Sorry about the problems with the last chapter, and thanks to everyone who let me know there was a problem. Hopefully this one's fine.

This chapter does have a little bit of Doctor Strange, but don't worry, there are no spoilers for Infinity War.

It had been about a year and a half since I first started going out at night as Spiderman. During that time I had gotten beaten up pretty badly, but never anything more serious than bruises or a few small cuts. That is, until today.

I honestly did not mean to get shot. I didn't even want to have anything to do with the guys who shot me, but they were robbing a bank and that's something I can never ignore.

"Hey guys," I said cheerfully as I hung from the ceiling. They looked up in surprise and shock, not having heard me come in. Of course they immediately started shooting at me, like every single robber I'd stopped before them. Seriously, what was up with that?

"Ooh, that's not very nice," I admonished them sarcastically. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you guys didn't want me here." I used my webs to pull a gun out of one of the guy's hands, then swung it back to hit his face and knock him over. While this was happening, one of his buddies snuck up behind me and tried to hit me on the head with a baseball bat. I dodged and ripped it out of his hands, pulling him down and webbing his arms to the floor.

"That really hurt my feelings," I told him in a fake sad voice. "I thought we were just starting to get along."

"Go to hell Spider!" One of the robbers yelled and took a shot at me from behind a desk. I dodged easily.

"Dude, not cool bro." I webbed the gun up before he could shoot again, then flipped over the desk and knocked him out before surveying my work. Three robbers lay unconscious on the floor, each one partially covered in some of my webbing. I smiled in satisfaction; stopping robberies felt really good, especially since what happened to Uncle Ben. Scanning the room one last time, I turned to leave.

My spidey sense suddenly kicked in full force and dragged me into a crouching position to avoid the three bullets fired in quick succession which would have definitely blown my brains out. I spun on my right foot, still crouching, to see a fourth, previously unobserved robber shooting at me from just outside the bank vault. I looked around the room to formulate my plan of attack.

"I wouldn't try to run if were you, Spiderman," a gruff voice rang out.

"Oh yeah?" I shouted back, stealthily making my way behind the desks to get closer to him without him seeing me. "And why's that?"

"I wanna meet you," he said with feigned politeness. "I wanna say thank you on behalf of all the citizens of New York for being there to protect people who couldn't protect themselves."

I had managed to move across the room by this point, and popped my head up a few feet away from him.

"You're welcome," I said cheekily. He turned in surprise to look at me, but to my surprise, he didn't try to kill me. He didn't even raise his gun.

"For protecting them," he repeated. I tilted my head, somewhat confused.

"Yep, you said that already."

"Those you could save."

"Yep."

"But you can't save them all. When you're not around, some people end up getting hurt. Some of them die."

I remained silent, completely bewildered on how to respond to that.

"New York has come to depend on you to fight for each citizen, to be there to protect everyone. But you don't always do that. Sometimes people are left in terrible situations, facing certain death, believing that you're gonna come swooping in to save the day. And you do, except when you don't."

I was unsure where this was going.

The robber continued. "I had a daughter," he said, his previously stoic voice softening a bit with every word. "She was twenty-two years old. Smart, kind, beautiful. She had a good job, parents who loved her, good friends, a fiance. But one day when she was coming home from work, some creep ambushes her."

My heart sank as I saw where this was going. I wanted to make him stop speaking. I opened my mouth to say something, but no sound came out.

"He hurt her, raped her and killed her. My daughter, my precious daughter…" his voice broke, and thought he was going to dissolve into tears. He wavered, standing unsteadily on his feet. But then his voice hardened again, and a fierce new fire burned in his eyes.

"My daughter was murdered that night. And where was Spiderman? Three blocks away, stopping a couple of amateur thieves from robbing a pawn shop!" He spat the last words out with bitter contempt. "You could have saved my little girl's life that night, and instead you were busy protecting a shop full of ancient objects that no one cared about."

"I…I am so sorry," I whispered sincerely. My heart ached for this man, and for his daughter which I could have saved.

"'Sorry' doesn't fix it, Spiderman. You being sorry doesn't bring my baby back. And now you're going to pay for that."

He raised his gun and got off several shots before I could react. I brought my hands up and sprayed webbing into his eyes, temporarily blinding him and forcing him to drop the gun, then I webbed his arms to the wall behind him. He head snapped back and hit the wall at the same time, knocking him out cold.

"I'm really sorry," I whispered.

A burning sensation in my stomach made me look down, and I realized that I hadn't been fast enough. There were four bullet holes in my suit, and blood oozing out of each one. Oops.

Pointing my wrists at my stomach, I tried to use my webs as bandages to seal the wounds, at least for the time being. It worked, but I knew it wouldn't last long. Swinging across Queens all the way back to my apartment was a nightmare. Every second I was swinging between buildings, I was sure the webs were going to burst and I would fall and bleed to death in some dark alley, by myself.

Luckily I managed to make it back in one piece, but the bullet wounds hurt so much, I could barely walk. I changed into normal clothes on the roof, stumbled and dragged myself down to my apartment, and sagged wearily against the wall outside. I was breathing heavily by this point, and sweating profusely from the pain and exertion. It hurt so much, I wanted to lie down and go to sleep, or scream until someone came to help me. But I couldn't do either; not yet.

I steeled myself, wiped the sweat off my forehead, put on my bravest face, and slowly opened the door to my apartment.

"Aunt May?" I called cautiously. There was no response, and all the lights were off. Right, I smacked my forehead as I remembered what May had told me before I left for school this morning. She had to cover for a coworker at the grocery store tonight, so she wouldn't be home until about eight tomorrow morning. I looked at the clock. It was only just after two thirty. She wouldn't be back for almost six hours.

"At least I don't have school tomorrow," I said to myself. I closed the front door and collapsed on the couch in the living room. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and forget about my wounds, but also the life of that robber's daughter, who I didn't save. I wanted to forget them all, all the people who were counting on me to rescue them who I let down. I closed my eyes and let the tears slide down my cheeks as I wondered how many people were in danger at this very moment, and how many were going to die because I was too lazy to go save them.

"No, I'm not lazy!" I tried to convince myself. "I do the best I can. Besides, if I don't take care of myself now, I won't be able to save people later."

I desperately wanted to believe that, but part of me couldn't.

A jolt of pain shot through me again, and I realized that my bullet wounds were still untreated. Logically, I knew that I should go to a doctor. But they would need to know how I got shot, and I couldn't risk them finding out that I was Spiderman. My mind turned to Mr. Stark, but I waved that idea away, knowing that he would be so disappointed in me for not being able to take down a simple bank robber. There was no one else, I realized in despair.

I clumsily fished my phone out of my pocket, cursing when my hands, covered in blood from applying pressure to my wounds, got blood all over the screen. Oh well, I could clean it.

I scrolled through my contacts, searching for someone, anyone who I could ask for help. I was about to give up hope when the last name on the list caught my eye; Doctor Stephen Strange. I'd only met the man once, but he had seemed to like me well enough, and he was a doctor, so…it couldn't hurt to ask, right…?

It was getting harder to breathe, and the room was spinning around me. I could feel the couch becoming warm and wet from my blood (May was going to kill me for ruining her couch), and I knew I didn't have much time before I would lose consciousness and probably never wake up again, so I made a decision. I made the call.

Doctor Strange picked up on the fifth ring.

"Hello?" he groaned. He sounded tired, like he'd just woken up. Oops, I'd forgotten it was the middle of the night.

"Hi, Mister..I-I mean, Doctor Strange, sir," I stammered.

"Who the hell is this and why are you calling me in the middle of the night?" He snapped.

"Right, yeah, sorry about that, I-I didn't realize-" I tried to apologize.

"Just get to the point!"

"Yeah, sorry." I took a deep breath to steady myself, but it turned out to be a bad idea as it put more pressure on my injuries. Spots swam before my eyes, and I gasped a little in pain.

"Hello? Are you okay? Who is this?" Doctor Strange asked. He sounded less grouchy now, and more concerned. Right, doctor.

"Doctor Strange, you probably don't remember me," I said from between clenched teeth, trying to stop myself from crying out. "My name is Peter Parker, we met once at one of Mr. Stark's parties."

There was a brief pause, during which I assume he was trying to either remember me or find the right words to describe how he felt at being woken up at 2:30 in the morning. Or both.

Not both. It was the first one.

"Parker, yes, I remember you," he said at last. "Spiderman, right?"

More blood was seeping out now, and the blanket I had grabbed to stop the bleeding was dyed red and completely useless. Was it just me or was it also getting really hot in there and really hard to breathe?

"You're a medical doctor, right?" I gasped, then continued before he could answer. "I need your help, please, I need you to help me right now."

"What's the matter?"

"I've been shot."