Wrong number :/~~Spider-Man

Red Bull

Tony and Peter were walking in a synchronized pace. Peter was grateful for the lack of screaming, now attempting to enjoy the amplified thing going on. Sure, everything felt and smelt like death, weeks of battle remains and movie nights taking their toll, along with the aroma of food+oil+cologne+sweat (and so on) flying around, not to mention all of the other untranslatable smells that just so happen to be in the air.

He could, annoyingly, feel the dust particals in the air against his nose hairs. He could experience the ripple his eyelashes made, and how the air pushed against them every time he blinked. He could hear Tony blinking. Like, damn. Peter sorta felt cool like this. Without the usual beeping of cars outside or students having meltdowns in the hall right outside of the bathrooms, this was quite the experience!

Well- until it wasn't.

Peter was so focused on the fancy calm-down notion of his overload, he failed to notice the small step separating the living room from the kitchen. He tripped, landing on *gasp* his bruises?!? That's such an original occurrence in stories!! Never heard of before!! Whaatt!!!

He slammed into the ground, his foot caught on the small stair. Peter's hands flew down to the wrapping still laid over his stomach. There was another small pop of his scab that almost felt audible. Damn it.

He'd become familiar enough with this sensation. That popping sound? That was the sound of a scab in a fistfight with physics. He moved to quickly and harshly, pulling his skin apart just enough to undo his body's hard work on healing. If his skin could speak, it'd probably be cussing him out for an entire day's of hard work gone to waste. So long as nothing leaked however, he should be fine!

"Shit!" He hissed, rolling over while Tony faltered in his own steps.

"Peter, are you alright?" Tony crouched down to better match Peter's level, lifting one of the kid's arms wrapped around his torso.

"No, yeah, I'm good mr Stark, just hit a funny bone connected to one of Spider-man's bruises" he partially lied, pushing down the no longer dull pain he was already struggling to hide.

Okay, maybe he almost completely lied.

Tony stood up, extending a hand.

"I can get you some ibuprofen, if that helps. I'm sure there's some in the kitchen-"

"Tony, who's this?" A new voice cut in.

"Steve, Peter." Tony introduced, pointing to his targets as he spoke. "Peter, Glorified pentagram shield man. Speaking of the patriotic dumbbell, Steve, can you get some ibuprofen from your stash?" Tony asked, pulling Peter to his feet.

Peter was so glad Tony was there. He'd nearly collapsed if it weren't for Tony steadying him as if he was about to pass out. I mean, sure, he was, but Tony didn't happen to know that.

Steve sputtered for a second "p- Tony! My shield is not a pentagram!" He defended.

"Oh really?" Stark was about to explain, but Peter butted in first.

"I do recall your shield being a circle.. with.. what was it again? A star in the center? Hmm.. almost.. Yknow, that's that's almost like a.. what would you call that? Oh, a pentagram??Huh? weird.." Peter pretended to think hard, fully prepared to defend Tony in this trivial debate.

"Kinda rude of you to make a symbol of peace be about devil worshipping and not invite me, Stevie" Tony pretended to be offended.

Both of them were snickering at Steve now, who's face held enough boomer shock to rival those of a 60 year old man who just discovered gay people exist.