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Blood soaked the ground beneath him. Peter swallowed at the metallic tang that hung in the air, easing himself into an upright position. Who knew that a routine patrol by your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man could go so wrong?
He brought his right hand over to his left side and cradled his aching ribs, not surprised to discover the source of blood to come from that area. Pain radiated through his side and up into his neck, pulsing with each heartbeat. He groaned and ripped his mask off, pulling in deep gulps of air. That one hurt.
He sat there, panting for a few moments before he tried to get to his feet. The blood oozed from his waist down his leg, and his head spun. “Okay, this isn’t gonna work.”
He slowly eased himself back onto the dirty, glass-riddled ground of the alley and jammed his mask against the wound, sucking in a breath with a hiss at the stabbing pain. He studied his surroundings, searching for anything to use as a bandage. The mask was already soaking through. He fought the gray fog that blurred the edges of his vision, but it was slowly gaining ground. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he barely heard someone shouting before he sank into the welcoming arms of oblivion.
***
Pain woke him up, red-hot and searing. He wondered how long he’d been out. He cracked his eyes open to darkness—still night. He only could’ve been unconscious for a few minutes.
He was moving…being carried. Arms beneath his legs and torso felt thin and bony. He tried to figure out who was carrying him, but couldn’t make out anything but a bushy, unkempt beard.
Warmth around his middle caused him to look down and discover something wrapped around his stomach. A jacket?
He bit back the groan that rose to his lips at the pain in his side, but it leaked out anyway.
“Hang on, we’re almost there.” The voice was deep, gravelly. It occurred to Peter that he should probably be fearing for his life, but the thought of death was a welcome distraction to the knife that was surely stabbing his ribs. Whether his enhanced healing was glitching or all the jostling kept opening the wound, he didn’t know, but what he did know was that he’d pass out again in about ten seconds if this stranger didn’t set him down.
Nine seconds later, the arms gently lowered him to the ground and placed something soft beneath his head. He whimpered, shivering and sweating at the same time.
“Hey now, we’ll have none o’ that on my watch.” The stranger bent over Peter’s face, and he finally got a glimpse of the man’s features: dirty.
I’ve been brought from one alley to another by a homeless man?
“Wh-what are y-you going to d-do with me?” he managed between clenched and chattering teeth. “If y-you’re g-gonna kill me, g-get it over w-wit-with.” Shallow breaths were all that he could manage, and he panted with exertion.
“If I wanted to kill ya, I’d have just left you to the buzzards instead of getting your blood all over the only clothes I have.”
That's a good point. He let his head flop back onto his makeshift pillow. "I'll be fine, I j-just need…to rest…for a minute."
"I ain't no doctor, boy, but even I know you won't be okay after just a minute of rest." The man sank to his haunches and dangled his hands between his knees, elbows resting on his thighs. "I just need to know about your health insurance before I call an ambulance, because I certainly can't afford it m'self." He paused. "And if you don't got any insurance, we're in a sticky wicket." He held out his hand. "I'm Oscar, by the way. Oscar Meyer."
"Peter Parker." He grabbed Oscar's hand in a weak grip and offered a small smile. I p-promise, Oscar, I'll…be up…in a second." He heaved a deep breath and pushed up to a sitting position. "See? I feel better already." Minus the stab wound. He pulled the jacket away and realized with a relieved sigh that the bleeding had stopped already. He gritted his teeth, braced himself against the alley wall, and shoved to his feet. For a moment he thought he'd meet the pavement again in a much swifter manner than when Oscar had helped him, but after a few seconds he managed to stand apart from the wall. His head spun, and his stomach churned, but he gave Oscar a triumphant smile when he stayed on his feet. "See? Good as new."
Oscar squinted. "Who in the world are you, boy?"
So he didn't recognize the suit. It was just as well; he'd remain anonymous for another night.
Peter sighed and turned to leave. "I'm a nobody, Oscar."