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Part 6 of Marionb3rry's AI-less Whumptober 2025
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AILESS Whumptober 2025
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Published:
2025-10-14
Words:
871
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
10
Kudos:
10
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1
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84

I Know It’s Over (Still I Cling)

Summary:

Peter Parker adopts a pet to keep him company post No-Way-Home. It doesn't end too well.

For AI-less whumptober

Notes:

Prompts:

3. "Please don't leave me!"
Alt 3. Non-human pet whumpee
Alt 4. Chronic condition
Alt 5. No-win scenario
Alt 8. Mercy

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Peter Parker found the dog the same night he accepted the fact that no one would ever say his name again.

The clouds were grumpier than usual that day, and rain pelted Peter’s unsound window in a sporadic rhythm. The view from the window was blurry, nothing distinct except the faint glow of city lights blending together.

Peter sat shivering by the decaying radiator and begged for warmth. He only had a battered blanket, but he was grateful for the slight comfort it brought.

Nothing in his dilapidated apartment was entertaining. It was empty, blank, and silent. Which was why, when Peter heard a vague whimper cut through the silence, his Spider-Sense flared up, as well as the goosebumps on his arms. He got up and investigated, becoming soaking wet as he climbed the fire exit.

He found a dog, trembling and alone, in a nearby alleyway. Peter could decipher reddish brown fur under his dirty exterior.

“Hey, buddy,” Peter cooed, crouching low.

The dog looked up at him, and Peter lifted his hand for the dog to smell. The dog flinched but didn’t lash out, so Peter deemed it safe to give him a few pats.

Peter had always had a soft spot for animals. Perhaps that is why, in that moment, he picked up the drenched dog and carried it, like a baby, up to his room.

Peter grabbed his blanket and let the dog dry off and sleep on it. That night, the dog and the boy huddled up close together, helping to warm each other. Peter could hear the dog’s heartbeat as he fell asleep, and it comforted him to have the presence of another, after being alone for so long.

Peter duly named the dog Rusty, after its colour.

Weeks passed like so, the two keeping each other company. Despite being poor, Peter made sure he always had enough money to afford dog food for his furry companion. Rusty cutely learned to greet him at the door when Peter returned from Spider-Man patrolling, tail wagging in exhilaration.

And despite the apartment being so empty, Rusty made it feel like home. No, nothing could ever compare to May’s flat, or his guest room at Stark Tower, but this setup felt completely pure and alive, especially when Peter heard Rusty’s excited footsteps across the linoleum floor. It was a new phase of his life, he supposed. He took a deep breath in.

Peter went to a local park and picked up all the discarded dog toys and balls. He rinsed them under the tap and brought them home to Rusty, who leapt in joy when Peter brought them in, bundled in his arms. Peter took Rusty for a walk at 6 in the morning, every day. He bought the leash second-hand, but it was well-loved. Rusty had always enjoyed playing with Peter, and Peter was happy.

Peter learned how to smile again.

Then, Rusty started limping.

Peter attributed it to over-walking his dog. But the limp grew worse every day. Peter’s hope faded when he saw the spark in the dog’s eyes dull. He slept throughout the day and no longer met Peter at the door.

Peter stopped going out on patrol, too worried to leave Rusty alone. And when he finally saved enough money to go to a vet, they left together, nervous tension and all.

The walls were sterile and cold. As Peter lingered while the dog was getting examined, he reflected on his life.

The vet’s words came quietly. Bone cancer. Extremely advanced.

The treatment? To put him down.

Peter sat, desolate and desperate. His chest ached, and he swore broken-heart-syndrome was making an appearance. Spider-Man could help with anything, but this? This was something he could not fix. This was torture. This was a no-win scenario.

He could refuse and spend Rusty’s remaining days playing with him. But Rusty would suffer. Or he could be merciful, put him down, end his suffering. But then Peter would be by himself, again. He didn’t think he could manage.

Peter agreed to one more week. Then he’d come back for the procedure.

He took Rusty home and lay him on the bed. He made sure to cook an extra delicious meal for him, too. With chocolate on the side. And then Peter snuggled up with him. But he wasn’t warm anymore. He was cold.

“Please don’t leave me, Rusty,” Peter whispered, “you’re all I’ve got left.”

Peter rested Rusty’s head in his lap, stroking his fur. It was time. Rusty blinked slowly, then his eyes closed. Permanently. His last exhale was quiet.

Peter didn’t move from his position for a long time. He let himself cry as the once-exuberant dog passed away.

Outside, the world carried on. Indifferent to his grief. Cars passed on the roads, rain pelted the window. The usual hum of life didn’t still.

Days later, Peter woke up at 6am, out of habit. As he dressed and reached for the leash, he realised his mistake. He longed for the familiar thump of paws or the warm fur against his skin. He knew it would not return.

And suddenly, he was back to square one. Truly alone, once again.

❤️🕸️🕷️🕸️❤️

Notes:

Thanks for reading 💫

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