Only One Left [COMPLETED]

Chapter 6: Breathe

"Ock! Ock! Are you there? Come on, say something!"

Peter felt panic settle in like a giant python wrapping its coils around his chest. He was racing through the sewer tunnels now, not caring for precaution or stealth He needed to get back to the Basement. Ock might be in trouble.

It was getting hard to breathe. Was he even breathing? It didn't feel like he was breathing. His chest felt too tight.

Oh yeah, this was what hyperventilating was like.

He couldn't even think straight with his thoughts on a constant cycle of "Ock. No, communicate. Danger. Oh no. Bad. Very bad. Go faster. Breath before you die of self-suffocation. Oh crap. Ock's not responding. What happened. AHHHHHHHH!"

"Please be alright, please be alright, please be alright," he chanted breathlessly. He didn't usually use his webs when traveling underground, but under the circumstances, he didn't care. He sailed through the air by web, dodging pipes and snapping past corners as if his own life was on the line.

He needed to get there! Why couldn't he move faster?!

The entrance to the Basement melted into sight. By the time Peter got to it, he was drenched in sewer, sweating profusely, and still not breathing correctly. His vision swam with the city sewage and his head felt as fuzzy as the mildew on the wall. But he couldn't stop.

He tore the cover off and darted inside. He was back in his room with minutes, already shoving that door aside too. "OCK!" he shouted. His heart stuttered to a stop when he got no response. "OCTAVIUS!"

But then, somewhere in the Big Room, "Peter?"

Peter nearly sagged in relief. He was in the Big Room within a flash. Upon seeing the familiar tangle of black hair and the round, orange glasses, Peter could've cried in happiness. Octavius quickly moved closer, his face sketched in wild concern.

"Peter are you hurt?"

"Ock are you alright?"

Both eyes roamed over the other, looking for injuries. Peter circled the older man, looking for any sign of pain or discomfort. Whereas Ock followed the same pattern looking for the same thing.

"What happened?"

"What's wrong?"

"Are you hurt?"

"Why is your face turning purple?"

"Do I need to find a doctor?"

"Where did you get those wounds?"

Peter glanced idly at the scrapes he got from the earlier fight. "It's nothing. What about you? Are you okay? Did something happen while I was gone?"

Ock drew back a little. "Okay? Of course, I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?" he examined Peter worriedly. "What happened out there? You look like you're about to pass out," And it was probably true. Peter's chest still felt tight, and he was pretty sure normal breathing wasn't supposed to be raspy.

But he couldn't care. Ock was alright. He was okay. Peter surged forward and wrapped the man in a crushing hug. "I was so worried," he gasped, "Why weren't you responding to your comm?"

Ock's arms hung useless and paralyzed by his side, but two of his tentacles reached up to calm Peter. One gently brushed the hair out of the teen's eyes, whereas the other pat his shoulder in a jerky, but still somewhat soothing way. "I was working on a report for Norman, I didn't realize the link was off. What," Peter felt the older man's gaze on him. "What happened out there?"

Peter swallowed thickly. "I...I ran into some S.H.I.E.L.D agents,"

Ock sucked in a breath. "Peter-"

"I know - but I didn't realize. They wore costumes like me. I just thought they were a few rookie heroes. I didn't - I didn't -" his embrace got stronger. "I'm sorry. I just...I thought something happened to you,"

Ock said, "No, I'm alright," as the two tentacles wrapped Peter in their own makeshift hug. "It was my fault. I should've made sure the link was up. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. It was my fault. My fault," Gradually, Peter began to breathe evenly again. When he finally looked up, his eyes were tinged red and watery.

He must've realized it too as he stepped back and shamefully ducked his head. "I -uh...didn't mean to freak out or-" Ock gently shushed him.

"It's alright," the scientist soothed. "I understand. Go change out of those wet clothes. Dinner will be ready when you get out,"

Peter nodded once and turned back down the hall. He hugged himself with his arms as he walked, feeling goosebumps from the cold become a rash on his arms. His head felt dizzy. He hasn't hyperventilated like that for at least a year. He wrapped his arms tighter and headed back to his room.

That night, Peter dreamed of another night from many years ago. He remembered lying in bed as a 6-year-old, hugging his astronaut blankets to his body as he gazed up at the glowing star stickers on the ceiling. The nightlight was blue. The lights were off, but he wasn't afraid. Uncle Ben taught him how to be brave.

But then, there were loud noises downstairs. Someone was yelling. Someone Peter didn't recognize. "Give me your money! Give me all you money!"

There was a scuffle. Suddenly, there was another loud noise, but this one like thunder.

BANG!

Then another.

BANG!

Then it was quiet. The footsteps of someone running through the house thudded from downstairs, then that of the door slamming shut. Peter was scared. He was petrified. The nightlight didn't help. "Uncle Ben!" he called, almost tentatively.

He got no answer.

"Aunt May?"

Still nothing.

"Uncle Ben...Aunt May..." whispers turned to terrified sobs. "UNCLE BEN!...AUNT MAY!"

Why weren't they coming?

When he walked downstairs, blanket clutched in hand, to seek them out, he spotted two slumped figures in the living room. He saw blood staining the carpet. He couldn't breathe. Tears blurred his eyes. He screamed for them, "UNCLE BEN AUNT MAY!"

Everything was quiet. Because no one answered.

Peter woke up in his own sweat, unable to breathe.

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