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The blood is warm sliding along Peter’s arm. He sighs as he takes off the suit and presses an old t-shirt against the wound. Another patrol. Another knife wound. There’s been so many at this point that Peter doesn’t know how he hasn’t died of blood loss by now. Then again, maybe his healing factor replenishes his blood so effectively that it’s not dangerous. But he still feels the effects: light-headedness and nausea. Or maybe that's just the after effects of the panic attack he just had.
Slowly he moves to the bathroom, careful not to bump into anything or drip blood on the floor or wake up May. He’s successful.
With practiced movements he takes the med kit from under the sink and sets it out on the floor, sinking down next to it.
For a moment he just stares at the knife wound.
It doesn’t really hurt anymore, and he wonders what it would’ve been like, if he didn’t have a healing factor. If he really had a fatal blood loss. If the knife had nicked a little deeper…
Would it hurt? Would the knife feel cold sliding into his skin? Would it burn instead? How quickly would he bleed out? Would the blood feel warm or would it be colder as time went by and more and more of it was outside his body than inside?
Would anyone miss him?
Sure, May would be sad at first, but she had already survived through Ben’s death and she was strong, she’d get over it. Besides, she had never asked for him. He had just been dumped on her and Ben, and that had created a certain wall between them. He would never be as close to her as he had been to his parents. And she would never love him as her real son.
He had known Ned for five years, and MJ less than that. In retrospect, that's not long at all. And they both got other friends, other people to depend on. They’d be fine.
And Mr. Stark and Happy didn’t care about him anyways, that was very obvious.
Peter’s heart sank as his mind supplied him with the conclusion of “no, no one would miss him”. He can’t help but choke on a sob. It’s a lonely conclusion to draw. He slaps a hand to his mouth to muffle the rest of the sobs. He doesn’t want to wake May. He’s been enough of an imposition already. No need to burden her with any more of his problems.
Besides, there’s an easy way to fix this.
He feels strangely detached from his body as rises up, his arms and legs feeling like they don’t belong to him. The bloody t-shirt drops to the floor. Like an apparition, he moves back towards his room, this time not caring about the blood drops. The warmth of fresh blood has long faded anyway, so blood on the wound has probably dried off already. No matter. There'll be enough of that warmth soon enough.
He's half-way through his window, a vague idea of the roof as his destination, when his phone rings.
He turns to watch it dazedly, as if he was dreaming.
The upbeat sound of Ned's ringtone feels jarringly out of place. Peter can't help but stare at it, trying to muster the will to shut it off before May wakes up.
After a few minutes, the ringing cuts off, and Peter feels both relief and disappointment. May didn't wake up, he didn't have to shut it off, but now there's nothing stopping him from climbing out of the window.
He moves back towards the window, when the ringtone starts again, this time startling him into action, fumbling for the red icon, but accidentally hitting the green one instead.
"Peter?"
He hears Ned's tinny voice as clear as day, and suddenly he can't do it anymore. The familiar kindness concern he can hear in his best friend's voice is the one that does it for him. His eyes burn with tears and this time he lets them fall freely and doesn't try to hide the crack in his voice as he answers, "Ned?"
"Peter, Peter what's wrong?" The concern in Ned's voice triples. "Is it Spider-Man? Are you hurt?"
Peter shakes his head and tries to translate it into words, tears still cascading down his cheeks and wetting the screen, finally managing a choked "no".
Ned goes quiet for a bit.
"Is it one of those nights?" Ned's voice is uncharacteristically serious, tinged with sadness and something else Peter can't decipher.
A wave of shame and gratitude hits him so hard that he sways, falling into his bed.
He shouldn't be this weak. He's Spider-Man. He's strong. He shouldn't feel this way anymore.
But he does.
He lets out a strangled sob, still trying to muffle himself for May's sake.
"Peter?" Now Ned's voice is strained with alarm.
Peter can't answer, his voice stolen by the darkness that has been welling inside him for a few weeks now, ever since he failed to stop that man slaughter that was so reminiscent of another robbery gone wrong, another death.
"Peter, stay where you are, do not stop the call. I'm coming over. You hear me? I'm coming over," Ned suddenly announces, the background noise on his end suddenly flaring; clothes rustling, a door opening and closing, a deep rumble of a car. Peter isn't sure if he woke his parents or if he was driving himself. It didn't matter either way, because all it came down to was that he was once again inconveniencing, no, burdening his friend.
"N-Ned, don't...you don't need to-," he tries to hiccup in between sobs.
"I know, but I want to. I'll be there in ten minutes," Ned's voice is incredibly soft and gentle, but unyielding. It's times like these that Ned shows his true strength. His unwavering loyalty, his boundless generosity, his immeasurable kindness. In times like these Peter is reminded of how well his friend knows him, how deep their bond truly runs. They are true best friends, so close that they are almost family. That kind of intimacy and love is rare, and it’s in these kinds of moments that Peter realizes it, and feels a profound appreciation for it.
He feels that familiar love and gratitude sinking into his bones now, grounding him as he listens to Ned prattling on about school and decathlon, about light, trivial things in an attempt to keep him distracted from the tight knot of darkness inside him. The babbling isn’t meant to make everything better, but to tide him over the worst of it until Ned gets to him. It’s a technique they established in the early days of his depression and Ned’s panic attacks, and which works both ways; they will distract the other with mindless chatter until the they can get there in person or the episode dissolves.
This time, Ned gets to Peter before he can stop crying. He lets himself in with his spare key and tiptoes into Peter’s room, where he immediately gathers Peter into a soothing embrace. Peter clutches him desperately like he’s holding onto a lifeline. If his tight grip hurts Ned, he doesn’t show it in any way. Instead, he just hugs him, whispering, “it’s okay, I’ve got you, it’s okay,” until Peter’s breathing calms down a little.
Then, Ned leans back a little, checks the wound on his arm, which is completely healed by now, and relocates them into the living room. He only lets go of Peter once, to put on New Hope and to fetch a blanket.
They cuddle up on the couch.
Slowly, slowly, but inevitably, the thoughts about the liquid warmth of his blood outside his body are being erased by the actual, concrete warmth of his best friend pressing against him in comfort. Peter sighs and sags into his friend, drawing strength from his friend’s familiar, soothing presence. Ned sighs as well, contentment and peace radiating from him. Peter soaks it all up and lets it soothe him towards sleep.
He sometimes forgets how much this helps, having someone just be there for him.
He’s very fortunate he’s got the best friend in the whole universe to remind him.
Peter drifts off to peaceful, happy dreams with a small smile on his lips.