Chapter 6: Burning blood

WARNING : Graphic description of violence, includes fire and injury.

Chapter Text

Heat seeped into his suit as Peter got closer to the active crime scene, ramping up in intensity with each blast of flames shooting up into the sky.

He had to save his web fluid for the confrontation. Irresponsibly, he had grown to rely on the Iron Spider suit's ability to tell him how much he had left in his shooters. It made it hard for him to try and judge how much of the formula remained in the small tanks strapped to his wrists, now that the suit was malfunctioning. A few days earlier, he had taken them out, attempting to guess how much he could still use. 

He remembered estimating he had about ten short swings left. He would have to go with that number, he didn't have any other choice, really.

Having to rely on his legs and arms to move fast, Peter jumped like he never had before, reaching heights that surprised even himself. With a leap, he cleared two buildings, landing with a roll in the street right next to the inferno Firefly was creating. Warmth crept its way up his cheeks and through his mask. It would have felt comforting, had it not been caused by such a dangerous situation.

Fire. He tried to remember how good the Iron Spider was with it. It wasn't fully ignifuge, even when powered up. In this state, it would probably only offer him protection for a couple seconds before the flame seeped through and burned him. He needed to be smart about it.

He didn't, however, have time to stop and strategize. He could hear police sirens, in the distance. It would take them a few minutes to get there, more, if the streets were congested.

Peter crouched lower on the dirty pavement, chest almost touching the ground as he put the palms of his hands flat in the ground.

Then, putting all of his strength into it, he sprung up, wind hitting his face as he cut through the air. In a fraction of a second, he reached the top of the one building row between him and Firefly's playground. He used the height to try and spot the man.

Bringing his knees up to his chest, ready to flip in any direction if he needed to, Peter smelled the arsonist by the incredible amount of fuel the man was carrying on himself. Fuel and powder. Firearms and flamethrower. He had to be fast, make sure he wasn't noticed before he attacked.

There was only one way for him to reach that velocity.

Peter flicked his hands forward, engaging his web shooters. As Firefly cackled further down in the street, hovering over the burned remains of a city bus, Spider-Man latched his strings on the front of the building behind the criminal. The man turned around, alerted by the noise, frowning as the webs stuck themselves to the stone wall, tense as guitar strings.

Nine swings left.

Bringing all of his remaining energy into the move, he clenched his fists against the strings, pulling on them until his muscles screamed. He shot forward, as fast as a bullet, plunging towards Firefly.

Both of his feet crashed into the man's unguarded back, ripping through his jet pack in an second, hot fuel exploding out of it, coating Peter's Spider boots with a terrifying hiss. The criminal yelped in surprise, the strength behind the blow enough to shove him into the stone wall, hard enough to make it crack.

Peter's feet were hurting. A lot.

The fuel had not been ignited but it had still be scaldingly hot, spraying his feet and legs with what felt like hot, fuming lava.

He gagged, shooting another string by reflex to get himself away from the pyromaniac. He landed in a heap on top of a broken down, charred bus. Pain made his vision swim but, when he managed to prop himself up on his shaking arms, he could see that Firefly, too, was standing back up.

The man's jet pack had been disabled by his first assault, although Peter had not properly thought the maneuver through and gotten himself injured, he at least accomplished something. Unfortunately for him, though, it looked like the suit the man was clad in was not just for show. Now that he was closer, the teenager could clearly see that this wasn't a silly costume but a full blown battle suit.

A pyromaniac armed with dozens of weapons, if the ones on his belt and in his hands were any indication, and an intact armor, Firefly was still dangerous, even stranded on the ground.

Having to react quickly, Peter didn't leave himself time to hesitate and bent forward, grabbing his Spider Boots and tearing them away from his feet. As he has suspected, the fabric and plastic in it had started to melt into his skin. Blood spread on the blackened bus roof as his skin ripped apart. Tears sprung to his eyes but still, he forced himself back up.

Despite all the suffering he has just gone through, it had barely been thirty seconds since he first jumped into the battle. He couldn't give up right now.

On the other side of the street, Firefly had spotted him. The man screamed curses at him, grabbing the broken, battered remains of his jet pack and-

Uh oh.

Using his third web shot, Peter managed to snatch the jet pack from the air as it was hurled at him, twisting around to swing it around himself. The weight pulled at his shoulders as the machine swung around him but it was easily manageable. He had lifted heavier things.

"What the-" Firefly managed before his jet pack came back to hit him in the face. The man grunted but, somehow, managed to stay standing. What kind of armor was he wearing? There was barely a scratch on it, after everything Peter threw at him.

This was exactly why he didn't want to intervene as Spider-Man this soon, he didn't have enough information about this world and the people inhabiting it. He barely even knew enough about this fire guy to fight him properly.

"Cocky brat." Firefly grumbled, as Peter lowered his hands to the warm, warped metal he was crouching on. He leaned forward, putting most of his own weight onto his arms and shoulders, to give his feet a break. Blood had stopped pouring out of the open skin, and he could feel a familiar scratchy sensation start to settle in his toes and ankles.

His healing factor was kicking in.

"You with the bat?" Firefly asked him, reaching down to his belt to pluck what appeared to be several different types of grenades. Peter gulped, feeling extremely out of his depth.

The police sirens were getting closer and, over the traffic, he could hear the loud roar of an engine he assumed was some form of fortified vehicle. One mile away, he thought, maybe a bit less. He had to hold on for just a bit longer…

"Can't say I've met the Big Man yet," Peter replied, hoping to buy himself some time before having to dodge the explosives.

"Hm." Firefly said, looking down at the grenades in his hands. "This won't work on you."

He said it with an alarming amount of confidence, as if he had already figured him out. His scowl at Peter slowly morphed into a smirk. He raised bis hands, twirling the grenades in between his fingers.

Then, he turned around and hurled them further down the street, at a still unlit blocky building. Over the roaring of the flames, Peter could hear panicked whispering coming from it. His heart skipped a beat, horror chilling his blood.

"That's not fair!" He snapped at the arsonist as he aimed his web shooters. He couldn't just send web bullets at the grenades, that would only serve to either make them explode or push them further towards the civilians.

Seeing no other option, he spent another of his six remaining swings to grab two of the explosives off of the air. He wouldn't be fast enough to get all of them, he realized. Gritting his teeth under the mask, wishing he still had access to the full range of the Iron Spider's abilities, he whipped his arms up, launching the two grenades he'd grabbed into the air. He let the strings go, moments before they were torn apart by the explosion.

His heart sunk in his chest as the two other explosives he had not managed to divert crashed into the front of the building. Screams erupted from behind the windows as flames started to creep out of the blast. The walls began to shake.

A crunching sound to his left-way too close- forced him to tear his gaze away to snap his head to the side. Shit. He'd been stupid.

He forgot he was in a fight! 

Firefly grinned at him from the other side of the bus' roof, fire already launching straight in his direction. He had a flame thrower in one hand, in the other…

Peter plunged to the side, off of the bus and into the street. The fire singed his suit, warming the metallic parts and making them sear his skin. The arsonist laughed hysterically and followed his jump with the nozzle of his flamethrower. Fire found him once again, hitting his shoulders, back and head. The small fabric parts of his suit started to burn too.

He was in so much pain.

Forcing himself to his still bleeding feet-the fast forming scabs had been ripped when he had jumped- trying to ignore the pain from his back and legs, he leaped up. Higher than the bus, higher than the buildings.

Where the flames couldn't get him.

He arched his back, trying to control his position and trajectory. Scalding hot metal burned into his shoulder blades and spine. He gasped.

Firefly was yelling at him, but Peter didn't listen. He felt like time was slowing down, although he knew that it was only a side effect of adrenaline. Ever since he had been bitten, the chemical had had more effect on him than it did before, helping him tremendously when he ended up in a fight.

He opened his hands, readying his web shooters. This would be a difficult maneuver to pull off, he had to be focused.

As he shot his fifth strings of the night, he could hear vehicles driving into the nearby streets. The pavement crunched under the weight of too heavy tires. Did they bring the tank with them? 

He did not have time to think about it, his attack had already started, he couldn't abort it. His webs stuck to the street, one on each side of the bus. Firefly looked surprised at that, then smirked, nudging the nozzle of his weapon upwards.

Peter launched himself at him, heading full speed towards his death. As soon as he gained momentum, he let go of the webs, twisting his whole body to turn his back to the flamethrower. He felt the fire brush at the remains of his suit, but, as he was about to fall into it, he shot his sixth string, tugging himself to the side with unnatural speed.

He landed on the wall with a loud thump, sticking to the stone with his hands and feet, feeling himself sink a little into the cracked surface due to the impact.

Blood spurted from his damaged feet, but he didn't want to let this opportunity go. He had moved fast, so fast, in fact, that Firefly hadn't been able to follow his position.

Pushing further into the stone wall, he launched himself at the criminal, this time aiming for his exposed back. The jet pack being gone, he could see leather straps where it had been, no doubt used to secure it to the body armor. An idea formed in his mind.

Just as he was struck with inspiration, he hit Firefly straight in the mid back, shoving his arms under the man's armpit and brutally bringing them up, locking them around his shoulders. He then twisted his muscles slightly, leading to a loud, sinister crack.

Firefly yelled in pain as both of his arms broke at the shoulder, he did not waver though, attempting to push Peter away with his legs. He was still holding the flamethrower, with the trigger pushed, and fire was spreading at their feet, slowly heating up the metal they were standing on. The teenager's battered feet throbbed in agony. If he didn't know about his enhanced healing, he would probably be afraid of suffering nerve damage from this kind of abuse.

Not wanting to damage them even more, he jumped up, pushing his feet into Firefly's back, tugging his broken arms back as he kicked him. The man groaned again. Down the street, Peter could still hear screams. 

Thankfully, he noticed, as he jumped down and landed on the villain's back, pushing his head into the ground, the police was there now, he could hear the tank rolling into the street, and-

Wait.

Raising his head in horror, Peter looked at the end of the street, fully expecting an army of police officer to be there at the ready, guns drawn, ready to fire. For a second, he felt like he was back in New York.

The illusion shattered quickly, however, as his eyes landed not on the police vehicles he had seen the day before but, instead, a monstrous beast of a car. Solid black, it roared as it came full speed towards them. It looked like a mix between a sleek racing car and a military tank, due to the heavy armor spread all across its body.

It did not look like it was going to slow down.

Peter yelped, now afraid he was going to be run over by a rogue tank. Firefly's suit was black too, maybe this was his car. He punched the arsonist's face into the ground once again, then jumped away. Immediately, his eyes fell on the burning building he had failed to save.

Not paying attention to see if Firefly was running or not, he spent a seventh swing to make his way as fast as possible to the crumbling house. He could still hear coughing and whimpering inside. It was, however, a lot fainter than the screams from earlier.

He bit back a wave of guilt, swinging through a broken window, passing through a sheet of flames, that finished completely charring his suit, then rolled into a corridor. Family pictures were put all around the walls, bringing back bitter memories. No time.

He followed the whimpers through another wall of flames, kicking open a collapsed door as he entered what appeared to have once been a bedroom. There, crouching under a desk, faces smeared with tears and soot, two children were cowering.

He stepped towards them. One of them, a girl with frizzy black hair and an angelic face, spotted him and shrieked in terror. Peter didn't even hesitate, ripping off his mask and raising his hands. 

"It's fine. It's fine. I'm a human like you. I'm here to help."

A loud crack sounded behind him, and he could feel the floor start to shake. He had to get the kids out. Fire was already spreading into the room from the opened door. He spotted a window, walked towards it. Smoke was starting to get to his head, giving him a headache.

He tried to pull the window up, only to realized it was locked. A child safety mechanism, no doubt.

He forced the thing up anyways, causing it to groan loudly. The sudden rush of air from the outside made the fire gain in speed. It had almost reached the desk.

Not caring if he was scaring them anymore, Peter scooped up the children, one under each arm, and jumped through the window, sticking his feet to the closest building. This one was starting to catch fire too. He cursed.

He couldn't drop the kids in the street, not while Firefly was still there. He could hear police officers driving down the next road over. He would drop them here, then.

Running up the wall, hoping to make it fast enough so he could run back and try to rescue someone else, he jumped above ruined houses and slowly spreading flames. The girl hadn't stopped screaming, her sibling, a lot younger than her, was shaking and crying violently.

He landed away from any fires, trying to look around for any sort of officer. To his relief, he could see a group of a dozen or so cars clumping together towards the entrance of the flaming alley. Police officers in full body armor were slowly creeping into the battle zone. Peter nodded, sliding his mask back on, jostling one of the little ones as he did so.

He jumped again, landing behind the police barricade. The screaming girl made the nearby officers start and quite a few of them trailed their weapons on them.

"Drop the kids." Someone barked. Peter immediately obeyed. They were taking him for a villain. No good.

Not wanting to get shot after just surviving through a violent beating, he threw himself in the air, swinging away, feeling from the weight that his web fluid tanks were almost empty.

He catapulted himself above the chaotic scene, narrowly dodging a volley of bullets as some officers shot at him as he escaped. Alright. Time to flee the place.

He made his way back to the roof he had started his attack on, a few blocks away from the battle ground. Nobody followed him, and he could hear a few explosions going off in the distance. He had been right to stick to higher spots, as it seemed like the whole street had been littered with traps and explosives.

Back on the roof, he picked up the battered sneakers, grabbing the 100$ bill hidden in them with trembling hands. His backpack was gone, burned away by the flames. His food, his clothes, even the pamphlet Barbara gave him.

Suddenly, he remembered the building, the people still trapped in it. He turned around, heart thumping, but the explosions had stopped, and he could hear firemen bells ringing. He breathed out shakily, ears ringing.

Slowly, he got to his knees, tugged his mask off, put his forehead on the cold stone.

He was crying. He could taste salt and blood. Ashes and fuel.

What kind of villain was this? In the middle of a fight, he had used human lives to distract him. And Peter had been to weak to save them. He only got two children out, not even their parents. He failed them too. He hadn't had to face this kind of person before, his enemies certainly hadn't been honorable, but they hadn't been so…

… vicious. Evil. Twisted.

He shook his head. He always tried to see the reasons behind people's actions, there was a reason behind every decision. There had to be some form of story behind Firefly's behavior.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to understand him. He hated him, he realized. This was why he broke his arms, why he smashed his face into the ground so brutally. He hated this man who destroyed innocent lives just to get a tiny advantage on him.

Was this how it was, in Gotham? Were all of the rogues like this?

He rose slowly back to a sitting position, crossing his legs, hanging his head low. There was a greater evil in this place than he had thought. He had to help in some way, he had to-

His back burned and ached, most of the Iron Spider suit melted into his skin. He would have to tear it away, bit by bit. His feet had stopped bleeding, the pain still terrible enough to make his head spin.

He couldn't stay there, he had to leave before someone found him. He didn't want to be shot at again.

He limped away, feeling numb.

He was right. Getting involved without proper information on Gotham's rogues was a mistake, if he hadn't done it, maybe those people would still be alive.

"I'm so sorry." He whispered to the wind. "I wish I could have saved you."

Silence was the only answer to his sobs.