Remember 24
Peter
Whatever it was that Scorpion had injected him with wore off within 20 minutes, replaced by an ache that Peter felt throughout every inch of his body. He groaned as he twisted and turned in bed. He should eat, eating helped his healing factors work faster.
Eating made him throw up.
He decided to shower. It was hard to clean off all of the dirt, sweat and blood without getting the bandage on his back wet, so he tore it off. He pulled the shower curtain back, throwing the bloody bandage into the small bathroom garbage can.
He turns around and almost falls out of the shower.
On the wall was a massive spider, slinking along the wet tiles. Peter cringes. Just because he was Spider-Man didn’t mean he liked spiders at all.
“Okay, here we go.” Peter shuts his eyes, slamming his hand down on top of the Spider. He expected a loud crunch, but all he heard was the echo of his hand hitting the tile.
He pulled his hands back and was met with nothing. There were no spider guts splattered on the wall or his hand.
Huh. Weird.
Peter turns off the water, getting out and drying off. Groaning as he went. He felt as if his joints had been encased in cement, his muscles wound tight. He almost gagged as he felt the stitches in his back pull against his skin.
If eating wouldn’t help Peter would just have to sleep it off, the way he slept fevers off as a kid.
Another thing his aunt swore by.
Peter tries to fall asleep, but continues to toss and turn. He was freezing in his t-shirt and boxers. He threw on Matt’s sweat pants that he had left on the floor as well as the sweater before climbing into bed again.
Still he was freezing.
He surfed in and out of consciousness, finally waking up after what felt like hours. He felt clammy, his clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin. He smacked his lips, his mouth dry.
Groaning, Peter turns over, almost shouting as his eyes land on someone standing in the corner of his room.
“Hello?” He whispers, slowly sitting up. His joints felt like they were on fire now.
There was no response, and his spidey senses stayed silent, which worried Peter more than if they were tingling.
“Who are-”
“Peter?” He feels a shiver run up his spine at the wheezing voice of his aunt. He almost didn’t recognize the voice at first, having not heard it for years. She steps out of the corner and Peter has to stop himself from covering his eyes. She looks the exact same as she did when she had died. Her eyes vacant, her skin pale and dirty.
“May?” Peter's voice shakes as he stands up, slowly walking towards her. “May, what are you doing here?”
“Peter, it hurts. I- I can’t breathe Peter.” Peter quickens his pace, making his way over to her. He pauses. What if he reaches out and she disappears?
“Why can’t I catch my breath?” Her voice is weak, rattling with the force of using wounded lungs. Peter finally reaches out, and is met with the feeling of her soft shirt. He lets out a breath he had been holding in.
“It’s okay May.” Peter brings his other hand up to her other side. Her shirt is still soft, but this side is wet and warm with spilled blood. Peter can smell the metallic tang of it the same way he had that night.
“Pete, it’s so hard to breathe.” He brings his hand up to wipe away a tear that slips down her cheek. The clean tear track that ran down her cheek was replaced by a smudge of blood from his hand.
Her blood.
Peter frowns, bringing his other hand up to wipe the fresh blood off of her cheek, and then wiping it off of the small wound on her forehead. She flinches.
“It’s okay May. I’m here. It’s okay.” Peter wraps his arms around her neck, hiding his face. She smelt like the cheap fabric softening powder she liked to use. His clothes had lost the smell of it almost immediately after he had moved out.
He feels her arms slide around his lower back and has to hold back a sob.
“I’m sorry May. I’m so sorry. I love you so much.” His voice is a whisper, and he wipes his tears on her shirt the way he did as a kid. He pauses when he realises he can’t feel the pulse in her neck against his face.
“May?” She tightens her grip on his back, fingers digging into his freshly stitched wound. “May, what’s wrong?” He pushes against her, trying to get out of her iron grip, biting his lip as her fingers press harder on his wound.
“Peter, look what you did to me.” Peter freezes. May’s voice was different. Her voice was grating, making Peter curl in on himself at the sound. She didn’t smell like her usual laundry anymore, the smell replaced with that of a rotting corpse. Peter holds back a gag.
“May, you have to let go of me, I can’t help you like this.” Peter gives one last push, and May crashes against the wall.
Except it wasn’t May anymore.
“Hello Peter.” The voice of Norman Osborn echoed out around him, bouncing off the bare walls of his room repeating over and over again.
Peter sees red.
He rushes forward, pushing Norman against the wall even harder. The man laughs, and it was the same manic laugh that Peter heard play over and over again in his sleep.
“What did you do to my aunt?” Peter yells, punching the man square in the face. He simply laughs again.
“You mean, what did you do to your aunt?” Peter punches him again. And again. And again.
His fist meets wrinkled flesh, his knuckles splitting and bleeding with each hit. He shouts, grabbing Norman by the collar and pulling him close.
“I should have fucking killed you.” He seethes. Norman smiles, his teeth stained crimson. Peter drags him into the living room, throwing him against the opposite wall. The man uses it as leverage, launching himself at Peter and knocking him to the ground.
Peter gasps as sharp nails meet the flesh of his neck. Norman’s palms are a crushing weight against his windpipe. Peter squirms, kicking out his legs against the hard wood of the flood.
He blinks and suddenly it’s his aunt choking him.
“Now you know how I feel Peter.” She screams. “Now you know what it feels like when you can’t breathe.”
“Stop. Please, I’m sorry.” Peter manages to get out. May laughs and it sounds like Norman Osborns terrifying laugh. She applies more pressure to his neck. Peter gurgles, limbs flailing out around him.
This was how he was going to die.
In a stupid smelly apartment, the same way the previous tenant had.
Peter takes one last breath.