The Butterfly Effect: a Peter Parker Fan Fic

Part 44; Parent

I chuckle in disbelief, "are you really doing this Phil? Or am I dreaming? You're going to kill me?"

"Let her go!" Tony orders. Much to my surprise, he doesn't move at all. Tony's voice is very commanding and despite the fact that he wasn't talking to me, his words still caused beads of sweat to trickle down the sides of my head.

"Never!" Phil snaps back. "Hail Bloody Ma--"

The sound of a web leaving Peter's shooter cuts him off. Phil's gun clatters onto the floor, skidding towards Tony's feet. I cock my head, meeting Peter's eyes. Despite still laying on the floor, his mask is now off and his face is in full view. He winks at me, bringing a smile as bright as the sun to my face.

When I spin my head around to face Phil, his teeth are chattering so much, they're on the verge of falling out. He kneels down, getting down on his knees. "I-I-I-I'm s-s-s-orry," he stutters.

I, too, am sprawled out on the floor, my legs a tangled mess. However, my motivation to hurt him is far larger than his. "You should've thought about that before you messed with me and my family," I fire before throwing my fist into his face.

The impact knocks him out, finally. My knuckles ache after such a large blow and everything hurts... including the ache in my heart. I did this all for Cam and-- Cam. My eyes dart around the entire room, searching for my little brother.

And in the corner of the room, scrunched up in a ball to shield himself from the impact of the brawl, there he is. "Cam!" I call out to him, "you can come, it's over. You're safe now." It's difficult to keep my voice calm and collected, but there it goes, tinged with the tad bit of fright after such an encounter.

His small head lifts upwards and his eyes gaze into mine. A small cut lines the center of his right cheek, the bright red color from the blood contrasting against his pale white complexion. Gold specks, filled with hope, shine in his wide eyes... but he doesn't move. Aside from his body trembling relentlessly, he simply remains scrawled up on the floor.

I want to get up to go and embrace him myself, but everything holds me back. "Cam?" I repeat, my voice now filled entirely pessimistic.

Tony's suit retracts, returning him to his old rock band tee and jeans combo. The thing was practically a heap of metal junk after what Mary did to it anyway. His feet slowly creep toward Cam, not making any sudden movements. "Hey, buddy," he says softly. "Do you know who I am?"

His hand gently grips Cam's shoulder. On any other day, he would have squirmed and flinched at the thought of Tony Stark touching him. Today, on the contrary, he simply stares blankly at the wall ahead, his eyes deprived of any meaning. His shaking has calmed down, excluding his hands which tremble like leaves in the wind.

"Is he okay?" I ask worriedly.

Tony sighs and spins to face me solemnly, "I don't know for sure, but I think it might be post-traumatic stress disorder. He's in shock right now. We should take him to a hospital just in case."

This is horrific. This is sickening. This is unfair. Cam has to pay the price for the petty feud I have. He can't be the smiley, bouncy teenager he has always been for a while. Even if he went to see a therapist, it will only expose my and Peter's identities and everything private about our lives. Do we want that getting out even if it's the only way he can make a full recovery?

Peter clears his throat and when I turn my head, he has appeared right next to me, his hand extended. I take it without hesitating, the warm glow seeping through the material that covers his hand. Every part of me is in agonizing pain and my legs, like jelly. This is all it takes for me to stumble into his chest.