Spider-Man Imagines I

The Choices We Make (Part Two) | Peter Parker [TH]

When you came to, you were well aware of the aches in your ribs and the absence of Peter's arms underneath you.

Instead, you felt the plush surface of your bed. Your eyes fluttered open fast, eyelashes tangling in one another, lips parting with a painful gasp as you sucked in a gulp of air, ribs throbbing in response.

"Careful!" exclaimed your mom. She grabbed your hand and leaned over, eyes teary but smiling.

Your father came into view too. "How are you feeling, baby?" he asked, rubbing your arm. You winced and he stopped.

"What-" you rasped.

"We should have taken her to the hospital," your mom said. "Look at her, she's so confused."

"She's just groggy," your dad assured her. "Baby, talk to us. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," you said. "It hurts."

It hurts so much, Peter. My body hurts.

You gulped. "Where's Peter?"

"See? She remembers," your dad said. He looked back at you. "Peter is at home, sweetie. He had to get back to Aunt May. I can't imagine how that woman felt after hearing her nephew was mugged. Not after her husband's death..."

Your mother mumbled his name, willing him to stop there before he made you upset. Then she looked at you, soft fingertips ghosting over your forehead, pushing away hairs and rubbing gently.

"I want to talk to Peter," you said.

"You can when he calls. Let's check you over first, okay?" Your mother smiled. "We didn't take you to the hospital but we will if any of your ribs are broken. Do you remember what happened?"

Yes. You did. You remembered all of it. The men stepping out of the shadows in the living room, cornering you in the kitchen. The bowl dropping out of your hands, shattering on the floor. Getting taken away from Peter. Getting hit again and again. Peter saving you, freeing you, holding you. Peter crying. His arms under you as he took you outside.

But that probably wasn't what they thought happened.

"You said we were mugged?" you whispered. They nodded. "Peter and me." You swallowed, tears in your eyes. "Peter saved me."

"He did," your mom said. "He carried you straight home, called us. Said he was going to call the police but he didn't get a good look at them. They were wearing masks, sweetie?"

That meant he probably cleaned up the kitchen so that it didn't look like anyone had broken in.

"Uh-huh."

Your dad shook his head. "I liked Parker okay. He was a good kid before, respectful and nice. But now... he saved you, baby. He saved your life."

"That boy must really love you," your mother said.

"I know he does," you whispered.

She sighed and draped herself over you lightly, laying her head on your chest, whimpering as your father peeled her away slowly. You were so very, very grateful to be alive. So grateful to Peter.

They checked you over, prodding at bruises and coaxing painkillers and ice water into your system. You let them take care of you, accepting kisses and hugs as they saw fit.

In the end, the decided to take you to the hospital just in case. Your dad mentioned calling the police and reporting the crime. You knew it would take a lot to talk him out of it.

Peter never called.

...

Peter sat atop of a building, facing the grey waters below. He wore his entire suit except for the mask that was bunched up in his palm.