Wrong number :/~~Spider-Man

Peter's idea of self care is similar to mine /:

Peter set up a bath for himself when he got back. Stephen had made the mistake of sending them all to the kitchen in thoughts of food to keep Peter upright, but he'd not counted for the fact that other people lived on that floor.

So when Peter locked eyes with Bucky Barnes while covered head to toe in blood and bruises, it caused quite the scene.

He was afraid he'd get caught up in it all, and that the shouting would never stop, but Stephen quickly sent a portal to Peter's room before things escalated.

Peter couldn't have been more grateful.  He was shaky all over, and he was pretty sure he'd lost enough bodily fluids for one lifetime. Things weren't looking to bright. Literally.

He wasn't sure that anyone really had the time to register how bad he'd been hit. Whatever the bomb did to him was mostly covered by charred clothes, and the majority of the focus on the outside would be directed towards the small cut on Peter's forehead.

Head cuts bled so much anyways, and his had already sealed up, so they considered that a 'later' thing.

Later, as in after Bucky was convinced to not kill everyone left in the room.

So there Peter was, laying in the tub with the mid-heated water. He still had all of his clothes on. After today, he never wanted them off again.

The first bath looked like sewage water. The horrendous amounts of blood that'd mixed in, along with the charcoal clothing made for quite the look.

He let himself soak for a couple of minutes before he changed out the water again. He hated having to listen and wait for the loud stream of water to refill the tub, but there was nowhere he'd rather be.

He looked over the little cuts up and down his arms, mostly old ones, but the little nicks he'd received from the explosion really weren't his favorite. It was like a million paper cuts over his whole back.

Peter sighed, shutting off the water. This time, the water only turned red. If he closed his eyes, it was as if nothing was there at all. Just darkness and..

Back with the scratchy rope and the freezing chair—

Good news, Peter had found a new trigger to look out for!

Bad news, he'd jumped so hard that he cracked the shower wall, the noise just making it worse.

From there he just sighed in frustration, standing up and turning on the shower. He'd deal with that later, when he didn't feel like the only reason he had to live was finding out wether or not they'd make an animated continuation of Dirk Gently instead of letting it stay cancelled.

He pulled the weird little tab thingie up, the icy start shocking him for a second.

Who cared if it was loud and drumming in his ears? Pounding on his skin as if little beetles were raining from the sky. The temperature seeming wrong no matter how he turned the knob. It was better than not being there.

So much for a peaceful bath to himself.

He felt frail underneath the soaking clothes draped over his body. He found it hard enough to stay upright, much less the extra pounds added by the water that decided to take a ride with him.

So maybe wearing his clothes in the shower wasn't a good idea this time.

By the time Peter was certain he'd gotten all of the outward blood out of his hair and off of his skin, he shut off the shower.

He looked at the door. Peter did not feel like taking that journey right now.

So he didn't. He just plopped straight onto the bathtub floor after scraping aside the shards (and what he means by that is he tossed them in the garbage as quickly as he could manage). He just sat there, staring at the wall.