Spider-Man Imagines I

I'll Be There (Part One) | Peter Parker [TH]

"I can't wait until tomorrow," you said sarcastically, swinging your car keys around your finger. You looked at Peter and he furrowed his eyebrows. "I get to fail a math quiz. Isn't that going to be great?"

He tipped his head back and laughed. "Don't worry, you won't fail. I'll come by your place and study after Spidey duties."

"Promise?" you asked, giving him an I don't believe you look.

"Promise," he said, and he held up his pinky. You hooked yours with his and then broke away, swinging a playful punch on his chest.

"Okay, Pete. I'll see ya later," you said, stepping away and breaking towards the little parking lot at the side of the school. Peter saw your tiny pink car and laughed. "Pete! Don't laugh at my car!"

"I can't help it," he said, still laughing, "it looks so dumb."

"Shut up!" you said. You turned, waved, and said, "See you!"

"See you," he said, and he headed the opposite way, putting earbuds in his ears.

...

Peter finished the last bite of his sandwich and pulled the bottom of his mask down over his mouth. As it smacked against the skin of his neck, his spidey senses began to tingle. He paused and then heard the screeching of tires and a few horrified screams.

He got up off the railing and jumped up on the roof. He ran across the flat of it and then leapt off the side and right onto a busy road with heavy traffic, and, right in the middle, halfway across the two yellow lines, were two vehicles, both smashed together, both on fire.

Peter hurried to the first, a large black truck, and reached for the driver's side. "Karen," he shouted, "how many passengers are inside?"

"Scanning for passengers," she said, and half a second later, she said, "there is one person-"

Before she could finish, Peter tore the door off. A man was covered in blood and glass. He had blood dribbling out of his mouth and into his beard.

"Spider-Man," he rasped.

"Hey, man," he said. He reached in and pulled the seatbelt off of him. "I gotta go fast. There's another car. But kudos to you for wearing your seatbelt."

"No," he man croaked. "Stop." A weak, bloody hand clamped down on Peter's arm. "There's a girl in that car. Save her first. It's my fault." He looked down at his other hand that was smashed in his lap and under the steering wheel. A shattered phone was in his palm.

Peter was beginning to protest when he looked up and saw the pink exterior of the car. "No," he whispered. He stepped away from the man and ran towards the car. Paramedics took his place to work on pulling the man out.

The front of it was up in flames, the driver's side crushed. He ran to the broken window and looked inside, and his heart dropped out of his chest.

"___!" he screamed.

He reached in, feeling the glass cut through his suit and pierce his skin. He cupped your chin in his hand, turning your head towards his.

You were unconscious, head hanging lip in his palm, eyes closed, with a giant, bleeding cut from your hairline, across your nose, and down the middle of your lips.

"___," he sobbed. "H-Hang on, I'm going to get you out of there!" He was starting to feel the heat from the flames. He ran around the car, shooting webs to smother them. "Karen, scan and see if she's alive!"

"She's alive, but her vitals are weak," she said.

When the flames were mostly smothered, he grabbed the handle of the passenger door and pulled it so hard that it flew out of his hand and went soaring above him. He dove inside, feeling the unbearable heat. He yanked off his mask and coughed, working on taking off your seatbelt.

"___," he said. "You have to listen to me. You can't let go just yet, okay? I need you. Oh gosh - Karen, how is she?"

"Vitals are getting weaker," she said.

Peter carefully moved her shoulder out of the belt, aware of how it was dislocated. He forced his hands under her and lifted her, praying that nothing was wrong with her neck. He was choking on the smoke that was so thick, and he couldn't see, and then he slipped out of the car and fell on his knees, you in his arms.

In the cover of the smoke, he put you on the ground and asked Karen to scan you again. When she said that you were gone, Peter cried out and started to line his palms on your chest.

He began to pump your heart back into working. He leaned in and blew a mouthful of air for your lungs. Again and again, until against his lips, you coughed and sputtered.

"___," he said, putting a hand on the top of your head. "Please say you're okay. Say anything. ___, please-"

You coughed and whimpered, and he leaned in and hushed you. He pressed his lips against your forehead and gave you a chaste kiss. Your eyes opened and you saw him.

"Pete," you said, breathing heavy. "Pete's here. Your mask."

"Are you okay?" he asked, ignoring you.

"He was texting," you said. Your eyes closed. "It wasn't my fault. I smell... I smell smoke."

"I know," he said, knowing you were just voicing any thought that popped up in your head without thinking.

The paramedics appeared with another ambulance and a stretcher. He brushed your hair away, getting blood on his fingers. He kissed your skin again.

"I'm going to let the paramedics take you to the hospital, okay? And I'll be there soon. When you wake up again, I'll be there. So you don't need to worry."

He wasn't sure if you would remember that later.

Before the paramedics got close enough to see him, he snagged his mask and put it on. He shot a web at a building above and soared in the smoky air.

He sat on the top of the building and watched as you were taken onto the ambulance, two paramedics pressing white rags to your face.

His jaw set hard and he prayed that you would be okay.

And he would be there when you woke up.