ON HOLD
#𝟏 𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫-𝐌𝐚𝐧
"Witnesses have made statements of seeing you with the wanted vigilante Spider-Man, so what we would like to know is whether or not these allegations are true."
"Half the city of New York has been seen with Spid...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
...John?
No, obviously not. The stupid jerk played me in the damn market. But really, I'm the stupid one for not even recognizing his voice or the way he jokes around or something. Truthfully, I would've never expected Peter to look like this. Spider-Man, under the mask and spandex, is honestly just a normal, very attractive, guy. I mean, he's a dreamboat.
He's got to be the only guy I've ever met with a seemingly good heart, brains, and looks. Usually, they're at least missing one of the three.
He balled up his fist, another groan escaped his mouth as he curled up and clutched his side. His eyes squeezed shut tightly and his brows furrowed in pain. There's no blood seeping through his suit on his side, so I can only begin to assume that he's hurt it somehow. If it's a broken bone, he's solo on that one.
Two cuts on his cheek were displayed amongst his angelic features, but they'd begun to scab up and stop bleeding. Still, I took the rag and cleaned them off as he laid flat on his back, knocked out cold. Checking his heart rate again, I felt a wave of relief wash over me as it continued at a normal pace. I sit on my legs next to his arms, feeling his forehead as heat radiated off of him.
He's running a fever. There must be some type of toxin in his system. That much, I'm sure of.
Running to the kitchen and soaking a rag in cold water, I feel my hands shaking again, my heart pounding in my rib cage like it was going to escape. At this moment in time, I'm wondering just how the hell I got myself into this situation. As much as I want to help Peter, I can't help but have a deep feeling of regret in my soul for ever going out and taking a break that night.
Never in my life had I imaged that I'd be here, helping Spider-Man recover from an overpowered fight. But not only Spider-Man, his true identity as Peter as well. As I made it back into his room, I almost dropped the rag on the floor watching him stir in his sleep again. A course of chills crawled up my spine, not giving me enough time to shake off my nerves.
Still, I placed the cold rag on his forehead and cleaned the small wounds on his body silently. Even if I did say anything, it's not like he'd be able to hear me. And by the looks of it, he's having a nightmare of some sort. Something's haunting his dreams, and I pray that it's not the events that took place under an hour ago.
This kind of trauma is not normal for someone so young, so malleable. He shouldn't have to go through this anymore than another bystander of New York city, but I know he's going to choose the people over himself at any given moment. He did tonight, and he was basically shot.
He began stirring in his sleep again just as I was drying up some of the blood on the floor.
"Gwen..." he whispered, my skin turning ice cold as I froze on my spot on the floor. His face reflected pain, and I swear I saw a lonesome tear escape from the corner of his eye, my heart cracking for him some more. He should just be a normal guy attending college, and he'd be starting his second-year next summer. But now we're nearing November and he's off getting shot by a band of ninjas. Why did they even have a gun?
