Chapter 7
Peter stepped through the portal, practically dragging Noir with him. He carefully let Noir down onto the couch, who collapsed against it. His body went limp, but his head stayed upright, watching Peter warily.
"May!" Peter shouted over his shoulder, "I need you, now!"
Noir winced at the noise, and Peter immediately cut himself off.
There was the sound of someone approaching, and then the door flew open, slamming back against its hinges. Aunt May burst in, kitchen knife in hand, wielding it in front of her body. She went still at the sight before her, dropping her hand to her side, knife falling to the ground with a clatter.
"Peter? What happened?" She asked, even as she approached Noir.
Peter's tongue felt heavy. "He was... he was..." Peter swallowed hard. "He was captured by Nazis. They tortured... they..." Peter felt his throat close off, and his eyes pricked with tears.
May's face went pale, but maintained composure. She reached out, patting Peter a couple of times on the knee comfortingly. "It's okay, Peter. Thank you for telling me."
May held out her hand, palm upturned, extended towards Noir. "Noir, it's Aunt May. I'm glad to see you again."
Noir blinked, turning his head slightly. His eyes fixed on May's hand, occasionally flitting up to her face.
"What? It gets boring around here. It's good to have your company. Now, c'mon, my hand's getting all cold."
Noir made a motion with his right arm, then hissed in pain, switching to take Aunt May's hand with his left one.
Aunt May smiled gently. "Thank you, Noir." Without taking her eyes off of him, she told Peter. The landline is over by the desk. Call 911, would you?" Peter nodded, beginning to back away towards the phone. The minute he moved, however, Noir's eyes flashed up, fixing on Peter, tension written on every line of his body.
Aunt May rubbed circles on the back of Noir's hand soothingly. "Don't worry about Peter. He's just getting some help for you, okay?"
Noir jolted into a more upright position, shaking his head vehemently. He choked out, "No hospitals", hand spasming in May's light grip. He didn't let go of her, though.
"Okay, Noir, we won't. Peter, call... Miles' mother. She's a nurse, right? See if she'll come over."
"She doesn't know that Miles is-"
"I know. I have her number." Aunt May chuckled at Peter's expression. "I always have the contacts for people I care about, Peter."
Peter picked up the phone, dialing the numbers Aunt May listed out, in the same soft voice she'd used the entire time. Noir was watching Peter like a hawk.
Well, more like the rabbit being hunted by a hawk, actually.
The voice that picked up on the other side of the line was a sweet, warm voice, albeit a tired one. "¡Hola May! It is so lovely to hear of you! Are you still trying to get ahold of my chicken molé recipe? Because I told you-"
"Mrs. Morales!" Peter interrupted, "We need your help."
"What happened?"
"We have Noi- we have Spiderman here. We need your help to save him. Please, come now."
"Where's May?" Peter could hear movement on the other side of the line.
"She's taking care of him right now." Peter never took his eyes off of Noir, who was still staring at him. Aunt May was now holding his hand with both of hers, and she was speaking quietly to Noir, voice so low that Peter couldn't hear it.
"I'm on my way. I will arrive shortly." Morales paused. "I'm bringing everything I have, but I expect a full report when I get there." The phone line beeped, then let out a dial tone, letting Peter know that she had hung up.
Good. It meant she would get here faster.
Peter was going to walk back over to Noir, but hesitated.
Noir hadn't been comfortable with him. Had been afraid of him. He couldn't bear his touch, and was currently watching Peter like he was about to whip out a grenade.
Aunt May had this under control. Maybe if he left, it would make Noir feel more comfortable.
Peter walked to the door Aunt May had kicked down, scooping up the knife she had dropped and placing it on a desk by the phone. He should have put it back in the kitchen, he knew, but he didn't want to lift the knife and risk scaring Noir.
He didn't want Noir to look at him like that again. Like he had before.
"Where's the first aid kit?" Peter asked Aunt May, hovering against the wall. Far away from Noir. He couldn't threaten Noir if he wasn't close to him, right?
"It's in the bathroom, under the sink. Get it, and some damp cloths too, please."
Aunt May. She always understood Peters.
Peter gratefully hurried out of the door, reaching the bathroom quickly, dropping to his knees and digging through the cabinet. He pulled out the kit, and shoved some washcloths under the sink, running the tap lukewarm.
On the one hand, he desperately wanted to stay away from all of this, to give Noir the space he needed to not be afraid. On the other, Peter was terrified to leave Noir alone. If Noir were to get worse, or feel threatened, and Peter wasn't there to protect him...
Either way, Peter would risk hurting Noir.
And he would rather die, give up the suit, whatever, anything, than cause Noir to feel afraid of him.
And yet here he was, hiding out in a bathroom because he couldn't handle it.
Peter scooped up his conquested items, hurrying back to the living room.
When he entered, he saw Noir shaking, hunched in on himself. He had let go of Aunt May's hand.
Peter felt fear rise in his throat. No.
Peter stepped forward automatically, but Noir, for once, didn't look up to watch him. Somehow, that was more unsettling than Noir's constant gaze. Peter knelt down next to May, dropping everything down next to her.
"What happened?" Peter asked quietly.
Aunt May sighed. "I don't know. The minute you left he started panicking."
Peter tried mirroring Aunt May's actions from before. He tilted his hand upwards, reaching out towards Noir. "Noir, it's me. Peter. Are you okay?"
Noir's head shot up, staring hard at Peter. He was still shaking, and made no move to reach out.
Peter kept his hand open, an invitation for Noir.
The shaking died down, and Noir seemed to slowly unfold, as much as he could, anyway. He didn't touch Peter, but moved his head a little. Whether it was a nod or a request to move Peter wasn't sure.
Before Peter could react one way or another, however, the doorbell rang. Aunt May got up. "I'll get it. It's Morales."
Aunt May left, leaving Noir and Peter alone.
Noir was watching Peter again, watching the open hand. Peter was watching he uneven rise and fall of Noir's chest, the way every breath seemed to be a struggle, the way his right arm was still hanging oh so uselessly.
There was just so much damage, so much suffering.
Peter could barely even comprehend it, let alone conceive how it must feel. He opened his mouth, to say what he didn't know.
Footsteps returned, followed by another pair, and then Mrs. Morales was standing inside the room, bag in hand. And Noir started shaking once again.