You knew it wouldn't be easy. From the moment you found out that your best friend moonlighted as a superhero, battling bad guys that ranged from petty thieves to super villains, you knew there would never be a moment that you weren't worried about Peter Parker. While all of Queens heralded him as their hero, their savior, their Spider-Man, you knew the truth. Behind that man was a teenage boy, who was a lot more fragile than he liked to believe.
"Y/N," He would laugh when you tried to make him see your point of view. "I can stop a bus with my bare hands. I'm fine, really!"
Fine, Peter would say, with a shake of his head and a quick squeeze of your hand. But no matter how many times Peter insisted he could handle the role of Spider-Man, he couldn't stop your worrying.
It was that worrying, now, that kept you awake in the early mornings of a Friday night. Despite the week seeming to have dragged on, with two projects, an oral test in Spanish, and a novel study due, you couldn't calm your nerves or your mind enough to drift off to sleep. You turned over again in bed, pulling your blankets tight to your chin, then pushing them off altogether. With a frustrated sigh, you gave up on sleep, and instead walked over to your window, pushing it open. You sat at the window bench, staring out into the Queens skyline. At any other time, the illuminated buildings against the dark, starry sky would have seemed beautiful to you, but at the moment, all you could think about was whether or not Peter was safe.
With a yawn, you thought back to a night much like this one, not a cloud in sight, which had occurred three weeks ago. Back then, you had no trouble sleeping, and you were curled up tight under your covers when you awoke to the sound of tapping on your window. In your groggy state, you had squinted through the dark, trying to find the source of the tapping. After a moment, your eyes finally focused on your window, where a distressed Peter was rapping his knuckles against the glass. With Peter living in the apartment below yours, midnight window visits were nothing new in your friendship. However, they were usually prefaced with a heads up text hours before. Why was Peter there now? Although his sudden disturbance surprised you, nothing would prepare you for the shock that you would experience in a few minutes.
Pulling your covers back, you had walked to your window and slid it open. "Peter? What are you doing here? It's almost three am, and we have school tomorrow!"
Peter had stumbled inside the moment you granted him access, his features tight and twisted with what you identified, after a moment, as pain. Looking closer, you realized he had sweat dripping off of him, so much so that his hair looked soaked, and a trail of dried blood beneath his nose. His eye was puffy, the beginnings of a shiner, and his lip had a split in it that was still bleeding.
"Y/N", Peter had said slowly, through laboured breaths. "I need help."
"That's obvious!" You exclaimed, rushing to help him settle on your bed. "What happened? Who did this?"
"I-" Peter gave a quick turn of his head, then grimaced more, the movement obviously paining him. "I can't tell you."
"What the hell do you mean, 'you can't tell me'?" You had replied incredulously. You and Peter had never kept secrets from each other your whole lives, since you met at eight years old, and this moment, with him looking like he was about to pass out, didn't really seem like a good place to begin. "You can't just show up on my fire escape, looking like someone just dragged you through a street, and not give me an explanation."
"Look, I-normally, I would fix it myself," Peter sighed. "But there are cuts down my back that I can't reach."
"Peter..." Your voice took on a softer tone as you analyzed the use of the word 'normally'. He had suffered injuries like this before? "At least let me take you to the hospital."
"No!" Peter had tried to jump off the bed at your words, but his injuries made him wince, and he sat again. "No, no, May can't know."
"Your aunt shouldn't know how hurt you are?" You raised an eyebrow. "Peter, this is insane! What happened?"
"I got into a fight, that's all," You could tell that Peter wasn't sharing the whole story, but you decided to let it slide. Presently, you had become more concerned with how much he was bleeding. You knew you weren't going to get all the information out of him while he was like this, so you grabbed the tissues from your desk, settled on the bed next to him, and began dabbing at his bleeding lip. Peter winced as you touched the wound, but let you continue.
Once the bleeding had ceased, you quietly tip-toed out of your bedroom and to the bathroom, where your parents kept a well-stocked first-aid kit (you had been a clumsy child). You carefully made your way back to your room, where Peter had already stripped off his shirt and was lying face down on your bed.
The injuries on his face hadn't prepared you for his back. Most of the skin was already becoming purple as his bruises settled in, and there were multiple shallow cuts scattered over his skin. However, most concerning to you were the three deep gashes in the middle of his back, almost like claw marks.
Peter, upon hearing the sharp intake of breath from you at the sight of his wounds, had spoken softly. "It's not as bad as it looks. I've had worse."
Gently, you had sat on the bed next to him, pulling out a package of sterilised cleaning wipes. "That doesn't make me feel better."
Your words had silenced Peter, and you cleaned the cuts and bandaged them without speaking. Instead, your mind was racing at a million miles per second.
It was no secret that something had been going on with Peter lately. He had quit so many clubs, claiming that with his "Stark internship", he had no spare time. On more than a few occasions, he had stood you up, with no explanation but a quick text of apology. You had noticed bags under his eyes growing bigger, like he wasn't sleeping at all anymore, and a change in his demeanor. Although the first emotions you had felt were anger, you had begun to feel nothing but concern as your best friend laid in front of you. What was going on with him? Was he in danger? Was someone trying to hurt him? Why couldn't he tell you?
"Done," You had said softly, after finishing up bandaging his back. You watched as Peter carefully sat up, minding his bandages, and wordlessly placed his hands in yours.
Confused, you peered at his hands. It was then that you noticed the bloody knuckles.
"Peter Benjamin Parker."
"Aw, Y/N, come on, not the full name-"
"You need to tell me what is going on right now or I swear-"
"What?" Peter had demanded, pulling his hand out of yours and standing up angrily. "You swear what? Why can't you just let this go?"
"Let this go?" You questioned. "Let go the fact that my best friend keeps ditching me, acts strange, and is now showing up in the middle of the night with gashes across his back and bloody knuckles? I thought you knew me, Peter. You should know me well enough by now to understand that I'm not letting that go."
"It's not-I want to tell you!" Peter whisper-yelled, minding your sleeping parents. "I wish I could! But if I do, you could get hurt, or worse. I'm trying to protect you, if you'd just let me!"
"Well, guess what, genius? Not telling me? Showing up here looking like that?" You gestured towards your best friend. "That's hurting me more than anything. I can't do this, Peter, I can't have a best friend that won't keep me informed with their shit! That's what best friends are supposed to do!"
"Then maybe we shouldn't be best friends." Peter's jaw had locked into place the minute he spoke the words. "Maybe we shouldn't be friends at all."
"Fine."
"Fine."
Silence had engulfed you two, and you stared each other down. Not even a minute had passed before you both rushed to the other and locked each other in an embrace (carefully minding Peter's cuts).
"I'm sorry," Peter tangled a hand in your hair as you tucked your head into his neck. "I'm sorry, Y/N, I didn't mean that."
"I know," You whispered. "I didn't mean it either. I'm just...Peter, honestly, I love you, but what the fuck. Did you seriously not expect me to ask questions?"
"I...hoped that you would maybe let it go." Peter admitted with a wry smile. "I swear, Y/N, I'm just trying to keep you safe."
"Maybe worry about yourself first? Just a suggestion." You shot back as you pulled out of his embrace.
"Thanks," Peter had said dryly. The boy walked over to your bed and carefully slipped his shirt back on over his head. "I love you too, by the way. Which is why I can't tell you."
"See, now that's just flawed logic," You began gathering up the used wipes and tossing them in the trash. "If you loved me, you'd want me to be happy, and telling me would make me happy. Also, I think I'd be safer if I knew about whatever was kicking your ass."
"You think my ass got kicked?" Peter had shot you a grin. "You should see the other guy."
You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "Fine, don't tell me. Just...be careful, okay? It's too late in the game to find a new best friend."
"I will," Peter promised, wrapping his arms around you for a quick hug. "I have to go before May realizes I'm gone, but I promise, I'll be careful."
"Okay," You relented. "Have fun thinking up an explanation about all your injuries."
Peter exhaled loudly. "Thanks. She's who you should be worried about me being safe from."
You laughed as Peter headed over to your still open window. A gust of nighttime air blew in, making you shiver. As you reached over to grab your favourite sweatshirt from your bedpost, you noticed something laying in the middle of your bed.
"Peter, you left something," You leaned over to pick it up. "You're so forgetful sometimes, I swear!"
"Hm?" Peter peered over his shoulder as you unbundled the red fabric.
"Why are you carrying around a Spider-Man mask? That's so-" Your sentence cut off half way through, your thoughts halting as your heart seemed to freeze in your chest.
"Wait, Y/N, no-" Peter rushed back over to you and tried to grab the mask out of your hand, but you had refused to give it up.
Your thought process started up again, faster than ever before, but even with all the ideas and information swirling around in your head, you could only think of one thing to say.
"You have got to be shitting me."
A quick knock on your window frame brought your mind back to the present as your spandex-clad best friend appeared at the edge of your window. Peter quickly climbed through the frame, lest he be seen by anyone, and pulled off the Spider-Man mask, running a hand through his hair.
"Hey, Y/N," He grinned, tossing the mask on your bed, where it had caused so much trouble a few weeks ago. "Sleep much?"
"You know damn well I didn't," You sighed, reaching under your bed for the first-aid kit (after that first night, when it became clear you would be using it a lot more, you had stashed it there). "How was tonight? Are you okay?"
Peter shrugged his shoulders. "A couple of bruises on my ribs from a fight, but nothing major."
You opened up the kit and pulled out an instant cold ice pack, squeezing it to activate it. Peter pulled down the top of his suit so you could press it over the purple marks.
"Does May think you're home?" You asked after a moment.
"At Ned's," Peter winced from the cold.
"I'm still mad he found out before me," You gave a small grin as Peter took the ice pack into his own hands and you stood up, beginning to put the kit away. The tired hero took a seat on your bed.
"He found out by accident too," Peter reminded you. "I need friends that are better at minding their own business."
"And I need friends that don't risk their lives every day and keep me up half the night worrying, but I guess we're stuck with each other." You pushed the kit back under the bed.
Peter looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry. I told you, you don't need to worry."
"Peter," You took a seat next to him. "I'm always going to worry about you. I'm your best friend; worrying is my job. And I know I tease you a lot, but the worrying doesn't bother me as long as you keep coming home, alright?"
Peter nodded, and for a moment the only sound in the room was the crinkling of the ice pack.
"I love you." Peter said quietly, breaking up the silence. He leaned over and kissed your cheek. "Really. You are the best friend I could ever ask for."
You smiled in return, and laid your head on his shoulder, hoping there would never come a night where he didn't keep you up with worry.
