TW: mentions of death, addiction withdrawals, mentions of death, mentions of trauma.

I lay in bed, my eyes closed but my body unable to get to sleep as I tossed and turned in the white sheets. When I had gotten home from work at five, Peter had been fast asleep on my couch, his scrawny body only covered with a white towel to tell me that he'd had a shower and had promptly passed out on the relative comfort that was my sofa. After that, I had quietly made food, and had gone to bed early myself after what had been another excruciating day at work. And yet here I was, awake hours later and just staring at my ceiling in the dark. I didn't know why I was still awake. After all, Peter was now safe and was starting to be on the right track for his recovery. But I knew that he still had a long way to go, and I was sure that he knew that too. Not to mention that the note from work was playing on my mind. What did they mean 'I know who killed MJ, and I know who they work for'? I had always assumed that the thugs were just another pair of criminals intent on killing Peter slash Spider-Man so that they could commit more crimes without him interrupting. Maybe I had been wrong. The journalist part of my brain was telling me that I needed to find out who left me the note, and what they meant by it. My eyes opened again as I heard something, but I couldn't identify what exactly it was. I sat up in bed, my ears listening eagerly for the small sound that seemed to pierce through the dark. Suddenly, I realised what it was. Whimpers. I stood from my bed, my eyebrows furrowed as I heard quiet whimpers and cries coming from the living room. I walked out and walked around the sofa, sadness filling my heart as Peter lay on the cushions, his eyes still closed and a thin layer of sweat glistening against his skin as he shivered uncontrollably and wrapped the blanket completely around his weak body. I sighed, knowing immediately that he was going through the start of withdrawals. I headed back into my bedroom and went to my closet, grabbing all of the blankets that I could find before going back out. I gently placed them over Peter's body, making his eyes slowly flutter open as I also turned the electric fire on in the fireplace.

"H-hey." Peter spoke quietly, the boy giving me a weak smile as I sat next to his body on the sofa.

"How are you feeling?" I asked as I gently pressed my hand against his forehead to feel for his temperature. His skin felt painfully hot to touch, telling me that this was going to be a long few days. If not longer.

"Like someone is ripping my insides out and then stapling them back together." He nodded. I winced slightly at the description, a sigh leaving my lips as I looked at the hurting boy.

"Is this your first time going through withdrawals?" I asked, making Peter nod in response. I sighed again and desperately tried to think what I could do to help. Suddenly, I got an idea.

"Pete, I'll be back in a minute, okay? Hang in there." I nodded. He returned it and gave me a weak smile, his eyes fluttering shut as I stood from the sofa. I grabbed my keys and phone, trying to be quiet as I opened the front door and slipped out of my apartment. I quietly padded along the hallway, only just realising that it was still the early hours of the morning and that now probably wasn't the best time to do this, but I was pulled by my thoughts by my eyes landing on the door. I knocked on it gently, the sounds of shuffles starting a few seconds later. The door opened to reveal May in her pyjamas and a dressing gown, her eyebrows furrowed as she looked at me.

"Is everything okay, honey? Is Peter okay?" she gulped.

"I realise that it's stupidly early, so I'm sorry for that, but he's going through withdrawals already, so he's in a lot of pain right now. That being said, I have a favour to ask of you." I nodded, making her return it as she allowed me into the apartment.

I opened the door to my apartment and slipped back in, holding the container close to me so that I didn't risk dropping it. I locked the door again and padded to the kitchen, Peter still shivering and whimpering from the sofa. I put the container down and grabbed a flannel before soaking it in cold water. I sighed and bit my lip at the sight of the poor boy as I walked around the sofa and leant down to place the soaking flannel against his sweat-drenched forehead.

"Oh my god, that feels amazing." He groaned in relative relaxation, sighing loudly as the flannel gave him some form of relief. I chuckled as I sat down at his feet, his eyes fluttering open again to look at me.

"Where did you go?" he asked quietly. I shrugged, not wanting to ruin the surprise for him.

"I'll tell you in the morning." I spoke, chuckling again as he raised his eyebrow in scepticism. My smile dipped as Peter's gaze stayed on me.

"What?" I asked. He shook his head.

"The last few weeks have been such a roller-coaster, that it's taken me going through withdrawals to realise that I never asked you what you've been doing for these past five years." He mumbled.

"I don't blame you, Pete, you've had a lot on your mind." I nodded.

"I know, but I want to know. I want to know how you've been." He shrugged as he sat up slightly, though still wincing at the pain that he was in. I sighed and also adjusted myself so that my back was against the arm rest and my legs were outstretched next to Peter's.

"I've not been great, I can't lie." I admitted with a nod as I looked at Peter. His eyes wavered and he sighed.

"For a while after MJ died, I got through it by just burying myself into my college applications and school work. I figured that if I could get into a university out of state, I'd be able to escape what had happened." I started, Peter nodding along as he listened intently.

"I got into Harvard to study journalism, and it was kind of the perfect way out. Until what happened followed me there. Not only through the nightmares and the night terrors, but everyone knew who I was. No one saw me as more than the poor girl who was there when her best friend got killed because of Spider-Man." I scoffed and shook my head. Peter's eyes wavered again, making my eyes widen as I realised what I'd said.

"Shit, Pete, I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to say that." I gulped. He shook his head and gave me a small smile.

"Not you who said it, it was them." He reassured. I sighed and nodded before carrying on.

"So, after six months, it became too much and I ended up dropping out. I moved back in with my parents here in Queens, which is how I ended up renting this place from them when they decided to move to a proper house. I still wanted to work a job that I loved, so I applied to every newspaper, TV station and everything in between. The Queens Daily newspaper said that they'd take me on, which was great, until I got a misogynistic pig of a boss. Mr Jameson." I nodded. Peter's eyes widened slightly.

"Y/N, isn't that the guy who absolutely hates Spider-Man's guts?" he gulped. I looked at him.

"Yeah. That too." I smiled timidly. He sighed and shook his head.

"Neither of us have had the best of years, huh." He mumbled. I shook my head and looked at him, the moonlight that was streaming through my living room windows framing the boy's face beautifully. I knew that I shouldn't have been focusing on that when we were having such a deep conversation and when he was going through withdrawals, but my mind couldn't help itself.

"At least we made it through." I mumbled. Peter gulped and looked down.

"Yeah, but we should have made it through together. And I'm so sorry that we didn't." he choked. I sighed and bit my lip, my gaze studying him as tears pricked his eyes.

"It's okay, Pete. There's no point dwelling on what you could have done, or what you should have done. The important thing is that we have each other now, yeah?" I asked as I reached out and put my hand on the boy's blanket-covered knee. He nodded and sniffed, giving me a small smile as he in turn put his hand over mine.

"And fuck, am I glad to have you." He admitted, making me smile and look down as his kind words warmed my heart. Just like they had back in high school.