Chapter Text
Peter peeks his head over the edge of the roof, looking down at the mass of people below him. He’s there for security reasons—not that anyone had asked him to be there, but having this many important people in one place usually meant someone with a grudge was going to be there too. He’s had a bad feeling all morning.
There are three different news stations out front, a couple dozen reporters, and, behind the taped-off barricade, even more teeming public with their phone cameras aimed at the doors of the United Nations headquarters.
“We’re here live in front of the UN Headquarters,” Peter can hear one news reporter saying over the dull roar of the crowd, the microphone held close to her mouth to be heard. “Representatives of nearly one hundred nations are inside along with billionaire Tony Stark, the leader of the Avengers, to ratify the altered Sokovia Accords. Secretary Ro—”
He loses track of her voice as the murmur of the crowd grows into a melee of shouting for attention. The doors open, a couple security guards walk out, followed by Tony Stark, dressed in a three-piece suit and already shoving sunglasses onto his face. Peter snorts as he watches Happy glare at anyone that shouts at Tony too loudly or seems too eager with their camera flash.
Tony seems relaxed enough, even though he keeps his head ducked and doesn’t answer any questions. Peter is familiar enough with the man by now to notice that a lot of the tension that’s been building in his shoulders for the last several weeks is gone now. The Accords must have passed then. Peter smiled behind his mask. He knew they would.
His smile falls as a prickle races up his spine, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
Peter jumps to his feet, trying to see anyone suspicious, anyone with a hand in their jacket. He can’t see, there are too many people and too much noise and all he knows is that Tony’s in danger.
He jumps from the roof, swinging a web out to get to Tony. He lands in a roll then springs up, ignoring Tony’s confused, “Spidey?” behind him as he sticks his hand out on instinct and catches the rock that is about to make contact with Tony’s head.
The crowd falls silent except for the rapid fire clicking of camera shutters.
Tony looks at Peter, looks at the rock in his hand, and says, “Huh.” He sounds almost amused, but Peter isn’t.
Peter bounces the rock between both hands. It’s big, about the size of a baseball, and smooth. Probably from the manicured gardens that line the UN plaza.
It almost hit Tony in the temple. At the right angle, at the right speed...
“Are you alright, Mr. Stark?” he asks quietly. The reporters lean in closer.
“Fine, Spidey,” Tony says, shrugging, as if people throwing rocks at him isn’t that unusual. “Thanks for the save. You know you could have come to the actual signing, right? You did get my invitation, I assume?”
A murmur ripples through the crowd.
“I’d look ridiculous wearing a suit over my suit,” Peter forces out, attempting to play the part of bantering, light-hearted Spider-Man while his head still spins because he can’t believe that someone would... At Tony? When he’s unprotected, when he’s not even looking?
“Get him in the car, Happy,” Peter finally says, peering up at the crowd, scanning the faces, listening to the mass of heartbeats.
“Kid,” Tony says, but Happy takes his elbow and marches him forward. Peter waits until he hears the car door close, then he turns to the commotion happening as a man tries to push desperately through the crowd, a man with a pale face and sweaty forehead, with a too fast heartbeat and with people looking at him in shocked surprise.
Peter slings a web, leaps, and lands in front of him just as he reaches open sidewalk.
He stops short, his eyes wide, glancing around him to try to find an escape.
“This yours?” Peter asks casually, tossing the rock between his hands. The man shakes his head. People shift closer, holding phones out as far as their arms will reach to catch the conversation.
“If you had planned this, you would have brought a gun,” Peter says, tilting his head. “Heat of the moment? Saw an opportunity?”
The man swallows. He’s taller than Peter but that doesn’t matter. Peter could take him with both hands tied behind his back and they both know it. He doesn’t try to run again.
“He deserved it,” the man snaps, but his voice shakes. “He’s a coward. He claims to be a superhero but when has he actually helped anyone?”
“Are you from New York?” Peter asks, incredulous.
The man blinks in surprise. “Yeah.”
“Ok, so when Tony Stark spent hours fighting aliens in the streets, that wasn’t helping?” Peter says, raising his voice so the cameras and reporters that have inched toward them can hear. “When he personally paid for buildings to be repaired and streets to be cleared, that wasn’t helping? When he flew a nuclear bomb into a wormhole—thinking he was going to die—to save Manhattan, that wasn’t helping?”
The man opens his mouth, but Peter plows forward, taking a step closer. “You would be dead if it weren’t for him. Your family would be dead. And this is how you repay him?” Peter asks, gesturing with the rock he still has clenched in his hand. “Throwing a rock at his head when he isn’t even looking? You could have killed him. And who is the world going to turn to the next time something like the Battle of Manhattan happens, or the Mandarin, or Sokovia? You?”
The man blanches, looking terrified at the very thought.
“That’s what I thought,” Peter hisses. He hasn’t been this angry in a long time. His heart is pounding in his ears and he thinks if he wasn’t being filmed right now, he might actually punch the guy in the face. “I’ve been in battles with Tony. I’ve fought with him. I’ve seen him get out of that suit covered in blood and bruises from getting thrown around and still look after every one of his teammates before himself.”
Peter looks at the faces of the rest of the people, listening intently. Peter doesn’t do speeches, ever, but Spider-Man is different. Spider-Man is listened to, and for Tony’s sake, he has something to say right now.
“I love New York, every part of it. Even the dirty streets and outrageous prices.” A chuckle ripples through the crowd. “But I want nothing to do with a New York that isn’t grateful to Tony Stark. He’s saved the whole world, sure, but he’s saved us more times than most of you probably know. He just saved it again with the Accords and I personally saw how hard he worked, how much he cared. So the next time some coward with a rock or a bad headline comes around thinking they’re going to hurt Iron Man, I’ll be ready to protect him. And I hope the rest of you will too.”
Peter looks at the man in front of him again, who shrinks back just a little as Peter raises the rock in his hand. Then he turns, reels his hand back, and chucks it as hard as he can against the concrete side of the building, where it shatters into powder.
The man turns so white Peter honestly thinks he might faint, but he doesn’t find out because Happy pulls up next to him at that moment.
“Get in, Spider-Man,” he says and Peter quickly complies as the reporters begin shouting questions again, at him this time.
He slides into the back so quickly he bumps into Tony, tries to pull away, then bumps into him again as Happy peels away from the curb.
“Sorry,” Peter says, but Tony just laughs, puts a hand on his shoulder to still him as he tries to scramble away and put on his seatbelt at the same time.
“It’s fine, kid. Actually, I think I should probably be thanking you for that little speech there, kiddo,” Tony says, ducking his head and taking his sunglasses off.
“No, you don’t—”
“Pete, there’s a lot of reasons someone might hate me. I was not a good person for a long time before you met me and—”
“I don’t care, Mr. Stark,” Peter interrupts, pulling his mask off and scowling at Tony. “You’ve more than made up for it. You’ve... you’ve saved all of us a dozen times over!” His voice drops. “You’ve saved me.”
Tony gives a half smile. “Peter—”
“No, Mr. Stark. You deserve better than—than being called a coward and selfish. You deserve so much better,” Peter murmurs.
Tony’s smile softens as he looks at Peter.
“I’ve got better, kid. I’ve got you.”