Right, okay. So here is the slightly more feel-good version of the story. It actually turned out way sadder and darker than I had planned it to be but I still think I'm happy with how it turned out.

In truth, I hadn't really planned for this to have so many Iron-Dad moments in it but hey, it's a bit late to change it now :3

The [ Best ] Out Of All Of Us

"Are you kidding? You took a bullet without even hesitating.
When you grow up, you're going to be the best out of all of us."

- Steve Rogers to Peter Parker
The Ultimate Spider-Man

He is standing with a man's life strung between his fingers like a broken puppet.

It's an odd feeling, and not one that Peter Parker particularly likes. It's kind of like he's standing on the edge of a precipice with only two choices: to fall or to jump.

Peter has no doubt that, had the situation been any different, he wouldn't have had any choice to begin with. The very idea of killing someone- just wilfully snapping a person's neck in two- was sickening. What kind of a person would get any kind of enjoyment out of that? Certainly not Peter, but he supposed that therein lied the issue.

It was exactly this conundrum- to kill or not to kill- which had led to this very moment, standing amongst the rubble of New York City (courtesy of the Hulk himself), bruised and bloodied with Thaddeus Ross quivering in his numb grasp.

Honestly, Peter's still not even sure how he got here.

What he does remember is this: flashes of a bullet-enraged Hulk, the whistle of the wind and bullets in his ear, and the breaking voice of a man with nothing else to lose. Then, the blinding panic as he watched a little girl nearly get trampled in the frenzy. The numb horror as a teenage boy no older than himself disappeared in a cloud of blood and dust and smoke with a scream. The red-hot rage as he watched a frail, older man get carted off in an ambulance, a young woman screaming and wailing as the red- that horrifying red- soaked through the front of her shredded shirt.

The next thing he'd known, he had darted across the square- faster than even he knew he could move- and snatched up the man responsible. His fingers wrapped around that coarse throat, pinning the man to the air where his feet kicked and jerked helplessly.

And this was now where he found himself, thoughts a blur and breath rattling in his chest. Just the very thought of the whole event sends another wave of righteous anger rattling through him. It's so unnatural to him; so sudden and so powerful that he feels the world teeter under his feet a little.

He almost makes his choice right then and there, but something stops him just in time. There is a tiny nugget of doubt gnawing at his chest- a small sliver of indecision.

For a very short moment, he can hear the echo of a soft rumble in his ear and the phantom pressure of a calloused hand on his shoulder. The distant smell of timber and aftershave washes over him and suddenly Peter isn't alone anymore. There is a ghostly weight against his shoulder but he doesn't turn to see what he knows won't be there. Instead, he relaxes into the familiar memory of that warm embrace with his eyes burning under his mask.

Ben. Ben wouldn't want this. Ben would never agree with something like this.

And suddenly, just like that, Peter knows what he has to do.

Heat bursting in his ears, Spider-Man lets the squirming body slip from between his fingers like quick sand, the sudden sound of retched gasping echoing in his ears. The man crashes to the ground in a rasping heap, hands wrapped around his throat in short-breathed desperation.

It's almost like the world can breathe again.

Peter lets out a soft gasp, shrinking in on himself as, all at once, the crowd seems to breath a sigh of relief. Sound bursts back into life in his ears in a deafening buzz of lights and shouts and sirens as the scene rushes back to him. All at once, the numbness that has slowly been creeping through him vanishes and suddenly he can feel again; nausea, nervousness, disgust, fear.

No. Not now.

He clenches his eyes shut and wills the dizziness away, trying desperately to keep his breathing under control as the warmth from the camera lights flushes across his skin. Okay, Peter, this is not time for a freakout. Freakout about possible murder charges later, web-up criminal now.

A shaky rasp grabs his attention and his head whips round to stare at the man still sprawled across the ground. Ross' breathing sounds hoarse as he tries to pull himself to his feet, eyes darting and muscles tensing at every flashing light and furious jeer thrown his way. In it's own way, the sight is sadly pitiful, only made worse by the way the man tries to crawl away through the rubble.

Peter sighs shakily through his nose and fires a single net of webbing towards the whimpering man, fastening him to the ground in a shaking, huffing pile. The man, much to Peter's utter relief, doesn't so much as mutter a word.

It's over. We did it.

Spider-Man stares down at the restrained director, a little lost for words.

Usually, this would be where he sends the villain off with some kind of witty quip and a joke. Today he just can't seem to find it in him so instead, he simply shakes his head and turns away, leaving the man slumped in a pitiful pile of with his face rubbing into the dirt. Peter knows he shouldn't really, but he feels almost satisfied as he steps over the prone figure and makes to move forwards. Then he looks up and suddenly any semblance of sweet relief is instantly drained away.

The sight that greets him across the wreckage is exactly the one he has been dreading. The Avengers are gathered behind him, all in various states of pain and exhaustion as they pull themselves through the wreckage. They don't look relieved, but rather resigned as they lift themselves to their collective feet, leaning on each other for support and grasping at stray helping hands. They murmur words of comfort, trading sympathetic looks and bearing ragged smiles.

A part of him wants to help too. A part of him wants to be able to stand up with them and say, proudly: "I fought with the Avengers. I helped save the day." The rest of him can't stand the thought. Instead, he watches awkwardly from the sidelines, nursing his wounds as they each survey the damage that's been caused.

Peter gives another shaky sigh. He knows he should probably take this chance and web himself away but he can't find the energy to do it. Instead, he slumps down on a piece of nearby rubble, tracing the jagged lines of his web-shooters and trying to ignore the burning behind his eyes.

It takes a while for them to notice.

They glance at him with wariness and caution, as if unsure of whether they should approach him or not. Peter sees Mr Stark exchanging words with Captain America, both gesturing to where he's sat. They both look disturbingly serious and- dare he say it- ashamed.

Oh, right. I almost killed someone. The mutant teenager winces and curls in on himself a little, determinedly fixing his gaze on his fiddling fingers. Yeah, well, it's not like he hadn't been expecting it.

The sudden sound of clicking mechanical parts draws his attention away from his lap and he starts nervously, glancing up to meet the white, empty gaze of Iron Man from across the square. Steve and Tony have finished talking, it seems. The former has bustled away to check on the others, still serious; the latter is still standing there, fists clenched and head cocked.

There is a beat or two as the older hero considers him and then suddenly, Tony is heading his way. Spider-Man flinches back as the metal man strides towards him, scuffed face-plate retracting to reveal a face streaked with blood and blossoming bruises. The man's eyes are muddied and grey, clouded with emotion.

"M-Mr Stark... I-" Peter stutters and then stops. He doesn't quite know what to say. Mouth dry, he looks down, fiddling with the ends of his fingers and pulling at the fabric of his suit. A suit, he reminds himself, that may belong to Spider-Man in name, but belongs to Tony Stark in reality.

The billionaire, for what seems like the first time ever, doesn't speak a word. Instead, he makes to move forward, stepping over the rubble in a rigid daze, part exhaustion, part concern and expression raw and open with something that Peter doesn't recognise.

"Kid... Are you okay?" Tony sounds... unsure, perhaps even worried as he takes in Peter's scraggled form. For a second his eyes seem to snap to the prone figure lying a few feet away and Peter stiffens involuntarily.

Peter's mouth feels painfully dry.

"U, yeah... I-I think... Yeah, I'm fine." It sounds more like he's trying to convince himself than Tony. The billionaire picks up on it almost instantly.

"You don't sound so sure there, webs."

"I..." Peter swallows. "I'm fine, Mr Stark. Really."

There is a short silence wherein the two gaze at each other in both defiance and frustration, both wanting to speak but neither knowing how to break the silence.

It is a strange relationship, Peter thinks blandly- the one between him and his mentor. It was built on crumbling bonds of insecurity and regret, frustration and awe, but it had somehow blossomed into something more than that. Familial, maybe. Maybe that's why the older man suddenly seems so concerned.

Tony- all sympathy and bitter understanding- shakes his head. His eyes, which were once so alight with embers, now seem empty and drained. The shadows across his face make him look so much older than before.

"You know, kid," he says slowly, "I know I'm kinda crap at all this... feeling stuff and all, but..." He runs a jagged hand through his greasy hair, " You can tell me if you're not okay." Peter stills, unsure of how to react as his hero suddenly kneels in the dirt, the suit whirring and clicking mechanically on the way down. Tony is on his level now and Peter can no longer avoid his knowing gaze.

He knows that he should be fine. He knows that he should just brush the whole thing off; smile and laugh like he normally does. He knows that he should just stand tall and walk off with the Avengers, always ready to fight the next battle, always ready to put his life on the line but something feels wrong. Can he really do this, after all?

He doesn't quite know when the panic sets in. The wave hits him like a brick wall, sending the breath rushing out of him in one foul sweep. God, he's scared. He is so damn scared and in this moment he's not Spider-Man, but Peter Parker, the teenager who is way in over his head.

He knows that this is just the start- that it can only get worse from here. He knows that one day he is going to face someone who is going to be so much stronger than him. He knows that one day, he is going to make a mistake. He won't be fast enough or smart enough or strong enough and someone is going to end up getting hurt. There will be a day where he makes a wrong decision and he will have to pay the price and he knows that. It happens to all heroes in the end. God, he's just so damn scared.

Below him, the billionaire bites his lip and Peter can see his eyes darting back and forth in furious debate with himself. Eventually, after a few moments of awkward, silent mouth opening, the older man gives a low grumble of frustration. Peter blanches.

"Mr St-"

The next thing Peter knows is that a pair of steady, iron arms have yanked him from his seat and are wrapping around him, a weighty chin dropping heavily atop his head and holding him in place.

It takes the teenager a few surprised seconds to realise that his idol is actually hugging him. Tony Stark is hugging him. It's a little awkward maybe- perhaps a little embarrassing considering who they are and where they are- but neither seem to care. Suddenly Peter finds himself shaking. Mr Stark is solid and warm- a pillar of sorts, even as the older man himself trembles imperceptibly beneath the weight of his iron armour.

"M-Mr S-Stark-"

The arm around his shoulders tighten as a metal-encased hand pulls his head down into a warm, solid chest. Peter doesn't know why the genius is reacting like this. Last time he checked, Mr Stark didn't really do the 'hug thing'- in fact, the billionaire seemed to perpetually hate all kinds of human contact- but Peter's not about to complain. Right now, he needs something to keep him grounded. He thinks Tony knows that all too well.

"I..." Peter doesn't know how to say it at first. "I almost killed him, Mr Stark."

He feels the billionaire take a deep, shuddering breath. "Yeah."

"I could have been a murderer, Mr Stark."

"Yeah, kid. I know..."

"What... What would have happened if-"

The older man shushes him, squishing into to his chest as if to shelter him from the crowd of prying eyes. It seems to work because the next thing Peter knows is that he's unconsciously relaxing into the warm, iron embrace, still fighting the shivers on his skin. When the trembling stops, Mr Stark draws back a little slowly, frown still prominent on his face.

"Sorry. You okay now?" The genius' gaze is questioning but not unkind so Peter gives a half-hearted shrug and what he hopes is a passable smile.

"...'m fine, Mr Stark. Just, uh... tired."

Again the billionaire softens a little, sympathy and understanding written on his face. He gives a hoarse chuckle, one that sounds broken and hollow compared to the usual sarcastic snorts he gives. "Yeah, kid. You said it."

His gaze shifts then, landing on the motionless, web-bound form that is still lying at their feet. With an almost lazy snarl, he waves over a couple of wary-looking police officers before gesturing slackly to the criminal, eyes like molten steel.

"Tie him up, lock him away, dump him in the Raft- we don't care. Just get rid of him." The officers don't even get the chance to agree before Tony is turning away again, one arm slung across Peter's shoulders. "C'mon, kid."

The command is soft but leaves no room for argument and is followed by a solid, comforting pat on the small of Peter's back as the iron guardian leads him away. They ignore the shouts and the cries that follow them as they go, neither looking back to see the destruction that they're leaving behind.

It's a little confusing, Peter thinks as they traipse through the dirt. This... was not at all the reaction that he had been expecting. Concern, maybe. Chastisement, definitely. Disapproval, disgust, dislike- all of those were possibilities. But this? This complete and utter nonchalance? This was kind of the other extreme.

He and Tony are approaching the others now and it's clear, even from where Peter stands, that they are not happy. Almost instantly, the fight-or-flight nerves are back and he feels himself stutter to a stop, muscles tense with caution.

Peter steps back, "They, uh, still look kinda mad, Mr Stark. Maybe its better if I just go-"

The billionaire shoots him a look and then sighs, rubbing at the back of his head. "They're not mad at you, kid. Probably more impressed than anything, actually. Trust me, you haven't done anything wrong. Besides, why would they be mad at you what with our little webbed-up friend over there."

Peter, unconvinced but too tired to argue, allows himself to be dragged off, looking awkwardly at the ground as they finally approach the others. He can already feel their eyes on him, prying into his skin and trying to see past the obnoxious gaudiness of his costume. He knows that they can't, but it still feels as though they can see right through him.

He looks up. Tired eyes and worn expressions look back, too dull and too empty to be considered as welcoming. He almost feels like he's intruding on something important and goes to back away, but a heavy hand on his back holds him in place.

Tony manages to roll his eyes but his usual holier-than-thou attitude falls flat.

"Well, go on then, spider-boy. Time to say 'hello'." He pushes Peter forwards and the teenager stumbles into the fold, gaze lowered shamefully.

He feels their eyes on him but doesn't know what to do. What can he say to Earth's mightiest heroes? What is there to say? He's not quite sure what is his place is in all this. They don't even know who he is.

Then slowly, silently, as if not sure quite how, the other Avengers converge on them.

Clint slaps him on the back, Sam gives a slow nod, and Bucky considers him quietly before giving his shoulder am awkward pat. The Ant-Man doesn't seem to have much to say but instead smiles wanly, giving a helpless shrug of his shoulders. Thor's ever present-grin is worn and relieved but there all the same, an odd contrast to Doctor Strange's dark, contemplative eyes.

When Scarlet Witches's fingers graze his arm, he feels himself start to breathe again. Red sparks of warm relief and comfort tickle his skin. Vision does not approach but stands close at Wanda's side, watching him with something akin to sympathy. Then the couple retreat into themselves, backing away to the sidelines where they take comfort in each other

Not one of them speaks a word.

Peter understands. They still don't know him all that well. They don't really know the person under the mask, and they certainly don't know if they can trust him yet. Honestly, he kind of admires them for their acceptance.

A touch on his shoulder draws his attention and he turns. The Black Widow is standing there, a winded Bruce Banner still leaning heavily against her. She doesn't seem to notice the extra weight and instead simply stares at Peter, cold and calculating, as if she doesn't quite know what to make of him. Peter's not sure if he likes that look- she is the Black Widow, after all.

But then to his surprise she tilts her head, something like approval morphing her lips into the rare ghost of a smirk. "Not bad, Spider-Kid. You did good today."

Peter is a little taken aback and blinks at her blankly. Normally, he would have been jumping for joy over the fact that the Black Widow knows he is. Instead, he's more confused than anything. He's not quite sure what he did that was so worth her sudden approval (he almost killed someone), but he can't find it in himself to question it.

When Captain America finally steps forward, he doesn't say anything. He doesn't really have to. Instead, the super soldier takes his large, warm hands and places them on Peter's shoulders. His eyes are aged with understanding and he gives Peter a worn smile before yet again turning to check on the rest of his worn and wounded teammates.

Peter, taken aback, watches after him in befuddled silence. His gaze is drawn to his mentor as the metal man sidles up to him and places a careful arm around his shoulders. The greying genius sends him a strained smirk, eyes still trained on the retreating Captain's back.

"Told you." He mutters smugly and then he is gone again, trading unsteady looks and tired grimaces with his old teammates as they shuffle and stagger away.

At first, Peter watches after them in timid silence, unsure if he should follow. Then after a few moments of quiet deliberation, he makes to move forward, suddenly very away of the many cuts and aches that plague his body. Something though- a little nudge at the back of his brain- stops him halfway.

He turns back.

The city centre has been almost utterly wrecked. Light fixtures dangle from dented, crooked streetlights, showering the rubble with sparks and igniting tiny fires in the dirt. The shop windows lining the streets have all been warped and shattered as if a Hulk has been smashed into them repeatedly. Black smoke leaks from between the shops' smashed shelves, ashy bricks crumbling from the walls and spilling into the debris.

The police lights dance off the shattered glass that is smattered across the broken sidewalk like bloodied glitter. Thaddeus Ross is being lead away, unnervingly still and silent as the police load him into the back of a bruised and battered cop car.

Beyond that, Peter can see the flimsy lines of black and yellow that keep the horrified crowds at bay, ash-covered reporters and pale-faced civilians leaking across the scene like blood from a mottling wound. Save for the occasional child screaming for their parents and the crackling of the dying flames, everything is eerily silent.

For what seems like forever, the young hero surveys the destruction with weary eyes.

Is this what it is to be a superhero? He thinks bitterly, watching as yet another ambulance screams it's way past. Is this what it responsibility is?

"Hey, Spider-Man."

The masked hero turns.

The Avengers are staring at him, broken, bruised and bloody but still standing tall. He expects them to be disgusted with him. He expects them to be disappointed, or angry, or scared, or ashamed maybe but there's none of that. Only sad understanding.

(Sometimes Peter forgets that Captain America has killed people too. Sometimes he forgets that Natasha isn't called the Black Widow for nothing, and that Bucky was one of the most feared assassins in the world. Sometimes he forgets that Tony made a fortune off of nuclear weapons, and that Wanda became an experiment for the sole purpose of revenge. Sometimes he forgets that Scott was a criminal, that Sam was a soldier, that Clint was an assassin.)

(It's so easy to forget that the Avengers weren't always the good guys.)

Captain America doesn't quite smile. In fact, it's more of a grimace than anything, spelt with exhaustion and long-since tempered rage. When he speaks, he nearly sounds hollow- almost sad, but none of his sympathy is spared for the captured, snivelling man laying at Peter's fact.

"Let's go home," says the living legend.

Peter doesn't bother trying to tell him how his 'home' is back there in the crowd, watching with blue eyes and white-chapped lips. He doesn't bother saying that 'home' is in the fragile arms of his pepper-haired aunt and the ghostly embrace of a man who'd been gone for long time. He doesn't tell him that he doesn't deserve a home anymore.

Instead, he looks to the war-torn avengers and their age-old responsibilities with weary, determined eyes. Their is no lie in their gaze. No deception or doubt, only caution. He knows now that their wary silence isn't one of disgust. They are trying to give him a choice. They are warning him- warning him that if he chooses to keep going, there will be no turning back.

For a long moment, he looks at the torn and bloody symbols of peace- his long-time idols and role-models- and sees them only for what they are. He looks at his comrades, his teammates, the people he knows he can trust with his life, and finally thinks that maybe- not now but one day- they might just be 'home' to him too.

And so, Spider-Man gives a sigh and lets the weight of the world roll off his shoulders.

"Yeah, okay."

And... fini~

Ah, it feels so good to get it out of my system. Yeah, it's not perfect and I'm definitely gonna be doing tons of editing over the next few weeks, but I'm still kinda proud of it :D

Anyway, thank you very much for reading and I hope you've enjoyed this quick little two-shot!

See you around,

Pixel