My Responsibility

Disclaimer: If you recognize it then I don't own it.

A/N: For Whumptober 2022 #8 Everything hurts and I'm dying- stomach pain

Peter Parker held an arm tight against his side. A mugger had got in a lucky shot, punching him hard in the side. He had been out of breath during the fight to retrieve the purse for the rightful owner. His normal superhuman reflexes had been slow and a painful hitch in his side had slowed him even further. He had left himself open and the guy had taken him down with one punch. He had not lingered to attack more, gloat or even unmask the hero. He had turned tail and ran while Peter tried to breathe through the burning pain in his stomach. He had gotten away with the purse and Spider-Man had nothing to show for it except bruises as he trudged back home.

"You're home late," Aunt May spoke as he bypassed the set dinner table, "You not hungry?"

"I had a big lunch," He lied, "Then I grabbed something to eat with Ned after band practice." Food hadn't sounded any better at noon than it did now at dinner. Just the smell of it was twisting his stomach up in nauseous knots. He excused himself from the kitchen before what little food he'd been able to get down today made a messy reappearance ruining eating for his hard-working guardian.

He had to detour from his room and head to the bathroom instead as he lost the battle against his protesting stomach. Falling to his knees before the toilet, he tried to keep his retching as quiet as possible. He didn't need May to leave dinner to crowd into the small room and watch him puke. Burning stomach acid climbed his throat in an endless loop as his back began to protest the violent motion of throwing up repeatedly. When bile was the only thing coming up, the nausea finally lessened its grasp on his gut. It didn't go away completely lurking ominously in his belly, but it gave him a reprieve from throwing up.

Laying his sweat-covered face against one arm, propping it up to keep it off the toilet, he was too tired to keep it upright any longer. He rubbed his hot face against the cooler flesh of his arm. His hair, dark with perspiration, stuck stickily to his skin in gross clumps, but he didn't have the energy to care. He sat that way just breathing in the bathroom until his knees began to protest the position.

The pain had settled just beneath his belly button once more. The bruises must be dark and spectacular by the way he felt.

Pushing himself up onto his shaky legs he wobbled to the sink. Pulling out his toothbrush he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Wet, limp hair framed his pale, drawn face. The only color he could see were red blotches high on his cheekbones and his dull dark eyes. He looked almost as bad as when he had gotten bitten by the spider. He tried to not be overcome by the fears of cellular mutation, unknown consequences, possibilities of bodily rejection, and cancer. Was his body fighting against or having a deadly reaction to the thing that had given him such great powers? He hadn't been Spider-Man that long but had come to love it. He could really help people now. The ordinary, everyday people that had had no one to be their hero. The Avengers were for the world but he was for his neighbors, there to help with the little things that were important to them every day. Today he had failed.

He stumbled to his room, hunched over as his stomach protested violently with every step he took. He crawled onto his bed, shivering and feverish. Huddling under his blanket wracked in cold chills one moment only to kick them off as an oppressive heat settled into his skin the next. Every time he moved a throbbing in his side flared and grew. Eventually, he didn't have the strength to move anymore. He lay limply in the fetal position rocking slightly trying to ride out the waves of pain trying to drown him in agony.

Darkness and pain were his only companions as he writhed, time and comfort no longer existed in his world.

He didn't hear the knock on his door or notice the light flooding the room. He didn't even register the cool hand on his forehead, even though his overheated body subconsciously turned into the touch. What finally caught his attention was a hand pushing down on his swollen side. As it came up fire exploded inside him. An agony-filled scream, more animal than boy, clawed its way up his throat.

"Peter!" Aunt May's scared voice broke through his pained daze, "We need to get you to the hospital."

"No," Peter moaned. He couldn't go to the hospital. He didn't know what the spider bite had done to him, how it had changed his body on a molecular level. He didn't want to be tested or have his secret identity revealed. He had changed but he didn't know how to explain it to a doctor. He would be fine. He didn't need help. He would get through this. He was Spider-Man.

"Don't worry about the cost, sweetie," She smoothed back his damp hair with one hand while she dialed for an ambulance with the other.

"I'm an ER nurse...I know..." Peter caught snippets of her phone conversation as the world dissolved back into pain, "Appendicitis...Now!"

"May, I'm sorry," Peter reached for her hand. He stopped before he reached her, worried he would accidentally hurt her with his strength in the throes of pain.

She gripped his hand tightly, "You have nothing to apologize for," She wiped away tears leaking out from his eyes. He didn't even know he had started crying.

"What if..." He couldn't finish his question. She didn't know he was Spider-Man.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you," She promised with a watery smile, "You're my responsibility."