You hated seeing Peter come back at odd hours of the night, you'd watched him get tossed like a rag doll on the T.V, nursed him back to health after getting beaten to a pulp, you couldn't keep watching him risk his life for the stupid mask. You were done. you couldn't keep explaining away the strange bruises on his face, or his frequent injuries. He healed faster than average but what was that compared to a broken rib or several?

One of these days Peter was going to DIE in that stupid costume. You would have to watch helplessly one day as he risked his life a final time. There had been so many close calls and you felt your heart drop into your stomach every single time. As you helped his bleeding and beaten form onto the couch he smiled, his teeth were stained red and his lip was busted. How could he be so nonchalant about this?

Peter winced as he relaxed back into the couch, listening to your usual tirade about how he needed to be more careful, he knew it by heart he was pretty sure. He simply kept his mouth shut rather than risk upsetting you further. Once you were done he spoke up, hissing in pain as you dabbed antiseptic on his lip, "I know, I know. I'm an idiot. I promise. I'll stay home this week."