Here We Go Again

21: That Was A Bad Idea

Peter woke up to the smell of a delicious homemade breakfast. He pushed himself into a sitting position and opened his eyes. Immediately regretting that decision, Peter quickly tumbled out of bed and grabbed the nearest container to empty the contents of his stomach into. Luckily, that container was his trashcan.

A knock at the door drew his attention and Peter stopped puking long enough to utter a hoarse, "Come in." The door squeaked open.

"Ew. Are you dying or something? Wait, don't answer that, you're puking."

"Help," Peter mumbled weakly.

"It's not my fault you decided to drink like a monster, kiddo." Peter sighed. "I think we need to take you on a girl's day."

"You're not a girl, Clint."

"No, but I am heavily involved in the girl's day trips. Actually, I just got married so I don't think I'll be going on this trip, ya know, new husband and everything, apparently I need to hang out with him more. But I'll call Nat and let her know, okay?"

"No."

"You have no choice in the matter, kiddo. You need a girl's day, and that's that. Also, please stop throwing up, it's disgusting."

"You think I don't know that?" Peter snapped before puking again. Clint sighed and rubbed his nephew's back, talking while he waited for the kid to stop emptying his guts.

"Your boyfriend's making you breakfast. Pancakes or something, I think. He also said something about a 'magical hangover cure' but I don't believe it. Hey, you should definitely hop in the shower soon. I think that'd be smart. I mean, all the dancing yesterday and the champagne, and also the champagne coming out of you right now, I think a shower would be a good idea. Do you still draw? I haven't seen you sketch in a long time, man. Also, how's the whole Spider-Man thing going? Is it fun? I've always wanted super powers, but I got stuck as the cool mostly-deaf guy who can shoot arrows really well. If I went blind, I'd be useless."

"Shut up, please," Peter spat when he caught his breath. "Spider-Man is fun. And you'll never be useless. But please, stop talking."

"Okay." A few minutes passed where Peter did nothing but dry-heave, and after that he seemed alright so Clint helped him stand. Peter attempted to take a step toward the door and tripped, so Clint walked him to the bathroom and sat him on the counter beside the sink.

"Stay here for just a minute, okay kiddo? I'm gonna go get your boyfriend." Peter nodded, leaning back against the mirror and closing his eyes in an attempt to calm his headache. It wasn't working all that well.

"Oh man, you look dead," came the familiar voice of Peter's fiancé.

"You're so kind," Peter grumbled, swinging his leg. His foot barely tapped Wade's shin and he sighed, defeated. "Are you here to help me?"

"Yerp. I heard you threw up your entire stomach and also possibly a lung. That doesn't sound too good, especially considering you still have asthma sometimes, right?"

"Shut up and help me into the shower before I throw up on you." Wade clicked his tongue.

"Fine, buzzkill," Wade mumbled, lifting his fiancé off the counter and carrying him into the shower. Peter was placed on the tile floor and crossed his arms immediately, glaring at Wade.

"What?" Wade asked when he noticed the look on Peter's face.

"When I said 'help me into the shower,' I didn't mean 'carry me because I can't walk,' I meant I would appreciate it if you would hold my arm and make sure I didn't fall, or something like that."