5
Chapter 5: there's no challenge you aren't equal toNotes:
1) I meant to finish this chapter yesterday but sleep caught up to me - here's the first event Peter sort of changes and the butterfly effect will catch up to him eventually!
2) For some reason I've decided to get a Wattpad account to trial something so this may be uploaded simulteneously on there if I decide to keep my account...we'll see.
3) Enjoy the chapter and leave a kudos and comment!
Chapter Text
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
His eyes fluttered open but the action made little difference to what he could see. A dusty haze filled his vision as pain assaulted his brain, everywhere crying out and vying for his attention as he worked out what the hell had happened.
There was a vicious pounding in his head and black spots mingled with his vision. The area around his temple stung and something trickled down the side of his head -blood?- as he tried to gather his bearings.
His legs were trapped under something and an excruciating weight pinned down his midsection, making every breath an extreme effort as he wheezed, raising an aching hand to pull his mask off despite some subconscious part of his brain reminding him that it was the only filter between his mouth and the dusty air.
His chest seized as he coughed, ribs rattling with every sudden movement as he tried and failed to twist onto his side, a cut off scream echoing in the stillness of the area as his nerves violently protested at the motion, forcing him to lie down.
"What the- help!" He choked out, breaths speeding up as he slowly realised where he was.
Drip.
Breathe.
Drip.
Gasp.
Drip.
Breathe.
He choked on the dust.
He couldn't breathe.
Blind panic seized him as he choked on the thick air, white noise blurring in between his rapid heartbeat and the constant drip drip drip plaguing his brain. Blood dripped down his temple as he felt vibrations around his throat, vaguely registering it was him screaming between his gasps for breath.
"H-help! Please- please I don't wanna be here again-" he gasped, his throat closing up as tears streamed down his cheeks. "Get me out!"
He had thought he would have avoided the building collapsing, would have avoided the numerous injuries and added trauma, but he was too weak and couldn't fight the inevitable. He was a vigilante, not a hero. It didn't matter if he was meant to be twenty-two, seventeen or fourteen, he couldn't do this.
Childish aspirations enabled by freakish powers and innocence -what little he had left- and dreams of becoming an Avenger screwed him over in more ways than one, leading him to the exact same situation.
He could be perceived as a hero or a menace and it wouldn't matter; he was human and he failed time and time again. His actions had consequences and no good deed went unpunished by whatever universal force was out there that wanted to kill him.
Universal force…?
He was losing his sanity under a pile of rubble. A pile of rubble he was going to die under if he didn't move. He knew he had the strength – he had proved it many times as he casually stopped a bus on his patrol and stopped cars falling off the Brooklyn bridge. He had stopped an armed alien from hitting Tony at the beginning of the alien attack and had a decent go at Thanos.
He had thrown punches with Goblin and almost killed him -it wasn't his finest moment but he would kill (or cure) him if it meant saving May- and if he couldn't lift a pile of rubble off of him then how was he meant to stop Thanos from snapping away half the universe?
His eyes stung from the mix of tears and dust and he blinked through the pain, attempting to ignore the stabbing pain in his chest as he steadied his breaths, grounding himself to try and stop the area from spinning.
He couldn't see much except for blurred speckles of dust and, as he turned his head to assess what he could see, deep brown marks on the chalky rubble closest to him and silhouettes of broken pipes and pillars. His heartbeat and quivering breaths dominated the deafening silence; a coppery smell lingered as the stink of sewage finally overtook the powdery dust smell, all of which mixed into something disgusting.
"C'mon Peter," he muttered, hissing as he shifted under the concrete pile and pain exploded in his side. He would need to see how bad his injuries were and subsequently ignore them for however long it took him to find Vulture because that was what life demanded of him if he was going to press ahead.
He used his fingers to navigate the position of his body, finding all the edges and rough surfaces to judge how bad his situation was. Guessing from the silhouettes and how far apart the two edges of the pieces of rubble trapping him between the debris and the floor were, he could lift the pieces off of him if he managed to get a hold on his sanity.
"C'mon Peter," he told himself, straining his muscles as he partially shimmied out from under a piece of debris and hissed as his skin scraped even more. "C'mon Spider-Man!"
Chanting his last statement under his breath, he gripped the pieces of rubble and lifted them off of him, legs trembling as he shuffled onto his knees and slowly stood up. His body shook with exertion as his knees almost buckled. He screamed, thighs burning as he stood up and the wound in his side protested violently.
He swallowed the coppery taste in his mouth as the debris wobbled more the further he lifted it up, grunting until he shoved the large concrete chunk from on top of him to his left, stumbling backwards and leaning on the remains of a pillar as he caught his breath.
His wheezes were accompanied by the constant drip drip drip of the leaky pipe and the pumping of his blood as he stopped his hands from trembling. He had lifted the debris off of him and he was free (albeit with another load of trauma he would have to deal with in the coming weeks) and he needed to find Vulture before he hijacked the plane!
He pulled his mask on as he stumbled out of the warehouse, grunting in pain as he shot his webs to the top of the building and pulled himself up to the top.
Staggering as the wounds in his thigh and side decided to hinder him, he orientated himself to the area as he blinked quickly to adjust himself to the brightness of the yard. His head ached to high heaven and he supposed there was a slight chance he had a mild concussion -nothing new then- as black spots entered his peripheral vision, but he ignored the warning signs.
Michelle was definitely going to lecture him for his improvisation of medical care but he would deal with it later, ignoring the stinging as he webbed up the wounds on his lower body. Hopefully the blood would coagulate and his healing factor would kick in, but with how much fighting he was about to do, he doubted his temporary bandages would stem all the bleeding.
Scanning the area, he tensed as he realised Vulture was perched on the side of a lit billboard, half of his hunched silhouette illuminated and the other half of his body casting a shadow over the relatively useless display. He doubted Vulture would have realised he had escaped the ruins of the warehouse, not when he was staring concentratedly up at the sky and hadn't turned around.
Okay, so he was in the clear and had the element of surprise for now.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
He slowly tuned out the surrounding sounds of nature and the roar of cars along the motorway as he listened to whatever call Vulture was on, mentally thanking Wanda for teaching him how to focus on his senses whenever things were too overwhelming.
"Launch for intercept, green light, green light," a male voice said on the other side of Vulture's phone call.
"Oh yeah," Vulture replied, voice slightly distorted by his mask as his wings shifted, readying for take-off as the rumble of his jets grew and his wings fully spread out.
It was now or never.
He sprinted forwards, shooting one web from each hand to form a slingshot and propelling himself up to the billboard. His stomach swooped as he flew before he steadily landed on the metal frame of the billboard, keeping up his momentum as Vulture flew away.
"You can do this," he wheezed, shooting a web and weakly grinning as it caught before yelping as his arm was almost yanked out of his socket. Right, this was why he never latched onto airborne objects.
The wind cut through his torn suit, chilling him to the bone despite the weather forecast he had seen earlier saying it would be a warm summer night. Altitude changes liked to screw him over more often than not. He could barely hear himself think as the wind screamed in his ears, heartbeat speeding up as he made the mistake of looking down and seeing how fucking high up in the air he was.
An abyss of water greeted him as he choked on his fear, clenching onto his web like a lifeline as he dangled from whatever part of Vulture his web had grasped onto.
"Got a visual on the plane but, uh, I'm feelin' a bit off resistance."
"Probably just some drag on the new turbines."
The vague conversation barely registered in his mind as his fear intensified, the sight of New York fading into pretty lights turning his blood to ice. He had forgotten how high up planes went and the figure of 30,000 feet wasn't comforting. If he fell he would splat onto whatever surface met him first, and with how far they were, it would be water which was the equivalent of concrete when nothing was there to break his fall.
Ignoring how badly his head ached and how the ground was shrinking beneath him, he shivered as he was dragged through the clouds, wishing he had put more thought into this suit in the few days he'd had back in 2016. In hindsight, insulating the suit had been something he had put off for winter.
"Look out for the cloaking camera, stay in the blind spot." He faintly heard the message as Vulture soared, the hum of the engines evolving into a deafening roar as he realised Vulture was going to use the vacuum-seal thing to get into the plane. Stupid high-tech villains and their preparations.
"Oh my God. Oh my God," he shouted, black spots speckling his vision when he banged into the plane's metal exterior. "Fuck," he wheezed as his ribs decided to fracture even more.
Relying on his stickiness, he prayed he wasn't blown away as the wind made it its personal mission to try and throw him off the plane. The earthquake-like vibrations from Vulture's seal deploying didn't make sticking any easier, almost throwing him off as he gasped in pain and desperation and shot a web, wrapping it around his wrist when the other end connected to the plane.
It gave him some hope that he wouldn't go flying as he crawled towards the front of the plane where Vulture's suit had locked on, making sure to avoid the camouflage camera that masked the plane from anyone looking from the ground.
Failing to keep his breathing even as he neared Vulture's suit, he bit his tongue when a drone dropped down from a hatch – oh shit, that must be the decoy!
He shot a web at it as the plane veered to the right, destroying what little balance he had. He grunted as he yanked the drone towards him, using his other hand to shoot another web at it and pulling with all his might, smashing it into whatever part of the plane was behind him and squinting as sparks flew everywhere.
The small but destroyed parts of the decoy either fell to the sea or flew into the engines. Hopefully Happy would notice something was wrong now that his plane had either disappeared off the map or the tracker was showing the plane wasn't flying its planned course.
Now, to get rid of the bird suit.
He crawled towards the base of the bird suit where the pointy part was, knowing a few strong kicks would displace it and, if he was fast enough, damage it enough that Vulture wouldn't be able to fight properly. He didn't want to kill the man -the guilt of putting Toomes in prison and forcing Liz to live knowing her dad was a criminal was enough to drown him- but he didn't want any more injuries.
"Okay, okay, you can do this," he muttered, raising a foot to kick the solid metal, grimacing when it didn't budge. Okay, a few more kicks.
He raised his foot again and again, begging for it to work because he didn't want to crash the plane again, except the futility of his situation didn't hit him until the engines of the suit began to whirr and it detached from the plane.
He should have searched up 'how to safely land a plane'.
He wouldn't be able to crash the plane from underneath, not without risking flying into the engines and being obliterated in every sense of the word. Keeping his breaths steady, he shot a web and wrapped it around his wrist before crawling up the plane's side, tugging his mask down and praying it wasn't whipped off with how vicious the wind was.
"Ah, yes, a typical Friday night for Spider-Man," he muttered, forcing himself to look up because he knew that if he looked down he would plummet to his death. "Clinging to an invisible jet and waiting for a man in a bird suit to attack."
His Spidey-sense vibrated, yelling at him to duck or climb higher as something moved in his peripheral vision. He shot a web higher up, yanking himself up as Vulture's wings neared and sliced where he had been a second ago, tearing the camouflaged exterior off the plane with a vile screech.
He threw himself forwards as Vulture came back for round two, using his wings as pickaxes to cling to the top of the plane as Peter crawled forward, desperate to get to one of the engines and disable it – webbing it or destroying it would suffice.
Danger! Danger! Danger!
He yelled in frustration as one of Vulture's wings smashed into the metal a few inches away from his ankle, shooting a web at one of the flaps and tensing his muscles to the point his arms shook as he tried to increase the drag. If he could get the plane to slow down enough then he created a bit more time for himself to control the plane's direction.
He barely had enough time to dodge the other wing, sucking in a breath when he felt the fabric around his shin tear – aha! The flap moved!
He dodged Vulture swiping at him before moving onto the net flap, successfully moving it and feeling the plane slow down imperceptibly, but it was working!
His breath was knocked out of his lungs as Vulture's wing smacked him, throwing him to the side as the birdman jumped up and grabbed Peter's arm with his clawed feet, excruciating pain almost distracting him from the engine he was about to be thrown into-
He webbed Vulture's goggles, ignoring his confused yell as he webbed up the engine a metre away from him and almost webbing up the one next to him before dodging Vulture's claws again, clinging onto the top of the middle turbine as sparks exploded in Vulture's face from damaging the metal.
His stomach dropped as the plane lurched, its weight starting to exceed its lift and it started to tilt forward.
Adrenaline flooded his system as he crawled towards the two turbines on the other side, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach as he webbed up the turbine on the far side, blinking away wind-induced dryness in his eyes as the plane started to nosedive, steadily losing altitude.
He was well aware what he was doing was suicidal but the fact would be disregarded into the box in the back of his mind labelled 'Peter's stupid ideas' for now.
All he needed was the middle turbine to work and he could crash the plane onto the nearest beach or island – whatever was closest and had the fewest number of people. Lord help him if there were casualties.
He yelled as something sharp scraped his back -Vulture's claws- and picked him up, painfully pulling him away from the plane as the glitching surface zoomed away from him.
'Not this time,' he thought, desperation surging through him as he shot a web and clung onto it for dear life as Vulture grunted and his wings whirred fiercely, trying to fly away and drop Peter to his death.
He hadn't been brought back from the dead and gone through an extended version of hell and then brought back in time to die by the first major criminal he had arrested. No fucking way.
He shot a web at Vulture and tied it to the first one he had shot at the plane, webbing the guy in the face and using the villain's shock as a way to yank himself towards the plane, dropping onto it and rolling before grabbing a web bomb and throwing it at the engine, dread swirling in his stomach as it stopped functioning, smoke streaming out behind the plane as everything spluttered to a halt.
God he hoped this worked.
He yelled as the plane nosedived and veered to the left, dipping below the clouds and revealing New York's skyline as a collage of yellow and blue lights blurred into a mass of brightness. He couldn't imagine what a falling plane looked like from the ground but it probably levelled the fear crawling across his whole being.
Shooting a web at the left-wing tip of the plane, he placed all of his weight onto his back foot and pulled with all of his might.
"Please turn, please turn, please turn," he chanted, ignoring the buzz of his Spidey-sense as Coney Island appeared in his vision, the glaring lights of the rollercoaster rides screaming at him not to damage anything in fear of killing someone.
Relief briefly appeared as he felt the side of the plane he was pulling on lift, veering away from the majority of the theme park except-
Bang!
The plane shuddered violently as it smashed through one of the taller rides, the sparks between the metal structure and the plane catching and starting a fire with the last functioning engine.
He yelped as the plane jolted, losing his weak grip on the surface and shooting a web at the wing at the last second, gripping onto the metal for dear life as the plane hit the sand with such a powerful impact that Peter flew off.
Choking as the world blurred into a contrasting black and fiery mass as he rolled and crying out as his fractured ribs took a harsh beating, he was caught in freefall and had no control over his body.
He couldn't name a single part of his body than didn't hit the ground with bone-shattering force. The sand and sky blurred into one. The force punched the breath out of his lungs.
Everything stopped.
He lay limply on the beach, sand cushioning him but at the same time nestling into his wounds and aggravating them even more. The ringing in his ears worsened the pounding in his head -it was like that massive bell in Europe all over again- as everything spun, wickedly disorientating him as he squinted through his goggles.
'Get up, come on, you can't let Vulture escape,' he berated, internally steeling himself as he forced his hands and feet to move and kneel at the very least.
After a few seconds of breathing to get his vision back and blearily see through the veil of smoke-induced tears, he staggered to his feet, fighting the urge to tear his mask off except he couldn't let Toomes see who he was, not when revealing his identity was what send him back to the past.
Heat assaulted him after the chilly air that had cut through him when he was however many feet up on the plane, fires burning whatever debris was nearest and releasing plumes of smoke with vigour. The wreckage went for as far as he could see down the beach – where was Vulture? The ringing hadn't subsided and he couldn't see very far with his fogging up goggles and the haze of smoke blinding him.
Danger! Get down!
He threw himself to the sand, gritting his teeth as his wounds objected but forgetting that as Vulture swooped down, his claws grazing the sand where he had been seconds ago before he swivelled around and went for Peter again.
He staggered to his feet before ducking under Vulture's next attack and shooting webs at him and successfully latching onto one of the wings before he was dragged along the sand. He braced himself as Vulture dragged him towards a flaming pile of debris, panting as the heat scorched his mask; he planted his feet as firmly as he could against the part of the debris that wasn't on fire and pulled with all his might, barely catching Vulture's venom-filled glare as he resisted Peter keeping him grounded.
With a malicious yank Vulture freed himself, his wings sparking as he flew away from Peter. He fell backwards without Vulture's weight pulling him forwards, peering at the sky and watching as Vulture struggled to fly, sparks igniting with every flap of his metal wings.
Sirens blared in the distance and they both realised they needed to hurry up.
Vulture swooped down, sparking wings beating hurriedly as his claws dug into Peter's chest, ripping a scream from him as he flew a few metres into the air and dropped him. He grunted as he shot a web at Vulture's wing, using his momentum to pull himself up and land on top of Vulture's back before shooting webs at both engines.
He jumped off Vulture's back as the engines stopped working and Toomes let out an outraged cry as he started to drop, frantically beating his wings to no avail. He landed harshly on the sand a few seconds after Peter did and he webbed up the tips of the wings to the closest boxes as Vulture struggled to stand up.
Sprinting up to the grounded birdman, he punched the area where his wings and body met and weakly smiled when it broke, ducking under Vulture's punch and doing the same to the other wing before webbing him up to stop him moving.
Panting harshly as he observed Vulture struggle before realising he couldn't escape, all he could feel was pain and relief. He hadn't had the shit beaten out of him like last time and he had stopped Vulture's suit from exploding.
He raised a shaking hand to his chest, eyes widening when his fingers were stained scarlet. That would be interesting to clean.
"Are you going to leave me to burn?" Toomes asked, amusement and defeat in his voice.
"Nah, the police will find you before you do," he replied half-heartedly, scooping up some sand and dumping it over the worst of the flames. He wasn't heartless and he wouldn't dare let Liz's dad die, not when he didn't deserve it.
He sagged, placing a hand in his suit's pocket only for something to poke his fingers. He huffed when he found a piece of folded paper, unsure of why he left it in his pocket when he knew he was going into a big fight.
Wait…he could leave a note for Happy when he found the wreckage in a few minutes, because there was no way Peter would let him confront him when he was as injured as he was. He needed to go to Ned's – oh fuck, he hadn't been in contact with them since the warehouse!
He would deal with the beach then swing to Ned's before the post-fight adrenaline gave out and he collapsed either from the pain or the exhaustion.
A few minutes later, he watched from the top of one of the rollercoasters as Happy and the police arrived to see Toomes -without his goggles, which were on a crate beside him- webbed to a mountain of boxes that were in the plane.
People gathered on the edge of the scene, recording the wreckage on their phones. The media would have a field day with Stark Industries and some -meaning JJJ- would find out he was the one who stopped the plane from being stolen and twist it so that it looked like he was helping Toomes. It was a wild guess but it wasn't the wildest he had made.
Everywhere on his body hurt, whether it was his worsening headache, his stinging face from the cuts at the warehouse, the excruciating pain all over his chest and the grievances from his fractured -probably broken- ribs and he didn't even want to look at his stab wounds.
Time to go to Ned's.