Chapter 10
Peter looked sad. “I know, Noir, I know.” He reached out a hand, holding it, palm upturned, to Noir.
Noir’s eyes tracked the movement, but he didn’t flinch away. Nor did he reach out.
Peter dropped it, but didn't look particularly disappointed. Just sad. Somehow that made Noir feel worse. “Lay down, okay? Get some rest.”
Noir shook his head, wincing at the ache as he did so, before slowly, painstakingly, pulling himself up the sofa a little to be sitting more upright. His feet still poked over the edge.
“I can’t sleep… right now.” Noir rasped out, hand going up automatically to rub his sore throat. The moment his fingers made contact with his skin, he threw his hand back down, taking a deep, staggering breath, and staring just past Peter’s shoulder.
“Hey, you okay, buddy?” Peter asked, tilting his head a little. “Do you need some water?”
Noir nodded slightly, and Peter stood up. Slowly, not making any quick movements, so Noir could track him. It was so considerate, so thoughtful. Noir felt sickened with himself.
Peter hesitated. “I’ll, uh, leave the light here? And I’ll be right back, I promise.” Peter turned to walk away, and Noir felt a surge of fear.
He didn’t want to be alone. He bit the inside of his cheek, keeping silent, willing himself to stay quiet, don’t say anything. Peter is already doing so much, don’t ask for more, it’s selfish, it’ll be fine, don’t say anything, don’t say anything, don’t say- But then Peter’s hand was on the doorknob and it was opening and Noir couldn’t-
“Wait.” He croaked out. Peter’s hand instantly froze, and he turned back around.
Regret instantly slammed into Noir’s mind. Why did he do that. Peter was trying to be nice, and now he’s going to be annoyed or be angry and please don’t let him be angry.
Fisch was angry. Noir wouldn’t scream for him.
“There’s. No. Point. To. This. If. You. Don’t. React!” Fisch emphasized each word with a punch the gut, sending pain ricocheting through his body with each breath. When a punch landed right on where the bat had hit him, Noir saw spots bounce across the room, but he refused to blink. Refused to flinch. He kept stoic, impassive, eyes lit with determination to spite Fisch.
Fisch grabbed Noir’s neck, pulling him forward against his restraints. His face contorted with rage. “You think you’re too good for this, huh? Think I can’t make you scream?”
“Noir?” Peter asked, hand dropping from the doorknob. Noir blinked, trying to think of something to say, some reason for having stopped him.
“I…” Noir blanked. So much for being a private eye, he couldn’t come up with even a single excuse. How pathetic.
Peter took a half-step towards Noir, and asked, “Do you need me to do something?” His voice was all concern, no anger. Noir’s brow furrowed. Of course Peter wouldn’t be angry. He was Peter. Peter was never angry.
Noir steeled himself as best he could. “I just… I don’t want to… be alone.” There, he had said it. If Peter wanted to laugh at him now, he could.
“Oh, bud.” Peter sounded sad. “That’s okay. I can, uh,” Peter looked around. “I can ask Aunt May to get it, yeah?”
Noir shook his head immediately. “No, I don’t… I can’t,” He struggled to find words. “She can’t see me, like this.”
Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. “Noir,” He said softly, approaching him again. “What do you mean?”
“She can’t see me…” Noir’s face burned with shame, “She’ll see the injuries. I don’t… want her to see that. See that I was hurt.” His face switched, jaw tightening minutely.
“You can’t tell her that this happened.”
Peter was pale, making the bags under his eyes even more prominent than usual. “Noir, we’re at Aunt May’s house. She already saw. She knows.”
Noir frowned. “No. We’re not…” He felt tension rise in his chest, constricting his throat and making his blood go to ice. “We can’t be…” His head was fuzzy, but somehow what Peter said was true.
Noir tried not to scream. He tried so, so hard. And he was doing so good, too. Fisch was cutting over his old scars, slicing them open and digging his knife into them. Noir kept his teeth clenched, his breathing even, and didn’t dare speak, lest even a single noise escape.
Fisch stepped back, bloody knife dancing in and out of Noir’s increasingly fuzzy line of sight.
“Look here, Spidey.” He spat the word. “I’m losing my patience. What more do you want to me to do, huh?”
“Rot.”
Fisch slashed the knife against Noir’s ribs, and he snapped his jaw shut with a clack, groan of pain slipping out before he could silence it.
Noir’s eyes widened.
Fisch’s eyes narrowed.
Suddenly, he dragged the knife all the way down Noir’s side, deep, twisting back and forth as he went.
When he twisted the knife so the blade scraped against Noir’s hip bone, he couldn’t help it.
Noir screamed.
Fisch and Noir both froze, equally shocked that the sound had escaped Noir.
Then, Fisch’s face slowly morphed into a grin. “Well, Spidey,” He twiddled the knife in his hands, letting drops of blood run down the handle, eyes fixed on Noir’s terrified face, “Now it’s time to have some fun.”
A light was shining in Noir’s eyes. He squinted against it, and the light withdrew, clicking off. His eyes slowly focused in on a woman with dark skin, dressed in what looked like pajamas, who was currently talking, but not to him. Noir tried to focus in on the words, but the words were jumbling in his head.
Noir tried to sit up, but Peter was there, was speaking to him. “-down, okay? Stay still, don’t-”
The woman sighed, and shook her head at Peter, taking hold of his arm and leading him to the side, glancing back at Noir. Noir stared back at them, but he couldn’t tell what they were saying. Peter was still in Noir’s sightline, and he would glance back to meet his eyes every now and then. It gave Noir far more comfort than he should reasonably take from the situation, but he would worry about that later.
Finally, the woman patted Peter on the shoulder, and vanished through the door out of sight.
Noir blinked, and then Peter was in front of him, holding out a bottle of water. Noir looked at it, and, after a moment, took it with weak hands. The cap was already off. The detective in him was instantly suspicious, but Noir didn’t have the energy to think about it. As he drank, Peter began speaking, soft and slow.
“Rio was just here. The uh, the woman I was talking to? She checked you out, and you have a concussion pretty bad. Worse than she thought, actually. Good thing you have the healing powers or else, well,” Peter paused, “Anyway, you just need to stay still for a while, so we can make sure you don’t get worse.”
“How long?” Noir asked quietly.
“You need to stay in bed for 24 hours for the concussion, and then probably a good few weeks for all the other injuries you have.” Peter said each word carefully, making sure Noir could understand him. Not that Noir was too happy with what was being said, anyway.
Noir shook his head slightly, water bottle shaking in his hands. “I need to go back. I have work to do.”
“Your work can wait.” Peter looked guilty, and his eyes glanced to stare off of Noir's face. “Besides, you won’t be able to, anyway. I took your dimensional transporter. You’ll get it back once Rio gives the all clear.”
Noir coughed, choking on a mouthful of water before managing to swallow it, sending a quick flash of discomfort through his throat. “What? You can’t-” Noir wanted to be angry, but he felt too tired to really get worked up. Plus, he was still so weak. If he made Peter angry... “I have people to protect back home.”
“I know, Noir. I’m not in my dimension, either.”