Be Mine

"I'll never let you go // I'll float away into your afterglow"

This chapter's lyric is from "Wings" by Haerts.

Read as you see fit here- warnings for the results of last chapter's issues, as well as some emotional strife (dw, things end on a good note).

Enjoy!

----------

BRAM POV

I clutched onto Peter, nearly dragged down to the ground trying to support his weight as he lost consciousness.

"Shit!" I shrieked, and Simon stepped forward, helping me ease him to the ground.

"Peter?" I tapped their shoulder repetitively. Met with no response, I continued to move through the familiar motions I recognized from our sophomore CPR course. Simon titled Peter's head back, nudged their chin slightly, checked the rise and fall of their chest, and, satisfied they were breathing, stood to scan the surroundings.

Simon started to dig around nervously. I was scared out of my mind, but Simon was Simon and Peter was unconscious, so someone had to be sensible.

"Simon, what are you looking for?" I asked, gentle as I could.

"A- a phone. A piece of the plane that was once in the sky that isn't torn to unrecognizable. Or the villain," Simon blurted.

Solemnly, I pointed into the distance. Now that the chasm of fire had died down, I could see a square box of stuff, a man in metal pressed against it.

"Spiderman took care of everything," I said desperately. "Now we've got to take care of him. We've got to get off the beach. Call 911."

Simon shook his head vehemently as he ripped his eyes from the battle's leftovers to look after Peter. "No way, we both know we can't do that! Normal-people ERs don't take Spidermen."

I thought to point out the other emergency medical Peter used, but I'd only heard it mentioned offhandedly once, maybe twice, and didn't have enough knowledge surrounding it to turn it into anything helpful.

So, because both of us were wildly out of our depth and had no idea what the hell to do but our best, Simon helped me carry Peter until we found a close to abandoned restaurant just a couple street lengths of distance from the beach and the crash. The worker covering the empty night shift at the bar didn't even look up from Travel & Leisure .

Simon found the family bathroom in the back corner of the ratty place. It made me feel like the three of us were some sort of family, if mildly dysfunctional and currently missing some members.

I felt horrible. Like some spiraling teenager in a frigid over-air-conditioned restroom, kneeling on the gross tile, fussing over his friend- most likely uselessly.

Peter still looked like he was renting a spot on death's doormat, and Simon and I had yet to face the apparent situation where neither of us had any clue how to fix these injuries.

Simon carefully came up behind me and held my shoulders to steady me. "We've been here two whole minutes, we've got to call someone," he decided.

I whipped out my phone. "Yeah, you're right. You're right. I'm calling Mr. Stark, yeah?"

"Tony Stark?" Simon repeated incredulously.

"Well, yeah, he cornered me after graduation because I was pretty responsible compared to all of you guys. He gave me his phone number, and he insisted I call if Peter was with friends and either in physical danger, crying, or underage drinking," I rambled as I typed in the digits.