I sat on the uncomfortable desk chair, typing away at the last paragraph of my History essay, the keys making furious clicks as I slammed on them. I just wanted to get this over with. My parents were off on a business trip for the week, and I had the house to myself. Normally I would have called Peter by now, but I had to finish the report or else I would be stuck with having to do it over break. Christmas break was officially the day after tomorrow, and I did not intend on spending my first week (home alone) on Christmas break doing homework. So I had gotten it all done today, except for this last stupid paragraph.

I shivered. It was cold in my room, but I didn't feel like getting up to turn the thermostat up. I figured after my homework was completed I would call Peter and ask, no, demand him to come over after he was finished with whatever Spidey business he was doing. I shivered again, though this time not from the cold, but from fear. Peter was out there, most likely fighting crime, in the 14 degree weather. Although he did seem to like the cold ... which was probably a side affect from his Spidey powers. Either way Peter would just turn the thermostat back down when he got here. So there was really no point. I blinked. Had I really just spent 5 minutes thinking about how Peter liked the cold?

Shaking my head, I turned back to my computer, clicking away. A couple minutes later, there were 3 loud bangs at the window, that sounded like they had came from Peter's head. I rolled my eyes, then gestured for Peter to come in. Without taking my eyes of computer, I began to scold him for coming in from the window, and not from the door like a normal person. Which was ironic, because he wasn't a normal person. No, Peter was just a very cute guy who happened to both be my boyfriend, and the city's spider-vigilante, though I didn't say that outloud.

Now finished with my History essay, I saved the document and closed the computer window. Turning around in my desk chair, I grinned, expecting to find Peter standing there, smiling back at me, ready to spend the week together like we had discussed. (after the last day of school of course) Instead I was met with no one. I blinked, standing up and walking to the window, dread beginning to boil in my stomach, hoping this was just one of Peter's stupid jokes. Peter was crowched by the window, still in the other side of the glass. I couldn't see much of his face in the dark, but I could see his spandex suit, muscles showing. He had his mask off and a blue backpack on, leaning against the window. I frowned. Had I locked it? I don't remember doing so. I had always made sure to keep it unlocked for Peter. So why wasn't he coming in? It was too cold for him to be outside...

I pushed open the window, blinking as a gust of freezing cold wind entered my room.

"Peter?" I asked. His soft, chocolate brown eyes turned to me, though they were clouded and distant, filled with pain. He gave a half-hearted smile.

"Hey." Peter whispered. Now that I could see his face, I realized it was blue with cold. I reached up, touching his forehead, and then shrinking back, alarmed at how cold he was. Scratch that, he felt like dry ice.

"Peter you're freezing! Come here." I murmured. I grabbed his arm, clearing the stuff off the table underneath the window on my side, and helping to pull him in. One he was in, I let go of his arm, closing the windows, drawing the windows, and turning the thermostat high up, hoping it would warm Peter up a little. I bit my lip, knowing that Peter could have died had he not come here. Turning back to Peter, my alarm grew. He was leaning against the wall for support, shaking violently, his eyes closed and his face scrunched up in pain, his breathing was harsh and forced. He was obviously in a great deal of pain. I rushed over to him.

"Peter, what happened?" I cried, gripping his shoulders, I slowly helped lower him to the floor. Taking in the rips in the chest of his suit, I gingerly reached up to take a look. He pressed himself into the wall, shrinking away from me.

"Gwen don't-" but was cut off when my fingers made contact with his skin. His body jerked backwards, and he slammed his head in the wall as he forcefully turned it away from me, crying out in pain. He brought one leg up, using it as a shield from his chest, while the other remained limp on the ground.

"You should see the other guy." Peter gasped. "The other guy... in this instance being a giant mutant lizard." He continued, groaning in pain. I shook my head at him, cupping his cute, innocent face with my hands. He was still freezing, and that startled me into action.

"Come on, we need to get you fixed up, I said, noticing the thick crimson liquid staining his suit and beginning to trickle down his chest. His leg was bleeding too, on the calf and thigh. Noticing me staring, he murmured, "Officer got a lucky shot...two lucky ones." His speech was beginning to slur. Probably from blood loss and from being out in the cold for so long..maybe shock? He had texted me before he left, at 5:00pm, and it was now 11:30pm. I rubbed his back soothingly.

"Come on, let's get you comfortable." I whispered.

I got my arm around his back, and helped him up. He screamed as his torso suddenly straightened, and the unexpected weight from his injured leg hitting the floor. I supported him, draping his arm around my shoulders, rubbing circles on his muscular shoulder with my thumb, letting him breathe through the pain as he leaned against me.

"Ready?" I murmured. He nodded, and I helped him walk, very slowly, to my bed. Using my free hand, I draped a towel over the bed, then gently lay Peter down on it. He winced, but otherwise stayed silent. I'm pretty sure he's exhausted, both from the pain and the fight he's obviously had. I grabbed another towel and lay it at the end of the bed under his legs, so that he doesn't get blood on my bed. I don't think I can explain why there is blood on my sheets to my parents, so it's best to avoid that conversation. I pick up his backpack and set it on my dresser table. I look back to Peter. One hand is pressing weakly on the bullet wound on his thigh, while the other is reaching for his calf. But he can't reach that wound. He tries to move his leg so that he can reach, so he can try and dull the pain, even if it's just a little, but moving his leg send spasms of pain throughout his body and his back arches in a silent scream, causing the pain from his chest wounds to intensify. Tears began to spill from his sad, chocolate brown eyes, and that's when I realize this is more serious than I thought.