Everything hurt. His split lip throbbed and he could feel the bruises forming on his face. His muscles burned from exertion. His body ached from being shocked, crushed, clinging to a flying plane, and then crashing back down to Earth. Not to mention fighting Toomes himself. Peter was also fairly sure some of his ribs were bruised or broken, and maybe his wrist. Every breath hurt.

He watched as vans pulled up at the site of the crash. Even from on top of the Cyclone, he could make out which man was Happy. It was rather impressive, really, how far the plane had skidded. The whole beach seemed to be on fire, a mile of flames and twisted metal. He was glad they found Toomes and the crates he'd managed to salvage so quickly. The man would need medical attention so that he could stand for trial.

All the pain he'd endured tonight wouldn't be for nothing. Happy and Mr. Stark would owe him big time for keeping the plane out of the criminal's hands. He took a ragged breath, letting his head fall back. This was, absolutely, the worst night of his life. But he'd stopped Toomes. That had to count for something. Right now, his victory hardly seemed to matter. Not when burns stretched up his side and a gash in his shoulder steadily oozed blood. He couldn't even remember getting his injuries. So much adrenaline had been pumping through him the events of the night had blurred.

He stayed on top of the Cyclone, too tired and in pain to drag his body anywhere yet. He knew his injuries would patch themselves up in a few hours, maybe a day if they were really bad. All he wanted was for the pain to stop. He wanted the throbbing of his face, the tightness of his chest, the burning of his ribs, all of it to disappear.

He tried to distract himself by focusing on something other than his wounds. He took stock of his clothes. His homemade suit was torn and smelled of smoke. His web shooters were functional but the cartridges were empty. With a slow motion, he released the empty cartridges and slid in new ones. He only had two left in his belt. It had been so long since he'd used this suit he hadn't bothered to restock it with ammo. He would never make that mistake again.

"Come on, Peter," he murmured to himself. He slowly hauled his aching body into an upright position. He couldn't know for sure, but he believed it had been about an hour since he had first sat down up there. Toomes had been taken away by the police a while ago. Happy was ordering the last of the crates to be loaded into the vans. And as for Peter... he still had a homecoming to get to.

Ned would probably be panicking. He'd lost communications with him a while ago. His best friend probably thought he had died or something by now. And May was still planning on picking him up from the dance when it was over. He had to get back to the school.

"You're fine," he said to himself sternly as his shoulder throbbed in protest. "You can do this. Just get to school. Get back to school."

He used his webs as sparingly as he could, mostly running along rooftops and hitching rides on buses and trains. It was dark and late, so not many people were outside. As a precaution he kept his hood up. His suit helped due to the fact it was covered in ash and burned black in places. He blended in nicely with the night. It was exhausting, but he made it back to Midtown soon enough. He could see the lights that meant the dance was still going, but he ignored them, swinging through an open window on the fourth floor instead. He landed softly in the boys bathroom, luckily alone.

Peter made his way downstairs quickly. He let himself into an empty chem lab and smiled upon seeing his tux still stuck to the wall by his webs, just where he left it. That would have been hard to explain if a janitor had found it. He pried it off the wall, which wasn't hard because the webs were starting to dissolve. Apparently it had been two hours.

"Almost done," Peter murmured to himself.

He changed back into the tux as quickly as he could without pulling open his freshly healed wounds. His shoulder and lip had scabbed over, but he could tell they wouldn't take much to reopen. He didn't bother to retrieve his tie which he'd tossed in the hall by his locker.

The lab came with a sink at every table, but unfortunately no mirrors. He washed the blood caking his hands, face, and hair as best he could using water, paper towels and the windows as a mirror. It was a whole different kind of horror to see blood swirl done a drain and not know if its yours or someone else's. His original Spider-Man suit was also covered in blood and reeked of sweat and smoke. There was no way he could use it again, but he also couldn't just dump it in the trash can at school. He sighed, knowing he'd have to hide it and come back for it later to get rid of it. He'd light it on fire right now if it wouldn't set off the smoke alarms.

Once he cleaned up as best he could, he walked down the hallway, stashing the suit back under his locker row. He trudged towards the noise and swirling lights of the dance, every step feeling heavy. The hallway had never felt so long, and the sound of music and teenagers singing along to a song he didn't recognize had never seemed so foreign. It seemed Peter had been right when he told Ned he was past high school. He felt older than he was, tired. None of this mattered, and yet there they were, dancing with their friends, sneaking off to corners to kiss, and acting like nothing was wrong in the world.

He stayed frozen outside the doors to the dance. He could see his friends dancing awkwardly, but smiling nonetheless even when it was clear none of them knew the music. His heart contracted a little when he spotted Liz, in the middle of her friends. She was smiling too, laughing when a song she loved came on. And under his tux he could feel the dried blood of her father sticking to his skin. There was no way he could go in there and face her, not right now. Not when she'd been getting a call any minute that her father had been arrested by Spider-Man, her hero and savior. By him.

He forced himself to look away from Liz. He needed to find Ned, let him know he was okay. There was nothing he could do for Liz right now anyways. He found Ned, sitting to the side, looking anxious as his eyes scanned the room. Peter tapped on the glass and Ned turned around, breaking out into a relieved grin when he saw his best friend. Ned sprung up and hurried over, joining Peter in the hallway. They immediately moved away from the doors so no one could see them.

"Dude, what happened?!" Ned asked frantically. "Are you okay? Did you catch Liz's dad? Did you kill him?"

"What?" Peter asked, bewildered. "No, no, Ned. I did not kill anyone! Happy came and collected Toomes, handed him off to the police. I just tied him up. This'll probably be all over the news tomorrow morning. I, uh, kind of set Coney Island on fire."

"Oh. My. God. Are you hurt? Should I call someone?"

"No, I'm fine," the superhero assured him. His statement was kind of upturned when he pressed a hand to his side and grimaced in pain. "Or, I will be anyways."

"You don't look great," Ned said worriedly, forehead creasing.

Peter gave a little laugh that faded off into a pained grimace. "Well, I suppose I look fantastic considering the night I've had. I'm going to call May for a ride home. Tell her Liz dumped me or something. I just wanted to let you know I'm okay. And seriously, Ned, thanks for your help."

"Are you kidding? This has been the most exciting night of my life!" he replied, child-like ecstasy written across his face.

Peter couldn't even dredge up a smile. This had been the worst, scariest, most painful night of his life. He couldn't wait for it to be over, to lower his aching body onto his bed and sleep for days. Hopefully the pain would go away if he could get some rest. But he could keep his mask up for a bit longer.

"You should get back to the dance. I'm gonna go clean up a bit more before May sees me," Peter said. Ned looked torn between staying with Peter and returning to the dance, so he gave him a gentle shove towards the door. "Go. I'll be fine. You deserve to have some fun. You were awesome tonight, Ned."

"Bye, Peter," his best friend said, rejoining the homecoming dance. Peter slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, clutching his side. He let out harsh breaths between his teeth. His ribs must be trying to heal themselves and the burning was the product of rapid healing his body was going through.

He only allowed himself about a minute sitting down. If someone walked into the hallway and found him slumped against the wall there would probably be a panic. So he stumbled to the bathroom and locked the door behind him. He would need to clear up every speck of blood visible on him by the time May got there. He left the water running, scrubbing down his arms and face. The water that went down the drain was red and gray.

He cleaned his hair as best he could, trying to style it back to how he had it. He did a satisfactory job. May probably wouldn't press for details about his night anyways if he told her he got dumped. He shut off the water and let the oppressive silence take over the room, interrupted only by the vibrating of the floor.

He stared at his face in the crappy, warped mirror. The blood and sand and dust had been washed away, and his split lip had already healed, not even a scratch remaining. Soon there would be no evidence of the fight on his body. But he could see it in his eyes. A sort of weariness that hadn't been there even a couple of hours ago. Hadn't been there until his date's dad had threatened him and his family with a gun.

Toomes had brought his world crashing down. Bad guys had always been criminals, low-lives or gang members, who cared for no one but themselves. But Toomes hadn't fit into that description. He had a family, he had friends. A daughter who hugged and kissed him when he came home, happy to see him. A wife who loved him and believed he was a good man. And that changed things.

Peter leaned his feverish forehead against the cold mirror. How many people who he'd put in jail had families or friends that missed them? How many lives had he torn apart? Or had they done this to themselves through their actions and choices? God, no wonder Mr. Stark had told him to stay out of it. He had known Peter was in over his head, trying to prove himself ready for a game he didn't even understand. How could Mr. Stark deal with this feeling, this guilt, all the time? Or did he stop feeling guilty a long time ago?

One thing was for sure: he no longer envied the Avengers. He could barely deal with a small group of criminals with homemade technology. They dealt with alien invasions and fanatical Nazi organizations. Could he do that? Maybe. With more experience. Could he deal with the guilt and stress that came with it? No. At least, not yet.

He yanked his gaze from the mirror. These thoughts were pointless, and he was too tired to be getting so deep and philosophical anyways. No decisions should be made in his present exhausted state. The dance would be over soon and May would be waiting. He had one last lie to perform tonight.

The Iron Spider Suit was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. He knew it would fit him perfectly, knew it would have capabilities beyond his wildest dreams. And it came with a spot on the Avengers, the only thing he'd wanted ever since Tony Stark had shown up in his apartment with an offer to fight in the big leagues. Looking back on it, he knew Mr. Stark's offer had been sincere, not a test. It was everything he'd asked for and more.

And yet... Toomes's words came back to him, from the warehouse. He had been right about one thing at least. The Avengers were like wrathful gods who swept their justice across the world. Peter was a boy with superpowers, true, but he was still a boy. He had school, a family, friends. He couldn't just drop all that to join the Avengers. He was the little guy in the grand scope of the world. He could only help the other little guys.

And maybe in a few years he could work up to their level. But right now, he wasn't there. When he was though, he'd have a very nice suit waiting for him.

He couldn't deny he was pleased to have his own suit back though.