Hi Readers!

I'm feeling better and back to work today, so this was mostly typed during lunch break and at insane hours on my phone. Please leave comments!

Thanks!

SIDE NOTE:
I just finished watching Spider-Man: Far From Home and had this idea, so be warned that this potentially contains Endgame spoilers, Infinity War spoilers, Iron Man spoilers, and pretty much every other spoiler for any other movie before and including Far From Home!
If you don't care, I don't care! Just warning you!
Also, no rude comments. Please? If you don't like it, it's called the back button. It sends you back to the previous page. There's also the close button, that shuts down the entire window. Please feel free to use either or both of these.

DISCLAIMER: If I owned Marvel, or Spider-Man, or Iron Man, or any of the characters, you'd know. And I definitely wouldn't be posting fanfictions on a little website. I'd simply put it in the movie.

"Hey! You're the Spider-Kid!"

It wasn't the most pleasant way to wake up.

Peter shot upright and shoved his hands through the sleeves of his hoodie. He stumbled to his feet and grabbed his backpack, looking frantically around at the ring of no-good teenagers around him.

Each looked to be about eighteen to twenty-one years old, several were black, and they all wore ratty jeans, backwards baseball caps, and no shirts to cover the slew of tattoos across their midsections.

"You killed that Mysterio!"

One of them stepped forward, now threateningly close to Peter. So close that Peter could see the needle syringes sticking out of his pockets.

Aunt May had warned him of druggies on the street who would take advantage of him, and he'd promised he'd steer clear of them.

Of course, that was before all this had happened.

But for now, he was surrounded, and he needed to get out.

"I didn't want to!" Peter protested. "He-he was a fake! He was causing all of the damage! Not saving everyone!"

They laughed, looking at each other, and Peter took the opportunity to look around and direct his web shooters at the bridge above him. He pressed the trigger and swung up and out of the circle. He heard screaming and shouting, and then a mob of people were heading toward him.

He heard a child scream, and then a feminine voice cried out, "He's the spider killer!"

It was the notorious Parker luck.

This had not at all been the plan.

Peter shot a web higher to a light post, and then another to the nearest building just across the street. The sighting would be all over the news shortly, he knew, which meant he clearly needed to move.

Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, and Bruce Banner had all gone of the run and rarely been sighted, if ever. He was mere hours into his flight an already had a city in uproar.

This was clearly a marvellous start.

He was tired, and cold, and hungry. He was touch-starved, and lonely, and felt like crying.

He just wanted to be home, safe, with someone he loved. May's warm hugs, MJ's embraces tentative, but loving, Ned's bear hugs.

The thought of Tony made his heart hurt. Tony's rare hug, when offered, was warm, and caring, and so strong it broke something down inside. It broke down every wall inside, leaving him raw and filling him with relief.

Peter shook his head, pulling himself out of his memories and leaving him cold again. Tony wasn't warm anymore. Tony was cold, and dead for nearly a year, now.

There was no point losing himself in a foolish daydream. It was selfish.

Spider-Man wasn't selfish, as a rule. It just didn't happen.

Peter focused on his breathing for a moment, staring down the dizzying distance to the ground from the top of the building he was perched on. Mostly, the crowd had dispersed, but the seven boys still stood where they had when he'd woken up, now staring up at him.

Peter could see their smirks.

One of them shouted something, but Peter didn't hear it. Didn't want to hear it. He moved to step away from the ledge and then changed his mind and stepped closer. He heard them laugh below him.

The shouter cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered up at him, and this time Peter heard the words: "That's right, Killer-Boy! Jump!"

He considered it. He'd see Tony again. Ned, and MJ, and May would be safe.

But Tony would never have wanted him to do that. Tony would have wanted him to carry his head high and his shoulders back, facing the world the way Iron Man always had: ready to be attacked, and criticised, and unappreciated, and doing the right thing anyway.

Peter turned on his heel, shot a web out at the building across the street, and leapt off the other side of the building, swinging away into the distance.

Spider-Man would continue being the hero. Even if no one else understood, Peter wouldn't give in.

After all, Tony never had.