Power of Love (Peter Parker)

Six

Who was Spider-Man? Who was the boy behind the red suit and mask? The question echoed throughout my head as I laid in the uncomfortable hospital bed and closed my eyes. Trying to get rest in this place was out of the question. Every minute there was ringing from different machines around the unit. The chance of ever having peace and quiet was at a low zero.

I scrolled through the crappy channels on the television after I found the remote sitting atop the brown table beside my bed. Once I comprehended that I had been through the list of shows and movies three times, I settled on a show that had puppies running around-- lots of them. They were beyond adorable with their wagging tails and floppy ears; I was reminded of how much I longed to have one of my own. Maybe one day.

At around one in the morning, a knock sounded on the door. The door opened up and my doctor stepped in, his white lab coat stained with blood. Probably my blood. A man followed him and I was greeted with the familiar face of Steve Rogers.
"Steve? What are you doing here?" I snatched up the remote and shut the television off, causing the room to fall into a deep silence.
"I'll give you two some privacy." The doctor said, walking out and shutting the door behind him. Steve walked over to the empty chair by the wall and took a seat.
After a few minutes he finally spoke up. "I'm not allowing you to come to Germany with me and my team." My eyes burned into the white wall; I wished I had the ability to burn things with them at the moment. I felt like I was going to explode with anger, but there was no point. I didn't deserve to go and that was final.
"Okay," I whispered into the silence of the room. I could feel his eyes on me, probably checking to make sure I wasn't going to have a breakdown. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to get over it.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I just don't want you getting hurt more than you already are."
"I'm weak. I get it. Save me the hospitality." My eyes resided on him, my scold radiating towards him.
"You're not weak. I'm not taking any chances on letting you--"
"Leave," I whispered, interrupting him. "Please just go. I'm tired and I just want to sleep."

I shuffled around in the bed until I felt I was in the most comfortable position possible. I could hear Steve's footsteps trailing through the room, the sound of the door opening.
"I'm sorry." I could hear the sound of his faint whisper, before the light was shut off and the door was closed.