As soon as his gaze locked onto the face in front of him, Peter blurted, "Oh, I'm so fucking dead." His face flushed bright red at the words that flew out of his mouth.
The helmet of the Iron Man suit collapsed, revealing the cold, furious face of Tony Stark. "Yeah, buddy, that's one way of saying it."
Peter hesitantly took a step backwards, his hands fluttering at his sides. His stomach turned, and the piercing ring in his ears just rose in pitch. Behind him, Matt let out a long and tired sigh, and Peter resisted the urge to grab Matt and jump off the building.
Matt marched to stand beside Peter, crossing his arms threateningly over his chest. If it was any other situation, Peter might have laughed. "Stark, you need to back the fuck down, okay?" he spat.
Mr. Stark's head swiveled slowly to stare at Matt, incredulity written all over his expression.
The roof. Why did it always have to happen on the roof?
"Hiya, Daredevil," he finally said, faux excitement dripping from his words. "Your presence is neither enjoyed nor required. Bye bye."
A stray suit flew out of nowhere and scooped Matt up by the armpits, ignoring his animalistic screech, speeding away from the roof and towards the mass panic on the ground.
"Why would you do that?!" Peter shouted, taking an aborted step to follow Matt. He watched as the suit deposited him off to the side by Jessica.
"Because, Parker. you and I need to have a little chat. Again. I'm not even mad at this point, I'm just disappointed. And—. Hold on." He leaned forwards and grabbed Peter's forearms, turning them so he got a good look at Peter's web shooters. "FRIDAY's telling me there's nothing in these?"
Peter stilled, his mouth parted, feeling like he'd just been caught sneaking out after curfew.
Mr. Stark hit the clasps and the web shooters fell into his palms, ignoring Peter's shout in protest and dodging his swipe to get them back. He inspected them for a moment before looking back at Peter, a deadly expression on his face. "Scratch that. I'm mad."
He moved both the web shooters to one hand as he looked Peter dead in the eye. Then he closed his gauntlet around it, and squeezed.
"Mr. Stark!" Peter cried, and lunged forward. Tony let his hand unfurl and the web shooters fell to the ground, his face not changing one bit.
Peter dropped to a knee, scraping the web shooters up. They were in pieces, warped and cracked and broken. His lip trembled as he rose, and he had to blink away the burning behind his eyelids before he could look up. "Why—why would you—"
Tony completely ignored him. "That's a real moron move. And disabling your A.I.? Really, Peter? I thought you were better than that— smarter than that. And all because you wanted to 'hang out' with the people I told you not to get mixed up with."
He took a step closer as Peter pushed himself to his feet, clutching the web shooters. Tony jabbed a finger at him with scorn written all across his face. "I don't get why it's so hard for you to listen. I'm just trying to do what's best for you. But you seem to be dead set on associating with known criminals and murderers so I wouldn't be surprised if you had a death wish."
"Mr. Stark," Peter pleaded. "I need experience. I need to be able to handle myself when the next Vulture comes along, or the next King—"
"Shut up, Peter."
Peter visibly recoiled and his breath caught in his lungs, jagged. The words were a slap to the face, chock full of ice and hate.
Tony didn't falter, hands flying through the air as he continued his tirade. "I just don't understand it. I mean, I thought you would've learned your lesson by now, especially after the Staten Ferry. And after Toomes. I thought you were ready to handle being in the business, but apparently I was wrong."
"I—"
"You what, kid? Wanted recognition? Wanted my approval? Well you got it. Good job letting Fisk destroy half of Manhattan! Really great. You wanna be a hero, Spider-Man? You have to start taking responsibility."
Responsibility .
Peter snapped.
"I just want you to listen! I just want you to listen to me for one fucking minute without running your mouth about how much of a screw up I am!" he screamed. Peter didn't relish in the shock that spread over Tony's face, words just spewing out of his mouth, out of his control. "At least I'm down here trying. I'm trying to fix things, to save people. That's more than you can say."
All of the red-hot anger swarming through his body solidified, the fury turning into an ice block in his chest. "Fuck you," Peter snarled. " Fuck you."
Tony's face turned to stone. "Watch your tone, Parker," he said, low and dangerous, "or I'll—"
"You'll what?" Peter interrupted. He walked straight up to Tony, getting as close as he could without actually touching. "Ground me? I'm not your kid. Take away the suit? We remember how well that worked out last time."
The man took a step back, looking like he'd been slapped, but the rage turning in Peter's stomach stopped him from feeling even remotely sorry. Suddenly, Tony turned away, his faceplate sliding down, but not before Peter caught sight of his mouth twisted into a sneer. "Next time you get in over your head, don't expect me to come running to save you."
"Like you did so well this time!" Peter screamed after him. "People are dead!"
Tony didn't answer. He didn't have to.
And that's on you.
Peter's body went numb, his hands dropping the shattered remains of his web shooters as the man fired his repulsors and flew into the air. Waves of anger and disappointment and disgust washed over him. He could only stare at the retreating form of Tony Stark.
You have to start taking responsibility.
Bile rose in his throat, and he barely had enough time to peel his mask away from his mouth before he retched. Everything shook as he bent over, gagging, all of his limbs trembling.
Something metal clanked off to the side of him, and his bleary eyes landed on the thick handle of Matt's baton lodged on the edge of the roof.
Peter spat before he straightened, exhaling harshly. He crouched over the edge and was faced with a disgruntled Daredevil struggling up the side of the building. Sticking a hand out, he waited for the strong hand to grip around his forearm before hauling Matt up.
After Matt got his feet under him, Peter eased himself to the ground, swinging his feet over the edge and ignoring the wailing sirens. Emergency workers swarm the city beneath him, almost all of them flooding to the building Jessica tried warning him about. Nausea swarmed through him again, and he squeezed his eyes shut tight.
Peter's hand drifted to his opposite wrist, circling it lightly with his fingers. His eyes flicker back open and lock onto his bare wrists. He felt exposed and vulnerable without his web shooters, and he was growing more and more uncomfortable by the second.
Matt took a seat beside him, digging one heel into the roof and letting the other flop off the edge. Peter tensed, bracing for another lecture.
Screaming match, his mind supplied. That was nothing less than a screaming match.
Matt inhaled deeply. "Well," he said, stilted. "That was bad."
Peter's jaw flexed.
"Be honest, kid. What were you expecting from Stark?"
Peter rolled his head, the joint in his neck popping. Anger still thrummed beneath his skin, waiting for a match to light the inferno again. "I don't—I don't know. Not whatever the fuck that was."
Matt stayed quiet. Peter sighed and shot a quick glance at him. Matt's focus seemed to be on the skyline, but Peter knew he was listening.
"I was fighting this guy a few weeks ago," he started. "I found out his daughter went to my school when I asked her to homecoming, and um. Well, he figured out who I was. I ended up ditching her so I could stop her dad from stealing a bunch of super dangerous stuff that would've—it would've destroyed my neighborhood, man."
Peter paused, cracking his knuckles and taking a deep breath. His stomach turned uncomfortably, and a familiar tightness slithered around his lungs.
"It got bad. The guy set up a trap I didn't see coming, and I ended up having to take down Mr. Stark's plane," he said, slowly getting quieter. "And—I mean, he hasn't even mentioned it. I don't even know if he knows about it."
He sounded more bitter than he thought, forcing a wince out of himself. But the train didn't stop, not after all the shit that just happened.
"This would've never happened if I'd just stopped those fucking trucks," he muttered harshly.
This jarred a response out of Matt. "You think I don't feel the same?" he asked, voice bleak.
"You had something else to deal with," Peter shot back. "Those trucks were my one job. The one thing you guys trusted me to take care of. So all this? All those people? It's my fault."
The air hung heavy between them, and dust and ash floated through the space carved by his words.
Matt finally looks over at him, the blank red eyes of his helmet burning holes through his skull. "If it makes you feel any better, most of them were evacuated in time. It could've been a lot worse."
At Peter's silence, he sighed and dropped a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Sometimes people die, Pete. That's the job. But you just have to remember how this feels, and try your damndest not to let it happen again."
After a moment, Matt let his hand fall off, raising himself to his feet. Peter watched carefully as he tucked his baton into its slot, and stilled for a moment as a frown settled across his lips.
"Wade's heading back to Fogwell's. I'm not sure about the others, but he wants us to meet him there." Matt extended a hand, looking down at where Peter was still seated. "It's not over yet," he said, carefully bland. "We still have work to do."
Peter let out a shaky breath. Fire still roared behind Matt, too intense to attempt to tame yet. The horizon was filled with smoke and darkness, and the city was stuck under a layer of horrified quiet.
Fisk had come after his home. His people. His family. A cold layer of fury settled over him.
There's still work to do.
Peter grabbed Matt's hand, and let himself be pulled up.
Wade was waiting in the front room of Fogwell's, washing the dust off his suit with the sink installed against the back wall. Peter was still fiddling with his backup pair of web shooters when they walked in—the ones from his first costume he stopped by to grab. Matt cleared his throat to signal their arrival, startling Wade into turning around.
Wade's mask was slung over the edge of the sink, and there was a grim expression on his scarred face. "Howdy."
Matt snorted and removed his own helmet, setting in on the table next to the door. Peter padded over to one of the spectator chairs and plopped down into it, burying his face in his hands with a deep sigh.
"Jess and Castle go home?" he heard Matt ask.
Wade hummed. "Said they had some shit to check on. Fogs and Karen okay?"
"Yeah. I got a call in when we stopped at Pete's place."
Peter peeled his own mask off, wincing as it stuck to one of the scratches on his head, and dropped it in his lap. "Yeah, I'm glad everyone's good," he murmured.
Matt leaned back so he was sitting on the table, arms crossed against his chest and a contemplative look on his face.
Wade turned the water off and shook his hands out, flinging water all over the gym. "Do we have any plan or anything? I mean—"
"I'm going after him," Peter interrupted. The words come out without much thought, but as soon as they hit the air, he knows it's true.
"Peter." Matt's stare was sharp and his voice was cutting. Peter forced himself not to buckle, keeping the eye contact as Matt stepped close to him. "You can't. You will be killed. Do you understand me?"
"You have to know it's a trap, right?" Wade added from the sink. He had a frown on his face and was uncharacteristically still.
"Yes, I know it's a trap, I'm not stupid," Peter snapped, rising from the chair. "But I can't—he can't just do that to innocent people. Innocent people who don't have homes now, or who've lost their pets, their friends, their family because of him.
"I don't care about evidence anymore. Whatever case I was trying to build. He has to pay." Peter's chest was heaving. The anger left him shaking, and frustration prickled hot at the backs of his eyes.
"You're not…" Matt cut himself off. "You're not gonna let this drop, are you?"
Peter gave a small shake of his head, not letting his gaze fall from Matt's face.
He has to pay.
"Alright then." Matt sighed softly before turning around, snagging his helmet off the table. The sharp horns and blocked eyes stared Peter down as surprise swept over him, and a quick glance at Wade showed him Matt's actions shocked him as well.
Matt brushed the ash off the face of his helmet, and a small, humorous smile flickered across his face. "What, you thought I was going to let you do this alone? You've gone batshit, kid. I wouldn't let you walk to the store alone, much less fight anyone."
He laughed weakly at Matt's joke, hoping to get rid of some of the wetness gathering in his eyes.
"I'm going to help you. Wade will, too," he said with a pointed glare. "Right?"
"Hey, no need to look at me like that." He slapped his thigh twice, sending up a dust cloud. "I kinda need to be in on this plan anyways. Can't have you two taking my rep for craziest bitch in town."
Peter smiled something cold and sharp. "It's settled then." He looked Matt dead in the face. "There's still work to do—let's get it done."