After the events of No Way Home, Peter Parker had the chance to restart his life and start fresh. But without his family, friends, mentors or fellow Avengers, his life began to spiral into darkness.
His new neighbour however, seems to make that dark...
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PETER PARKER
I can't feel my arm. I can't feel my arm. I can't feel my arm. I can't feel my arm. I can't feel my arm. I can't feel my arm.
Jesus Christ that girl has a good swing on her, I think she sliced straight through my deltoid... Or my tricep... Honestly I can't turn my arm around to see it properly. There's definitely some severed muscles or tendons there because I can't move any of my fucking fingers.
After I had escaped from a particularly shocked Y/N standing on the street with her mouth sharp, I swung home one handed and let my injured arm flail around in the wind like a limp dick. It was only a few blocks to get home but using one arm to climb up the fire escape, into my apartment and then into the bathroom where I attempted to undress was ridiculously difficult.
As I dropped my hoodie on the bathroom floor I heard the slap of the wet bloody fabric against the tiles and saw my arm for the first time in the mirror; my bone showing clean through the slash. It looked like a dissected slab of raw meat you'd get from the butcher, smooth, bloody and red.
I think I'm going to throw up.
Okay come on Pete, just focus. I'll just try to stick the two sides together and then wrap a bandage around it until my body heals. I don't need a hospital for this, I have radioactive blood - I'm a super hero. Oh Jesus fucking Christ this is disgusting there's a pool of blood all over the floor.
I opened up my little first aid kit and got some of the butterfly strips I used to stick majority of my wounds together. Sticking the first one on, it pulled straight off my skin as the wound split open again. Although I stayed persistent and ended up sticking thirteen seperate butterfly strips on this son of a bitch, the knife wound was winning and I was losing.
Getting frustrated, I decided to use sports tape to just wrap a million times around my arm. I didn't need it to be breathable or sanitary like a normal person, I just needed it to stop fucking bleeding and give my body time for it to do it's thing. I used my good arm to pick up my dead arm, flopping it onto the bathroom vanity so that the blood would mostly run down into the sink rather than the puddle that was forming on the floor.
And seeping into my god damn socks. Fuck, I'm definitely going to throw up.
No Peter, just toughen up, tape this thing up and wear a sling or something for a few days. I lifted the roll of sports tape to my teeth to pull out with my functional arm, carefully holding the exposed strip of tape over my dead arm to try and line it up properly. It took a few goes to try and get it straight but once I had stuck down the first line, it was just making sure I was wrapping it around my upper arm over and over again.
My door bell echoed through the apartment and I jumped when I heard it, knowing Y/N was at my door at half past two in the morning. Shit, my bathroom looks like a murder scene. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Throwing a towel on the ground and kicking it around to mop up the insane amount of blood, I heard the door bell sound a second time. I pulled my wet socks off and picked up the towel.
