"-uch, son of a mmpppp fuck!" Peter cradled his hand to his chest, trying his best to try and suffer silently.

"…fucking assholes!" he shakily extended his hand to try and see the damage. Apparently, there was a sharpshooter on the payroll of the 3rd precinct because oh god, it hurt like a bitch.

"…fuck…" he had no idea how that officer managed to shoot his hand, but he truly hated that officer. He couldn't see the hole right, but based on the pain and the amount of bleeding. It was a decent sized hole and there had to be at least three broken bones and if he's lucky no severed tendons.

With a shaking hand, he took out his burner phone and pressed speed dial. He held the phone up to ear and waited. The pain and the fear of losing his hand function was really getting to him, he let out shaky breathes as he tried to hold in the tears.

He took another shaky breath as he hung up the phone before pressing speed dial again. Hendrickson didn't pick up, its almost 3 AM after all. And after Martinez didn't pick up, he struggled to keep the tears from escaping.

"ok Petey," he slowly stood up, "You got this Petey, you got this, this isn't the first time you fixed yourself up and it's not going to be the last.

.

Peters throat burned as he chugged the strong vodka, hoping that his metabolism wouldn't be as strong with the hole in his hand and would actually let him get buzzed so his nerves would calm and so he could be a little bit numb. He stopped when he felt his throat burn too much and wiped his mouth sloppily. Peter was thankful that his Aunt May was out of state at the moment, because there was no way he would be able to explain this

He picked up the rubbing alcohol before taking it over to the kitchen sink, letting his forearm sit on edge of the sink with his hand over it. He observed his wound, he could see bone and muscle, considering the fact that it was completely see through a few minutes ago, he knew his powers were doing their job. He clenched his teeth before pouring it over his hand, not giving him time to think about it.

"-Mmphh" he moaned through his lips as he held onto the edge of the sink, barely noticing the way it bent under his grip. He hissed through his teeth as he felt the alcohol burn through any bacteria in his hand. Barely keeping himself from turning on the water to rinse it out and stop the pain. Looks like the half a bottle of vodka didn't work.

His hands shook even harder as he took a seat back in the living room. His medical supplies spread out on the small table in there. He took out the needle and stared at it. Sewing himself up always sucked, especially since nothing short of morphine worked for him. He took another sip of the vodka before steeling his nerves. He slowly pushed the needle through his skin.

He let out a whimper and a weak groan at the pain, it certainly didn't hurt as much as it did before when he was not 21 and definitely could not drink alcohol to help the pain. But he would be lying if he said that it didn't hurt like a complete bitch. He shakily tied the thread before repeating the process four more times, putting enough stitches for both sides of his hand.

Peter shakily wrapped up his hand before leaning against the foot of the sofa, wiping off the sweat from his forehead and letting himself rest for a few seconds before he started cleaning up. The ache in his hand was horrible, but it was still better compared to the pain when it was open in the air.

"…fuck…" his voice trembled as he stared up at the ceiling, tears finally coming out. "…Damn it…" he wiped away the tears with his free hand. The events of the night piling up and just coming out in tears.

"…its ok," he wiped away more tears with the palm of his hand," …its ok Peter, "he fell back onto his old comfort habits," …it will get better…just give it time." He stopped wiping away his tears and let them fall as he leaned his head against the cushion of the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

"…just give it time…"