[ He feels a flash of comfort, of warmth, at the contact, feels something sing in him, but the second is short-lived, due in no small part to the brevity of the touch and to the molten fury still churning in his gut.

He grits out, ] You should be. [ but it doesn’t pack quite the punch he intends it to.

And the victory is hollow as hell, considering Alec is already mostly broken. And Christ, Peter hates seeing the people he (kind of, sort of, maybe just barely a little) likes hurt, but seeing Alec like this makes something tighten around his throat, makes his hands shake and his heart thud against his ribs.

Peter licks his lips, staring down at Alec’s arm, tries to remember where that invisible, red band is before putting his hand atop it. Stands to reason it might help, he supposes, like finding a weak point in armor and pressing the advantage. ]

If you think a shitty apology like that's gonna save you from me kickin' your ass, you're dead wrong.