March 2017
Peter lay on the roof of his apartment building. He was breathing hard and clutching his side which was slowly oozing blood. He was in too much pain to move but he knew that he needed to sneak into his room to grab his First Aid kit. The cold from the concrete beneath him was seeping through his sweatshirt.
Peter had never been in this much pain before. He regretted rating his appendicitis a 6 out of 10 last year. Compared to what he felt now that was maybe a 3 at best.
It was only his fourth time out as a vigilante, fifth if you counted the time he went after a mugger in broad daylight in his decathlon uniform with his backpack still slung over his back. That time wasn’t planned though, he had still been coming to terms with his new powers and reacted on instinct when he heard the older woman yell at the man who had just knocked her down and grabbed her purse.
That was just regular Peter Parker though. Didn’t count.
Now he had a red crew neck sweatshirt, faded black joggers, and a navy neck warmer tucked into the sweatshirt. It wasn’t enough for March in New York, but he couldn’t risk losing or tearing his winter coat.
Peter propped himself up onto his left elbow, his right arm draped across him and applied as much pressure as he could tolerate. “Shit- uh h-holy shit. Oh my god. Fuck.” Peter groaned and mumbled as he continued to push himself up to his knees.
He paused on his knees as his muscles shook and his vision wavered. His labored breathing stuttered as he slowly rose to his feet. The city's skyline wavered in front of him. The frigid March air did nothing to numb his body. It just speared the back of his throat as he continued to gasp in air.
Peter gingerly moved towards the side of the building. The roof top door was locked, and Peter had left his keys along with his phone and wallet shoved in his desk drawer. He would have to hoist himself over the side and drop to the fire escape below. Peter prayed that it would be sturdy enough to catch him. He sent a prayer that Ben was still at work while he was at it.
Peter balanced on all fours on the ledge before carefully sliding his feet down. His sneakers briefly caught on the brick’s grooves before gravity started to pull him down faster. Too fast. His feet slipped causing his face and chest to slap against the brick.
Peter cried out as the laceration in his abdomen pulled sending pain radiating down that side. His shoulders cracked at the sudden weight. Miraculously his fingers did not slip on the icy ledge. They were the only thing keeping him from falling ten stories.
Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Don’t slip. But also, don’t look down.
Peter’s eyes cracked open. He could feel blood pour from his nose and slide over his lips before dripping onto his sweatshirt. Peter looked down.
Dammit. Also, addendum, appendicitis was a one.
The fire escape was two stories below him. He couldn’t find a place for his feet to grip so he was still hanging by his fingertips that were clawed over the roof top’s ledge, digging into the unforgiving concrete. There was no way he could pull himself up even with his newfound strength, the pain would be too much.
He had to go down. He told himself count to three and let go.
One. Two. Three
His fingers didn’t budge.
What the hell?
The cold must have been affecting him more than he thought. He could feel his fingertips, but they wouldn’t release the way he wanted them to. They were stuck.
He yanked his right shoulder back to get more strength behind pulling his hand back. It released easily. As did his left.
Peter landed on the fire escape with his right arm crumpled under him and his left side screaming in pain. His head slamming into the metal bars only knocked him unconscious for a few seconds. His breath caught in his throat. That split second of not being able to breathe sent Peter into a coughing fit.
Without being able to see much he knew that the wet cough meant blood. He just hoped that it was left over from his nose bleed and not another injury. There was only so much he could do with a First Aid kit.
With his remaining strength, Peter clamored down the fire escape towards his bedroom. A few neighbors shouted at him to be quiet, but Peter ignored them. He moved on autopilot towards the slightly cracked window that led to his room. He worried that the blood on his hands would make it hard to slide the glass up but somehow he was able to get a grip on it.
His feet touched the carpet as his upper body propelled him forward. He stumbled into his bedroom door, reaching for the doorknob to steady himself; however, the doorknob came right off, and Peter crashed to the ground with it clutched in his hand. He curled himself back into the fetal position as tears ran down his cheeks for first time that night. They cut through the blood that was still trickling from his nose and ran into his ear.
You made it this far. Just a few more steps.
He crawled across the hall into the bathroom where the First Aid was luckily stored beneath the sink. Using his foot to shut the door he grabbed the hydrogen peroxide, gauze, and tape. The neighbors on both sides could hear Peter scream out as the peroxide hit the first wound.
All of them pretended not to hear anything for the next half an hour as they did their best to go back to sleep.
---
It had taken Peter two days to get out of bed after the Oscorp field trip. He had spiked a fever high enough that May would have brought him to the Emergency Room but low enough that Ben was able to avoid that. A tingling sensation made its way down his body over the course of the two days following the field trip. Peter barely noticed it as his splitting headache kept him curled in a tight ball, oblivious to the world around him.
He didn’t even notice when Ben came in to leave him Tylenol (useless), water (spilt within minutes), and saltines (tasty, but not helpful). By the second morning Peter’s chest was seizing as he struggled to bring in air. He could hear the car horns and sirens pouring in from the window to his left and the sound of a mother soothing a crying baby from the adjacent apartment.
It was like an asthma attack but with his whole body being strangled rather than just his throat. His throat wasn't seizing like it did during an asthma attack but the air would get stuck as Peter struggled to expand his lungs. He was drowning in his own bed. He did his best to call out to Ben. Surely, he was dying. But Ben never came.
Maybe he hadn’t heard him. Or maybe he was at work. Or just ignoring him.
Peter’s breaths came and went faster but it was getting harder to pull in air. Black spots danced at the edges of his sight, and wretched sobs started to come with his gasps. It didn’t take long for him to pass out.
That had been day 2.
Day 3 he woke up with his limbs aching and his vision clear. Completely clear.
What?
He gingerly untangled the blankets that were covered in dried sweat and placed his feet on the ground. He scrunched his toes in the navy carpet and rose to his feet. His skin felt so cold that he double checked that his windows were closed. They were closed but had a layer of frost on the outside indicating that a cold front had arrived while Peter was out of it.
He moved across the hall into the bathroom where he washed his pale face and brushed his teeth before stripping off his pajamas to get into a warm shower. His eyes widened as he saw the wiry muscle that could now be seen on his thin frame.
He must still have a fever.
By day 4 he had resolved to not tell Ben or Ned. Ben would probably brush him off anyway and Ned would have too many questions. For now, he was just going to do his best to hide his body when he changed for gym class and tell everyone that he got contacts. He couldn’t do much about the city sounds filling his head all hours of the day so he would just have to deal. He covered his ear buds with his palms and pushed them further into his ears when the sounds got to be too much.
Day 5 he discovered his added strength when he slammed the front door, tearing it right off the hinges. Ben and their landlord were both not happy about that one. It was also the day he remembered the spider bite which sent him into another full body asthma attack. This time he didn’t pass out though.
Day 6 he finished first while running the track in gym class without even breaking a sweat. He hadn’t realized that he had pulled so far ahead until the gym teacher asked him if he was thinking of doing track that spring and a few minutes later Ned breathlessly asked how he did that. So that was the day he discovered his added speed. And the day he promised himself to be more careful.
Day 9 was the aforementioned mugger situation in which Peter ran the guy down to get the purse, much to the older woman’s pleasure. She thanked him and offered him money, which he declined. Peter walked away smiling for what felt like the first time in months. May would have been proud.
Oh god, May.
He had forgotten her. This whole week he was so anxious about what was happening to him that he had forgotten her. Peter hadn’t realized that he was stopped in the middle of the sidewalk as people brushed pass him. Some mumbled insults at the boy and others just knocked his shoulder as they passed without an apology.
Pete stared down at his trembling hands. His red gloves became May’s blood. It had been everywhere that night. It was everywhere now.
“Honey? You okay?”
Peter didn’t respond to her. He didn’t even realize that she was talking to him. His eyes were still cast downwards.
“I think you may be having a panic attack. Can you look at me?” His eyes didn’t move. “Honey can you at least tell me your name? Or just say something so I know you can hear me?”
“May?” His voice was timid, shaky.
May had called him honey. May’s blood was on his hands. Why was May here?
Peter looked up to see a petite black woman with gray hair poking out beneath her hat. One hand clutched an overfilled tote bag and the other was reached out towards Peter. She approached him as if he was an abandoned and starved dog: with pity, timidness, and fear.
“No, hon. My name is Judith, I work at the hospital. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You looked a little lost.”
She must work at Queens Memorial. That was where May worked too. “I’m okay.” He didn’t recognize his own voice. The sounds of the city were still so loud. He did his best to focus on her wispy voice and drown out the harshness.
“Do you need me to direct you to the ER? Or call someone to come pick you up? You mom or dad maybe-“
“No!” He didn’t mean to yell at her. “I guess I-I just got lost for a second. Distracted. Big city and all.” He knew she wasn’t buying his bull shit. He gave her a small smile to try an assure her. That must have been enough, or maybe she just didn’t want to push it, so she let him go.
“Okay, just take care of yourself.” As soon as she turned her back Peter’s smile dropped. He had to get home before he had another asthma- or maybe panic- attack. Then he would have to figure out how to make them stop.
Day 9 was also the day that Peter promised himself that he would always help when he could. In a way day 9 was when Spider-man was born.
The vigilante stuff would come a few nights later though.
---
Ned: Dude did you see this? [video
attachment: 1]
Peter? Are you awake yet?
This guy was spotted around Queens. Its
all over Twitter rn. They are saying that
he is some sort of good
samaritan/vigilante. So cool right?
Peter?
Peter woke up laying on a cool surface. The roof? He slowly opened his eyes, letting them adjust to the light. He was on the bathroom floor with his arms curled over his body and his legs scrunched up. He felt the stickiness on his fingers before he felt the pain. When he shifted his fingers pulled at the skin that they had been touching. His blood had dried lighter in some areas than others.
When Peter went to move the rest of his body is when he remembered why he was laying on the bathroom floor.
Crumpled up gauze sodden with blood were strewn across the floor and an empty hydrogen peroxide bottle was resting against his leg. Most of the gauze that remained on his body was haphazardly taped to his left side. He remembered the car jacker plunging his knife into his abdomen just above the left side of his pelvis.
With shaking hands, he peeled back the gauze to look at the gruesome wound. The laceration that had been about two inches long and one inch deep was now closed with nothing left but a red jagged mark across the skin. He stood up faster than he should of to get to look at his face. His nose was still a little crooked but the bruises that had been spread across the bridge of his nose and down the right side of his face were yellow.
Weeks of healing happened in just one night. Day 25 discovery: super healing.
Doing his best to not aggravate his injuries, Peter slowly cleaned the bathroom. He flushed all the gauze, balled the tape up to hide in the trash, and wiped up any remaining blood. His dirty sweats were placed in a plastic bag so that he could toss them straight into the dumpster after his shower.
By the time he was back in his room checking his phone two hours had passed since Ned’s texts.
Peter: What?! What are the saying?
Please not have seen who I am. Or where I live.
Ned: Check Twitter!!! Saved a woman last
night and stopped a car theft. Police said
the criminal was in some gang so it was
a huge bust for them. Then that video
and screenshots from it got out and now
people are saying he has been seen a few
times
He’s always in Queens too, seems to be
his home base
Peter read through some of the Tweets with #Queensvigilante that were circulating. The screenshots were blurry, but you could see a glimpse of his eyes that were not covered by the hoodie or neck warmer. In the video you could hear him yell something toward the woman, but you can’t make out the words. With enough editing though someone may be able to make it clearer. Shit.
Peter: Damn, that’s crazy. Maybe its
not the same guy though?
Ned: idk sounds like the same guy
but ya never know
Peter had the New York Times pulled up on his phone. No reporting there yet. The Daily Bugle had nothing. It seemed like for now it was just circulating through Twitter, hopefully something else would replace it before got picked up anywhere. In the meantime, he was going to need an upgrade: voice modulator, warmer clothing, and some sort of goggles/sunglasses. He would have to restock his kit as well, more gauze this time and less tape.