With great power, comes great responsibility.

Two days. It's been two days, and it still hurts this badly. For a moment I stare at Mary Jane in stunned silence, eyes wide in disbelief, but then she's crying, and it doesn't matter that my head weighs more than Wilson Fisk or that my skin is on fire or that even the shallowest of breaths are enough to make my chest explode from pain -- instinct overrides agony. Ignoring the protests of tortured muscles and the throbbing ache of my shoulder, I sit up as best I can, almost surprised when I make it as far as I do, because I'm not tied down like I originally thought, just so much weaker than expected. The nausea hits harder than ever, but I ignore it just the same as the rest of it, too concerned with her to even begin bothering with me.

"Shh, shh, shh," I murmur, and I lift the hand she just let go of, though she's too far away for me to reach, now. "It's okay, you have nothing to apologize for, it's okay."