Peter parker sickfick oneshotbook

Got my hands full

Hello to all my beautiful readers! 50 thousand! I can't believe it! thank you all so much! Especially to those who have been supporting since the start (I am talking to you @fightme003) and to everyone else!

I am currently sitting in a Starbucks (drinking coco as I don't trust their coffee) and found that I have a good hour of freedom before my next class so here goes nothing! This is a request from Rosequeen365, I am sooo sorry I didn't put it up before now, I have nothing to say for myself other than thanks for the request! To those who are still in que I am so sorry. My only excuse is that school has finally succeeded in taking over all of my free time. Well, you are probably tiered of reading these never-ending authors note or what? I hate those too. So here you go!

For the first time since (well ever) peter had managed to get himself through a month without a stay in the med bay. He was topping his grades, going on patrol, hung out with people and he had slept a solid 6 hours every night. It was nice to everything on track for once. His dad was in Norway on a business conference that would last at least two more weeks. Tony had kept sending peter pictures of the nature. Peter was to stay at the tower with the rest of the avengers, but he hadn't seen them in a while. He assumed they were training or hiding in the vents.

It was a Wednesday (btw, that's the name of Rupert Grints daughter) peter was having one of those insanely productive days where everything seemed interesting and doable. His classes was a dream of answering questions and acing tests. When he came home, he did his homework at an inhuman speed and he was soon out the door swinging from building to building. He saved a bunch of cats from threes.

"what? Is its national cat stuck in a three day?" he had said as he got yet another cat down from a three in Brooklyn.

Then when it started to darken, and the time was far past the time any sensible human being would be outside. Peter had started to tire, and as he started heading home, he saw a shadow and then he heard a voice.

he spun around and behind me stood a man. Hair messy and his eyes burned with hatred.

"spiderman"

"no shit sherlock, thought the suit was evidence enough" peter had spat at him and he could feel his heart skip a beat. Usually, people like this didn't scare him but this man. He was scary as hell with his long coat and shadows bathing his face making his features blurry to peter.

"naw, don't talk like that to me."
"and who are you?"
"not important, only thing that's important is how much I am going to make the city suffer"

"that's very cliché. Want me to teach you some lines? Maybe it will help your villainy complexes? Imposter syndrome?" peter was babbling but it seemed to only to make Mr. messy hair even more mad. This brilliant deduction was born when the man whipped out something that looked like a gun but a little "techier".

"is that a gun in your hand or are you just happy to see me?" peter tried while shooting a web at it in an attempt on knocking it out of Mr. messy hairs hand. He did not succeed.

"enough" Mr. messy hair said and fired the weapon at peter. A the very last moment peter ducked and missed the laser like beam that shot out of the gun thingy. This escalated into a fight. Between all of the web shooting, punching, and fighting the gun fell and sort of exploded into a million pieces. Then peter felt something hit his leg. It hurt, but so did the punching and kicking from his opponent so he did not think any more of it. soon he managed to secure Mr. messy hair to a wall. With lots of web. He called the police and then swinged back to the tower not acknowledging the throbbing that radiated from his leg.

The next morning, he did though. He usually was sore every morning, but this was different. His leg hurt like hell. What was he going to do? His dad was away, and he surely could not go to banner or strange. Steve or the other avengers was not an option either as they would surlily think, he was weak and could not even handle a little wound.