Eleven minutes

4 minutes

Pain

-Third Person P.O.V-

Peters hands shake wildly as he tries to clear his mind. He gasps in pain as he moves slowly moves his body. 

His left hand finds it's way to his right thigh, he clenches his eyes shut as the pain is immediate, he had felt numb before, the adrenaline keeping him from feeling the pain that was there and consuming his whole body. 

Peter can feel his hand getting wet and it takes a moment for his brain to catch up with what it means. He can feel the blood gushing through his hand and he pushes down slightly on the wound knowing he needs- he needs to make it stop. 

A whimper falls from his lips and uselessly floats into the night sky. His vision whites out for a moment as he tries desperately to push harder down on his wound. He can feel the shot on his arm gushing blood, much like his leg, but he can't get to it as well as his leg. 

He just hopes- he just hopes his dad will be here soon to help. 

(Help, help, help, help, help, help)

Peter can feel his heart beating quickly within his chest, and he wills it to slow down, he knows- even in his pain hazed daze, that because his heart is beating so quick, it's going to be pumping more and more blood around his body. 

It's killing him. 

"Make it stop," he whispers to himself, small grunts of pain falling from his lips. 

Blinking back the white edges of his vision he looks down towards his body and can feel his head spin dangerously at the sight in front of him. 

Blood was pooling all around him, the dark, red, substance was covering the ground and spreading like a wildfire. Distantly, Peter knew this wasn't good, and that- that this needs to stop and quick. 

(Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, please)

His hands shake desperately as he tries to stop the bleeding, but his hands continue to fumble with one and another, meaning he can't get a good grip on the wound and stop the bleeding. 

He lets his head drop back to the ground, finding it more, and more difficult to keep his head up and his eyes open. 

He has to- he has to keep his eyes open, he knows this. And yet- and yet the pain it's- it's too much. 

"No, no, m'okay, just stay 'wake," he mumbles to himself, making himself believe it all. 

Because he has no choice but to believe and hope. The pain grounds him slightly, it makes him know he's still there and he's still well enough to know- to know it hurts. 

(Too much, too much, too much. It's- it's too much, too- too late.)