Caretaking Focus
The facts: 1) All students must have evidence of a Tdap booster shot before starting their junior year at Midtown Tech. 2) The only exceptions were the concerning number of anti-vax students with close family friends who were doctors who could be convinced to "confirm" that the student got the shot over the summer. 3) Bruce Banner did not take kindly to Peter asking him to be that "family friend" for him.
So here he was, ego still a little bruised after a thorough lecture about the importance of vaccines and herd immunity from Dr. Banner weeks ago. His junior year started next week, and he was still blessedly Tdap vaccine-free, but not for long.
May sat next to him in the waiting room, arm draped around his shoulder in a way that probably looked comforting to the casual observer. It wasn't, though. Her grip was tight—not so tight that he couldn't throw her off with his super strength if he really wanted to, but tight.
They both knew that given half a chance, he'd probably make a run for it. He didn't want to, but there was something about needles that scared the absolute hell out of him. All the advice and bribery in the world couldn't fix it, and frankly, both just made it worse when he calmed down afterward and realized how child-like he'd been acting in the throes of terror over something so tiny and inconsequential to most people.
Knowing he'd get over it later never helped in the moment, though.
The more minutes that passed by, the shakier he got, and he could already feel sweat soaking its way through his shirt uninvited. His heart was thudding like at the peak of a good patrol, but without the satisfied feeling of a job well done to accompany it, it wasn't exactly enjoyable.
Nurses peaked into the waiting room periodically, always dropping off some tortured soul or calling another one to their punishment, but it was pretty crowded considering how early it was in the day and he was left untouched.
As if to spite him for having faith in his own safety, another nurse popped her head out of the back. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed her to call anyone but him.
"Peter?" she called. Damn.
An older Peter stood up while May pulled him to his feet, and he let himself believe he was saved for another second before-
"Parker."
Double damn.
Always his biggest supporter, May did her best to keep him standing despite his quivering legs which had taken on a mind of their own.
The nurse gave him an odd look when May followed him all the way out of the waiting room, and it was that more than the knowledge that he was seventeen that told him he was officially too old to want someone with him for emotional support at the doctor's office.
It was the lesser of two evils, though. He was not going to be alone with a stranger and a needle, not when May was right there and perfectly willing to stay. And definitely not now that he had super strength and could easily take on anyone back there in a panic. If the only thing stopping him was a stupid social norm, then screw social norms.
Despite the fact that they already left the waiting room, they were doomed to more waiting in the new, smaller office too, only this time it was worse. There was something about being in the very place where it would happen that made everything so much more… visceral.
His gaze landed on a hazardous waste bin that sent a shudder through him after he saw discarded needles through the semi-opaque plastic.
God, he didn't want to be here. How much longer would he have to wait? Why couldn't they just get it over with? Or better yet: un-doom him by getting rid of this awful requirement.
Brief not-so-serious thoughts of dropping out had plagued him immediately after realizing Dr. Banner wouldn't help him, but he knew it was stupid and unrealistic. Spider-Man was great and all, but Peter Parker needed at least a diploma if he was ever going to support himself.
The doorknob twisted with a slight click, and a new nurse in turquoise scrubs walked in this time, clipboard in hand.
Later, he wouldn't be able to recall much of the visit. Like he wasn't quite in his own body, he felt himself mechanically answering her questions without consciously trying to form the words. May chipped in a couple times—with what, he couldn't say—but every time she did, he felt himself slipping away from reality even more.
He was brutally pulled back to the present when the needle came out of seemingly nowhere. Jumping where he sat, he scrambled backwards a little before catching himself and feigning cool indifference far too late to be believable.
May's much warmer hand nudged its way on top of his.
"Hey," she cooed softly. "Just look at me."
May had this talent developed entirely thanks to Peter's lifelong fear of needles, the ability to see the inevitable awfulness coming without giving it away in her expression or her actions. He knew she knew exactly when the worst was about to happen, but in a way it helped to trick himself into believing her expression would change before anything bad could happen.
The prick of the needle caught him off-guard as always, but she gave his hand a quick squeeze, a reminder not to overreact, that it would be over soon.
Feeling the needle coming out was agonizing and left him dizzy with relief when the full thing came into view again, proof that it wasn't touching him.
"All done."
That was all the go-ahead Peter needed to jump to his feet and drag May away from the confused nurse at top speed.
They didn't make it to the front door, instead coming up short in the waiting room. He'd craved the relief of it all being over increasingly during the past few weeks, but now that it was here, it was all too much.
With May struggling to support his weight, they careened toward the chairs. He brought the shaking and his weak legs under control long enough to drop into one of them before he was lurching toward May, desperate for someone to hold him and distract him even after the fact.
He couldn't say how long they stayed like that, him breathing hard and fast at the already fading memory of the needle and May quietly rubbing his back and murmuring reassurances every so often.
Thank God for Aunt May.