Small Big Burdens
They walked mostly in silence, Peter on the outside of the sidewalk to steer her in any direction if needed and at the same time shield her, since she looked progressively worse for wear as they kept going. A thin layer of snow covered the rough street tiles but she held onto her heels with one hand, her coat folded over the forearm with which she hugged herself reassuringly. She seemed out of it, paying no mind to the visible vapory cloud of hot breath coming out of her with every step, or the trembling of her own hands, or the pinkish hue on the tip of her nose. Every so often she tried to offer a theory to calm her whirring mind.
"What if this is the past, no matter what year it is? You ARE Peter, but you just don't know it yet. And- and for some reason, the Oscorp Tower hasn't been built.. Okay, a different.. version of… reality? Different timeline? It'll happen but at a different time? Or at a different pace? Is that how timelines work? Real-time timelines aren't real, what am I talking about." She kept padding forward deep in thought until what Peter had to assume was a throaty chuckle rasped out of her "Maybe I just hit my head really hard, how about that? None of this makes sense." He heard her hum as if agreeing with herself "Fake Peter, no tower, it's winter.. waking up on the floor of the Paramount Building. I'm asleep aren't I?" Half a block later he heard her rant on "if this is my subconscious' way of telling me how unreliable I deep down truly believe Peter can be.., it's still a bit much"
Peter bit his tongue, wanting to intervene and spare her the verbal auto flagellation but knowing it would lead to nothing but pointless confusion. Instead, he gently grabbed her wrist and hurried her across the empty street. A few more blocks and they'll be able to sit and chat. Deep down though, Peter knew that what she truly needed was to rest. Maybe seeing a comfy bed would be enough to tempt her.
A sneeze of her own surprised her enough to pull her out of her trance-like thought spiral it seemed, because soon Peter heard a weak whine as he felt her start to lag behind him. "Aw, damnit" she muttered.
He looked back to find her struggling with her own weight on her visibly bloody lycra stocking-covered feet, red slowly oozing from in-between where her toes would be.
"Shit". He shuffled carefully in front of her, he had a feeling she would turn down this idea but they had to move. "I'll carry you, let me-"
"No, not like that. Turn around."
Piggyback. Yeah, wasn't gonna let junior carry her bridal style, should have thought so. He removed his backpack and placed it over his chest as he turned around and grabbed hold of her heels and coat for her. She placed both hands decisively on his shoulders and then.. nothing happened.
"I can't jump."
"Right!" He crouched down and let her lightly wrap her knees around his back before going to grab the underside of her thighs and hoist her up with a light jump. "Okay?"
"Yeah. How far are we?" Her voice was raspy and dragging. He was not gonna rule out her getting sick now. For God's sake, why anyone would take their footwear off to walk in the snow was beyond him.
"Just two blocks away." He tried not to think about how her thighs were not exactly naked only by a technicality. Her purple skirt wasn't necessarily short but loose enough to enable this... position.
Peter knew nothing about medicine though. How was he gonna take care of her feet? Damn. He could take her to a hospital but the chances of her carrying her id when she died were a bit slim. And if they were to cross-reference her identity, as well as his, neither of them existed! Didn't have the money for a private check-up, nor any contacts.. literally, no contacts at all.
Spider-Man did though. He could take her to Happy, or Dr. Strange himself as Spider-Man and- he heard her teeth chatter next to his ear. Right. One thing at a time, he was getting ahead of himself. He turned a corner into a slightly busy avenue, colorful Christmas decorations donning each tree, post, and building as far as they could see. There they were. He let go of one of her legs and pulled a set of keys from a side pocket of the bag strapped to his chest.
"Must have a nice view." she mumbled.
"Thing is, is very well lit. Makes me paranoid every time I have to leave through the window."
She hummed to that as Peter carried her inside the building, closing the door behind him. He chuckled to himself remembering how there was no elevator. That's okay, only six stories. It could've been much much worse.
He didn't put her down until they were inside his apartment, placing her gently on his couch as a yawn escaped her. He went on to turn all the lights on on the three rooms the place consisted of and came back holding a short stool and some supplies to clean her feet: a tiny bucket filled with lukewarm water, tweezers, and gauze. That'll do for starters, right? He placed the bucket next to the stool, and the gauze and tweezers next to her, and tried to figure out what else he might need.
"Any soap is better than no soap, but if you have antibacterial that'd be ideal." She offered "Alcohol too."
"Right! Alcohol too."
"You don't happen to have povidone-iodine, do you?"
"I- I don't know what that is."
"That's fine, I knew it was a stretch." she mumbled.
"Truth be told, I don't tend to need any of these to heal. Just food and a couple of hours, depending on the injury.."
She nodded, covering a yawn with her forearm as Peter scurried away to go get the alcohol from the bathroom cabinet, soap, and a towel. "That sort of checks out."
Peter came back carrying the supplies and sat on the stool in front of her, silently asking permission before placing one of her feet on his lap. Then her eyes widened.
"Wait a second. Are you gonna do this? I thought we were gonna wait for your.. mom or something."
"My mom?" He asked mockingly with a huff. This gag was starting to tire him. "I don't-" He let his head sag down heavily with a sigh "come on."
"Right. Okay, hypothetically speaking, if you're Peter, then you live with your aunt and uncle. Where's Ben and May? Has Ben.."
"Yeah, before I turned fifteen." He said dipping a corner of the towel in the water and gently aiming to dab at the excess blood before Gwen promptly stopped him.
"Wait, you don't wanna do that. You could push a shard in." She said scooting closer to the edge of the couch and removing her foot off of him.
"Oh, sorry. Then what-"
"I'll dip my foot in and then you'll be able to see better, okay?"
Peter nodded, letting her take the lead. He watched her slowly and gently lower her left foot into the bucket and rest the sole of her foot underwater for a minute as the water underneath adopted an old-timey brick tint.
"I'm sorry about your Ben. Fourteen is too young."
"Thanks."
"How's May?"
"She uh- she.." he inhaled and bit the inside of his cheek. He looked around his little apartment from where he was sitting, trying to find the courage to spill the words he'd never truly let out. May died. May. His guardian, his aunt, his family, the only home he's ever known until a few weeks ago, the true meaning of home according to him, that was all gone and buried inside May's casket.
"Is she at work?" He heard Gwen ask lowly close to him. He looked up and was met with her soft gaze, worried cat eyes still trying to figure him out.
"She- she died. Three weeks ago." he went back to stare at anything but the set of sympathetic eyes in front of him. He couldn't do it.
"What?" Her tone and voice had dropped and softened to almost a whisper, her expression one of mild shock and disbelief. "Aunt May?" He was aware of how she was trying to catch his gaze somehow, insisting on positioning herself partially somewhere in his line of sight, but he didn't think he could handle the look of pity and not break again himself, so he kept dodging her. Until he felt her icy fingers again on his face. "Hey, kiddo, look at me." She softly commanded, cupping his cheeks with both hands now "I'm really sorry, Peter. You shouldn't have had to grow up this fast."
The sting at the back of his own eyes was as strong as the lump now rapidly forming in his throat. He tried to swallow it down multiple times before he thought he felt sure enough to attempt to open his mouth. A small whine came through as he did, so he just resorted to nodding as Gwen's thumb discreetly swiped away at one dumb tear that'd escaped. Dumb, stupid- she was the one bleeding out for Christ's sake!
"It's okay. Hey, you're doing amazing." She pinched his chin and let go of his face as he nodded once more.
"I know. I'm fine." he sniffled and cleared his throat, fixing himself on the stool, ready to move on and not think about the embodiment of home and warmth that was now irreparably gone from his life and had left behind an aunt May sized hole in his chest, never to be filled again; for a few minutes at least. "Let's.." he sniffled again and extended the towel over his lap as she scooted back on the couch and elevated her foot over the bucket so it wouldn't drip on the floor.
"You might.. okay, I'm sorry. You're gonna need to sit on the floor. My feet would go on the stool so you can see. I'm so sorry." She said with an apologetic smirk as he hurriedly stood up and placed the towel over the stool.
"Yeah- no, it makes total sense. You're right. Of course."
"Honestly. I know it's a bit degrading though and it's your place.." he disappeared into one of the other rooms wiping his eyes with the heel of his palms and came back a minute later with an adjustable desk lamp. He placed it on the floor next to the stool and went to plug it into an outlet behind the couch.
"How's that?" He asked as the light turned on, bathing the legs of the stool and the floor immediately underneath it in bright white light.
"Yes, that's gonna do perfectly. Listen, before you sit again, if you happen to have another set of tweezers and a pair of scissors, maybe I can work on this other one in the meantime." she said about to lower her other foot into the bucket.
Peter didn't know whether she was doing it on purpose or not but he was grateful all the same. Giving him little tasks to keep him out of his head, he was more than willing to raise her one up and offer his very own to remain on the move, in the name of practicality, of course. She also, probably knowingly, continuously kept non verbally offering him reasons not to be in her presence, giving him literal space to be as vulnerable as he needed and compose himself at his own pace and in privacy. She was no rookie it seemed. Probably a big sister to a proud little guy. Lucky little guy.
"Let me see if I can find another one, but hold on. I'll change the water, that one's probably cold now." He snatched the bucket from under her one still dry yet bloody foot before she could proceed with repeating the same process she did to her other foot. She nodded and folded her leg over the outstretched one, her wet foot on the towel over the stool as she watched Peter try not to spill the watered-up burgundy liquid.
"-kay, thanks, Spider-Man."
Peter automatically chuckled at that. They both knew he probably didn't register it, beyond recognizing it as a half-hearted humorous comment it was only partially intended to be. He stopped in his tracks before fully exiting the room, leaning on the doorframe, having thought of yet another practical thing that needed to be done.
"Want something to drink? I just realized I didn't offer anything."
"Oh, that's very thoughtful." She nodded again, trying to hide a big yawn behind her palm as she stretched her back.
"Tea maybe?"
"That'd be nice. Thank you."
"Yeah." He nodded then shook his head. Move, Peter. "Alright."
Bucket in hand, he headed for the bathroom to get started.
Soon they were both picking each at a sole, the adjustable lamp now aiming towards her heel on top of the stool, a steaming mug of tea next to it on the floor, the other one on the flat edge of the armrest of the couch as they worked in silence. Gwen guided him through the whole process. They cut the stockings away once the bigger shards were out, then cleaned each foot again, this time with soap and water, and kept probing and digging, trying to get rid of all remaining glass and debris. Once they couldn't see anything left, and at her request, peter dampened a gauze with alcohol and padded at her soles ever so gently, even as she hissed every time the wet material made contact with her ragged skin. He apologized every time as well.
"Do we bandage 'em up or…" he was hoping to coerce her into putting on some socks.
Gwen nibbled on her lip as she pondered it. She seemed to have followed his line of thought though as she slowly shook her head.
"Heat would give place to a breeding ground for bacteria and then we'd get an infection-"
"Yeah, but you walked barefoot on the snow for four blocks."
She snorted, looking up at him apologetically "I don't know what to tell you," she chuckled "the heels felt a bit too small."
"What? Is that why- I thought maybe you were in shock or something! Hell."
"Well, after a while I stopped feeling the cold."
Unbelievable.
"And aren't you cold now? Don't you want a blanket or something? I feel like if we leave your feet uncovered you won't warm up."
She sighed looking around before her eyes stopped on the lamp. "That. Light is dry heat. Is it led?" She said motioning towards the lamp peeking from behind the stool from where she was sitting.
"Yeah, it is." He got up and went to find a blanket into his room. He came back and offered her the one he'd yanked off from his bed, the warmest and comfiest he had. "But led light bulbs don't get that hot." he wrapped his hand around the lightbulb to make his point. "See? Nothing."
"Which means prolonged exposure won't burn. It'll work. It's okay, it'll be fine." She draped the blanket over her legs and torso and snuggled herself into the corner of the couch, pulling her feet into herself as she got comfortable. "God, this is nice. Thank you."
"Don't mention it." He lifted the lamp and placed it on the stool after removing the towel, angling the light towards her feet.
He started to clean up, picking up first the folded piece of gauze holding all the glass and shit they got out of her feet, along with the still wet small parts of her stockings they'd cut out. Those went to the trash can across the room. The bucket was emptied in his tub, soap rinsed and placed back in its built-in holder in the shower, the supplies were gathered up and taken to the kitchen to wash up, alcohol stashed back into the bathroom cabinet.
When he went back to pick up the mugs he was glad to find Gwen had snoozed off, the blanket up to her neck, her head laying on the armrest. She didn't really look peaceful, just defeated. The only reason he could be certain she wasn't dead was the color that had gotten more intense on her lips and cheeks, the slow rhythmic movement of her back, up and down as she breathed in and out. It was calming, inviting. Hypnotic. He had this sudden odd sensation, a strange weight falling off his shoulders and evaporating mid-air. He realized he'd been rushing all day and now, for the first time in hours, he didn't have anything he was supposed to do, at least in the eyes of any third party. He still had shit to do, now with Gwen involved even more than before but, he felt like he could lay down for a minute. If not him, his guard.
He remembered the day wasn't done when he caught a glimpse of the tight sleeve of his suit underneath the loose one of his shirt. Okay, let's close shop for today. Dishes, shower, bed. Come on. He looked back up at Gwen, hoping she wasn't a light sleeper like he was.
He mentally pushed himself to keep moving and stop stalking. He walked as if trying to avoid stepping on glass himself and got the mugs from the floor and armrest. He glanced down at her to make sure him hovering so close to her wouldn't wake her, and for a split second, he thought he saw blood coming out of her nose. The spoon in the mug made a clanging little sound as his hands trembled. He looked again, hoping his clumsiness hadn't disturbed her. There was no blood on her still-sleeping face, though her brows were slightly furrowed.
He silently, yet as quickly as he could manage, stepped away from her. That was dumb. Probably a shadow. He got scared by a shadow and almost not only woke her up but dropped the mug on her face. Then, sure, there would have been blood on her face right after that, no doubt. He grunted to himself, damning his stupidity, before making his way to the kitchen.