So I had this crazy idea. And then I wrote it into this chapter. Let me know if you find it and if you like it! Thanks again for reading! Seriously, though...this chapter almost fell out of my head it went so fast. Hopefully it's quality!
Reviews are love.
"Stop trying. This is ridiculous."
There was a groan, a giggle, and a frustrated sigh.
"I know. Almost there. Ow! That's a bruise. That's a bruise."
"Your hair is in my mouth."
"Sorry."
"Can you get the door open?"
"It's locked..."
"I've got the key. Here...sometimes the lock jams."
"Why don't you try it. Since I don't live here..."
"Yeah. You good? I'm gonna let go of you..."
"Yeah, just get it open."
The kid on the bicycle in front of May and Ben's house shifted his weight to his left foot to keep his balance on his bike. The two teenagers in front of him looked like they had been on the losing team of World of Warcraft. They were helping each other, pathetically, to the door of the house, and were fumbling to get in now. The kid parted his lips, which were sticky with red juice like his fingers and the partially eaten lollipop in his hand.
"You guys need help?"
The two heads turned towards him.
"Ummm..." the guy with the epic hair. He looked at the blonde girl, who shrugged a little and turned to the kid.
"Yeah, that would be great."
"What'd you guys do, become real life video game avatars?"
"Basically." The guy nodded. "I'm Peter, this is Gwen. What's your name?"
The kid scratched his nose.
"David."
These people were probably going to kidnap him or something. Well, they could try. They weren't going to have the juice to hold him.
Peter sank onto the sofa and gently rubbed Gwen's shoulder.
"Thank goodness for that kid...we might never have gotten the door open." she commented to him.
"I could have done it...gotten the door open." he mumbled, his eyes closing.
"Pete...don't lie to yourself. Seriously."
"What?"
She leaned forward and grabbed his face gently in between her hands. "You can't lie to yourself. Peter. You're not strong enough; you can't keep chasing this thing. Not now."
"I have to. I can do it."
"When are you going to give up?"
"Never." he pushed her hands away.
"Then you're going to die."
"That's a gentle way to put it."
"I'm not kidding! Look me in the eye. Look me in the eye!"
He did.
"My dad wouldn't pull out when he was in over his head, and it got him skewered! He didn't die nicely, old in his bed, with all his grand kids around him. He died covered in blood on top of a freezing tower! And I wasn't there! It was just you! I don't want you to die like that! And you will; if you don't stop. If you don't give up."
"Your dad was a hero."
"Shut up!"
He did. She was already crying.
"Sorry."
"Yeah, I bet you are. If you die...I'm going to kill you."
She got up and climbed the stairs.
"Where are you going?"
"To bed."
"Where?"
"Your room. You can sleep on the couch."
"Okay."
The only natural thing to do, in Peter's mind, was to write her a note telling her how much he loved her, kiss it, slide it under the door, and head back out into the night. His head was down, his leg dragged behind him, but he was moving.
"Kid, you know that Dr. Connors isn't allowed any visitors. I can't make any exceptions." The guard was shaking his head. "What's your affiliation with him anyway?"
Peter wiped his nose. "Look, I have to see him. I'm his godson...I've got six weeks. I flew in all the way from Orlando, okay? He's all I've got family wise."
"What've you got?"
The man was softening a little.
"Leukemia."
"I'm sorry, son. But no visitors."
Fortunately for Peter, the pain meds in his stomach picked that moment to get upset with him, and he hurled a mess of blood and sick onto the floor in front of the guards desk.
"Please." he gasped. "I don't want any trouble."
"Kid..."
"Please."
"Ten minutes, k?"
"Thank you. Thank you so much."
"Yeah, yeah. Come on. No funny business, kid."
Peter wiped his hand across the back of his mouth and stepped into the door after the guard. He sat in a chair in front of a glass window and picked up a phone receiver, gingerly holding the grimy plastic against his face.
"Peter Parker, as I...wait. I don't live and breathe. I'm in JAIL!"
Peter forced him to keep staring the man in the face and not grimace. Before his eyes again, the doctor became a scaly monster, out to destroy the world.
"Breathe." he told himself.
The flashbacks were coming back hard and fast; being flung around the school by the muscular tail, feeling helpless as the bridge was attacked, and most vividly, holding the pierced body of Gwen's father as the life oozed out of him.
"What do you want, Parker?" Connors hissed. He surveyed Peter skeptically. "Don't you just look like a victim of hell."
There was no forked tongue anymore, but Peter could still see it in his minds eye.
"I want your formula."
"And why on earth would you want that?
"The regenerative qualities...if I dilute it enough, it'll heal me without the reptilian side effects. I need it."
Even as the words came out of his mouth, Peter felt petty and pathetic.
"I find it greatly amusing that you even entertained the idea that I would help you." The words rolled off the doctor's tongue like he was tasting each of the syllables.
"You help me, now!"
He was starting to wonder why he'd come.
"Even if I could help you, which I can't, because my laboratory was destroyed after my arrest, all of it is gone."
Peter leaned forward. "Don't you dare pretend that you can't remember. I wrote the last part of that formula for you. Give me the rest. You know I can figure it out."
Connors smiled as if he was about to tell a child that it couldn't have candy.
"No. I'm not going to give you anything!" the last word was screamed.
"Okay, that's enough. It's over in here."
The guard guided Peter out of the room.
"Do you need a ride home, son?"
"No. Thanks." Peter pulled his jacket closer around himself and ducked into the night. Again.
