Chapter Text
He was in for a wild ride, seeing as he didn't get home until 3:30 am. So, needless to say, his attitude hadn’t done him any favors. Admittedly, he wished he had reacted better to being woken up from his impromptu nap. In his defense, though, they did nothing but argue about things that could be resolved with a productive adult conversation. So if anything, he was doing the world a favor by reacting like he had. Maybe he’d humbled the group somewhat.
With a long sigh, he plopped his bag on the coffee table. His legs trembled with exhaustion as he slumped onto the soft couch. He breathed in the fresh floral scent of the cushions and buried his head deep into the fluffy decorative pillows like a little kid. His hands clutched onto the heart-shaped one May had made to “complete” the couch. His eyes began to droop, but he shook himself to stay awake. He wanted to wait for May, but his head was aching. It felt like someone hit him over the head with a metal bat. Which wasn’t abnormal, Peter had persistent headaches. Part of him considered the prospect of getting back up to take some ibuprofen, but his body was too comfortable to move, and even then, the medication wouldn’t have even worked, anyway.
Ever since he’d recovered from that stupid spider bite, his body treated medicine like candy. As in, Peter could swallow several bottles full of pills and have nothing happen. It’s not normal, but Aunt May doesn’t know what to do to help him. He’d once downed several bottles full of pills in hopes of quenching his migraines, but none of it worked. It should’ve worked. For a normal non-mutant human being, that would’ve resulted in a horrific overdose, or at least that’s what May said to him. Unfortunately, Peter’s metabolism works at an alarmingly accelerated rate. Meaning that he had to throw up all of those pills for no reason. Another horrible byproduct of that stupid Stark Industries spider.
Still, Aunt May’s horrified and angry expression will forever be engraved in his memory. So he’d just have to wait out the agony. He didn’t want her coming home to find him in the bathroom surrounded by the empty containers of pain medication again. Only to have to reexplain to Peter why he can’t do this while he’s screaming and crying about how much his head still hurts despite taking all the pills. Ever since that day, he felt a keen desire to apologize for what he’d done, but May hadn’t wanted to talk about it after it happened. So, he left the situation alone.
Sucking in a deep breath, Peter rolled over onto his back, fishing his phone from his pocket and tapping his screen to check his notifications. A blinding light bloomed from the phone, causing the young man’s eyes to shut momentarily before they fluttered back open. Once his eyes adjusted to the light, he scrolled through the messages he’d received throughout the day. Replying to Ned about their next hangout before swiping through his notifications to see what May had sent. As he read the message from her, an exhausted whine escaped his throat. Aunt May’s going to be home late tonight. But Peter R. Parker knows better. An “I’m not going to be home till late” text from May meant that she wasn’t coming that night or even that morning. It made Peter wonder why she took on so many extra shifts. I mean, he knows why, obviously, but the question remains. Sometimes he needed her comfort or advice, and she’d just be gone. Another late shift at the hospital or a work emergency of some kind. Like now, he needs her now, like really, really bad, and she’s not here. As much as he hated to admit it, he felt angered by it. A strong burning bile burned his throat as his eyes began to water. Peter tried to stop his stomach from forming its typical angry, anxious knots by taking in a few shaky breaths. His shoulders were tensed so hard that they felt sore. His teeth dug into the flesh of his lips as his mind wandered. If he had just left during that stupid argument, then he could’ve made it home in time to at least say goodbye, but nope. Peter just had to run his big mouth and make unnecessary commentary.
Thanks to that commentary, Fury labeled him impulsive, sarcastic, and reckless. An apparent perfect fit for the Avengers' guidance. A decision that Peter wasn’t allowed to reject until he fixed his attitude or somehow proved that he wasn’t impulsive. Something that he wasn’t able to prove because of the overwhelming evidence proving the accusation.
With a heavy sigh, the young man ripped himself from the soft surface beneath him, his head throbbed at the action, and a wave of nausea soon accompanied the feeling. Which wasn’t doing him any favors, nor was the shaking that had hold of his body. It was like he’d just walked out of an ice bath or stayed outside in the cold for too long. This is probably bad. His stomach growled as he weakly made his way through the dreary apartment. Silently sulking as he made his way into the apartment’s small kitchen area. Sluggishly flipping through the cabinets in search of a glass to fill with water.
LOOK! F-R-I-E-N-D! NEW FRIEND!
Peter glanced over at the locked door expectantly. Waiting for the doorbell to ring, but it didn’t. Oh god, please don’t be an Avenger.
F-R-I-E-N-D!
With a heavy sigh, Peter shuffled towards the door. His trembling hands gripping the doorknob as he threw open the door to see…No one? Okay, maybe his Spidey-tingle was haywire today? Which wouldn’t be too abnormal because he was anxious, and still couldn’t tell the difference between anxiety and the Spidey-tingle yet. The only thing that disproved the anxiety theory was that the tingle wasn’t perceiving whatever it was as a threat, like it did when he was anxious. His Spidey-tingle was perceiving it as a friend. Which hadn’t ever happened before because if there’s no threat, then there’s no reason for the Spider sense to kick in at all. Still, Peter peeked his head outside. Glancing down the hall, but found nobody.
“Well, that was weird,” Peter muttered to himself before shutting the door back.
“Hello, Mr. Parker.” A woman’s voice greeted him from behind.
A terrified gasp escaped Peter’s lips, and he quickly spun around to meet the face of the intruder. An action that reacquainted him with his aching head. The throbbing intensity grew, and yet he was still determined to locate the intruder. That’s when his eyes landed on the spy in the middle of his living room. Is this going to become a running theme? Natasha stood in his living room with a bag of takeout in one hand and what looked like an EpiPen in the other. Peter glared at the spy with mild resentment as he took up a more defensive position. Can’t I just catch a break?
“What do you want?” Peter asked.
Natasha quirked an eyebrow, “I would like to administer pain medication to a very grumpy, itsy bitsy spider.”
Peter scoffed at the “itsy bitsy spider” line, but his shoulders sagged in defeat. He knew that he couldn’t fight a trained spy right now. He had a damned headache. So, rather than furthering the ache, he simply locked the door back and dragged his feet back to the couch. Slumping back on it with typical teenage grumpiness. He crossed his arms tightly against his chest and scowled up at her.
“Itsy bitsy spider is extremely unoriginal, pick a new spider-themed nickname.” He spat, choosing to ignore her comment about giving him medicine.
Natasha chuckled at his snarky comment, something that Peter hadn’t expected. FRIEND! Alrighty, so she is what triggered the abnormality. The tingle never pointed out a “good” person before; it felt weird. Still, Peter’s scowl remained as clear as day. He needed Natasha to see that he was unhappy and not curious.
“Well, that’s too bad, Itsy,” Natasha replied, chucking a chicken sandwich from the bag at him.
Thanks to his heightened reflexes, Peter caught the sandwich before it could hit anything in its general radius. A small smile sneaking its way onto his lips at the retort to his quip and the food that’d been given to him. Sinking his teeth into the juicy sandwich he’d been tossed. Something that you should not try at home because taking food from strangers who break into your house isn’t smart. Peter’s just in a lot of pain and hungry! Not that it makes the situation any less complicated on paper from a legal standpoint. Honestly, Peter hadn’t cared now that he had a meal.
His mind wrapped around the taste of the sandwich. Which left him far more exposed than normal. A little more attention would’ve done him some serious good because before he could react, Natasha launched towards him. Grabbing hold of his wrist, causing the young man to drop the partially unwrapped sandwich. Peter tried in vain to get free of Natasha’s hold. Flailing against the spy’s grip, but she hadn’t even reacted. Maybe I should’ve fought the trained spy. He thought bitterly, as his body tensed when Natasha administered the injection. His panicked struggling did nothing to help him against the spy’s grip. She was determined to ensure that the medication was properly administered. It took a minute or two before Peter’s struggles grew strained and ragged. His eyes began to droop as the medication dragged him from consciousness. Panic spread through him as he attempted to stay conscious, but it was useless, and only then did Natasha let him go.
“Relax, Peter,” Natasha told Peter gently. “It’s only to help with the pain.”
That’s easy for you to say, you’re not losing consciousness on your living room couch.
Even as his vision faded to black, his stupid, tingly senses still perceived Natasha as a friend. What kind of friend stabs you in the neck with pain medicine? An Avenger, that’s what kind. If they keep this up, Peter won’t join them; instead, he’d call a local supervillain group and join them.