Wrong number :/~~Spider-Man

Whiff

Peter removed his shirt, stepping into the bathroom he was increasingly grateful was actually in his room.

All night, he had sat awake letting his mind finally pick at him. He didn't bother trying to distract himself out of it. He deserved it, really.

Before that day, Tony's assurances were actually getting to him.

'It wasn't your fault, you didn't know, you couldn't do anything.'

But now?

Peter dragged Tony into this whole mess. If anything went wrong, that was on Peter, and Peter alone.

And he'd.. he'd had the chance to do something before Skip made it to him. His overconfidence that he was safe in public was demolished. Things couldn't just be 'sorted out' like that.

Peter stepped into the shower, eyeballing some of the tearing in his skin from the previous morning. He watched as the water bombed the red scratch marks, the small splashes mimicking little explosions inside his mind. Yeah, it stung a bit, but that was inevitable at this point.

They should only be there for another two days or so, for the deeper ones at least. He didn't have much to worry about.

So he stood there in the shower. Probably longer than he should've, especially for the economy or whatever, but Peter didn't really have control over what he felt like doing right now. Once he'd finished his journey into the humid chamber of comfort, Peter shook off the water and got dressed.

He wondered if Tony would be suspicious of the sudden return of long sleeves, especially after what'd just gone down, but he knew leaving it to the imagination would probably be better than the mess he'd made.

It's not like Tony hadn't seen the remnants of it all from the past anyways. A little scathing was nothing here, although it was a little more under Peter's control this time. That might've been something he should worry about.

Mustering the courage, and lifting up the collar of his shirt, Peter made his way into the living room, despite the gut feeling and audible presence of someone in there, urging him to cower away for the day. Making himself that secluded would've definitely resulted in Stephen or Tony (or both), taking it upon themselves to have a one-on-one chat with Peter.

That was not something he could handle right now.

So, keeping up appearances was the next best thing. Yeah, okay, the guilt was eating him alive from the inside out, and the fear that he would be trapped like this forever was suffocating him with waves, but who's to care?

History is bound to repeat itself. Sucks that it's in the same lifetime so many times in a row, but Peter was feeling increasingly apathetic about the whole matter.

He already felt like he'd hit rock bottom yesterday, despite his painful yearnings not to. Anything worse that the matter was just digging from there.

"Morning, sunshine!" Tony's uplifting tone struck a momentary distasteful chord on Peter, but he brushed it off quickly, knowing that morning grouchy was was not something to tolerate.

"Hey" he muttered, careful not to seem too refreshed, because he knew they were both aware that last night was a rough night in at least one way, as different as their point of views may be.

"Sleep well?" Tony asked.

There was a momentary pause.

Peter knew Tony knew, but the hypocrisy was obvious.

He could smell it.

Not in an 'ugh, he stinky' way, but just some small consistencies he'd picked up for certain things. It'd taken a while to figure out, but he learned that nights Tony slept, he had a stronger smell of Stephen on him, along with the scent of the cleaner used on their sheets and blankets and such, as faded as it was. As if the overheated smell of a dying coffee maker wasn't enough clue on its own.