Sena Flash (moment_of_sen) wrote in nyxmen,
Sena Flash

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Please don't drop me

Here we are, a sequel to 'So Slow'. Just couldn't stand to see Pete so incapacitated!!!

It was the beeping that finally drove Peter nuts. He tried to open his eyes. Once one seemed to actually do as it was told. Something round and white floated in his vision. He blinked. Things seemed to be going in and out of focus, like his eyes were struggling with a badly focussed microscope, turning the knobs until it comes right. At last he figured what it was. A clock. The hands pointed out. 5:25. AM or PM? he wondered.

He tried to turn his head. Pain stabbed through it, but he held his breath until the pain ebbed away, exhaling slowly through his nose. His one eye came back into focus. He tried to blink the other, but nothing happened. He raised one arm to touch his face, but his attention was drawn to the thick bandages both arms were swathed in. His fingertips looked pink pointing out of the ends, one or two of them bandaged right to the tip and taped together. I must have been in an accident, he thought. Hit by a car perhaps. His skin twinged. Aaaugh. A car with teeth.

His eye roved around his limited view of the room he was in. He could still hear the beeping and wondered with it was. He turned his head to the other side, trying to ignore the stabbing pains that made bright spots dance in his vision. He saw the life support, and wondered who it was for, and then could see no one else. Oh. it’s for me. He felt strangely detatched from it all, like it was belonging to someone else.

He lay still for a while, staring around. The room seemed to be empty. Nothing moved. No sound but that infernal beep. Why were his legs strapped in long slings from the ceiling? Why couldn’t he open his right eye? Why couldn’t he remember what happened?

“Hello? Is anyone there?” he said, or would have if it didn’t feel like his tongue was glued to the backs of his teeth. All he did was swallow dryly and cough once. He stared up at the ceiling and feel asleep again.


The next time he bubbled slowly to the surface, he was aware that there were people talking in hushed voices. He kept his eye shut and listened hard. His hearing was muffled.

“...change for the better ... should wake ... days at the least ... no need ... go home and rest...” The words came and went, floating in and out. Where was he? What happened that he couldn’t see and couldn’t hear and his tongue was glued down? Why did he feel so bloody weak? More voices, but he couldn’t make them out. Someone shut a door. Someone was fiddling with a tube in his arm- it ached a moment, then he didn’t feel it. His mind drifted away on a cloud of fuzz.


The third time he woke, he could hear the clock ticking, but in a distorted kind of way, like it was only from one ear. There were people talking from outside the room. There was a tube up his nose and it made him want to sneeze all the time. His eye rolled when he tried to look around.He didn’t dare move his head. If anyone knew he was awake, they’d- well, he didn’t know what they’d do, but he felt a sense of danger, a faint tingling in his head. He knew what that meant. Something was going to hurt him, and soon. He looked around. A big man was sitting with his arms folded, a cowboy hat tilted over his eyes. A chinese girl slept with her head in his lap. Peter looked at them. Hey knew them. They were safety. Something was going to happen and it was going to be bad.

“Help,” he tried. Nothing. His throat was parched. “Help!” Sort of wheezy this time. “Help!” The P made a strange popping noise on top of the wheeze. The man lifted his head a little, but didn’t look up. That tingling just wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t go away! I don’t want to die! he thought desperately. I want to live to climb walls again!

“hey!” Breathy, hoarse, barely there. But the man looked at him and met his eye. His eyes widened a moment, then he relaxed and nodded.

“Heya, kid,” he said softly. Peter looked at him in fright. Why am I here? What are all these bandages for? Why can’t I see or hear right? I am I so frightened? Why can’t I remember what happened?? He wanted to scream his questions, but he couldn’t even lick his own lips. He could barely move his face. Just that one, frightened eye. He flailed with the arm that seemed to be able to move the best. His fingertips wriggled. I want to get up. He tried to get up. Pain lanced through his head, arms, legs, right to his fingertips. He made a strange, twisted, breathy screech, falling back on the pillow. He scrunched his eye shut, a tear welling up and dripping down his face and soaking into the bandages. What happened to me? I can’t remember what happened to me! I want to go home!

Logan gently moved Jubilee’s head and stood. She stirred and blinked, waking. Logan bent over Peter, touching the one unbruised part of his face, the onle place that wasn’t puffy and swollen, brushing his thumb over Peter’s eye to remove his tear.

“Pete, its okay. Just be thankful you’re alive.” Jubes sprang to Logan’s side and looked down at him, breaking into a smile.

“Peter!” she cried happily. Peter looked at her. That buzzing was still in his head. He had a feeling it had barely stopped since... since...

A flash of pink and blue light- claws- that mocking laughter- claws- blood splattering on a wall- being dragged down- those claws, flaying every inch of his skin, skinning him, skinning him alive-

Jubilee jumped when Peter screamed, that strange strangled noise was so unnatural. His head tossed from side to side, pain written on his features, sweat breaking out.

“Peter! Peter its over! Its over! Nothing’s going to hurt you here!” Logan cried, but Peter was terrified and trapped inside his own memories, unable to find a way out of his pain. A doctor and a handful of nurses ran in and administered a drug, settling his limbs, soothing his brow. He closed his eyes and was out.


{Peter...} Peter’s consciousness stirred like a thick pool of black paint. someone was stirring a stick in it, making him come out. Well, he didn’t want to if he had to remember horrible things like that, thanks all the same. He stayed stubbornly where he was.

{Peter Parker, I’m talking to you. Pay attention.}

Yes miss. Automatic schooling kicked in before he thought about it. The black began to fade into grey.

{Peter, you’ve been badly hurt. I’m making sure you’re alright.}

Do I seem alright to you? came the thought, unbidden.

{Don’t be cheeky. I’m trying to help.}


{Now. Peter. You were attacked. Do you remember?}

No. You can’t make me. I don’t want to remember.

{Do you remember who saved you??}

The faces of his friends came to the surface, adding colour to the mix. Logan and Jubilee. I like them. Why do I feel so weak?

{You’re healing, Peter.}


{Peter, I’m just going to call up the memory. I need to know if there’s anything in it that can help you. You needn't share in it.}

There was something about that memory that he didn’t want to share, that was just his, that nobody could know. He had to protect it. When the presence tried to view his momery, he built a web and blocked her.

No. That’s mine.

{Peter, I’m trying to help you.}

No. He didn’t move from the centre of the web to his memories. He wasn’t letting anyone in there. He had to protect himself.

Emma turned and looked at Logan in frustration.

“Any luck?” asked Jubilee, holding tight to Logan’s hand. Emma shook her pale head.

“No. He’s blocking me. He won’t let me or anyone else touch his memories. Not even himself. I can’t help him out.” She looked genuinely frustrated and annoyed. Logan smirked slightly.

“Maybe he’s protecting something about his past he doesn’t want shared?” he suggested. Emma shook her head.

“All you know is that Victor Creed was kicking the snot out of him, right?” Logan nodded. “Any idea why?” Logan looked at Peter. There had to be a reason that Victor didn’t just break his neck on catching him. Then he sighed.

“Th’kids a pal o’ mine and Jubes’. He probably smelled me on him and took it out on him that he can’t get to me,” he grumbled. Jubes squeezed his hand.

“He’ll be okay, Wolvy,” she whispered. Logan sighed quietly, then turned and left.


Peter quickly shut his eye again. There were doctors everywhere, bustling around, pushing and pulling things. He wasn’t going to sleep again, but he didn’t want them to know he’d woken, for some reason. He wanted to get up and out of bed.

His throat felt suddenly hollow and empty as the tube that had resided there for the last- how long HAD it been?- was removed. Time passed. The doctors left. Peter dozed, always half awake.

Then sirens whirred, and only a street away from the hospital. Peter’s eyes shot open, and he immediately sat up and slid off his bed, hobbling and stumbling across the the window, trying to find the catch in his halfway blindness. He had to get out, he had to feel the night air on his face, he had to swing above the city, he had to get OUT! He thumped the glass in frustration, struggling to open it, banging his forehead against it in anger. Pain lanced in his head from the impact, cause bright spots in hsi eyes and making him throw up on the floor. He was making little urgent noises in the back of his throat, noises that escalated to frustrated cries when the window wouldn’t yeild to him. The sirens taunted him, luring him to the city where he would surely crash and drown.

At last, frustrated and desperate, his picked up the chair next this bed and hurled it at the window with all his might. The window shattered, shards of glass spraying across the floor and outside. Peter hobbled back to the window, trying to climb onto the window sill, ready to jump out and swing free, but his legs, still wrapped in their casts, wouldn’t do what he wanted them to. He couldn’t climb out. He gripped the frame with his hands and hauled himself up that way, ignoring the pain as the glass cut his hands. Soething with trying to grab his legs, and he kicked out violently, colliding with something. He gave one last haul and slid forward, his balance swaying, sending him sliding out of the window. He pointed his hand to fire his web, and realised too late he didn’t have his shooters on any more.

The crash of glass brought the nurse on duty into his room, who screamed, which brought the doctor and other medical staff rushing in. Startled voices filled the room, people trying to call him back, trying to grab at him and pull him back. His kicks were stronger than expected, and someone got kicked in the nose. As he nearer release, the voices rose furthur still, people rushing out for help to be put in below the window before he fell to his death. Through the chaos strode two people, drawn by the noise.

“SILEEEEEENCE!!!!!” roared Logan, standing in the doorway, Jubilee right behind. Everyone obeyed. Silence fell.Then, from the window-


Logan reacted swifter than lightning, leaping forward, grabbing Peter around the waist as he began to fall, decending with him, sheilding his fall with his own body. they hit the carpark with a dull smack. Jubilee disappeared from the doorway, sprinting down and out.

Logan settled himself back, his broken leg kept carefully still to await healing. Peter was held tightly in his arms.

“Logan?” Peter’s voice was harsh and cracked, but there. “Why am I here?”

“You were attacked, kid. Brutally. You’ve come back from the brink of death.”

“Oh.” Peter paused. “Why can’t I remember it?”

“Hysterical amnesia,” replied Logan, smirking. “What the brain can’t handle, such as extreme pain, it rejects. Like what happened to you.” Peter nodded, understanding.

“Why do I feel so light and weak?” Logan chuckled, remembering the broken nose upstairs, as well as the shattered window.

“Only compared to normal, Pete. You body has been putting so much in the dul the pain and heal itself, its diverted energy from unused spider-skills. I’m sure once you’re healed you’ll be back to normal. As long as you don’t try to throw yourself out of any more windows.”

Footsteps pounded across the ashphalt, and Jubilee skidded to a halt.

“Are you two okay? Oh god, Peter! What were you tying to do??” she cried. Peter looked over her shoulder.

“The sirens...” Logan laughed.

“You can take the kid outta the spider, but you can’t take the spider outta the kid. Come on, webhead. Lets get you back to bed.” He tested his now-healed leg and rose, Jubilee’s hand on his elbow. He nodded thanks to her and together they walked back across to the waiting doctors.
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