"Want me to sneak you some of mine?" He really will, too. What? It's not like Peter's using the stuff. Just metabolizing it, like that's going to help anything. He'd be better off with two bottles of vodka but whatever, he's on opioids. "Double the IV, takes effect faster. I'm no doctor but I could probably find your vein."

"I'm fine." Peter offered a little wave, though he didn't life his arm much, with the bullet wound. "Seriously, it's not that bad. I'm not even bleeding." He turned just enough to show off the clean white bandage they'd put over the stitches of his graze wound. "It's all good."

"We look terrible," Peter snorted, fingers playing nervously over the bedsheets. He was struck with a sudden homesickness for Aunt May. God, she must have been so worried. How's he going to explain all of this? Will Tony out him? Is it bad if Peter hoped on some level, Tony was too tired to? "I mean, really. Are the bags under your eyes Prada?"