“Crap crap crap crap crap.”
Peter, in full Spider Man costume, dropped onto a roof and ducked behind an AC unit, holding his right arm tight to his chest.
It hurt, oh man it hurt and he could hardly draw a breath between the pain and his binder was too tight today and honestly he thought he might pass out if he couldn’t get laying down somewhere safe. But on this side of the city he was minimum twenty minutes of swinging, and close to an hour taxi ride from the safety of Aunt Mays apartment.
He dropped his head back against the AC unit and tried to suck in a deep breath, tried not to scream when everything seized up. His arm, his chest…this was a horrible day.
And he was late for his injection, which made everything worse. He was supposed to take it last night, and had passed out exhausted before he remembered and then had ran out the door late to school and now here he was several hours later.
“What’s up, Spidey?” A deep voice startled him, but not as much as the red and black masked face that poked around the corner. “I’m sensing a damsel in distress.”
“Go away, Deadpool.” Peter flinched behind his mask at the ‘damsel’ comment. “I’m fine.”
“Liar!” Deadpool crowed and moved to kneel in front of him. “Who knew our friendly neighborhood Spider Man lied like a fat kid stealing cake?”
“Please.” Peter bit out. “Please. Leave.”
“Hey.” Deadpool’s voice dropped, softened. “You’re not alright, alright? Plus you’re like twelve, and I just can’t leave a twelve year old superhero alone and hurting on the roof somewhere. Where’s your dad?”
“The Iron Giant.” Deadpool said impatiently. “I heard he looks out for you.”
“Don’t want him to know.” Peter was starting to feel a little lightheaded, lack of oxygen and the pain radiating up his arm making him dizzy. “And I’m not twelve.”
“Well you certainly aren’t eighteen.” Deadpool looked around, then seemed to come to a decision. “Well, I live close by, want to come to my place? We can get you patched up and–”
“No!” Peter blurted. “I mean, no. No thank you.”