Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-man (Tom Holland Movies)

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Characters: Peter Parker | Spider-man, Steve Rogers | Captain America, New York City

Tags: BAMF Peter Parker, New York City, Overpowered Peter Parker

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Brief Warning: this has mentions of a fight and canon-typical violence. if these are one of your triggers, please proceed with caution. 

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Aegis (n.)

protection, support, guidance

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Ever since Peter started out working as Spider-man, he'd always told himself to put the little guy first. Prioritize the rescue over the capture.

It's been two years since he stood on top of that building and took a leap of faith. It's been two years of being Spider-man.

Since then, he'd been through a lot. He fought different types of people; seen things normal people his age shouldn't. he gained experience and expanded his arsenal of abilities. He found allies, connections that he could depend on and built himself a support system to fall back on.

He grew, both as a person and as a hero.

Yet, through the months and new experiences, his philosophy stayed unchanged. Put the little guy first.

To a bystander, the way he did things as a hero, fighting using quips and webs, misdirection and quick thinking, it might... make him look weak.

To someone looking from the outside, they'd probably think that Spider-man could do a lot of things but killing wasn't one of them. To them, it made him look like he was indecisive; like he didn't have the resolve to kill.

Everyone didn't think too much about it though, assuming that it was because he had been out on the streets for a mere two years only and hadn't yet hardened his resolve.

But that's not how it is.

They're wrong.

It's not the Peter didn't have the resolve to kill.

It's different.

When Peter stared into the lifeless eyes of his uncle that night, Peter told himself to find the resolve and make sure it kept burning every time he went out on the streets, strong and constant at all times.

If not for himself then for Ben.

Because with great power comes great responsibility.

So, Peter hardened himself.

From day one, Peter Parker went out into the streets with the resolve not to kill.

It changed things.

Because he resolved to do this; promised himself that he would do everything in his power, whenever possible, to make sure that he would never land a killing blow, Peter had to strictly regulate his strength.

He had to train how to accurately measure everything down to minute details.

When others could walk, he'd have to run. He had to train himself from the underground up so that he could develop enough restraint when fighting.

That's how it was. For the longest time. For the past two years.

Every day. Every week. Every year.

Every time he went out as Spider-man he had to tightly monitor and manage his strength such that now, a few years in, it had already become second nature - something he'd become so accustomed to doing that he didn't even have to think about it, already able to instinctively calculate the exact amount of power needed to defeat a criminal based on relative height and weight alone.

It was tiring, yes, but it's something he enforced on himself. No outside forces. No coercion. This was his decision, his resolve.

But this came with a side effect.

Probably as a direct result of this, no one, not even his mentor Tony Stark, knew just how strong he was, what he was truly capable of.

Because his DNA had mutated to resemble that of a spider, the amount of power in just one of his fingers was ridiculously strong or, for lack of a better word, unfathomable.

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The first time Spider-man truly let loose, it was during a fight in Queens with nearly every single one of New York-based heroes and vigilantes providing back-up.

They were fighting a relatively small but strong alien army which, according to the combined knowledge of both Dr. Strange and Loki, was that of one of the more naturally strong races in the universe. Apparently, these beings were the type to hunger for worthy opponents, living for the surge of thrill they found in fights.

They were grotesque things, with exoskeletons that looked and acted like armor.

Every single one of them were strong in their own right, taking the heroes the entirety of the techniques, experience, technology and will in their disposal to take them down and make sure they stay there, the unyielding bastards.

To the heroes, especially the Avengers, fighting these things felt like what they would imagine going against a rapid current felt like. One moment of distraction and rest would mean getting swept away by the pace of the battle.

It meant that all the heroes had to stray focused for every single second of the fight.

It meant fatigue.

But even as they were fighting, as they were turning the tide, as they were killing the majority of the aliens, the heroes couldn't help but feel a sense of overwhelming dread.

Not because of the army. No. It was because of their commander.

At first, it stood alone, calmly and coldly surveying the battle, as if believing itself to be a god amongst inconsequential peasants, which, the Avengers supposed, was a bit justified.

It peered down at them condescendingly, clearly disinterested in the battle, as if wordlessly telling them 'this all you got?'

It didn't move.

Not when they all got closer and closer to his position. Not even when the majority of his men have fallen, one by one.

It wasn't until the last one fell that it started moving.

It took only one step forward. Yet, this step - this single step - showcased its strength, its power, sending a chill down their spines.

Then, as if suddenly refocusing on the battle at the same time, all the heroes moved, their hands tightening around their weapons.

They punched, kicked, slashed, shot and yet, yet, yet, it still looked unmoved, as if already aware of just how large the disparity between their strengths were.

Instead, it easily shakes off all of their attacks and cocks his arm back, preparing to punch.

Knowing the difference between the strength between each other, the heroes all instinctively close their eyes, bracing for impact - the inevitable pain, destruction or even death - to arrive.

And yet...

It never came.

They felt nothing.

Because when they opened their eyes cautiously, they are met with the sight of a hero in a gleaming suit of metallic blue and red receiving the punch.

The heroes are met with the sight of Spider-man standing tall and proud, receiving a punch from a 10 foot giant and not move an inch.

It was as if they watched an unstoppable force meet an immovable object.

And then, Peter moved.

He deflected the force of the attack and threw a punch in return.

Now, it was obvious that both were strong. However, his opponent was akin to that of an unstoppable force, not an immovable object.

Peter sent it stumbling a few steps back.

It stands, staring at Peter with a flash of respect and excitement, and rights itself. Then, as if suddenly turning a light switch on, both start fighting in earnest, exchanging blow after blow, leaving the rest of the heroes in their dust.

Though the heroes tried, oh how they tried, they couldn't keep up with the speed and intensity of the fight, barely managing to follow the pace of the two.

In the end, all they could do was provide support when appropriate, making sure that no other variable entered the fight knowing well that if they joined in, they would only restrain Peter.

They watched the fight speed up, increasing in intensity and power. To onlookers, each attack looked terrifying, sending small torrents of wind howling this way and that.

Yet, curiously, it didn't force Spider-man back. Not even for a single step.

There was a certain magnificence to it; a grandeur that one couldn't explain even if they tried.

The people of New York City, some who were hiding in buildings or administering first aid around the area, some on the other side of the city watching through live broadcasts like that of the one in Times Square, safe yet standing in trepidation and fear all the same, all of whom were watching as Spider-man, the hero that is one of, if not, the closest to the people, go toe-to-toe with a ten foot alien decked out in what seemed to be unbreakable armor without backing down.

They watched him break it.

Over the years, New York has seen its fair share of disasters, especially those of the alien and psychopathic variety. At this point, the Avengers fighting one weird thing or another was practically just another Tuesday for them.

Still, there was a certain disconnect between the people of New York City and the Avengers.

Sure, they saved the city multiple times, and they were all thankful for that, however, they didn't patrol the streets regularly like the vigilantes did. They didn't save them from robberies gone wrong or walk them home safely.

New York doesn't know most of the Avengers the way they do vigilantes like Spider-man.

To them, heroes like the Avengers were like some higher power, untouchable and out of reach; in a different plane of existence as compared to common folk.

Spider-man, however, was different.

He patrolled Queen every single night, every week for the past two years without fail. When he wasn't, it was obvious that a different vigilante came to cover for him.

He had, quite literally, single-handedly reduced crime in the entirety of Queens in the past year.

He's worked with the NYPD and cooperated with other vigilantes all over New York regularly. He did investigative cases and chased down thieves. He saved cats from trees and always did a stupid thumbs up or thwip thwip pose for selfies.

New York didn't trust the heroes like the Avengers the same way they did their local vigilantes like Spider-man. To them, they saw him as one of their own - like he was their own personal hero.

To the people of New York, Spider-man was just a little more human, more in reach as compared to the Avengers.

Spider-man was theirs.

So, to see their hero, right there, going toe to toe, blow for blow, with a giant that even the Avengers couldn't keep up with...

It was suffocating.

It was breathtaking.

It was awe-inspiring.

It was magnificent.

For the first time in two years, captured through cameras and preserved for the rest of time, Spider-man didn't pull his punches. He didn't calculate his strength.

Spider-man let loose.

He was going 100%.

And as he did, the world goes quiet.

Like static, the world reduced itself to a quiet hum. As if collectively deciding that the spectacle before them was beyond words, beyond sound, beyond imagination. They were acting like they all just knew that this moment was something they must absolutely not interfere in.

Spider-man, though using nothing more than his enhanced strength and his webs, radiated. He pulled you into his orbit, demanding full attention.

The power radiating off of him sent shivers to the people watching, even when separated by a screen.

This moment, captured by cameras and preserved for years and years to come, would mark the first time Spider-man showed his true abilities off.

His power wasn't a tangible thing, not like the magic of wizards and gods. No, it was different.

It was like the chills you got in a promised winter, like a cold snowstorm breezing past. It was a rhythm, fast paced and breath-taking, as if each note resonated with everyone present. It was a low hum, a thrill of vibration; of excitement, like electricity, that said watch me.

His power wasn't tangible, wasn't visible to the naked eye, yet everyone felt it all the same.

It said I'm not going to hold back anymore.

And as they looked on, they saw a man. His shoulders not particularly broad, height not particularly tall. Just a man in a suit.

Yet, somehow, New York saw something different. They saw a man with the posture of a hero, who radiated calmness and reassurance.

At this moment, Spider-man was like a legend brought to life in a trouble world.

But he wasn't invincible.

In the end, he was but a boy in a suit.

So, when the being dug his foot in and kicked the fight into high gear, it forced him back slightly. One step. Then another. And another. And another.

It continued like that. Back and forth, advance and retreat, forward and backward.

It became evident that the winner could be either of the two. It could be the hero but, at the same time, it could be the alien as well.

New York hung in the balance, knowing well that if they lost this fight, more of them would come. They were as if teetering on the precipice of life and death, balancing on a deadly tightrope, between salvation and damnation.

No one knew who said it first.

The first time, it was but a small whisper, said softly but with emotion and fervor. Yet in the silence of a muted battlefield, it was heard clearly, like the blowing of the howling wind, it whispered, "Come on, Spider-man."

And as if triggering a chain reaction, it spread.

One by one, the people of New York chant, in unison, "Come on, Spider-man."

To the heroes, especially the Avengers who haven't quite interacted with the people around the city like their vigilante counterparts do just yet, seeing thousands of people, whether on roofs, streets or in front of a TV screen, chant one thing; echo the same thought, it felt surreal - like something out of a movie or a daydream.

It echoes around them, as if a prayer or, maybe, a blessing.

Logically, Steve knew that Peter was probably the hero closest to the people. Yet, it never hit him as much as this moment.

The entirety of New York City was telling this one man, one hero, to keep going.

Shifting the position of his shield, Steve's mind drifted to the memory of Peter all those months ago. "They aren't just numbers on paper or statistics you see on the news. The destruction you cause without care can actually affect others."

It's easy to hear someone say that New York protected its own.

It had a different impact, however, to see the people have someone's back so wholeheartedly, to sincerely support one person that you could feel it in the air, like a zap of electricity.

Words could only do so much.

So, when finally presented with the magnitude of that statement, Steve was hit with the thought and understanding that yes, saving people, the seemingly inconsequential crime, was just as important as saving the world.

It finally hit home for him.

The thought had never been so clear, so vivid in his mind than at this moment.

As Steve held his position, tightening his grip on the white, red and blue shield, preparing to provide support when possible, all he heard was the echo of the same statement.

Different voices. Different tones. Different interpretations. Different volumes. Different people from different walks of life and yet, speak with the same intent, the same statement, "Come on, Spider-man."

They were cheering Spider-man on.

The people were telling him to push a little harder. They're telling him don't give up.

Taking a deep breath, Peter collected his thoughts and planned his next few moves.

New York wasn't giving up on him.

He won't give up on himself either.

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When Peter finally lands the final hit, the being slams down to the ground harshly, unconscious.

In total, the fight took four minutes.

However, to New York, it felt like a lifetime.

So, when Spider-man finally moves, raising a fist to the sky, roaring, the city roars with him too, loud and unabashed, triumphant and gleeful.

This victory wasn't theirs. It was that of the heroes.

A collective effort of the individuals exhausted and panting in front of them. It was the vigilantes of New York arriving first and holding down the fort long enough for backup to arrive and citizens to evacuate. It was the masters of Mystic Arts protecting the structures around the area and providing long-range support. It was the Avengers, and Fantastic Four arriving to chaos and somehow wrestling the army into submission, beating them one by one. It was the military providing air support and civilians providing rudimentary first aid without prompt. It was Spider-man fighting their general for four minutes, ending up bloody and bruised but victorious all the same.

This victory wasn't theirs.

Yet, as they watched Spider-man and then, the rest of the heroes, roar in victory and triumph, New York couldn't help but feel that it was theirs too.

It was here.

It was at this very moment, when heroes and civilians alike roared in unison, celebrated with arms flailing and smiles growing, that Steve knew - and accepted - the fact that he was wrong. Staring at the back of a bloody red and blue hero, Steve finally understood that the safest hands wouldn't always be his own.

And that's okay too.

"I have seen normal people do heroic things."

What makes a hero?

Steve doesn't know, not quite yet.

But, as he watched people of all backgrounds and communities, all shapes and sizes go out of their homes, smile at each other, and help the clean-up of their city, Steve suspects that it won't be long until he finds out.

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Author's Note: this was originally posted on AO3 on July 16, 2021. feedback and comments are very much appreciated! thank you!