Absolute Spider-Man

[Lillie Jones]

He said that line, which Peter Parker SI is fully realizing what sort of Spider-Man he wants to be and capable of trying to protect his loved ones and becoming this world's Absolute Spider-Man.

Peter Parker SI has made own personal leap of faith here, people and I'm here for whatever happens next for our unlikely Spider-Man.
Continue on
Cheers!

 

[SpectreOfChaos]

Peter isn't Peter without his smarts

 

[Arsenal597]

I've never claimed to be the smartest person in the room. It's why I was nervous about waking up as Peter Parker. There was no way my brains could ever match up to his. The guy is a certifiable genius and master of improvisation. But it's like I told Toomes — I'm a sore loser. Beat me down all you want. I'm willing to take the hits, because as long as I can get back up, I know there's a chance to come out on top. We've been duking it out for what felt like an hour of hell. The building is burning, emergency services are here, and I'm fighting Toomes high above it all, where the wind howls loud enough to drown out everything except the sound of blood rushing through my ears..

Spider-Man isn't invincible. He's never been that way. What makes him different from so many other heroes is that despite overwhelming odds, he always gets back up. He'd stand and fight till there wasn't a single breath left in his body. I'm a lot like that, except while he becomes more determined, I just get angrier. My anger helps me focus—I realize that now.

It's why my training sessions with Smythe irritated me. I felt like I couldn't do anything without being angry. No… it makes me focus on the fight. Each hit is a lesson beaten into my skull.

That's what Toomes doesn't get. He thinks I'm fighting a losing battle—that I can't win. He's grown overconfident, and that's going to be his downfall. Sure, his regeneration is a problem… but I know something Toomes might not.

I saw the DNA results from the feather I grabbed. He's dying. His cells are damaged. Regeneration doesn't work like most people assume in cartoons or anime. There's a reason why people like Deadpool and Wolverine are still kicking after hundreds of years. Their healing factor allows it, because their ability to regenerate isn't negated over time. Until something stops it, they're effectively immortal. Guess what, Toomes?

Your regeneration isn't permanent. The more you use it, the worse your body becomes. So all I gotta do is put pressure on you until your body can't keep up. This is a last man standing match, and for once in my life, I'm the guy who can afford to drag this out.

That's what's keeping me going right now—the thought of being able to take him down once and for all. As I land on the side of the building, sliding across the glass, tiny fractures spiderwebbing under my feet, I have to keep the smile from forming. Don't get me wrong, I'm angry. Scratch that, I'm pissed. I'm pissed to the point that nothing else matters right now, and I know how wrong that is. But at least I know what's at stake. I'm not going to play into his hands. I can make myself look reckless while putting myself in a better position.

He cackled again, enjoying himself far too much as he dove toward me at breakneck speed. There's something wrong with the sound of it—too sharp, too wet, like it's tearing its way out of a throat that wasn't built to make it anymore. I tried to leap over him, but he managed to snag my foot at the very last second. I'll give Jackal credit where it's due. I don't know what the hell he put in Toomes, but it made him a lot faster. Toomes was fast as hell before, but I was at least able to react.

My spider-sense could tell me when he was about to attack, but right now it felt like it was lagging behind. The warning comes a fraction too late, like my body's still catching up to my brain.

My body lurched as we went crashing through the window and into one of the now-empty corridors. Glass exploded around us in a violent spray, shards catching the firelight as they scattered, followed by the splintering crack of drywall and the dull, heavy impact of desks shattering under our combined weight. Papers burst into the air like a flock of startled birds, some already catching embers as they drifted down.

The pain of crashing through it all is there, but it's almost a second thought. That's what I've noticed since I woke up in the car. It doesn't hurt like it used to. Maybe that poison screwed with my nerves, who knows? I'm thankful for it, personally. It makes it easier to keep going.

We hit the ground hard, momentum carrying us through another desk before we finally separated. I rolled twice, shoulder clipping a toppled chair, forcing myself back to my feet with a flip. From a few feet away, Toomes unfurled his wings, using them to prop himself onto his knees, claws screeching faintly against the tile. I'd be impressed if his existence didn't piss me off.

Though, I noticed something as he tried to get up. He rose slower than before. It wasn't by much. Most people wouldn't even notice it—but I did. There was a hitch in the motion, a slight delay before his wing flexed fully, like the joint didn't quite want to cooperate.

"Still standing?" he rasped, tilting his head at an angle that made something in my spine tighten. "I was starting to think you'd finally learned when to quit."

I rolled my shoulder as I squared up again.

"What can I say? I'm a slow learner."

He laughed again with that same broken, jagged sound, and lunged.

This time I was ready. I moved before he closed the distance, dashing to the side. I let his momentum carry him past me as my hand shot out, firing a web point-blank into the side of his face. I yanked as hard as I could, spinning him around midair just enough for me to plant my foot straight into his ribs.

I felt them give under the impact. He definitely felt that—even if it was going to heal.

Toomes skidded across the floor, claws digging into tile to stop himself, leaving deep grooves behind him, wings flaring wide and smashing into the walls on either side of the corridor hard enough to shake loose chunks of plaster. He breathed heavily as he rose to his feet this time. His wings were shuddering, legs wobbling. Sweat mixed with soot as it ran down his face.

"Getting tired, old man?" I asked, a little more amused than I meant to sound. "I could take you back to the retirement home. It's Bingo night."

"Your jokes…" he wiped his lip. "—they're getting worse."

"I save my best for those who've earned it."

"Why won't you just give up?"

"Your hearing aids die on you? I told you, Toomes. I'm a sore loser." I held my arms out to the side. "Should've figured that out the night you killed May Parker."

Toomes' head twitched at that. Just a flick, but it was there. Good. That meant there was still enough of a man in there to feel it. He didn't say anything this time—just a low, wet snarl.

His wings snapped wide and he launched forward, claws scraping sparks off the tile as he pushed off.

The corridor shrank in an instant, his silhouette blotting out what little light filtered in through the broken windows. My spider-sense screamed—late again—but I was already moving.

My foot hit the wall and I ran up. Three steps, then four, my body angling sideways as dust shook loose beneath each impact. His claws tore through where my chest had been a split second earlier, gouging deep lines into the drywall, wires snapping and sparking behind it. I twisted mid-stride, planting a hand against the surface and kicking off hard, flipping over him as he barreled past.

He didn't stop.

Before, he would've corrected—snapped around, adjusted, stayed on me. Now he committed all the way through. His wing clipped a support beam with a dull, meaty crack that echoed down the corridor.

I landed light behind him, already turning, firing a web into the base of his wing and yanking hard.

There it is again.

His body twisted—but the wing lagged. Just enough.

It bent wrong.

The wing snapped into an unnatural angle, and he screamed—raw, animal, loud enough to cut through the crackle of the fire creeping in from the far end of the hallway.

"You son of a—"

Web to the beak.

"Baw-kaw!" I gasped mockingly, clasping a hand over my mouth. "Big Bird using language like that is unbecoming! That's the kind of thing that'll get you cancelled on PBS!"

He tore the webbing apart and spread his wings, the injured one snapping back into place in a way that made my stomach twist.

"This is growing tiresome!"

"Heh," I placed my hands on my hips. "I'm having a pretty good time. Don't know what your problem is."

"Are you trying to make me angry?"

"I wouldn't say that. More like I'm trying to ruffle your feathers."

I've made enough bird jokes by now that it's getting a bit stale—even for me—but if it makes Toomes angrier, why not? In a weird way, I'm actually enjoying this.

"Huh… guess that's why Mand used to ragebait me all the time," I muttered under my breath— right before Toomes spun like a tornado.

Feathers ripped free from his wings and shot outward, embedding into the walls like jagged metal spikes, some punching straight through filing cabinets and into the concrete behind them.

"That's new."

I flipped through the barrage, twisting between the projectiles as they whistled past, grabbing two of them with webs mid-air and ripping them back toward him. He squawked as they punched into his chest, staggering him just enough.

His eyes weren't on me.

That's all I needed.

I closed the distance in a blur, boots skidding slightly on broken tile before I hooked an arm around his neck, locking him into a headlock.

"What's—" Toomes clawed at my arm, talons scraping against the suit as he tried to tear free. "What's this going to do?! You can't kill me!"

"We'll see about that!" I tightened my grip, dragging him back a step as his wings flared unevenly behind him. "You still need air, jackass!"

Toomes didn't panic like I expected. Even with my arm locked tight around his throat, crushing his windpipe with my forearm… there wasn't that wild, desperate flailing you'd expect.

No blind scrambling or wasted movement.

No, the fucker instantly adapted.

His claws came up at my side. Hate to admit it, but it's smart. He couldn't pry me off cleanly, so he's gone for damage instead. Talons dug in, scraping across my ribs, biting just enough to make my muscles twitch.

Pain flared as I could only tighten my grip.

"Yeah—" I grunted, teeth clenched as he raked across me again, "-not happening."

I bashed my fist into his side. Once, twice…

The third hit actually landed harder than the first two combined, knuckles slamming into the same spot I'd already cracked. I felt something give again, albeit weaker this time. His body jerked in my hold, breath hitching — at least, what little he could manage of one.

His legs buckled, taking us both down. He hit the ground first, while I rode the fall and kept the choke locked in as my back slammed against the tile hard enough to fracture it beneath us. Dust puffed up around us, mixing with the smoke creeping in from the hall.

He thrashed desperately now. His wings beat against the floor, unevenly — one strong, the other lagging just enough to throw off the rhythm. Thank God, because I'm not sure I'd be able to hold on if his wings were working correctly. I could feel him starting to give as I squeezed harder.

"You're—" he choked, voice shredding itself apart under the pressure, "-not… strong enough…"

"Funny," I muttered, hauling him up just enough to slam him back down again. "I was just about to say the same thing about you!"

His claws came up again, this time catching my shoulder. They dug in deeper, drawing a sharp breath out of me, but I didn't let go.

If it had been that night, when we first fought in Queens… I think it would have turned out differently. I could feel the difference. I would have won that fight, long before he hurt May. If only I had been where I was now…

No. I'm not blaming myself right now. If I slip, even for a second, he's going to get back up. I'm not letting this fucker go again.

Toomes hissed as he managed to roll us onto his stomach. His wings snapped wide, slamming into the floor with a heavy, concussive thud.

"What the-"

Then he launched straight up. The force of his wings ripped us both off the ground, debris scattering beneath us as we shot toward the ceiling. My grip tightened instinctively, forearm digging harder into his throat as the world blurred past in a rush of broken lights and exposed wiring.

I saw it coming a split second before impact — the ceiling. It was already cracked and weak, damaged from the fire above. He was trying to smash me into it and knock me loose.

"Hell no!"

I shifted, bringing my legs up to brace against his torso as we closed the last few feet. My body twisted with the motion, turning with him instead of against. We hit hard, the ceiling giving with a violent crack, chunks of concrete and plaster raining down as we crashed through into the next level.

The impact rattled through my bones, teeth clacking together, but I refused to let go.

I felt it then. That hesitation. A split-second where he expected me to be gone, but wasn't. I shifted my weight forward, releasing the choke just enough to reposition, my hands sliding — one grabbing his shoulder, the other hooking under his arm. My legs planted against his midsection, using his own momentum again.

Then I pulled with everything I had, flipping him. His back hit first, sending us both crashing through the floor. Then the next, and the next, and the next after that.

Each level gave way in a chain reaction of shattered concrete and splintering beams, the building practically collapsing around us as we tore straight through it. Dust swallowed everything, turning the world into gray static as chunks of debris slammed into my back and shoulders.

After seven floors, we finally came to a stop. The floor crated slightly, a violent shockwave kicking up dust and debris in every direction. The air left my lungs in a harsh burst, my grip finally loosening as the momentum died.

For a second, there was nothing.

No movement. No sound. Just ringing in my ears.

I stayed there on top of him, chest heaving, one hand still gripping what was left of him.

Toomes, at long last, didn't move.

His wings were splayed out beneath him at wrong angles, one giving a weak twitch before going still. His chest was barely rising. Slow and shallow.

I almost wanted to let out a chuckle. He was out finally.

I pushed myself up, boots crunching against broken concrete and glass, my body finally starting to register everything it had just been through.

"Do us both a favor…" I coughed weakly, pointing at the unconscious creature. "...Stay down, you bitchhhh."

Finally, just for a second… I think it's over. The urge to fight the tired giggle that crept its way in isn't there. It bubbles up anyway, slipping past my teeth in this broken, breathless sound that doesn't feel like it belongs to me. I let my shoulders drop as I stand there, trying to catch my breath, all the while wheezing this pathetic giggle. I don't know whether it's because Toomes is down, or the fact I'm still standing… but it felt amazing. Wrong, maybe—but amazing.

My chest rises sharp and uneven, every inhale catching halfway like my lungs forgot how to do their job. It feels like I'm breathing through soaked cloth, thick and resistant. Heat presses in from every direction, suffocating and alive, the fire above us crackling through the floors we just tore apart. The wood groans somewhere deeper in the building, a low, splintering sound that threatens to give way at any second. Embers drift down like slow, lazy snow, some landing against my suit and dying out, others biting just enough to sting through the fabric. My ears are still ringing from the impact, that high-pitched whine sitting right behind everything else, like it's carved into my skull.

Toomes isn't moving, but it doesn't stop me from keeping my eyes on him anyway. I don't trust it. I don't trust him.

It's reminding me of that night in the rain. When I finally collapsed, and in the blink of an eye Toomes managed to disappear into the night. I'm not taking my eyes off him until I know for a fact he's not getting up and walking away. His wings are twisted out under him, one bent at a wrong angle that makes my stomach turn if I look at it too long. The feathers there twitch slightly in the heat, curling in on themselves like they're trying to shrivel away.

His chest barely rises. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was already dead. He's not, though. But he's close enough that it almost doesn't matter. Close enough that the line between the two feels… thin.

"...Yeah," I mumble under my breath, voice coming out rough and dry, scraping on the way out. I didn't even realize I was still pointing at him until my arm started to shake from the effort, muscles burning from holding it there too long. "How's that for a losing battle?"

Any extra retort is lost as I kneel down, joints protesting the second I bend. I pulled my mask up to my nose so I could breathe easier. Sure, not the brightest idea to do in a burning building, but it's too late now. The air hits my face—hot, thick, laced with smoke and ash—and I suck it in anyway like it's the best thing I've ever tasted. I lower my head, looking at my person. If I looked awful before I got here, now I don't know what the word would be.

My clothes are shredded, blood-stained, and where my skin is showing, it's bruised, dirty, and glistening with sweat that refuses to cool. There's grime worked into every crease, every tear. Embedded in my right shoulder is one of Toomes's feathers. I don't even know how I didn't feel that. Maybe I did, and everything else just drowned it out. I reach up, fingers brushing against it, and even that light contact sends a sharp, delayed sting through the area.

I rip it out and hold it in my hand. The motion sends a fresh line of pain down my arm, hot and immediate, blood welling up where it had been lodged. What the hell is this thing made of? It's so light and flimsy that it shouldn't work like shrapnel. It turns slightly between my fingers, catching the firelight—too clean for something that just came out of him.

Wonder if there's some element of bone in the fibers that allowed it to do that? Eh, fuck it. I can science it out when I'm not half-dead.

I pull my mask back down and stumble back to my feet, legs threatening to give out before I fully straighten. My balance feels off, like the ground isn't quite where I expect it to be. Now as I stand there, something sneaks its way into the back of my mind. It's so small, so subtle it nearly doesn't register.

Felicia.

The name hits softer than anything else in this entire fight, and somehow that makes it all the worse. My head tilts slightly, eyes flicking away from Toomes for the first time since we hit the ground. Where the hell is she? The last time I saw her, she was going to look for Smythe. Hopefully she found him and got him and—

A faint shift in the air brushes across the back of my neck. Not heat. Not smoke. Something else. Something's wrong. My spider-sense doesn't go off, and that's the problem.

It should be screaming. After everything that just happened, something should be lighting it up. The fire, the building potentially collapsing, hell even Toomes… something should be.

But there's nothing.

My fingers twitch slightly at my side, slipping the feather into my back pocket for further examination. My chest feels tighter for no clear reason, like something's wrapping around it from the inside. I go to move, only for every cell in my body to scream.

Every muscle locks up at once, my eyes widening as something primal digs its claws into the back of my skull and yanks hard.

MOVE.

I don't even get the chance to turn.

Something slams into me from the side like a truck going full speed, and for a split second I don't understand what just happened—only that I'm not standing where I was a second ago.

The world flips.

My shoulder hits first, then my back, then everything else as I'm driven across the rubble-strewn floor, concrete and glass tearing at my suit and skin, biting in and dragging along with me. The air is knocked clean out of my lungs in a violent, choking burst that leaves my throat burning.

I try to grab onto something, anything… but there's no traction. My fingers scrape uselessly against broken concrete and loose debris that shifts and slides under my grip. No time, no— I hit the wall. Hard enough that something cracks behind me, the impact exploding through my spine and up into my skull. My head snaps to the side, vision flashing white, then black at the edges.

Oh fuck…

The window gives way behind me with a deafening crash, glass erupting outward in a spray of jagged shards that catch the firelight for half a second before disappearing into the dark. The sudden rush of open air hits like a slap, heat instantly replaced by cold wind that howls past my ears, stealing what little breath I had left. My stomach drops as the realization that there was nothing below me hits…

Nothing but empty space and the distant, dizzying blur of the ground far, far below. Too far. Way too far.

My hand shoots out on instinct, web-shooter firing on reflex—

THWIP.

The line catches on the jagged edge of the broken window frame just as my body clears it completely. The web goes taut instantly, yanking hard against my wrist, nearly ripping my shoulder out of its socket from the sudden stop.

"Ghk—!"

The sound tears out of me as I swing violently, momentum carrying me downward before the web line finally holds. My body jerks to a stop mid-air, one arm extended above me, the other scrambling uselessly for balance as my boots kick against open air that gives nothing back.

For a second, I just hang there, breathing. At least, trying to…

My arm shakes under my weight, the web line creaking slightly as it stretches, thin strands pulling tight under the strain. Wind howls past me, tugging at my body, twisting me slightly with each passing gust, making the whole situation feel even more unstable than it already is. My shoulder's on fire, pain radiating down my arm in sharp, pulsing waves that sync up with my heartbeat.

"...Oh-kay," I wheeze, blinking hard as I try to get my bearings, vision still swimming. "Okay, not ideal…"

I tilt my head up slowly, because I already know I'm not alone. Whatever hit me was big and fast—too fast. Toomes wasn't moving, so it couldn't have been him. So, what the hell was it?

The hole in the wall looms above me, jagged edges silhouetted by the flickering firelight inside. Smoke spills out into the open air in thick, rolling waves, curling and twisting as it gets pulled away by the wind, leaving streaks of black that smear across the night.

Then, something steps into view, blocking the light.

I can't make it out at first. Tall, crooked, and wrong. That's about it. It doesn't move like a person—it settles into place, like something that doesn't quite understand the shape it's supposed to hold.

The figure steps onto the frame, leaning out just enough for the light to catch it. My stomach drops immediately at the sight.

It's the Red Vulture, but man… he looks awful. Whatever happened during the span of my fight with Toomes did him in, because it looks like he's been ravaged by the flames and then put back together without care for how it should've worked.

His skin is blackened and split, raw in places where it looks like it should've healed but didn't. Feathers are gone in patches, replaced with charred stubs and blistered flesh that clings to bone in a way that makes bile rise to my throat. One side of his face looks like it melted and then tried to set again—his features pulled into something uneven and jagged, like wax that hardened too soon. There are places where the heat is still eating at him, faint wisps of smoke curling off his body.

Nothing is regenerating the way it should, if he's got the same ability as Toomes. Wonder if the fire did that to him?

He just stands there, staring down at me. Not just looking—tracking. Following every small shift, every breath, like he's taking something apart piece by piece and figuring out how it works. Breathing erratically. Each inhale sounds wet and broken, like something's collapsing inside him with every breath he takes, a faint rattle buried underneath it that doesn't sound right.

My grip tightened on the web instinctively.

"...Hey!" I rasp, forcing something that almost sounds like a laugh, even though there is genuinely nothing funny about this. My voice cracks halfway through it. "You know, I think… I think somebody burnt the chicken!"

He doesn't react at all.

Oh… that's, that's not good.

Hell, I don't even think he blinked once in that entire timespan. Somehow, this felt way worse than if he'd rushed me again.

His head tilts slightly, the motion stiff and unnatural, like something inside him doesn't quite line up anymore. I can hear the burnt flesh pulling and tearing as it moves, charred skin cracking free in small, brittle sounds that carry even over the wind. Yeah, this might have ruined chicken for me in the future.

He stepped forward, dropping down. For half a second, my brain tries to process it like a normal human falling. There's that instinctive drop in my gut, that expectation — he's going to plummet, disappear out of view, and maybe circle back around —

His wings snag open. They jerk outward with a violent, bone-cracking motion. The sound hits me a split second after - a wet, tearing snap that shouldn't belong to anything living.

Red doesn't stabilize and hover. No, that'd be too easy. Instead he dives… straight at me.

"Oh, come on!"

Panic hit me fast, my body reacting before my brain could catch up. My arm tightened on the web as I tried to swing out of the way, to get any kind of distance. My shoulder gave as a sharp, sickening pop rippled through my arm, sending white-hot pain screaming through my veins.

"AA—!"

My grip failed instantly. The web snapped free from my hand, and just like that I dropped. The wind ripped the sound out of my throat as the building shot upward past me, my stomach lurching hard enough to make me dizzy. My good arm flailed, fingers clawing for anything to cling to.

My hand slams into the wall, fingers barely managing to catch a grip. The jolt nearly tears my arm out of its socket as I stop short, boots scraping uselessly against shattered glass and exposed rebar, sparks kicking up where rubber meets broken edges. My nails dig through torn fabric, friction burning against my palm as I cling there like an idiot, chest heaving, vision shaking.

"—Shit—shit—!" is all I can say as my other arm hung at my side, shoulder screaming in retaliation, completely out of place. There's no time to fix it right now. I dragged myself sideways along the wall, far too clumsy and desperate as I tried to get out of its path.

A blur of red tore past where I was. The impact hit the glass like a bomb going off. The concrete and steel frame explode outward in a violent burst that pelts against me, stinging through my suit. The whole section of the building shuddered, the force of it rattling through my grip.

He doesn't stick the landing. Red dug his claws in, wings flaring out unevenly as his body jerked with the force. He clung there for just a second, head twitching slightly as he turned to look at me.

Then something occurred to me. He wasn't talking… why the fuck wasn't he talking?!

Red makes a noise that almost sounded like a laugh, but there was a cooing element to it that sent chills down my spine.

"Oh, no. No, no, no–" I shove myself off the wall, pushing through the pain as I try to get some distance, swinging low and awkwardly with one arm. Every bit of movement is killing me.

I need to fix my arm, but I need the room and time to get it done. He dropped after me, wings snapping open at the last possible second, angling himself straight into me like a missile.

"WOULD YOU JUST—"

He hit me mid-swing.

Claws tore into my side, knocking the air out of me as we're sent spinning together, the web line snapping loose. I can't see anything as we go spiraling towards the ground below. I use my good arm to hit him with everything I've got. My fist connected to the side of his head, but he didn't react the way I expected. There was no give, no inclination that it hurt… nothing.

"Seriously?!"

I can feel it through the suit, his claws digging in just enough to promise they could go deeper if he wanted them to. His face is close now, way too close, and oh it's so much worse. I can see the way the skin pulls when he moves, the way one eye doesn't quite sit right in the socket.

"You really need to sue that plastic surgeon of yours!" I twist hard, ignoring the way my shoulder screamed as I slammed my knee into his torso. There's a dull, hollow impact, like hitting something that was already broken, and it's enough to loosen his grip. I rip free, dropping away from him as I fire another web upward.

It catches, and I swing as high as I can. I aim for the broken window above, just two floors when something slammed into my back. The force drove me forward, straight into the wall, the impact rattling through my bones before I could inhale.

My dislocated shoulder explodes into further agony. Fire spreads through my nerves like a wave. The fucker's biting me!

"DAMMIT!" I exclaimed, unable to stop myself. What is with these guys and wanting to eat me? Toomes already took a chunk out of me that night, and now he's trying to get in on the action. Red's jaw clamped down hard enough to make my vision blur. I can feel the fabric of my shirt becoming wet and warm almost immediately. "Fuck — off, already!"

I smack my hand against his head, digging into whatever I can grab as I shove, strike, anything to get him off me. I connect my fist again and again, but it's like I'm punching water. I might as well be hitting nothing at all the way he's reacting.

I gotta do something before I end up armless. I can see the one eye that's all milky and glossed over now. The idea hits me, and I can't say it's one I would have gone for normally… but I don't know if I have the option not to.

I drive my thumb into his eye socket, and dig in as hard as I can. It's the worst sensation I've ever felt, but based on the scream that escapes his maw… it works.

As he jerked back, there was a wet, tearing sound. It felt like something came with my thumb, but I refused to look. He lets go of me entirely, falling backward and out of sight. I shake my hand just to make sure I don't see something that I'll regret, and fire another web.

I ascend to the broken window, and get through onto solid ground. I crash onto the floor hard, rolling across glass shards and debris before slamming into a shelf. The impact knocks what little air I had left out of me, leaving me sprawled there for half a second — my body refusing to move.

The heat hits me again immediately, wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket, but I don't care. It's nice to have something actually underneath me. I got back to my feet after a couple excruciating seconds, glancing at the window just to make sure he doesn't catch me off guard again.

I look at my bloodied, dislocated shoulder. It's gnarly, but I don't think he shattered it like Toomes managed to do in our first fight. I just need to reset it, and I should be back in action. But I need to hurry, I doubt Red's going to be gone for long.

The floor feels uneven under my boots, mostly because my legs can't decide if they want to keep doing this. Each step sends a dull, echoing throb up through my body.

I lean my back against a cracked support beam, the concrete cool in patches where the fire hasn't reached yet, and grab my arm.

"Okay," I mutter, more to keep my brain from spiraling than anything else. "I've been through worse. How bad can resetting your shoulder be? Right?"

My shoulder hangs lower than it should be. Every tiny movement sends a warning shot of pain through my nerves, as though it's daring me to try. I just gotta focus on the fact it'll be fine once I get it reset, that the pain is momentary.

I grip my wrist with my good hand, teeth clenching as I try to remember literally anything about how this is supposed to go.

"Just—" I take a deep breath before pulling. A sharp, violent pop snapped through my shoulder, loud enough that I feel it in my skull more than I actually hear it. The pain—Jesus—the pain is a wave. It crashes over me all at once, blinding and total, ripping a sound out of my throat that I don't even recognize as mine. My vision whites out, knees buckling as I slam harder into the beam just to stay upright, fingers digging into it like it's the only thing keeping me from dropping.

For a second, there's nothing but that. Then it settles, not quite gone, but to a point where I can breathe without it taking me out. I suck in a shaky breath, flexing my fingers, then my arm. It's weak and shaky, but it responded.

"Okay, that's… that's better." I laugh weakly. "So, so much bett-"

My spider-sense goes off.

The warning hits a split second before the sound does, that same gut-wrenching yank at the back of my skull, instinct screaming at me to move.

Red comes through the window like a bullet, glass and flame trailing behind him as his body slams into the room with zero hesitation.

"-Oh you've gotta be kidding me!"

I barely get my arm up in time. His claws slam into my forearm instead of my throat, the impact jarring my entire body as the force drives me back a step, boots scraping against the floor. The newly reset shoulder screams in protest, practically regretting being put back into service.

"Nope—nope, not doing the bite thing again!" My hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around his throat before he can get a second strike in. I feel the way his body jerks at the contact, the uneven tension in his muscles… "Gotcha!"

I slam him down hard, cracking the floor in the process. His wings flared in a broken, jerking motion that scraped across the ground. The sound he makes is wet and furious, that same warped mix of a screech and a coo, like something trying to mimic a bird and getting it horribly wrong.

"Stay—down!"

I fire webs point-blank, coating his chest, his arms, his wings—anything I can hit. The strands splatter and spread, sticking fast against charred flesh and torn feathers, pinning him to the ground in thick layers. He thrashes immediately, body convulsing as he tries to tear free, the webbing stretching and creaking under the strain.

"Yeah, no, we're not doing round three of you eating me, I'm drawing a hard line there—!"

The words barely leave my mouth before it hits again.

MOVE.

"Oh, come on—!"

The ceiling explodes.

There's no warning beyond the sense this time—no sound, no crack, just sudden violence as concrete and steel give way all at once. The entire section above me caves in, debris raining down in a storm of shattered material, chunks of ceiling and twisted beams crashing into the floor with enough force to shake the entire room.

I throw myself to the side, rolling hard as something massive tears through the space I was just standing in—

Toomes.

He crashes down like something dragged straight out of a nightmare, talons first, the impact sending a shockwave through the floor that rattles up my legs. Dust and debris billow outward, choking the air even further as he lands in a crouch that looks less like control and more like something barely holding itself together.

I scramble back, heart hammering, eyes locking onto him as everything just… stops. The room goes still in a heartbeat, and it's hard for me to process what I'm seeing. Toomes's talons are buried deep in Red.

They've punched straight through his face, or rather what's left of it, pinning his head to the ground beneath him. The webbing is still holding the rest of his body in place, but it doesn't matter.

Red goes completely still without a single sound. I watch as his chest lowers one last time, and a pool of blood spreads out around him.

"...Oh."

That's all I can say.

Toomes doesn't react to it at first. He just stands there, hunched slightly, talons still embedded where they landed. It almost looks like he doesn't realize what he just did.

Then he shifts, pulling his foot free. There's an awful wet sound as it comes loose. Red's body doesn't come with it. He just laid there, completely lifeless.

Toomes stepped off of him, and turned toward me. There's something in his eyes that wasn't there before. Far thinner than the bloodthirsty rage, fraying at the edges. It looked like he was barely holding on.

"We're—" he dragged in a breath, and it sounded like it hurt him to do it — his chest hitching as if the air itself was fighting him, "we're not done."

I blink at him, still halfway crouched, body coiled to move even though I'm pretty sure I've got nothing left in the tank.

"Can we call time out for a second?" I offer, lifting my hands just slightly, a weak, crooked smile pulling at my face despite everything. "Water break, maybe?"

It's not funny.

I know it's not funny.

But it's either that or admit I'm one bad hit away from folding, and I'm really not in the mood for that conversation.

"I told you…" Toomes's voice is rough, uneven, like he's forcing each word out past something lodged in his throat. He takes a step forward, and there's a slight stumble in it, quickly corrected, like even his body isn't fully listening anymore. "You should have killed me when you had the chance."

Another step.

Closer.

"While I still have control of myself…" his jaw tightens, something flickering across his expression—pain, maybe, or something worse. "Finish the job…"

I let out a slow breath, lowering my hands slightly, my stance shifting without me really thinking about it. Every part of me aches, my shoulder throbbing in time with my pulse, my side still burning where Red dug in, but none of that really matters right now.

Because the way Toomes is looking at me? It's exactly the way he did that night when I stopped myself at the last second from killing him. When the man beneath the monster was back at the helm.

"What?"

"Peter Parker…" Toomes wheezes, "-if you're a good man, you'll kill me."

---

Sorry about the wait on this chapter. So, one month ago today my account on AO3 was suspended for "commercial promotion violations" on all of my main stories. Absolute Spider-Man, Umbra Mortis, and Omni-Blood being the main victims here. I was suspended for 30 days, and my stories hidden until "they were edited properly according to their policies." As far as I can tell, barring the possibility of the fics being removed because it's still "not in line with policy" they should be available once again. If not, the stories will be removed off of AO3, and I will begin searching for a new site to call home for my fics. As I do like having roughly four sites that I post on for reach and visibility.

But that being said, we are nearing the end of book 1 now. I plan on releasing 1 to 2 chapters a week, either Mondays or Wednesdays to get us there quicker. The weekly releases will continue either to the end of the book, or I run out of backlog, whichever comes first.

Today is the exception.

Once book 1 is finished, I will be taking the time to go through and edit each chapter that's already been posted prior to now and get up to my own personal standard. I've gone back to writing with pencil and paper completely as the start, so I'd prefer to have the entire story redone in that form to get us where it needs to be.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I will catch you all next weekend on 9/21/2026 with Chapter 48.

Council Members:

Bunkeeroe
Seren
Links

 

[Arsenal597]

Peter isn't Peter without his smarts

Click to shrink...

I do agree with you. Which is why I've gone about the plot in the manner I have without making it the focal point. His intellect is there, just not the knowledge. There's other variables at play, but if you're going to read this... I'd rather you find that out yourself.