Spiderman Oneshots

Aftermath

Peter flopped down onto his bed (his plush, fancy, Iron-Man-themed bed, with an unparalleled view of New York from the top of Stark Tower) and groaned. Crumpled in his fist was the dreaded permission slip.

He wished for a different set of powers so he could incinerate it, or teleport it into space, or go back in time to stop Pepper from signing it.

Actually, going back to this morning would be great. He could pull a fire alarm and evacuate the building, he could lock Flash in a cupboard until the end of the trip, he could convince one of his rogues to attack the city so that all the Avengers had to leave the Tower. Anything. He could change literally anything.

Except he couldn't. No matter how much he wanted to squeeze his eyes closed and pretend it was all a dream, that had happened. He'd attended the SI field trip (stupid, stupid decision), the Avengers had crashed the tour to embarrass him (why had he agreed to be adopted into this messy family again???) and Flash had decided to open his big mouth.

In Flash's defence, what he'd said really didn't merit the overreaction it got from Peter's extended super-family. Peter couldn't even remember exactly what it was - certainly nothing more extreme than the stuff that got yelled down school corridors at Peter's back on a regular basis. Flash was an idiot and a bully, yes, but not a criminal. Not the sort of human the Avengers were equipped to deal with.

Peter hadn't been able to stop it, any of it. He'd tried. He'd failed. Useless, powerless.

Peter took a breath and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Images flashed across the white surface - widow's bites aimed at his class, a lightning-wreathed hammer pointed threateningly.

A knock at the door. "...are you okay, bud?"

Tony's voice was apologetic but that couldn't scrub the memory of just an hour ago featuring Peter's adopted dad, his tone so at odds with the anger of his teammates, calmly pulling Flash's future apart with just a few words. A promise to get in touch with every university, every notable employer. A merciless damnation of childhood dreams.

Flash was a jealous teenager. He didn't have the best personality but he worked hard and was always striving for more. His distraught face at Tony's words would haunt Peter's memories.

Time passed. Another knock. Steve's voice. "Come on, son. We're worried about you."

The great war hero, that symbol of patriotism and hero incarnate. The man who had to be restrained from attacking a child with no justification beyond, 'I don't like bullies.' Who had hoisted his shield and declared Flash a disgrace to his country. Nobody liked bullies, but that wasn't a reason to become one in revenge. Captain America was used to dealing with bullies like HYDRA, like Ultron, like Loki. Against a child, he started to look like the villain.

They came every ten minutes to try to entice him out of his room after that. Hawkeye: who hadn't joined in the threats but hadn't discouraged them either, only stood with a faint smirk and his arms folded. The Falcon, who had scoffed at the idea that Flash would get an internship (even though Peter didn't really have one either) and spent five minutes giving Flash a piece of his mind. Wanda, who hadn't said anything but had made her eyes glow slightly and levitated, red tendrils surrounding her hands and hair so that Flash trembled with fear under her gaze.

Peter's breath trembled too with anger at his family as he thought of the redness of Flash's cheeks, the tears spilling over as he fled from the room. The pounding heart and wavering breaths that Peter knew the super soldier could hear too. The full-body flinch as one of the security guards laid a hand on his shoulder to lead him out. The fear and shame in his expression as he cast a paranoid glance over his shoulder just before vanishing from view.