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Looking back, Peter doesn’t know why he didn’t feel it coming, why his spidey sense didn’t send electric shocks down his spine. Maybe it was because he was surrounded by his childhood heros, throwing weird, slimy lizard monsters into the path of Mr. Roger’s shield with his webs, laughing inside his helmet as propulsars roared around him and Mr. Stark darted around with a dexterity no man his age should have. Maybe it was the thrill of not being benched, of Mr. Stark telling him he could help, that this was just an accident that Loki at least had the decency to immediately warn them of.
When it comes, he hears it more than he feels it, hears the crack against his right side and skull, the immediate screams over his comms, the crackle of red energy that he’s pretty sure caught him and gently lowered him to the ground.
He doesn’t feel much of anything on the ground, and it sounds like he’s listening to the world underwater, and when someone rips off his mask the entire world is red. It’s actually pretty.
“Peter?! Pete?” Something, someone is calling from far away, or maybe close, he can’t tell, and asking him to squeeze his hand. He must do it, even if he can’t feel himself do it, because there’s a sigh of relief that sounds like someone breathing through a snorkel.
“Peter?” A face appears in front of him, blurry and red, and Peter is pretty sure he knows that face, in fact he’s sure he does, because somewhere he knows it makes him feel warm and happy. The face is not happy, though, and that makes Peter sad and scared, and before he can stop it a hiccup and sob rises in his chest and it hurts.
“Wha--?” Peter’s voice is garbled and muffled in his ears, fire burning down every one of his nerve endings, and the face in front of him downright crumples.
“Shhh, shh,” something sparkles and fades away on the figure in front of him, and something warm comes up to hold his face, and it’s only then Peter realizes his cheeks are sticky and wet. “It’s alright, it’s alright, baby, I’m gonna fix it, just keep breathing, that’s it, I’m gonna fix it--” the panicked face starts rambling, and Peter wants him to stop, because he’s scared and now Peter is scared and he doesn’t know what’s happening, only that it hurts. “Steve!” the man practically screams, and the sound is like a jolt of electricity through Peter’s skull.
“Right here, Tony,” the voice from before sounds clearer now, and something squeezes his hand, and that hurts too. “He can move, he’s squeezing my hand…”
“FRIDAY, scan him!”
“Called MediVac,” there’s another voice from Peter doesn’t know where, and he can’t possibly keep track of all these voices when he’s like this, so he focuses on the one in his line of vision, and when the darkness envelopes him, the voice still sounds afraid, but it’s still assuring him everything will be ok.
******
Peter drifts in, and his head feels like it’s going to explode. His entire body feels like it’s encased in something, and he doesn’t think he could move if he wanted to, which he most definitely doesn’t want to. Something is pressed uncomfortably around his mouth and nose. He hears more muffled voices, some closer than others, and a beeping that throbs with his pulse, and it sounds like when Link is down to half-a-heart. Is he down to half a heart too?
“Cracked skull, shattered ribs, 2, 5, 7, 8. Punctured lung, his spleen is swollen, so we’ll need to check that in there. Torn diaphragm, bruised kidney, several pulmonary contusions, too, so we can’t just rely on the puncture taking care of itself. He’s lucky, Tony, he’s already starting to heal--”
“So why do you need to go in?”
Peter thinks whoever said that is holding his hand and squeezes, but he’s not sure.
“Because they’re not healing right. His entire right side was crushed, we need to fix it.”
“Can you keep him out?”
Out? Out of where? And what’s a spleen?”
“I think I got it, Tony.” A third voice. “Modified some of Cap’s anesthetics. We’ll need to watch for overdoses, but it should work.”
“I need to call his aunt--”
Aunt? Aunt May? That’s the only aunt Peter can think of. They should call Mr. Stark, too. He’ll be mad, but he’ll be more mad if nobody tells him, Peter is sure of it.
“Call her, let her know it’s going to take awhile but we think it’ll be fine.”
“What’s a while?”
“I don’t know, Tony. Ten, twelve hours?”
“Jesus Christ.” The voice cracks and the hand squeezes his again.
“After, I’ll keep him out and intubated for a day--”
“No, no--” Peter thinks he likes this voice more than the others. “He needs to be up, I need him awake, he’s gotta--”
“He needs to heal, Tony. You know how he is. We need him to not move for a bit and that’s the best way.”
“Helen?”
“It’s just a day, Tony. We can wake him up for a few minutes so you and May can say hi, but I want him down and paralyzed for at least twenty-four hours.”
Peter isn’t sure who this Tony is, because the only Tony he knows is Mr. Stark...but he hears him sigh shakily and squeeze his hand again. It sends jolts of pain up his arm, but he finds he can’t be bothered to care, or even move. A cloudiness is starting to pull at the back of his head again.
“He’ll be fine, Tony. We just gotta help him along a bit,” one of the voices says, closer now than it was. Something pulls and pricks on his arm.
“Fine, fine,” the nice voice cracks again. A shadow passes in front of Peter’s closed eyelids, and he feels something warm and scratchy press against his forehead, then his cheek and his nose. His skull sings but he still likes it. “Be good, kid.” Another squeeze of his hand. “I’ll be right here waiting, buddy.”
Peter tries to squeeze back, but the cloudiness is pulling on him harder, and it feels nice, so much better, so he lets it, trying to focus just a little bit more on whatever is scratching against his face.
*****
The light is bright, painfully so, but Peter can’t jerk away, he can’t do anything because his body is being crushed by something heavy but not entirely unpleasant.
“Hey, there he is,” Mr. Stark’s face appears in front of him, blocking the white light, thank God, then May’s face is next to his, blurry and hazy but it’s them and that’s nice.
“Hi, baby,” May smiles but she looks sad. So does Mr. Stark.
Peter tries to ask why, but the only sound that comes out is choked garble, and he realizes that something hard is in his mouth and down his throat. He gags, he can feel his diaphragm convulse and shake, and oh God it hurts, so much, but he can’t lift his hands to try and pull it out, even though it’s choking him. The faces looking at him blur and he gags again. Somewhere something is beeping faster and faster.
“Hey, hey,” a calloused thumb brushes across his cheek, wiping away something wet. “Don’t fight it, it’s fine, Pete, it’s helping you…”
“Just a little sedation vacation, baby,” May takes his hand--he can feel it, even if he can’t move it--and holds it down to his chest. “Just let it do the work for you, lovey.”
“We just wanted to say hi, kiddo,” Mr. Stark whispers, still wiping his cheeks. “Make sure you’re still in there.”
What a ridiculous thing to say, Peter thinks, but their hands on his face and in his hair are soothing, and he wants to listen to them, so he tries his best to ignore the weird tube in his throat, and the sharp thing pulling on his neck, or the fact that he can’t move. May lays her cheek on his sternum, looking up at his with wet eyes. Someone walks behind her over to a machine with tubes and starts fiddling.
“Go back to sleep, kiddo,” Mr. Stark rubs his thumb over his eyebrow and smiles sadly. Peter doesn’t want to, but he can’t say it, not with this stupid thing in his throat, and the darkness pulls him back before he can even think to fight it.
*******
Peter doesn’t want to wake up, but something is scratching and pressing under his nose and it’s annoying. So is the whispering drifting back and forth across the bed.
“He’s benched, May.”
“Tony. You know as well as I do it doesn’t work that way.”
“I’m not watching this, not again. He’s out.” A large hand settles on his head.
“He’s gonna do it anyway. You can take it all away, and he’ll still do it.”
“Maybe not. Maybe this will be what scares him off.”
“You can’t be that stupid, Tony.”
“You’re a lot calmer about this than I expected, May. He almost died.”
“But he didn’t, because he had you, and the team. But mostly you.”
“May--”
Peter feels himself twitch, he can’t help it, but that thing under his nose is so scratchy, and both the voices above him stop whispering for a moment.
“Shhhh, we’re waking him up.”
“Part of me wants him to.”
“I know, but he needs real sleep now, while he can.”
“Should we call Cho?”
“No, the monitor looks good. Just let him sleep.”
“We still need to discuss this.”
“We can discuss it all we want, Tony. But I’ve known Peter for fourteen years longer than you have. He won’t stop. I just need you guys to protect him as much as you can.”
“This is twice I couldn’t.”
“No, it’s twice you saved him after.”
“May--”
“Shhhhh. We need to let him sleep.”
They stop whispering, and so Peter does.
******
This time, the light brings with it singing, exquisite pain. Peter gasps and tenses, and lightning shoots down his entire right side, over and between his ribs and up into his skull.
“Whoa, whoa,” Mr. Stark gently lays one hand on his sternum and another on his forehead. “Easy, bud. Don’t move, just relax, that’s it, that’s it…”
Mis-st...Tony…” he whines, sparks bursting behind his eyes as he tries to settle back into the bed, his entire right side still convulsing and buzzing. His throat burns.
“Right here, Pete, just relax, relax, sweetheart,” and oh, that’s something Mr. Stark has never called him before, but the thought of it calms him down immensely, even though he knows it should make him feel like a child.
“Tony,” Peter whines again, but he lets his body relax as Mr. Stark chuckles and presses a kiss to his forehead.
“So I guess the way to get you to call me ‘Tony’ is to crush your entire right side and drug you to shit, huh?”
“Maybe,” Peter let’s his head settle into the pillow. He’s pretty sure it hurts, but nothing like his side, so he doesn’t really care about his head too much. “Mr. S-stark.”
“God, you are a piece of work,” Mr. Stark groans, but he smiles, and Peter thinks his eyes look wet. Or maybe it’s the drugs Mr. Stark was talking about.
“Wh-what happened?” Peter’s voice sounds scratchy in his ears. He tries to think back but everything is a loud blur.
“Spidey got swatted out of the sky--hey, no, don’t tug on that,” Mr. Stark pulls his hand away from the tubes that run under his nose. Huh, so apparently his limbs do work. “You’re gonna have to stay in here for a bit.” He rubs his thumb over his knuckles. “At least until you stop pissing blood and we can take the catheter out.”
“Catheter?”
“Oh, yeah. You tried to pull it out, yesterday, and I realized why Cho wanted you out for an entire day after the surgery.”
“Surgery?” Peter tries to push himself up again, he can’t help it, and his entire body seizes and throbs. “How long--”
“Peter, you gotta stop moving,” Mr. Stark gently pushes his shoulder back into the bed. “Relax, bud. They had to go in and shift some things around.”
“When?” Peter’s eyes start burning; Mr. Stark’s face blurs in front of him.
“Just three days. You’re moving along nicely,” Mr. Stark reaches out and brushes a tear off his cheek. “Maybe one or two more, Cho thinks.”
“I’m so-sorry!”
“Hey, no, none of that,” he smiles, but it’s forced, Peter can tell. “You just concentrate on resting up. May will be back in a few, she’s just showering.”
“Everyone else--”
“Is fine, bud,” Mr. Stark lets go of his hand in order to straighten out his hospital gown. “You’ve had a steady stream of visitors comes to stand over you and shake their heads sadly.”
“Oh.”
“Quite the vigil for the team mascot,” Mr. Stark laughs wetly, and runs his fingers through his hair. “Just close your eyes, kiddo. Rest. Does anything hurt, just laying there?”
“Maybe?” Peter isn’t sure. “I d-don’t know?”
“That’s fine, don’t worry about it unless you can tell for sure,” Mr. Stark keeps stroking his hair and it’s soothing, and the bed is actually rather nice, at least as nice as his bed back in Queens, so that’s ok too.
What he doesn’t like is the smell, astringent alcohol and betadine and something coming from the bandage on his neck that is seeping around the tubes in his nostrils. His nose crinkles before he can stop it.
“What’s wrong, bud?”
“Smell.”
Mr. Stark laughs, a just a huff. “That is you, I’m afraid. First thing you’re doing after you get the all clear is a shower.”
“No, s’alcohol. And I don’t smell.”
“Oh, yes you do. You’re lucky we love you, because you are ripe, right now.”
“Don’t be mean to me, M’ss’r. Stark, I’m injured.”
“Go to sleep, Pete.”
He does, waking only briefly when May takes over stroking his hair.
********
The tubes all come out the next morning, from his wrist and neck and from under his nose, and thank God, his bladder. Dr. Cho says he has to try and eat something before he can try to stand and make it to the bathroom, so Peter chokes down protein broth--it tastes SO good, his mouth is still so dry--before a nurse and May help him to the small room while warning him it’s going to burn a lot when he tries to pee.
They’re right, it does, and he only lets Mr. Stark in to rub his shoulders while he cries because he’s still too weak and in pain to fight it, even if his limbs and head feel like they’re not attached to his body anymore.
“Hey, no blood!” Mr. Stark says it like it’s an accomplishment, and Peter burns with embarrassment now that he’s not on enough drugs to not care anymore, because he needs the help. He needs Mr. Stark to hold his elbow while he brushes his teeth, and to guide him under the water of the shower and sit on the closed toilet seat while he lets the warm water wash away the dried blood and antiseptic that covers his entire right side.
The incision down his side is still angry and red, bright against his skin, and it hurts, but Peter washes as best he can, and starts to cry again when he can’t lift his arms to wash his hair.
“Peter?” Mr. Stark’s panicked voice rises above the rushing water.
“I can’t get my hair,” Peter sobs and leans against the cool tile, exhausted and wishing he was back in bed, after wanting more than anything to get out of it.
“That’s alright, bud,” Mr. Stark sounds pained from outside the curtain. “Get what you can, we can wash it in the sink…” he pauses. “You wanna come out, now?”
“Ye-yeah,” Peter hiccups, adhering himself to the shower wall just so he doesn’t fall over. It feels like it takes every ounce of energy he has in his body.
“Ok, Pete, I got a towel ready.”
When Mr. Stark helps him back into the hospital room, it looks different, cleaned up and more like a bedroom than a hospital room. May smiles sadly and tactfully leaves while Mr. Stark helps him pull on pajama pants--his Finding Nemo ones--and a hoodie, which at least feels better than the paper-thin gown he had on before. A glance at the clock tells him the entire ordeal took more than an hour and a half and Peter hates it.
“We’ll have someone bring a basin and May can wash your hair for real,” Mr. Stark stands over the bed and rubs the towel gently over his wet hair. “And maybe I’ll give you a shave,” Mr. Stark tosses the towel on the end of the bed and taps his chin. “You look ridiculous. I need to teach you how to grow a real beard.”
“Don’ think s’works that way, Mr. Stark,” Peter yawns, his jaw cracking painfully. He wants to cry again about how exhausted he is just from taking a shower, but he’s too tired for even that. Mr. Stark must notice, because he drops to a crouch in front of the bed with a grunt.
“Hey, relax, Pete, one day at a time, ok?”
“This is stupid,” Peter flushes with embarrassment again, for being so weak, for feeling so much like a child. For needing Iron Man to help him shower and dry his hair. For wanting them to come back and stay with him, because he doesn’t want to want it.
“Sure is, Spider-baby,” Mr. Stark squeezes his left knee, probably the one place that doesn’t currently hurt. “But it’s necessary, and you’re doing great. And I think because you kept that broth down, Cho will let you eat real food.”
“I want ice cream.” He doesn’t really, he doesn’t care, but it feels like maybe he wants a bit of control over this whole situation.
“I think she was thinking more like oatmeal, or potatoes, bud.”
“But I want ice cream.”
Mr. Stark sighs, and reaches out to push some damp hair behind his ears. “I’ll put in the request. Now. You wanna stay in the bed, or maybe try the chair?”
Peter looks around at the rearranged room; there’s a large recliner in the corner, more extravagant than the hospital chairs he’s used to seeing, and his bed has been remade to look more like a real bed, with actual pillows and a comforter. “Bed. But I’ll sit up.”
“Alright,” Mr. Stark nods and pushes himself to standing. “But you have to sit up-up. And Dr. Cho says you have some breathing exercises to do. Don’t wanna get pneumonia.”
Mr. Stark firmly takes his hand and tries to maneuver him up against the pillows on the bed. It hurts, and maybe it’s just his imagination and his stubbornness, but Peter thinks maybe it hurts a tiny bit less. Or maybe it’s just because the shower and the real clothes help.
May comes back right as Mr. Stark is pushing a firm pillow under the small of his back, carrying a large basin and what looks like a bottle of shampoo. “When you’re ready to move again, baby,” she says, glancing over at Mr. Stark. “And...the team...they’re asking. You feeling up for some visitors?”
Peter glances back and forth between May and Mr. Stark, they both look so tired, and so much older, and Peter knows he should give them a break, but he doesn’t want anyone else in here. Not when he’s like this. He barely wants them here. And he knows they’re trying to give him as much agency as they can in this situation, so he grabs it and holds it for what it is. “No,” he says firmly. “Just you two. Maybe Pepper.”
“Ok,” Mr. Stark nods like it is absolutely ok and Peter is so grateful. May smiles before going to set the basin down on the counter across the room.
“Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.”
“I’m gonna go shower and change, Pete,” Mr. Stark looks at May again, and Peter thinks maybe they’ve learned to have entire conversations with just their eyebrows during the time he was out. “I’ll be back with a razor, and if you want, I’ll take care of it after Cho gives you your next dose of the good stuff.”
More agency. When did they both get so smart? “Ok.”
******
The next day Dr. Cho is exceptionally pleased with his progress, and the petulant child deep in Peter’s gut doesn’t want to feel better, but he really does, the pain mostly gone aside from some twinges. He was able to wash his own hair, even if Mr. Stark still insisted on sitting in the bathroom while he showered, and he was exhausted down to his bones afterward.
Peter’s also ravenous, putting away two roast beef sandwiches and an entire jar of applesauce before Dr. Cho gives everyone the all clear for him to leave the MedBay, provided he take the incentive spirometer with him.
And what makes him feel best of all is that both May and Mr. Stark are starting to annoy him. He wants to be left to himself, which is incredibly liberating after wanting his hand held for so many days.
“Can’t I walk?” Peter asks when one of the nurses brings a wheelchair into the room, to bring him up to the penthouse.
“If you want to try…” May says, glancing over at Mr. Stark.
“But you’re gonna hold on to me,” Mr. Stark clarifies. He taps his chest, and nanobytes fly down to cover his forearm. “And you say something the second you think you’re not gonna make it.”
“Ok,” Peter nods, bristling a bit at the babying. It feels so good to have the energy to be pissed off at something other than himself.
“And I’m gonna warn you, kiddo, you have a contingent up there waiting for you.”
“Can I at least get to my room and change out of my Nemo pajamas first?” Peter still doesn’t want to see anyone else, but he knows he’s got to eventually. Maybe if he goes through the entire ordeal it’ll be easier to ask everyone to leave him alone.
“Sure.”
“Of course.”
“And,” Peter pushes his luck, because there are two people he very much wants to see. “Can Ned and MJ come visit?” He started answering their texts yesterday, giving posting vague explanations and reassurances in the group chat. Ned told him in their private text that MJ actually cried.
“Well, sweetheart,” May sits on the edge of the bed. “Maybe this weekend? It’s an awfully long ride out here.”
“Oh,” Peter hadn’t even realized they weren’t at the Tower. “I thought we were in the city.”
“No, we needed to bring you out here, Pete,” Mr. Stark and May look at each other again. “But we’ll see if Happy can bring them this weekend.”
“What did you tell school?”
“Appendicitis,” May squeezes his knee.
“God, they probably think I’m the sickest kid in the world.”
“Eh, that’s their problem,” Mr. Stark shrugs. “Besides, all your credits are in. Who cares?”
“I guess,” Peter picks at the blanket on the bed. “What about Queens?”
Mr. Stark smiles. “Called in a favor from Clint. Don’t worry about Queens.”
“Grreeatt,” Peter groans. “He’s gonna ruin my rapport.”
“And how.” Somehow, all three of them are able to laugh, even if it’s really not funny.
*****
Peter loves the team, he really does, but after an hour of visitors and well-wishers he’s exhausted and wants them all gone, unable and unwilling to listen to the fawning and reassurances. Somehow, they all made him feel worse, and smothered. Mr. Stark assured him they were like that with anybody who was injured, but the only one who didn’t make Peter want to pull his hair out was Loki, who simply came in and shrugged, and announced, “My bad!”
Mr. Stark didn’t enjoy that as much as Peter did.
Now he’s just left with Pepper and Happy, and of course May and Mr. Stark, all watching him apprehensively while he thinks about what he wants for dinner, when what he’s really thinking about is how to ask them to leave him alone for a bit.
“What am I allowed?” Peter looks at May, knowing that while he feels he could eat an entire Indian buffet, and wants to, he’s probably not permitted to.
“Well, you’re not not-allowed really anything,” May rubs his foot. “But I’d stay away from anything too spicy, or too acid-y. Just while you’re still on some of those pills.”
“What about fried chicken, and some mashed potatoes?”
“That sounds perfect,” May smiles and squeezes his foot.
“I could go for that,” Pepper chimes in from the corner.
“I can pick up whatever you want kid,” Happy says, and Peter has to stop himself from making a face, because that’s just downright weird.
“Thanks?” Peter glances over at Mr. Stark, who’s looking at Happy with an expression that Peter feels. “Ummm, sooo…” Peter still doesn’t know how to say it, but now that he’s in his bedroom, in semi-real clothes, all he wants is for everyone to get out.
“Are you tired, baby?” May turns to Happy and Pepper. “Maybe we should let him sleep a bit.”
“You look tired, too, May,” Peter smiles quickly, seeing his chance, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Mr. Stark narrow his eyes at him. “You can go take a nap too, it’s ok.”
“Are you sure, sweetheart?”
“Yeah,” Peter shrugs and it only hurts a little. “I have to take some pills, so I’ll be out of it, and I’m sure if Dr. Cho was worried she wouldn’t have said I could come up,” he turns to Mr. Stark. “Right, Mr. Stark?”
“Right!” He nods. “And I can let everyone know to hold off until at least tomorrow. Spider-baby needs his rest.”
“Not a baby.”
“Well, if you’re sure, Peter,” May sounds unsure, but he thinks he sees something grateful in her eyes.
“I am.”
“Ok, lovey,” May leans forward and kisses his cheek. “Haul out, everyone!” She stands and herds everyone but Mr. Stark out of the room, and as she leaves Pepper smiles knowingly and winks at him. Maybe he wasn’t as subtle as he thought.
“Well, that was exhausting,” Mr. Stark stands from where he was leaning on the nightstand, and shoves his hands into his pockets once the door is closed.
“Oh my god, I was going to scream, Mr. Stark,” Peter flops back into his pillows, hissing through his teeth as his side pulls. “They’re great, but...LEAVE ME ALONE.”
To his surprise, Mr. Stark actually starts laughing. “Isn’t it the worst? And they were actually trying to sneak down when you were out. I stationed Happy outside the hall, and even he tried to sneak in.”
“I know they mean well, but like, now that I’m up here,” Peter gestures around his bedroom. “Just...no thank you.”
“You know you can say that, right?” Mr. Stark sits on the edge of his bed. “Like, you can say, ‘enough, I need a nap?’ You don’t have to offer everyone else naps as an excuse. We can take it, Peter.”
“Are you subtly trying to tell me you don’t want to sit in here all day, Mr. Stark?” Peter laughs, genuinely, because he couldn’t imagine taking care of him for five days straight either, and if he wants a break from everyone...well, nobody needs to feel guilty about anything.
“Yes,” Mr. Stark closes his eyes and nods emphatically. “We all love you and I’ll stay if you want, but my back can’t take anymore cots or chairs. And your aunt hasn’t slept a wink. And fuck, you’ve been snoring.”
“I do not!”
“Yes, you do. It was cute at first, after the vent came out, but I very quickly started to want to smother you.”
“Gee, thanks Mr. Stark,” Peter shrugs and pushes himself further up on the pillows. “You know,” he says seriously. “You didn’t have to stay.”
“Of course I did,” Mr. Stark sniffs, and reaches out to ruffle his hair. Peter knows he’s not just saying that, and if he concentrates hard enough he thinks he remembers Mr. Stark by his side through the entire haze. He smiles, maybe the first real smile he’s felt in at least a few days.
“But now you need a break.”
“Oh my god, please, Pete,” Mr. Stark collapses over on the bed, presses his forehead against Peter’s knee. “May, too. She just felt bad saying anything.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better, I need one too.”
“Thank God!” Mr. Stark pretends to sob against his knee, and Peter laughs again, really truly.
“No hard feelings, Mr. Stark,” he pats the back of his dark head. “But get the fuck out of my room.”
“With pleasure,” Mr. Stark pushes himself back up to sitting.
“And keep everyone else the fuck out of my room.”
“I should be able to buy us each an hour.”
“You’ll need to distract May,” Peter looks towards the door. He has a feeling his aunt is starting to hover down the hall again. “She’ll start feeling guilty.”
“Maybe I can get Pepper to ask her to help her bake something. You feeling like anything in particular?”
“Nothing May would make,” Peter makes a face. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
“I’ll make sure Pep does the heavy lifting, got it,” Mr. Stark stands up.
“Try for two hours.”
Mr. Stark looks at the clock. “That’ll bring us to dinner-time. I can’t make any promises with that--”
“That’s fine,” Peter nods seriously. “We can work through dinner, go from there.”
“You got it, kid,” Mr. Stark smiles down at him. He still looks tired, and Peter hopes he goes to take a rest. A real nap, which is what Peter is planning. He might try and FaceTime with Ned and MJ first, if they’re around. “But even though I can’t stand to look at you right now, promise you’ll call if you need anything.”
“I will.”
“I mean it. Glass of water, snack, anything.”
“I will! Now please leeeaave meeee alone!”
“I’m going, and I’m gonna enjoy every minute of it,” Mr. Stark leans down and presses a kiss to the top of Peter’s head before making his way to the door. “See you in two whole hours!”
“Go away!”
The door slams and Peter smiles. He loves them all, but the silence is going to be so nice now that he’s feeling better. “And I don’t fucking snore!” He calls towards the closed door, gingerly reaching for his phone.