Chapter 1: Discoveries
Spiderman swung through the city like a vivid red and blue shooting star. He focused on the bright city lights beneath him as he landed on a sky-scraper levelled building. Sighing, he watched pedestrians shuffling hurriedly across the streets. Cars honked and sped by as traffic lights turned from red to green. Shop owners locked up their stores for the day, leaving just as fast as everyone else. The stars above glistened brightly through the pitch-black sky and onto the busy city before. A breeze past and Peter suppressed a shiver. Smiling lightly to himself, he gently stepped off the roof of the glass office building.
People gazed in awe and astonishment as he continued practically flying over the streets, expertly catching himself before landing, never once letting the tips of his toes to graze the ground. He carefully poised himself atop another building much further from where he was before. He looked around. No one was there. It was about three in the morning now, proved by the empty streets he now gazed on to. He carefully swung to the lower part of the opposing building and lowered himself onto the dark alleyway where he left his back pack.
Pulling his mask off, he took a deep breath. He felt a dark purple bruise forming to the side of his right cheek. Groaning irritably, he cursed as he poked it to see just how bad it was. The bruise stung, badly. He ignored the mental urge to slap himself. He had been careless, once again, when stopping a mugging. Two guys overpowering a lady with a ton of shopping bags, or so he thought. He was right about the helpless citizen, but not about the two guys. He was tired from barely getting any sleep the night before, getting up early, stopping a car chase and managing to get to school late. Again. He presumed there were only two men, both large and burly and armed. He missed the third. And the fourth.
In the end, he knocked them unconscious, but not before getting a bullet graze on his arm- which he now noticed actually hurt- and a deep bruise on his cheek. He ended up carrying the woman’s how many kilograms of groceries to her house because she was too afraid to call a taxi anymore.
He quickly discarded the memory and changed into the clothes he had worn at school- a rock band T-shirt, jeans, a light jacket and his dark converse. After fixing on his glasses, he shoved his Spiderman outfit into his bag. Normally he would just wear his clothes on top of the costume, waiting until he got home to change, but the outfit had too many rips and tears, making it uncomfortable to stay in for too long.
He blinked a few times and wondered why he even bothered with his glasses- it was practically too dark to see anything anyway. He wasn’t bothered to put them back in his bag, because that required moving- something which his aching muscles weren’t too fond of doing right now. He walked a few blocks, backpack hanging loosely off one shoulder and hands shoved deeply into his pockets.
When he got home, he noticed the lights were still one. It must’ve been past four in the morning now. Damn, he cursed silently. Aunt May was probably waiting for him. He felt terrible, making her worry like this. Ever since Uncle Ben’s death everything had just been so hard. He mentally kicked himself. When he got to the front door, he gently unlocked it and stepped in, taking off his converse and leaving them at the door.
Aunt May was lying on the couch, fast asleep. He smiled despite himself; at least she got some sleep since he was sure she was exhausted. He walked to the arm chair nearby and took off a discarded quilt. Walking back his aunt, he laid it over her and fixed a cushion under her head, being careful not to wake her up.
He turned off the lights in the lounge and headed upstairs to his room, absolutely exhausted. He wanted to do nothing but sleep for the next- he checked the digital clock near his computer- three hours. School started at eight, and it was not four-thirty. He knew he couldn’t dose off though.
Taking his backpack off his aching shoulder he walked over to his desk, and took his Spiderman outfit out. He cursed, noticing that there were more than a few slashes he had to fix. He knew he wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, so with that depressing thought, he picked up a needle and thread and began fixing his costume all over again.
Peter finally finished fixing his outfit when the first rays of the sun shone through his bedroom window. He sighed and looked at the clock again- seven-thirty five. He quickly shoved all his sewing equipment in the first drawer he could get his hands on, and began putting on his costume. Once he was done, he put his mask in his bag and a random blue shirt, black jeans, and the same jacket from yesterday on. Seven forty-five. He groaned. School was normally a half an hour walk from his place. He hurried to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, taking a good look at himself when he was done in the mirror.
He had dark circles under his eyes and he was even paler than usual. His eyes drooped and where bloodshot around the corners. His hands were trembling from exhaustion. The bruise from yesterday was darker and more evident now. He sighed, running out of the bathroom. He didn’t bother wasting anytime brooding on how tired he looked. He picked up his back, put his converse on when he got to the door, and locked it behind him.
Aunt May, he noticed before he left, was still thankfully asleep. She didn’t need to worry about him. He ran through traffic and jay walked practically all the way, almost getting run over a few times. He had a few more minutes before the warning bell rung, then about two more before he had to get to class.
There was no way he’d make it...
Not as Peter Parker anyway.
He quickly ravished the thought. He wasn’t going to be Spiderman this morning just so he could get to school on time. He could barely stand up without wavering, let alone swing from building to building. The sun rose higher now, and winds blew by at a more extreme force, messing his hair up even more. He ran as fast as his feet would take him, side passing people and not bothering to apologise.
Finally, after straining all his muscles and running as fast as he could manage at his state, he was there. Right before the front school gates. He paused momentarily to take a few deep breaths before walking in. He checked his watch- seven-fifty nine. In a minute the bell would ring, and in less than two he’d be at class. He sighed. He’s Spidey senses had also made him faster than the average human- which was something he was thankful for. Despite the fact that he matched the speed of an Olympic athlete, the strain didn’t lessen.
Only then did he notice how much his arm hurt. It felt like it was slowly burning- on fire. He was just glad his bruise, though painfully clear, didn’t hurt as much as the night before. Rushing through the school corridors and past other students, he finally made it to his class. The last of the student were heading in.
He was thankful he made it on time. He couldn’t afford to be late again. His grades were as perfect as ever, but his continued lateness affected them. Today was one of the few days he hadn’t been forced to stop a car chase or mugging or help someone else. He walked to the back and dropped his back to the corner desk at the end- ignoring the pitying stare he got from his Science teacher.
He’d been like this ever since Uncle Ben’s death and this just seemed to be getting worse. He was more strained and tired and barely got a wink of sleep. He had to study and stop crime, living the cliché double life. He just didn’t figure it would be this hard.
He pulled out his Science book. Thankfully, in a rush to stop an assault, he had forgotten to put it back in his locker. He was grateful now, seeing as he wouldn’t have had time to get it anyway.
There was only one thing he looked forward to in the end of the day, other than the feeling of pride as he helped innocents and saved lives. She was beautiful and kind and caring. She was Gwen. After he father had made him to promise to stay away, things seemed to be getting a turn for the worse. He loved her too much to let her go, and he, frankly, was so sorry he was forced to break his promise to Captain Stacey. It had taken a few days, and measures of grief on both of them. But eventually, he told her he couldn’t stay away. He told her the promises that couldn’t be kept were the best kind.
He had seen her more frequently. Her internship at Oscorp was paused until the company was rebuilt. Now, after school, he dropped by through her window almost every day. They would talk about anything. They would just cherish their moments together, it was all they had. She still worried for him, and he still worried for her. When Captain Stacey had died, he felt it was his fault. Like he was to blame. She had kissed him before he could interrupt. He went to her house just to prove to himself he could. He wanted her to hate him, not love him. He loved her, and that put her in danger. But she loved him just as much, and wouldn’t let him go.
He smiled at the thought and tried to pay attention to what the teacher was saying.
“Peter, could you answer the questions?” she asked him kindly. He snapped out of his daze, successfully this time, looking clueless.
“And that would be...?” he asked hopefully, rubbing the back of his neck. A few people snickered.
“How many mole of NaOH are in 50 mL of 0.1 molar concentration of NaOH? And how many molecules of NaOH are in 50mL of 0.1 molar concentration of NaOH? How would you solve that?” Basically everyone looked confused, despite the fact that they had been paying attention. Peter sighed,
“Molarity equals moles slash volume in litres. So, you need to transform that volume into- well obviously” he made a hand gesture-“litres. 50mL equals .05L, and by utilising that exact same equation, it’s obvious that moles equal, Molarity Litres so Moles ‘NaOH’ would by equivalent to .01* .05 equals .0005 moles NaOH, or 5, 10^-4. To find the amount of molecules, we know that there are 6.02*10^23 particles in a single mole, so just by multiplying the answer to your first question by 6.02*10^23, 5*10^-4 * 6.02*10^23 that would easily equal 3.01*10^20. Then by Applying sig figs, and you get 3*10^20 molecules of NaOH, which is-” He paused for a second, “I believe, the correct answer to your question.” The class was in awed silence as the genius finished his explanation. No one spoke as Peter rubbed his eyes and tried not to fall asleep. He gave his teacher a weary smile.
“I don’t think I could’ve said that better myself” she smiled again and continued the lesson. She didn’t ask him anymore questions, and for that, Peter was thankful. He waited for the page to ring, scribbling and doodling on the sides and in the margins of his book, watching the time tick by. Five more minutes, he thought.
When the bell finally rang and put him out of his misery, he immediately stood up and threw his bag onto his shoulder. Apparently it wasn’t the right thing to do, because immediately, his entire arm began to burn. He felt something warm ooze down the side of his arm where the bullet grazed him the night before. Silently cursing, he moved to the front of the class and rushed out, hoping no one noticed.
He, however, wasn’t so lucky. “Hey Peter!” he heard someone call him just as he got outside, students filed in from everywhere. He turned around and saw a few of Flash’s friends. “Do you wanna be with us for the Science project? It’s me-” the guy talking had brown hair and blue eyes, he was taller than Peter- “Case-” he pointed to girl with kind green eyes and hazel hair in a pony tail, “Sam and Flash” he finished. Sam also stood beside him, with beach blonde hair and chocolate eyes. The guy’s name was Dean.
“We have a Science project?” Peter blurted. Dean tilted his head.
“Yeah- the one due next week, we’re gonna be doing it at the library this Saturday.” Peter didn’t mean it; he groaned and leaned back, accidently putting his arm into view. Casey gasped as she saw the bruise on his cheek that had been unnoticed, and the blood trailing down his arm.
“Oh- are you okay?” she asked, her voice laced with concern. Peter noticed their worried looks and quickly hid his arm from view. The crimson liquid now trailed in small streams past his knuckles.
“Uh- yeah, fine.” He stepped away from them. “I’ll be in your group. See at the library on Sat!” he yelled back at he ran from their view, not waiting to hear their calls after him. After he and Flash had become friends, the people, well some of them didn’t seem so bad. Their weren’t mean and didn’t bully people, on the contrary, Sam, Dean and Casey had stopped hanging out with Flash when he befriended his football teammates and started bullying people.
Peter shook himself of the thoughts and ran to the bathroom. He closed the door and threw his bag on the floor. Quickly peeling off his jacket, he took his shirt off, and took off enough of the suit to see his wound.
He hadn’t bothered to treat it yesterday. He figured it was just a small scratch and ignored it. However, what he was looking at now was no small wound. It wasn’t a flesh or superficial wound- in fact it was rather deep. He had webbed over it to stop the bleeding and ignored it after that. The bullet wound was to the side, and was a through-and-through. It bled freely down his arm. He suddenly felt very feint- like he could collapse. He didn’t know if it was the exhaustion or the blood loss catching up to him, but something made him stumble and forced him to hold onto the sink with his good hand before he fell.
He took a few deep breaths and glanced at the clock on the far wall of the bathroom. In about seven minutes class was going to start. He let go of the sink and poised his hand over the wound. In a quick motion he sent webs flying and sealing the wound as tightly as he could manage. It was enough to stop the bleeding. Taking some tissue rolls, he cleaned the blood off of his arm and fixed his suit, before putting on his shirt again. After than he threw on his jacket and tried not to grimace as it brushed up against his injury.
As the second bell rang, he ran out of the bathroom and strolled toward his next class- maths.
He sighed. He had four more classes but was already almost too tired to take another step. When he arrived, most students had already taken their seats. Like science, he went to sit in the back corner of the room. He knew he would have some explaining to do- Gwen made him promise, as he remembered just now, to meet her by the bleachers. He swore then silently hoped no one heard. His teacher still had his book from last time- when he had taken Peter’s book to explain an equation at the end of class, and had eventually forgotten to give it back.
His teacher Mr. Wells- speak of the devil- walked up to him, with his messy blue maths book in hand. He smiled at Peter as he placed his book on the table. Peter noticed something though. Something in Well’s smile that had his Spidey senses tingled to the extreme. Peter did a double take as Mr. Well’s eyes lingered on him a second longer than necessary...
He saw something in those black orbs he couldn’t explain- like realisation? Astonishment? He could only be perplexed as he watched his teacher’s retreating back. What on earth? Peter adjusted his glasses. As Mr. Wells began the lesson, Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong.
The look in his eyes, his smile... it sent shivers up Spiderman’s spine. Peter was tense as the lesson went on, his eyes scanning the area and looking for anything out of the ordinary. He knew he was probably just being paranoid- but his senses had never failed him. He figured they wouldn’t start now.
Mr. Wells glanced at him a few more times, and walked along where his desk was, lingering for longer than usual. This was highly unusual in many ways. Peter had never had a problem with John Wells, neither had Wells with him. He glanced at him like he knew something John didn’t, before walking off. Before the end of the class, Wells smiled at Peter. Then he parted his lips, and grinned. An evil grin, one that spoke out on so many levels, all yelling- die.
The bell rang, and almost everyone in the class began shuffling and collecting their things, before hurried through the door. Everyone except Peter- and his teacher. Peter carefully put his things in his bag, keeping eye contact with Wells. Finally, he got up and pushed his chair in.
Just before he reached the door, he heard Wells call his name,
“Peter, would you mind staying back for a moment? I’ve got something to discuss with you.” Peter paused before slowly and carefully turning around. He forced himself to smile.
“Yes sir?” Mr. Wells turned back to his desk. He didn’t say anything. Peter almost flinched from how much his Spidey senses were tingling. He looked around again. Nothing out of the ordinary. For the first time he noticed that all the blinds were drawn. Strange, he thought. The room was barely lit, even though it fairly bright before. Peter took a few more steps toward his maths teacher. “Sir? Is something wrong?”
“Yes...” Well’s voice was different now. Darker, deeper... creepier. “Peter” he whispered, before laughing like a maniac. Peter gripped the strap of his bag tighter. He continued to laugh; “you’ve got a secret, haven’t you?” he finally turned to face him.
Peter noticed Wells was pale. Really pale. His eyes were... his eyes weren’t their usual blue, no they were red. Immediately the younger noticed something was wrong. He’s one of them. He gritted his teeth and took a step back. Peter glanced back at the door- it was locked. I didn’t lock it. The blinds were open before. He’s one of them. Who ‘them’ was, Peter wasn’t too sure, all he knew is that something was going on with Mr. Wells. Something unordinary- something evil.
It all happened so fast that Peter barely got enough time to react. Mr. Wells had moved as fast as light, and charged straight for him. Peter dodged to himself, dropping his back. Wells spun around just in time, and before Peter could even take a breath- he was up painfully against the blackboard, with Well’s hand at his neck, holding him at least a foot and a half off the ground.
He struggled to get a breath.
“Peter Parker, poor Peter Parker, dead parents, dead uncle, tragic life, no one would suspect poor Peter Parker” Peter gasped for a breath he didn’t get. He knew. Wells knew. How could Wells know? It was impossible! Black spots began to dance around his vision. He, through natural instinct, reached with both hands and tried to pry Wells fingers from his throat. Wells leaned in close, “Poor Peter Parked is Spiderman”
Peter had enough of this, and shot Spider Webs at Wells eyes. Wells just laughed. Peter swung and tried to kick Wells as hard as he could, but the man was like a brick wall. Wells took both Peter’s wrists before lifting them over his head and crushing them together.
The Web- producers he had made were crushed, but Peter knew the still worked to some extent. He felt the bones of both his wrists crumble under the man’s strength. Peter gasped. Exhaustion, pain and blood loss finally caught up to him. He forced his eyes open, before slowly closing them, as if losing consciousness due to not enough oxygen. He heard Wells laugh before loosening his hand around Peter’s neck slightly.
That was all Peter needed.
With one swift movement he swung his legs again, and instead of kicking his chest, he kicked upward and towards his chin. Wells, taken by surprise, released his hold on Peter and tumbled back. Peter gasped, before Wells ran at him again. He dodged before jumping behind the large teacher’s desk. He kicked it towards his Maths teacher who tripped and was forced against the wall from the force of the table which was thrown at him.
He yelled in fury, but Spiderman was quicker. He did a flip toward the area where the window was, and stood nearby.
“How do you know?” Peter asked. He had to get some answers. Wells just ran at him. Had had amazing strength, but not much intelligence. It didn’t take Peter long to figure out he couldn’t change directions whilst running at full speed. “How did you know, bozo?” he snarled. Not his best insult, but it did the trick. Out of anger Wells ran at him, when Peter suddenly got an idea. Instead of jumping sideways he leaped above Wells, and then with all the force he could muster in the instance when Wells stood confused, he kicked his back- forcing him out of the window.
The glass shattered all over the place, and Wells fell through the four story building. Before he met the concrete below however, Peter forced his web-slingers to work, and with even more strength, hoisted Wells and pulled him up just under the windows.
“Who the hell are you!? How did you know? Who else knows!?” Peter demanded, his arms shaking from exhaustion. Wells just looked up at him and... Smiled.
“No one else knows Peter Parker. But they will. They sent me to find and kill Spiderman. After I die they will eventually figure it out. They will kill you, Spiderman.” Before Peter could do so much as blink, Wells pulls so hard on the webs holding him above ground that they snapped. And in one quick movement John Wells was dead.
Peter stumbled back into the room, look bewildered and stunned. His math teacher knew who he was. People were after him. His maths teacher had tried to kill him. He threw his maths teacher out of a four story building. Oh god. What the hell just happened? Peter stumbled back further. His hand brushed against his neck and he winced, feeling the fresh bruises. He pulled his collar up and zipped his jacket. Picking up his bag he rushed to the door, his hand shaking. He unlocked it and stepped onto the empty corridor. He was more than thankful the school committee had agreed on removing cameras in the Maths and Extra-Curricular building. He lifted one of his wrists shakily. The watch on it was cracked and broken but still read the time where it was last frozen. It had been at least ten minutes since third period started.
Peter didn’t care though. His left wrist hurt so much it felt like someone split it open and shoved a hot poker burner against the skin, muscle, and bone. His right wrist was better and only ached painfully. Peter bit his lip. He had just killed his teacher. He wasn’t going to go to class. Not with a neck so badly bruised he could barely breathe, a bullet wound that was sure to be bleeding again, a dark bruise on his face, a wrist that was broken and a wrist that was strained and probably fractured.
He tried to take a deep breath, but it was so hard he almost collapsed. He ran across the white corridor and reached the stairs, jogging down them as fast as he could. He left the school through the back gate and ran into no one. When he turned to see where his Math teacher had died, he found him. Surrounded by policemen and a few students. No doubt they were going to call an evacuation. He didn’t want to watch this; he ran across the side road of the school and kept his head down.
He couldn’t go home, not when Aunt May was there. He couldn’t go back to school, everyone was probably already out and leaving, going back there would just seem suspicious. Knowing the police, they would send everyone home first- not bothering to check who was there or not. He was in so much deep thought-
“No one else knows Peter Parker. But they will. They sent me to find and kill Spiderman. After I die they will eventually figure it out. They will kill you, Spiderman.”
He didn’t notice the approaching figure until he ran into her-
Chapter 2: Revelations
When Gwen first saw him, she thought she was dreaming. Scratch that, this was no dream- just a nightmare. He hadn’t shown up at the bleachers earlier, so for that she was a little disappointed, since she really wanted to spend more time with him. She figured he had a good reason though. After the bell rang, she had a free period and decided to go shopping with her friend Mikeala, whose mother owned a clothing store downtown. On the way, they visited the shop and helped Mikeala’s mother with some chores, mopping, swiping, dusting, fixing. Inevitably, this sidetrack caused Gwen to be late for her fourth class, which she had noted started about twenty minutes ago. Mikeala dropped her off near the gates before she was forced to leave as she got a call from the local hospital- there had been an accident, and her mother, whom they had seen less than half an hour ago, was involved.
Gwen offered to go with her, but her friend told her she had a class to get to and that she would be fine, leaving Gwen worried for her friend about a twenty-five minute walk from school. Gwen did a double take as she bumped into Peter. Her eyes became wide and her jaw dropped open.
“Gwen” Peter spoke, tiredly, as if he hadn’t slept in days. She took sight of the deep bruises beneath his eyes and noted he probably hadn’t. She didn’t try to hide her shock as he stumble and almost fell- before she caught him. He hissed in pain as she held onto his shoulder to keep him upright.
“Peter what happened? Are you okay? Peter!?” She yelled feverishly. Oh god, she noticed the dark bruise on his cheek. Her deep blue orbs trailed down as she caught sight of more dark, purple bruises hiding under his collar, in the shapes of hands.
He coughed as she steadied him, taking on most of his weight. His breath was raspy and he just looked perplexed, and guilty. Yes, there was a deep, unnerving look of guilt in his once innocent chocolate orbs. She recognised that look of self-loathing, that look she wished she never had to see on his handsome features ever again. It was the one he got when he blamed himself for someone’s death. The look that had clouded his eyes when they spoke of her father, the look which now overrode his tired eyes.
“Gwen... I killed him... I killed Mr. Wells.” He spoke softly, in a voice that was so haunted and exhausted. The first emotion that took over Gwen was fear. Fear of what happened to her boyfriend whom she loved so much. Fear for the danger he was in. Fear for the guilt that laced itself within his very core.
Mr. Wells, she thought. Was he... one of them? One of those villains who wanted Spiderman dead so much they cornered the teenager and vowed for his crimson blood to satisfy their lust? Gwen shivered before pulling looking back at Peter.
He didn’t meet her eyes. He was looking at the concrete path with something mixed in with the guilt and self-hate. He thought she would despise him.
“Oh god Peter, what happened?” she eyed his wounds, then with a sharp gasp noticed scarlet blood trickled down his knuckles. She didn’t wait for an answer, “Can you walk?” She asked softly. She felt him nod against her cheek as he slumped forward. “My house is just a block away Peter, okay?” She tried smiling at him, to hide her fear.
He didn’t say anything at first. After the first few steps he stumbled, but she kept him steady. She wanted to know so bad what the hell happened to him, why his maths teacher was dead, and why he was convinced he killed him. She wanted to know why he was bleeding, bruised and battered. Why the love of her life looked like he could collapse at any given moment.
But she didn’t. They were almost their now, just a few metres from her door. She didn’t question him, because she had to help him, heal him. She wanted to call an ambulance so bad, because they could treat him expertly, better than she ever could, but didn’t. Because knowing Peter he had his Spiderman suit underneath his clothes.
“Hey, just hang on there, Pete. We’re almost there.” She helped him up the stairs and forced herself to choke back a sob when she saw the odd colouring and positioning of his wrists and fingers. The blood that ran down his left arm now flowed past his knuckles in rivers and dripped onto her porch. Without letting go of him she dug into her pocket for her keys with her free hand. Eventually she managed to fish them out and unlocked the door.
She knew that if he wasn’t about to collapse, he would have protested against letting her treat him in her own home. It had happened before, plenty of times. Her room was upstairs, which was far too far for him to walk. So she helped him through the main corridor as she limped, and led him to the large spare bedroom beside the dining hall.
He laid down on the bed, and as she got a better look at him, she wondered how he made it so far from school. She knelt beside him as he took deep breaths, too deep. As if he couldn’t get any oxygen through his windpipe.
She removed his glasses, which had miraculously, not been too damaged. She carefully placed them on the set of drawers near beside the bed, before turning toward her patient.
“Gwen...” he murmured, his eyes only partially closed, “I’m sorry...” he trailed off. She managed a small smile,
“Shh, you can apologise later, okay?” Because he would explain to her why he looked half dead and claimed he had killed someone later. That didn’t matter now, all that mattered was him. She saw him smile lightly and meet her eyes.
“Thank you” she paused, before realised she had to help him. Her father, being a police officer, had taken medical examinations on first aid procedures and such, and so taught her some of it. She slowly forced herself to focus, and reached for the zipper of his jacket. Calmly, well as calmly as she could, she unzipped it. Once it was opened, she realised she had to actually get him out of it.
“I’ll get up.” She heard him say. She looked up startled. He smiled cheekily at her. Sitting up, with effort, he groaned in pain when he grazed his wrist against the bed. He looked at her with a light red crimson blush forming on his cheeks. “I er...” he lifted up his broken and fractured wrists, “can’t really...” he bit his lip in a manner that Gwen thought was all too cute, then she realised what he was asking her.
She blushed too. Kneeling forward even further, she gently peeled the jacket off his shoulders. When she came up to his wrists though, she hastily apologised and took it off quickly. She saw him grit his teeth in pain as his broken bones were disturbed even further. He was now in his long sleeve shirt.
He looked at her for a moment before lifting his arms up slightly. She helped him out of it, pulling past his head. He breathed deeply as she looked at him with concern, discarding his shirt on the floor along with his jacket.
He now wore his Spiderman uniform and jeans. The suit was going to be a problem. He just sighed before grinning cheekily at her.
“I guess I figured if you’d ever be undressing me it wouldn’t have been under these circumstances.” He said with a playful smirk, but she still saw that he was in pain. Gwen grinned, despite herself. She stood up, and then sat on the bed beside him. She inched closer to him, so that she was sure her breath was on his lips,
“Maybe later.” She saw him blush slightly and stifled her giggles. She pushes a stray streak of silver-blonde hair from her face and behind her ear. She took a deep breath, before placing both her hands at the hems of his spandex shirt, the top part of the suit. “I’m going to take this off okay? And it’s gonna hurt...” her eyes trailed to his wrist. There was no way she could treat him with the top part of the suit on, but she knew it would hurt his wrists.
He nodded. “’Kay...” he mumbled, leaning back slightly with a soft sigh.
Gwen began slowly peeling the spandex and took another deep breath when her boyfriend winced. Slowly, slowly, she thought to herself as she calmly- well as calmly as she could- lifting the red and blue skin-tight fabric from his skin. Her eyes widened as with each inch she removed she saw a new different scar, marring his toned chest.
He lifted his hands further, and she was almost done. The material was just at the top of his chest when she felt him flinch as it was removed from his wrists.
“Almost done...” she whispered to him. The spandex kept brushing tightly against his broken wrist, and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She almost sighed in relief when the tight fabric was off and discarded on the floor. Almost.
That was when she noticed the fresh angry greyish-purple bruises in hand prints at his neck. God, they were so clear. She couldn’t help it, she stared. Peter turned to face her, the purple remnant of the mugging last night ever so clear on the side of his face. He smiled at her cheekily, she shook her head.
That was when she remembered the blood running down his arm just before. She shifted feverishly to make sure it wasn’t as bad as she first thought it was. No, it was worst. Much worse. He took a sharp intake of breath when she carefully brushed her finger over the webbing that was dissolving.
“Peter...” she bit her lip as their eyes met, an apology written all over his. She examined it further. “I have to stitch this.” She mumbled, mostly to herself but she was sure he heard it. He did, apparently, because he nodded. She stood up abruptly, “I’m going to get the first aid kit.” She said, before leaving through the door.
Once she was in the corridor and out of Peter’s sight, she leaned against the wall and slumped forward. Oh god, she thought... damn it, she silently cursed and got up from her previous position, Peter was hurt, and she was here wasting time. She quickly walked, practically jogged, through the corridor and to the bathroom.
She hurriedly walked on the cold white tiles before realising she hadn’t even taken her shoes of yet. She discarded the thought, and headed towards the cabin above the sink. Pulling it open, she took the first aid kit to the side, a small bottle of painkillers, and an extra roll of bandages. Collecting everything in her arms, she rushed to the kitchen, where she collected a bag of frozen peas, and one of frozen corn. From there, she walked back to the room, expertly balancing everything.
She nudged the door open with her foot and found Peter in the position she had left him in. He looked up at her with a small twinkle in his exhausted state. She placed the frozen peas on his right wrist so the swelling would decrease.
Then, she placed everything on the side table beside the bed, and then sat on the bed, facing his side. He didn’t have to turn, because his bullet wound was facing her already. The shifted slightly and pulled the first aid kit, before taking out some alcohol healing wipes. Carefully, she peeled of what little remained of the webs.
Peter winced before giving her one his calm smiles. She didn’t smiled back, just licked her lips and concentrated at the task at hand. She heard her father tell her that before stitching a wound you always had to clean in, so it wouldn’t become septic. She began cleaning the streams of blood from his arm with as little pressure as she could manage. The good thing was that the bleeding seemed to have stopped.
As she cleaned the outer and inner edges of the wound on both sides of his arm, she couldn’t help but almost wince as he flinched. She knew he’d rather be screaming in pain as the alcohol touched his wound, but resulted to grinding his teeth together and clenching his fingers on the quilt of the spare bed.
Once the wound was clean, she examined it further to make sure there was no excess blood or dirt or anything. Taking a deep breath, she placed the dirty wipes on the same side-table as before and pulled a needle and thread from the kit. She told him it would hurt, and he only merrily nodded, taking breaths as deep as he could through his bruised neck. When she finally inserted the needle into his flesh, he hissed in pain, but told her not to stop, that he was okay. She looked at him in concern before continuing.
About a quarter way through the stitching, he spoke. “Thank you, Gwen.” He spoke so softly she almost missed it. She carefully inserted the needle again.
“Why are you sorry?” she asked him in a confused manner. He gritted his teeth when the sharp prick of the needle piercing the flesh of his arm came again and again. She kept up a slow but steady face, silently thanking her father so much for teaching her to stitch wounds and the basics of first aid.
Peter just gave her a ‘you-know-why look’. “You don’t... deserve this. You shouldn’t have to do this for me...” He trailed of and Gwen almost rolled her eyes. She carefully took out the needle then put it back in, only further.
“Peter,” she chuckled softly, startling him. “Peter, I love you. You have nothing to be sorry for” she said, smiling as she paused for a moment and gazed up at him. He looked at her with a look of love and warmth so intense it made her heart flutter. She returned it.
They didn’t speak at she finished the last few stitches. She took a new alcohol wipe and carefully went over the slightly irritated skin. She was thankful the stitches looked right, and not slanted or too deep.
“There.” She put the needle and thread away, before looking back at him. “That’s done... how’s your wrist?” she asked him.
“My right wrist just stings a bit, so it should be fine...” he replied as he nudged the frozen peas away and took a better look at it. It was slightly red around the edges, but thankfully didn’t seem broken or fractured. “My other wrist though...” He laughed a deep, humourless hollow laugh, before pulling up his left hand.
His left wrist was purple and red, and had an odd angle to it. It was obviously broken. “I’ll put a cast around it. With your Spiderman powers it should take about a week or so to heal...” she mumbled, mainly to herself.
She took the large first aid kit and pulled out some white powdery sheets from it. She inhaled and exhaled sharply. She’d never made a cast before. What if she done it wrong and his wrist didn’t heal properly? What if he couldn’t move it right afterwards? What if- what if...
She snapped out her thoughts when she heard him chuckle. “You’ll do fine.” He smiled at her, a smiled that wiped away all her worries and fears. She nodded back confidently, before taking a gentle grip of his forearm.
“How do you do that?” she muttered, asking him softly. He raised an eye brow as she began to peel of the thin layer of almost invisible protector paper, before lifting his forearm.
“Do what?” he said cheekily. A light smirk played on his soft lips as she lowered the back of his wrist onto the cast paper. He watched her gingerly.
“You know...” she began to wrap the cast around his wrist was tentatively and delicately as she could. “That thing where you know what I’m thinking...” she wrapped the paper all the way around before tightening it carefully. “Then you say something and smile and just... make it all better” she lifted her head with a soft smile.
She saw his right hand move, before he grazed her chin with her soft touch. Her eyes widened slightly, before his thumb brushed against her smooth cheek and pulled her close. Her eyes fluttered close as she moved lightly into his touch. Everything forgotten, both of them, leaning forehead to forehead, their lips only centimetres apart...
“Because I love you” he said, before drawing her in. Her lips met his in a calm, gentle, passionate kiss. Her lips were soft against his, his loving and gentle against hers. When they broke apart, they shared a look, a moment that neither of them wanted to leave. Gwen’s lips broke into a small smile.
“I love you too, but...” she whispered huskily as she leaned into his ear, “I need to treat your other wrist.” And with that, the leaned back and he smirked. She pulled the hand that was just at her cheek, and looked at it. “Doesn’t look too bad, but I still need to bandage it.”
“Right” he said, moving closer so that she could examine it better. “It should be healed in a day or so...”
Gwen pulled out some bandages, from behind the left over unused cast paper in the first aid case. She didn’t have to cut it, because as she began bandaging his hand, looping the fabric over and around his thumb to stabilise it, she realised there was just the perfect amount.
She taped it in place with some medical tape then retreated with a sigh. She looked at him again, and then remembered the bruises on his neck. Peter leaned it, realising what she wanted to do. She scanned the wound. It was just as bad as it had been before, but it was only slightly faded and Peter’s breathing was more calm, and even. More controlled. She took one of the fresh vegetable packs and held it to the worst part of the injury, on the right side of his neck. He winced at the contact but did nothing more than that. He just watched her.
“What happened?” she finally asked lightly. She didn’t want to. Gwen wanted him to rest, but the look in his eyes told her he still had something on his chest. He blamed himself for whatever happened. She couldn’t have that. Once she had the full story, she would make sure he knew he wasn’t to blame for any of it. “Peter... what happened?”
He bit his lip. “I... it was in maths... and... he called me, after class. He seemed, you know, weird. Just- off. My senses were telling me something was wrong- but I just couldn’t see it...” his voice broke slightly and he bowed his head. Gwen held the frozen food to his neck and inched closer in comfort. “He told me no one suspected me, he told me he knew. His eyes were- red. And he went really pale. He had super strength...” he looked at her with a certain uncertainty in his wonderful, chocolate orbs.
“I just... I don’t know how. We... we fought. I kicked him through the window, but I held him up with me web- just so he would tell me what he meant. How he knew... but” he licked his dry lips and his handsome features slumped. “He just said they didn’t know. But they will, soon. He said that they were after Spiderman. Then he broke the webbing.” He stopped talking and looked at her.
“Oh Peter...” she saw the haunted look in his eyes. Only weeks ago he saved the entirety of New York and was labelled a hero. Now he was being hunted down by madmen with superpowers. “It isn’t your fault.”
He just nodded, not really believing her words.
“But Mr. Wells... You’ve had him for years. He’s always liked you. I just don’t understand. You’ve never said anything about your spider senses going off when he was nearby before... why would he just...? And how? How could he have possibly known?” She shook her head, perplexed.
“I don’t know. I’m sure he’s never had those powers before. He’s never acted strange or... I don’t understand. I’m sure he only found out recently, because he’s never acted like this before. Someone hired him, but why? He said they didn’t know I was Spiderman, there could’ve been so many others.” He didn’t say anything else, he just looked at her. She shook her head; she was just as confused as he was.
“All we know is that someone is after you. An organisation, sense he used the term ‘they’. They hired him, without knowing he was Spiderman’s maths teacher. But he knew you were Spiderman, but didn’t tell them, why he didn’t tell them, I don’t know...” she said, meeting his eyes again.
“Maybe because if he told them, someone else would have a chance. They chased Spiderman, but imagine knowing who Spiderman was. There’d be no need to lure me out or anything. It’ll make it a surprise. If he told them then they’d, meaning the others- because I’m sure he said they were hunting me- might’ve attacked, and gotten to me first, before him.” He finished, sighed deeply. He shifted slightly, about to speak- but Gwen interrupted him.
“We’ll figure this out later, alright? You need to rest” she told him, moving away from the bed, and standing up with both hands on her hips. Peter sighed and looked outside. The sun was beginning to set.
“I should get going- Aunt May will be getting worried...” But Gwen beat him to it. As he tried to stand, she gently pushed him back on the bed so that he was lying down, his eyebrows raised at her.
“You haven’t slept, in what, three days?” She didn’t wait for him to protest because she knew it was true. “I’m calling Aunt May and telling her you’re staying the night. Today’s Friday, so there’s no school tomorrow, you don’t have to worry about anything.” She finished with a cheeky smile and bent down to peck his cheek.
“I... Thank you.” He looked at her with a kind expression. She collected the first aid things but left the bottle with the painkillers, “I’ll be back in a sec’”
Gwen hurried across the house and put everything back where it was supposed to be. It was, surprisingly, already evening. Once she put everything back, she went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water to go with the painkillers. When she made it back to the spare bedroom, she found Peter gazing up at the ceiling looking very tired and worn out indeed. Opening the bottle of pills, she took out two and handed it to him with the water.
Peter sat up and drank the painkillers, sighing in relief as they begun to ebb away the pain.
“Go to sleep.” Gwen whispered to him. He really looked like he was going to protest, but was so tired he was asleep even before he hit the pillow.
It was rather hot inside, so Gwen didn’t worry too much about the fact that he slept on the sheets rather than in them. She looked at him, when she noticed he was still wearing his signature black converse.
She sighed and moved to the bottom of the bed. Those shoes couldn’t be comfortable to sleep in. Slowly, she let her hands trail over to them and began to untie them. It didn’t take long before both shoes were off and discarded somewhere else on the floor.
That was when she really looked at him. She sat on a chair and moved it near the bed and away from the desk. She paid close attention to his toned chest; it was more scarred then she first assumed. There were old yellow-ish green bruises, whilst some where a red, grey-ish purple tone- the fresher ones. There were slashes crisscrossing basically every part of his torso. Horizontal ones, vertical ones, ones so deep it was hard to believe he’d survived all that. She traced a particular one on his side, it was long, and ran from his waistline to just under his arm. Some were even stitched, knowing Peter, he’d stitched them himself. There were knife wounds and bullet wounds, not just the one she had just treated on his upper arm. The discolorations on his neck were both fading and darkening, into different vivid angry shades.
“Oh Peter...” Gwen whispered, as for the first time that day, allowed a single crystal tear to break through her long lashes and cascade down her pale cheek.
SOMEWHERE ELSE, SAME TIME
“Sir, John Wells died this afternoon” the man clad in a formal black suit said as he stood before his master. He stood in a stiff stance, his voice without a single hint of emotion. The man behind the desk in the fancy well-furnished office turned to look at him, with an indescribable glint in his eye.
The man had short jet black hair and a distinguishable hideous scar running down his eye. He trailed it with a single calloused finger as his lips turned in an evil smirk. His eyes lit up and he let out a loud bark of laughter.
“He was found on the concrete grounds of a school. He is believed to have fallen or pushed from a four-story window. The classroom from which he fell from was dishevelled, as if a fight had just taken place.” The other lesser man continued, searching his superior’s eyes for a hint of anything.
“So he’s found him.” he let out another animalistic bark of laughter. “He knew who Spiderman was, didn’t he, Simon?” he didn’t wait for an answer, “And then what? I’ll bet he confronted him. I’ll bet Spiderman was in that class.” He turned again to the other younger man.
“Sir, there is no way Spiderman is a teenage high school student.” Simon said, disbelief etched onto his features. “You sent him to capture and kill Spiderman, but perhaps because he was getting close to his true identity that someone forced the information out of him then killed him” he finished, believing his words far more than the other’s.
“Perhaps...” the superior said, though did not look convinced. “That is more likely, or it may have been a fellow teacher whom designated the meeting.” He replied, no longer smirking. “Nevertheless, I want a name of every single student in that class, Simon.”
“Yes sir. Anything else sir?” Simon asked, ready to leave.
“Oh yes. Prepare our experiment. When there is chaos, Spiderman is there to save the day, Simon. Let us make chaos.”