❝ all the bad dreams that you hide
show me yours, I'll show you mine ❞

007. savior complex

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏 that always made Ingrid’s heart race. It was an instinct, deeply ingrained. It didn’t matter who it was— stranger or friend. But when Peter called… everything stopped. The world around her dimmed, all sound faded to a distant hum, and all that remained was that familiar, gut-wrenching need to save him. To fix it. To be the one standing between him and whatever pain he was facing. It consumed her before she even had time to process it, like muscle memory she couldn’t control.

This wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last. That weight of responsibility— no, compulsion —had driven her onto this jet, her fingers gripping the edge of the seat so tightly her knuckles turned white as Happy piloted them toward Peter’s location.

Peter needed her.

That was all it took. She could’ve been halfway across the world, and the second she heard his voice, everything else faded into insignificance. Maybe it was unhealthy, this fierce pull she felt toward him, the way her heart twisted at the thought of not being there when he needed her. Maybe it was that she felt like she owed him, like she had to make up for something. Or maybe it was simply because she couldn’t bear the thought of someone she loved being in danger and not doing anything about it. Either way, something deep within her made it impossible to say no.

From the moment she’d discovered her powers, that need had been there. This endless desire to be the one to help, to fix, to shoulder the weight of a broken world even when the pieces were jagged and cut into her hands. She hated it sometimes— the pressure, the expectation she placed on herself. There were moments when all she wanted was to walk away, to let someone else carry the burden, even for just a little while. But when it came to Peter— especially Peter —walking away was never an option.

“I’ll be fine,” she whispered under her breath, though the words felt hollow even as they left her lips. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself or Happy, who cast her a sideways glance from the pilot’s seat. How many times had she said those exact words? Too many to count. It had become her mantra, her go-to reassurance whenever she found herself diving headfirst into danger. But she knew better. She wasn’t fine. She hadn’t been fine in a long time. The truth was, “fine” was the lie she told herself to keep moving, to keep pretending like she wasn’t on the verge of falling apart.

The real fear, though, was that it wasn’t about being fine. It was about not failing. About being the person everyone relied on. Because if she failed— if she let Peter down —what would that make her?

Her thoughts blurred into a constant buzz of worry and doubt until the gentle hum of the jet’s engines began to slow. She blinked, realizing they were descending, the world outside the window coming into sharper focus. Before she could fully prepare herself, they landed, and the urgency in her chest spiked. Her heart pounded louder than the roar of the engines as both she and Happy hurried through the jet’s narrow door and down the staircase.

And then she saw it.

The sight made Ingrid stop dead in her tracks. It wasn’t the chaotic scene she had imagined. No burning buildings or enemies in sight. Instead, there was a vast field stretching before her, filled with colorful tulips. They swayed gently in the breeze, vibrant and surreal in their beauty, like splashes of paint against the canvas of the horizon. It was a sea of flowers, stretching as far as the eye could see, the colors blending together in a kaleidoscope of reds, yellows, and purples.

It should have been peaceful. It should have brought some sense of calm, but all Ingrid could see— her entire focus —was Peter.

He stood in the middle of the field, his silhouette a dark contrast against the sea of colors. Battered, bruised, and bloody. His clothes were torn, streaked with dirt and dried blood, and his face was a mess of cuts and bruises. He moved slowly, almost painfully, one step at a time, as if every movement was a struggle.

Ingrid’s heart clenched painfully in her chest. A primal instinct kicked in, and before she knew it, her feet were moving, wanting to close the distance between them. She wanted to reach him, to pull him into her arms, to tell him it was going to be okay even if she wasn’t sure it would be.

But as soon as she tried to run toward him, she saw it— the way he hesitated. Peter had stopped walking, his steps faltering. He was still, standing amidst the tulips, his head hanging low, his body tense and guarded.

"Peter? Are you okay?" Happy’s voice cut through the quiet, concern laced in every word as he walked beside Ingrid.

There was a long pause before Peter responded, his voice rough and strained, as if speaking required more energy than he had left. "Ingrid? Happy? Is that you?"

Happy exchanged a glance with Ingrid, his confusion evident. "Is it us?" he muttered under his breath before calling out louder, "Yeah, of course it's us!" He gave Ingrid a puzzled look, but they kept walking, their pace quickening as they moved toward Peter.

Suddenly, Peter’s voice boomed across the field. "Stop!" His hand shot up in the air, halting them in their tracks. Ingrid’s heart skipped a beat, her chest tightening with worry. Peter turned, his eyes locking onto hers with a seriousness she hadn’t seen before. "Ingrid, tell me something only you would know!"

Despite the tension, Ingrid’s lips twitched, amusement flickering in her eyes. Ideas were already swirling in her head, knowing she could easily tease him with something he wouldn't want anybody to know.

Peter noticed her smirk from a distance, and recognition flashed across his face. His finger waved in front of him as he shook his head quickly, almost panicking. "Alright, no, don’t! Don’t even go there!" He turned to Happy, desperate to shift the attention. "Happy, you say something only you would know!"

Happy froze, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to think. "Only I would know? Uh…" He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Oh! You remember when we went to Germany? You pay-per-viewed a video in your hotel room? They didn’t list the titles, but I could tell by the price it was an adult film at the front desk. And you didn’t know how I knew—"

Ingrid barely managed to hold back her laughter, her shoulders shaking as Happy continued to ramble. Peter’s sheer embarrassment had her biting down on her lip to stop herself from bursting out laughing.

Peter groaned, throwing his head back in defeat. "Okay, okay, fine! It’s you, it’s you. Please stop!" He finally began walking toward them, the tension visibly melting away as he closed the distance between them. As soon as he reached them, he pulled them both into a tight hug. "It’s so good to see you," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion.

Ingrid felt the weight of the moment. She could feel the tremble in Peter’s arms, the quiet desperation hidden behind his words. He was scared— truly scared —and it sent a pang of worry through her.

"Peter, you’ll have to tell us what the hell is going on here."

.ೃ࿔*:･

Once they were back inside the jet, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Happy set up a small med kit on a nearby table, his movements steady but hurried. Peter sat on a bench, wincing as he pulled off his torn suit, revealing the deep gashes across his shoulder and back. Ingrid sat off to the side, her chin propped up in her hands, staring distantly at the floor. Her mind was spinning, but the weight of Peter's pain seemed to pull her out of her thoughts.

"Okay, hold still," Happy muttered as he threaded the needle, leaning in closer to Peter’s shoulder. His concentration was sharp, his hands steady, but his concern was palpable.

Peter winced, gritting his teeth as the needle pierced his skin. "Ouch," he hissed.

Happy glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "I thought you had super strength," he teased lightly, trying to keep the mood calm.

Peter forced a weak smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "It still hurts, Happy," he muttered through clenched teeth, his voice strained. “Come on...”

"All right, relax," Happy said, his tone softening. He continued stitching, his fingers moving quickly but carefully. "Just a few more, and then we're done."

Peter groaned, the pain flaring up with every pull of the thread. "Oh, my God, Happy," he moaned, his frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"Relax," Happy repeated, his focus still on the wound.

Peter shot up from his seat, his fist slamming onto the metal table with a loud bang that echoed through the small cabin. Ingrid flinched, her eyes snapping to Peter as the sudden outburst pulled her from her thoughts. Peter's entire body was tense, his hands trembling with the weight of everything he had been holding back.

"Don’t tell me to relax, Happy!" Peter shouted, his voice breaking. His eyes were wide, desperate, his emotions finally spilling over. "How can I relax when I messed up so bad? I trusted Beck, right?"

Ingrid's heart sank as she watched him unravel in front of her. She could see the pain and guilt written all over his face, his eyes filled with regret.

"I thought he was my friend," Peter continued, his voice cracking. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots in frustration. "I gave him the only thing Mr. Stark left for me, and now he’s gonna kill my friends and half of Europe. So please, do not tell me to relax." His voice wavered as he collapsed onto the seat next to Ingrid, his head falling into his hands.

Ingrid hesitated for a moment before gently placing a hand on his shoulder, offering silent support.

Peter’s shoulders sagged under her touch, and he took a shaky breath. "I’m sorry," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I shouldn’t shout. I just... I just really miss him."

"Yeah," Happy said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "I miss him too."

Peter’s voice wavered as he shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. "Everywhere I go, I see his face," he whispered, the words heavy with grief. "And the whole world is asking who's gonna be the next Iron Man, and I don’t know if that’s me. I’m not Iron Man."

There was a long pause. The silence in the jet was deafening, filled only with the low hum of the engine. Ingrid’s heart ached for Peter —she could feel the weight of his burden, the crushing pressure to live up to something, someone, that felt impossible.

Happy finally broke the silence, his voice calm but firm. "You’re not Iron Man. You’re never gonna be Iron Man. Nobody could live up to Tony." He paused, his voice softening as he continued. "Tony was my best friend. And he was a mess."

Peter looked up at him, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Happy’s gaze softened as he spoke, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "He second-guessed everything he did. He was all over the place. But the one thing he didn’t second-guess was picking you. I don’t think Tony would’ve done what he did if he didn’t know you were gonna be here after he was gone," Happy said, his voice steady. "Now, your friends are in trouble, you’re all alone, your tech is missing. What are you gonna do about it?"

Peter’s face changed then, the guilt and fear slowly being replaced with something else— determination. He stood up, his eyes hardening with resolve. "I’m gonna kick his ass," he said, his voice strong, unwavering.

Happy, though, wasn’t one to let a moment of inspiration derail practical thinking. He raised his eyebrows and gestured out the window with a quick tilt of his head. "But I mean right now. Like, specifically, what are we gonna do? Because we've been hovering over a tulip field for the last 15 minutes," he clarified, bringing them all back to the present reality.

Peter blinked, coming back to himself, and glanced out the window at the vast, colorful expanse below them. "Right. Um..." Peter muttered, thinking quickly. "I can’t call my friends because he’s tracking their phones."

Peter’s eyes suddenly lit up as an idea clicked into place. He turned abruptly toward Happy. "Uh— give me your phone," he demanded, the spark of a plan forming in his mind.

Happy looked momentarily confused, his brow furrowing. "My-my cell phone?" he asked, pointing to himself.

"Yeah." Peter nodded impatiently.

"Okay. Here." Happy reached into his jacket pocket, fumbling slightly as he pulled out the device.

Peter took it, quickly swiping to unlock it. But before he could do anything, he paused and looked up at Happy with a perplexed expression. "What’s your password?" he asked.

"Password," Happy answered flatly.

Peter squinted. "No, what is your password?" he repeated, a little slower, assuming he’d misheard.

Happy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It’s... 'password'. The word spelled out. 'P-A-S-S-W-O-R-D'."

Peter stared at him, incredulous, while Ingrid couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her lips.

"You’re the head of security, and your password is password?" Peter asked, his tone equal parts disbelief and amusement.

Happy sighed, clearly feeling the judgment in the air. "I-I don’t feel good about it either," he muttered defensively.

Before Peter could press further, a voice suddenly crackled to life from the phone’s speaker. "Hello, governor. Cup of tea for you? I’m gonna be in London soon." Peter’s eyes widened in realization.

"They’re in London," Peter said, a mixture of relief and dread washing over him as he turned to Happy.

Happy gave a curt nod, already moving toward the cockpit to set their course. "London. Okay."

"I need a suit," Peter suddenly called after Happy, his voice filled with that same steely resolve.

"Suit?" Happy asked, raising an eyebrow as he gave Peter a knowing smile. Without waiting for a response, he turned and headed toward the cockpit. With a quick press of a button, the back of the jet whirred to life, the sleek paneling sliding open to reveal something that looked more like a mini-workshop than the inside of a jet.

Peter hesitated at the threshold, his eyes scanning the setup, taking in the sheer complexity of what lay before him. For a moment, he looked unsure, almost apprehensive. But he swallowed that anxiety, pushed it down deep, and stepped inside.

"Okay, um..." Peter muttered under his breath as he placed his hand on the scanner. The console blinked to life with a soft hum, the room suddenly filled with the gentle glow of holographic displays.

“Bring up everything you have on Spider-Man,” Peter instructed, his voice gaining strength as the console responded, projecting a series of suit designs before him in shimmering blue light.

Holograms of various suits, all with subtle differences, floated in the air around him. His brow furrowed as he scrolled through them.

"Yeah, open that. Okay, no, no, no—" Peter said, his fingers brushing through the holograms, dismissing one after another as he searched for the right one.

Ingrid and Happy stood on the sidelines, watching Peter as he moved through the designs. There was something about this moment, seeing him step up, that brought a sense of pride to Happy’s face and a soft, warm smile to Ingrid’s. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of emotion — admiration, but also concern.

Peter stopped, opening a hologram of a web-shooter. Without hesitation, he extended his arm and placed it into the floating image. As he did, the hologram flickered, then wrapped around his forearm, molding itself to his form like a second skin. He turned, feeling Ingrid and Happy’s eyes on him.

“What?” Peter asked, his voice half-distracted as he continued to scroll through the files.

“Nothing,” Happy replied with a small grin. "You take care of the suit. I'll take care of the music." He disappeared back into the cockpit, and moments later, the pounding riffs of "Back in Black" by AC/DC filled the cabin.

Peter couldn’t help but grin as the familiar chords hit him. "Oh, I love Led Zeppelin!" he shouted over the music, his face lighting up in a way that made him look like a carefree teenager for just a second.

“Pete, that’s not—” Ingrid started to correct him but stopped herself. She saw the spark of joy in his eyes and decided it didn’t matter. Let him have that moment, she thought.

"Okay," Peter mumbled to himself, quickly refocusing on the task at hand. "Can you pull up my web-shooters? Isolate the Taser webs, and reconfigure the voltage boost to 25 percent. Also, give me complete manual control over detonation."

The console beeped as it followed his command, the holographic interface quickly updating. As Peter worked, Ingrid stood by, her arms loosely crossed, watching him with a mixture of pride and concern. She could see how hard he was trying to keep it together, how much pressure he was under.

Occasionally, Peter glanced up at her, as if checking to make sure she was still there, still watching. Every time their eyes met, there was something unspoken between them — something too deep and complicated to put into words, but it was there.

Ingrid, sensing the tension between them, broke the silence with a soft, hesitant question. "How’s it going?"

Peter froze for a split second, blinking as though he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. He turned to her with a confused look, like he wasn’t sure what she was asking. “Huh?”

“The suit, Pete. How’s it going?” she clarified, nodding toward the console.

Peter let out a small, almost embarrassed laugh. "Oh, right. Uh... It’s good. Almost done."

They both fell silent again. The air between them felt charged, not just with the looming battle ahead, but with everything they weren’t saying. It was like they were standing on the edge of something, both afraid to take the plunge but knowing they couldn’t stand there forever.

After a moment, Peter let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. He turned away from the console, his eyes dropping to the floor. "I’m sorry," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ingrid frowned, stepping closer to him. “Sorry? For what?”

"For... bringing you into this mess," Peter said, his voice thick with guilt. "For making you worry, for dragging you into all this when you didn’t ask for it. I—I should’ve kept you out of it. I should’ve—" His words stumbled out in a rush, like he’d been holding them in for too long.

Ingrid shook her head, her heart tightening at the sight of him like this — so full of guilt, so ready to take the blame for everything. She stepped even closer, her hand gently reaching out to tilt his chin up so he had to look at her.

Before Peter could finish his thought, Ingrid leaned in, silencing him with a kiss — a kiss that held all the reassurance, all the emotion she couldn’t quite put into words. For a moment, it was just the two of them, and the world outside could wait.

When they finally pulled apart, Ingrid smiled, a small, soft curve of her lips that was meant to comfort. "You don't have to worry," she said, her voice quiet but steady. Peter’s eyes flickered with a bit of nervousness as he nodded sheepishly, clearly not fully convinced.

"I'm glad I'm here, Peter. I really am," Ingrid added, her voice gentle but with an edge of determination. She tilted her head, studying him. "Just… is there anything I can do? Anything at all?"

Peter hesitated, then shook his head. But Ingrid could see through the mask he was trying to wear. She knew him too well. She pressed on, her tone firmer this time. "Really, nothing?"

Peter’s grip on her waist tightened almost instinctively, his fingers curling against the fabric of her shirt. "I can't ask you to fight for me," he finally admitted, his words almost a whisper.

Ingrid frowned, her brows knitting together. "Of course you can," she replied, a hint of playful defiance creeping into her tone. "I’m your girlfriend. That's what I'm here for," she teased, trying to lighten the moment. But her eyes remained serious, searching his face for any crack in the wall he had put up.

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "No, it isn't. You’re not supposed to be doing this. You’re not supposed to be here, Ingrid."

"Neither are you," she shot back without missing a beat, her voice a little sharper now, laced with frustration. "But here you are." Her hands came up to cradle his face, her thumbs brushing gently over his cheeks. "Let me help, Peter. You don’t have to do this alone."

For a moment, they stood there, locked in a quiet standoff, before Peter’s shoulders slumped in surrender. "Okay," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper, the word heavy with relief and resignation.

Ingrid smiled at him, her thumb brushing across his cheek one last time before she turned to leave, ready to suit up and face whatever was coming. But just as she took a step, Peter’s hand shot out, wrapping gently around her wrist and pulling her back. She stopped, turning to look at him with a slight frown of confusion.

Peter just stared at her for a beat, as if struggling to find the right words. Then, with a shaky breath, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small necklace. The pendant was a bright yellow sun, made of delicate glass that caught the light in a way that made it almost glow. It dangled from a thin, silver chain, the design simple but beautiful.

"I… I got this for you," Peter stammered, his voice nervous. "Back in Venice. I, uh… kept it a secret." He offered a sheepish smile, his eyes flicking up to meet hers, searching her face for a reaction. "Do you… do you like it?"

Ingrid stared at the necklace for a moment, her heart swelling as she processed what he was saying. Then she nodded eagerly, her smile widening. "Of course I like it. It's beautiful," she said softly, reaching out to touch the pendant with her fingertips. "You wanna help me put it on?"

Peter nodded quickly, his hands shaking just a little as he moved behind her. Ingrid moved her hair up, exposing the back of her neck, and Peter carefully clasped the chain. His fingers lingered for a moment against her skin, the brief contact sending a shiver down her spine.

She turned back to face him, her hand instinctively going to the pendant that now rested just below her collarbone. Peter’s gaze softened as he looked at her, his lips quirking into a smile. "It looks amazing," he said quietly, his voice filled with awe. "You… you look amazing."

Ingrid felt her cheeks flush at the compliment, her smile turning a little shy as she glanced over at the cockpit where Happy was pacing nervously. She sighed, the weight of reality settling back on her shoulders. "I think I should go suit up," she said, her voice tinged with reluctance.

Peter nodded, his expression a mix of pride and worry. "Yeah, you probably should," he said.

With a wink and a small wave, Ingrid turned and walked toward her backpack, where her suit lay waiting.