Peter POV:
As I opened my eyes the first thing I felt was warmth. Not from blankets or sunlight but from the soft weight of a head pressed against my shoulder. I cracked one eye open and saw Gwen, hair mussed, face relaxed, breathing steady.
We'd fallen asleep on the floor, backs against my bedframe, an open medkit and bloody rags scattered around us even though I cleaned up as much as I could in the dark. They were scattered like evidence of some half-forgotten war.
And standing in the doorway were Uncle Ben and Aunt May.
Uncle Ben folded his arms, brows raised, but his eyes softened. "Well," He said with a chuckle, "that's one way to pull an all-nighter."
Aunt May's reaction was sharper — her gaze darted between the crimson-stained gauze, the empty cans of soda on the floor, and Gwen's chest rising and falling under my oversized T-shirt. "Peter Benjamin Parker," she hissed, voice low, "what happened here?"
Gwen stirred, blinking awake. "Oh no…" she muttered, realizing instantly we'd been caught.
I rubbed my temples. "Before either of you panic, no, we weren't—"
Ben raised a hand. "Kid, no need for a speech. Judging by the battlefield medkit here, the story's gonna be complicated enough."
Gwen tried to sit up too fast and winced, clutching her ribs. The sight made May's eyes widen. "You're hurt! Peter, what—"
"I patched her up," I said quickly. "She got clipped bad last night."
Ben frowned. "Clipped by what?"
That was the million-dollar question. Gwen and I exchanged a silent glance.
"The thing in the sewers," I finally said. "We don't know what it is yet. Big, reptilian, claws like butcher knives."
Ben's face tightened. "The Lizard rumors."
"Yeah." Gwen's voice was hoarse but steady. "I ran into it while coming home from a practice gig. Nearly didn't walk away. I bolted here, to Peter. He just… did what he could. If we went to the hospital—"
"They'd lock me up," Gwen said after a deep breath. Her tone was firm, sharper than May expected. "With some 'psychiatric evaluation' or secret agency thing. I didn't want that. I asked Peter to handle it. He just… did a patchwork job."
May pinched the bridge of her nose. "This is not good."
" So is leaving her to bleed out," I countered. "I didn't have time to argue."
Ben didn't press further. He gave me a look. The kind that said we'll talk later but let it go for now.
Later that evening, Lieutenant George Stacy's cruiser idled outside our house. Gwen sat stiff in the passenger seat, arms across her chest. I sat beside her, the perfect picture of a kid forced into a cop car, though this time it wasn't my neck on the line.
"So," Captain Stacey started, eyes flicking from the road to the rearview mirror, "someone want to tell me why my daughter spent the entire night Ben and May's home while looking like she'd wrestled a bear? Because that's what the report said. Broken ribs. Claw marks."
Gwen's voice was even. "It wasn't a bear. Something else. Some kind of monster."
Lieutenant Stacy snorted. "Monster. That what you're calling it?"
"Dad." Gwen's tone sharpened. "I saw it. Scales. Tail. Eight feet tall. This wasn't some mugger with a knife."
He glanced at me in the mirror. "And you, Parker? You saw this… thing?"
I shook my head. "Didn't see it firsthand. Just saw the damage it left on Gwen. I—I stitched her up. Sort of."
His brow furrowed. "Stitched her up? With what, duct tape?"
"Basic med training." I said with as much calm as I could fake. "You'd be surprised what YouTube teaches you these days."
Gwen shot me a quick glare — tone it down — before adding, "Dad, if Peter hadn't patched me up, I'd be in worse shape. I didn't want to go to a hospital. You know how they treat witnesses with crazy-sounding stories. Lock me in some psych ward until I stop seeing 'lizard men.' "
Stacy's jaw worked. He wanted to argue. To lecture. To drag us both to some ER and demand answers. But finally, with a heavy exhale, he just muttered, "You're lucky, both of you. Damn lucky."
I caught Gwen's faint smirk out of the corner of my eye. She elbowed me lightly, ribs be damned.
And me? I just leaned back, staring out the window, silently promising myself the same thing I had last night:
No more mistakes.
No more monsters.
Later That Night — Gwen's Room
I balanced a tray in both hands: fruit slices, roasted chicken, some steamed vegetables. Not shawarma — but enough protein, sugar, and vitamins to kickstart her healing. I entered the apartment using the spare key that I had.
When I opened the door to her room, Gwen was already on her feet, mask in hand, chest still bandaged under my T-shirt.
"You've got to be kidding me." I muttered. "You're not going back out."
She avoided my gaze, pulling her costume hoodie over the mask. "Crime doesn't stop just because I got scratched up."
"Scratched?" I set the tray down with a thud. "You had your ribs shattered. I had to put nanobots inside you to destroy and rearrange shattered rib bones! That's not a scratch, that's 'retire early' territory."
She smirked faintly but it wavered. "I'll heal. I always do."
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "Not this time. You almost didn't make it back. If I hadn't had the serum ready—" My throat caught. "You're not swinging off rooftops tonight, Gwen. You're eating this, sleeping and letting your body recover."
She met my eyes, stubborn, but her shoulders finally sagged. "You sound like my dad."
"Good. Maybe you'll actually listen."
Silence stretched between us. Then she gave a small laugh, weak but real. "Lasagna last night, meat and veggies tonight… you trying to bribe me into being a responsible hero?"
"Bribe?" I grinned. "Call it incentive. Heal up fast, and I'll even get you dessert tomorrow."
Her lips quirked. "Chocolate cake?"
I rolled my eyes. "You drive a hard bargain, Spider-Woman."
She sat back down on the bed, finally reaching for a slice of chicken. "Fine. One night off. But only because you cook like a grandma."
I sat across from her, relieved, watching her eat. "Better a grandma than a funeral director."
For once, she didn't argue as she nibbled away at the meal under my watchful gaze.
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