Tased and Afraid

                                    

                                          


                          
Spooktober 15: Electrocution
                          
⚠️gross desc of injuries⚠️
                          
"Get back!" The woman screams shrilly. It would be impossible to clearly see Peter in the shadows as anything other than a dark figure, so it made sense why the woman was fearful, to say the least.
                          
Peter had only stopped his normal swing to ask if she wanted a walk home. He had heard her muttering anxiously to herself, wringing her keys in her hands—The streets of any borough were often intimidating for anybody walking alone, adding the fact that it was dark, and she was young, Peter thought it might bring comfort to have the friendly-neighbourhood criminal-puncher to walk her home.
                          
He should have approached this better. That one is on him, truly.
                          
"Woah!" Peter holds his hands up quickly. "Hold on, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm—"
                          
The hook clips into the meat of his thigh and sends jolts of electricity through his muscles, and Peter instantly is rendered immobile. His brain goes blank, he can distantly feel how hard he clenches his teeth. 
                          
In a second, it seems to be over, and Peter collapses on his knees, gasping for breath. His heart pounds in his chest, and he tastes blood pooling into his mouth. He didn't even realize that he had bit down on his tongue. "Okay! Smart. Fair, too. Hold on, though, I wasn't done."
                          
He stood up, his vision going blurry, and swallowed the blood in his mouth. The world shifts on its axis, and Peter leans his body, stumbling to stay right-side-up from what his eyes were seeing.
                          
Fatal mistake! In his numbness, he forgot about the other end bit into his leg. Another buzz of electricity steals the air from his lungs, and he falls back to the floor. A shockwave of horrific pain vibrates at his spinal cord and pulses at his joints. 
                          
"M-M-M-M-othe-r-t-trucker—" His tongue feels like he licked one of those old staticky television screens. You know the ones. 
                          
Peter reaches down as soon as the excruciating torment ends and wraps his hand around the string and yanks as hard as he can, ripping through his skin and the suit he was wearing. Everything in his organs shrivels up at the motion and he dry-heaves with the sensation it gives.
                          
"Okay. Getting tased is officially higher up on the 'never again' list than gunshots," Peter says weakly. 
                          
"Please don't hurt me," the woman stutters, and the fear in her voice breaks his heart. He knows what that feels like.
                          
Peter shakes his head quickly. "No, no, no! I'm not—Hold on, I'm gonna step into the light, okay? You can watch me the whole time, I'll put my hands up and everything."
                          
"...Okay," the woman says cautiously. She gives him a jerk of a nod. 
                          
Peter slowly raises his hands and limps into better view under the streetlight. He leans against the post to try and keep himself upright. The dizziness from everything still hasn't gone away, and he's pretty sure his muscles are spasming still.
                          
"See?" Peter says. "Not a bad guy. I'm sorry for scaring you."
                          
The woman, upon recognizing the mask, drops her keys in shock. She scrambles to pick them back up. "Spider-Man! I— I'm— I thought you were— I'm so sorry! Oh god. You're hurt. Is your leg okay?"
                          
"Oh, uh..." Peter looks down at his thigh. The second his eyes see the damage, it immediately begins to sting more. Definitely not a pretty injury, if those were ever a thing to begin with.
                          
(It wasn't even a cool patrol voicemail either. "Hey, Happy! Here's my report for tonight. I got tased and ripped up my suit pretty bad—Tell Mr. Stark I'm sorry! I'll sew it up pretty good, I promise. You might be wondering how it happened? Uh. I ripped the grippy thingy out. My leg really hurts. It wasn't even a bad guy, just a scared lady. I'll be okay though. That's it for tonight. Uh... bye.")
                          
"...Yeah," Peter says eventually. He shrugs. "Don't stress. I've had worse, this is nothing."
                          
"Why were you, you know—" The woman anxiously looks around. "Was I being followed by someone?"
                          
"No, nothing like that," Peter promises. "You just looked nervous. I was gonna ask if it would make you feel more comfortable if you had someone walking with you."
                          
The woman tilts her head, furrowing her eyebrows. "Do you have someone?"
                          
"Yeah, duh!" Peter gives her a toothy grin that she can only see through the folds of his mask. "Me!"
                          
"Oh." The woman stares at him. She chews on her bottom lip worriedly. "Can you still walk?"
                          
Peter looks down at his leg. The answer he should give is: "Absolutely not, but it was nice meeting you."
                          
Instead, Peter gave a little nod and stood back up, already missing the sturdiness of the lamppost to lean on. His vision felt a bit clearer, and the spinning was... less. 
                          
"Of course! Lead the way, ma'am."
                          
The woman hesitates and starts walking down the street. Peter sees how she seems to relax a little more, as the key fiddling stops and her heartbeat calms down. Her shoulders are still tense, though, and he can tell she's keeping a close eye on her surroundings.
                          
"I'm sorry for electrocuting you," she speaks up guiltily. "I thought I was going to be attacked."
                          
"It's okay. It happens." Peter looks at her from the side. "Are you new to the city?"
                          
"How could you tell?"
                          
Peter smiles. "I've been doing this a while. Is it down this street?"
                          
The woman nods quietly. They turn down the left street and continue to walk. The air and moving around is helping Peter heal faster from the disorientation, he realizes. He's walking in a straighter line now than he was a few minutes ago.
                          
"It's nice of you to walk people home."
                          
"Yeah," Peter shrugs. "What can I say? I like to take care of my neighbours. I just wear a red suit instead of Mr. Rogers red sweater."
                          
"Captain America wears sweaters?"
                          
"Not that Mr. Rogers." Peter glances down the row of houses. "Are one of these yours?"
                          
"The one on the far right," the woman says. "I think I can make it the rest of the way, though. Thank you, Spider-Man."
                          
"No problem." Peter gives her a thumbs-up. "I'm gonna go take care of my leg now. I definitely should not have ripped that out."
                          
"I think you're supposed to get those surgically removed," the woman admits. She gives him a grimace. "Sorry again."
                          
Peter waves her off. "It's no problem, remember? Have a good night, ma'am."
                          
"Have a good night," the woman says; before turning and walking down to her house. Peter waits till she closes her front door before finally leaving. 
                          
When he got home, his thigh needed to be sanitized and bandaged, but the blood had stopped a while before that happened due to his healing factor. And yeah, electrocution definitely wasn't his favourite on the list of things to happen on patrol, but he went to sleep easy knowing at least one civilian felt safer tonight. 
                          
(It was not Happy who called him back, but Mr. Stark. The call notification had him spitting out his cereal on the table the next morning. 
                          
"Kid. You're telling me you got hit with a taser on patrol, and the first thing you did was rip the thing out of your flesh?!"
                          
"Uh... I feel like this is entrapment—"
                          
"Don't you even dare try to sew that rip, by the way. I don't care how good-quality May's sewing thread is, that fabric has more technology in it then there is in the dumpster behind your apartment. We'll figure it out when you come over next, I'll teach you how to fix it properly. God, I sound like my mom. Bye.")