spiderman angst/sickfic oneshots

first death (irondad)

In which Peter grapples with the first time somebody dies in his fight / on his watch / on one of his patrols / in his arms / his enemy dies + he didn't realize he was fighting so hard and he holds them in his arms, trying to wake him up, and then runs away bc he doesn't know what to do and he's horrified w himself oh yeah that's it that's the shit

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Peter threw a punch. A hard punch.

The man had a gun, and was actively pulling the trigger, aiming towards Peter, hitting him once until the trigger didn't shoot anymore and his bullets were all empty shells on the ground.

He grabbed the gun and tore it away from the man's hand, slamming it against the brick wall of the alleyway they were fighting in and breaking it, feeling the pieces of metal and plastic all but shatter under his palm.

His adrenaline was rushing, he couldn't feel the bullet wound and he didn't pay any mind to the new fearful look in the eyes of the criminal he was choking. This man was a robber and a rapist and there was a girl sobbing at the foot of the alley. A small child who had nothing but innocence to take. He couldn't stop hitting. And hitting. And hitting.

A tooth went flying and he hit again, ignoring the fact that the man had pulled a knife out and stabbed it straight into his stomach, ignoring the amount of punches he took straight to the face, ribs, and shoulders until the man went limp.

Peter dropped him from against the wall, their fight finally over, until he realized he only heard one other heartbeat in the ally. His eyes widened, very very visibly on his mask as he realized what he had done. He felt panic swell in his chest as he dropped to his knees, cursing over the dead body in front of him. He heard sirens approaching and let out a sob.

He didn't know what to do. He had killed somebody. He couldn't tell May he was a murderer. Spider Man wasn't supposed to kill people. This man was probably a father, or a brother. He had taken away somebody's child. He had taken away somebody's father. He had taken away somebody's brother.

He started chest compressions on the man until he realized how badly Peter had broken his ribs. He didn't know what he had done. He was now shaking so severely, he couldn't think straight. He couldn't move.

"Come out with your hands up!" An officer shouted, someone helping the little girl into an ambulance.

Peter stood up, the blood of the man on his hands as he let out another hard sob.

"I'm sorry." He sobbed, "I'm so so sorry." He wailed as an officer nervously approached him with a pair of handcuffs, but instead Peter hopped onto the wall and climbed up, slipping a couple of times in his emotional haste, leaving a trail of bloody prints up the side of the building. He didn't realize how much of that blood was his own versus the man on the ground.

He swung away. Far far far away. He swung until he was too dizzy to swing anymore and the stab wound inside him had almost healed.

He collapsed onto the roof of a building, his knees buckling under him as he sobbed harsher. He put his bloody hands over his head, trying to gain some kind of grounding, some way to process what he had done. He had killed someone. A bad person, but still a person.

He let out a yell, then a horrified scream. He couldn't believe what he had done.

Suddenly he pulled his mask off and threw up, propping himself on one elbow, trying to stand, but stumbling forward as he heaved again. He was so distraught, he hadn't even noticed Karen speaking in his ear before he had vomited.

Two minutes later, Iron Man was behind him, and Tony Stark was stepping out of the suit, ACDC plastered on his shirt and jeans cuffed on his legs.

"Peter, what happened?" He asked seriously. A message from Friday saying that Peter urgently needed his company because he was experiencing "anguish" was extremely concerning in his opinion.