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"Hey... you gotta stay awake for me kiddo..." Tony let Peter's bloodied head rest in his lap as he was sitting on the ground, trying his best to comfort the trembling teen. He used one of his weak hands to push the brunette's bloody hair from his eyes.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
He would've rather it happened to him, not the kid.
Anyone else but the kid.
Peter's bottom lips trembled as he shook his head. It had all went down too fast. He was in the air one moment and in the next, he was lying on the ground unable to move. It was hard to remember what happened, but he felt that he was better off not knowing.
The muscle ripping, skin splitting injuries on his body were excruciating. Thick blood oozed from his lacerations, drenching him in the crimson liquid.
But his nerves were silent below his waist.
"T-Tony...I c-can't..." He cried, stumbling over his words. Blood was everywhere, in his eyes, his nose, and the back of his throat. He couldn't breathe. The agony was ripping, burning, splitting, and pressuring all at the same time. His lungs felt like large hands were tearing his chest open with an unmeasurable amount of strength, and then squeezing it with all of its force. Restraining any and all movement in attempted breaths, leaving the weak brunette's upper body in a twitching, spazzing mess in which he prayed for death.
"I can't... I can't... feel them...my... legs... I can't..."
Stark's eyes changed emotions the slightest before they went back to the way they were before, serious. "We will worry about that later." He said. "Right now, we need to get you out of here."
"Wait..." Peter objected, his voice was shaking and frantic. He could still fight, he knew he could. He was Spider-Man, and the world needed him in this battle, he had to keep on going. "I can... I can still fight."
He tried to sit up, but shockwaves of pain ripped through his body. The brunette let out a soul piercing scream as he tried to move himself.
"Peter! Your fight is done." He heard Tony yell over him. "Don't move. I'm going to get some help."
"No!" Peter begged. He was trying to grab onto Tony's suit to pull him down, but his pitiful attempts got him nowhere. "Please... please... you can't... I have to... I have to save..."
"I can't..."
"PLEASE!" The brunette screamed. "DON'T LEAVE ME HERE ALONE! TONY COME BACK!"
"IM SORRY... JUST... PLEASE!"
"Peter!" A feminine voice yelled.
"Wake up..."
"Peter!"
The brunette's eyes shot open as he flinched from the hand on his shoulder. He soaked up the dark surroundings of his room as he blinked rapidly to bring himself into full consciousness. His chest rose and fell as it was difficult to catch his breath. The sweat that formed on his forehead mixed with the tears on his face, causing him to feel like a moist and sticky mess.
"Hey Pete..." The feminine voice from before spoke again. "You were screaming in your sleep..."
The brunette turned his head in shame as he faced his Aunt May. He felt terrible for constantly stressing her out with his night terrors. Ever since he came home from the battle he always woke up in the middle of the night with her by his bedside, trying her best to comfort him.
"You were screaming for Tony to come back..." She whispered, using her soft hands to wipe Peter's sweaty hair out of his eyes.
The brunette took a couple seconds to control his breathing as he hugged his blankets closer to his body. "Sorry." His voice broke.
"Do you want to talk about it?" May asked, taking a seat on the edge of Peter's bed.
"Not really."
She sighed, placing her hand somewhere on Peter's body, rubbing it slightly. "Pete..." She began. "It's only us now, you can tell me anything. You know I-"
But her nephew interrupted her, turning away as he buried his head into his pillow. A shaking and broken voice muddled through his trembling lips. "You know... you know... I can't feel that..."
He wouldn't be able to walk for the rest of his life.
Vertebrate T-12 and bellow, shattered.
All sensations from his waist and under, gone.
It was a miracle he survived.
These days, it didn't feel like one.
May immediately ripped her hand off his body, internally hitting herself for placing it on his legs in the first place. She put it in her lap, fiddling with her fingers. "I'm sorry." She continued. "I just... want you to start feeling better."
"You know I only want you to be okay."
"I know..." The brunette muttered. "I know..."
May glanced towards Peter's nightstand and let out a small sigh. "You're on seven different types of medication to help... but I don't know if they're working."
"It's not." Peter mumbled.
This was his life now.
He is as broken as his spine was.
When he came home from the fight, he spent months inside of a hospital. In and out of consciousness, overflowing with medication. Dozens of surgeries were performed to help him walk again or get some feeling, but none ever worked.
All they did was minimize the pain. With each operation he went through that came back with disappointing results, his self esteem crumpled a little more each and everyday.
Aunt May didn't have enough to pay for the treatment, and luckily she didn't have to. Mr. Stark covered all of it.
But no matter how many times Peter had called him, it went straight to voicemail.
Mr. Stark never came to visit.
He never even called back or sent a text message.
Go figures.
And his routine at home was the same day everyday. He would wake up in pain, take his morning medication with his breakfast if he was actually in the mood for eating, try to get some school work done, take more medication with lunch, fall asleep, wake up and skip dinner, take evening pills, fall asleep, wake up from a nightmare, and repeat.
Living was a physical chore nowadays.
Every fiber he had wanted to die.
But he wasn't lucky enough to receive that.
The worst part about his new lifestyle wasn't the black wheelchair that he saw every single morning. Staring back at him, taunting him.
It was the newspapers released by the Daily Bugle.
J.J.Jamison frequently posted news articles on how the "Arachnid Menace." Was finally out of the city's streets and everyone could sleep safely.
He was called a coward in the papers. It said that he shouldn't come back because nobody wanted him "Fighting crime" anyways, they had the Avengers for that. Spider-Man was a phony, only playing the "good guy" gig for attention.
Often, he stared at his old red and blue suit that still hung in the closet as he read the articles. And the longer he gazed at it, the more he was reminded of how much of a failure he was. He let everyone down, even Tony. That's probably why he never came to visit.
Maybe he was better off dead.
Peter should've known that nothing good lasted in his life.
It never did.