Spider-Son & Iron Dad two shots

Flash's Third Nurse Class

Spooktober 05: Sewn-Up

a/n: yesterday's oneshot was supposed to set this one up. but i changed my mind on the plot details, so have another oneshot of peter being stupidly wounded on patrol. my bad gang😔✊

if it wasn't obvious, this should be read as a sequel to "Flash's Second Nurse Class"

flash (not gordon)

you're supposed to be my partner in decathlon today [2:31pm]

did you forget or are you just skipping on purpose again [2:31pm]

i know ned isnt here but come on man i actually studied this time and everything [2:32pm]

Peter is currently juggling with the art of trying to text back and not dripping blood everywhere. One would think he'd learn by now that skipping a period to go save a civilian he hears a few blocks away isn't a good idea, because it's impossible to account for any potential accidents that could happen out in the suit.

He has clearly not learned by now, and is surely kicking himself for breaking his personal rule about it on a decathlon day, because MJ has been training them to the bone for Nationals this year and her glare when he misses a meeting is so, so much worse than any weapon or hit a third rate criminal could throw.

He can't discount the criminals though, because, seriously. His arm hurts real bad.

Peter wrestles himself out of his suit, wincing as the cut chafes against the fabric. His bare back hits the cramped stall of the bathroom, and he mutters several curses as the cold metal knocks against his various scrapes and bruises. Truly, if he were to describe teenage vigilantism, he would show this memory in a grave, defeated silence.

Left only in his boxers, he stumbles back out of the stall and goes to the sink, blood dripping all the way across the dirty tile floor. He leans himself down, his elbow hitting the faucet on, and lets the lukewarm water run the red away.

One-handed, he types back a message to Flash.

no i reemember ssrry im almsost there [2:34pm]

Peter sighs tightly at the misspellings and looks back down at his arm. The slice he got wasn't terrible, he's had deeper ones that have been real close to nicking arteries and other fun stuff, but it would still need stitches. Fantastic.

Reluctantly, he pulls his arm back from under the water and quickly goes back into the stall. His backpack is wedged on the floor underneath his suit, and his first aid stuff is easily accessible in the little pouch of that. He crouches down, maneuvering stuff around with his good arm.

The suit gets stuffed into the big pouch, and he grimaces as he does it, because he knows he's going to have to clean his backpack when he gets home now to make sure there's not blood on his homework. The first aid kit gets open, even though he had to use his knee to keep it still while his fingers fiddled with the stupid plastic clicky bit that kept it shut.

"Halfway there," Peter says quietly to himself, taking a breath. He's sort of lightheaded, and there's a lot of blood on his arm again, so it's back to the sink. As soon as he stands back up, his vision whites out and his head starts spinning, and he has to take a second just leaning against the wall of the stall.