Peters thoughts and feelings. This chapter is basically expanding on the little 'death' scene at the end of the last chapter.

Is Peter alive or dead? You tell me.

A/N: Okay so the same thing still stands, I might do a little after events chapter! It all depends if I can start a new plot up and wrap it up. Send me in any ideas if you got some for me! (I will credit you if I use the idea~)

Dark. Cold. The only words coming to his mind, the only thing he remembers was pain. A whisper. Possibly a cry for help? Everything tingled. Pain struck through him. Physically and mentally. Yet he couldn't remember why. What is making him feel like this? Why? Who? Everything was black, shrouded in darkness. Everything gentle and bitter. The taste of his thoughts left a horrid taste.

Heavy breaths pounded against his chest, it was starting again. That memory. The only thing he could remember. His own name barely scraped against his dry mouth. Peter Parker, Spider-Man. That's who he was but the memory that flooded his brain made no sense. It was dark, cold, a gentle evening perhaps? He was on the ground, so the memory told him. Remembering the ground, it was rough and unkind against his body.

His head hurt the thought of what is happening. What happened? It replayed in his head. Was he alive or dead? He didn't know. Did he even want to know? That memory played over and over again as if it was the only thing he knew. The only thing he wanted to remember perhaps. A cold object pressed into him, a blade perhaps? It felt slim and sharp. Must be a blade. His eyes won't escape the darkness. Everything was pitch black as if he closed his eyes and never wanted to open them. Something cold trickled against his skin, making his sweaty suit stick to him even more. Blood?

Could he escape this memory? How many times has this played in his head? It hurt. Not physically anymore but mentally. Emotionally. For some reason the more this memory came to him the more and more it hurt him, as if a thousand needles were being punctured into his heart. The memory told him he was bleeding on the ground, a blade of some sort was inside him. He always thought that someone was with him there. It wasn't his attacker, the presence was...comforting.

Wanting to reach out, to something, to anything. Anyone. Can you hear me? The breaths grew heavier, more and more needy for oxygen as the seconds ticked by. Was he dying? What was happening? His mouth grew drier and drier as seconds went by. Reaching his fingers to anyone who can grab them but he couldn't move. Couldn't call.

Dark. Cold. Scared. Alone.

How long as it been? Please just let me die or live please if anyone is there grant my wish? He wanted to call that out. To be taken away from his pain. The torture. The memory flashed before him again, was he not in enough pain. Scared and alone. He was Spider-Man! If he ever got scared he wouldn't care because people who didn't have powers needed him. The others were more important.

Why?

Please...

He would cry if he could, escape the darkness. He remembers his face being wet; it wasn't raining at the moment. Tears? What was he crying about, was he sad for being stabbed? No matter how much he pushed himself to remember he couldn't make out the name, face, voice or any detail of the person who attacked him. His spidey senses didn't even go off. This people wasn't a threat? No they were a threat?

Babyboy.

That name, it rung in his ears. It had a familiar taste to it. It was gentle, warm, soothing. He couldn't call back to the person. Something warm, arms he believes wrapped themselves around him. Water stung against his face.

The memory came to an end, as it always did. Always leaving him to feeling empty inside; always leaving Peter wanting more.

Please just take me away from the pain.