TW: death, injury, panic attack
Sharp claws dig into Peter's shoulders. He feels the bone pop out of place sickeningly.
He screams in pain and tries to pull himself out of the tight metallic grip that keeps him pinned on the ground, digging his heels into the sand. He can feel smoke filling up his lungs with each sharp inhale and his multiple broken ribs protest against his lungs.
The vulture's claws push against him harder and he feels another rib snap.
He shouts again before it goes black.
A new setting materializes and where Vulture was before, now stands Beck. Quentin fucking Beck.
"Hi Peter."
Peter barely holds himself up, wrapping his hand around his sides, wishing the throbbing would halt.
"Beck," he pants, "Please... please stop."
His smile widens. "Cute. You think I'll just... stop? Now what's the fun in that?"
"Peter?"
He darts his eyes over. May. She looks around for him until her terrified gaze finally locks on his own. She begins to run towards him and the first thing he sees is Beck's wide grin.
"May. May no-"
She makes a struggling noise before she falls to the floor, limp.
Beck disappears but Peter couldn't care less. He runs over to his aunt, frantic hands brushing hair out of her face like she does for him on a bad night.
"Oh god, oh god May."
His hand becomes red with blood from where it was resting on her stomach. "No. Nonono."
"Honey?" "Yea-" Peter clears his throat. She she can't hear him unravel. "Yeah?"
"Wha's wrong?" "Nothing. It's nothing it's all gonna be..." he feels grief-filled pressure build up in his chest as he listens to her heart slows to a stop. His ears begin to ring, but he can't tell if it's from shock or his sense screaming at him that there's a lingering presence behind him.
"This is your fault. You know that, right?"
"You killed her," Peter cried. He trembled as he gripped her cold, limp hand. He can't breathe, oh god, he can't breathe. "May."
"No," Beck murmured, as if he were sad for him. "You did."
Peter sees red. He forces himself up off the ground, the pain in his injuries suddenly gone numb. All that's left is just an excruciating amount of grief. He killed her. He killed her.
He feels as his arm swings punches over and over again, pounding into the man's face. His wicked grin never fades. Not once. Peter's hands latch around his neck and squeeze, an action he'd never planned on doing to anyone. Not ever. But something had snapped inside him. May was gone. What else did he have to loose?
As Beck's heartbeat slows, it starts to sound like something more familiar. A mechanical- powered heart. It snapped him out of his trance and he pulls his hands away like he'd touched a hot stove.
It's Tony's heartbeat.
Oh god, Tony.
Peter feels a scared sob rip from his throat. Below him is no longer Quentin Beck, the man that had killed his aunt, but now it's Tony. His mentor. The man that had become so much more to him than he could ever imagine.
He killed him. Peter killed him.
The stench of blood is nauseating. He knows he'll never forget it. Nor will he forget Beck's sickening laugh and the sound of a heartbeat slowing.
"No-" he sobbed, pressing his hands against his pulse point. He finds nothing. "No."
Hands start clapping from behind him, followed by an amused, sinister chuckle.
"Fantastic show, Parker. Absolutely breathtaking, really."
Peter lets out his breaths in quick pants, glaring at him beneath his sweaty bangs. His fingers are curled around Tony's sleeve.
"Though, I'm afraid all shows must come to an end," he says, shaking his head. Behind Beck, Drones raise above him, point their guns towards him, and whir.
"Goodbye Peter."
He feels no pain but his vision goes white. He thinks his life has come to an end for just a moment before his eyes snap open. He gasps for air, grappling at his chest, pulling at the collar of his shirt. He kicks his bedsheets off himself and sits up.
He needs to calm down. He needs to-
His eyes snap over at a silhouette just feet away.
His ears are still ringing and just slightly, he can hear it saying his name. Overwhelmed with adrenaline, he makes a strangled shout and pushes it away. His lamp clatters to the ground and breaks, and Peter takes the opportunity to scramble off his bed. Before he can though, he hears his name again but in Tony's voice.
But it can't be Tony. He's-
"Peter it's ok. Kid."
The voice is soft, comforting. It can only be him.
FRIDAY chooses now to flick the lights on and upon seeing the man leaning against the wall, very obviously in pain, Peter crumbles.
"Peter, hey, what's wrong, huh? Why're you-"
"I hurt you," he cries, "I hurt you, oh god."
"You didn't, I'm fine kid." Tony reached out to do something- anything comforting. Anything helpful. Though, Peter flinches away.
"Do- don't I'll-" "No. you won't. I'm not hurt."
"You are. I- I-"
"You just knocked the air out of me, Pete. Worst case scenario, I get a bruise. And I scared you- if anything, I deserved it."
Peter doesn't find himself to be calming down despite seeing how his mentor is still here and very much alive. He doesn't know what to think though. He- he killed him in his dream. He did that.
To his embarrassment, he ducks his head and cries harder.
"Peter," Tony murmurs. "It's ok- here, can I-?"
When he wraps his arms around him, Peter shoves his face into his shoulder.
"I'm so sorry- I'm so sorry Tony."
"Stop it. You did nothing wrong." "I did. My-my dream and then here- I-I hurt you." "It was a dream. A nightmare, ok? Then, you woke up scared. You did nothing wrong."
Peter stays quiet, not wanting to agree.
"Are you gonna go back to sleep?"
He shakes his head.
"Ok. Do you want to watch a movie?"
A nod.
"Ok," he says, pressing a kiss to his temple. "C'mon."
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Words- 1042