Disclaimer: A pirate walks into a bar and says "Ouch."

Finally finished this little crap. I swear, I changed this chapter like 4 bazillion times before I was finally satisfied with it. Thank The Lord, because I'm most excited to write the chapter that comes after, muhahaha. You'll see what I mean. The end is cute I think. Hope you likey :)

Chapter 15

The dream came once again. Yet somehow, this was different. Unsettlingly different, and chillingly lucid.

He was curled up in his bed, swaddled in the covers, when something cold touched his foot. He didn't think much of it—he was too exhausted to even care—until it began to spread around his heel, along his ankle, up his leg. The coldness was expanding over him like he was sinking into quicksand. Yet he couldn't bring himself to move, to react, as if he was sleeping in his dream but still cognizant of what was happening around him. It was to his shoulders now, crawling up his neck and snaking down his arms. It was stretched over his entire body. But to his surprise, it wasn't necessarily constricting or uncomfortable. Rather, the sensation felt almost natural, soothing, like this something meant by design to be. The envelope was growing warm, as if it was matching its body temperature with his own. It was spreading across his face, over his mouth and around his head. It was seeping into his bloodstream through his wounds. It wasn't until the blackness began invading his eyes that his mind finally snapped into panic mode, and a slippery voice whispered in his ear.

At long last, I've found you. We are together once again. We are one, Peter Parker. We are one...

"Pete?"

Peter jolted awake, gripping tightly to his pillow. Sweat slipped down his bare back and bled into the silky sheets; cold air flowed into his lungs. With caution, he pushed himself upright and lifted his head, gaze wandering about before falling on a figure standing halfway through the entrance. Peter was surprised to discover it was Clint Barton, who offered him a small wave.

"Hey," he said, leaning casually off the door. "I thought I heard you coming around. You alright?"

Peter's breathing slowed, and he forced the anxiety from his voice. "Y-yeah. Sure." Then he blinked. "But—wait—what're you doing here?"

"Well, after sorting out the crap going down in California, Fury called us up, told us what was happening back in New York. How you were fighting a huge group of enhanced foes who were attacking the city all on your own. Watching it all go down on the flight over, we thought for sure you were dead. Glad to discover after a whole day of searching that we were wrong."

He glanced at the clock beside his bed. 12:24 p.m.. They must've been looking for him yesterday, while he was with Matthew and Claire. He decided it was best to keep their involvement to himself.

"Okay, got it, but why are you in my house?"

Before Clint could respond, the door creaked open a little more, and a red-headed assassin peeked into the room.

"Hey, how's he doing?" Natasha asked, her eyes brightening once they fell upon his startled face. "Aw, there you are. See, he doesn't look so bad. You holding up okay?"

Peter gawked. "You too? How many of you are here?"

Hawkeye chuckled. "You asked, Spidey." Then he turned outside the door and cupped a hand around his mouth. "Hey guys, c'mere. Pete's awake."

Peter sat stunned as moments later, Thor, Bruce, and Steve came fumbling up the stairs and poured into his room. Upon seeing him, each hinted relieved smiles, despite the fact that they all appeared exhausted and were plastered head to toe with injuries of their own. The five of them crowded around his small bed, and for some reason Peter couldn't keep himself from laughing quietly.

"What the hell, guys? What are you all doing here? This isn't a 93-story tower fit to house a small continent; this is an apartment for two peasants living off less than $30,000 a year."

"Gwen gave us a call last night," Steve explained lightheartedly. "She told us how some man in a black mask stopped by the house and dropped you off. After thinking you were dead for a solid twenty-four hours, we wanted to come over and be sure you were alright." He narrowed his brow a bit, looking him up and down. "Watching the news and hearing the way she described your injuries, I expected you to be in way worse shape than you are. But I guess that's a pleasant surprise—glad to see you're okay."

No matter the friction within the team caused by the latest series of unfortunate events, Peter couldn't deny how nice it was to see them all again. They were his second family, the whole muttley lot of them, and though he still had some major bones to pick with certain individuals, he was fine for the moment with simply appreciating their reunion. However, after taking a quick survey of his tiny room, a part of him was wincing on account of all the dirty clothes and stray papers strewn across the floor, and he felt his face begin to burn concerning the dorky posters of Einstein and Darwin and Led Zeppelin pasted messily over the walls. He noticed Thor thumbing through his gallery of Gwen pictures that hung just beside the door, and he scratched at his flushed neck nervously.

"Y-yeah, heh. Fit as a fiddle."

Bruce looked as though he was about to ask something, when the door behind him jarred open violently. In scrambled Gwen and Aunt May, followed less enthusiastically by a listless-looking Tony Stark, who hung back in the doorway. The pair pushed through the crowds and ran right up to him, both appearing extremely ill-rested but surprisingly energetic. Revitalized by their much-missed presence, Peter reached out to take Gwen's hand in his, but her fingers instead immediately clasped his face.

"Oh my gosh," she gaped, turning his head every which way like she was looking for blemishes on a piece of fruit. "You're—you're so much better! How is this possible?"

"Uh...nice to see you too, Gwen," he chuckled, curling his hands around her wrists. She turned back towards Aunt May.

"Look at him! Look how much better he is!"

May marched up to him and grabbed on to his arm, scanning over his flesh perplexedly. "Goodness me!" she cried, gently dabbing at the skin as though it were fake. "Why, you look good as new!"

Peter sat boiling with embarrassment as the two women checked over his body restlessly. "Um, okay. Yeah. Thanks guys. You're too kind, really."

Gwen shook her head in disbelief. "This doesn't...make any sense. You don't understand, Peter. You were mutilated when that man dropped you off here. You—you had burns all over your back, your blood pressure was unbelievably low, a rib was poking out of your side, and there were bruises and gashes and stab wounds everywhere, and—and—" Her fingers gently traced down the sides of his face, and her eyes were wide and scared. "I don't understand. I don't understand any of it. Who were those men? Why were they trying to kill you? Where did they take you? What did they do to you? Where were you all day yesterday? How did you escape? And that man—that man in the mask, who was he, and how did he—"

Peter wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. She seemed startled by the action, her hands hanging loosely against the bed for a moment while he held her close. He had missed her so much. Through all the agony and humiliation he'd suffered, the longing to see her again, to feel her warmth and hear her soft voice—it was one of the fleeting things he'd clung on to at his lowest points. He realized how foreign affection was to him at this point. He was so used to every touch being hostile that when she finally curled her arms around his shoulders, he flinched. The comforting gentleness seemed alien.

"I'm sorry," he told her. "I'm sorry for worrying you. I was an idiot." He kissed her on the cheek and pulled away, injecting his voice with comedic jubilance as he clung to her hands. "But hey, look, I'm okay. I'm home and stuff, so there's nothing to stress about. Everything's fine now."

Gwen scowled. "No, everything's not 'fine now'. You can't expect us to just write off everything that's happened like some little misadventure. You owe us an explanation—all of us."

Immediately Peter grimaced. He didn't realize until now how much there was to tell, and how much of it would likely terrify the crap out of his family. He didn't want to lie to them, but he really didn't want to map out every gruesome detail of his skirmish with the Sinister Six, his play date with The Kingpin, and his appointment with Matty and the doctor. His aunt's sunken eyes gazed at him desperately. He had to let them know all that was happening—the true enemy they all faced, the war brewing in the shadows. But that didn't mean he had to tell them all at once.

"I'll explain everything," he assured her, "but...not to all of you. Not yet. Let me talk to Stark and Cap first."

Aunt May grabbed his hand quickly. "No Peter, please. You can tell us. Whatever happened, you can—"

"No," he insisted. "I can't. I'm sorry, Aunt May, but I can't." He turned to Gwen. "Please. Just trust me on this."

The pair of them looked hurt, although Gwen's eyes shone with a keener sense of understanding. Her hand ran down his neck until it fell on his shoulder, then she sighed despondently.

"Alright. We'll wait downstairs. Come on, Aunt May."

Gwen took his aunt's hand and pulled her away from the bed. Her grip on Peter's wrist broke, yet here tearful eyes remained fixated on her nephew's face. With a shaky breath, she allowed herself to be dragged out the door, the others following hesitantly behind, until only he, Tony, and Steve were left in the room. Stark appeared vaguely surprised and somewhat uneasy, with his hands shoved in his pockets and his back against the wall. Steve shut the door and stood rigidly in front of him.

"So, uh, what did you want to—"

"First of all, Tony Stark; you sir, are an asshat. Also, Foggy says hi."

Tony blinked, then stifled a chuckle. "Uh, okay then. What the hell does that have to do with—?"

"The Sinister Six—aka, those six whack jobs that attacked the city while you guys were off fighting the 'too big and bad for Spidey' Hydra in California? Newsflash, sonny: They. Are. Hydra."

"They're...wait, how—?"

"And they're boss, whom I had the incredible of honor of speaking with for a whole night while strung up like that lady from Fifty Shades of Ew as he and his maniac sidekick electrocuted me and punched me and kicked me and stabbed me a whole bunch? Yeah, he's the damn ringleader of Hydra's entire operation. You're welcome for finding him."

"Whoa, whoa, slow down," Cap said, holdings out his hands. "Back up, kid. What are you talking about? Sinister Six, Hydra? Tell it from the beginning."

Peter huffed exasperatedly. "Alright, if you insist. Here it goes: On a chilly winter evening, I was born. Six pounds, seven ounces of promise and potential—"

"Peter," Steve grumbled. "Seriously. This is important."

"And my life story isn't? Harsh, Captain Rogers."

"I get it, alright?" Tony finally murmured. Peter turned to glare at him. "You're pissed that I told you you weren't ready to fight Hydra, when really you've been fighting Hydra this whole time while we've been gone." He pushed off the wall with a sigh. "I'm sorry you're all butthurt. My mistake, okay? But if what you're suggesting is true, we need to get down to business. These men who've been targeting you are Hydra? That's some very unsettling crap."

"Oh, Tony. You always know exactly what to say to make me want to pop your little melon head right off your shoulders. It's truly a gift."

Stark rolled his eyes. "Look, what do you want from me? I did what I thought was right. I was trying to protect you. How was I supposed to know that all those random guys you were fighting on the street were linked with Hydra?"

"See, that's the thing: I don't want anything from you. I just really want to savor this moment: Tony Stark realizes that he can actually be wrong! Who would've ever thunk it? Somebody ring up Glencoe, 'cause this is one for the history books!"

"Peter, just stop," Steve snapped. "Everyone's got baggage at this point, including you. Speaking of, I've been meaning to ask: how has your freaky nightmare problem been progressing? Surely you got it all sorted out while we were gone, right?"

Peter couldn't deny how much that stung to hear, although he did his best to not let it show. Nothing had changed since he'd sparred with Cap the other night—if anything, the visions had gotten worse since then. Although, he recalled, he couldn't remember having any during his last power-nap. From the puzzled look Stark procured, it was clear he had no idea what he was talking about. Steve must've kept his secret to himself until now. Peter hung his head dismally in response. The star-spangled soldier stood in front of Spider-Man with his arms crossed.

"It doesn't matter at this point who's right and who's wrong about whatever. Who cares? The fact is, something really bad is going on in the shadows around here that we don't know about that's endangering people's lives. There are people getting hurt, dying from what I've picked up from the news. And from what I can tell, you're no exception."

Hands in his lap, Peter glanced at Cap skeptically. "What do you mean?"

"Something happened to you. Something serious. Don't ask how I know—I can just tell. So enough with all this bickering. It's time for us to regather ourselves so we can start fighting the real war, together. And that starts with you, Peter." His gaze was cold and steady. "Tell us. All of it."

Unsettled beneath Captain America's drilling stare, Spider-Man swallowed raggedly. No chance of getting out of this, he thought defeatedly. Guess I'd better just get it over with. His eyes switched between the two men standing in front of him as though they were his nagging parents, although the thought of that was so freaking weird that he instantly forced it from his mind. They were his friends, more like, his comrades, and they had to know everything that was going on so they could all start working towards ending Hydra. Because if it wasn't clear from the unspeakable ass-kicking he'd just been dealt, Spider-Man could not handle this threat alone. He needed their help. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he leaned back against the wall, kneading the bed sheets in between his fingers.

"Alright, I'll spill. You might wanna sit down, though. This could take awhile."

He told them everything. It was startling how much there was to tell. Cap already knew about the crippling nightmares/visions, about Wanda, who as far as he knew still wanted the Avengers dead, about Black Cat and the network of criminals, prison guards, and policemen all working in cahoots, as well as the group of advanced freaks who had been sent out into the city by the Big Man over the last week looking to fight him. The new, juicy deets included the assembly of all six hooligans into the group labelled the Sinister Six, and how they all had whooped the crap out of him until he was on the verge of death. He explained how they were seconds from killing him when a voice had spoken out of nowhere, stopped them. The real mastermind behind all of this.

"The Kingpin?" Tony repeated curiously, resting his chin in his palm with his brow furrowed. Peter nodded.

"That's his most famous alias. His real name is Wilson Fisk. The Big Man, aka some albino dude named Lincoln, was just his lapdog, a decoy. After I woke up in some super creepy warehouse all chained up and barely breathing, Lincoln started beating me to a pulp until Fisk showed up and killed him out of nowhere. Still not exactly sure why, but whatever. Lincoln apparently orchestrated the whole Project Chimera thing from the winter, and after that failed, Hydra replaced him with Fisk. He's some shadowy crime lord who seems to have a hand in everyone's cookie jar. Anyway, considering how I was sorta the one who ruined their original plans, they had a bit of grudge against their friendly neighborhood Spidey, which they were very quick in making quite clear."

Cap stared at the floor frustratedly. "Geez. This is all so complicated. How has Hydra grown so rapidly since we obliterated their initial body?"

Tony simply shook his head in response. Then he eyed Peter apprehensively. "What happened after he killed the guy? What'd he do with you?"

Peter stared down at the crumpled linens. "He had some kind of shocking thingy tapped into my restraints that he'd activate whenever I cracked some wiseass remark. Which, knowing me, was a lot." He couldn't help but chuckle a little in spite of himself, but his expression quickly switched back to a troubled frown. "Then he brought out Wanda, all gagged and bound up. She looked like she'd been tortured. He tried to make her tell him who I was, but she wouldn't, so they dragged her away. Some time during all that he stuck a knife in my shoulder and was being all creepy-cryptic or whatever. He started talking about using me...to kill all of you."

Tony scratched his head. "Kill us? You? What, like mind-controlling you or something?"

Uneasiness swelling heavier and heavier inside him, Peter buried his hands into the mattress. The terrible fear was consuming him again. It was burning in his blood, gnawing at his stomach. But he had to face it, he had to tell them. It was the only way he could stop it. Beads of sweat were gathering along his forehead, and he swallowed the lump forming in his throat painfully. "No. Well, I'm not all that sure. But...he said he'd found something that would either kill me, or turn me into a monster. As he said it: 'This is how you're going to help me destroy all that oppose us before ultimately destroying yourself, and everything and everyone you care about.'"

Faces skewed with confusion, Cap and Stark exchanged a look of puzzled worry. As Steve rubbed at the bandage plastered over his side distractedly, Tony turned back to face Peter. "Well, what the hell was it, then? What was he talking about?"

"It...it was...uh..." A shiver coursed through him. "I—I don't really know...what to call it."

"Kid, are you okay?" Cap asked with sudden concern. "You're looking kinda pale."

Fighting the terror pooling inside him, Peter released a shivery breath. "It was creature. A living thing. It looked like a puddle of mud, but...it could move on its own. It was some kind of...black monster."

Peter waited to hear what they would say. Tony narrowed his eyes, pondering his unsettling words. He didn't respond initially. Steve, on the other hand, looked incredibly troubled, and his arms fell to his sides.

"Peter, wasn't that one of the things you said was showing up in your nightmares? I remember you calling it that before—a 'black monster'."

Spider-Man glanced up quickly. "Uh...yeah. Right. I forgot I told you that." He dropped his gaze. "Fisk was going to like, feed me to it or something. But then the whole place erupted into flames, so he never got the chance to."

Tony snorted. "This is the most farfetched thing I've ever heard. And I've fought an alien army. After that, did a magical fairy princess fly down and rescue you from burning to death?"

"Uh, no. A ninja, actually."

"Oh, right. Duh."

Cap cut into their banter with steely seriousness. "Look, I hate to be the one to bring this up, but are you sure that this black monster or whatever was actually, you know, real?"

Peter stared at him confusedly. "What? Of course it was. I—I know it was."

Face solemn, Steve slowly shook his head. "I'm not so sure, kid."

"What, you think I'm making this up for shiggles?" Peter snapped offendedly. "I know what I saw. It was right in front of me, literally inches away."

"I know what you think you saw and experienced. But your mind has been having trouble distinguishing between reality and not. You might've just been seeing things, hearing things, all trips of your imagination brought to life through these weird daymares you've been having."

It dawned on him what he was suggesting. "You think I just dreamt this whole freakish experience up in my head? That's—that's crazy, Cap! You really think nothing I've said is true? None of it at all?"

"No, no. For the most part, I trust what you've said to be true—Hydra, Sinister Six, the witch lady, Fisk—although we clearly need to investigate further. What I'm not convinced about is this 'black monster'. You said so yourself you've been seeing it on a regular basis, but that it isn't real. It's whatever this mind-sickness you're dealing with causing you to think you're seeing it, just like you thought you saw me being killed the other day, remember?"

An ill sensation suddenly came over him. They didn't believe him, he realized. They thought he speaking nonsense, craziness, like before. They thought he had lost his mind and was seeing monsters like some scared little kid. At least, Captain America did. Peter slowly shook his head.

"N-no. Really. This was different. This wasn't in my head. I know this was real. Fisk talked about it, pulled it from under his coat, described exactly what I was seeing. It wasn't something I just dreamt up. It couldn't have been." He felt as though he was trying to convince himself. For a terrifying moment, he wondered: was Steve right? Could he really have imagined that whole episode? He turned to Tony, growing desperate. "I'm not making this up. Please. You've got to believe me."

Stark ran his fingers along his crisply-cut goatee, sighing quietly. "Look, I've only got a vague idea of what's going on here. Nightmares, visions? Black mud monsters? It's a lot to process." He crossed his arms adamantly. "But honestly, it's whatever. All I care about at this point is finding this Wilson Fisk dude and popping a cap up his ass. Hydra is concern numero uno right now. If this thing you're talking about turns out to be real, we'll deal with it later. Alrighty?"

Cap nodded in agreement, but Peter was boiling with frustration. "No! Not 'alrighty'! Do you not understand what I'm saying here? Fisk has some sort of organic weapon! He wants to turn me against you guys! He's got to be stopped!"

"And he will be," Steve insisted impatiently. "Once we find him and undermine his whole monopoly, this'll all be over with. Don't worry about it."

Without another word, the two Avengers began making their way towards the door. Tony grabbed the handle and swung it open, making Peter start in disbelief.

"Hey! Where are you going? We haven't sorted this out yet!"

"We're going to give everyone else a synopsis of what you've told us. We need to tell Fury everything we know. Then we're going after Fisk and Hydra."

Peter kicked the covers off himself. "Uh, alright. Fine. But I'm coming with you. Wanda, my friend, she's still Fisk's prisoner, so I've got to be—"

"No," Cap interjected coldly, "you're not coming. You're going to stay here until you figure out this problem of yours."

"W-what?" he exclaimed. "Like hell I am! I'm perfectly fine, Cap! Look—I'm healed, I'm healthy, and I'm ready to fight! You said so before that no one has a right to tell me what I can and can't do, so that includes you and your star-spangled—"

"I can't trust you, Peter," he told him bitterly. Spider-Man stopped with his feet halfway off the bed, stunned silent in an instant. Captain America was facing away from him with the battle-scarred shield stuck to his back reflecting the fading light that trickled through the window. His figure was broad and rigid, and he looked at him over his shoulder. His eyes smoldered ferociously. "You're seeing things that aren't there. You're freaking out over something that isn't even real. Right now, your mission is getting yourself better. We will take care of this. I know it's not your fault, and I know you're just as confused about it as I am, but it doesn't matter. Letting you out with the others while you're so unstable could end up getting someone killed. That's not something I'm about to risk. I'm sorry."

Without another word, Steve Rogers shouldered past Tony and marched out of the room. Stark watched him go a little bewilderedly, listening to him stomp all the way down the stairs before turning back to the shocked teen, who gaped hollowly at the door. Tony rubbed at his temple and puffed out his cheeks.

"Look, he's right, Spidey. I don't know what exactly is going on with you, but if Spangles is thinking you're not up for all this, then you're not. Why would you want to save a lady who just wants to kill all of us anyway? Seems a little counterintuitive. How 'bout you just chillax for a little while, hang with your family, drink some tea or something, then head over to the tower and have Jarvis give you the one-over. Maybe you're just uber-stressed out or have awkward anxiety issues like me. Jarvis will know what's up. But, uh, that's—that's really all I got for yah. I guess...get well soon, kid."

Offering him an uncomfortable little salute, Tony stepped out of the room and quickly pulled the door shut behind him. Peter didn't look up to watch him leave. He was left sitting alone on his bed, shaken. His eyes were locked desolately on the floor. I...can't be trusted? he thought in astonishment. Somehow, hearing those words come from Captain America's mouth was worse than anything else anyone had ever said to him. But I...I wasn't lying. I'm not lying. That black creature, it—it was there. I know it was. It couldn't have been just another hallucination, could it...?

A cold stone formed in his stomach as the realization struck him. If everyone thought he was just losing his mind and seeing things like some paranoid lunatic, then how could he possibly trust himself? How he could be sure that anything he had seen or was seeing wasn't just some phantom dreamt up by his jacked imagination? The idea of that being true was terrifying. If he couldn't trust his own two eyes, what could he trust?

Fearing he might drive himself even more crazy with such thoughts, he forced them from his mind. Peter slowed down his breathing and steadied his raging heartbeat. No, he thought with sudden resoluteness. No, that's not true. They're wrong, not me. I know what happened was real. I know all of it wasn't just my imagination. He planted his feet firmly against the floor. But...even if the freaky black thing was somehow one of my hallucinations, I know one thing that wasn't: Wanda.

Wanda had protected he and his family from being torn apart by Hydra and Fisk. That was a debt he could never repay. But his secret was still at risk while she was still Fisk's prisoner, and what better way to thank her for saving his life than by returning the favor? That was something he could be sure about. Screw Tony and Cap and all the rest of them. If they wanted to apprehend Fisk and end Hydra without Peter Parker, hooray for them. Spider-Man had his own mission to complete.

Peter gingerly stood off his bed, and was instantly surprised by how absent of pain the movement was. In fact, it hadn't dawned on him until now just how much better he was feeling since yesterday. All of the unbearable agony had vanished like it'd never been there in the first place. He stared down at his hands, which were free of the many cuts and scars they'd recently possessed. Puzzled, his gaze fell to his body, and he was shocked to discover that all of the jagged gashes, purpling bruises, excruciating burns, and bloody wounds were gone. There was hardly a scratch left in memoriam of his valiant battle and intense torture session. The slice across his belly was nothing but a small white line, and all of his stitches had been taken out. He jabbed at his ribcage and found that no pain followed; all of his broken ribs were healed. In that moment, it suddenly came to his attention that he was standing. Stupefied, he glanced down to his right leg, which was supposed to have a bullet lodged inside it and be shattered to bits. He beat it against the floor, swung it out in front of himself, and gave his dresser a solid kick. Nothing. The bone was completely healed. It didn't even feel like the bullet was there anymore.

No wonder Gwen and Aunt May had been so stunned by his appearance. Peter was at a loss for words. How could I have recovered so quickly? he wondered, running his fingers along his shoulder. Even with my advanced healing factor, I've never made this big of a turnaround this fast. He stared down at his palms again, the skin looking oddly soft and radiant. This is...weird. Good weird, but weird.

Well, whatever was going on, he was grateful for it. Finding where Wanda was being kept and busting her out would be much easier without crippling injuries holding him back. A part of him knew this was stupid, that perhaps the two hardened Avengers were right and he should focus on fixing his mental tick instead of going out looking for more trouble, but he had an excuse to bank off of. Wanda was likely the cause of all of this nighmarey-hallucination mess, so he was willing to bet that she could get rid of it, if he asked politely. Since facing Fisk had been a bust, this was the only other way he could think of solving his predicament. The mere prospect of this issue finally being resolved was too great an incentive to pass up, and encouraged him all the more that this was something he had to do, as soon as possible.

Peter strode into his closet and grabbed the extra suit he had stashed in the back. It was old—fading colors, a few snags here and there, one that he'd made himself without the help of Tony's sewing skills and money—but it would do. He slipped it on quickly, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders beneath the form-fitting material, then walked over to the window. The world outside, growing darker by the second, was ominous, beckoning.

Then he heard his bedroom door creak open. Startled, he whipped around, and found himself staring at the somber face of his girlfriend standing in the doorway. Her hand was gripping her arm, and her eyes were heavy with pain. Jarred by her appearance, Peter stepped towards her.

"Gwen? What're you—I thought you were—?"

"You're leaving again."

Peter winced at her words. Gwen gazed at the floor, rubbing absentmindedly at her elbow.

"I...I have to. There's someone who needs my help. The man who tortured me—he still has her. I've got to rescue her before it's too late."

"And then?" she said, her voice breaking a little. "What if he captures you again? What if he hurts you more, and this time doesn't stop? What do I do when you don't come back?"

Peter's heart felt as though it was shriveling inside his chest. The pair of piercing green eyes staring back at him glistened with fear. Exhaling softly, Peter walked up to her and gathered her in his arms.

"That won't happen, Gwen. I won't let it. I'll come back. I always come back. You should know that by now. I've got more lives than an animated cat."

"Is it true, what they're saying?" she whispered, hands lying delicately around his waist. "That there's...something wrong with you? That you're having night terrors? You're seeing images of people dying and monsters while you're awake?"

Peter couldn't suppress the shudder that rippled through him. Part of it was caused by how awful it was to hear such raw fear in his girlfriend's voice, and part of it was out of anger at Steve for telling her what was happening with him. But there was no avoiding it now.

"Y-yeah. Sorta. I'm not really sure what's going on." He rubbed at her back comfortingly. "But it's alright. I'll figure it out. It's nothing your amazing spider-boyfriend can't handle."

She buried her face into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around his torso. "Why can't you stay? Just for one night? Then you can go be a hero in the morning. That's all I want."

Peter sighed miserably. "I can't wait that long. She could be dying as we speak. I...I've got to save her."

For a while, the two just sat there, relishing in each other's warmth. Peter's hands ran up and down her shivery spine in attempt to calm her, soothe her. When the two finally separated, it was Gwen who let go first, taking him by surprise.

"Gwen, I...I'm so sorry that I—"

"I'll be right here for you to get back," she stated sharply, then smooched him on the lips and hopped on to his bed. She sat before him with her legs and arms crossed, hair falling messily around her face. "Don't keep me waiting."

Looking her over studiously, Peter felt his cheeks burn a little. But he quickly swallowed and refocused himself, hinting a smile as he slipped his mask over his face. "Alright. I'll, uh, try to be quick. Don't wait up for me, though."

"Don't make me," she snapped, plucking a book off his nerd shelf and flipping through it casually. Snorting amusedly, Peter pushed open the window and stepped on to the ledge, feeling the cool air ghost over his skin. He stared out across the quiet neighborhood, wondering where to go, where to start. He heard Gwen sigh softly behind him.

"I won't tell the others. I'll let them know you're okay, but I won't tell them. Don't make me regret it."

Peter looked over his shoulder with a sad but grateful smile. "Thanks, Gwen. Seriously." Then, all of a sudden, a curious sensation came over him. Without even realizing it, he turned around to face her again. His voice was quiet and kind of squeaky. "Hey, um, Gwen?"

She glanced back up at him, eyes startlingly beautiful. "Yes, Peter?"

He could feel his face flushing red beneath his mask. "I, uh...I love you."

The surprise on her face was instantaneous. Her eyes grew wide, and fresh pigment rushed into her cheeks. Then she giggled loudly, throwing her head back.

"Where did that come from?"

"I was, uh...well I was just thinking. I've felt it for a long time, and I've known it for a long time, but I haven't ever said it. And what you said before—how I might not come back some day? I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that never happens. But...if somehow it did, I want you to know that. I want those to be the last words I say to you. That's all." He sucked in a jittery breath and quickly released it, blushing from head to toe. "So yeah. There. I love you."

Gwen's eyes glowed with new understanding. Everything about her was perfect, vibrant, enticing. He hadn't realized how much value those words carried until now, but when he looked at Gwen Stacy, when he considered all that they had been through together, all that she had helped him overcome, he knew he meant every cheesy bit of it. Her cool expression transformed into a soft smile, and her face radiated with bashful color. Peter swore he saw tears gathering in her eyes as she finally responded.

"I love you too, Peter."

By the time Spider-Man sprung out of the window and was swinging above the city, he felt higher than a teenage superhero soaring on cloud nine.

Little did he know, there was something sticking to the bottom of his foot. And in that moment, as he made his way across the dazzling city, it began to spread. Around his heel, along his ankle, up his leg.

Uh oh spaghettio. You know what that means chickadees. Cant flippin WAIt to write next chapter! UGH I feel like I've been waiting for this FOREVER. TOO MUCH FREAKIN BUILD UP. But yay now I finally get to write it! Hope you're all just as pumped about it as I am! Later you awesome amazing beautimous gorgeous peeples you! You all rock!...review maybe? :3 Teehee