’d spent any time around Peter anyway.) Spider-Man was always friendly, unless you were a criminal, and even then, he saved his fury for those who truly deserved it. But four years can be a long time, and as much as Tony thought he’d changed, he forgot that there was more to Peter than just how he performed as Spider-Man.
“I wanted to talk to you. It’s…it’s been a long time.”
“I’m not the one that cut contact. So, if you want to talk, make it fast. Places to be, people to save, you know how it is.” That was certainly more aggressive than he expected, but he could definitely deal with it. Maybe.
“I’ll do my best. I’ve seen how you’ve grown as a hero, and I want... well, I want you to sign the Accords and become an Avenger. Become official, make all your activities fully legal. You’ll never have to run from the police again, because you’ll be working with them, you could have access to all the resources you could ever ask for and get the government’s aid for any projects you needed to work on. And, well, if you wanted, we could, well, I guess we could try and reconnect.”
There. Strong words, perfect spiel, explain the situation as clearly as possible, describe the benefits (and play into the weaknesses of the kid; having access to things and the full support of the law on his side.) Make it personal, try and soften the kid up, make him more likely to make the right decision. Tony was certain he’d delivered it perfectly, just as he’d practiced.
At least, he was sure of that, until he heard Peter laughing.
That laugh was so different to how he remembered. It was lower, rougher, and this wasn’t his happy laugh. No, this, this was shock and disbelief and absolute sheer fucking bitterness. And it was nothing like the Peter Tony remembered.
Peter exhausted himself laughing, wheezing, trying to get his breath back. When he finally did, his opinion became… startlingly clear.
“Why, in the name of all that I hold close to my heart, would I ever fucking do that?”
Maybe he had underestimated the situation. After all, four years was a hell of a long time, and Peter had clearly been through a lot Tony hadn’t been there for. Maybe cutting ties for so long was a bad idea.
Four years had had an effect on Tony, but he had no idea the effect that it truly had on Peter.
What in the actual flaming fuck.
No, seriously. Stark wanted to fucking reconnect? The bastard was the one who had cut contact in the first place. Where was he when Peter had needed a friend, where was he when Peter had pulled the fucking building off of himself, where was he when Peter was stabbed punched shot tortured drowned crying in pain. The answer was easy. He was sitting in his shiny fucking tower, patting himself on the back for bringing a teenager into a personal dispute and then abandoning him without a care in the world, without a thought for the enemies that hanging out with Iron Man might bring.
No, Stark could go fuck himself. Unfortunately, he started talking again before Peter could voice his opinion.
“I’d hoped you’d realise that being on the side of the law is nothing but a benefit to you when currently all they want to do is drag you in and identify you, dead or alive. At least by signing the accords you’d have some protections.”
The condescending prick. Did Stark actually think that Peter was still a kid who needed his situation explained to him?
“I am fully aware of what they currently want to do to me, given that it is the life that I am living.”
“Then why don’t you sign? It would make your life easier, and you’d still be able to do what you’re doing now, just without being considered a vigilante.”
The exasperated parent tone seemed to work really well coming from Stark. Just one problem, Tony Stark was not Peter’s parent, nor would he ever fucking be.
“I’d still be able to do what I’m doing now? Still be able to do what I’m doing now?” Peter seethed. “Are we talking about the same fucking document? Or are you that delusional that you think the Accords actually help people?”
The shock on Stark’s face was delightful. It truly, truly was. Good to know that the fucker thought that he would be able to manipulate him into another fucking war that wasn’t his to fight. Well, Stark would find that a jaded twenty year old was a much different target than a naïve sixteen year old. Stark’s face hardened, and his face plate flipped down as though it could protect him from what was about to come.
“The Sokovia Accords do help people. It’s what they were designed to do.” So, he was delusional. Peter could work with that. However, Stark was clearly not done. “They hold heroes accountable for our actions, make sure we work with local law enforcement and actually protect civilians rather than endangering them as collateral damage. And they protect vigilantes-” Peter could actually hear the disdain dripping from that word “- from law enforcement that would see them dead rather than acknowledge the help that they provide.”
Oh.
That was fucking wrong. Just straight up incorrect. Stark was supposed to be a genius, wasn’t he?
“Protect us? Protect us?! Those fucking Accords are designed around keeping vigilantes under lock and key, experimenting on us to find out what makes us tick and stopping us from helping people!”
“How would you even know? You haven’t signed them, so you don’t know the experience you’d have.”
“I don’t need to sign them to know they’re horrible for vigilantes. I actually read the fucking things. And you know what I got from that reading? That signing those Accords would be like signing a death warrant for vigilantes!” He was yelling now, but years of pent-up rage had made itself known, and something holding Peter back had snapped.
The face plate flipped up, Stark taking a step forward. Peter felt his shoulders tense, previous relaxation gone. He prepared himself for a fight, mentally cataloguing the armour’s weaknesses, the best ways to take Tony Stark down in a fight, and the best escape strategy should it be necessary.
With the plan forming in his mind, he half paid attention to Stark’s angry rambling.
“The accords keep heroes safe from the people, and the people safe from the heroes! That was the whole point of them! We get the ability to help people and keep them safe, and we do it legally so that we can’t be prosecuted for trying to help people. I’d have thought you of all people would understand being able to freely help others.”
“What part of the Sokovia Accords is about helping people freely?” Peter was familiar with rage, but this wasn’t his normal fiery temper. No, his fury was burning so cold touching it would burn. “Was it the forced registration, revealing of identities, the submission of DNA to be experimented on or was it the fucking tracking bracelets you have to wear if you’re deemed a risk?”
“That’s only if they’re deemed a risk!” Stark seemed to be reaching similar levels of fury, “We have a duty to the people we swear to protect! How can you do that duty if you get arrested for breaking the law?”
Stark was about to continue, likely to preach about how the Accords were fair and allowed for heroes to help people without facing social consequences, but Peter shut him down as fast as he could.
“I’m sorry, did you just tell me I have a duty to the people of my city?” Peter’s voice went soft, a false calm. “And I suppose you were about to say that the Accords help me do that. You’ve signed the Accords. And yet, I haven’t seen you out on the streets dealing with any threats that weren’t supposedly world ending. Which, does make me wonder, why are you here today? This wasn’t an emergency, it was something the vigilantes of New York could easily handle, so was it that you weren’t sent out here to help, rather sent out here to make us comply or bring us in?”
The small shifts in Stark’s facial expression told Peter everything he needed to know. And so, he made his final point as loudly as possible to make sure that everyone knew his opinions.
“Why in the fuck would I join a group that does whatever the fuck the government wants. Why would I subject myself to be at the whims of a corrupt government agenda, who could make me do whatever they wanted, or I’d be thrown in the raft for violation of contract. No, fuck you Stark. I won’t.”
Breathing hard, Peter took more stock of the situation around him. Vigilantes and Avengers alike had paused at his final outburst, but it quickly devolved into several arguments. A light thud caught his attention, a red shape looming at his side. Daredevil. Fighting back a smile of relief, Peter continued glaring at Stark, knowing full well the message was received through the mask (he’d made the eyes emotive for a fucking reason.)
War Machine was now next to Stark. He hadn’t lifted his face plate yet, but it did seem that he was ready to hold Stark back, or fight if necessary. War Machine appeared as calm as one could be when wearing a fucking weapon, but Peter wasn’t worried about him (he may hate Stark, but he could recognise that Colonel Rhodes was a decent and honourable man, even if he and Peter didn’t see eye to eye on certain matters.)
Daredevil’s face – the little you could see of it anyway – was calm to the outside observer, but Peter’s spider sense was going off gently, warning him of the threat standing next to him. Daredevil’s shoulders were tense, ready to fight (Matt may be a righteous man, but he hated Stark nearly as much as Peter, and that was reason enough to fight), his legs poised to jump, but what really clued Peter in to just how worried he should be was his voice. Dangerously low, still with the usual Daredevil gruffness, but with a tone that set off warning bells in his spider sense and seemed to do the same for Rhodes and Stark, if their faces were anything to go by.
“Stark, I think it’s a good idea for you to take a few steps back. Maybe then we can have this conversation calmly, without attracting the attention of the press sitting halfway up the street.”
It didn’t work as hoped. Instead, Stark took a step forward, seemingly intending to punch Daredevil, but stopped, held back by War Machine. With the physical option blocked, he takes the next available route, words.
“I think it’s a better idea for you to turn yourself in. Even before the Accords, you were a wanted criminal, and for good reason. Dropping people off buildings, leaving them unconscious in the streets, breaking ribs and arms and legs, and for what? To protect the people of this city?” Sounding certain he’d won, Stark ended his tirade. He sure had a hell of a lot of confidence for a man spouting such a lot of bullshit. Peter was nearly impressed. Daredevil, on the other hand, wasn’t so amused.
“You’re damn right I protect the people of this city.” Daredevil’s voice was so sharp Peter could hear it cutting the air. “Tell me, Stark, how many drugs rings have you broken up this year? Trafficking rings? How many women have you saved from being assaulted? How many people have you saved from murder? Cause I can guarantee, it is nowhere near as many as the amount I have, given that all you seem to do is sit on your ass in that fucking tower of yours, and preach morality to the masses, as though you know a single thing about morals in your gilded fucking lifestyle.”
Ooooh, Double D here taking Stark down in less than a minute with some harsh words. (Clearly, Peter had been spending too much time around Deadpool, if his internal monologue was anything to go off.) And yet, Stark hadn’t quite got the memo that he’d lost this argument (the second he showed up, if Peter was being honest) and had opened his mouth again.
“Maybe I don’t know as much about morals as I think I do, but lets be real here, out of the two of us, I’m the one that isn’t beating people up and leaving them without any medical assistance, then going on about not killing and saving people. And maybe I don’t get involved with the nitty gritty details of New York’s underworld, but you’re damn right that I give it my fucking all when it comes to protecting the people, regardless of where they’re from. The difference is, I do it with the support of the law and the police.”
The second he brought up the police, Peter saw Daredevil go still, and before any punches could be thrown, he chose to insert himself into the conversation.
“If you’re trying to assert the moral high ground by saying that you work alongside the fucking police, then you’re an idiot who knows nothing about the lives of the people you claim to protect.” Peter was teeming with rage. “Believe it or not Stark, it isn’t an uncommon occurrence for us to find a cop who’s in the mobs pocket or see them committing a crime they face no consequences for. You aren’t working in the nitty gritty of New York’s underworld, and you never fucking could, because you still seem to think that institutions have any hope of protecting people.”
It took a lot of self restraint for Peter to not deck Stark then and there, but he almost wished he hadn’t had that restraint, because the crunch of nose would have been immensely satisfying. Alas, he had to turn his attention to War Machine, who had finally deigned to speak his piece.
“Say what you will about you protecting the people of this city, you’re still in direct violation of the Sokovia Accords, the worldwide agreement about superheroes.” The man still sounded calm, which Peter had to give him credit for (again, respect is given where deserved even in the face of disagreement.) “It takes a lot for the world to agree on something, so you should probably listen to it Spider-Man. It’d make all of our lives a hell of a lot easier.”
Ahh, there it was. The fundamental issue in this situation.
“Wrong. It’d make your lives a hell of a lot easier, it would just make ours more of a living nightmare. You’re speaking from a place of privilege, War Machine. You might want to check that, and make sure Stark does while you’re at it. Billionaire boy over there doesn’t seem to understand that his situation is real fucking different from ours, and that the Accords will not help us. There’s nothing to debate about that.”
The offended gasp from Stark’s direction was music to Peter’s ears, but he kept his attention focussed on War Machine, watching his face shift minutely as he processed the words thrown at him. Maybe he’d actually think on that. Peter didn’t have any hope that Rhodes would stop backing the Accords, he was too much a military man, but at the very least, maybe he’d lobby for some changes to them to make them more hospitable to people who did want to be on the right side of the law (Peter would like to not be shot at by cops every time he tried to help, but he could live with it.)
A new figure approaching takes him out of his thoughts. Black Panther. The King of Wakanda was an unfamiliar figure to Peter. He wasn’t quite sure of his morals and values, although the last – and only – time they’d met he was emotionally motivated and distinctly revenge orientated, though with stubborn morals, to say the least. Peter wasn’t thrilled to have an unknown player in this argument, so he tried to look around for a quick escape, only to see that the remaining heroes had followed their lead and started arguing amongst themselves. The Accords biggest supporters were arguing against the most well-known vigilantes of the city. Although, he was pleased to see that Bruce Banner and the Fantastic Four were still having a semi civil conversation – at least compared to what was occurring around them (Jessica Jones looked about 30 seconds from starting a brawl with Wasp).
The Black Panther had finally arrived to their disaster conversation, but Peter couldn’t quite gauge what he was thinking given that he didn’t follow Stark and Rhodes’ actions and kept his mask on (having a public identity must be so easy.) It got a bit easier, however, when Stark opened his mouth again.
“If there’s such a problem with the Accords, there would be other people – the general public, for example – taking issue with it. Just because it stops you from having the freedom and lack of accountability that you’re used to, doesn’t mean the Accords are a bad thing. All that means is you aren’t listening to the will of the people.”
Huh, that actually sounded like a decently well thought out point. If only it wasn’t absolute bullshit. Daredevil had him covered on this one though, channelling the lawyer part of him to shut Stark down.
“Actually, if you paid any attention to the world outside what affects you directly, you’d know that there are endless protests against the Accords, vigilantes all over the world that have openly refused to sign the Accords, and that even around us, the public is on our side. We are the ones they see protecting them day and night, not you. On top of that, one would think that a businessman of all people could recognise that if the whole world agrees on something like this, it tends to just mean leader and politicians who have something to gain from it support it. That says nothing about the actual people of those countries.”
Daredevil’s reasoning was sound, and that seemed to stir something in Black Panther, and so he took his turn to speak.
“We must not forget the situations that caused the Accords to be necessary, nor that which they are named for.” He must have been a hell of a diplomat for his voice to be that calm in a situation like this, especially after a fight when adrenaline runs so high. “Innocent lives were lost and there was little accountability. That is what the Sokovia Accords strive to do; stop collateral damage, and the acceptance of it with so little thought of the victims. And it is why all those who would consider themselves heroes must sign it.”
“Remind me again who was behind Sokovia? And how innocent lives tend to be lost in regards to superhero activity? Cause last I checked, it wasn’t vigilantes that caused that sort of loss of life.” Peter didn’t hesitate to poke at the most obvious hole in T’Challa’s reasoning. Might have been a bit of a low blow with Stark right there (Peter hated the guy, didn’t mean he deserved to be entirely blamed for that situation) but he had a point to make and he was going to make it.
“The Avengers fight in larger battles, it stands to reason that larger damage is caused from it.” Black Panther’s tone was smooth, confident, and assured in himself and his reasoning. It slightly worried Peter. “That is not to say that any loss of life is not abhorrent, but it cannot be ignored that vigilantes battling in the streets causes as much death as our larger fights. To claim otherwise is ignorance, and men as skilled as yourselves should be able to understand that.”
Peter wasn’t shocked that Black Panther was holding fast on his stance (aforementioned stubborn morals) but it was infuriating nonetheless. To have his reasoning, to have his struggles so callously dismissed, it rekindled the rage in him that had begun to die out.
“Men as skilled as ourselves know our faults.” Peter’s voice was dripping with disdain. “We know when we’ve screwed up, and we do everything in our power to make amends. We don’t hide behind laws and false promises of accountability and transparency, we face up to our mistakes rather than let other people deal with them. Tell me, beyond the cursory clean ups and initial search and rescue, how much do you deal with the fall out of your mistakes. Because from what I’ve seen, it’s us that have to fucking clean up your mistakes.”
Stark’s face was red with rage, Peter wouldn’t have been surprised if he started steaming at the ears. Both War Machine and Black Panther moved to hold him back, and Daredevil shifts minutely at his side, preparing to fight. The air is tense, full of anticipation, the arguments around them stutter to a stop, all preparing for things to get ugly in an instant.
Peter makes to move forward, but a gentle nudge from Daredevil stops him from doing so. Confused, he looks at him, only to see Daredevil’s head tilted to the side, listening to something beyond the range of even Peter’s enhanced hearing.
“It’s a trap!” Jessica Jones’ voice rang loud across the street, filled with fury. “They’re stalling until the fucking cops arrive so they can arrest us! It’s a fucking trap!”
Cries of “Run!” and “Go!” filling the air, the previous atmosphere of anticipation for a fight replaced with a flurry of action, vigilantes climbing and scrambling away from the street, grabbing onto those who could fly or jump in order to escape. Peter looked at Daredevil, who nodded and grabbed his arm. Before he could swing away, Stark spoke, venom dripping from his lips.
“One day you will wake up, and history will deem you wrong.”
For just a moment, Peter hesitated, the past four years filling his head with anger and resentment, uncertainty rearing its ugly head in his mind again. The worry of whether or not he was actually doing the right thing, if he was actually helping and protecting people or if he was merely doing what he wanted and was blind to the true will of the people.
And yet, it was that exact worry that reassured Peter in his ideals. For if someone chooses to believe they are right all the time, never worrying if they truly are, does that not indicate they are in the wrong? People who never question their decisions or beliefs never grow or change, always stuck in one lane.
“If history deems me wrong, then at least I’ll have lived my life doing what I believe is right and helping others. That’s more than I can say for you.”
With that, he shot his web upwards, grabbed tighter onto Daredevil, and swung away. He looked back once, to see Stark’s face. Mouth set in a harsh line, jaw tense, eyes angry, Stark appeared as though something had left a bitter taste in his mouth.
All of the vigilantes had left, only the Avengers remained in the street. The police showed up just as Peter rounded the corner, and something in him felt betrayed, that Stark preached protection from the police and set them upon him and his friends.
He wrenched his gaze away from the deceiving man, and looked for a roof to land on. Finding one, he sets Daredevil down, who stumbled a bit, pale under the mask (Matt had always hated swinging, he said it messed with his senses too much.)
“Don’t take his words to heart. We’ve talked about this before, and if you need anything, you know where to find us. Any of us.” Matt’s voice was filled with concern, which quieted the nerves writhing in Peter’s stomach.
A quick goodbye, and Peter swung back to Aunt May. The cookies were probably cold by now, but at least he could eat them, maybe warm them up a bit. He should save some for Matt too, and Wade (though if Wade wasn’t already aware of them and at his house, he’d be surprised.) The only thing that came from that argument was a re-ignited hatred of Tony Stark and the Sokovia Accords, but at least Peter had reaffirmed where he stood. In this case, it was outside the law.
(Fuck, he still hadn’t written that essay.)