Peter was out on patrol when he heard a gunshot. He immediately dropped the pretzel he was eating, which got free from a pretzel cart after he saved the owner from getting robbed, and swung towards the noise. When he got there he saw a man with a gun running away and was about to chase him and web him up when he heard someone cry out in the other direction, “Someone help! Call 911!” He looked towards the voice and saw a woman kneeling next to a man sprawled out on the ground. His shirt was wet sticking to his stomach with blood and there was a growing puddle of the crimson substance underneath him.
Peter quickly made his way down from the building he was perched on and landed right next to the victim. He was a middle-aged man with brown hair; pretty ordinary in every way except, of course, for the bullet hole in his abdomen. Peter knelt next to the man opposite of the woman. “Spiderman thank god.” The woman said in relief once she saw the red and blue-clad hero. She said it like he is this man’s savior, but he along with everyone else was freaking out. They couldn’t see it because of the mask, but he was. Not because of the blood, he could handle blood, especially after all the times he had gotten hurt on patrol. But because this situation was all too familiar.
The logical side of his mind screamed at him to do something, but he felt frozen. A gargled pained groan from the man beneath him brought him back to the present and he looked around frantically for material to stop the bleeding. The problem was they were on a random sidewalk in Queens, there wasn’t much to choose from. He then looked at the woman closest to him, the one he saw first when he came over. As it was very close to the dead of winter she had a heavy coat, a hat, and a thick scarf. “Give me your scarf,” Peter said. The sentence came out more as a harsh order than he wanted it to, but they didn’t have time to lose. She immediately unwrapped the scarf from around her neck and handed it over. Peter folded it three times, “This is going to hurt, I’m sorry.” he said to the man right before he pressed the material onto the wound, still sluggishly oozing blood. The man let out a pained cry, “I’m sorry.” Peter said again. He hadn’t even realized he was crying until the scene around him turned blurry.
Suddenly this man below him was no longer a random man he had never met, it was Ben. His uncle who he misses every day. His uncle who believed in him when no one else did. His uncle, whose death was on his hands. He could once again feel Ben’s sticky warm blood soak through his fingers as he tried his best to stop the bleeding. Usually, when this happened he would wake up crying, but he wasn’t waking up this time. This wasn’t a dream, this wasn’t a nightmare, this was all too real. It was as if that night seeped through time and replayed itself right in front of him.
“pider-Man, Spider-Man!” He didn't even realize someone was calling his name until he looked up at the woman who was now crying. Although she yelled his name, her next words were almost a whisper, “He’s gone, you can stop.”
‘No, no, no, not again, please not again’ Peter thought as he slowly looked towards the man’s face. He was pale and his eyes were open staring off into nothing. He took one of his blood-soaked hands and put two fingers on the man’s pulse point on his neck. Nothing. He moved both his hands to the man’s chest as he started compressions. He did fifteen compressions which in turn made the wound bleed more each time he pressed down on the man’s chest. He then pulled his mask to his nose revealing tear tracks down his cheeks and gave the man two rescue breaths and repeated the process. After the fifth round the ambulance had still not gotten there and the man was still dead still. The woman looked at Peter with sad concerned eyes still leaking tears, “He’s gone Spider-Man. He’s not coming back, you did your best.”
‘No, if I did my best he would be alive. If I did my best Ben would still be alive!’ Peter thought to himself. He moved from looking at the woman to looking at the man’s face. His eyes were still open, but they were hollow. There was no spark of life lift to see. Peter scrambled back and hit the brick wall of the building behind him. 'It happened again, he failed again.' He couldn’t breathe. He knew distantly people were calling out to him, but he couldn’t hear anything but Ben’s words, “With great power comes great responsibility.” And what has he done with that power and responsibility? He failed to use his power and he is now responsible for another death. He has no right to be named a hero when he can’t save everyone; when he couldn't save one of the most important people in his life. If he can’t even save his own family, how is he supposed to save others?
As he spiraled in his head and cried, a set of heavy metal boots landed with a thud nearby, but he didn’t hear it. All he could hear was Ben’s words. All he could feel was Ben’s blood. All he could smell was copper. All he could taste was salt water. And all he could see was Ben dead.
He flinched when he felt a cold metal hand on his shoulder, “Pe-Spider-Man?” Peter knew that voice, he looked up to see red and gold in front of him, but where there was usually a stern metal faceplate with glowing eyes, there was a concerned face. The concerned face of his mentor kneeled in front of him. Peter locked eyes with Tony, but then turned his head and looked to the side where the man was still laying on the ground. “Hey, don’t look at that, look at me.” Peter moved to look back at Tony, “There you go. How about we head back to the tower?” Peter said nothing, tears still running down his face. Tony saw this because his mask was still bunched up at the nose. He then brought his hand, after the nanobots freed it from his suit to Peter’s face to gently wipe away the tears. “You did good kid, but we can’t save everyone.” Peter still said nothing as his lips trembled as he cried. Tony then gently pulled down Peter’s mask and then tried to pick him up, since he was sure Peter was in no shape to swing back.
Just as he brought one arm under Peter’s back and one under his knees Peter spoke up, “No!” He cried and Tony froze, “I can’t leave Ben!” Tony’s heart broke for the boy. Peter never really talked about his Uncle, but he had done the research. He had read the police report about how Ben bled out in Peter’s arms. Looking back at the man on the ground he could see how eerily familiar this must be to Peter. He also was at a loss as to what to do in this situation. He could go along with Peter’s delusion, but that could do more harm than good. He could set Peter straight and remind him that this man was not Ben, but he’s not sure how he would react.
He wasn’t sure what to do, but before he could think about it more he surprised himself and started talking, “Ben would be so proud of you.” Peter’s glazed distant eyes cleared a bit at that as he stared into Tony’s. It was as if he was looking for falseness in his words, but all he found was genuity.
“But I didn’t save him,” Peter whispered as he ducked his head in sorrow and shame.
Tony wasn’t sure if he was talking about this man on the ground or Ben, it didn’t matter either way, “That doesn’t matter Pe-” He had to keep stopping himself from using Peter’s civilian name as there were still witnesses around, “You tried your best and did everything you could. For that I know he is proud.”
“He’s gone.” Peter said in a faint broken whisper.
“He’s still proud wherever he is. You know I’m not a holy man, very far from it." In another situation that would have gotten a laugh, "But there is one thing I know. Ben was, is, and will always be more proud than you will ever know.” Tony debated on saying the next part, but he needed Peter to know that he too felt that way too, “Just like me.” Peter was still searching for some kind of lie, but there was none to find. Every word Tony spoke was the honest truth.
“Mr. Stark?”
Tony gave a small smile, that was the first time today Peter had actually said his name or really acknowledged his presents fully. “Yeah, bud?”
“I-I want to go home.” He sniffed. Tony wasn’t sure if he meant his apartment or the tower. He didn’t want to assume Peter thought of the Tower as home, even though he would be honored if he did. Before he could ask Peter spoke up. He must have seen the conflict on his face. “Tower,” he whispered.
“You got it kiddo,” Tony said in a soft voice as he once again put one hand behind Peter’s back and one behind his knees, and picked him up.
Right before Tony put his face plate back down and took off Peter looked up and whispered, “Thank you.”
Since Peter was close and had super hearing Tony addressed him like he’d been wanting to, he whispered, so no one else would hear, “Anytime Pete. I meant every word.” And then flipped his faceplate down and took off to take his son home.