[ Peter, in the meanwhile, isn't thinking entirely straight. Texting isn't really in the cards, not with the way his hands shake, and he needs to just— do this. Needs to get it out. He's venting, and he's taking it out on Stark, because who else is there?

Not Mantis. Definitely not Groot. And not Parker, who's already dealing with enough grief and guilt as it is.

Obviously, wrecking Thanos' shit would be the ideal here, caving-in his face, over and over and over until his head is unrecognizable mush, but the bastard isn't here, thank every star in the sky.

He pulls a hand through his hair, tries to keep his voice low in deference to the others sleeping nearby. ]

You could've warned me. You could've said literally anything. Even a, "Hey, it doesn't go so good, so maybe you should think twice about redeeming that ticket home."

You— you could've said— you could've told me—

[ —that Gamora is dead, but his voice catches on the words. He hasn't been able to say them aloud, refuses to admit it, because then it's real. ]