“I wouldn’t suggest movement, Peter. You’ve got two fractured ribs, six stitches on your arm, and a very badly bruised eye.” Karen’s voice immediately fills Peter’s eyes as his eyes open.
Peter groans, wincing at the light. “Anything else?” he asks, coughing into his elbow, which immediately sets a world of pain through him as he winces, leaning back against what he assumes is the bed he was put in.
A small pause. Then, “You also have a concussion.”
“Awesome,” Peter mumbles flatly, leaning his head back against his pillow. Peter closes his eyes tight, gripping the edge of his bed. This is bad. This is the worst shape he’s been in - ever, now that he thinks of it. Apparently not even his super healing has kicked in, and when Peter even tries to sit up all he’s greeted with is pain everywhere, like it’s consuming who he is entirely. He isn’t at his apartment, the room he’s in could fit his and May’s entire apartment into the room he’s in - and then some.
Peter grits his teeth, trying to manage the pain. “Karen, where am I?”
Her voice comes smoothly, like it always is, which at least calms something in Peter. “The Avengers Compound. It’s ten o’clock in the evening, on Friday September the seventh.”
Peter blinks, his eyes getting wider when he realizes when he was awake it had been Wednesday - he knows because he’d had a quiz in his senior Spanish class, and now? Now, he’s laid out on this bed and he can’t even piece together what had all went down to get him here. He also knows that any moment, Tony Stark is most likely going to come through this door and lecture the life out of Peter, which he probably deserves.
Peter swallows, a cup of water sitting on a tray an arm’s length away from him, but he can’t even reach for that. But then he remembers: Aunt May.
Without even thinking, Peter takes the blankets off, trying to get his legs off of his bed to find his phone. He has to call her, he has to let her know he isn’t dead - she’s probably freaking out right now -
“Peter, you shouldn’t be moving, it’s not good -” but Peter ignores Karen, very nearly stumbling onto the floor as he grips the tray beside his bed, his breathing quick and ragged - looking around frantically, his eyes stinging with tears. He feels dizzy and light headed - his ribs hurting significantly, and he’s sure he’s opened a stitch or two on his arm as he tries to look for his phone.
Aunt May. He has to call Aunt May.
keeping aunt may at bay had been challenging, to say the least, but with the woman knowing just who her nephew is has complicated things. not that that had been anyone’s intention, for her to know, and it has taken months for may to trust the billionaire again. somehow, though, he’s managed to regain it… until now. up until this moment she’d been watching him and at his side, but tony had insisted she go home and sleep, for she’d been awake for two days straight, nodding off every few hours, sometimes while standing.
tony himself is settled a few feet away from peter now, the small alcove a rather nice resting place with a great view of the television. it’s a bit of a shock when the young man begins to speak, but tony doesn’t say anything immediately but makes quick movement to stand up and approach peter as he struggles to get out of bed and stand. maybe he should announce himself, but doing so is irrelevant when the kid looks like he’s going to hurt himself. ❛ whoa, there. ❜ tony catches him by his arm, careful not to hold too tightly for fear of hurting him. ❛ where do you think you’re going? ❜ he’d wanted to take peter to the hospital at first, but far too many questions would be raised were he to do that. thus he’d taken the kid to the avengers compound, more than enough doctors on call and willing to do him a quiet favor. dark gaze looks peter over, a slight dip of his brows following.