Chapter Text
2 AM. Why did it have to be 2 AM? He could have gotten home much earlier, but no. He just had to fall into a dumpster and cut his leg on… something. He never did see what it was, he just knew it was sharp and it hurt .
And he obviously couldn’t tell Mr. Stark ( no, we are not telling him, shut up, Karen ) because it was such a stupid rookie mistake and Peter was sure the billionaire would take the suit away again. Not to mention he was embarrassed. He should have been paying better attention to what he was aiming his webs at.
So, swinging back to the tower to patch it as fast as possible it was!
Or sleep it off.
Whichever the exhausted teen had the energy for.
…It was not looking good for this wound.
He lost track of how many times he almost passed out. Granted, he was losing quite a bit of blood. But every single time he felt overly dizzy, he had to sit on a roof to wait for the feeling to go away. He might be an idiot, but he did not want to fall and add a head injury to his current list of problems.
Safe to say Peter was annoyed. He just wanted to get home.
The tower slowly became closer and closer, and Peter was filled with both relief and anxiety. All he wanted was sleep. But he didn’t know if Mr. Stark was waiting for him (as he sometimes did when Peter was out past curfew) or if he would call May. She was away visiting extended family in Italy, leaving Peter with Mr. Stark for a few months.
Which was fine. It was fun. He got to have more lab time and hang around more of his family, but he still missed her. And he was, maybe, just a bit, absolutely terrified of her protective fury if she found out he was hurt.
May said she didn’t have the money for both to go, but Peter was kind of glad for it. He really didn’t want to miss too much school. Or lab time with Mr. Stark. That was the most important of course.
I should call her soon, Peter thought as he started to climb the building.
As soon as he reached his window at the tower, FRIDAY let him in and he crawled through. He rested on his stomach inside his room. Peter sagged in relief after finding the space empty of other people. As he was debating just going to sleep there, he heard the click of the glass close behind him and FRIDAY ask him a question.
“Sorry, FRI, can you say that again?” Peter said after another dizzy spell went away.
“I know you do not want Boss to know you are hurt, and considering it is not life threatening, I will not tell him if you clean and bandage the wound before going to sleep.” FRIDAY said as calm and patient as ever.
“Sure, sure, give me a second.” Peter responded as he ripped his mask off, panting a little. Then FRIDAY’s words registered in his brain. “Wait, seriously!?” He turned on his back to whisper-yell at the ceiling.
“Yes. Although if you do not take care of the wound, I will have to inform Boss.”
“Ok! Alright!” Peter, happy with that compromise, scrambled to his bathroom where he kept a fully stocked first aid kit under the sink. The fact that Mr. Stark didn’t know of its existence was an unimportant blessing. Bruce and Nat knew, and Peter was pretty sure Bucky knew, but Mr. Stark didn’t and that’s what mattered.
After digging the kit out and laying it open on the cold tile floor, Peter carefully peeled off his suit and took a good look at the wound. He grimaced when he saw the gash. It really wasn’t bleeding anymore, it just looked nasty.
The whatever-the-hell that cut him made a jagged slash along the outside of his left leg, from his hip to his knee, ripping through his briefs. Peter groaned quietly as he realized he had to take them off to care for the wound decently.
Peter sighed, dreading the amount of work patching the wound would take. He grumbled quietly as he got up to close the door, took his briefs off and washed his hands properly, then sat on the floor to take care of it.
It didn’t look like it needed stitches (thank fuck) but it was still deep enough that it needed something to hold it together. He took out the salt water bottle, gauze, tissue adhesive, and, after a bit of debating on the colors, the red compression wraps.
Considering the varying degrees of dried and wet blood around the cut, Peter decided to clean the wound a bit with normal water first. So, he grabbed a clean, already blood-stained cloth (thank everything he got to do his own laundry) and got to work.
Dabbing the wound with plain water was painful, but it was nothing compared to the sting of the salt water. He had to bite another towel to keep from screaming. And even then, he still let out small noises of pain.
Eventually, he stopped trying to control his tears. He just let them fall to keep his eyesight as clear as possible.
After the fifth time he had to stop due to pain, Peter was doubting if there was a time he felt weaker. Not even having a building collapse on him was as bad as this. How could he call himself a hero, or even a vigilante, if he wasn’t able to deal with a small wound by himself? Or without crying like a baby?
Time blurred for a while as he cleaned the wound, but once it was thoroughly clean, Peter tossed the rag aside to pick up and take care of later. Probably with more force than necessary. Whatever, he was annoyed and in pain and the cloth would be fine. The teenager gave himself a break, trying to calm his emotions and breathing.
He wished Harley were there. His boyfriend would be worried but at least Peter wouldn’t have to clean the wound alone. However, the cowboy had the audacity to live in Tennessee. Not exactly close but at least it wasn't somewhere like Washington.
Long-distance relationships were hard, but they were happy and healthy. Even though they both missed each other like crazy. Besides, Harley would be in New York for the summer on a Stark internship anyway.
Just one more week. Peter told himself. Just one more .
As soon as he felt like he wasn’t going to pass out again, Peter grabbed the tissue adhesive and took a few deep breaths. He decided to close it in parts, just a little bit at a time.
Each section took at least two minutes to fully dry. After twenty minutes of nauseating pain from holding the wound closed and biting the towel so hard his teeth were sore, Peter just wanted to sleep.
He didn’t know how long he spent trying to fix his mistake, but he was tired. And he had school the next day. Peter groaned as he remembered that small, little, very important fact.
Then he remembered the Aca Dec field trip and almost banged his head against a wall. He would be fine with the stupid trip, if all his past trips hadn’t gone horribly wrong. Oh, and this trip was to Stark Industries, his fucking house and the company he was going to inherit along with Harley.
His house for the time being at least.
His family was going to embarrass the hell out of him.
Goodbye social life.
Well, whatever sliver social life he had with Ned and Mj being his only friends.
At least no one questioned why Tony Stark had signed his permission form… yet.
He huffed as he grabbed the gauze and placed it on the wound, wincing despite how gentle he was being. Maybe he could convince Mr. Stark to home-school him. But May would never go for it. Damn .
Once his leg was carefully covered in the compression wrap, Peter started to put the med kit back together. Time blurred again, but at least it was over and he could finally go to sleep.
He threw on some pajamas (Peter never knew what would wake him up. It could be his alarm, or it could be some annoying bird with a bucket of ice cold water. That was not fun. Especially because Peter couldn’t thermoregulate, Clint! ) And made his way over to his bed. He passed out, barely managing to get under the covers before darkness consumed him.