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Spider-Man doesn’t kill.
That was the unsaid rule of the hero’s job.
He learnt that “with great power comes great responsibility,” and it had stuck with him never to let go.
But how deep did those words run? Was Peter Parker defined by his motives, or by whatever the world threw at him? Sure, he had ideas set in stone (as such as never killing); but what does it take for that resolve to crumble? For him to finally be tipped over the edge?
He had always been rougher with certain perpetrators: rapists, murderers, and the like. But he never, ever went as far as to kill somebody. He still considered himself a murderer for letting Uncle Ben die, but that wasn’t the question.
But again, people change.
Situations change.
And despite Peter firmly thinking murder would never be called for… he had his moments.
“Holy-”
“Watch the language.”
Peter squeaked a very manly squeak at the sound of Steve Rogers’ voice cutting through his words. Tony snorted, raising an eyebrow at him.
“And I thought you were bad when you met me,” he chuckled, “but I guess you’re more of a Captain America fanboy. A disgrace, I tell you.”
“Mr. Stark, I- holy shit that’s Black Widow oh my God,” Peter breathed.
“Language,” Steve muttered from the corner.
“Steve, stop acting like Virgin Mary. We all know you aren’t,” Natasha scoffed. “Let the people swear, for fuck’s sake.”
“Exactly!” Tony agreed enthusiastically.
“Holy shit,” Peter stared at Natasha with wide eyes.
Natasha chuckled, “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”
“No, just, um, you’re- uh– really cool, Miss Black Widow, ma’am,” Peter rushed out.
Natasha cringed.
“Maybe keep that to a minimum? Call me Nat. Natasha, if you’re super hung up on it.”
“Sorry, Miss Natasha.”
“You-” Natasha huffed. “Who invited this kid?”
“I did,” Tony spoke boredly. “And I’m regretting it.”
“Wha- why?!” Peter scoffed in outrage. “I’ll be great help in battle.”
“You’ll be an adult by the time we get there. Jesus, Barton, can’t you move this thing faster?” Tony complained.
“Excuse you, I’m already almost an adult.” Peter scrunched up his nose in distaste.
“You’re 15, calm down, tiger,” Natasha snorted.
“How do you know my age?” Peter eyed her suspiciously.
“Don’t be too shocked,” Tony yawned. “She’s omnipresent.”
Natasha rolled her eyes as Peter slowly stepped back toward Tony.
“Are we ready?” Bruce stepped in.
“Dr. Banner!” Peter exclaimed. “Holy shit, best day ever!”
“We’re heading to a Hydra base,” Steve stared.
Before Peter could even open his mouth to reply, the Quinjet tilted, causing them to slip. He hit the wall, albeit ungently, but quickly straightened up.
“Welp,” he sighed. “I guess that’s over.”
And so, they began the planned attack, although earlier than they had wanted to.
“Mr. Stark!” Peter screamed, the red and gold suit coming to view.
Except it wasn’t going as they planned.
The suit was crashing down, coming from high above, and Peter was nothing short of horrified, watching with wide eyes as he begged, both internally and verbally, for help. The feeling of hopelessness was a tug in his gut, his last father figure left in the world, dying before his eyes. Just like Ben.
“NO!” Peter screamed, running toward where the suit was falling. Hydra agents surrounded him, shooting, and Peter could barely flinch as the bullets pierced into his skin. “Tony!”
His yells were nothing more than sobs as he finally saw the suit hit the ground.
“Oh God, oh God,” he breathed heavily. “No! Help! Somebody- anyone- help! Please!”
“Peter,” Steve said through comms, “Natasha’s on her way. Be careful, there’s-”
Peter muted the line as he turned around, his mind blurry with rage and grief.
“Karen,” he said, simple, quiet. “Enable Instant Kill Mode.”
Tony thought this was the end.
He was falling, falling, falling.
Free-falling through the sky from so, so high, and with no hope of rescue.
He was helpless.
And perhaps that was fine.
It would’ve been, if not for Peter and Pepper, and maybe the Avengers.
He had to survive. He couldn’t die.
Not like this.
And so, he hit the ground, the suit cutting off all contact at the hard landing. Tony was stuck in the darkness of the helmet, and a sliver of the battlefield, from where the eyes of the helmet were.
He couldn’t sit up, but he could see Peter, screaming and sobbing, horrified, furious.
He saw him turn around.
And all he knew next was blood.
Peter began attacking the soldiers, clearing out a path in seconds as he walked into the group of Hydra agents, easily decapitating and dismembering them with a flick of his wrist and webs, or just a simple punch and neck twist.
“I would never kill,” Tony remembered Peter saying adamantly. “I shouldn’t have the power to decide who dies when.”
And now?
Well, now, Peter was making a mountain with the growing pile of corpses strewn aside.
“Peter!” Natasha yelled. She rushed to Tony’s side, her eyes not once leaving Peter. “Tony?”
Tony was only able to grunt, weak, quiet.
“BRUCE! We need help here!” Natasha yelled. Not long after, Bruce took him to the Quinjet.
The last thing he saw was Peter, slinging bodies left and right as his suit soaked red with blood, a horrifying, haunting sight.
Peter didn’t even comprehend what was happening.
Tony was dead.
That was all he needed to know. Bodies flew into the air with each hit, blood spluttering all over his suit, dripping into the eyes, partially blocking his vision. Even then, he couldn’t process it. He went on, and on, and on, even when Natasha told him to stop, or Steve held him back. He went on, until he was sure every agent was dead.
Breathing heavily in pants, he straightened up, heading to the Quinjet. Once inside, he ripped his helmet off, and promptly, his knees buckled. His breaths came in gasps now, shallow, quick.
“Peter!” somebody yelled. A man.
But the only thing that concerned Peter was that it wasn’t Tony.
“Peter, breathe,” a woman said, one that Peter immediately recognized as Natasha. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Breathe, маленький паук.”
Peter looked up, shaking. He saw Clint, standing close, and Natasha, kneeling next to him.
“Can I touch you?” Natasha questioned.
Peter nodded, numb.
He flinched slightly as Natasha set a hand on his shoulder, grounding him to reality.
“I killed them,” he said quietly. “I killed.”
“They’re Hydra agents. They had it coming, anyway,” Clint waved off.
Natasha gave him a look that screamed, ‘you’re not helping’.
“That doesn’t make you any less of a good person,” Natasha murmured. “Tony is very dear to you, and you couldn’t handle seeing him hurt. Maybe not the best way to manage the situation, but you helped a lot. While it wasn’t entirely needed, you did what you felt was best. This doesn’t change anything about you.”
“I can’t, I don’t-” Peter huffed out a breath. “I didn’t mean to kill them. I was- I don’t- I’m not sure what happened. But what if it happens again? I couldn’t stop, I- I was scared, Natasha.”
“You can learn to regulate it better,” Clint comforted. “It’s not impossible to control it. You can prevent another incident if you try to put a stop to it early.”
Peter nodded, eyes watering.
“Is Tony…” he trailed off, scared, small.
“He’s alright,” Clint said quickly. “Bruce’s just looking him over now. He took a rough fall, but the suit took the brunt of it.”
Peter let out a deep breath.
“Thank God,” he murmured. “I…”
He trailed off again. He glanced up at Clint, and Natasha, who had just stood up.
“Thank you,” Peter choked out, grateful.
“Always,” Natasha scoffed. She reached out a hand to help Peter stand. He took it with a quiet thanks, then stumbled to his feet, trembling hard enough to prevent him from walking.
“Are you injured?” Clint questioned gently. “Should Bruce-”
“No,” Peter cut him off. “Tony needs him. I don’t.”
“Just because Tony took serious damage doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get checked up too. It’s not a competition of ‘who’s injured worse’, it’s just a matter of medical attention,” Natasha told him firmly.
“Fine,” Peter took a deep breath. “I’ll go and see Bruce.”
“Great,” Clint smiled. “See you, then.”
“Bye.” Peter nodded, glancing between Natasha and Clint.
“Goodbye, маленький паук.”
And so, Peter walked to the medbay of the jet, still trembling with the shock of what had happened, and the relief of Tony’s survival.
“Hey, Dr. Banner,” Peter mumbled, glancing at Bruce. “Um, Nat and Clint wanted me to get looked over. If you’re not busy, of cou-”
“Of course,” Bruce scoffed. “Come here.”
Peter sat on the bed, his gaze drawn to Tony, lying on the other bed. There was an IV in his arm, a drip connected to him. He had bruises strewn across his face, and more disappearing into the blanket over him.
“He’s alright,” Bruce murmured, immediately noticing where Peter was staring.
“Nothing permanent, right?” he asked, an almost desperate tone to his words.
“No,” Bruce shook his head, a small smile tugging on his lips. “He’ll be just fine. Only a bit of rest is needed, which I’m sure Tony would love to comply with.”
Peter let out a choked laugh.
Not long after, Bruce began checking him over, cleaning and bandaging the few cuts across his body, stitching a few of the worst ones. He tended to the bruises and cleaned the blood on Peter’s face and hands.
“This isn’t yours, right?” Bruce asked, slightly worried at the sheer amount of blood. “Or anyone on the team?”
“Yeah, no, it’s from… ya know. The fight. Battle. Whatever.” Peter smiled, albeit forced and a little awkward.
Bruce made no comment, simply nodding and getting another cloth.
“Almost done,” he reassured, wiping the last of the blood.
Peter finally sighed, getting off the bed.
“Thank you so much, Dr. Banner,” he murmured, and Bruce knew he meant more than what he had done for Peter.
“Of course,” Bruce nodded.
Peter stepped out of the medbay, taking a deep breath. It wasn’t long until they landed at the compound.
It took a day for Tony to wake up.
1 day, 24 hours, 1,440 minutes, 86,400 seconds, all of which Peter had sat through by the bedside of Tony’s bed, where they had moved him to the compound’s medbay. Not a moment did he sleep, firmly staying, sitting on a chair.
The moment Tony blinked blearily, vision blurred, Peter shot up in his seat.
“Mr. Stark!” he breathed in relief.
“Peter? Where-” he coughed, cringing at the scratchy feeling of his throat.
“Medbay,” Peter answered immediately. “We’re at the compound.”
“Oh,” Tony replied, as the memories of the battle yesterday flooded his mind. Of the fall. Of Peter.
They sat for a moment in an uncomfortable silence.
“How do you feel?” Peter questioned quietly.
“Like I feel a hundred feet out of the sky,” Tony joked. It fell flat, with Peter flinching, but he sighed. “So.”
“So?”
“So,” Tony agreed. “Are we going to talk about how you went all Terminator on us?”
“I…” Peter trailed off. “I’m sorry.”
“For what? I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just surprised,” Tony backtracked. “It wasn’t very ‘friendly neighborhood’ of you.”
“I know,” Peter said with difficulty.
“And?” Tony tilted his head slightly.
“I just… I thought you were dead,” he said, as though that explained everything.
“So?” Tony asked.
“‘So’?” Peter laughed hysterically, “I was horrified, I was- I couldn’t breathe, Mr. Stark. All that I could think was, great, I lost another person I love! It’s just so fucking typical of me, it’s been happening since I was a baby! First, it was my mom and dad, then it was Uncle Ben! Now?! Now I only have you and Aunt May left, and I can’t handle the mere thought of either of you being hurt!”
Tony’s face fell, a mixture of shock, guilt, and awkward affection, and maybe a bit of hesitant fear.
“Pete-”
“No! You just- you don’t get it! I can’t lose you, Mr. Stark, I can’t!”
“Peter.”
The boy finally stopped, looking up at his mentor with teary eyes.
“I understand,” Tony murmured. “You’re scared, but you shouldn’t be. I’m not going away for a long, long time. It’s okay. You’re okay. Your aunt is alright, I’m alright, we’re all safe. Nothing will happen. I promise.”
“Promise?” The word left his mouth as a sob.
“Yes, I promise, on everything I have. I promise, mio caro,” Tony murmured gently, wincing as he moved his hand to ruffle Peter’s hair. But it was so worth it, as the boy leaned into the touch.
“Thank you,” Peter breathed, choking on the words.
“Of course,” Tony assured him. “No need to thank me.”
“Thank you,” Peter repeated stubbornly.
Tony sighed. “Don’t mention it, caro. Although we need to speak about your sleep schedule and self-sacrificial behavior.”
“Hypocrite,” Peter laughed, his eyes watering with emotion.
“Hush.” Tony murmured, a smile tugging on his lips.
THE END