Chapter Text
You know when you get that stomach feeling that just tells you, you've fucked up, and you've made a big problem for your future self? It's a constant state of existence as New York City's friendly neighborhood Spider-man. Especially when you got slashed by a lucky guy's switchblade a few days ago while on the job.
The wound itself wasn't anything to cry over. It hurt, sure, but he'd dealt with worse. Peter just cleaned it as usual and kept it covered. But it kept bleeding, and bleeding, and bleeding.
He was home, sitting on his thin futon after a long day of web-slinging around, reaching for his phone to doom-scroll when he felt that sinister rip.
Maybe it was fine. Probably just nothing.
Then he started getting that wet feeling, accompanied by that signature throb of blood.
His head rolled onto the back of the futon, mentally praying to whoever would listen. But the longer he kept his eyes squeezed shut, the harder it was to ignore what he knew was blood soaking through his already barely-decent bandage job.
Peter lifted the bottom hem of his shirt, annoyed to see the red blossoming through the bandages spanning over his side. With a loud and over-exaggerated groan, he dragged his feet to the bathroom, pulling the rest of the shirt off and tossing it on the floor. He'll pick it up later.
Opening his cabinet, he dug through the unsorted clutter and rummaged for any extra gauze. The cabinet's entire stock was on the floor before he declared it a lost cause. He knew he was forgetting something the last time he was at the store, though this was a real inconvenient way to find out.
He dragged his hands over his face, contemplating how bad it would be to leave on bled-through gauze. He could make it later-Peter's problem, but then later-Peter might have to peel away stuck gauze and that was a whole new headache. He also didn't want to stain anything, he already did his laundry for the week. Every possible solution danced around his head, buzzing about until he shook his head and forced himself to make a decision.
First, he peeled away the old gauze, the drooling blood instantly trailing down his abdomen reminding him that this gash was still very much a present-Peter problem.
He patted away the oozing blood with the old gauze before tossing it away in the trash. Admittedly, this was as far as his current plan went, but he didn't want to be standing in his bathroom with an open and free-bleeding wound for long.
Peter's eyes bounced between the gash and his reflection in the mirror, mentally grasping at any good ideas his mind conjured. His eyes lingered on his hands momentarily, and with a turn of the wrist, his spinnerets.
Maybe…
Out of curiosity, he shot a web onto his side, then another, until eventually the bleeding stopped blooming through.
Satisfied enough, he went ahead and brushed his teeth while he was in the bathroom. Peter stepped around the discarded shirt and went straight to his bed, tumbling onto the stale sheets. He tried stretching out, only for his feet to hit against the frame. Probably not best to stretch with questionable wound dressing, anyways.
His phone buzzed. From across the apartment.
He tried to ignore it at first. Spider-man was clocked out for the day. New York City could survive an hour while he got some shut-eye. Maybe.
Another buzz. Followed by another. And another.
"I'm coming. I'm coming." He half groaned into the fluff of his pillow.
Feeling half-dead, he swung his legs over the side of his bed and stood up again, holding onto his side cautiously. The webs stretched with his skin, and besides feeling a little extra sticky, they seemed to be holding up moderately well.
Peter barely got to his phone in time before the buzzing stopped, not bothering to check who it was before answering.
"What's happening?"
"Yo! Peter!"
"Ned?"
"Yeah— Duh. You're on speaker by the way. MJ and I were wondering if you wanna… swing by, maybe? Get it? Swing by?"
A giggle escaped Peter, "Yeah. Real clever." He smiled and shook his head, "Uh, yeah, I can swing by. Give me a bit. What's the plan?"
"Well, if you want… Some guy we know from school is throwing a party at his place."
"Ned…"
"It'll be good for you! Maybe— just maybe, you can have more than two friends. And don't worry, you don't have to bring flowers to this one."
Peter laughed, already picking up the floor shirt, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear as he struggled to put it on, "Yeah, yeah, keep making fun of me. Good sales tactic."
"Are you in or not?" MJ's voice cut through the call.
"Alright— I'll go. But you can't get sad if I try leaving early." He ghosted a touch over his webbed wound, "It's been a long day."
"Just get over here soon, we're leaving with or without you." MJ's voice echoed from afar, probably as she walked away from Ned's phone.
"We're going to wait." Ned chimed back in, "It's going to be fun. We can pre-game too."
"I'm not indulging in your Sharkfire addiction, Ned."
"Woah— uncalled for. I meant actual pre-gaming. Anyways, I'll let you go. Get here soon."
"I will. See you when I get there." Peter ended the call with a soft tap, setting the phone aside so he could pull up a pair of jeans he thrifted a week ago. They were a distressed dark-washed denim, baggy around the ankles, and most importantly: cheap as hell.
Peter threw his beat up wallet in his pocket and slipped on his already-tied sneakers. After one last look-over his apartment, he shut the light off, walked out the front door, and locked it behind him.
His abdomen still throbbed dully in the background. For a moment, he contemplated if this was the best decision he could be making at the moment.
Most likely not.
But a night with friends was something he simply couldn't turn down. Worst case scenario— more cobwebs. And he can't run out of those.