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Spider-Man Mayham (AU) Chapter 295: Tony Stark (End)
🕑 Added 2025-05-02 15:04:15 +0000 UTC[Third Person's PoV]
Peter and Tony stood a short distance away from Yinsen, both cloaked in invisibility thanks to Peter’s ability. Leaning casually against the Weaver, their ship nestled discreetly in the shadows, they observed the unfolding moment with quiet reverence. Yinsen walked forward with anxious yet determined steps, his posture tense, as though bracing for the weight of emotions to come. Each step seemed heavier than the last as he approached the front porch of a modest home nestled in the quiet neighborhood.
He hesitated only for a second before ringing the doorbell. Then he stood there, visibly nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot, unsure what to do with his hands as he waited. He rubbed his palms together, wiped one against the side of his pants, then held them behind his back as the door opened.
A woman stepped out, her expression curious at first, but the moment her eyes locked onto Yinsen, her breath caught. Her hand flew to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She didn’t say a word, nor did he. None were needed. In an instant, they fell into each other’s arms, embracing as if to close the gap left by months of absence and loss.
Moments later, a young girl peeked out from behind the door. Her wide, teary eyes blinked in disbelief, and then lit up with recognition.
“Baba?” she asked softly, her voice trembling.
Yinsen turned at the sound and crouched just in time to catch her as she ran into his arms. The three of them held onto each other as if letting go would break the fragile miracle holding them together.
Tony watched the scene in silence, his arms folded across his chest. His face was unreadable, eyes hidden beneath lowered brows. But his mind was anything but quiet.
“It’s moments like these…” Peter said quietly, his voice cutting gently through the silence and drawing Tony’s attention. “These are the moments I love most about what I do. Earlier, I said hero work doesn’t pay—but that wasn’t the full truth. Moments like this… they’re worth more than any paycheck. More than anything money could buy.”
Tony didn’t reply right away. He stared at the reunited family, the joy and tears blending into a moment so raw and genuine it felt sacred. Then, in a hesitant voice that betrayed something deeper stirring within him, he spoke.
“My weapons,” he began, his voice quiet but burdened. “They killed his parents. Probably killed more people than I can ever know. My work… it’s torn families apart. Ended lives. And now…”
He paused, unsure why he was sharing this with Spider-Man of all people. Maybe it was because Peter radiated something honest, something deeply good. Maybe Tony was hoping Peter could serve as a moral compass, someone who could look at him and, without bias, speak the truth. Maybe Tony just needed someone to hear the guilt that had been gnawing at him since his captivity began.
Peter said nothing at first. He simply let Tony speak, venting the thoughts and regrets that had accumulated like rust during his time in the cave. Peter understood that sometimes, silence was the most powerful response.
When Tony finally trailed off, Peter folded his arms and leaned slightly toward him.
“If you want my honest opinion,” he said, voice calm and measured, “I think you've already faced the consequences of your actions. That cave, your captivity, the fear, the loss—you lived your own hell. But I also know that you believe it isn’t enough. And maybe it isn’t. That’s not for me to decide. But what I do know is this: the past can’t be changed. It's there, set in stone. What matters now is what you do from here.”
Peter motioned subtly toward Yinsen, who still held his family in his arms.
“That? That wasn’t just me. That was you, Tony. You helped make that happen. You’ve already taken the first step to redeeming yourself. I wouldn't be the hero I am if I didn’t believe in second chances. And trust me—everyone deserves one. But second chances don’t come with guarantees. There aren’t third or fourth ones.”
He paused, letting the words settle.
“You said you destroyed families. Then save more than you’ve lost. Double, triple that number. And no, I’m not saying to balance it out like a math equation. Lives aren’t a ledger you can balance. You can’t kill one person and save two to make it even. That’s not how this works.”
Peter’s voice softened.
“I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life, Tony. I’m just saying… you've been given a second chance. So don’t waste it.”
As if on cue, Yinsen looked toward the spot where he knew they stood and gave a small nod of gratitude. Even without seeing them, he knew.
Peter patted Tony lightly on the chest and turned, beginning to lead them back into the Weaver.
As they became visible again and the ship door closed behind them, Tony finally broke the silence with a smirk tugging at his lips.
“So… how many of these inspirational speeches have you given? You seem very practiced.”
Peter groaned loudly and slouched forward, waving his arms in mock defeat.
“Oh my God, so many! You have no idea,” he exclaimed, dragging his hands down his masked face in exaggerated exasperation. “Once I start, I just—can’t stop! I go on and on. I even annoy myself!”
Tony chuckled, a genuine laugh escaping him for the first time in a while. It felt good.
“People say the hardest part of being a hero is living a double life or dealing with villains nonstop,” Peter continued, collapsing dramatically into the pilot’s seat. “But for me? It’s the speeches! They just don’t end!”
Tony sat down in the co-pilot seat, still smiling.
Peter leaned back and pointed at him with mock seriousness. “Watch. Before long, you’re going to be giving out speeches left and right too. It's inevitable. A Hero's curse.”
Tony laughed again, more freely this time. And though the weight of his past still sat on his shoulders, it somehow felt a little lighter.
Tony then scoffed as he shook his head, “That may be true, but I'm no hero.”
Peter exaggerated a roll of his eyes—easily visible thanks to the expressive lenses on his mask. “You really think you don’t deserve to be called a hero? I don’t get it—why does everyone think being a hero means saving the world in a blaze of glory or wearing a cape while standing in front of a giant explosion? Being a hero doesn’t require fireworks or a global audience. Sometimes, it’s just about being there when no one else is.”
He animatedly, his voice steady but passionate. “Let’s say someone falls down in the middle of the street. Most people? They just walk around them. Maybe they think, ‘someone else will help’ or ‘they’re fine on their own.’ But a hero? A hero offers their hand without thinking, not for praise, not for recognition, but because it's the right thing to do. There doesn't have to be a reason.”
Tony stared at him in silence, one eyebrow slightly raised.
“…You really can’t help yourself, can you?” he asked, a hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Peter slapped both hands over his face and groaned into them—long, loud, and muffled, like a dramatic scream filtered through fabric. “That one was intentional!” he cried, peeking through his fingers, looking away with feigned shame.
“Yeah, sure thing, buddy. I totally believe you,” Tony said, chuckling and giving Peter a few light pats on the shoulder, clearly not believing a word.
“Get out,” Peter replied flatly, completely monotone.
“Whoa, relax! I was just joking, no need to throw me out of your fancy invisible spaceship—”
“No, seriously. We’ve arrived. This is your stop,” Peter said, gesturing behind Tony and rolling his eyes beneath the mask.
Tony blinked in surprise, looking out the now-visible doorway into the familiar surroundings of his villa. “Oh… Right. That was way faster than I expected. Is this thing even legal?”
Peter snorted. “I’m technically a wanted fugitive of the law. You tell me if it’s legal.”
Tony gave a short laugh and stepped out onto the grounds, letting the feeling of warm air and quiet familiarity wash over him. As he stood in the poolside area of his estate, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—peace. He was home.
Peter’s voice called to him from behind, suddenly solemn. “Tony… one last piece of advice.”
Tony turned slightly, smirking. “Let me guess. Another one of your big speeches?”
But Peter’s next words made the smile freeze on Tony’s lips.
“Be careful who you consider a friend,” Peter said, voice serious, quiet. “Betrayal hurts not because it comes from our enemies but those we consider a friend. That’s the nature of it—it only cuts deep when it’s someone we never expected it from. That’s my last piece of advice for you.”
Tony turned toward him, eyes narrowing. “Wait—hold on, you can’t just drop that on me and walk away! What do you mean by that? Who are you talking about?”
Peter didn’t stop. He waved as the hatch to the Weaver began closing slowly behind him. “That’s something you’ll have to figure out on your own, Tony. I’ve done all I can to help. The rest… that’s on you.”
The hatch sealed with a hiss, and before Tony could get another word out, the Weaver lifted into the air and vanished into the sky, leaving only silence behind.
Tony stared for a long moment, lips pressed together, his thoughts racing. Then he ran a hand through his tangled, greasy hair and let out a deep, weary sigh.
“One thing at a time,” he muttered to himself. “Let’s just… focus on one thing at a time.”
With that, he turned toward the villa, stepping into the place he once called home—perhaps, he thought, he still could.
…
Elsewhere, Spider-Man leapt out of the Weaver and flung himself into the New York skyline. The wind whipped past him as he launched from rooftop to rooftop, soaring through the concrete jungle like it was second nature. “Aria,” he said into his comms, “send the Weaver back to standby and let Fury know I’ll check in soon.”
A small thumbs-up icon flashed on the corner of his HUD.
Peter let the wind clear his head as he dove, flipped, and swung through the steel canyons of Manhattan. There was nothing quite like it—nothing as freeing, as raw and exhilarating as swinging above the city he loved. Even though he could fly, teleport, or run faster than a speeding car, there was something sacred about this movement. This rhythm. This ritual.
He twisted between the lanes of traffic, ran briefly along the side of a moving bus—startling and delighting the kids inside—before launching himself into the air again.
Finally, he found a high rooftop, a quiet spot with a perfect view of the city. He sat down on the ledge, legs dangling over the edge, and leaned forward, drinking in the sight of glowing skyscrapers and the pulse of New York at night. His mind deep in thought.
He then closed his eyes and a smile grew expressively on his lips as he detected an approaching presence.
“Hey, tiger~ Special delivery.”
Peter’s eyes popped open, and he leaned back to find Felicia Hardy—Spider-Kat herself—perched beside him, a smirk on her lips and a pizza box in her hands.
“You or the food?” Peter asked with a sly grin.
Felicia winked. “We’re both snacks. So why not both~?”
She slid down beside him with cat-like grace and placed the pizza between them. Peter couldn’t help but chuckle. Some nights, it really was good to be Spider-Man.
Comments
Nazarickk
Thanks for the chapter
Bryan Vargas
Omfg
Evrit hansn
Is the mark I still in the Weaver?
KingSpy25i .
SM2 Peter Parker: "It's pizza time!" Thank you for the chapter 🙏
