Chapter Text
October 10, 2028
12:16 PM
The first thing Peter noticed when he woke up was the pain. He was about to blame it on a “patrol gone wrong” when the events of the previous day crashed into him.
“Frank owes me big time” the teenager quietly murmured as he slowly crawled out of bed, trying not to disturb the freshly closed bullet wound on his back. Though that ultimately fails and he ends up gasping for air as the pain shoots up his entire body.
Great.
Peter doesn’t blame Frank for what happened, although he doesn’t quite support the vigilante’s methods of shooting anything and anyone that comes across his path. And to be fair, he surely couldn’t have guessed that Spider-Man will take a bullet for Jean, considering he has spent the previous days hunting her down and putting her in prison.
But, as Peter learned over time, he is extremely self-sacrificial. Maybe it’s the past trauma or just a quality that came with the spider bite — who knows?
Besides, there was something about Jean Grey that he related closely with. A mutant, with no family, no friends, no hope, just like him? It was hard not to relate. He saw her as his little sister, who he was determined to protect. The universe wasn’t exactly in either of their favor, but Peter wanted to help Jean before that same universe managed to fuck up her life even more.
She was still young, still had a chance, while Peter…
Well Peter was still young, there was no denying that. But after all the shit the universe put him through? Yeah, he felt like he was pushing 50, not in his early 20s.
Lost in his thoughts, Peter slowly forced himself to stand. Ow. The hero attempts to walk to his makeshift kitchen to find something to eat. After all, his fast metabolism needs at least 5 meals a day to keep up with his body, especially after the arachnid DNA decided to keep evolving nearly 8 years after the bite.
He silently begged whatever god was listening that they would back up for at least a few days and give him a chance to recover. He doesn’t need any new surprises, whether they come from his body or some new villain.
Scouring through his food cabinet, he settles on cereal. Quick, easy, and possibly nutritious? He wasn’t really sure about that part, but the doctors insisted he keeps a healthy diet for a few days, so he had to at least believe that the cereal in front of him fit all those categories.
Peter glances at the time. It’s past noon?! He doesn’t quite remember when he went to bed, but he knows it couldn’t have been that late. So he got what, around 10 hours of sleep? That was certainly a record high for the past couple of years.
He tries to sit down but the pain keeps him standing. “God, I could really use some of those special painkillers Mr. Stark made me.” He startles at the words that just came out of his mouth. He spent the last few years trying to push down everyone he ever knew to the back of his mind. They didn’t remember him and never will, so what was the point of thinking about them?
And the last time he silently begged for those pills was…well it was years ago, while he was still fresh from the whole “the whole universe forgot me” ordeal. He had gotten seriously injured on patrol, needed to stitch himself up. That wasn’t new for him, but he often had it done by Dr. Cho or one of the Avengers in the tower Medbay. Usually on a nice dose of painkillers to calm the pain. But when they forgot him, his free pass to the Medbay had basically evaporated, as well as any dreams of returning to Avengers Tower.
He quietly ate his cereal and tried to push those thoughts away. People might not remember him, but at least MJ and Ned know of his existence. MJ might have broken his heart a few days ago, but it’s not her fault she didn’t remember him. It was Peter’s mess, and he had to face the consequences.
Plus Frank insisted on coming over to Peter’s apartment at least once a day to just “check in.” Although Peter knows that the man feels bad for the whole thing, he won’t say it directly to Frank’s face. He knows the vigilante has been through a lot himself, though he never disclosed the details, but he doesn’t want Frank to feel at fault for the whole situation. Besides, Peter survived, and that’s all that matters.
A familiar voice startles Peter back to reality.
“Good morning Peter,” says E.V. in her always cheery voice, “how are you feeling after your surgery?”
“I’m doing fine E.V., thanks!” Peter wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he loves his AI.
It may be partially because she’s the only one who really knows him and cares about his wellbeing, but she’s overall extremely useful for both patrols and just his personal life.
“Say what E.V., how about we finally test out that wellness bracelet I made? You can track my vitals for the day and alert me if anything looks wrong. Figured it’s the perfect time since I’m recovering.”
“Of course Peter. The bracelet is located on the far left side of the workbench.”
“Thanks E!”
The young adult slowly made his way to the workbench, holding on to any and all furniture in the way to keep him upright. After a few minutes of struggling, he made it and put on the bracelet. It instantly lit up, confirming its connection with E.V.
He made the bracelet a while ago, before his mutating DNA in fact. He came down with a particularly bad case of the flu, but in true Peter fashion he still decided to go out patrolling. Long story short, his fever got so high he almost passed out mid swing. E.V. insisted he rests and kept bugging him about checking his temperature throughout the day. So, for his own sake, he made a bracelet that could track his temperature as well as other important vitals at all times, and send any anomalies to E.V.
“Alright E.V., you got my vitals?”
“Yes Peter, everything is looking normal. I will alert you in case of any changes. Now, would you please go back to bed and rest? The doctors recommen-“
“E.V. I’m fine! You said it yourself! Plus I got way more than enough sleep tonight.” Which was true. Extremely true. Peter hasn’t slept more than 3 hours a day in those 4 years. Nightmares would creep in the second he laid his head down on the pillow, so he gave up trying to get any actual rest. The 10 hours he got last night will get him through at least a week. “How about we work on the suit? It…” Peter glanced at the suit in the corner. It was all bloody and ripped and most certainly not operational. “Well it has seen better days.”
He pulls up the chair and slowly maneuvers his body to sit down. His back is screaming, but Peter can’t work on the suit while standing up. First, it would be extremely difficult to rewire the entire thing without being able to lay it down and get a closer look. And secondly, if he stands for another few minutes he’s certain his legs are going to give out. Just another great thing that comes with a bullet in your back— your legs seem to be more like Jell-O than actual bone and flesh. Even though the doctor was shocked to say he can walk, considering a hit that dangerously close to the spine would leave any regular person disabled.
But Peter pushed all of those thoughts aside, and instead let himself focus on getting the suit working again.