Peter's hands trembled.
Hot droplets of coffee dripped from the edges of the brown plastic cup in his hands and onto his fingers but he hardly noticed the burning sensation they brought.
Peter was still chugging coffee cups like they were water and he was in a desert. The caffeine did nothing—just something to do with his hands.
Tears had dried on his cheeks, and blood had dried on his hands.
He had sat in his waiting room for fourteen hours.
Uncle Ben was pronounced dead 12 hours ago. There wasn't much they could do for him.
The bullet had taken out a chunk of his brain. They wouldn't let Peter see him.
The doctors stabilized Aunt May six hours ago. She was pulled back under the knife five hours ago.
Please. Please. Please. Please. Come on, Aunt May. Please. Not you too. Please—His train of thought kept cycling through this same sequence.
Nothing else mattered.
He could not think of anything else, he could not move, it was as if he had become a broken record repeating the same twisted song repeatedly.
Peter would go get coffee. Wait. Pray. Plead. Fight falling asleep. Go get coffee and around the record played.
He rubbed his eyes as he felt them getting heavy. I'm getting sleepy again…
Peter stood up on autopilot.
The downcast teen quietly walked out of the waiting room and towards the cafeteria. His thoughts drowned out the surrounding noise. The constant crying of the others in the waiting room, the hush whispers and praying. He ignored the shouts and screams of pain and agony when doctors and nurses rolled another patient in on a stretcher.
He had only Aunt May on his mind.
Peter walked towards the coffee machine like a stringed marionette—moving mechanically, placing his cup beneath the nozzle and pressed the button to refill his cup.
However, this time, he couldn't ignore the burning sensation that assaulted his fingers.
"Oh, shit!" He pulled his hand back harshly, bumping into something behind him.
"Shit! Sorry!" He started to apologize but stopped short when his eyes met a pair of familiar baby blues.
Peter froze.
Gwen! Thoughts whispered what his voice could not. His mouth felt heavy, like iron had clamped his jaws shut, he silently swallowed an invisible lump caught in the back of his throat.
Flashes erupted like a dam bursting in his mind. He saw his clawed hand in Captain Stacey's stomach—could feel his razor teeth digging into Captain Stacy's lieutenant's neck, taking the man's head in with a single gulp.
Stop! Please! Not now. Not now…Peter pleaded with his own thoughts as he let out a shallow breath.
There was a sound of something breaking as something wet splashed on his shoe, it was a white ceramic bowl in Gwen's hands filled with chicken corn soup, and Peter must have knocked it out with his hand.
She didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she just didn't care anymore. That might be easier.
"Pe—Peter!?" Gwen's voice held a strange, haunting cadence when the familiar sound reached his ears. Not as sarcastic or as happy as he remembered, not as friendly either.
Her expression was even stranger.
She paled at the sight of him, her eyes wide and almost frightened, as if he were a ghost that had come back from the dead to haunt her.
"What—what are you doing here?" Gwen's lips trembled a little, her face a mix of not knowing whether to smile or frown.
Why would she? Forget it. She's alright, Gwen is okay… Peter ignored her strange expression as a steady sense of relief began to wash over him.
He sighed softly, struggling to keep the cracks out of his voice when he spoke.
"Gwen. I… Uncle Ben... Aunt May… I—" he didn't know how to begin. Where could he even begin? Where would the right place to start be?
"Gwen!"
Shouts directed at Gwen caught Peter's attention, and the words he intended to speak caught in his throat.
Mary Jane Watson reached Gwen first, and then came Harry Osborne, and behind him was Flash Thompson, followed closely by Liz Allen and Cindy Moon.
Peter remained frozen as they came closer and huddled around her. Despite their arrival and consequent actions, Gwen didn't look away from him, nor did he look away from her.
He watched them huddle around Gwen—a group of friends, supporting each other. And here he stood.
Alone.
His aunt was dying. His uncle was dead. And Gwen had them.
The thought was poison, but he couldn't stop it. Why? Why are 'they' here?
Peter didn't need this right now, not here, not in this moment.
They gathered around Gwen as if she were the center of their world—constant and obnoxious in their worrying, treating her like glass.
Peter's stomach curled and bubbled, his lips thinned and his eyes narrowed.
Gwen was supposed to be his friend. He needed her now more than ever, and these people, why were they even here?
Now that Peter was… That he was…
His mouth moved before he could stop himself.
"Why are they here, Gwen? Actually, why are you even here?" He couldn't keep the condescending tone from his voice, and he regretted it the moment the words left his mouth.
The effect was immediate. Their reaction was visceral.
"The fuck did you just say, Parker?" Mary Jane's eyes locked on him like two heat-seeking missiles, her words and tone bit into him deeper than he thought they could.
Flash was the biggest among them and the first to act. He barreled towards Peter, but Liz, knowing her boyfriend acted just as quickly and stood between him and Peter.
Harry shot Peter a glare as he left Gwen's side and moved to hold Flash back.
Flash wasn't having any of that. He pushed against them but held back a lot, just short of hurting his girl. "Liz, get out of my way, I'm gonna murder this nerd right now. Harry, I swear to God you better get those grandma hands off me right now!"
Cindy Moon stood in silent support beside Gwen.
And Gwen.
Gwen gave Peter a look.
Peter watched as her expression tightened into something unreadable, the glare in her eyes haunted him more than anything else in the room.
"Why am I here?" Her voice was low. "My dad is in the ICU, Peter. Why the fuck do you think I'm here?"
Peter reflexively grabbed his head as if the action would help dull the voice that crawled out from the darkest depths of his mind. You put him there, Pete. Captain Stacy is there because of you. You did this to Gwen. Some friend you are, some best friend you turned out to be…
Because of me? He chuckled; Peter didn't know where that came from. Did those thoughts just now come from the lizard or him?
Did the lizard even have a voice?
No, this, this is all me…
Peter didn't attempt to stop himself this time. He spoke whatever twisted strain of thought came to the forefront of his mind.
He could stop himself from saying these terrible things, but didn't. It was like he had chosen to turn his back on himself.
"Oh, I don't know, I thought cause of Aunt… Actually, I don't know what I was thinking. I just thought maybe you came here to check on me, you know, Peter Parker the nerd, your best friend, who you forgot about. I mean, Jesus, Gwen, a text once in a while would have been nice, but nooo… After becoming little miss popular with your new entourage, what? You're too good for the little people now. You know you can be such a bitch som—" Peter felt his newly refined instincts kick in, he felt it coming, saw it too, but did nothing to stop it.
Pow!
Harry's fist caught Peter in the jaw before he could finish. Peter stumbled back, and Harry followed—grabbing his collar, driving two more punches into his face.
Peter hit the floor.
"What the fuck is wrong with you, Parker?" Harry loomed over him, fist raised.
Peter laughed—wet and twisted. "Oh, you have no idea, Osborn. What, Daddy didn't teach you how to throw a real punch?"
Harry flinched.
Come on Osborn. You can hit harder than that. Peter smiled.
Harry flinched.
That's it. Come on! Peter could feel that silent tug that was his instincts scream at him, he anticipated the hit before it came.
Before he could respond, Flash shoved past him. His boot slammed into Peter's ribs.
"Fuck you, Parker! You twisted little shit!"
Harry pulled Flash off him, kicking and screaming all the way.
Peter coughed out bile and saliva. As he did so, his eyes caught Gwen's.
Wet eyes watched him with sadness and lingering sympathy.
Flash's boot had cracked his ribs. Harry's fists had split his lip. But Gwen's eyes—those hurt worse.
She looked at him like she hated and pitied him at the same time, like she understood him but couldn't care less about him at the moment.
I'm so sorry, Gwen. I didn't mean to hurt him. I really didn't. It—It wasn't me… He wanted to say it, he really did, yet when he opened his mouth, the words died in his throat and he could only swallow the lump with a pathetic chuckle.
A beat or two passed as Gwen wiped a few of her tears away. "There's something really wrong with you."
I know, Gwen, I know… Peter thought as he pushed himself up.
"And I don't think I can help with this one, Pete." Gwen looked away, tracing the floor beside him to the walls behind him. She could not meet his eyes, and then slowly she turned and left.
Cindy pulled her in close. She had a hand over Gwen's shoulder as she pulled her away.
So, you'll abandon me too, huh, Gwen? I guess I deserve that much from you… Peter wondered what kind of expression his face wore in that moment. Was he angry or sad? Did he even care if Gwen became a stranger to him? He wasn't sure himself.
Liz and Harry had to drag Flash away.
Eventually, his eyes met Mary Jane Watson's. Her rage was a quiet rage, it burned with an intensity that would have melted him if this were any other day.
She marched up to him then—Slap!
It stung.
"I thought I knew you Pete, I really thought I did. Shows what I know, huh? Fuck you, Peter Parker," Mary Jane flipped him off as she left.
Peter stood in solemn silence for a moment then his hands curled into fists before he opened his hand and spread his arms wide and opened his damned mouth.
"You know what? Fuck you, too, Watson! And you too, Flash! Run back to Daddy's money, Harry! I don't need you, Gwen! Never did. I don't need anyone!" he huffed as he finished.
They didn't turn around, or even acknowledge him.
The cafeteria was deathly still for a few moments before the noise resumed.
The bruised teen ignored the gazes, the hushed whispers, and walked over to pick up his cup from among the broken ceramic pieces.
The broken pieces and the puddle reflected back at him a twisted image of the boy that was once Peter Parker.
He ignored that, too.
Slowly he walked over to the coffee machine and filled his cup. This time, he made sure to fill it up just right.
He pulled it back and held it for a moment. Something dripped into the coffee cup.
Is that water? No…
Peter reached up and wiped his tears in silence. Gradually he turned and made his way back into his waiting room.
God help me…
His grip tightened around the coffee as he sat. Absent-minded, or perhaps in an effort to distract himself, he turned to the TV that was perpetually stuck on the news channel.
Whether it was luck or fate, only the gods would know, because at that exact moment the news segment was featuring the reclusive billionaire Wilson Fisk. The tycoon walked through the drizzling rain as one of his guards opened an umbrella for him.
Peter started to look away when he spotted something. The man carrying Fisk's umbrella—or rather, his hand. There on the back of the guard's left palm was a bullseye tattoo.
Peter's coffee slipped from his fingers.
No way…
***
Harry Osborn curled and uncurled his fingers into a fist. Gwen and the girls walked ahead of him, Flash was ranting beside him.
"Harry, yo, did you hear what I said? You alright?" Flash asked him.
"I don't know…" Harry considered his thoughts as uncurled his fist. "Peter, that bastard's smile, it kinda reminded me of my dad." It was almost as if he wanted to get hurt…
"That's because he's crazy! I keep telling you, man. Something's not right about that nerd, been telling people since 5th grade. Why do you think I pick on him so much—" Flash returned to his rant with renewed vigor.
"Right," Harry agreed half-heartedly, his eyes lingering on Gwen's back as they walked.
Chapter End