Chapter Text
25 hours.
25 fucking hours.
Peter couldn't see out of his right eye, his mask was torn away from the jaw up to his brow, the fabric soaked with heavy, warm crimson. He could feel the wet thickness sluggishly creeping down to his collarbone. Each rugged breath scratched down his throat, razor sharp like swallowing shattered glass. Helplessly, his hand hovered over his completely shattered ribs, his nose hitched as Peter clamped his jaw. His other arm hung uselessly at his side.
Peter Parker was going to die.
It wasn't warnings in his head anymore, the need to flee, the instinct to hide turned into unnerving static. A cold realization setting deep in his bones. I'm going to die. Peter glanced, with his only good eye, at the framed photo of Aunt May grinning proudly beside a younger version of himself, enthusiastic, holding up his medal for getting first place in his middle school science fair. He stood alone in the tight but cozy living room of Aunt May's apartment, blood steadily dripping from his chin onto the wooden planks.
Aunt May.
She'll be safe. She's still on her little, much needed vacation and shouldn't be back until next week. Heat pooled behind his eyes, could feel the wetness building at the corners of his eyes, fighting back a chin tremble. Aunt May's going to be heart broken. But she'll be alive, safe, and that's what mattered, even if it felt like someone reached down his throat and grabbed his heart, squeezing and squeezing, on the brink of splattering. I'm sorry, Aunt May.
Peter knew he didn't have much time. It's only a matter of seconds until that sadistic prick hunting him down finds him. There's no hiding from him and fighting has only made Peter tired, so, so tired. Fuck! Peter didn't want to die. He's only nineteen. He doesn't… he can't leave Aunt May all alone. Who else would help her with her laptop when she can't figure something out or take out the trash, or clean the ceiling fans? Who's going to make sure she doesn't overwork herself? Who's gonna comfort her when Peter's gone?
It's not fair.
Then there was a faint click of the turning lock, sounding more like a gunshot to his ears as his chest went entirely hollow, whipping around so fast, his vision pinched black for a fleeting moment, to see Aunt May stumbling in with souvenirs and her luggage. "No, no, nonononono!" Peter croaked out, dread icing his veins from the inside out.
"Peter?" Aunt May unawarely calls out, dropping her belongings on the ground, clearly jet lag, but smiling so warm and kind and it was a nightmare playing out before his very eyes—well, eye. "Surprise! I came early," Aunt May turned her head in time to catch Peter, in his ruined Spider-Man suit, dragging his leg across the room with a little hop in his step. Her eyes widened in pure horror, a hand coming up to her mouth, hiding a gasp. "Oh my God! Peter! Who did this to you! Hospital, you need to—"
Peter reached her within seconds, trembling hands holding her shoulders in place. "May," he choked, "Listen to me, May, you have to listen to me!" Fragile panic crawled at his throat, every muscle in his body going rigid, frantic to get her out, already turning her around. "You have to go. P-Please," his voice cracked, raw and painfully small. "You have to, you have to leave, May!" God, please!
"No!" Aunt May refused in a shout, digging her heels on the wooden floor. "I'm not going to leave you! You're hurt, Peter! I-I can't just…"
Peter didn't have the strength to fight off Aunt May who shrugged his hands off her shoulders and spun around to face him, cupping his cheeks with achingly care. Peter almost broke down then, shaking his head, his body on the verge of total collapse. "You—you don't understand! Please, I can't—you need to go May, it's dangerous, too dangerous for you!" And I can't protect you, Peter barely managed to get back to the apartment, his mind begging for safety, no matter how futile in the end. It's how he ended up here, in the only place he's ever felt safe; home. And Aunt May—she's not supposed to be here. Peter couldn't even web swing or wall crawl even if he wanted to, his body wouldn't cooperate.
How the hell is he going to protect her when he can't even save himself?
"Peter, I'm not leaving without you!" Aunt May argued. Stubborn. So damn stubborn, Peter felt like he was going insane. "We go together. Whatever trouble you're in, we can figure it out together. We can get help. But I am not leaving you, Peter. I won't." Peter, he appreciated Aunt May, he really did, loved her more than anything in the world, but god help him, he needed her to understand.
This was only going to end in death. He couldn't bring in more casualties, be the reason someone else dies.
Peter was about to speak when the warning came too late, too delayed, sluggish as the rest of him as if he was mired in tar. His body reacted immediately, slower than usual, throwing his arms around May, turning her away as the living room wall got blown inward, splittering like chipped ice. He felt something nick his shoulder, shielding the back of Aunt May's neck and head with his arms, crashing onto the floor.
"Please, Peter Parker," the aggravating smooth, an aristocratic calmness, an old world voice made Peter's skin crawl, "Do not trouble yourself by running anymore. It only serves to prolong the inevitable."
On shaky limbs, Peter push himself up, heavy rubble slipping off his back. "M-May," rasped Peter, his eye frantically searching for any injuries, stopping on the sharp wooden stake buried in her side. "No, no, no—May, hey, May, can you hear me?"
Aunt May blinked, hand curling around the stake, not pulling, just there, her other hand reached for Peter's cheek. "Run, Peter," she quietly said, a plea from her heart, "Leave me and go." Her fingers barely ghosted along his exposed jawline, bruising ugly.
Peter whipped his head side to side without a second thought, "No—I, no," he whispered, a fragile, childlike tremor in his voice. "May, n-no," Peter cradled her cheek, fingers unsteady with an emotion he couldn't hide.
"Peter… live for me,"
"N-no, why… why are you saying it like… like you're leaving me? You can't do that—May, you, you can't." Don't leave me, May. Not you. Please, not you. Peter forced a smile even if it couldn't commit on his face, "That's nonsense, May, nonsense. I'm going to get you help, I swear, I'm not—you're not… You're okay, May. You're… okay." He hated how he couldn't believe himself, not with the sadistic old as time itself prick standing in his living room with a calm arrogance as if he knew he was better than everyone. He certainly carried himself that way.
"You brought this violence to her doorstep, spider."
Peter swallowed his retort, his jaw burning into a hard knot, meeting shifting reds and yellows like the blazing of hellfires in a fury. Morlun, the monster after Peter's life, his supposed spider totem, stood there like this has been an inconvenience.
25 hours and Morlun looked completely unaffected, his suit annoyingly immaculate and intact, a far cry compared to Peter's pathetic state.
"Her blood will be a byproduct of your stubbornness," Morlun's voice echoed with something terrible, something incredibly ancient and other worldly and Peter hated how right he was despite everything. "It is only your light that I have come to extinguish."
In a moment's weakness, intentional or not, Peter came home, led Morlun here, to Aunt May. Heavy exhaustion rattled his bones, it clouded over his mind; he just wanted to be home. He was just so, so tired and he unknowingly put Aunt May in danger. She wasn't supposed to be here. But Peter still put her in danger.
His breathing came out short, hollow, too quick even as it burned, even as it hurt, sharp edges digging inside his chest, muscles pulling taut. Clenching his jaw hard enough to reach his temple, Peter planted a gentle kiss on Aunt May's forehead, lingering for a second as her soft pleads came in one ear and out the other. "You'll be okay," Peter murmured to her, fire spidering along his veins, forcing himself up to his feet, no matter how his body screamed in pure agony.
Peter turned to face Morlun, feeling the warm crimson dribble over his one good eye, grabbing his useless arm and widened his stance, acting like a battered shield, blocking Aunt May from Morlun's demonic gaze. "Just—let me call an ambulance, for her. Please. You can have me, have my spider whatever it is, just—let me get her help." He begged, pleaded deep from inside his heart, his soul, desperation bubbling pathetic in his weakening voice, feeling the sting behind his eyes.
Peter Parker is going to die. Is supposed to die, it's all his spider sense, useless static, has been telling him. Not Aunt May. Him. Not her. Never her.
He heard Aunt May's panicked voice, so painfully soft, begging Peter to leave her, to think of himself. His heart broke, shattered like his ribs, at her weeping, her desperation and her selfless care. Peter didn't deserve it.
Morlun canted his head, dark and twisted, hands behind his back, posture straight and graceful, cold cruelty framing his pale face. "You do not ask the spider to spare the fly," he said in a calm-mocking kind of voice, sinking Peter's crumbled heart into the darkest, deepest pit of despair. "You possess a great totem, a god among these insects, yet you carry the fragile heart of a human child. There is no saving her, Little Spider and there is no saving you. Your essence grows sweeter with your desperation."
Peter could barely register the dull ache of his hand fisting by his side, barely register the sting when his mouth is flooded with copper, barely register anything else as if his head was plunge under water, static distantly ringing in his ears, surging his skin like flies over a rotting corpse.
"Time to feast."
Peter didn't, couldn't, react, like he was out of his body—alarms blaring for a split second then sweet silence overrode everything. I'm going to die. And he couldn't even save Aunt May. Didn't matter that he screamed at his body, tried to move, anything to still fight, nothing listened, his body was stuck. He helplessly stood there, so tired, so angry, watching Morlun's hand reach for Peter's face.
No.
This can't be it.
May.
Then before Morlun could touch Peter, could take his life force, reality cracked, golden light and red webs erupted from the fracture of space and time. A psychic energy blasts Morlun away, too quick to catch, and as Morlun recovers swiftly, Peter's mind is behind as ethereal, glowing webs wrap around his torso and yank him towards the glowing void.
In that split second, Peter sees Morlun, reaching out, and distantly, Peter hears Morlun's old as time voice echo; "Run, little spider, run. Hiding is futile and I will find you." But Peter didn't care about that, not when reality was closing in on itself, frantic eye searching for the only thing that mattered.
"May—no!" Peter cried, outstretching his hand for a weak attempt of bringing her with him, but it was too late.
And as his consciousness drifted away, Peter heard another voice, cathedral like in his head, ancient but not cruel, echoing with heavy psychic weight, impossible to ignore.
"Peter... he cannot follow you where you are going. He tracks your totem, but that world has no threads for him to pull. Hide. Heal. You are beyond my sight now..."
Just like that, losing everything dear to him, Peter blacked out.