[ Oh, good, Charlie can walk under his own power. That's seriously surprising and borderline miraculous, based on how the guy looks -- but also awesome, because Peter's ribs are on fucking fire, each breath rattling in his chest through his bruised throat, and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to support both of them.
Their things are in a heap in an adjacent room, which is pretty much the best thing that's happened all day. It means Peter can get on his comm to call in the cavalry and get their asses to the emergency room or whatever the fuck this place has. And he's fucking glad he reaches Gamora out of all of them, because he doesn't want to screw around with Rocket's attitude or Drax's literalness or Groot's... Groots. Just a quick explanation, a signal sent from his helmet, and in a matter of minutes, the Milano is swooping down like some sort of fucking angel.
A little while and two check-ins to the hospital for overnight observation later, the remaining Guardians are working with the local police to pick up the trail of the two remaining Kree shitmunchers. Evidently the authorities want to save some face for letting the terrorists cause this much trouble and are comping the hospital fees -- which doesn't matter one iota to Peter, because they've got him on some seriously kickass painkillers, and everything is sort of-- floopy. Whoosh.
They also can't seem to keep the fucker in his own bed, despite everyone telling him to get his ass back in there to rest. He argues (or at least tries to argue, considering his voice is little more than a whisper) that his ass is just fine, thanks, and would they like to see it? Because it's seriously great. A lot of ladies have complimented it and some dudes, too, especially Char-- which is about when Gamora clamps her hand over his mouth and forces him back to his room.
But eventually they all just sigh, and when visiting hours are over, the Guardians just let Peter stay where he is, sitting in a chair beside Charlie's bed, half-asleep and flopped over the edge like a drunken puppy. ]
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Their things are in a heap in an adjacent room, which is pretty much the best thing that's happened all day. It means Peter can get on his comm to call in the cavalry and get their asses to the emergency room or whatever the fuck this place has. And he's fucking glad he reaches Gamora out of all of them, because he doesn't want to screw around with Rocket's attitude or Drax's literalness or Groot's... Groots. Just a quick explanation, a signal sent from his helmet, and in a matter of minutes, the Milano is swooping down like some sort of fucking angel.
A little while and two check-ins to the hospital for overnight observation later, the remaining Guardians are working with the local police to pick up the trail of the two remaining Kree shitmunchers. Evidently the authorities want to save some face for letting the terrorists cause this much trouble and are comping the hospital fees -- which doesn't matter one iota to Peter, because they've got him on some seriously kickass painkillers, and everything is sort of-- floopy. Whoosh.
They also can't seem to keep the fucker in his own bed, despite everyone telling him to get his ass back in there to rest. He argues (or at least tries to argue, considering his voice is little more than a whisper) that his ass is just fine, thanks, and would they like to see it? Because it's seriously great. A lot of ladies have complimented it and some dudes, too, especially Char-- which is about when Gamora clamps her hand over his mouth and forces him back to his room.
But eventually they all just sigh, and when visiting hours are over, the Guardians just let Peter stay where he is, sitting in a chair beside Charlie's bed, half-asleep and flopped over the edge like a drunken puppy. ]