The White Pallax (Peter Parker x Reader)

XIX - Too hot for winter

7. 8. 9.

The numbers race in front of your eyes as you speed down the corridors, taking turns so sharp you almost run into corners several times. Tony lags far behind you, but you're too worried about Peter to care. Iron Man can take care of himself, even in this condition.

10. 11.

At number 12, you skid to a stop, practically ramming into the door. Furiously, you pound on the door, hot tears leaking down your face.

"Peter!" You shout. "Peter? It's me, it's Y/N! Can you hear me?"

"Y/N?!" He responds from the other side of the door. "I can hear you, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine! Okay, stand away from the door! I'm going to get you out of there."

Silence follows. You can only assume he's followed your instructions. Mustering as much power as you can, you command the door to open. It just barely budges. But it's enough for you to slip through.

Inside, the room is dark. Gray concrete floors and walls are a nice change from the blinding white everywhere else. Copper pipes stick out from the ceiling. It almost seems like it's a boiler room, rather than an interrogation room. In fact, it is rather warm in here...

"Hey." Peter smiles at you. He's standing in the corner of the room, still in his Spiderman suit. Sweat plasters his curls to his forehead.

You race into his arms. "Oh God, I was so worried about you!"

"I'm okay," he whispers, stroking your hair. You put a gentle hand on his face. It's warm. Hot. Too hot. Sweat drenches his skin.

"Are you?" You reply. "Peter you're burning up."

He nods slowly. "Now that you mention it, I do feel a little warm."

You check his pulse and find that it's racing. And he's breathing abnormally. He's overheating. You wrap your arms around him. "Okay, we gotta get you outta here."

Peter stumbles a bit as you lead him towards the door. But it's closed. Fear explodes in your chest. You let go of Peter and he falls to the ground. You will your voice to open the door, but nothing happens. Again and again, nothing happens.

"Sorry Stark," a voice crackles through speakers hidden somewhere in the ceiling. "Won't work this time."

"Okay, listen bitch!" You scream scanning the room for a security camera. There, hidden among the pipes is a blinking red light. "I have the device, open the door!"

You reach into your pocket for the device - but it's not there. Frantically, you shrug your jacket off, turning it inside out, shaking it. Nothing! It must have fallen out somewhere. Hysteria eats at your mind. You can't die like this. You can't let Peter die like this!

Tears stream down your face as you kneel down next to Peter. His skin is almost burning to the touch. And he's losing consciousness. You hold him in your arms.

"Peter," you plead, snot dripping over your lip, "you have to stay with me, okay? Stay awake."

"Y/N..." he mumbles, staring up in you. There's almost nothing in his eyes. Just barely a spark of life. Oh God. He's slipping away. Oh God, oh God.

You take his hand in yours. Trying to keep it together, you kiss his knuckles and then bring his hand to your forehead. "Peter, I love you. This is not how this ends."

"I love you too," he murmurs, his eyelids fluttering closed.

You shake him. "Open your eyes."

He doesn't respond. A sort of inhuman sob escapes your mouth.

"Peter, please! You can't close your eyes!" Your tears drip onto his face. Still, he doesn't move. Terror claws at your chest. "Peter!"

Then his chest stops rising.

"Peter?"

You pull his head into your chest, rocking back and forth, humming a song your father would sing when you were sick. Stroking his hair, you will him to stay alive. Just to hold on for a little bit longer so you can figure out what to do. Barely, his pulse beats. But so long as it's there you have hope.

You bury your face into the top of his head. Why can't you protect him? Why did you finally get something good and have everything ripped from you?

Anger builds as the bitter questions toil over in your mind. No. This is not the time for wallowing in self pity. You came here to rescue Peter and that exactly what you are going to do. Even if you have to die trying.

Gently laying Peter down on the ground, you get to your feet, and stare directly into the camera. "Let us out or I will bring this entire place down."

"I believe you," Kalia responds. "But can you do it before your dear Parker is gone forever?"

That's it. Despite the nausea, the headache, the dizziness, the indescribably painful heat, you grit your teeth and glare. Sweat pours over you and your mouth goes dry, but you will not give up.

You plant your feet on the ground and place your palms on the door. You have no idea what you're going to do, or if it will even work, but you have to at least attempt it. Last time, you made a force-field in a burst of pure fear and exhilaration. A defensive thing could also be offensive, right? You hope. Or you're going to die in here.

Concentrating harder than you ever have before, you close your eyes and focus on the door shifting open. Energy pulses in your fingertips.

Beneath your breath, you whisper, barely audible, "Open."

Over and over. Power builds up from the very core of your being. You feel it pulsating around you. You open your eyes to find a sheen of purple energy shimmering in front of your hands. Even behind your eyes, you feel something tingling. A quick glance above you and in the reflection of the grimy pipes you see your eyes are glowing with a pale purple hue.

Just seeing that, something sparks inside of you. A confidence so unfamiliar it scares you. And ignites you.

You draw your arms back. One more time, you command the door to open. At the same time, your hands connect with the thick, heavy metal. For a brief second, time stops.

An explosion rocks the building. Splinters of metal fly across the room. You turn and cover your head with your arms. When the dust settles, the door is completely gone. A rush of cool air swirls through the stifling room. You let out a cry of relief.

Sparing no more hesitation, you rush over to Peter. With a burst of adrenaline, you lift him over your shoulders.

"Alright Peter," you say, staggering under his weight, "time to burn this place down."

A/N -

Alright, so this is kind of one of my worst fears because I hate the heat and thrive in the winter. To die of heatstroke sounds like the worst (realistic) way to go for me.