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Peter was having the best day of his entire life.
And that was a competitive title, because Peter Parker has had many good days.
But the day had finally come. The day that he was going on a real date with Michelle-fucking-Jones.
The two met up on a Saturday in October. Peter wanted to take her someplace a little special, especially when Mr. Stark suggested he take her to Coney Island. But MJ wanted to go to the museum, and even though Peter was a little worried he might embarrass himself with his frustratingly little history knowledge, he couldn't say no when she had somehow agreed to a date in the first place.
Ned had been spamming him encouragingly all morning, and May had hugged him tight before he left. Even Mr. Stark had nonchalantly asked how it was going, with a simple text.
You got this, kid.
Yeah, this really was the best day ever.
They had just left the museum, and were walking around outside after Peter had bought them ice creams. He had worried that it was too cold, but MJ had pointed out that it wasn't even cold enough for jackets yet— hell, even Peter had foregone his gloves today. Though he was wearing a hat, which MJ had made fun of him for immediately, causing him to blush profusely.
But then she pinched his cheek lightly before pulling her hand away like it was on fire, and Peter wished he could blush harder so that she could do it again.
"I can't believe you don't like mint," MJ shook her head, licking her mint chocolate chip cone. "It's, like, the superior flavour."
Peter hadn't stopped smiling for hours, even though they weren't doing anything but walking the streets of New York. His butterflies hadn't gone away for hours, either, though he no longer felt as physically ill as he did before he had reached the museum (or for the first hour after that). "I used to like it, but I just. All I can taste is toothpaste, and," Peter shook his head. Just smelling it was a little hard on his spider-enhanced nose, but being outside made it more bearable. Plus the fact that it was MJ eating it.
"I don't know what I was expecting you to pick," MJ continued, "But cookie dough was not it."
"Hey," Peter spluttered, "What is that supposed to mean? Cookie dough is definitely the superior flavour! It's, like, literally a cookie as ice cream. What more could you ask for?"
"Mint."
"Blech."
MJ opened her mouth to retort something back, probably, when Peter's spider-sense went off suddenly.
He turned around quickly, heart palpitating as he used his non-ice-cream hand to grab at MJ's wrist and looked around, scanning their surroundings.
"What happened?" She sounded nervous, not something he's heard in her voice before. "Peter?"
He continued looking around, trying to understand what his spider-sense was screaming at him.
No, no. Up!
Peter's head shot up, and he zeroed in on a building.
"Something— something's wrong," he began. What was he supposed to say? MJ didn't know he was Spider-Man. "There's— um, that building, I think—"
MJ grabbed his arm, then, and he turned to her, his heart in his throat and his chest rising and falling quickly.
What do I do? What do I say? Something's happening, something's wrong, there—
"Peter." MJ said his name again, and he looked straight at her. Had she been calling him?
"Look," she began again when she realized he was finally listening, her eyes softening. "I know. Okay? I know you're… you're Spider-Man," she said the last part quietly, and his eyebrows raised.
"W-what, I don't—"
"Stop it," MJ stared at him so intensely that he shut his mouth. "I know it, so there's no point in trying to hide it. I know you have some, sixth sense or something. So go, save whoever needs to be saved. Okay?"
Peter blinked, breathing still a little fast but for completely different reasons now.
"Are you sure? I really didn't, um, I don't wanna leave you, and—"
MJ smiled at him then, a real, true, rare MJ smile that made his stomach twist and his heart flutter.
"Come on, man. I'm dating Spider-Man. What more could I ask for?"
Before Peter had the chance to clarify what exactly she meant by dating, she shooed him off.
"I'm gonna— I'll go home, okay?" She said, already turning away. "I live nearby anyway, and then you don't have to worry about me. Text me when you're, um." She blinked, and Peter could swear she was blushing. "When you're home safe."
Peter nodded, smiling back at her. "You do the same."
Then the newly named couple parted, one casually strolling down the road, the other sprinting to the nearest alleyway.
He changed as quickly as time would let him, his mask having been shoved into a backpack (which MJ had questioned him about, though now that Peter thinks about it, she must have been goading him since she apparently knew this whole time.
He pulled it over his face.
"Hello, Peter. How was your date?"
"Hey, Karen, I think something's—"
And that's when he heard the screaming.
Too far away for anyone else to hear, but loud and gut-wrenching enough to make his hair stand on end.
And as soon as they started, the screams stopped. Peter wasn't so sure if that was a good thing or not.
"Karen, wha—"
"Across the street, the tallest building you see. The elevator has failed, and the safety restraint system did not pass the last inspection."
"Sounds familiar," Peter mutters, swinging up and toward the building. "Are they stuck? They weren't falling for long, I think."
"They fell from the fiftieth floor to the forty-secondth. The restraint will not hold for long. Enter from the south window."
Peter had done extensive practice on figuring out where north was, so he knew exactly where she was talking about. That, and Karen had a compass displayed in his HUD while she spoke.
He crashed through the window, feet first, straight into an office. People started screaming, and Peter apologized as he ran for the door, in search of the elevator.
"Sorry— sorry, just here to stop the elevator, sorry about the window!"
He rushed through the door and spotted the elevator, running for it.
"Karen, can I just," he took a heavy breath, "Can I just pry the doors open?"
"Yes. But be careful. The slightest jostle and they will fall."
"Okay…" Peter muttered to himself, sticking his hands to each door. "Just don't jostle the elevator. Easy."
Peter began prying the doors apart, and once he got them to open slightly, the doors opened the rest of the way easily. He wondered if that was a good thing.
The elevator wasn't lined up properly in the shaft, and only the top quarter was visible through the doors. As soon as the passengers noticed, though, they began crying out for Spider-Man to save them.
They started scrambling for the door, and Peter could hear the restraints struggling.
"Wait, wait, stop!" He shouted, causing them to fall silent, eight people— eight grown adults staring up at him with tear-streaked faces.
Peter sat on the ground, spreading his legs awkwardly to stick his feet to the walls so that he could haul people out. "One at a time, and no unnecessary moving, okay? The restraints are barely holding as it is. If you all start scrambling, you'll fall again."
Nobody complained, and Peter held out his gloved hands.
"Who's first?"
A quick self-analysis had the group deciding to help a young lady first, who had tears running down her face as she looked up at Peter, clearly terrified.
"I gotcha," Peter reassured her, grabbing her arms and pulling her up. He sort of had to lean back as he pulled, switching his right hand to her torso as soon as it was out of the elevator, and she scrambled to her feet as fast as she could, sitting against the wall a few feet away.
The next person was a woman, who was lighter with no backpack. She did have a skirt on, though, and Peter shut her eyes while he helped her out.
Three, four, five… the rescue was going pretty well. His scolding seemed to have gone pretty well, and mixed with the shock and fear of death, nobody was speaking, even once they got out of the elevator. Just collapsing to sit on the ground, faces sheening with sweat. A few people had small injuries, like banged elbows and one sprained ankle, from the fall, but nobody seemed worse for wear.
When there were just two people left, he heard another snap, and everyone froze.
"Web the elevator to the wall, carefully," Karen said quietly, and Peter listened to her. He webbed all sides, which would hopefully hold long enough to help the last couple people out— but if the elevator really started falling, he wasn't sure if it would be able to stick.
"Okay– okay. Don't panic, just keep going," he said, reaching his arms back into the elevator. "Come on."
He helped out another woman, whose face was covered in tears. She tried to hug him in thanks, but he had to push her away to try and help the last passenger.
She didn't seem offended, though, just nodded slightly and moved away.
"Okay, come on. Last one," Peter reached his arms out, but nobody grabbed them.
Huh?
He leaned forward, sticking his head into the elevator.
There was one last man, standing in the corner. His eyes were wide, and he was shaking, and—
"Oh my God, did you get hurt when it fell?" Peter asked, in probably a more panicked voice than he should have. The guy's foot was at a really– a really bad angle, and it was swollen. But he wasn't crying out in pain, or anything, and he had been standing at the back the whole time. It seemed unlikely that nobody had noticed, but then again, nobody had spoken a single word. Clearly, nobody was in good enough shape to use their right minds.
The man nodded, and Peter realized that this guy wasn't much of a man at all— if his backpack and hoodie weren't enough of a giveaway. An intern?
"Here," Peter reached his arms out again, "Just grab my hand, and I'll pull you up. I'm strong, you don't need to jump or anything."
The boy shook his head, eyes welling up, and Peter couldn't blame him— that looked really painful.
"Okay," Peter said, mostly to himself, but also to reassure the boy. "Um, that's okay. I'll come down there, and—"
Before he could move, there was suddenly a series of snaps and creaks. Everyone gasped as the webs snapped apart, and Peter barely had time to swing a web at the passenger and pull his head out before it started falling, fast, the boy still inside.
A lady screamed, but Peter didn't have time for panic.
He leapt into the elevator shaft, sticking a web on the side of the wall as he fell down, down, willing his lithe body to be faster in order to catch the elevator.
"Come on, come on, come on…"
Peter landed on his feet, releasing his web and opening the emergency hatch on top of the elevator.
He stuck his head inside the dark elevator, seeing the boy cowering in the corner, tears running down his cheeks and his chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Here!" Peter shouted, sticking his arm out again. "Quick, grab my—"
There was a jolt, and Peter flew into the air as the elevator hit the ground, landing on his back with a shout, vision going white.
And then it was quiet.
Peter gasped, heartbeat thrumming in his ears as he sat up with a hiss, jumping inside the elevator shaft to check on the boy.
But the boy…
"No," Peter whispered, kneeling next to where the boy was collapsed on the ground, eyes closed and body limp.
"K-Karen—"
"He's alive," She reassured him, allowing his shoulders to droop from relief, though the guilt was still eating him alive. "He needs immediate medical attention. There are signs of blunt force trauma on his brain, and broken ribs, as well as one arm and one foot. Firefighters are trying to open the doors now."
Right on cue, the dark elevator was flooded with light from Peter's left side, and he turned to see men in uniform propping the doors open.
Peter tuned out their shouts as they laid a stretcher out, two men lifting the boy carefully and strapping him into it before lifting him up and away.
To his surprise, a third firefighter came in after, kneeling in front of him.
"You okay, son?"
Huh. This had never happened before, Peter thought dazedly. The pain, panic, and guilt were catching up to him, as he realized that he usually escaped before being questioned by the authorities.
"I n-need, need to–" Peter tried pushing himself up, but collapsed back onto the ground with a gasp, a pain in his side making him hiss.
"Stay down, son," the man put a hand on his shoulder. "I won't remove your mask, but I can still perform an exam on you. You just fell forty floors."
Peter shook his head, resting his head back against the wall. "That boy, he… I didn't save him."
"Hey," the firefighter's professional voice took on a slightly softer tone, making Peter turn his head slightly to look in his direction. "You did good, Spider-Man. You saved seven people. That's seven people we aren't wheeling out on stretchers. Nobody even knew anything was wrong with that elevator until you crashed through the window. And that boy, he's gonna be just fine."
"You don't know that," Peter said quietly. Why was he still here, again? God, his head was really hurting.
The man was silent, then, and they both knew Peter was telling the truth.
"Let me run you to the hospital," the man said, as Peter pushed himself to stand again. "I'll make sure they don't find out who you are."
Peter smiled a bit at the gesture, though the man couldn't see it through the mask.
"Thanks, sir, but— they won't be able to do anything for someone of my… um… capability. I'll go someplace else, though."
Not that he wanted to face Mr. Stark after this, but he knew that ignoring the pain in his back would only cause the man to get even angrier at him.
"...Okay, son," the firefighter said reluctantly as he followed Peter out of the elevator. "At least let me get a ride, for you. You're in no condition to swing around."
"N-no, that's okay," Peter shook his head.
The man insisted as he followed Peter all the way outside, and he seemed to think Peter was changing his mind, as he promised him that he'd let him right in the front of the truck if he wanted to.
He was treating Peter very carefully, as if he was fragile. As if he was the one who was failed by a superhero. As if he was the one who deserved an ounce of empathy at the moment.
Peter stuck his arm up and shot out a web, causing the man to look at him with a shocked expression— and then his face morphed into one of disappointment.
Yeah, that made more sense.
"Thanks, sir," Peter mumbled. "See you around."
He didn't catch what the man said as he swung himself up and into the air, ignoring the pain in his side and the ice in his chest.
***
The museum had been pretty close to the tower, so Peter's usual half-hour swing from Queens took less than five minutes. Once he was out of earshot of the firefighter, Karen began talking to him, somehow sensing how he felt, even as a robot.
"You did well, Peter.
You saved all those people.
They all could have died.
No casualties.
I'm so proud of you.
I'm so proud of you.
"Proud?!" Peter suddenly spat out, eyebrows furrowed in anger as he swung through the air. "What the fuck are you proud of, Karen? The fact that that guy is fighting for his life in some ambulance? Or the fact that I didn't save him before it could happen?!"
"Peter, I—"
"No! No, Karen, you don't get it, so stop trying to make me feel better. Just stop!"
Karen went silent, then, and Peter felt a pang of guilt, but he had reached the tower, so he swallowed it down.
A medbay window was open, so he crawled through, landing silently on his feet.
All he needed to do was get checked out and leave. He knew already that nothing was broken, because surely Karen would have mentioned it to him.
Karen, who took care of him every day, who he yelled at for trying to make him feel better.
God. Peter really just fucking sucked, didn't he?
"Peter?"
He turned to see Dr. Cho standing to his right, and he walked forward, pulling his mask off.
"Hey, doc. Kind of in a rush," he hopped up onto the bed in front of her, wincing slightly and causing her to raise her eyebrow. "Could you please, um… just check me out so that I can tell Mr. Stark and Aunt May that I didn't break anything?"
He hit the emblem on his chest, having performed this little routine many times by now.
She nodded slowly, setting her tablet to the side and pulling blue gloves on from a nearby dolley.
When Peter exposed his side and back, she hissed.
"Gosh, Peter, what happened?"
He looked down, and saw that he was mottled with purple and green. That made sense, he guessed.
"I was, um. An elevator fell, and I was on it."
He decided not to elaborate, and one look at his face told Dr. Cho as much.
She continued her examination, pressing and prodding and seeing what made him wince. She shone a light into his eyes, and nodded.
"Well, you're pretty banged up, but nothing's broken, and you don't seem to have a concussion."
She barely got the sentence out of her mouth before Peter was hopping off the bed, pulling his suit back on.
"But Peter, I—"
"Thanks, doc," he didn't have the strength to smile at her, hitting the emblem to tighten it back up.
"Peter, you can't—"
"I have to go, but—"
"Peter, I am banning you from swinging home."
He blinked. "What? Why? You said I'm fine."
"You are not fine. You're just not dying. You will aggravate your ribs if you swing again. Besides, it's pouring rain."
He turned to the window, and she wasn't wrong. Huh. He hadn't noticed.
He looked down do see that he was soaking wet. Huh. When had that happened?
"Oh my God, did you not even notice?"
Peter opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came to mind. It was true. He hadn't noticed.
"Peter, you are clearly in shock. Go upstairs, Mr. Stark will get you a ride. You need to be home, sweetheart."
He nodded numbly, mask in his hands as Dr. Cho physically directed him to the elevator.
"Feel better soon, Peter."
He nodded again, stepping into the elevator.
It wasn't until the doors closed in front of him when the familiarity of it all came crashing back to him, and he gasped.
The elevator, the elevator—
Peter grabbed the sides of his head, his breathing quickening as his chest heaved, heart beating in his head.
He couldn't think, couldn't see— couldn't see anything but the boy, lying in front of him, still as a mummy, pale as a ghost—
He covered his face, trying to rub the images away, but he couldn't.
He should never wear this mask again. He had lost the right to call himself a hero. He should just burn it, or– or give it to somebody that could actually save people, actually make a difference, unlike—
"Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter…"
…What?
He looked up, and he was no longer in the elevator.
He was curled up on the ground in Mr. Stark's penthouse, curled up into a ball and being cradled carefully against the man's chest.
The man looked down at him, and his eyes— his eyes were filled with sadness. Sorrow.
Disappointment, his mind supplied.
"You with me, Pete?" the man spoke quietly, as if one wrong move would set him off again.
"I—" Peter's voice came out thick, and he realized there was a lump in his throat. His cheeks were dry, though, thank God. He didn't deserve to cry.
"Don't," Mr. Stark shook his head. "I know what you're gonna say. Listen, Peter. F.R.I.D.A.Y checked. The boy is fine. He's already up and talking."
"But…" Peter blinked, no relief rushing through him like it should have. "But he got so hurt, and it's my—"
"Don't finish that sentence. I won't allow it."
"He could have died," Peter whispered.
"It wouldn't have been your fault if he did," Mr. Stark said, and Peter furrowed his brows in confusion. "But he didn't, so it doesn't matter."
"You're not…" Peter closed his eyes for a few moments, opening them again. "You're not mad?"
"Mad?" Mr. Stark frowned (disappointment, disappointment, failure). "Why on earth would I be mad?"
"'Cause, I—"
"Don't answer that," the man cut him off. "You— Peter. You saved everybody from dying, from a falling elevator. Not one casualty in what should have been a tragic accident with no survivors. You're a hero, and I am so, so proud of you."
Hearing it from Karen had made him lash out. But hearing it from Mr. Stark, he…
Tears welled up in his eyes and began spilling down his cheeks before he had the chance to register them, and he sobbed, allowing Mr. Stark to pull him against his chest again.
"I– I was too late to save him!"
Mr. Stark didn't say anything, only let him cry as he held him close to his chest, rocking him gently.
"I should have webbed him, I should have pulled him out. I had time for that!"
"You did the best you could," Mr. Stark said quietly, "and I couldn't be prouder."
Peter just cried, and Mr. Stark just held him.
After a few minutes, his cries quieted down, and Mr. Stark's shirt had practically turned into a dish rag, but it was completely silent other than a few sniffles.
"I'm glad he's alive," Peter said quietly.
"I know, buddy."
"I don't know what I would have done if— if he wasn't."
"I know."
He was glad Mr. Stark wasn't trying to fix everything. Just letting him talk. It was nice.
"Thanks for not being mad."
"I could never, ever be mad."
They lapsed into silence again, before Mr. Stark spoke up.
"So, how was your date with MJ?"
Peter chuckled weakly. "It was awesome."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Had the best time."
"She know you're Spider-Man?"
"H-how did you—"
"At this point, Pete, I think everyone knows, and is just not telling you so you don't feel bad."
Peter spluttered, and Mr. Stark laughed, and everything was okay.