Seventeen

M: What if Noir and PB are established dating and like... Noir goes missing. He's actually just like undercover or whatever but then when he comes back PB is freaking out. "I thought you were dead, why didn't you tell me", The works

R: Hey ok so established dating. Things get dicey noir has to make a decision. Disappear. Don't tell Peter. Don't let him know. Don't make him liable. Or. Be selfish. Stay. Stay with peter. Put him in danger. Of course he would pick the former

M: djcfrvgt exactly

R: So Peter Benjamin "dies.” He's gone, and Peter B Parker is alone again

M: See this is what happens when we haeve the brain cell

R: No Noir, just him. And God, he's a mess, a fucking wreck. He already mourned his loss of marriage. Imagine him losing Noir, his best friend, his partner in crime fighting, his boyfriend, his love, his life. He sinks and boy does B sink hard

M: PB goes off the deep end

R: And Noir wants to come back he wants to fix this, wants to save PB but he can't, not until he stops what's putting PB in danger. But he starts to realize he's the one putting PB in danger. He's the one making him spiral and act out, and lash out, and not smile, and not sleep, and not shower, or eat, or anything

M: PB is taking more risks. Going into fights without taking precautions, letting his mask get damaged, letting hits land, not bothering to duck from them because why should he? And every time PB goes out to stop a fight it's with the twisted hope that maybe this time the bad guy will win. Maybe this time. He doesn't have the courage to take himself out, no, he doesn't want to do it himself. Despite it all, he still has the faith that G-d is out there, watching. So, he'll keep shoving his life into the bad guys' hands, hoping that they'll off him instead, so he doesn't have to deal with the guilt of doing it himself. First, PB stops going to the interdimensional meetups. He can't go, not when Noir would be so clearly missing. Then, when they come to him, worried, concerned, PB snaps at them, tells them to leave him alone, that he doesn't want to see them again. He can't stand to see their faces, full of sadness and pity. He makes Peni cry, that day. They don't visit him after that, but Gwen still sends him an invite every week to hang out. Peter deletes every one of them

R: Miles is the most persistent. He won't leave him alone. He will call, he will text, he'll send little notes through the fuckin portal and it drives pb up the wall. He knows he should love it. Should love that miles cares, that the kid sends drawings and updates of his life, of sunflower petals and reminders that "they're all there for him." But he hates it. He doesn't want them to care. Doesn't want them to keep trying to reel him back and pull his head above water. Peter B wants to stop almost drowning and floundering at the surface and to sink down. He wants to go where Noir is, but he can't

R: Not with his cowardice and now with the others doing this. With Miles and Gwen trying and with his guilt about making Peni sob bc Noir was her family to. So, PB does what PB does best, he wallows. Drunk as fuck and almost never sober. He doesn't shave, doesn't shower, doesn’t sleep. When he's not getting his ass handed to him he's drinking and watching those nature docs about the animals and he nearly threw his remote through the screen when he learned some animals died of broken hearts when their soulmates die

R: So, how does Noir finally come back home? Sorry not home. Back to the house.

M: Because it's not his home anymore

R: Bc home is where you're safe and welcome, and oh boy is he not going to be welcomed back so easy

M: After Peter gets hammered by Lizard, and crawls his way home, broken, bloody. He drags himself across the carpet, leaving a trail of red. He knows he is going to die, here. Finally. He should feel something, but his legs are numb and he can't really see anything because of all the spots.He flops over onto his back, feeling his breathing become wetter and wetter as blood seeps into his lungs. He coughs, once, and then he can't stop coughing and blood is spilling from his lips. Peter feels himself being moved, sending the spots bouncing across his vision. He's propped up, and he can breathe again and god it hurts. Dark hands are touching his throat, checking, and, Peter recognizes them.
Noir. So he had finally died after all.
"Noir... I... I'm so glad I'm with you, here. I was afraid that... we would go to different places."
(Broken back Peter i will die on this hill) Noir was pale, much paler than he had been before. Peter wondered if that was what G-d made angels look like. But, if this was heaven, why did Peter still feel so much pain? Why was he still bleeding? And why did Noir look so, so sad?

R: "Peter, what the fuck," Noir is touching his pulse, hands going to to Peter's chest and ripping open his costume. PB's chest is mottled with bruises and his ribs are in a way that uas Noir's stomach doing loops and knots. Peter looks like he's on his way to a chicago overcoat and Noir feels terror in his veins

M: Peter just blinks down at his chest. "I thought it wouldn't hurt, when I'm dead. But I guess it still does?" He looked up at Noir, concern slipping across his otherwise overly relaxed features. "You don't hurt still, do you? From where you died?"

R: Noir shakes his head. "Peter, Peter we're alive," he says, trying to think of someway to get him to a hospital. Peter's breathing is wet and gargled, teeth pink from blood and spit and he wants to turn him on his side, let him spit the blood out so he doesn't choke on it but Peter is hurt and if he shifts him, hurts his ribs or spine any more he could kill him. But isn't that basically what he did anyways? Noir left to try and save Peter, to put him out of harm's way. But instead he just presented peter to death on a silver platter
"Peter, please," he says, hands on Peter's face. Not gloved, just warm skin. "We gotta get you to a hospital now. I gotta call the meat wagon- er- ambulance."

M: hohhhhhhhh my god that line
Peter's eyebrows furrowed, his hand reaching up to clumsily grasp at Noir's hand. "Wh-" He tried to speak, but broke off, coughing hard, as more blood splattered onto the red-soaked carpet. Noir grimaced, before decisively turning Peter to his side, trying his best to ignore the cry of pain as he did so, trying to ignore the way Peter's grip was limp in his hand. Noir knew where the phone was, of course, still in the same place as always on the wall, but now those few yards seemed much to far away.
Huh. He had left Peter for months but now he suddenly couldn't leave his side to save his life. How pathetic could one man be?

R: Hes rubbing Peter's back as he coughs and hacks blood out onto the carpet. He shakes as he spits it up, and Noir thumbs away the drops of blood from the corners of Peter's mouth
This was all his fault. He did this to Peter, he was killing him. Killing Peter and he would die and Peter's blood would be on Noir’s hands, literally and metaphorically. The detectives gone through a lot in his life but he doesnt think hes ever been more scared. He never wanted to be a spider. Never asked for this. If he just hasn't been turned, if he had met peter under different circumstances, a different life, maybe this would never have happened and they could grow old together. Be happy
"That's not the life i gave you" the spider god says in his head. "I told you I would give you a fate far worse than death little man. This is why you tremble so"

M: spider god seriously

R: Lol remembering her is wild

M: Noir hesitates, before standing up and practically sprinting across the room, ripping the phone off of its rest, before dashing back to Peter's side even as he hits the numbers. In those few seconds, Peter is shaking, coughing, one hand feebly reaching out towards where Noir had moved, fingers clawing into the carpet as if he could pull himself to wherever Noir went.
When Noir knelt back down next to Peter, line ringing in his ear, Peter scrabbled at Noir's coat, clutching at the end of it with his weak grip, as if that would stop Noir from leaving him. Then the line picks up and Noir can't remember what he says but then Peter is coughing and he drops the phone and he's holding Peter still as he coughs so his ribs don't move too much, and all he can think is have them come quickly, and, this wasn't supposed to happen.

R: Peters choking on his own blood and noirs got a handkerchief out, pressing it up against his mouth as he has peter in recovery position, blood soaking into the white fabric and his heart lurches. It never was supposed to be like this
Peter coughs and his eyes are foggy and distant. "Hey, none of that now, you here?" Noir says, a hand on Peter's cheek, patting it softly trying to get him to focus and stay awake."Peter, please, focus on me.” And Peter looks at him, all delirious and confused and he gives his little quirked smile, the one that had noirs stomach in knots and heart pounding when they first met
"I thought you...left..me," he wheezes, his words rattling and wet and cloying. "I don't want to...leave ...you like.. that"
And Noir shakes his head. "You're not leaving Peter, okay? I'm back. Fuck. Im back. I fucked up Peter, real bad. But we'll get this squared away and things'll be jake and you'll be okay . We can retire. Can just sit around doin borin everyday joe things. Get all old and fat and become curmudgeons." Peter laughs and hacks

M: Noir's heart just twists because of course in the middle of Peter's suffering he'd be worried about how he'd feel. Worried about his suffering.
Peter is laughing, but he can't breathe and Noir has to hold him still as he devolves into coughing that shakes his entire body, barely able to gasp in a breath before it's punched out of him in another coughing fit. Noir nearly sobs in relief when he hears the sound of sirens approaching, giving Peter's chest a gentle rub as his coughing dies down for a moment.
"We'll get you safe, Peter. You'll be okay soon."
Peter is still staring up at him with wide, fuzzy eyes, and Noir tries to force himself to smile. Tries to make himself look anything other than desperate because he knows that Peter could die right now and he wants him to feel happy in his last moments, not confused and afraid and hurting.There is pounding on the door, and Peter tries to move his eyes towards it, but Noir guides his head back to the position for optimal recovery. Peter's eyes are fixed on him, full of fear because something is wrong here, and Noir tries to twitch his lips up but instead he starts crying.
Peter reaches up with the hand that was holding the coat, and wipes at Noir's face, leaving a streak of blood across his cheek. "No... crying... allowed." He chokes out.

R: Peter is too kind. Too fucking kind despite all the shit that he has gone through, that Noir has put him through. He was too fucking kind and it isn't what Noir deserves and he already can imagine it. Him a few months from now, body bleeding and bruised and drunk out of his mind and Peni trying to get ahold of him as he makes the kids cry when he starts screaming and yelling. He can already tell he will spiral harder and faster than even Peter did and Peter is a kind man and a braver one than Noir will ever be
So he just tries to choke back a sob, tries to keep contact on Peter's face as long as he can before the paramedics are dragging them away and after so long. Apart just a few feet is worse than the worlds they spent apart. And he watches as they try and get him to speak, how they chatter about the blood pooling in his throat and how he wont last long with lungs like that.
And Noir watches as they try and drag him away, rushing the stretcher and he is trying to follow, trying to not let Peter away from his side ever again bc look where that got him but
The paramedics are holding him back and he realizes he's yelling and crying because that's peter thats his Peter that is dying. He promises himself every villain thats touched peter in the past fes months is going to be filled with daylight

M: So, Noir goes. As the ambulance leaves, taking Peter off somewhere to try to save him, Noir goes off to avenge him. He can't save Peter, he can't bring Peter out of wherever he goes, he can't change the look of terror on Peter's face as the doors close between them, leaving him trapped inside and Noir all alone outside.
Noir breaks through the Lizard's lab, and just starts... attacking. Hitting, punching, shooting, until the Lizard is nothing but a mass of flesh and blood and bone on the floor. Noir is pretty sure he killed him, but shoots him twice more in the head just to be sure.
Noir breaks down the doors (and ceilings, and walls) of every bad guy he can think of, and pummeling them as hard as he can, as viciously as he can. He'd been watching Peter, here and there, keeping tabs on him, and knew exactly who had done what where. So, he returned the favor.
Sandman, Noir broke his left arm and shattered his shoulder blade. Chameleon, Noir punched until he heard bones crack and then punched some more. Doc Oc he choked half to death with one of his own arms, and broke every bone of his foot.Okay, so maybe Noir broke a few more bones than Peter had had, but they deserved it. Each of them, all of them, deserved it. For daring to hurt Peter.

R: Been thinking about blood covered Noir swooping into Peter's hospital room through the window and he looks like such a fucking avenging angel

M: This black and white man covered in red blood

M: Now, noir covered in peter's red blood…
Noir's coat had splotches of red splattered across it, a bloody handprint clutched at the hem. Flecks of red across his face, standing out against the monochrome gray. Too bright, too much color. It made the red look redder, and the gray look duller.
At first glance, one would think he was wearing red gloves. But no, upon closer inspection, anyone could tell that gloves aren't supposed to cake like that, weren't supposed to darken to a coppery brown and flake off, weren't supposed to bunch up under fingernails and cake up wrists. Gloves weren't supposed to drip, either.
Some of the blood, no, most of the blood, was Peter's. But here and there, a blot of fresh red, bright and dripping, where Noir had gotten the blood of Peter's enemies on him. Noir was furious with himself for those blotches. Their blood did not deserve to touch Peter's. They did not deserve to revel in his pain. Noir should not have let their blood on him.
Noir's shoes left what would have been muddy footprints, if mud smelled like metal and left a red stain behind. The footsteps tracked across the carpet of Peter's apartment, across the roofs of buildings, on the ground and along the walls, before vanishing after a few paces, reappearing a block or two later. Everywhere Noir went, the scent of blood followed. A gray man leaving behind a trail of red.

R: Noir enters the room, it’s dark and dim and the only real lights are the luminescence from the machines peter is hooked up to. So many machines and Noir could not name them. One read heart monitor, he watched the rise and fall of Peter's pulse. Slow and steady but there.
He had an iv in his arm and a mask over his mouth helping him breathe. Bandages covered his torso and he hated seeing what they had to do to combat what he could only guess was collapsed lungs and broken ribs
Blood collected from Peter's chest cavity through a tube and a bag, the bag too full, too weighed down and heavy with peters blood as it tried to invade and drown his lungs
Peter isn't a particularly large man, but not a small one either. He looks so small and pale against the white sheets of the hospital bed, the dark brown hair a shock of color against the white. He looks down at himself, the red against black and he thinks about how opposites they were. He takes the jacket off and hangs it on the open windowsill ready to take of

M: Noir stays there, listening to the sounds of the machines. They're rhythmic, almost soothing, if only insofar as that Noir knows, so long as they sound like this, it means Peter is still alive. He's not sure how long he sits there, staring at Peter's bloodless face. At some point, he realizes that he's shaking.
Huh. He doesn't know how to stop.

R: He’s shaking so hard he can feel his bones ache and he has his nails gripping his arms and digging into his skin and he's breathing hard
And maybe
This is penance
Maybe he's feeling the pain Peter is feeling
Maybe this is just some of what Peter feels and if so he deserves to feel the pain, not Peter

M: Noir tries to breathe, but his lungs refuse to work and Noir can't help but think of how Peter coughed up all that blood. How Peter felt, drowning in air he couldn't breathe.
And Noir finds that he can't breathe, either
His nails are drawing blood, probably, adding traces of black to the mixes of red on his hands and under his fingernails. He doesn't mean to do it, but he can't make himself let go.
He doesn't want to let go, either.
He wants to feel this pain. Wants to suffer. He had hurt Peter, made Peter hurt himself. Made Peter cry.
Noir would to rip his flesh off piece by piece, if only to lessen Peter's pain by an increment

R: But he can't be selfish right now. He already was. He thought what he was doing was what was right, but it wasn't. Not when it results like this. He was selfish. All his decisions were selfish. He could hurt later, punish himself later. But not now. He cant when Peter needs him here and whole and put together. So he sits, and he shakes, and sobs. And he wipes at his face and he listens to the machines and the tick of the clock as it counts by the hours until Peter wakes up

M: Noir is so focused on waiting for Peter to move, to wake up, that his entire focus directs solely onto Peter. He is so ready, so focused, that when Peter does move it surprises him.
The beeping changes a little, before spiking dramatically as Peter feels the tubes down his throat and in his lungs, feels the blood caked on the inside of his organs because he's Spiderman, god damn it, and the medicine they gave him does absolutely nothing to stop this pain.
So he was in hell, after all. Or, worse yet, he realizes as the crazed beeping beats itself against his brain, alive.

R: Noir is alert at an instant. He was already so close to peter, sitting with his knees right up against the bed frame, so when Peter wakes his knees clank against it and it keeps him from springing up and startling Peter. He lets him breathe, lets him get oriented as he blinks and looks around and trying to move his hands and head. He turns his sleepy, disoriented eyes towards Noir and Noir is so close to holding his hand but he doesn't want to frighten or overwhelm him. So he swallows, looking at Peter and he doesn't know what to do
So he grabs his mask, and pulls it up, black mask falling into his lap and Peter Benjamin is there. Not just Noir. Peter Benjamin

M: Peter can't speak. The mask is pinned across the lower half of his face, tubes stretching through his body. Silently, shakily, slowly, Peter reaches out, as if afraid if he moved too quickly Noir would vanish. His fingers brush against the side of Noir's face, and Peter's eyes go from bewilderment to some, some other emotion Noir can't pinpoint. His hand trembles harder, and he presses the palm of his hand into the side of Noir's face, too-cold hands stealing the warmth from his skin.
Noir reaches up, taking Peter's hand in his own, and kisses the back of it gently, reverently.
"I am so, so sorry, Peter."
Peter's eyes shutter, and any emotion we was showing instantly vanished. He pulls his hand out of Noir's grip, and Noir lets him, tracking its path as it balls up into the sheets at Peter's side.

R: Peter doesn't want to touch him, not right now. He touched because he was frightened and weak and hurt and Noir, Noir was alive. And he was warm and soft and he was tangible, not just a figment of his alcohol induced hallucinations again.
It was Noir. Noir was alive..Noir had left.
So Peter pulls away and his breathing is shaky and Noir glances at his heart rate on the screen as it increases slightly, just a jump as Peter thinks. Noir lets him shake and think. It's the least he could do. He owed it to Peter after all. He almost killed him, he wouldn't want Peter to sully himself on his would be murderer anyways. He was glad he came back in time to "save" Peter. But still. Maybe coming back was wrong too. Everything was wrong

M: Noir couldn't leave Peter to die, that much was clear. But he should've left once he saw he was alive, shouldn't have waited until Peter woke up.
Noir should've stayed dead.
Was it too late to leave? Maybe Noir could vanish again, and Peter would think it was all a pain-induced haze?
No. No, Noir knew better than that. He knew that Peter would remember him. Hell, he had done it on purpose that way, right? To re-insert himself back into Peter's life like the selfish bastard he was. No, Noir decided as he watched Peter's eyes shift back and forth from himself to Noir, he had found a way to hurt Peter one more time.
Had found a way to break him even more. Noir hadn't thought he could hate himself any more than he did in this moment, but that was before Peter finally actually, truly reacted to him being there.

R: Noir is quiet, does he even deserve to speak? He lets the words roll around his mouth, trapped behind his closed lips and teeth. Should be tender? Should he be blunt? He feels uncomfortable, he isn't good with these things, words. Feelings, emotions. Noir learned a long time ago how to deal with pain and anger and violence. But he never had much of a defense or offense for tenderness. So he doesn't know what to do, what to say. So he sighs, and opens his mouth. "Peter...I..."

M: Peter shakes his head sharply, eyes flinching closed as the motion pulls on each and every piece of medical equipment strapped in and to his body. Noir snapped his mouth closed, feeling his teeth clack against one another from the force. He didn't want to hurt Peter again.
Peter reaches up, hand going towards his oxygen mask and Noir almost moves forward, almost stops him. Fear rising in his throat, terrified that Peter will hurt himself, but then the hand keeps moving, and it's moving past Peter's face and it is pointed towards the window, still slightly ajar from Noir's entry. Noir frowns, confused.
"You want me to close it?"
Peter shook his head, more slightly this time.
"Open it?" Noir felt something icey wrap its way around his chest, squeezing tighter with every, slightly increasing, heartbeat.
Peter pointed harder, sweat popping up on his forehead from the exertion of keeping his arm elevated for even these few moments. Noir had a sneaking suspicion he knew exactly what Peter wanted him to do, but he was terrified to ask. But he couldn't be selfish. Not now.
"You... you want me to leave?" Even as Noir asked the question, he felt the ice tighten until he swore his heart wasn't beating at all, just suspended in time, waiting for Peter's answer.
Peter dropped his arm, and, without looking at Noir, eyes staring off to the side, he nodded.
The ice crushed inwards, slicing through and digging its cold points in, ripping and tearing at Noir's heart, shattering.

R: He swallows and nods. There it was. "Okay, Peter," he says. Noir grabs his gloves off the chair, his hat shoved in a pocket, his bloodied coat thrown back over his shoulders. He crouches in the windowsill, gripping the wall and the window frame.
He didn't want to go. He was being selfish again. He had been selfish originally, leaving instead of fighting alongside Peter, he thought he was doing what was right.
Then Peter started getting reckless, started hitting himself in fights and losing and he hardly could stay sober for a day. He isolated himself and cried all the time and lost weight and just a few hours ago Noir had cradled him in a pool of his own blood and listened to his breathe shake and wheeze with the rattling of bones in his chest
Peter wanted him to leave. And he was at least not selfish enough to follow that request. But he looked back at Peter, grey eyes watching the other man. Peter turning his gaze away, so small and frail and angry and Noir nods
"Alright Peter." Goodbye. He slips his mask back on and jumps. He falls before flinging a web up and swinging out of sight

M: Peter rests his head back, listening to hear the faint sounds of Noir leaving. The soft closing of the window, the sound of a web thwipping that he knew by memory. The minute he knows Noir is gone, he breaks. Peter felt his eyes fill with traitorous tears, slipping down the sides of his face, trying to blink them back but failing to do so. He tried to take a calming breath, but of course he couldn't breathe, oxygen was being forced into his lungs against his will.
Peter was alone. He was alone and he was virtually strapped to the bed with all of the wires and cords and tubes and monitors attached to him. He couldn't escape, hell, he couldn't even stand up.
And he was alone.
Noir was alive. Noir was alive and he had made him leave.

M: Noir was alive. He was alive, and had been following him. Peter knew, he knew what that meant. Noir had been watching him, watching him let himself get taken down fight after fight. Seeing as Peter fell down and didn't get back up again. Seeing how Peter would limp home after a fight and not bother to bandage anything because he was just going to get injured again, how he didn't take so much as an advil because he wanted the pain, wanted every moment to have as much suffering on the outside as it did on the inside.
Of course, it was never enough.
Noir must have seen how Peter's windows were always webbed closed, because Peter would sit and drink and drink until jumping out that window without the suit on and letting himself fall would be a good idea. Peter hadn't webbed the window shut because he didn't want to die, at least not entirely, it was also because he knew it wasn't high enough up to work.
Peter felt his throat constrict as more tears welled in his eyes, but that was a bad idea as it tightened around the oxygen tube. His spidey sense suddenly decided to start letting him know that having a chunk of plastic in his neck was a bad thing, get it out know. His hands spasmed up to his mouth, feeling the hard plastic that covered his face. He couldn't get it off. The beeping in the room increased, his heart rate spiking as his adrenaline kicked into overdrive.

R:Peter wants it out now. He tries to grab and to pull, wants it out, trying to yank the tape keeping it lodged into his mouth off. He doesn't get far in his endeavor though, the beeping alerted a nurse who in turn alerted a doctor and orderly. Peter suddenly finds himself surrounded by people trying to pull his hands away from his face and pin his arms down. His heart is pounding and he feels like screaming and if he weren't so injured his spidey strength would have them flying across the room. He barely hears over the pounding in his ears the doctor telling him he's administering a sedative before Peter's world begins to fade. He gets heavy, so heavy, and tired, so tired
His fighting stops
He stops struggling
His eyelids get heavy
He barely even registers the hands readjusting the tube and brushing the hair from his face before he's asleep again