Not Strong Enough

two

"Peter," There's something off in her tone, something he can't quite name.

"May?" He has to bring up a hand to block out the incessant honking of a nearby taxi. "What's wrong?"

"Somethings happened." Her breath catches, like she's crying, and it has his blood turning to ice in his veins. "I need—"

"Where are you?" He voice doesn't sound like his own, high and grating, dread settling sick and heavy in his stomach, and he pivots on his heel to start back to the apartment. There's silence for a moment, and in it, he can hear a distant crackling, like the pop of wood—

He freezes. "May, what—"

"Don't come home, baby." Her voice is too high, clogged with tears and pain and Peter doesn't even think. He bolts towards the apartment.

"I'm coming," He gasps into his phone, but all he can hear are her choking sobs and the roar of flames. "I'm almost there, just— just hang on."

She's probably just panicking. The situation probably isn't as serious as he thinks. Civilians are like that, sometimes, making a mountain out of a molehill.

A wailing siren reaches his ears, growing louder and louder the closer he gets. "I'm close, May." She needs to know that he's here, that he can save her, that he will save her. He won't fail May like he failed Ben.

"No," She gasps out. "No, Peter, don't come in, promise me—"

"I'm not leaving you." He grits out, forcing his legs to carry him faster when he turns the corner and is assaulted by the bright flash of emergency vehicles. "I've got you, everything's going to be fine."

He bypasses the first responders altogether, cutting into an alley, and is momentarily stunned by the heat that smacks into his face. He could put on his suit to protect from the worst of the flames and smoke, but doing so would waste precious time. Time that he doesn't have.

"Peter?"

"I'm here." His webshooters are in his bag. Too much work to dig around for them. He takes a breath, steels himself, and places his free hand on heated brick. It hurts, climbing, but it only spurs him on faster. Part of the complex has already started collapsing, the old, rotted wood and mildewed walls giving way easily, but if he hurries, if he can find where May is trapped, they can get out.

He slips in through the window, eyes stinging at the thick layer of smoke and grit in the air. Everything within him wants to recoil, to turn tail and retreat to the clean, cool air beyond.

"May?" His throat tightens, then tingles, and he stamps down the overwhelming urge to cough. "Where— where are you?"

There's a small, tiny gasp from somewhere further inside, nearly imperceptible over the groaning of wood and flames. "Peter, no—"

"I'm already here," He yells out, tossing his phone to the side, taking small, measured steps and squinting through the haze. "May?"

May makes a small, broken sound, a sound she shouldn't have to make at all. "Bedroom."

He's there in one second and the next, senses going haywire, lungs screaming for air.