spiderman angst/sickfic oneshots

infection (irondad)

He was panting into the towel. He spit it in front of him and grabbed the gauze, breathing heavily, trying to get over his crying and steady his breath as he dressed his wound to the best of his ability. (Sloppy)

By the time he was done, he was unsure weather his arm feeling a little cold and numb was a good or a bad thing and he was sobbing uncontrollably.

He thought he was good with pain but fuck did that hurt. It was hurting.

It all hurt so bad.

He dug around in his cabinet until he found some pain relievers, then prayed to Jesus they would help somehow and took 6, hoping his enhanced metabolism would actually use the extra pills to get rid of the pain.

His plan had been to eat something to help his healing, but after the feeling and pain of pulling a bullet from his arm? He wasn't hungry at all.

So he called it a night, brushed his teeth, and went to bed, hoping the wound would be healed up within a day or two.

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News flash: It did not heal within a day or two. It got infected instead.
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"Peter, why aren't you eating?" Ned asked.

The two were sitting at the lunch table, Ned was munching away as he usually did, but Peter sat dormant in front of him. Usually he was starved by lunch, but if we're being honest here, he wasn't looking too hot.

His cheeks were flushed but the rest of his face was ghostly pale. He looked just a little shiny, like he was sweaty. His posture was tense, his wounded shoulder a little less than the other, only adding to his nervous and slightly disheveled aesthetic.

"Okay, spill Peter we all know you never shut up. What's wrong? Why are you so quiet?" MJ demanded in her usually, careless manner. But even Ned could tell she was suspicious. Maybe even a little worried.

"It's really nothing. just not too hungry." He said shortly, avoiding eye contact, trying to hide the fact that he knew he felt like he was about to hurl because of the infection that was raging through his body.

He'd googled it.
He had most of the symptoms.
Actually more than most, he felt terrible in more parts of his body that just his arm.

His wound was leaking gross cloudy pus, it was red and swollen and there were streaks of the same red color beaming away from it and extending up his arm like sunrays. Not to mention it was still gooey and gross and not even close to healed underneath the bandage. It hurt worse than it did initially.

Constant. Idle. Pain.

He had tried treating it with heat, unwrapping the tight bandage and gauze and letting the heat of warm water kill it, but he quickly figured out that normal people go to the hospital for bullet wounds, and that google wouldn't have advice for infections on an injury any more than a scrape or mild cut.

"Peter, let's go. You literally look like you're about to spew chunks everywhere." MJ said, standing up. Ned looked suddenly freaked out, glancing nervously between MJ and Peter.

"That's gross." Ned said.

"Stay here, Ned. I know you're squeamish." MJ directed as she grabbed Peter by the arm and dragged him to the bathroom.

"MJ." He defied weakly as she tugged him along, he was slow and sluggish but he spotted where he was being taken.

She pulled him towards the girls restroom.

He pulled away.

"I can't go in there!" He yelped, stumbling back in dizziness without her guiding support.