Peter sits on the edge of his bed, the deep gash in his shoulder blade being carefully stitched up by his spouse of almost two years, you.

"God, I swear I can see bone..."

You mumble, mostly to yourself. Peter hears.

He's well aware of how much it tears you apart to see him hurt.

"You think that's bad, you should see the other fella."

He quips, his tone light. He's trying to make you less scared; less worried.

It doesn't work very well.

He winces as the needle goes through his skin, hissing in pain as his eyes clench shut.

"Petey..."

You speak in that same concerned, don't-lie-to-me tone he's heard a million times before. He especially hears it when he plays off pain like it's nothing.

Peter sighs, giving in.

"Hurts a little, doll."

He admits quietly.

"It's okay, though. I promise. Ain't nothing I haven't had before."