Tony doesn't get spam calls from his private number. It's just a fact - FRIDAY filters them all out.

Tony doesn't get many calls at all on his private number, really, seeing as he can count the number of people he's given the digits to on a single hand.

And, yet, he stares down at a contact he doesn't recognize as his ringtone blares loudly - mockingly - at him, echoing across the room.

His eyebrows raise a fraction.

Huh.

He gives a blasé shrug of his shoulders and lazy swipe to the right, accepting the call.

There's a faint click, and then whoever's on the line immediately dives into the conversation.

"Hey, Ned, so, real quick, could you possibly give me a run down on how to… um… friggggggg." - there's another mutter on the other end, muffled, probably an actual curse, before the voice returns, forced levity behind it. "So, don't freak out cause this's totally a completely hypothetical scenario I'm bringing up just because I'm, like, super duper really bored right now and not in any way because Karen's down or anything, but, um-" more shuffling, a distinctly pained grunt. The voice is now pitched a bit higher. "-could you maybe, like, find out what to do with a bullet wound? I mean the kind that's, ummmmm, still in you? Cause that'd be great."

"..."

There's only silence in reply. Peter brings the mugger's phone away from his ear, squinting at the blood slick screen and grasping his wounded side tightly with his other hand. "Ned…?" he called out tentatively.

Tony gives himself another moment, making an aborted inhale before pinching the bridge of his nose. He sucks on his teeth, eyes going skyward, or ceilingward, and takes a second to reflect. Is this how Pep and Rhodes feel? he wonders, glancing at the row of gleaming red and gold suits that line practically the entire expanse of a wall to his lab. He shakes his head lightly, and finally gives a response. "You go to a hospital," he says slowly, with emphasis, trying - and failing - to sound unbothered by the evidently complete and utter disaster of a human that's on the other end of the line.

Peter rolls his eyes, beginning to reply absentmindedly, "Ha ha, very fu-" but he cuts himself short, snapping the phone away from himself so that his arm is stretched all the way out and eyeing the device like it'd personally betrayed him. "You're not Ned," he states accusingly.

"Clearly."