It's a Spider Thing. {Peter Parker and Natasha Romanoff}

{2} waffles. do you want some?

WIND PRESSED AROUND PETER'S BODY, snatching the air from his lungs as if trying to suffocate him.

The world around him was a blur of black. Peter could feel his heart hammer against his ribs like it wanted to jump out of his skin- then a faint, flickering light switched on. His eyes shot up, catching sight of the weak bulb hanging above his head but the anxiety that had steadily unfolded in his chest doubled in size. Cold metal suddenly burned his skin when he felt the tell-tale weight of a gun in his hands, fingers settling automatically on the trigger.

Peter felt as though he should be shaking, yet when he looked at his hands, they were completely still. Confusion bloomed in his eyes when he stared down at the weapon.

Breathing echoed in his ears and Peter's head shot up.

Sitting in front of him was a young woman. She looked up at him, anger and fear fighting for dominance in her expression like she couldn't decide whether to spit insults or start begging for her life. Peter felt sick, the familiar burn crawling up his throat when his body moved on auto-pilot and rested the barrel against her head. "Please-!" She cried out. Her voice cut off, leaving behind a deafening silence that was louder than any gunshot he had ever heard.

Her body slumped forwards despite the restraints. He didn't recognise her face, but Peter knew it would be burned into his memory now; blood pooled around his boots.

Then she moved. The hairs on the back of Peter's neck stood on end as the woman's head slowly rose; her lips were already blue and her skin seemed to decompose before his eyes but he couldn't look away from the disgusting sight. She cocked her head to the side, and the weak lighting caught on the trail of blood that glistened as it ran down her face from the gruesome bullet hole left behind. The continuous drip of the dark liquid on the floor rang in Peter's ears- then he heard her voice.

"You did this to me, why? Why did you hurt me?!"

Peter stumbled back, finally finding the strength to move his legs- a strangled cry of his own escaped past his lips when the world tilted around him and he jolted awake. His breaths were ragged and half formed, as if he had exerted any and all of his energy. He was only vaguely aware of the way his fingers and body trembled despite the covers engulfing him.

Dazedly, Peter stared out at the room around him.

He remembered the redhead- Romanoff. Natasha. - and how she had taken advantage of his subdued state and sequestered him off to an apartment that he was only half sure was her own. When they'd arrived Peter felt the fight that had kept him going in the warehouse drain away, his senses finally dialling back a little with the lack of guns aimed to kill him- though he was hyper aware of the handgun Romanoff kept on her person. The longer he looked out at his surroundings, the more his eyes adjusted. Peter would swear he saw the shadows that were thrown across the room from the streetlights aside creeping closer. That they were suddenly looming over him- he flinched back.

Maybe he was still dreaming.

With the way the dark seemed to thicken, clouding over the room and enveloping him, Peter half believed he was trapped once again in his hellish nightmares. It sucked the little warmth from his body and despite Peter's form curling tight into a ball in an effort to shield himself, the darkness sunk into his bones anyway. Buried itself in and tightened around his chest- once again stealing the breath from his lungs and making him gasp uselessly for air. The cold seeped through his skin and to what was left of his soul, embedding itself before gripping and squeezing it tight in its freezing claw; Peter folded in on himself even more.

The woman's voice ricocheted inside his head, her words dropping with revulsion, terror, anger- Peter dug the heels of his hands into his eyes to stem the flow of sudden tears. He ground his teeth together, suppressing a scream of his own.