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. . .
He needed to get out.
All he could see was your face, streaming with tears as he left you at Homecoming. All he could hear was you begging him to stay, that it was too dangerous. All he could smell was the scent of your hair as you hugged him goodbye. All he could taste were your lips as you kissed him desperately. All he could feel was the cold rubble against him, weighing him down.
He needed to get out. He needed to fight, to escape, to just get back to you like he'd promised. He needed to end this.
"Come on, Peter. This is for her, all for y/n. You need to get up. Get up. Come on, Peter." Desperately, he tried to gather the strength and courage to stand.
"Come on, Spider Man." The title wasn't glorious and heroic. Not anymore. No, it was mocking and taunting and childish and stupid. He wasn't there for you at Homecoming; instead, he was off fighting the Vulture. Peter was constantly letting you down, letting himself down.
No more, he decided. Pushing against the rubble hard, angrily, desperately, he finally stood. And he fought, for you.
