Er.

Late. Very late. But I'm still alive, and so is this fiction, I promise ;)

Big thanks to my betareader, she's wonderful.

Enjoy!

"FBI! Hands up!" Voices shouted all around him, making Spider-Man step back under the surprise as doors snapped open and guns were aiming at him.

"What?!"

Why was the FBI here? Who had called them?

Peter huffed loudly at this unforeseen interruption. There was too much for him to take care of alone, so the teen begrudgingly lifted both of his gloved hands in evidence at the agents' sight. Today was not the day he would end turned into a colander.

For a brief moment, he considered the option of jumping into the water and swimming back to the shore. It wasn't as if he could surrender, after all — compliance with the FBI would only lead him to reveal his identity, no matter if Peter wanted it or not. But, then, he remembered that there was another problem among them, the one which drove the vigilant here in the first place.

A winged problem.

The blue, cold eyes were gone and now substituted with two dangerous and glowing green eyes. Peter hesitantly took another step back when he saw the large mechanical wings that caused sparkes each time the metal feathers collided with the cars, the walls, or the floor. However, above all, he feared the purple-bright weapon the man was holding as he flew forward, right toward Spider-Man and the FBI agents who started to shoot after some warnings.

Of course, bullets were as useful as a single glass filled with water for an entire burning forest.

"Move, move, move, idiots!"

Peter didn't hesitate to shove and kick some of the men out of the way —they could deal with bruises, unlike death — before jumping back high ward to save his own life when the criminal darted just beside him after having thrown a whole car at them with his sharp talons.

"What the hell are you?!" Spider-Man yelled at the winged guy, crawling in a defensive posture on the Ferry walls.

Vaguely, Peter remembered Aaron Davis mentioning a ferrous demon earlier. Now, he could put a pretty clear image on this strange description, and he knew he couldn't have described this winged thing in a better way. Whatever, or whoever this was, Peter could feel eerie vibes pricking the back of his neck.

"It's a surprise to meet you here, Spider-Man!" He heard the man shout back — he guessed a smile through his tone. "Now, I thought you were more the type to rescue trapped cats in trees!" Then, without any warning, he shot a blast of energy at the vigilante who dodged it with a graceful flip. "Let me tell you this once: the only trapped cat here is you, and everyone else who tries their luck by interfering in my business! You aren't up for this, so clear off while you still have time for this!"

The teen grumbled under his mask, observing for a short instant his new enemy flying threateningly above him.

So, this man was the origin of all those deals. And he finally found him.

Peter grinned.

It looked like he had an interesting challenge right before him, after all. And Peter was willingly about to accept it, to take up this thrilling challenge and fight with all of his cells' energy. His whole body was ready for this, wrapped with mixed feelings such as fear and excitement while the teen was still gazing at his adversary. A real fight was coming up. Nothing similar Peter had gone through along his short vigilante life, with mere robbers and bullies. This time, right here and right now, Peter would fight a real villain — the first one, his first one. If he wasn't ready, then he would never be.

Then, the confrontation began.

Peter already knew his chances were in hand-to-hand combat. He couldn't do much except dodging with an arsenal of figures against the criminal's weapon as it fired energy blasts toward him. Witnessing how the metal was melting down and being perforated under the temperature of every shot which hit the ferry's lower ground, Peter opted to gain height, as far as possible from the civilians and FBI agents — only one person had to die, and it would either be himself or this vulture guy.

"Hey! Get down, you coward!" Spider-Man said accusingly.

His webs were not strong enough to restrain the man and his technology; every time Peter managed to shoot a web at one of his wings, or his chest, it was cut the very next instant after a brief struggle.

"I'd rather not!" A snicker answered him.

Peter grunted, feeling powerless. If he couldn't even touch the man, or force him down with his webs, what was he supposed to do? The flying guy had the advantage on his side, and he was making great profits of it. Though, Peter hadn't said his last words, yet. He lifted his right hand and shot a first time at the glimmering weapon with his web-shooters — the web made a sizzling sound when it encountered the weapon, and fell the next instant after having lost its grip once burned from the metal surface.

"Damn..." he mumbled for himself.

The wings' hum became louder as the criminal approached the Ferry, seeking for a better angle to get others shots on the young vigilante. Peter deciphered his plan quickly enough to move away from his position, and he kept swinging this way for the following minute, playing with his adversary's patience until he could eventually find any weakness or opportunity to strike back. But since this opportunity never showed up, Peter finally tempted to shoot new strings of web at the man. For now, his principal problem was the weapon. He could never win this way, not when he could get atomized at any moment.

After a few tries, Peter made a mental note — if his webs weren't enough, then maybe he could try to use them more. In default of quality, the teen still got quantity.

First, he heard the man curse as he shot new webs at his chest, particularly at his weapon until he could have a stronghold on it, then Peter let out a surprised gasp when he got yanked away from the boat's wall whilst the criminal built some distance by flying higher. None of them was ready to give up the hold — Peter on the weapon, and the crime boss on Spider-Man's webs.

For the teenager, it was either he let go and fall into the water, or he kept holding on, taking the risk of being shot and tried to steal his enemy's weapon.

Since his young reckless spirit hadn't faded yet, his decision was pretty fast taken. There was no way he could concede anything to this guy, not as long he was breathing. So he started to clamber up along the last string of web he had aimed at his opponent's chest, ready to start the real part of the fight when he would encounter the man's level. Though, this time it was at the criminal's turn to guess through Peter's plans. And, of course, he didn't let it happen.

Spider-Man stiffened when he saw the wings shifting. He barely had enough time to realize what was on the man's mind when the feathers cut in a firm gesture on the web, which made the vigilante lose his hold and then made him fall toward the water under him. Maybe he shouldn't have got that distance away from the ferry, else maybe he could have managed to swing on it instead of getting immersed into the sea.

His hooded head was the first to resurface as he coughed out some salty water from his throat as much as he could despite the tissue against his mouth, whipping widely his limbs around him as he searched for the boat where he could eventually find refuge. Just when he took sight of it, at maybe forty meters away, something clenched sharply against both of his biceps and pushed him back into the water. Peter's primal instincts were to scream. Scream and breath, fighting the harsh pain rising into his arms and fighting the agonizing lack of oxygen.

The vision of a cloud made with his blood dispersing among bubbles, which was exiting his lips, worked on Peter as an adrenaline syringe. He used all of his strength left to bend his arms and reach for both of the man's ankles, just above his shoulders. When he grabbed them, he felt the talons unwrapping from his biceps, also as the struggles that the criminal made in an attempt to free his legs from the vigilante's hands.

Oh, no... you're not going anywhere.

Despite running out of oxygen, Peter could still resist longer underwater than normal humans. And there was his advantage right now.

Tightening his grip at his opponent's legs, Peter focused on the surface sounds and cast a glance upward. The vulture guy looked almost desperate, considering all the buzzing energy Spider-Man could hear and feel in the mechanical wings. He hypothesised that his suit was not waterproof, which let this guy only have two options: take the risk to let Spider-Man drag him into the water, or find another way to get rid of him once he would have taken safe altitude.

The Vulture guy — Peter decided to name — kept trying to drown the vigilante for a few seconds, before finally flying high ward, accepting begrudgingly the younger's hold on his ankles. However, as soon as they were far enough from the sea level, the criminal didn't hesitate to use his keen talons against Spider-Man, his weapon still being stuck against his chest and left arm because of the webs which were slowly dissolving and burning, to Peter's displeasure. It didn't allow him much time left.

"Thanks for the shower!" The vigilante spat bitterly, hissing when he stopped a talons attack with his bare hand, leading inevitably to bad cuts at his fingers. "Wouldn't mind putting me down now?"

No answer, just several grunts. Peter smirked nevertheless when he finally got to hit the man's head with his elbow. His only goal was to break the bird's wings and put him in a cage.

During the punches fight, the teen received some impressive hits — the suit gave the man superhuman strength too — though Peter remained the superior fighter. He could have won, if the heavy weapon between their bodies hadn't begun to vibrate and emit hot smoke, obliging Spider-Man to flinch back. The Vulture guy jumped on this chance and shoved the vigilante violently away from him. Peter, losing his balance, let go. Fortunately for the teen, the Ferry was to his webs reach, thus he only had to swing before landing on the Ferry, sighing with relief when his feet encountered a solid ground. It was much better than drowning.

Hearing a low bump behind him, Peter wheeled around and frowned when he spotted the Vulture's weapon, still quivering and glowing brighter and brighter.

"It was fascinating!" The criminal boasted, seeming to take distance as he spoke. "I think we'll meet again, Spider-Man. Oh, and allow me to offer you this gift before I leave!" He waved at the weapon with a dark chuckle. "Never interfere with my business again."

Peter's blood ran cold when he understood that the criminal was getting away. His first real fight, his first villain was slipping through his fingers, and he somehow knew there wasn't anything he could do to stop it.

His mission had failed.

Screaming his rage as the man disappeared from his sight, something caught the vigilante's attention near him; without thinking, he stepped back and frowned down at the tremoring weapon. Webs must have damaged it, for what Peter could say. But if it explained why the Vulture had left it there, it didn't give Spider-Man the slightest clue about what he should do to turn off this alien device before anything could happen. And something bad would happen sooner than expected, Peter was aware of this thanks to his spider senses.

Though, he never suspected the whole boat to be split into two founding parts in less than one minute.

He had tried. He had tried everything, and anything. And he found Spider-Man's limits when the ferry was still slowly sinking into the water whilst he was striving to hold both of its parted sides, until a miracle would eventually happen, praying he could hold long enough for coastal security to come to help the civilians onboard.

The miracle happened — arrived, saving the day — as usual.

"Hey, Spider-Man," Iron-Man greeted.

At first stunned by his uncle's appearance, torn between a deep frustration and a huge relief, Peter decided finally to rejoice in the prospect of no one dying because of his weakness and mistakes. Tony, here, now, was both the worst and the best thing that could have happened.

"Mr. Stark!" Peter called out, following the avenger as he was soldering back the ferry.

He froze when Iron Man simply turned toward him and shot a blast at his feet; Peter dodged it with a quick jump and then glared at Tony accusingly. "What the hell?"

Another blast. This time, the teen jumped farther, building a wide gap between them as a security, though Iron Man was already gone before he could even say anything. Confusion started to invade the younger thoughts when he noticed that the places which had been touched by the blasts were barely burned, just as if they weren't meant to hurt in the first place. Tony didn't even try to hurt him, the proof being the fact that the man kept shooting randomly at him each time Spider-Man sneaked in his sight, but Peter dodged every time without real effort in his moves.

This strange game lasted about ten minutes, with Tony consolidating weak structures while firing time to time at the Queens' vigilante, and Spider-Man kept following the avenger, waiting for an opportunity to help and show how much he could be useful.

Eventually, Iron Man glanced at him, a few meters above. "Last time we met, I told you that if I found out anything which could connect the dots between you and my son's assault, I'd kill you. How do you think it looks to see you and your ugly pyjamas around here, kicking FBI's agents' ass?" He aimed a repulsor at Spider-Man. "'Not mentioning the people you almost got killed, and this poor Titanic remake."

Peter swallowed, feeling his limbs stiffening.

"It wasn't me..." He breathed, clenching his fists. "I was here to… help."

"Well, remind me to never let you help me, then," Tony responded with a harsh tone, obviously irritated with the situation.

Peter tried to not flinch back at the comment.

"Are you gonna kill me?"

He had fluid left, maybe he could stand up to his uncle one more time. There was no need to beat about the bush, anyway. They were on a boat, and Iron Man had the technology required to track him down no matter where he could try to hide. He knew it was nothing else than a hopeless fight, dooming him to a unique end, though he was ready to lose with dignity.

There was a long tense silence, where Iron Man just stared at him, and then the man finally answered. "You saved my son."

Yes, he did. Nevertheless, he didn't expect Iron Man to spare him despite what he had done, although he still had hints of hope inside of him. Maybe it would be his ticket to scoot off without additional injury.

"You're going to sign the Accords."

The teen grimaced under his mask. "I think not, thanks, though."

"Wasn't a proposition."

"I know. I just figured that I'm not in the position to say 'fuck you', so, I play the polite card. Did it work? Does it work?"

He heard Iron Man sighed, his shoulders slightly slouching down. "Listen, Underoos. There are things with which you can't mess around, or ignore. If it doesn't end today, it'll end pretty soon in the future, in a way you won't be able to control, I am not the bad guy in this shitty story. Trust me, I'm doing you a favour. All you need to do in exchange is surrender without causing a flap."

"I'm Spider-Man." The vigilante said in a firm tone, straightening up. "I'm not complying with anything, or with anyone's stupid law!"

He would have spit on the floor if there wasn't his hood. Standing still was hard though, now that his energy and adrenaline were beginning to fade. Peter could feel the laceration on both of his biceps burning with pain, especially with his sleeves soaked with salty water from his earlier swim. His jaw jolted angrily when Peter thought about the one who had done that to him — said one who wasn't there anymore.

"Why are we even talking about it?!" Spider-Man scolded. "I found the boss! The Vulture guy!" He swore he could have felt his uncle raise an eyebrow, even though he was wearing the Iron Man's helmet. "I found the fucking seller! And he... he just flew away!"

Tony didn't move, which led Peter to throw his arms in the airs.

"Oh, c'mon! Try something, go after him, do your work for once!"

"Yeah, I agree with this. You're under arrest—"

"Is that a joke?" Peter cut dryly, stepping back.

"Depends on you."

"I almost stopped him!"

"You said it all, Underoos: 'almost'. And 'almost' isn't enough for me. Whatever you've tried, you've failed! Maybe you do not care about your ways, but I do, especially when you almost kill everyone on this boat! Lucky for you, there isn't any death, but what you would have done otherwise? Huh?! Oh, I forgot: you don't care, Mr. Perfect Vigilante."

Despite all the hatred that was in his hammering heart, Peter barked a bitter laugh. "I can't believe Iron-Man is lecturing me! Jesus, this is so fucked up..." He began to pace furiously, soothing his wired nerves while keeping playing again and again his uncle's incredibly ironic speech into his mind.

"You aren't up to it, Spider-Man. You should start to think about it, while you still can. You're alone, with no one on your side, and with all of your enemies on the others. The solo life won't last long. Even if I let you go today."

Peter's head rose so quickly that he could have almost heard a crack into his neck.

"You're letting me go?"

He internally cursed himself for his voice sweating with hope.

The billionaire gestured negatively with his hand. "No. That's not what I'm saying."

Feeling a little more confused the young vigilante tilted his head to the left, waiting for a clarification or some explanation. Though, since as far as he could sense he didn't feel any threat coming from his uncle, Peter didn't put himself in a defensive posture. It was all in Tony's hand.

"What I am saying though, is that the rescue service ships will be there in two minutes top and that if you and you're ugly pyjama's are still on this damn boat after the next five minutes, then I'll drag you personally at our dear secretary Ross's feet before you could even say 'Shazam'. Now, are you moving away from my sight or should I give you a hand for this?"

Peter stumbled back as he heard the familiar sound of Iron Man's hands repulsors charging up with energy. Before he could say anything in turn, the man was already gone and out of sight, probably seeking for any soul in distress, thus leaving Spider-Man alone as the ships were mooring the closest possible from the Ferry to rescue the passengers.

.

In the chronicle of all the bad, reckless, and dumb choices Peter had made through his strange life, he could easily say that this decision had been really — really — both brilliant and foolish. And if it was too late for regrets, he nevertheless had a lot of them.

The tension in the room was highly charged. Toxic.

And the only thing he could do against it was to wriggle on the couch, fighting the urge to make a sprint to his room just to escape the stifling atmosphere he couldn't stand anymore.

Peter wasn't sure exactly if he was more disturbed by this horrible tobacco smell embedded within his clothes and its taste on his tongue, or by his uncle's cold stare. Gulping dryly, the teen dared a glance up, crossing Tony's eyes for a second before breaking the next instant of contact. Briefly, he wondered if this awkward nightmare would end eventually; it was just as if his uncle knew how much the silence was killing him. Perhaps it was the goal, all things considered. Peter had sworn that Tony could have strangled him to death by the simple fact of F.R.I.D.A.Y. 's tensed voice which she had used to alert the teen about his uncle's arrival at the penthouse, and his request for his nephew to get in the living room. Neither Pepper nor Happy were around to help him. So it was just both of them.

Spider-Man had faced Iron Man, and now Peter had to face Tony.

However, Peter was more scared for his confrontation than his alter-ego had been. This time, webs couldn't save him.

"So," the billionaire finally started in a surprisingly calm pace — almost melodic. "Would you bother to explain to me... why? Where? How? I don't know, Peter, but give me something to work on here, because I'm pretty sure I'm running out of brain fuel with you."

Maybe having drunk all this alcohol were a bad idea in the aftermaths, Peter thought again. And having smoked too. But, at least, it was doing its job, which was procuring him the perfect alibi to justify a lot of things, starting with the fact he had once more hacked his phone and his watch. When Tony suddenly slammed his fist on the coffee table, the loud bump caused the teen to flinch back and lose the small smile he hadn't noticed until this moment.

"DAMMIT PETER!" Tony snarled, expressing openly his vehement anger at his nephew.

Peter felt like he was trying to shrink until he could sink into the oblivion, or allowing the couch to swallow him wholly. It would have been nice. Nicer than confronting Tony who was seething and glaring right at him. Was he even blinking, sometimes? Peter didn't verify this theory. He kept his head low so that he could still observe Tony out of the corner of his eyes, and bit pensively his tongue, knowing that in a way or another, he would have to go through this argument with his uncle.

"I had this little voice in my head, earlier, which whispered to me how much this day would be a pain in the ass, so I just braced myself up 'cause I was okay and ready with my original plans. And then, I have on one hand a failing operation, and a runaway drunk teenager on the other hand!"

"I'm not a runaway—"

"Zip it! You've done and said enough!"

"But I didn't say anything yet!" Peter weakly countered.

"Which is far enough for you, young man! Fuck..." The man pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did I just say 'young man'? Great, I look like my father now."

While a part of him wanted to accept the situation and the lecture, another part of Peter grunted inside of him, offended. His meeting with the Vulture was still haunting his mind, such as the wounds under his clothes. Thankfully, none of them was bleeding. Though, his defeat remained a bitter pill to swallow. Peter mused about it endlessly and restlessly, torturing his brain with hypothetical thoughts about how the fight could have ended if only he had acted differently. He was being unfairly yelled at while those criminals were free. Free to hurt people. Frustration grew up, but the teenager refused to argue back, especially when it was useless. As a poor consolation, he reminded himself that having Tony believing that his nephew was a reckless and annoying kid was a good thing. Hell, he hadn't drunk and smoked like crazy in a dirty alley before returning home for nothing, after all. Peter was surprised he hadn't thrown up yet — not because of the alcohol, which was being inhumanly quickly digested, but once again because of tobacco's displeasing smell and taste.

A snap near his face made him focus back on his uncle.

"Hey, you heard me?! Pay attention!"

Peter dug his back deeper into the couch, burying his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, I'm listening... how someone could even not hear you, huh?"

"Oh, it's the sass Peter now?" Tony smiled without a hint of sympathy. "Harley's better at this game, find your weapons."

"You're overreacting!" The teen whined. "If you can yell and point at me, then it means I'm alive! Isn't it a good start?!"

Tony's dark eyes flashed with a peeved and offended spark as his nostrils widened when he inhaled shortly, taking his nephew's reproach. Peter squirmed again as if it could save him from his uncle's gaze which was settling the tone between them. Tony looked truly up in arms.

"'Overreacting'?!" He leaned down, seeking for the younger's eyes. "Well, if 'overreacting' means being upset because my dumb nephew broke the only rule he had to follow — for his security — then, yes, I'm overreacting!"

As the engineer started to pace again like a lion in a cage, Peter took this opportunity to release his breath he had stuck in his lungs for the previous twenty seconds.

"What's wrong with you Peter?!" Tony quickly pursued, his hands gestures wide and sharp in the air. "Now, it's alcohol and cigarettes, and then? Drugs? Girls — boys? Building a bomb because you're bored?"

"Wasn't that your thing?" the teen abruptly spat.

He saw Tony's face turn deadly pale — it appeared Peter had struck a nerve.

"Who knows? Maybe I'm the next Merchant of Death, following right my uncle's steps. Doesn't it sound good?"

It was low for sure, but no less effective. Peter might have delighted his victory a little bit more if the familiar tingling sensation on the back of his neck hadn't manifested, heralding the imminent arrival of danger. Meanwhile Tony stepped forward, his eyes cold and his muscles tense at the point that, for a second, Peter was afraid of being hit by him.

Wincing in both surprise and discomfort as the man grabbed him by the collar, Peter was forced to stand up and look his uncle in the eye, where he could see an indecipherable expression — an expression he couldn't remember seeing on his uncle's face for as far as he could remember. It was then that he noticed the tears which threatened to fall on his cheeks.

Oh, shit.

Maybe he had gone too far. Peter first wanted to apologize, to make it up to Tony for the horrible words he had said, but he didn't have time to say much.

"Do you know how much it cost before I finally opened my eyes, Peter?"

He downed his head.

"No! You look at me!"

A brief shake; he closed his eyelids.

"It did cost lives. No one, nor two. Not even hundreds, but thousands! Thousands of lives lost, because I wasn't able to see further than the end of my nose! I was selfish, never giving a second thought about my responsibilities, and let alone the consequences of my choices! People died, Peter! Is it what you want?!"

Cheeks red with shame, the teenager tried weakly to break the man's hold on his clothes, in vain.

"I'm not perfect, that's damn true, but I won't let my boys turn into two spoiled assholes. Count on me with that, kid."

When Tony let go, Peter rushed for the exit.

"I love you," his uncle said, making Peter stop. "More than you could ever imagine, hell, even more than life itself. But right now, I'm so disappointed in you."

The words sunk in his stomach as fresh cement, mixing with the bitter guilt already present. He tried to keep his head high, but silent tears were already falling on his cheeks, so Peter continued his way until he was safe in his room.

As usual, one step forward, and two backward.

And he was still the same little shit, the eternal loser that kept disappointing his loved ones.

.