The Rose's Thorns (Peter Parker x reader)

Part Six

"What?" Your breath is sharp and ragged. "Peter, turn around. Right now."

He does so and he stops. Everything about him. Unblinking stare, air stuck in his lungs, limbs frozen. "You're Thorn." It's not a question, not anymore. "God damn it!" He picks up a chipped, empty bottle off the ground and smashes it into the wall. He runs a hand through his hair and you can see a speck of red on his hand from where he— presumably—nicked himself. He focuses his gaze back at you, a wild, feral, broken look in his eyes. His eyes were red-rimmed and he seemed about to cry.

"I trusted you, (Y/N). I really did. I felt like maybe I'd finally have more than two friends, maybe even more than a friend with you! Ned pointed out you looking at me and these were some of the happiest weeks of my life, (Y/N)!" He shakes his head angrily. "But it was all a lie, wasn't it? Every single time you smiled at me, laughed with me, joked with me, it was all to get here! I can't believe that you're even capable of this much destruction!"

I blew up a bank, Peter, you think. You were there.

"How didn't you realise? Don't you have your Spider-Sense?"

He snorts. "I misread it, okay? I'm just an idiot who mixed up danger with comfort, and now I'm paying the price." He puts his head in his hands and sits on the ground. You feel a moment of disgust that he was actually sitting on the revolting ground when you realise that he knows he's about to die.

He's staring at the floor. "Are you going to shoot me or not?"

You know you can't ever face your family after you do what you're about to do. In less than a second you switch on safety and chuck the gun at him. It hits him in the shoulder and bounces to the ground.

"Ow!"

"Damn you, Parker."

Tearful eyes glance up at you, taking the gun and standing up.

"Shoot me now. Seriously. My parents will kill me themselves."

"It seems like you guys have issues."

"Serious issues." You groan. "Oh my God, Peter, I'm so, so sorry."

He makes a face. "You tried to kill me, (Y/N). Sorry doesn't exactly cut it."

You sigh and start putting your stuff away in your bag. "I didn't want to. I don't want to. It's my parents, Adrian and Teresa. They— Well, let's start at the beginning. I was born in 2001, before my parents were even married. They got married when I was four. Anyway, that's besides the point. My mom lived in Russia until she came here, to America, for a work thing, and that's when they met. She never went back to Russia, but Brooklyn—that's my sister—and I were taught Russian from a young age. Again, besides the point. We've moved all around the world at this point. Generally only half a year in each place—Canada, Italy, France, you know. I can speak every language in the world, so it wasn't difficult.

"On the topic of being able to speak every language, I have powers. Electrokinesis, omnilingualism, and unintentional telepathy. We're not sure why, and ever since that fateful few months, years ago, my parents have been sending me on missions to steal and kill."

Peter opens his mouth to say something but you put a hand up. "Let me finish, and then you can say whatever." He nods. "I never wanted to hurt anyone, but if I didn't kill, Brooklyn would have to, and I don't want that for her. When you started stopping our bank robberies, my parents didn't want anything happening to us. Mostly their reputations and money. I was sent to Midtown to kill you, but you've made that very hard because you don't hang out with anyone and you're a very sweet person who I do not want to murder in cold blood."

He seems speechless. "I don't know what to say."

"You could yell at me, tell me you want nothing to do with me."

"Everyone deserves a second chance. Especially if it wasn't their fault." He pauses for only a second. "Now how do we get you away from your family?"

"Actually?" you ask, a tear sliding silently down the side of your face. You wipe it away hastily.

"Yes, actually, (Y/N). No one should have to go through that."

"I'm not sure if it would be appropriate to hug you given what just happened."

Peter opens his arms and you wrap yours around him tightly, not wanting to let go. He holds you like that for a while as you try to not sob into his shirt. His hands run up and down your back soothingly until you pull away. "You're too good for this world, Peter. I hope you know that. I tried to shoot you and you're comforting me."

He shrugs. "How are we going to get you away from your family?"

"I don't know, but that's not the most important thing right now."

"It's not?" His look of confusion is absolutely adorable.

Hold on. Adorable?

When did that become a word to describe him?

You shake it off; it's not a pressing matter at the moment. "They're planning something. It's to do with the Avengers. I still don't know what it is, but I figure that since you now know what's happening and you're basically an Avenger, you could help."

"Makes sense." Peter hands your gun back to you and you put it away. "If you could try to find out what they're doing, I could maybe tell Happy about it."

"Who's Happy?"

"Oh, right. He's Mr. Stark's friend-slash-assistant. He's also Mr. Stark's personal chauffeur. I update him on my Spider-Man stuff."

"So you have his number?" A plan was already forming in your mind.

"Yeah."

"Call him."

"Why?"

"We need to tell someone that they're going to do something related to the Avengers. And I need to get away from my parents; maybe he can help." Peter nods and pulls out his phone. It rings for a while but Happy doesn't pick up.

"I can try again if you want."

"Please."

Peter presses redial and this time, Happy picks up. "What do you want, Peter?" He sounds exasperated; Peter must annoy him.

"We have first-hand information that someone might try to do something to the Avengers. Steal or attack them, we're not sure yet, but—"

"Until you have full information and proof, stop calling me." He hangs up.

"Not very happy for someone whose name is Happy," you mutter.

Peter snorts. "I think it's a nickname, (Y/N)." You just roll your eyes.

"Anyway, what am I supposed to say to my parents?"

He pauses, thinking. "Do they have access to security cameras?"

"Through me, yeah."

"Can you change the footage?"

"I shut off all cameras and microphones on the block when we got in here." Peter makes an impressed face. "I can also change and see the footage on them."

"Do they know that we're together right now?"

"Yeah, Brooklyn came up with the idea of this whole thing and we had to tell my parents so they'd know what went wrong if I screwed up or something." You're struck by a slight idea. "What if I told them that you left before I could do anything because you got a call or something?"

"It could be my Spider-Sense."

"But then they'd think you're onto us and they'd make me kill you faster."

"Fair point. Your idea works."

You decide you'll meet up sometime next week and part ways, Peter going one way and you staying in the alley a little longer to alter the security camera footage before leaving for home, relieved, scared, sad, and—most of all—happy, for some reason or another.