5 times Tony was at Peter's Sickbed, and the 1 time Peter was at his.

2. School Bus Spills

2.

"Pittsburgh." Ned groaned, throwing himself backwards onto Peter's bed, until he was sprawled across the entire thing. "It had to be freakin' Pittsburgh."

"What's wrong with Pittsburgh?" Peter asked, his voice muffled by his closet doors. At this point his entire body was almost inside in his attempt to get a look at everything. It was no good though. Nothing was going to work.

"We're New Yorkers," Ned huffed at the roof. "Every other city is garbage." Peter laughed, but didn't pull himself out of the closet. He needed-he needed. Oh, god. He didn't know what he needed. But whatever it was, he was pretty sure that he didn't have it. "And, anyway," Ned went on. "It was supposed to be Vegas. They held it this round last year."

"Oh, yeah." Peter craned his head around the closet door. "Wait, wasn't that the round where a whole bunch of guys from the Atlanta team got drunk, and ended up doing like a synchronised-swimming thing in that big fountain?"

"The Bellagio fountain." Ned said, a dreamlike smile lighting up his face. "Yeah."

Peter nodded. "You think that's maybe why it's not in Vegas anymore?"

Ned was silent for a long moment. "Yeah." He shrugged. "Still. They could have at least moved it to the West-coast. Or somewhere we had to fly." He stretched out even further across Peter's bed, clasping his hands above his head and pulling back until his back gave an audible crack. "A seven hour bus trip is so not what my back needs right now." He unclasped his hand and let them flop back onto the bed beside him. "Your guy in the chair needs a better chair."

"It won't be too bad." Peter said. He pulled out of the closet, two pairs of pants dangling from his hands. "Which do you think, jeans or chinos?"

Ned shot him another shrug, which was mostly swallowed by the mattress. "It's a seven hour bus trip." He huffed. "The answer is sweats."

Peter let his arms fall to his sides. The pants draped along the floor. "I can't wear sweats."

"Why?" Ned asked, flummoxed."Justin wore his Iron-Man pyjamas last year - no one's gonna care if you wear sweats."

"I can't wear sweats because-" Peter cut himself off, glancing down again at both pairs of pants in his hands. "Because I said I'd sit next to MJ." He murmured softly.

Ned heard.

"What?" He yelped, sitting up so fast that he nearly catapulted himself off of the bed. "You're ditching me?" He gaped.

"No!" Peter stressed, taking a step forward and nearly tripping over the pants still clutched in his hands. "I - we - it just, like, slipped out." He stammered. "She didn't want to sit next to Flash, and I offered, and she-" Peter gestured wildly, sending the pants flying in all directions. "You know-" he stuttered. "Said...yes."

"Great." Ned sat back, deflated. "So now I get to sit next to Flash."

"No! You can sit-" Peter moved forward again, perching on the side of the bed. "On your own?" He grimaced as the words came out. Yeah. Not great.

Ned's glare agreed. "Thanks."

"Oh, come on, please." Peter begged, inching closer. "I'd been working up the nerve to ask her for ages," he said. "If I'd known all I had to do was almost starve myself to death to work past the nerves I would seriously have considered it."

Ned's glare darkened.

"Not funny."

Peter gave a small shrug, flashing him a tight smile. "A little bit funny?"