wrong number, sorry! ~ irondad & spiderson

CHAPTER 22

authors note: this is mostly for myself, but: in c20 i said matt is about one or two years older than wade, who is about a year older than peter.
mcu!peter was canonically born on august 10, 2001 and that stays the same in this fic.
wade was canonically born on november 22, 1973, but in this fic he was born in 1999
matt was canonically born on january 8, 1985, but in this fic he was born in 1995
and this fic is set in june, close to the end of the school year
meaning: peter is 15, wade is 17, and matt is 24 (and so is foggy (july 10, 1994))
so unless i say differently, everyone's got their canonical birthdays.
happy reading ;]

Peter woke up to the sound of somebody opening a door, walking, or rather tripping according to the noise, down the stairs, and then dragging themselves over the floor to one of the armchairs opposite to the couch he was sleeping on. He opened his eyes to the sight of Matt, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen, slightly struggling to get his head protection (helmet?) off his head. Dried blood from the many cuts on his cheeks was smudged all over his face, bruises were starting to form underneath them. Fresh blood was flowing out of gashes of various sizes on Matt's arms, thighs, and lower abdomen, dripping onto the blanket on top of the armchair and staining it in the process.

A crimefighter as well, Peter was used to the sight of blood and open wounds, but his own healed up a lot faster due to his enhanced healing, but as far as he was concerned Matt didn't have anything like that.
Wondering where he could find fresh towels and a first aid kit, Peter jumped off the couch and ran to where he suspected those things might be, namely: the bathroom.

He looked through every counter in sight, but found only a few unused towels. There wasn't any kind of first aid kit in the bathroom, not even anything else to treat any kind of wounds, so Peter just put out the towels he found onto the sink so he'd find them right away when needed.

Returning to the living room / kitchen, Peter continued to look for the first aid kit. Suddenly, he heard a groan from behind and turned around.

"The kit is in the first counter on the right, if you're looking for it," Matt said with a flat and rough voice.
Peter immediately reacted and pulled the kit out, slamming the door of the counter open and shut in the process. He set it on the small table and opened it, checking if there was everything he might need. As far as he was concerned, he could manage with what was in there, so he didn't worry too much.

Now he had to actually take care of his friend. Guessing it'd be more comfortable on the couch than the armchair, Peter carefully lifted Matt off the chair and put him down on the couch, cringing when the other one groaned in response to the movement.

For a moment, Peter just stood there and stared at Matt. There was definitely a lot more blood than expected, but at least the wounds mostly stopped bleeding.

Remembering what he was supposed to do, Peter turned his back and went to get the towels he left on the sink, wetting them slightly with water before exiting the room again.

Back in the living room, he kneeled down on the floor and started with cleaning the facial cuts first. There weren't too many and most of them already closed themselves.

Peter continued with cleaning the other, bigger cuts, starting with the biggest ones and finishing with the smallest, then applied bandages to those that needed it.

While he cleaned the wounds, Matt fell asleep, seemingly unbothered by the light stinging that usually came when Peter cleaned his own injuries.

Just when he put away the first aid kit, Peter heard the sound of a key turning in the door lock. As he hasn't been told that anybody else had a key to Matt's apartment he didn't want to take any chances, but since that person had a key they must have a good reason to do so, so Peter decided to just observe at first.

Following his instincts, he jumped to the ceiling and crawled over it to the wall separating the kitchen and living room from the corridor, making himself as small as possible so he wouldn't be seen at first sight. After a moment of thinking, Peter webbed his mask from next to the couch back to him and put it on, so even if the person saw him on the ceiling, they wouldn't be able to see his face.

a/n: i kinda don't really have my laptop right now and i honestly hate writing on anything else, so sorry if updates are late (like this one)