spider-man oneshots

anxiety

continuation to black sheep

***

First thing he noticed when he woke up was the soft surface he was lying on, the warm, heavy  thing covering him. Comfort. 

He wasn't in there anymore. 

Peter.

His eyes flew open as the memories hit him. 

Peter. His name was Peter. 

He escaped. He did it. 

Tony. Ned. Where were they? Where was he? Would they help him? 

Could he actually escape? For good? 

He looked around, pulling what he now recognized to be a blanket–a fucking blanket, he hadn't had one in so long–closer to him in hopes of protection. The room looked familiar and he knew that he'd been there before, a long time ago. Memories of being hurt and Tony–of god, he missed him so much–and the Avengers gathering around him, assuring what he had done was stupid but they still loved him. 

Loved. 

He hadn't felt loved in a long time. He didn't think he deserved it anymore. 

To his right was a large window. Sunlight flooded in and cast a soft glow over every inch of the room. It warmed his face and brought a weird feeling of calmness and peace over him. He never wanted to leave. 

He figured he was in a medical room. Tubes were connected to his arm, on the back of his hand and the crook of his elbow. A steady beep filled his ears and there were medical gear outlining one wall of the room, chairs on the door's side and a small table next to his bed. 

Bed. 

Peter couldn't remember the last time he had even seen a bed. He sank into the soft mattress and tears burned his eyes because he couldn't believe he was actually here.

He wanted to see Tony. 

The ceiling voice. 

There was a ceiling voice in the tall tower. What was the voice's name? 

It was a week day. Or was it a weekend day? 

No, definitely a week day. 

Wednesday? 

No. 

Monday? 

Definitely not. 

Friday? 

Peter's head burned. That was definitely it! 

The problem was FRIDAY wasn't telepathic, not that he knew of, any way. He would have to speak, and his throat would object and it wouldn't be pleasant. He bit his lips, not sure how to proceed. Luckily, he spotted a water bottle on the table. 

He reached for it, the blanket falling from his shoulder and exposing him to the chilly air of the room. He just about reached it, fingers fumbling and catching air before finally grasping around the cool plastic. 

Peter took a deep breath and bit his lip before opening his mouth. "F-FRI–" he pushed out, voice low and gravely, like he had screamed for hours on end. It burned his throat and he was quick to uncap the water bottle and take a few sips. 

He could've burst into to tears when the familiar voice responded to him. 

"Hello, Peter. Good to see you again. Would you like me to alert Boss?"