Chapter 1: Failure

A little twist on the Homecoming movie! Chapter 2 soon to come! Tell me what you think! :3

All Peter could do was sit on the edge of the nearest building and stare at his sinking mistake. Stare and listen to the screams and cries of the now thankfully safe people on the once broken ferry.

If it wasn't for Tony...he didn't want to think about how many casualties there could have been. He had tried in vain to hold the ferry together, it all happened so fast, his instincts had kicked in way faster then his common sense or logic. He had identified all the strongest possible structural points of the boat thanks to Karen, he could still feel his heart beat uncomfortably from the moment Karen had told him he was only 98% successful at keeping the boat together- at keeping the civilians safe.

So when he had shot a last desperate web over to the other side of the boat and jumped down to hold the ferry together despite his already broken/ sprained / dislocated arms ,wrists, fingers and shoulders He knew he hadn't really been in his right mind at that point.

Mr. Stark was going to kill him- if he didn't do it first himself.

Peter felt himself shift towards the edge of the building more, the intrusive thought coming in a full wave as he heard a burst of energy- oh no...

There he was, Iron Man flying up to the building in which Peter was currently sulking at. Before he could even muster a sound, Tony was all over it.

"Previously on Peter Screws the Pooch: I tell you to stay away from this. Instead, you hacked a multi million-dollar suit so you could sneak around behind my back doing the one thing I told you not to do."

Peter looked down, the ground looking more tempting then ever now, "Is everyone ok?" He mumbled.

Tony's harsh voice met his apprehensive one immediately, "no thanks to you."

Something inside Peter snapped at that, he already felt like shit, he already felt responsible. He knew he had screwed up, he was beyond hurt at this point so his adrenaline was going full force- that's how he found the courage to angrily jump from his perch and onto the rooftop where he approached the flying suit.

"No thanks to me? Those weapons were out there, and I tried to tell you about it. But you didn't listen. None of this would've happened if you had just listened to me!"

Tears stung the teens face, he was hurt in more ways then one, and he knew he was being emotional- but he just needed someone to hug him and say it was going to be ok.

Not this.

"If you even cared, you'd actually be here." Peter let out, more sad than angry.

Peters glare he had fixated on the flying suit in front of him quickly changed into a fearful and surprised look as THE Tony Stark stepped out of the suit, he looked like he was pissed.

The kid had given him at-least three uncharted heart attacks at this point in one day- and so he reprehended the boy- who had the audacity to correct his own age at some point in the lecture.

Tony snapped, "No, this is where you zip it, all right? The adult is talking. What if somebody had died tonight? Different story, right? 'Cause that's on you. And if you died, I feel like that's on me- I don't need that on my conscience."

Peter felt worse then ever at this point. What do you even say to that except sorry? And so, he apologized- but to no avail. Tony had already made up his mind.

Peter felt like his world was ending, "...I just wanted to be like you."

"And I wanted you to be better. Okay, it's not working out. I'm gonna need the suit back."

Peters stomach dropped, "for how long?"

Tony stared at him unbelievably, "forever."

Peter shook his head, "no, no, no- please-you don't understand, I'm nothing without this suit."

Tony response was automatic, almost as if rehearsed, "If you're nothing without this suit, then you shouldn't have it. Okay? God, I sound like my dad."

And so before he knew it Peter was in a "I survived NYC" tourist shirt, and hello kitty pj pants, walking lifelessly to his apartment.

The rest of the night went in a blur, he had talked to aunt May for a few minutes before she went to work later that night- leaving Peter with a heavy heart in the empty apartment. He could hear ambulance sirens outside his window, a sound he was accustomed to. Tonight they seemed louder than usual, mocking him as he couldn't be there to help.

That's when he felt the tears finally run free, this was it, no suit, no plan, no hope. It felt like his world was ending all over again since talking to Tony, his heart felt as if it was breaking.

Perhaps it was.

He should have let the adults take care of toomes, should have trusted Tony to listen- and yet, he wasn't used to being trusted with anything.

He wasn't used to anyone having faith in him like that.

His ribs ached as he held his hand up to his mouth, stifling a broken sob. He knew he should probably be in the hospital, medical bay, somewhere. Anywhere but here in his room. His body felt broken, and his powers didn't seem to be working at all. He was thankful May had let him take tomorrow off from school, he said he had felt so sick, and he believed she just took him at his word because of how miserable he sounded.

She felt sorry for him.

Peter sighed.

That's all he was: a charity case.

He shifted his body a bit, pain wracked through it as he gasped in agony. He did faintly remember a little more than holding a ferry together in vain- He also had a car launched at him by toomes- one he had pushed another guy out of the way from. Peter had been hit and launched into a metal pole. He hit his head so hard- but he was so pumped he hadn't noticed the blackening of his vision at the hit...or the slur in his words as he talked to May and sluggish walking to the apartment.

Come to think of it, he really couldn't feel his arms. So he laid in his bed for hours, it had been 8pm when he looked at his iron man alarm clock- now it was 1am and he hadn't a clue how he had managed to stare at the ceiling that long.

May was working a double tonight so she wouldn't be home until 10am or so- and even then she would be dead to the world until her next shift 6pm that night.

So here Peter was, six hours after a devastating mental and physical trauma, no suit, no way to contact help as he had erased Tony's contact and knew very well he couldn't just call 911 or Ned.

...

That's when the intrusive thoughts came back.

What was the point in all this?

His life would never be the same. Ever. There was no point to this madness. He could make it all go away and look like a stupid little murder or fatal accident.

And so, Peter climbed out of his bed and eventually made his way to the kitchen, he pulled out Mays fancy unopened bottle of vodka, any and all pills she had in the cupboard, and took off out of the fire escape.

He still had his original web shooters he himself had made, so he had taken those as well and swung all the way across the city, h could hear his arms pop and groan, it was agony, he could barley move his arms enough to swing- he focused on the vodka and pill bottles rattling inside of a duffel bag strapped to him.

Finally, he went on the highest sky scraper in a few miles radius to Starks tower.

He knew they were moving away from the building, but not for another few days. And so he watched as planes went back and forth transporting various furniture and likely expensive devices.

He sat on the edge of a 30 story building, the edge was large enough to set his bottle of vodka and multiple pill bottles.

He didn't even know what was in the bottles, he guessed to say some pain killers, allergy medication, motion sickness pills. Nothing crazy.

But he had hoped with the combination of alcohol and his body not healing at all- it would be enough to give him the bravery to send himself over the edge of this building.

He would be a puddle on the ground in front of Stark industries. Where he belonged.