Chapter Text
Peter didn't back down.
He stepped forward again, shoulders tight, eyes burning. Everyone else might've gone silent, but he still had more to say. He had to say it.
"Because of me? You... you think you saved me back there?" he replied, voice sharp and shaking. "You didn't. You just made sure I'd have to live with it."
Tony flinched, just slightly. Almost imperceptible behind the armor. But Peter saw it.
"I could've made it. I could've gotten her out. You didn't trust me."
"Don't you dare turn this into that, Peter." Tony growled. His voice was low, but every word was lined with steel. "This wasn't about trust. This was about you making a choice that wasn't yours to make."
"It was my life!" Peter snapped.
"Exactly!" Tony barked. "Your life, Peter. Not a token you throw away just because you're feeling guilty or heroic or God, I don't know, you're fifteen!"
Peter's hands were shaking. His throat burned.
"Yeah, and always treat me like I'm just a kid," he said. "But then you throw me into missions, give me a suit, call me an Avenger, what do you expect me to do when someone's dying in front of me? Just run?"
"I expect you to survive, dammit!"
The words cracked through the Quinjet like a whip.
Tony hadn't meant to shout that loud. But it was out now. Raw. Honest.
Peter froze.
Everything did.
Tony's voice softened, hoarse and uneven. "I expect you to live, Peter. That's it. That's the deal."
Peter stared at him, unmoving. But inside, the storm only grew stronger.
Live.
Like that was enough. Like breathing counted as winning.
It didn't feel like a win. It felt like he failed.
He clenched his fists so tight his knuckles ached. The guilt swirled hot and heavy in his chest, thick like smoke. And beneath it , anger. Sharp. Unfair. Real.
Because part of him knew Tony was right. But part of him would never forgive him for pulling him away. He turned away, jaw clenched, eyes burning.
Then, quietly, a tear fell.
Then another.
He wiped them away quickly, hoping no one noticed.
But Tony did.
And when Peter finally lifted his head and looked around the Quinjet, something inside him twisted even harder.
They were all there, Steve, Natasha, Sam, Clint, Bruce, etc. Sitting. Watching. Quiet. Their faces were tired, yes. Maybe even heavy with guilt.
But none of them looked... wrecked. None of them looked like he felt.
No one was shaking. No one was crying. No one had tried to go back for her.
His eyes darted between them, desperate to see something, anything, that said, this matters to you, too. But there was nothing. Just silence. Professional. Controlled.
He swallowed hard.
Is this what it means to be an Avenger?
To leave someone behind and just... carry on?
To choose the mission. The logic. The numbers.
He felt sick.
This wasn't what he thought it would be. This wasn't what he signed up for. Saving people wasn't that the point?
"So that's it?" he said suddenly, voice low but sharp in the quiet. "That's... that's what being an Avenger means? Walk away when it gets too risky? Just, decide who lives and who doesn't?"
No one answered.
Until Steve did.
His voice was quiet, even. "It means living with the choices we have to make, even when they break us, kid"
Peter turned toward him, eyes still glassy. Angry. Hurt.
Steve didn't flinch. He met Peter's gaze and held it.
"You think we don't feel it?" he continued. "We do. Every time. But if we risk everything every time someone's in danger, eventually... there won't be anyone left to save the next person."
He didn't say it with judgment. Just truth.
"It doesn't get easier," he added. "It just... gets heavier."
Peter looked away again. He didn't want to hear it. Not from Steve. Not from anyone.
But the words stuck.
And then, slowly, Tony stepped forward. His voice wasn't angry anymore. It was tired.
"We didn't leave her behind because she didn't matter, Pete. We left her because we couldn't lose you too."
Peter didn't move. Didn't speak.
Tony took one more step, then stopped. Close, but not too close.
"You think I don't hate what happened?" he said, softer now. "You think I'm not replaying it a thousand times already in my head? Wondering if I made the right call? Wondering if I just stole your chance to be the hero you think you need to be?"
Silence.
"I don't care about being right. I care about you being alive. You have to accept it."
Peter looked at him.
And for a moment, Tony thought maybe that was enough. That maybe the kid would nod, or cry, or say something, anything, that meant he understood.
But instead, Peter took a breath. His voice was quiet. Steady. But final.
"Then maybe I don't belong here."
Tony blinked.
"Maybe I'm not cut out to be an Avenger."
A beat of silence.
Then Peter turned, eyes still burning, fists clenched.
"I quit."
He didn't wait for an answer. He didn't want one.
He took a step away. And behind him, barely above a whisper, came the only response Tony could give.
"Yeah... maybe you should."
Peter didn't stop walking.
And just like that, he was gone leaving the weight of those words behind him, heavier than any mission they'd ever faced.