Seventeen

M: The next time Peter wakes up, his wrists are pinned to the sides of the bed. A nurse is fiddling with something, their back turned. Peter tries to speak, but notices the mask is still over his face. The tube, though, is gone.

Peter realizes... he's breathing. Never before had oxygen felt so good in his life. He took a moment, eyes closed, just breathing in and out. Feeling. It still hurt like hell, that was for sure, but at least now it wasn't being shoved in and out of him like clockwork.

He was still beladen with all kinds of medical items, but he was able to recognize some of the things that were absent.

The bag filled with blood from his lungs had been removed, although Peter could feel something still lodged into his side, between two of his ribs, most likely the access point. The machine that had been dripping what was most likely medication had been switched out, there was a different one now. It was, Peter noticed, supposed to be stronger. It didn't change anything for him. He still felt it all.

And, of course, the chair that had previously had Noir sat empty. Peter knew that, was expecting it, would've gotten mad beyond belief if it was occupied by him, but its emptiness still hurt Peter more than anything that was sticking into him.

R: Noir. God where would he even begin with that mess

He was angry, rightfully so. Noir left him, left him thinking he was dead and Peter mourned for months. There wasn't even a body to be found he had thought

And Noir had watched him get his ass kicked; watched his depression kick his ass, and the world, and alcoholism, and villains. Noir watched him fucking spiral from his little perch outside of Peter's life

Then he comes galavanting in like some dark knight supposed to rescue him. Some dark avenging angel as he was covered in blood, the red stains against his black colors and of course Peter was angry

No of course he didn't feel regret at having kicked him out. Or sadness at waking up alone. Of course he hadn't originally been thrilled when he thought he had died and finally found Noir in heaven. Seeing Noir whole, greeting him as his soul slipped from his broken body and they'd head off together

M: Noir had betrayed him, abandoned him. He was supposed to feel angry. That was definitely what he felt. Anger. Nothing else, not at all.

In a way, Peter was angry at himself, too. For falling for it. For believing Noir was dead. He should have doubted, should have done more searching. No, instead he had given up after barely a week, crawling into a bottle and hoping to never come out.

And now, he had made Noir leave. And that was a good thing. It was good he had made Noir leave, after finding out that he was alive and still here and also alive. It was the proper response to the situation, and Peter told himself what he did was right. Was correct. Was what Noir would do-

No. It wasn't what Noir would do, now, would it? Although, to be fair, it's not like Peter knew Noir very well after all...

Peter heard a gasp, and his eyes darted over to the nurse, who was staring at him, hand partially over their mouth.

"You're... awake?" They breathed out, before dropping back into a normal stance, trying to force their voice even and failing miserably. "I'll get the doctor."

With that, they were gone, too, and Peter was alone with the beeping of his broken heart, and the ragged breathing of his aching lungs.

R: The doctor and an intern comes back, starts discussing the facts with him. Fuck he hated listening to doctors ramble his mind always drifted away from their babble(edited)

He let's the intern list the reports

Concussion, punctured lungs that needed reinflating, they had to drain his chest of internal bleeding, a broken leg and ankle, broken arm and collarbone, shoulder that had been dislocated, on and on

The doctor admits he was surprised Peter made it. Peter snorts coz hes surprised too

Eventually he tunes out

Doesn't care about the talks about what to do, how to take care of himself

He blatantly ignores the doctor asking if he goes to AA and that he should as his liver is shutting down from alcohol abuse

But he tunes back in at the doctors final words. "We cannot release you until a secondary party comes and signs your forms."

"What? Why?" Peter nearly shouts. "I can sign my own damn release"

The doctor looks scrutinizingly at him. "Mr. Parker. I may not understand what put you into this situation. But I have done this job long enough to see someone who did not want to get out of the situation."

Peter's mouth is agape as the doctor says

"It is my job as a physician to do not harm. Releasing you in your state, under your mental condition? That would be harm. And I cannot break my oathe.",

So Peter fumes as the doctor leaves, intern following after bc why does Mr. Parker get so scary when angry?

M: The minute the door closed behind the doctor and intern, Peter sat up, ignoring the burst of pain that flared through his entire body. He was going to leave now. He wouldn't die from his injuries, probably. He was Spiderman, after all.

He would get up, and slip out of the window. In a minute. He just needed a moment to regain his breath and then he would leave. After a few minutes, his breath was still too short and he felt dizzy. He found himself leaning back, head resting back against the pillows, no longer having the strength to keep his body raised up.

As his breath began to return to him, he stared at the ceiling, gritting his teeth. He was furious at himself, trying to force his body to just move. But of course he couldn't, of course he was too weak to even get out of bed by himself.

He couldn't escape.

He needed someone to help him.

He needed someone to sign some papers for him, get him home, and then vanish away and leave Peter to his own devices.

MJ, she had a life now, a husband and kids, he couldn't drag her back into his life. She would never let him go off on his own, either. She cared about people too much. He thought about calling Gwen for a moment, but rejected that thought instantaneously. He couldn't make her see this.

He had to contact someone who would abandon him.

And Peter knew, then, who to call.

R: He flags down one of the nurses that passes by his door, asks her if she can bring him his phone and watch.

Noir is shit with phones. Absolutely awful. The buttons are weird to him and he doesn't like the GPS tracker, and he always accidentally clicks facetime so he covered the cameras with tape

So he checks his phone to see if noir said anything to the others, and then uses the watch to call the detective

Peni made the watch simple for him to use. You say where you wish to go to, what place, and then hit go. A similar principle for contacting others. Speak and they shall appear so to say

So Peter calls, leaves a message for noir. No he won't call him and talk to him. Noir can listen to a voicemail and if he doesn't respond then what the fuck ever.

M: “Noir, it's Peter. I need you to fill out some papers. If you deign to show up that'd be nice."

Peter knew it was rude, cruel even, but he didn't care. It wasn't like Noir cared, so why should he care that it was hurtful. He shouldn't, no, he didn't, care that Noir would hear it. After a moment, though, Peter deleted it, and sent a different one.

"Noir, it's Peter. I need you to fill out some papers. I... require... your help.”

Noir, thankfully, had remained silent on the multiverse front, so at least Peter didn't have to worry about Miles or Peni hearing about this. And if Noir kept his mouth shut, they never would.

Peter had barely placed his tech on the bedside table before it started buzzing. The caller ID said Noir, and Peter pressed ignore. He called a few more times, 6 times total, before it stopped buzzing. Peter wasn't sure whether to be relieved that it had stopped, or concerned that Noir wasn't going to show up.

As it turned out, he had little to worry about.

R: Peter began to doze off, head leaned back and eyes starting to shut even though he defiant tried to keep himself awake

Next thing he knows his stubborn eyes are closing, his head lolling back and he feels himself drifting to sleep

He's only brought out of his sleepy stupor at the sound of a knock, not against his room door but against the window

Brown eyes opening slightly, he saw a dark shadow slide the window open, the man ducking in through such a small space for such a large body and there noir is

He had ditched the coat, too large and made him stand out too much. He also left the hat, wearing only his sweater and his vest. The rest of his outfit is the same as usual, sans the dried blood stains. The brown red stains only detectable on his dark grey pants

Noir looks at Peter, and Peter at Noir. The man doesnt move to get closer to the bed nor head for the chair. He just stands by the window, waiting. As if this was dangerous territory and taking one wrong step will trigger landmines and Peter will be blowing him apart

They stand and sit and stare. And stare. And stare. Until finally

"Hospital papers need to be signed" peter says, pulling his gaze away and staring out the door. "I want to go home."

Home. The place where the blood pooled onto the floor and where noir had abandoned him and he slept alone and he wanted to go home but he didnt have one anymore

M: "Okay." Noir's voice is quiet, muted, as though Peter is about to start screaming at him. Peter would have considered it, at least, but he can still barely speak without getting tired, let alone have a screaming match over what Noir let happen.

Noir walks across the room, hugging closer to the wall, giving Peter as much room as possible. In a way, it was still too close for Peter's liking. He could still see Noir, which was more than he really wanted to deal with.

Noir gets the same goddamn doctor, who apparently decides that Noir is qualified to handle Peter and gives him the whole safety speal too, about taking care of his injuries and the AA meetings and all the rehab and... god, the man just kept talking, and Noir was standing there listening to him.

Peter wanted the doctor to hurry up and finish so Noir could sign the papers, and get him out of here. Peter didn't care about the treatments, and sure as hell Noir didn't either.

In a way, Peter wasn't sure where he would go once he actually left the hospital. His apartment was probably a crime scene, he'd have to check, and the thought of going back made his skin crawl. He didn't want to see the inside of it again, but he'd be damned if he was going to let Noir know that.

Maybe he could get Noir to drop him off at the apartment, and then go rent a place at a motel or something. It's not like anyone would notice if he moved. Or vanished.

The doctor had finished talking, finally, and now Noir was filling out the paperwork.

Peter almost screamed when Noir asked the doctor, "What does this section mean?"

Noir didn't have to pretend that hard. The doctor just needed a legal document, not a convincing story.

R: Finally, finally Noir finishes the paperwork. He fills out some forms saying he will be Peter's caretaker until he is well, and that he will help make sure Peter gets the help he needs.

No way in hell is Peter letting him anywhere near him once they leave this building

Peter is rolled out in a wheelchair, his body still injured though the increased healing factor is aiding somewhat. The longest process would be the healing of his broken limbs, though his cuts and bruises were already starting to knit back together or fade away.

Noir wheels him out, this strange black masked man wheeling out this obviously grumpy, infuriated mess of a man with arms crossed and eyes burning and pouting the whole way out

M: The intern stopped the wheelchair and went back inside. Noir reached for the handles automatically, ready to move Peter.

Peter huffed out a laugh. "C'mon, Noir, you can stop now."

"What?" Noir didn't grab the handles, but he didn't drop them back down, either. He just kinda stood there, awkwardly behind Peter so that he had to turn his head a little to see him.

"You can go. I can take it from here."

Noir frowned. "You're not in any condition to be alone right now."

"But I was before?" Peter had meant it to sound aggressive, but it just came out weak. Weak just like him, just like his broken body and how he was just so tired.

Noir looked like he wanted to run, but refused to move. "You're too injured. I told them I would take you home and make sure you're okay."

"Well, it's not like your word matters now, does it?"

Even as Peter said the words, he wanted to take them back. It was harsh, but harsh would make Noir leave so he could go home and drink and keep going as he did before, before he met Noir when it was empty and dark and alone but it didn't hurt like it did right now. So yes, Peter was going to be as cruel as he could be, and hope that it would work in making Noir drop this act and just... leave.

R: Of course noir didn't. He stood there, stiff as a board before grabbing the handles. "Hey, what the fuck?" Peter asks indignantly, he wants to turn and smack his hands away but he cant turn that far, the reach hurts too much. Noir just pushes and walks, doesn't say anything. Peter does though

"I said fuck off Noir, I don't want you here, get out of my fucking way" he spits as noir walks him down the block down to the district towards his apartment

"I said fuck off. God, can’t you actually listen and give a fuck about what I'm saying to you once in your fucking life?"

Noir keeps his hands on the handles, gripping tighter. No he won't say anything, it isn't his place

M: Noir took each sentence without faltering, but allowing each one to bury into his chest. Each one served as a reminder that Peter hated him, Peter hated him. The suffering Noir felt with these words was nothing compared to what Peter had gone through, and Noir was not so selfish as to object to them.

After all, Peter was right.

And then they were in front of Peter's apartment building, and Noir was letting go and Peter felt a moment of twisted hope that Noir was leaving, ignoring the shooting fear of being alone again, because Noir would leave now. But then Noir was propping the door open with one leg while awkwardly rolling Peter through into the lobby and he was still there.

Peter kept up the storm of cursing, all the way to the elevator and into it, ignoring the stares of other tenants as they moved by. Him, all bandaged and disheveled, cursing out a man dressed in black.

Noir got them into an empty elevator, and Peter could see Noir in the reflection of the door.

R: When Peter first met Noir, the man was barricaded in with walls. He wouldn't put them down, too afraid of letting people in to him, a fortress meant to keep people out and himself safe - or maybe people safe and himself in.

It was a lot back then. Noir wouldn't let people touch him, he hardly spoke much to them outside of being addressed. He didn't sleep, didn't eat, didn't really anything. It made Peter so fucking infuriated because this guy was here, so clearly suffering and he just, wasn't allowed to help?

But as time went on, as they begun to have midnight talks, and Peter guided Noir through a PTSD episode while hiding in the bathtub at Aunt May's house, after movie nights and awkward flirting, and Noir helping Peter home after Peter's drunk self stumbled through the portal and into Noir's apartment. The walls they went down.

Peter was a whole new side of Noir. One that liked to dance to old timey songs but loved hearing new ones. The Noir that was too nervous to ask for a milkshake on the first date because he didn't have the money and didnt want to put Peter out but the look on his face as he drank the sweet drink was priceless. The noir that held peni when she cried and rubbed gwen's back when she was stressed and talked miles through breathing exercises after nightmares

That was the noir that Peter had fallen in love with. So how could he have just gone?

Peter sits there in his chair and he stares at Noir in the reflection of the silver doors. He's quiet, no expression shown through his mask, but Peter can feel it. His walls are...different. It's like he's barricading himself in again, but his front is open, taking the onslaught of Peter's verbal attacks

He shook his head. Whatever.

M: Still, seeing Noir like that, knowing that his words would have an impact... Peter fell silent, casting his gaze down from Noir's stoic face down to his own. He immediately wished he hadn't.

Their were marks on his face, stitches and lines that were slowly, well, slowly for him, anyway, healing up. But that didn't matter, not really.

What mattered was what he was showing.

He looked so tired, bags under his eyes, but that didn't matter either he never really slept much lately anyway. No, no, it was something about his face that just looked so broken, as if it was his face that had been punctured and thrown around, not his body.

Peter wanted to look away, but everywhere his eyes fell had a reflection of either himself or Noir. The two things he hated --missed-- the most.

He was relieved when the elevator dinged, and the doors finally slid open, revealing the tiled, and thankfully empty, hallway in front of them.

R: Noir wheels Peter out and Peter is silent. He gets to the apartment door and digs his key out of his pocket. Noir opens the door and pushes Peter in

His apartment is...clean. like as clean as it can get

He looked at the spot he had laid on the floor. The blood was scrubbed as best as it could, the only remnants being a faint discoloration on the tiles and in the caulk

The house looked relatively picked up too. The bottles of empty beer picked up, the pizza boxes thrown out, even his laundry was piled together

"Did you...pick up here?" He asked, incredulous. Noir just shrugs, putting his key down on the table where you enter the apartment, pushing peter further in.

"Maybe."

"Why?"

Noir is quiet before discarding his coat, tossing it to the couch. "There was blood."

As if it was the most explanatory thing in the world

R: Noir shuffles around as Peter rolls himself to the couch, easing himself out of the chair and onto the futon. He feels weird. There's tension in the air that makes the apartment feel even more stifling than the hot summer days before they got air conditioning it's thick and heavy

Noirs grabbing some water and some leftover food from the refrigerator, and Peter turns on the television to try and ignore how noir is definitely making him food. How he sets it down in front of him and goes to sit in one of the chairs rather than take his place on the couch with Peter

His old spot, Peter corrects himself

M: Noir sits stiffly, back ramrod straight against the chair. Peter tried to avoid looking at him, but no matter how he angled his gaze Noir was always in the corner of his vision.

Peter refused to look at the food in front of him, refused to even acknowledge it was there. It didn't matter that he was hungry, and hadn't eaten real food in however long, he couldn't give in to Noir. Couldn't admit that he needed help.

Noir didn't react to Peter's rejection, and Peter kept seeing him in everything around him. The uncomfortably too-clean room, the steaming plate of food in front of him, the edge of Noir in the corner of his vision.

In a strange twist of fate, the only thing that didn't remind him of Noir was the empty place beside him. When Noir had died, that spot was a constant reminder of Noir. Even at his drunkest, even at his lowest points, Peter had never touched that spot. Left it, like a shrine. It was the one part of the apartment he would clean, the one part he made sure was always perfect.

Now, Peter barely even noticed it, too consumed with the Noir everywhere around him, invading his space and driving away all of the Peter inside it.

R: Noir tried not to sigh. Of course this would be how things were, he was not foolish enough to think a plate of food and some tidying up would change it.

Still. He longed for the place next to Peter, hated how often he dreamt of being at his side rather than huddled in some run down motel trying to hide from the men that threatened to slaughter them both

But he couldn't deny Peter this space. Not when the man was so clearly uncomfortable and in need of time away from Noir. He didn't want to go, but did not want to stay and crowd Peter. He already felt suffocating enough. "If you wish I can go and pick up your medicine at the pharmacy. Give you time for yourself for an hour or so."

Peter tensed. Noir would be leaving? He wanted him to go no please dont leave and he didn't very much want him back if you leave you might not return but he did need his medicine. The pain was still rather intense, and would only get more so once the dose he was currently on faded away, and God knows he didn't need his spider senses amplifying this feeling. "Sure. Go ahead." He mumbled, trying not to sound both hopeful and fearful at the same time

M: Noir nodded, standing up smoothly. "Thank you, Peter." He sounded strangely relieved at Peter's acceptance, and... grateful? That couldn't possibly be it, Peter knew Noir couldn't feel that way, not about him. Not after all this time.

"I will be back in an hour." Noir hesitated for a moment, as if weighing something, before quietly adding, "Please, stay here."

Peter frowned. Noir shouldn't care if he stayed or not, shouldn't care if Peter left. A small part of him hoped, prayed, that maybe just maybe Noir still cared.

Bit no, that was stupid. Noir just didn't want Peter to die because he didn't want to... what, explain to the others what had happened to him? Have to deal with the body? Feel responsible for his death?

Oh, yeah, that was it, wasn't it. Noir didn't want to feel guilty for Peter dying, so he was going to force him to survive whether Peter wanted to or not.

Peter realized Noir was still standing there patiently, waiting for an answer.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll stay here. Not like I can really go anywhere, anyway."

R: Noir nods, he takes his key and he heads out the door, locking it. But not without giving Peter one last glance before the door shuts. Noir is gone, and Peter sighs.

He sinks into the couch, and his stomach growls now loud and obnoxious. "Ugh, cmon," he complains before glancing at the plate and then the door. The smell of food is enticing, and he hates to admit that he was willing to eat it, even if noir was the one who got it for him

He weighs the pros and cons before grabbing the plate, a groan leaving him as he ate for the first time in nearly 2 and a half days. He was famished. And he realized, he was also exhausted. The warm food in his stomach and the feeling of finally being home, in a familiar environment away from tubes and machines, he felt better. Safer.

He debates resting here or heading to his bed room. He didn't know if he wanted noir to see him sleeping when he got back, didn't want him to see him vulnerable and laid out once more. "Guess that settles it then." He moves himself back into his wheelchair and wheels it to the bedroom. Getting on the couch was easy, it was low, easy to hop to. The bed? Not so much. He groaned and grunted with the effort of getting out and crawling in. Fuck he hated being so helpless, so impaired

Finally he gets into bed, not bothering to even crawl under the covers as his head hits the pillow. Hes tired Peter realizes. So tired. The silence of the room weighs down on him just like every night in it alone. He stares at the empty spot on noirs side of the bed. He closes his eyes and rolls over, and falls asleep