aFireFist
A Life in Marvel
Chapter 11 - Part 2
He triggered his wings and launched upward, blades slicing through the air. Peter dodged, firing webs at the suit's joints, but Toomes was faster tonight—angrier. A wing caught Peter across the ribs, sending him tumbling across the tarmac. Pain flared hot, but he rolled to his feet.
"You're better than this!" Peter yelled, swinging up to the plane's fuselage. "Liz doesn't want blood money. She's scared for you."
Toomes fired a barrage of energy blasts from the gauntlets. Green light scorched the ground where Peter had been. "Scared? She's got no idea what it takes to keep her in that school, that house. You think your little hero act feeds anybody? Stark throws you scraps and you eat it up."
The fight turned chaotic fast. Peter webbed entire stacks of crates to the ground, trying to slow down the loading crew, but Toomes kept coming like a machine—slashing with those jagged wing blades, firing blasts that lit up the night, using every bit of power the damaged suit still had. One blast clipped Peter's leg, burning straight through the suit fabric and into his skin. The pain was sharp and immediate. He crashed hard into a stack of cargo crates, wood splintering around him as he tumbled through the mess.
Peter rolled to his feet, breathing hard, the acrid smell of scorched fabric and ozone filling his nose. "You're going to get people killed! This isn't just about you and Stark anymore!"
Toomes didn't slow down. He dove in again, wings cutting through the air with a metallic shriek. "You don't get to lecture me, kid. I built something after the Chitauri ruined everything. You swing around in your pajamas playing hero while the rest of us try to survive."
Peter fired webs at the suit's joints, trying to lock up the wings, but Toomes twisted mid-air and slammed into him with a brutal shoulder check. They crashed through the open cargo bay door of the plane, fists flying in the tight space. Peter landed a solid hit to the suit's chest plate, cracking the armor with a loud snap. Toomes grunted in pain but drove a knee hard into Peter's gut, knocking the wind out of him.
"Liz deserves better than this life," Peter gasped, dodging another slash. "She deserves a dad who comes home, not one who ends up in prison or worse!"
Toomes grabbed him by the suit and slammed him against a crate. "You think I don't know that? Every job, every risk, it was for her. For her future. You think your webs and jokes are going to pay for her college? Keep her safe?"
Inside the plane, something started beeping loudly—an unstable Chitauri core in one of the crates. The sound cut through the chaos like a warning siren. Peter's spider-sense screamed at the back of his skull, sharp and urgent. "Toomes, the plane! It's gonna blow!"
Toomes hesitated for a split second, eyes flicking toward the cockpit. "Then stay out of my way!"
He dove toward the controls. Peter swung after him, firing webs at the yoke and instruments, trying to jam them. The engines roared louder as the plane started to move. Toomes ripped free of the webbing with a roar and tackled Peter mid-air. They crashed through the cargo hold again, fists and elbows flying in the confined space. Peter landed another hard punch to the cracked chest plate, but Toomes drove an armored fist into his side, making his vision blur.
The malfunction hit suddenly. Sparks flew from Toomes' wings as the damaged systems overloaded from the fight. The suit jerked wildly, jets firing unevenly in short, violent bursts. Toomes cursed loudly, trying to stabilize, arms flailing as the wings locked up at odd angles. "No—no, not now!"
At the same time, the shifting cargo in the plane dislodged another Chitauri core. It started glowing brighter, the beeping turning into a high-pitched whine.
Peter saw it coming a second too late. "Get out of here!"
The explosion ripped through the rear of the plane with a deafening boom. Fire and shrapnel tore through the fuselage in a violent burst. The whole aircraft lurched hard, nose dipping as it started to break apart right there on the tarmac. Metal screamed, rivets popped, and flames roared through the cargo bay.
Toomes' suit locked up completely. The wings froze mid-motion, jets dying with a pathetic sputter. The man plummeted straight toward the burning wreckage below, arms flailing helplessly.
Peter didn't think. He fired a web line on pure instinct, the sticky strand latching onto the back of the malfunctioning suit. He yanked hard, muscles straining as he pulled Toomes clear just as the plane fully erupted in a massive fireball. The shockwave hit them both like a truck, throwing them across the tarmac in a tumbling mess of heat and debris. Peter twisted mid-air, wrapping his body around Toomes to shield him as burning pieces of the plane rained down around them.
They hit the ground hard near the tree line, rolling several times before coming to a stop. Peter's ears were ringing, his body aching everywhere. Toomes' suit was smoking badly, power core dead and sparking. The man himself looked dazed, breathing hard through gritted teeth, face cut and bruised under the damaged helmet.
Peter pushed himself up on shaky arms, chest heaving as he stood over Toomes. "It's over. No more running."
Toomes tried to push himself up, but the dead suit wouldn't respond. He slumped back, glaring up at Peter. "You should've let me burn, kid."
"No," Peter said quietly, voice steady despite the exhaustion. "Liz needs you alive. Even if you're in prison for a while." He reached back and pulled a duffel bag from his suit, the one he'd quietly taken from one of Toomes' earlier stashes during the pier chaos. Enough cash to keep Liz and her mom afloat for months. He dropped it beside Toomes, then quickly webbed the man's arms and legs securely to the ground, making sure it was tight but not painful. "This is for them. Not from you. From me. Tell them it's from a friend."
Toomes stared at the bag, jaw tight. Something like regret flickered in his eyes for the first time. "You're a pain in the ass, Parker. But… thanks."
Sirens wailed in the distance. Peter webbed a quick note to the bag—"For Liz and her family. Stay safe."—and swung away into the trees as police lights flooded the area.
Peter moved fast through the treeline, webs snapping from his wrists as he swung low and quiet. His body ached everywhere—shoulder burning, ribs bruised, leg stinging from the energy blast. The suit felt heavier than usual tonight. He kept swinging, putting distance between himself and the flashing lights, the smoke still rising from the wrecked plane at the pier. Every swing pulled at his injuries, but he pushed through it. The weight of the night sat heavy in his chest. He had stopped Toomes, saved lives, left the money for Liz's family… but it still felt like he was always one step behind.
He landed on a quiet rooftop a few miles away, breathing hard. For a moment he just stood there, mask still on, looking out over the city lights. "One more mess cleaned up," he muttered to himself. "Now I just have to figure out how to fix everything else." He pulled his mask off, wiped the sweat from his face, and took a slow breath. The cool night air helped a little. Then he fired another web and kept moving, heading back toward Queens, mind already turning to Liz, to Ned, to the normal life he kept missing.
Meanwhile, high above the city in the Avengers compound, Tony Stark stood in the monitoring room, arms crossed, watching the live feeds. Multiple screens showed the chaos at the pier: emergency vehicles, smoke rising from the destroyed cargo plane, police securing the webbed-up Vulture. Tony's jaw was tight as he replayed the key moments—Spider-Man yanking Toomes clear of the explosion, the precise webbing, the bag of cash left behind.
"Kid's got heart," Tony muttered to himself, zooming in on a frame where Peter shielded Toomes from debris. "Saved the guy who tried to kill him. Not many people would do that." He rubbed his chin, thinking back over the past months. Peter had gone from the wide-eyed kid at the airport to someone who consistently put civilians first, even when it cost him personally. The ferry incident, the pier fight tonight—Peter kept showing up, learning on the fly, and making the hard calls. Tony felt a rare flicker of genuine pride mixed with concern. The boy was talented, but he was still just a kid carrying too much alone.
"FRIDAY, pull up all the data from tonight," Tony said. The AI complied, displaying damage reports, civilian rescue stats, and Peter's movements. Tony watched the final swing away. "He's growing fast. Faster than I did at that age. But he's still out there solo, patching holes in the system with webs and hope."
He stood there a moment longer, then made the decision. "Suit up. I'm going to have a word with him before he disappears into Queens again."
The red and gold armor assembled around him in seconds. Tony lifted off, rocketing through the night sky toward the direction Peter had swung.
He didn't have to go far. Peter had stopped on a quiet rooftop overlooking the city, sitting on the edge with his mask off, legs dangling. Tony descended smoothly, landing a few feet away with a soft metallic clank.
"Nice work, Underoos," Tony said, faceplate flipping up. He looked tired but genuinely impressed. "You handled that mess at the pier better than I expected. The facility's secure, Toomes is in custody. Clean save on the plane too. Not bad for a kid who was still learning how to land without breaking his ankles a few months ago."
Peter pulled his mask off fully, wiping sweat from his face as he stood up. "Thanks, Mr. Stark. But I almost screwed it up again. People could've died because I wasn't fast enough. If the Vulture's suit hadn't malfunctioned when it did, or if I'd been a second slower pulling him clear…"
Tony leaned against the edge of the roof, arms crossed, looking out at the city lights with him. "Kid, that's the job. You saved lives tonight. Dozens of them. Hell, you saved the guy who was trying to kill you. That's more than most of us manage on our best days. You prioritized people over the win. That's the kind of instinct you can't teach."
Peter looked down at his hands, still raw from the fight. "I just… I keep thinking about Liz. I ditched her at the dance again. And Ned, MJ—everyone. I'm always running off when they need me to be there."
Tony nodded slowly, expression softening a bit. "Balancing the two worlds is the hardest part. I've been there. But tonight? You did good. Really good." He paused, then dropped the offer directly. "Avengers Initiative. Official spot. Training, resources, the whole thing. You've earned it. No more solo runs if you don't want them."
Peter looked out over the lights of the city in the distance. His city. He was quiet for a long moment, thinking it over. "I appreciate it. Really. But… I think I need to figure this out on my own for a bit. Be your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Learn the ropes without the big leagues pulling me into wars I don't understand yet. There's still stuff here—school, friends, people who need help on the ground. I can't just leave all that behind."
Tony studied him for a long moment, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips. "Smart kid. Smarter than I was at your age. Offer stays open. Call me when you're ready. And hey—patch things up with Liz. She deserves better than midnight bailouts and radio silence."
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