Hey guys! Here's the next chapter, Peter's back. Sort of. You'll see ;)

Oh, I always forget. The title of the story comes from a song by Matt Simons.

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Enjoy & stay safe!

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel. I wish.

When Peter comes to, he can't convince his eyelids to open. They feel so heavy. What happened? He honestly can't remember. His entire body hurts. His head? Feels like twice as its size. His limbs feel like concrete. And his side feels hot, which is really strange.

He must have been in a pretty bad fight. It happens. Injuries are not new to him. A break here, a bruise there. But now he's bad. Like never felt this bad. At least he's not dead and that's good. On his bad days, he would question that statement, but now he decides to put his depressive thoughts aside. He needs to know what happened. And where he is.

It's not cold, so he's not outside. Or in the warehouse.

Okay, so he's been injured and he's in a building. Hospital. No!

His eyes don't need encouragement anymore; they pop open right away and quickly adjust to the light. He takes a look around. His panic and a massive headache are having an epic battle to decide which one of them should be the number one problem for Peter. Panic is winning.

Because Peter is in a white room, he's lying in a hospital bed, he's not wearing his suit but some kind of shirt and sweatpants and there are machines around him. He. Is. At. The. Hospital. And his secret identity must have been revealed.

There's a reason why Peter never goes to the hospital, no matter how bad his injuries are. He's afraid that people would ask him questions. They would examine him and find out his secret. That he's not a normal human. That he's enhanced. And they would take him away and experiment on him with no end. No, Peter can't let that happen.

He has never told anyone about his secret identity, about his superhero alter ego. It would be nice to be the cool guy in school instead of the bullied boy, it would be great to be popular and admired, but it's not worth the risk of being thrown into a secret government lab or something. Maybe his imagination is a bit wild, but he just can't risk it. What's one more secret to keep anyway?

So he has to get out of here. Like now. Before someone realizes he's awake. He looks down at his arm where he has an IV. Inhaling sharply, he forces himself to pull it out. It's so gross. But he has to. Then he heaves himself up into a sitting position. It hurts. His side flares with a new level of hot white pain and he feels dizzy, his vision swims. He feels so weak. But there's no time for this, he has to go!

Pushing back the light blanket, he gently swings his feet off the bed. He remains sitting there and clutches the edge of the bed for a long moment to give the lightheadedness some time to go away. It doesn't want to. But it's slightly better now, so he pushes himself up to stand. His knees are shaking badly and he nearly falls back on the bed. Just nearly, though, he quickly grabs the headboard to steady himself.

He closes his eyes. Okay, dizziness, go away now! Please. He looks up. The window isn't that far. The door has never been an option, who knows what is out there? He would probably meet people there. But the window? He's really good at climbing out of windows. He has a better chance there.

Taking the few steps to the window is an agony, though. He thinks it would be easier to shoot a web at the window and swing there, but yeah. He looks down at his wrists. His web shooters are gone. Of course. Whoever found him and brought him here has his web shooters now. Along with his revealed secret identity. But he really doesn't have time to mull over that now.

His walk is painful and slow, and he always stays close to the wall in case he needs to steady himself again. And finally, he reaches the damned window. He's there. He clumsily opens it and breathes in the fresh air. Then he looks out. Okay, it would be better, if he was on the ground floor or something but he can do this, right? What is it, maybe the fifty-third floor? Piece of cake.

He climbs up on the ledge. He's shaking. He closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths, in and out and that's it. He's good. Sort of. He's ready to start his descend, when suddenly strong hands grab his shoulders.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" a stern, male voice asks from behind.

Why didn't his spider sense warn him of the man coming in? It might have been off because of his injuries.

For a brief moment, Peter lets himself feel relieved that he doesn't have to crawl down feeling so weak and that he doesn't have to run anymore. He leans into the strange grip and it feels so nice to be able to stop this crazy, painful, pathetic escape attempt and to be held, supported. Which also helps with the shaking. But no. He has to leave. He has to get out of here ASAP.

So gritting his teeth, he tries to shake off the hands and push himself out of the window. But the grasp on his shoulders strengthens. "Ah-ah," the voice says firmly. "Not so fast."

But Peter doesn't give in. He desperately tries to pull himself free from the hold.

"You're safe, you hear me? You don't have to run," the voice speaks again. It's gentle this time, a soft whisper by his ear.

And for a reason Peter can't explain, he believes it. Maybe it's his weakened condition. Maybe it's exhaustion. Maybe he's just tired of always looking over his shoulder, keeping secrets, never feeling safe. Never being able to relax.

Maybe it's just easier to give in. He should fight; he knows that, he should try to get away. But he's just so damned tired!

So he lets the man help him down from the ledge and guide him back to the bed. God, he's so weak, if that man didn't support him, he'd collapse onto the floor. But he makes it back in one piece and lies down. It feels so good. As if he has just run a marathon or something.

The man is standing by his bed and Peter looks up at him through glassy eyes. Who is he? Should he recognize him? Has Peter met him before? He doesn't know. And his eyelids feel so heavy again.

The man starts walking up and down in the room while explaining something. Peter thinks he should listen to him, it must be important, but he doesn't understand a word. At least, he tries to follow him with his eyes, but even that seems more and more difficult. Why is it so hard to keep his eyes open? And why is he so cold? Is he back at the warehouse somehow?

The man at the end of his bed suddenly stops and stares at him. He doesn't talk anymore. Peter realizes the man expects him to speak. He must have asked a question. Peter doesn't know, all he can hear is the chattering of his teeth now.

"'M cold," he manages and he's surprised how raspy his voice sounds.

He closes his eyes for a long second and when he opens them again, the man is walking toward him with a blanket in his hands. He drapes it over Peter and it feels so good, so warm. He lets his eyes close again.

"Thanks," he whispers and instantly falls asleep.

I know there isn't much action in this chapter, but I loved writing it so much. Actually, this was one of the very first scenes I had in mind when I started working on this fic. This and the bank robbery two chapters before. I started the whole story because of those scenes popping up in my head. Let me know what you think and feel free to ask any questions :)

Thanks for reading!