Peter / Tony
Tony looks at him, and Peter's not sure he can look him in the eye. If he can look at him yet, and not see - well, something he'd rather not. He hedges, eyes darting up and then away. He's sure he doesn't look dissimilar to a wild animal, but then, he supposes he kind of feels like one.
"I guess, uh," Peter had been so focused on the emotional pain - and it was pain, grief is an all-consuming ache - that he hadn't stopped to catalogue everything else. " - I'm not sure if I need one. I'm - I got kinda knocked around."
Peter sniffs and wipes at the blood congealing on his upper lip. "I think one of my ribs is broken. Maybe two of them. Or three. Uh. How many ribs does a human have, actually?"