IronDad/SpiderSon One-shots

overworked and overstimulated

Third Person POV:
Word Count: 1,712
Spooktober Day Three: Buckle
a/n: shout out to all my overworked and overstimulated readers out there! you're doing an amazing job and i am so proud of you for everything you do! remember to give yourself a break every so often and properly take care of yourself! have the best day ever and i hope you enjoy the story <3<3

"I'd suggest seeking medical care," Karen's voice flooded into Peter's suit.

Peter groaned as he finished webbing up the last guy he had been fighting. "You think," he said breathlessly, leaning back against the wall as his vision started to blur. "Give me the rundown so I know whether to take you seriously or I tell Tony you're getting overprotective again," he said as he focused on taking deep breaths.

Karen had a mind of her own these days, and Peter thought Tony might have something to do with that. The sarcastic response came from the A.I. seconds later. "Would you like me to tell Mr. Stark that you call him Tony when he isn't around," she said blandly.

"Yeah, yeah, fine. I'm sorry. What's the damage," he said breathlessly, trying to keep himself from sliding down the wall.

Another pause and Karen responded. "No life-threatening injuries that I can detect, but definitely injuries to be worried about. You have two bruised ribs on your right side. Rib 6 and Rib-"

Peter let out a sigh. "So that's why it hurts to breathe. Thanks, Karen. That's all I needed," he said as he shot out a web, starting to swing home with a wince.

"You didn't let me finish," Karen said. Peter didn't say anything, so Karen continued. "You have two bruised ribs on your right side. Rib 6 and Rib 7. You have a mild concussion that should heal within the next twenty-four if properly taken care of. You have a sprained wrist, and you have slight bruising to your back. All of this requires additional rest and should probably be looked at by a doctor to make a better diagnosis. Would you like me to call Tony or Happy?"

Pursing his lips together. He forgot about that. Tony made some stupid—to him, at least—protocol that would make him call either Tony or Happy if the most minor thing happened. "Neither," he said as he landed on the roof of his apartment building, done with patrol for the night.

"That is not an option Peter," Karen replied calmly. "Would you like me to call-"

With an angry huff, Peter ripped off his mask. He knew that it'd send a text alert to both Tony and Happy, but he didn't care. He was frustrated and he wasn't in the mood to get lectured by a robot.

Patrol hadn't been kind to him tonight. He started right after decathlon practice and had gone for seven hours straight. Every time he tried to go home, something happened. First it was a robbery. Then it was a fight in the grocery store a few blocks down. Then a car wreck followed by another robbery. And, when he finally thought he was done, a huge fight broke out behind one of the bars and when he tried to help mediate things, it got ugly.

That's how life had felt lately. One thing after another and another. He couldn't catch a break, no matter how hard he tried. If it wasn't patrol, it was school. If it wasn't school, it was decathlon. If it wasn't decathlon, it was life. Things had been so hectic for him, especially with May getting a new job and having to travel a lot. He was happy for her, of course, but it left him alone a lot, which wasn't exactly the best thing ever.

Peter climbed into his room from the window, closing it gently. He knew May wasn't home, but it was an old habit that brought him comfort. He threw his mask down on the ground, hitting the spider in the middle of his suit to make it loose. He let it drop to the floor, grabbing the first shirt and pair of sweatpants he saw on his floor. He really needed to clean his room. Not now, though.