aFireFist
A Life in Marvel
Chapter 12 - Part 1
Toomes sat in the back of the armored transport van, wrists and ankles cuffed to the bench. The metal bit into his skin every time the vehicle hit a bump. Two guards rode up front. One more sat across from him, shotgun resting across his lap. The city lights slid past the narrow windows in streaks of yellow and white.
He kept his eyes down most of the ride. Thinking was all he had left.
Everything he'd done had been for Liz. After the Battle of New York the contracts dried up. The city didn't need men who cleaned up the mess once the heroes flew off. He built the salvage company from nothing, then watched Stark and the government take it apart piece by piece. The wings, the weapons, the jobs—none of it had been about getting rich. It was about keeping the lights on, keeping his daughter in that private school, making sure she never had to scrape the way he did.
And now he was heading to prison.
He thought about the kid in the red and blue suit. Parker. Spider-Man. The same kid who had pulled him out of a burning plane when the suit locked up. The same kid who left a bag of cash and a note for Liz's family. Toomes still didn't know how Parker had gotten that money, but the intent was clear. The boy had every reason to let him burn and chose not to.
The holding cell earlier that day had been loud and crowded. The air smelled like sweat, piss, and cheap food. Toomes had been sitting on a bench in the corner, trying to keep to himself, when a loudmouth with a scar running down his cheek and prison tattoos on his neck leaned over. The guy had a couple of friends with him, all of them eyeing Toomes like fresh meat.
"Hey, Vulture," the loudmouth said, voice low but carrying. "That spider kid who put you here—anyone know who he really is under the mask? I got people on the outside who pay good money for names like that. Real good money."
The other two chuckled, shifting closer. One of them cracked his knuckles. "Yeah, man. You were out there fighting him. Gotta be some clue. Kid's fast, but he's just a kid. We could make it worth your while. Or make the ride to prison real uncomfortable if you don't feel like sharing."
Toomes lifted his head slowly. His eyes were tired but hard. He looked the loudmouth dead in the eye and spoke quietly, but every word carried weight. "I don't know his name. And if I did, I wouldn't tell you. He saved my life when he didn't have to. Pulled me out of a burning plane while his own suit was smoking and he had every reason to let me die. You want to come at me over that, try it. But I'm not selling out the one person who showed me any decency in this whole mess."
The loudmouth stared at him for a long second. The cell went quieter. One of the friends muttered something, but the scarred man held up a hand. "You serious? The kid who took you down saved your ass?"
Toomes nodded once. "Yeah. So back off. I owe him that much."
The conversation died right there. The loudmouth shrugged, trying to play it cool, but he and his friends moved to the other side of the cell. Nobody pushed it further. A couple of the older inmates even gave Toomes a small nod of respect as they passed. Word spread fast in places like that—respect for loyalty, even to an enemy.
Now, in the van, Toomes exhaled slowly. The cuffs rattled again as they hit another pothole. He hoped Liz was okay. He hoped she still had enough money from the bag Parker left. He hoped she would finish school and never end up in a place like this.
He thought about what he'd say to her if he ever got the chance. How he was sorry. How everything had been for her, even if it all went wrong. How the kid in the mask had shown more mercy than most people ever would.
The van hit another bump. The cuffs rattled. Toomes closed his eyes and tried not to think about how long it would be before he saw his daughter again.
***
Across the city, in a quiet Queens apartment, Aunt May sat on the edge of Peter's bed holding the red and blue suit in her hands.
She had found it by accident.
Peter had been home earlier, moving stiffly, trying to hide the bruises under a hoodie. When he left for school she went into his room to grab the laundry basket. The suit had been shoved under the bed, one sleeve hanging out. She pulled it free, thinking it was some costume from the dance or a school project. Then she saw the web-shooters still attached to the wrists, the scorched fabric on the shoulder, the dried blood near the collar.
Everything clicked at once.
The late nights. The injuries. The news footage of Spider-Man at the pier. The way Peter always seemed to know when something bad was happening before anyone else.
May sat there for a long time, the suit in her lap, heart pounding. Her hands trembled as she turned it over, fingers tracing the torn edges and the faint smell of smoke still clinging to the fabric. Tears welled up but she blinked them back. All those nights she had stayed up worrying, all the times he came home exhausted or hurt and brushed it off as "nothing." This was the reason.
When the front door finally opened that afternoon she was still holding it.
Peter walked in, backpack over one shoulder, and froze when he saw her.
"Aunt May—"
She held the suit up. Her voice was quiet but steady. "Is this yours?"
Peter's face went pale. He closed the door behind him and set his bag down slowly. "May… I can explain."
"Then explain." She stood up, still gripping the fabric. "All those times you came home hurt. The ferry. The pier. The way you keep disappearing. This is why, isn't it? You're the one they keep showing on the news."
Peter swallowed hard. He looked younger than he had in months. His shoulders slumped as he sat down on the edge of the bed across from her. "Yeah. It's me."
May's eyes filled, but she didn't look away. "How long?"
"Since the bite. The one I told you was from a lab spider on that field trip. It… changed me. I can stick to walls. I heal faster. I can sense danger before it happens. I started helping people because… because Uncle Ben—" His voice cracked. "Because I couldn't just sit there and do nothing anymore. I felt like if I had these powers and didn't use them, then what happened to him was my fault. I could have stopped it."
May set the suit down on the bed and walked over to him. She took his face in both hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. Her thumbs brushed his cheeks gently. "You could have told me. You should have told me. I've been sitting here every night wondering if the next time the news shows Spider-Man getting thrown through a wall it was going to be you. Do you know how many nights I couldn't sleep because I was terrified something happened to you and I wouldn't even know why?"
"I didn't want you to worry," Peter said, voice thick with emotion. "I didn't want you to lose anyone else. After Uncle Ben… I couldn't put that on you. I thought if I just handled it alone, I could keep you safe."
May pulled him into a tight hug. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she held on like she was afraid he might disappear. Peter hugged her back just as hard, burying his face in her shoulder. For a long moment neither of them spoke. May's shoulders shook slightly as she cried quietly.
"You're all I have left, Peter," she whispered against his hair. "You don't get to protect me by shutting me out. Not from this. Not anymore."
Peter nodded against her, his own eyes wet. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, May."
When they finally pulled apart May wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and pointed at the suit. "You're going to keep doing this, aren't you?"
"I have to," he said quietly. "But I'm trying to be smarter about it. No more jumping into fights I can't win. No more leaving people behind without telling them where I'm going. I promise I'll be more careful."
May nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. "Then we do it together. You tell me when something's happening. You come home when you're hurt. And you let me help however I can. Deal?"
Peter managed a small, shaky smile. "Deal."
They sat on the edge of the bed for a while longer, talking in low voices. May asked about the powers first—how strong he really was, how the sticking to walls worked, what the spider-sense felt like. Peter answered as honestly as he could, demonstrating by sticking his hand to the wall and letting her touch it.
"It tingles," he explained. "Like a warning in the back of my head. The stronger the danger, the louder it gets."
May listened carefully, her expression a mix of awe and worry. Then she asked about the pier. "That was you, wasn't it? The plane, the Vulture. I saw the footage. You pulled him out of the fire."
Peter nodded. "Yeah. I couldn't just let him die. Even after everything he did… he has Liz. I left some money for them too. I didn't want her to lose everything."
May reached out and squeezed his hand. "That was brave, Peter. Stupidly brave, but brave. Just promise me you won't do anything like that without thinking it through first. You're still just a kid. My kid."
"I promise," he said. "I'm trying to learn from every mistake. Morgan at school gave me some good advice too—about balancing it all. I think I'm starting to figure it out."
They talked for almost an hour. May asked about the ferry fight, about how he first started, about the suit and how he made the web fluid. Peter opened up more than he ever had, the relief of not carrying the secret alone washing over him in waves. When the conversation finally slowed, May stood and squeezed his shoulder.
"I'm proud of you," she said. "Scared out of my mind, but proud. Now go wash up. I'm making dinner and you're eating every bite."
Peter watched her leave the room, the weight on his chest a little lighter than it had been in a long time.
***
Across town, Morgan sat at the Stacy dinner table with Gwen and her father.
George Stacy had made meatloaf again. The smell filled the small dining room—roasted meat, sage, and the faint caramelized edge of the potatoes on the side. Gwen sat beside Morgan, her hand resting lightly on his knee under the table. George sat across from them, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. The lines around his eyes looked deeper than usual.
"So," George said, cutting into his food. "I hear the two of you have been spending a lot of evenings out lately. Training, you said."
Gwen nodded, keeping her voice casual. "Yeah. Just working on conditioning. Running, calisthenics, that kind of thing. Morgan's been spotting me so I don't overdo it."
George looked between them, his expression serious but not angry. He set his fork down for a moment and leaned back slightly. "I'm not going to pretend I don't know the city's gotten louder. Between the Avengers fighting each other, the Vulture mess at the pier, and half the precinct still talking about powered people showing up every other week… I need you both to be careful. Especially at night. Stick to well-lit areas. Keep your phones charged. And if something feels off, you walk away. No heroes, no heroics. Just get home safe."
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