When he was done, Peter lay down. He swung his feet over the edge of the building and (slowly, sleepily) lifted his (torn, tattered) arms up to the sky and above his head - except he couldn't quite manage it, so he let them fall by his side.
I'm going to die in the T-Pose, he thought, and laughed giddily. Or wanted to. He was, he supposed, a bit delirious. Understandable. His arms throbbed, an ache than ran screaming along every inch of his body, and he couldn't really see much. Or hear. Everything was muted and distant. Peaceful. He felt light, calm, as long as he didn't think too hard about the hot, slick, crimson starting to coat everything. Hard to believe he'd wanted this so badly. He still did, but now... dying, and dying like this, seemed a violent means to an end maybe no more peaceful.
Stupid of him not to think just how much dying would hurt, really.
Peter, dear, try not to make a mess. His mother's voice, one he wasn't even aware he remembered.
Sure, Mom. I'll try.
See you soon.
The thought made him smile as he curled onto his side and wrapped his arms across his stomach.
Ahhhhhh, sorry this chapter is so short, but I knew I had to go back to Peter once more before I start to answer questions and reveal what happens next – promise I won't keep you waiting much longer! As always, any feedback is more than welcome, I'd love to know what you guys think:)