It had been a long time since Peter was hurt THIS badly.
He stumbled down the street, clutching at the large wound in his side, trying to stop the bleeding as best he could with just his hand. His web shooters had been crushed in the fight and the gaping wound only seemed to bleed more when he tried to scale the building beside him. He could feel people’s eyes on him as he walked down the street, it was past 3am and he expected the streets to be empty, he’d forgotten that New York never sleeps. A number of people stopped him, offering to call for an ambulance, he shrugged them off decisively, he couldn’t go to hospital, not in the suit.
The fight had been like any other, two bad guys, one scared woman, and himself. He hadn’t known it was a trap. He never suspected that the woman was also involved. Aunt May had always said to be overly cautious, he wished he’d listened to her.
After Gwen’s death he’d taken on more patrol duty than necessary, anything to ease the constant guilt and anxiety riddled nightmares. It was getting easier, slowly, with time, with more and more spider-man business, it was getting easier to make himself remember the happy times again.
Spider-Man had taken over the majority of his time. He was no longer Peter Parker and sometimes Spider-Man, he was Spider-Man who was sometimes Peter Parker. Not that that seemed to bother too many people, maybe Aunt May a little bit as she saw a lot less of him, but he always managed to convince her that he was just busy with work. Peter didn’t have many other people in his life anymore, not who he cared much for anyway. The Avengers occasionally called on him for a helping hand, but they didn’t know his true identity, no one did. Not anymore.
Peter had finished college top of his class over a year ago, but in today’s economy it left him barely qualified for anything. Slowly, Peter Parker was disappearing, only appearing to hand in photos of Spider-Man to the Daily Bugle so he could pay his rent, and for Sunday dinners at Aunt May’s.
Maybe if he’d been Spider-Man less he wouldn’t have been hurt. Maybe if he’d been healthier with his coping strategies, he wouldn’t be in this situation.
That thought swirled around his mind like a cloud as he groggily walked down the streets of New York. His city. He wasn’t even sure which direction he was going, he just knew he had to get somewhere private to take his suit off and deal with the large stab wound under his ribs. It hurt to breath and his hands were cold, each step took more and more effort.
He spotted a dark door down an alleyway to his right, a bar. The bar would definitely have a restroom where he could sort himself out.
As he pulled open the heavy door he realised he’d made a mistake.
The ploom of smoke hit him first, it crept its way under the mask and made him choke, he spluttered and coughed as he walked inside and made it less than two steps into the smokey bar before someone called his name.
“Spidey! What’re you doing here?” The voice yelled in surprise, through Peter’s haze of blood loss and smokey confusion he didn’t recognise the person yelling at first. They called his name again.
Then he realised.
It was the first time he’d seen him without his suit on. He only recognised his face because of the handful of times he’d seen the mercenary eating tacos on the rooftop near his apartment with his mask rolled up. They weren't friends, not really, but Deadpool traipsed after Spider-Man enough for him to know his voice.
“Deadpool?” Peter whispered, he hadn’t intended for the name to come out like a question. “I need to-” He walked past the scarred man and stumbled past the crowd of people that had formed around the two while he wasn’t paying attention. He just needed to get into a cubicle, just needed to put pressure on the wound and maybe put a few plasters on it. It would be fine. He would be fine. Right?
“Spidey.” The voice was behind him again, a hand fell onto Peter’s shoulder, his spidey-sense didn’t even warn him. He felt weak, weaker than he had in a long time.
He didn’t even remember falling, but the next thing Peter knew, he was on the sticky ground of the smoky bar trying to keep his eyes open.
“My side…” Peter managed to whisper as he floated between realms of consciousness. “I- I was stabbed.”
“Spidey, try to stay awake, the ambulance is coming” The voice was back and Peter’s ears were ringing.
“No hospital. Secret identity.” Peter managed to splutter, his mouth tasted like copper. That couldn’t be a good sign. His vision was beginning to blur again his heart was in his throat. Deadpool’s hazel eyes bore into his. He’d never expected the mercenary to have pretty eyes, not with all the rumours he’d heard about his day job.
“Pretty…” Peter spoke again and the older man raised his eyebrows in shock.
“What?” Deadpool asked quietly. Peter had never heard Deadpool speak quietly before.
“Pretty…” Peter repeated, his brain felt muddled as he clung onto consciousness “No hospitals…” He added before he finally passed out again.