Your Friendly, Traumatized Spider-Man

8.1K 335 222
                                    

"Peter, your oxygen saturation is 91% and your pulse is 147 beats per minute. You need to get out of the building to avoid loss of consciousness," Karen's voice is muffled due to the sound of blood rushing through Peter's ears.

How am I supposed to move if I can't breathe? he wants to ask her. Black, moving dots, similar to the ones he saw on the roof, threaten to take over his sight again. His arms shake under the pressure of the drywall and suddenly it feels like the weight of the entire world is trying to crush him. Everything and everyone is counting on me and oh god it's too heavy. I can't do it. I just can't. It's too much. His palms are clammy and threatening to slip from the grip keeping that he believes is keeping him alive. I'm not gonna make it I'm not gonna make it I'm not gonna make it I'mnotgonnamakeit. He chews on the inside of his cheek. I have to at least try. I didn't give up last time, and I won't give up now.

His chest burns, but he pushes through the pain and tremors. He forces his muscles to work past their limits to push the drywall up, but he drops to his knees. Karen's trying to talk to him to figure out what's wrong, but he can't hear her anymore. He can't hear anything. Again. I have to try again. I'm Spider-Man. Spider-Man. With one last surge of energy that he didn't even realize he had, he pushes himself to his feet and lifts the drywall just enough for him to slip out from under its weight. He stumbles forward only to collide harshly against the ash covered floor with a gasp. His chest heaves unevenly to pull in oxygen, even though it's lined with smoke. The fire has already made it to the story he's on. I need, I need to get out. Get up Peter. He forces himself to get up to his hands and knees, his head hanging low as he tries to find the strength to stand. He can't stop shaking, but he tries to ignore it.

"Calling Tony Stark." Karen's voice makes him snap his head up in sudden alarm.

"No!" His hoarse voice surprises him, but he ignores it for the time being. The pause that follows his outburst causes his stomach to churn.

"Cancelling call," Karen gives in. He takes in another shaky breath and forces himself to stand. His entire body has a dull ache, but he supposes it's better than being crushed or burning to death. He tries to keep his hand stable as he shoots a web at the window sill and pulls himself towards it. Being lightheaded almost makes him fall out of the window, but he's able to use his enhanced grip to hang on. As fast as his body allows, he sends another web flying to the building across the street. While he swings over, he notices the fire trucks, cop cars, and ambulances speed to the front of the hotel. Relief overwhelms him. Everyone's safe. Everyone's safe.

As soon as his feet touch the roof of the building, his legs give out and his bloodied palms dig into the gravel. Who puts gravel on their roofs anymore? he thinks arbitrarily. He takes his first few gasps of crisp, clean air mixed with an occasional cough.

"I suggest medical attention for all injuries and to receive administered oxygen. It is also ten minutes past your curfew. Your aunt will be calling," Karen informs him, almost smugly. Sometimes Peter swears that she actually wants him to get in trouble.

"How far away is Ned's house?" he asks in between breaths.

"I suggest-"

"I know what you suggest. I'm asking how far Ned is from me." Another pause.

"Ned Leed's house is 1.3 miles from your destination." Peter breathes a shaky laugh.

"Piece of cake!"

"Your web canisters are almost empty." Ha, he thinks humorlessly, of course they are. I shouldn't be surprised, I did make a webbing slide. That was pretty awesome if I do say so myself.

Pain Will Always Come Back to Haunt YouWhere stories live. Discover now