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Death of a bachelor

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It doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt. Peter repeated the mantra in his mind over and over again, it couldn’t hurt. He was an Avenger now, they didn’t fall over and cripple because of silly things like this. He wouldn’t let the others worry over him for something so petty, not that they would because he had to be strong. None of the other Avengers were weak, they’d just brush this off like an irritating itch in their side; he couldn’t let them know. Not now. Not ever.

 

“Spider-Man, status report, are you okay?” Cap’s voice comes through the coms in his sensitive ears.

 

The pole skewering his body shifts uncomfortably against his organs, his heart hammers rapidly against his ribcage and an unbearable sense of dread drenches his body in a cold, sheet of sweat – a stark contrast against the hot flush of his skin wrapped tightly in the ripped suit.

 

“Spider-Man?” Cap questions again, and Peter can nearly sense the worry leaking into the captain’s voice.

 

Everything hurts. Pain surged throughout his body like a river of melting tallow under the surface of his skin, feverish and hot, burning him from the inside out. It felt as is his suit was constricting and constricting and constricting around his shaking form, crushing his bones and piercing his lungs. He couldn’t breathe.

 

“SPIDER-MAN!” Cap’s voice was loud and clear, piercing his eardrums and ringing throughout his head.

 

He had to respond, didn’t want any of them to get suspicious, didn’t need them to come to find him like this and then think of him as weak. He couldn’t have that. He couldn’t.

 

“Y-Yeah,” He heard somebody croak out – it’s like he didn’t recognize himself, didn’t recognize his own voice.

 

Thick curdles of blood bubbled up from his raw throat and out of his widened mouth, painting his cracked lips and wobbling chin crimson red. It hit the ground in droplets with loud thuds, pooling on the concrete, below him – the sound was continuously bouncing across the expanse of his mind and bursting into his eardrums.

 

“M’ fine, just a bit.. drowsy.” He lied through the skin of his chattering teeth, his broken fingers clutching at the metal bar skewering him straight through, he could feel himself slipping down inch by inch, the cold metal grating against his burning, sensitive organs, and the ground was getting closer and closer by each passing minute.

 

A groan fell from the arachnid’s lips and the burning pain the once overtook his body mellowed out into an icy numbness. A deep blackness seeped into the edges of his blurred vision and the sound of his heartbeat rattling against his cracked and crumbling ribcage echoed around his empty skull. The pain ebbed away at his broken form as he slipped further and further down the pole, but he couldn’t bring himself to give up, an avenger wouldn’t do that.

 

Captain America wouldn’t do that,

 

Iron Man wouldn’t do that,

 

The Hulk wouldn’t do that,

 

Hell, he’s pretty sure even Pepper Potts wouldn’t do that.

 

And so, he made his decision.

 

Peter clutched at the metal bar skewering him, his knuckles turning white at how hard he was gripping it and the metal groaned underneath his tight hold.
His hands shook like a leaf as he lifted himself up and off the bar. Pain erupted around his body and he couldn’t help the pained scream that left him upon the now-gaping-hole in his stomach being hit by the cold air around him.

 

Peter was pretty sure there was a voice in his coms asking him if he was okay and for a status report but in his hazed state he doesn’t think he replied – can’t really remember, just knows that he’s currently swinging back towards the fight and the wound has been sealed with his own webbing (in which is currently being stained red).

 

The fight was a blur too, filled with pain and suffering and it was almost unbearable but he was an Avenger now, he couldn’t let something like this minor injury stop him.

 

Peter stood in the middle of the street, hot, red fire pulsated around his bleeding wound and with each step he took towards the retreating avengers the more pain that was amplified around his shaking being.

His knees felt less and less sturdy and more and more like jelly with each jarring step he took, his muscles quivered under the weight of everything he was holding in and god he couldn’t breathe.

 

Reality hit him hard and fast.

 

The inside of his mouth felt as wet as a river and as dry as a desert all at once, his throat was raw and it felt as if his lungs were wrapped securely in lead, compressing and compressing and compressing till they were nothing but scrunched up images of organs.

 

He couldn’t breathe.

 

A dizzy feeling erupts in his head and he collapses down to his knees, his quivering, clothed hands clutching at the gaping wound in his stomach, and he looks up and his teammates still haven’t noticed and that’s okay because he’s fine he doesn’t need help, he’s an Avenger now, he isn’t weak.

 

He’s strong – He. Is. Strong.

 

It’s only now, does he come to realize that there’s a harsh breeze hitting his face head-on and there’s the sound of camera’s flashing and civilians screaming and shouting and pairs of boots running towards him, but,

 

He

 

Can’t

 

Breathe