3.

"Oi, Penis!"

Peter heard the paper ball barreling towards his head as soon as it left Flash's hand. It sailed across the Chem. Lab at a frustratingly slow speed. Peter could have moved his head – just slightly – and it would have sailed right past and towards the front of the room where Mr. Lowe was attempting explain the molecular fusion.

But he did. He stayed where he was and let the paper hit him directly in the back of the head. Just like he always did.

Ned shot him a pitiful look from his next to Peter.

"Just ignore him." Ned leaned in and whispered – and then received a paper ball to the head, too, for his efforts.

"Come on, Penis – we just want to talk." Flash's voice carried across the murmuring classroom. Flash's posse snorted with laughter at the back of the classroom. "Got any hot Avenger gossip for us? I mean – you're just so close to them all, they must tell you everything – so come on, spill. Seen Black Widow in the shower yet?"

When Peter didn't reply another paper ball collided with the side of his head. Peter's fists clenched around the desk.

"Ignore him – you still haven't told me what happened the other night!" Ned's voiced hissed excitedly in his ear.

"I told you," Peter sighed, doing his best to actually pay attention to Mr. Lowe. And the web-formula currently setting in the draw of his desk. "Some random drug dealer threw a handful of power in my face, and I spent the night stumbling around talking to clouds."

Ned's eyes widened. "Awesome."

Peter swiveled to stare at him. "No dude, not awesome. I passed out on Mr. Stark's floor – and I have no idea what I said."

"Why do you think you said anything?"

"Because, he keeps asking me what Leonard Nimoy and I are getting up too now day's!"

"What?"

"I don't know!"

"Dude," Ned nodding slowly, his eyes somehow getting even wider. "Awesome."

Peter hung his head, using the momentary reprieve to check on his web formula. It was still sticking firmly to the desk.

Peter poked at the webbing distractedly.

"And I think I punched Captain America," Peter added. "Again." Ned sucked in a startled breath and gave up all subtle pretenses. He swiveled fully towards Peter in his chair and gaped.

"What!?" Ned squeaked. "Why!?"

"I don't know!" Peter hissed, running an exhausted hand through his hair. "And Mr. Stark wont tell me. He let it slip – and then wouldn't tell me anything about it."

"Wow."

"No, Ned. Not wow. They live in the Tower now. I have to see them when I go over. And now the Captain and Bruce Banner know who I am."

"Oh, yeah. That kind of sucks."

"And I feel bad. Before I left I heard the Captain chewing Mr. Stark out for letting me go to Germany."

Ned shrugged a little.

"He kind of has a point. You were fourteen."

"And he's a dick." Peter retorted, pouring more of the web-formula into his beaker with a little too much force. "Therefore his opinion is irrelevant."

The beaker started to bubble at once. Peter slammed the draw closed.

"Are he and Mr. Stark still not getting along?" Ned asked, pulling away and leaning back over his quiz sheet just as Mr. Lowe past them by.

"No, they are, which is worse. They're not like, buddy-buddy or anything, but Mr. Stark's just, like, letting him off the hook for everything. Like it didn't happen."

"What did happen?" Ned asked, scribbling down on his quiz sheet. "Like, in Siberia."

Peter pulled his sheet closer and began reading the first question. Sort of. Not really.

"I don't really know." Peter huffed.

"Then how do you know it was all Captain America's fault?"
"Because Mr. Stark came back with the shit kicked out of him – and Cap didn't come back at all." Peter snapped. Ned paused, and looked up in surprise. Peter rarely lost his temper. Even before the whole spider-bite incident – and especially after. He couldn't afford to get angry. People could get hurt.

But he couldn't deny that the whole situation with the Avengers moving back in frustrated him.

Peter sighed.

"I don't know what happened." He admitted, dropping his voice when Mr. Lowe passed by their table. "But they were friends. And you don't do that to your friends."

Ned nodded, swiveled a little closer and open his mouth to reply.

And then promptly shut it again when the sound of exploding glass echoed through the desk.

The whole classroom paused – looking around giddily for whoever had broken the beaker – and Mr. Lowe whirled around.

"Who was that?" He demanded.

The classroom stayed silent – gawking at each other.

"Come on, who broke something? This is the fourth time this week people. You need to be more careful. Who was it?"

Again no one spoke up.

The desk-draw by Peter's feet began to push out on it's own – frothing over with web-serum. Shit.

Peter slammed the draw closed with his feet. Struggling the hold in the expanding formula. Ned gawked down at it, terror written in every line of his face.

Eventually – when Mr. Lowe had looked over every desk and seen for his own eyes that everything was still in tact – the class went on. People turned back to their quizzes and Mr. Lowe got caught at the back of the room helping another student.

As soon as Peter was sure everyone's attention was elsewhere, he moved his foot slightly. The draw had stopped trying to erupt – which had to be an improvement – but when he finally slid it open what he found a solid square of web-formula, which took up every inch of the draw, he reconsidered.

The broken beaker was set right in the middle of the clear goo.

"Ah crap." Peter muttered.

Ned, who was leaning over his shoulder, gawking down at the draw, nodded quickly.

Another paper ball hit Peter, square, in the back of the head.

"Oh, Penis-"

"So they're all just living at the Tower now? That's so awesome."

Peter and Ned were on the gym floor, Peter half way through a set of sit-ups, and straining to keep his movements slow and pained, with Ned holding his feet to the floor, still prodding him about his magical-dream-walk (as Tony had taken to calling it) the week before.

"Not all of them. I've only seen the Captain, Bruce and Rhodey so far. But I think the others are close by, you know, waiting for the outcome of whatever chats they're having."

Ned's excitement tripled, so much so that he was practically vibrating.

"What do you think they're talking about? Are they going reform?! Cause that would be totally awesome! You could be working with like the Scarlet witch, and the Winter Soldier, and-"

"Oh yay, working with the guy who tried to break my entire body with his metal arm. Can't wait." Peter grumbled.

"So aweso-"

"-No Ned. Not awesome."

"Oh come on. It was a fight. You can't really be angry that they fought back."

"I-I'm not. It's just. Look." Peter, finally finished his set, pulled himself upright and rested his arms on his knees. "You didn't see Mr. Stark when he got back, okay, they messed him up. Like bad. Like real bad. The Winter Soldier is crazy." Peter ran a hand through his hair. "And the Captain is a dick." He added a second later, under his breath.

"But you said the Captain helped you the other night?" Ned asked as they swapped places on the mat. "Didn't he hunt down the drug dealer or something?"

"I guess." Peter grumbled, pressing his hands down on Ned's feet. "Doesn't mean he's not a dick."

Ned shrugged. Helpful.

"All I'm saying is-"

"-Penis!

A shadow fell over Ned and Peter, and Ned fell silent.

Flash stood above them both, in his pristine gym wear. His sweater tied across his chest like some kind of forty-year old vacation dad, about to head out for 18 holes of golf.

"You actually going to show at the decathlon meet this weekend?"

Peter sighed.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Why haven't you showed all the other times?" Flash threw back – and Peter had to admit he had him a little. But come on. He'd only missed like two training sessions this term. And not a single competition round. He was trying. He was really trying.

Just some things were more important.

"Huh?" Flash prompted, moving forward so he was standing right in front of Peter who was still on his knees. "Why didn't you show on the Thursday training a few weeks back?"

I was clinging to a car that was on the verge of falling of the Manhattan Bridge with three kids inside.

"Or the information night at the start of term?"

I accidently interrupted a drug-smuggling drop at the docks and got locked inside a shipping freight for two days.

"If you don't actually want to be on the team, you should just admit it and leave." Flash demanded. Oh god. Here they went again.

Every since Peter had come back to the team Flash had targeted him as the one to try and force out. Flash still stood as first alternate and – since they were getting pretty far into the school year and competitions – that was looking less and less likely to change. Much to his displeasure.

MJ had refused to kick Peter out, despite his occasional absence, so Flash had resolved to make Peter leave all on his own. And god, was it getting annoying. If he'd though Flash was making his life hard before – it was nothing compared to what he was suffering through now. Peter could barely make it through a class without Flash taunting him or attempting to get him kicked out of said class. Frustratingly he'd succeeded on several occasions. So much so that Peter's grade performance was actually starting to slip – which was exactly what Flash wanted. If Peter's marks fell much more, he'd be kicked off the team.

And flash would be in.

"-no one wants you there-"

"-No one wants you there, Flash." Ned cut in.

He'd stopped his round of sit-ups and was now staring up at flash with clear distain.

"You're the alternate for a reason. Because everyone else on the team is smarter-"

"Shut up, you fat shi-"

Peter was on his feet before Flash could blink.

With one hand Peter reached out and pushed Flash back, not hard, but just enough to send him stumbling back a few steps.

And enough to get Peter in trouble.

"-Coach Wilson!"

Ah shit.

"Couch Wilson! Parker shoved me-"

"Bullshit!" Ned shouted, lunging to his feet as well. "He was harassing us!"

Coach Wilson dragged himself across the room to them – looking as if he'd rather be anywhere else. Peter could sympathize.

"He shoved me!" Flash yelled, drowning out Ned's indignant cries. "He shoved me! I was just standing here, and he came up and-"

Flash was cut off suddenly when a volleyball flew in out of no where and collided forcefully with his face. He doubled over with a screech while Ned burst into laughter.

Peter whirled around.

A good five feet hind them was MJ, sitting on the belchers, seemingly ignoring them all as she sketched silently. The rather large stack of volleyballs beside her though was a pretty good give away though. No matter how good her poker face was.

"What the hell!" Flash screeched, whirling around to MJ as well.

Her eyes flicked up at them lazily. She shrugged.

"Sorry," she deadpanned. "My dainty, lady fingers slipped."

If possible, Ned began to laugh harder. Tears spilling out of the corner of his eyes at Flash's astounded expression.

"Miss Jones. Really?" Coach Wilson sighed.

MJ shrugged again, her attention moving back to her sketchbook.

"You told me to go for the ball."

"In the game. Go for the ball in the game."

"Whoops."

Coach Wilson stared at her for a moment before shaking his head and stalking away without another word.

Flash watched him go, gaping.

"-but Coach Wilson!" Flash began, holding a hand to the side of his face where the volleyball had connected, and rushing after the older man. "Parker! He shoved me! Parker-"

The Coach walked all the way across the gym, to the double doors, and exited.

Flash followed – still squawking.

Peter let out a burst of laughter. A smile lit up his whole face. Damn. That had been close.

He turned back to MJ. There was a small smirk on her lips too.

Abandoning Ned – who looked on the cusp of a laughter induced stroke as he watched Flash flee the gym – Peter made his way over to MJ, who was still silently sketching.

"Nice shot." Peter chuckled.

She shrugged.

"It's one of my gifts." She said, adding one last flourish to her sketch before turning it around for Peter to see.

Peter almost joined Ned on the ground in a laughter-stroke.

The sketch was a cartoon image of Flash, every detail of him down the forty-year old vacation sweater, catching a volleyball to the face. The detail in it was amazing. She must have been drawing it all period.

God. Peter was pretty sure he was ready to propose marriage right then and there.

"You're not the only mysterious one, Peter." MJ smirked, raising one eyebrow in silent challenge.

Peter smiled again.

And this time it didn't fade for hours.

The bell was still ringing when Peter burst through the front doors at exactly three. With his bag flung over one shoulder he pounded down the front steps.

Okay. He had a few hours until he was meeting May at home for dinner for one of her mystery surprise nights - hmm, maybe best to duck by the deli before any patrolling. Just in case. She'd been not so bad lately, but Peter could never quite shake the time she had tried to make paella from scratch, and somehow it had ended up tasting like some weird hybrid of off-gravy and gravel-

"Hey, Penis!"

Something caught a hold of Peter's sweater and yanked him backwards. Only his quick reflexes saved him from tripping back up the stairs behind him.

Once he was steady again, about three quarters of the way down the steps - come on! He just wanted to go - he finally swirled around.

Flash stood on the step above him, his arms now folded across his chest as he stared down mutinously at Peter.

"What the hell, Flash!?"

"You need to pull out of the decathlon team."

Peter groaned.

"How many times do I have to tell you this? No." Peter said. "Do you want to hear me say it in Spanish? No." He added in a god-awful Spanish accent.

"Come on, Parker!" Flash argued. "We both know you don't really care about the team-"

"-that's not true-"

"-you're too busy faking an internship with Stark. Which no one believes, just so you know. So just quit! You're not doing anyone there any favors by hanging around-"

"Shut up, okay, Flash. Answer is no." Peter said, turning away to start back down the stairs. "Give it up already." Peter added, under his breath.

Before Peter could even turn all the way around hands were colliding with his back again. Only this time they weren't pulling. They were pushing.

Hard.

Normally, the shove wouldn't have even made Peter stumble. Bonus of his Spider-ness.

But Flash had never actually pushed him before, and Peter wasn't expecting it at all.

That, and the fact one of Peter's feet had been hovering over the next step, made Peter stumble.

And then fall.

Ah shit. This was actually going to hurt.

Before the hard, concrete steps could become acquainted with Peter's face though another set of hands caught him by the front of his sweater.

Heaving himself back upright Peter's eyes flicked upward to the owner of those hands.

Oh shit.

Tony.

He'd totally forgotten that he'd arranged to meet Tony after school to go over upgrades for his suit. They met up every week nearly to tinker with the suit. Not much tinkering really happened though. Mostly they actually just sat around and played in Tony's lab. Tony had even let Peter have a look at some of Stark industries latest production plans - wanting his input. God, Peter though he'd die of happiness in that moment. And Tony was always so relaxed in the lab - like all of his problems with the other Avengers and the accords just evaporated when they were locked down there. It was incredible to watch the man work. He was like an engineering steam engine.

Now, though, he was just a steam engine. One likely to run straight over Flash if Tony's expression was any indication. It was almost blank, but Peter could see the fury behind his tinted sunglasses. In the way he clamped his fists closed - one at his side and the other still gripping Peter's sweater.

"O-oh my god." Flash stammered, backing up a step, and almost tripping himself. His eyes were so wide Peter worried for a moment that they might actually pop out of his skull. "You're T-Tony Stark."

Tony let the hand clenched around Peter's sweater fall once Peter was balanced on a step, taking a careful step forward - standing just above Peter and staring mutinously at Flash.

"And you would be?"

Wow. Peter had always known Tony was a good businessman. He'd have to be. He owned a giant business. But, even with those few words, Peter was beginning to understand why it was such a good business.

The words were as cool as they were dismissive. If they'd been aimed at him Peter was sure he would have shrunk at least 2 feet.

"I-ugh-I-"

"Name." Tony barked, harshly, cutting off Flash's stammers. Flash withdrew another step.

"F-Flash Thompson."

Tony's brows shot upwards.

"Seriously?"

When Flash did nothing but gape at the question Tony swiveled, looking down at Peter.

"Seriously?" He asked again. Peter shrugged in confirmation. Tony's brows shot even higher - now in real danger of disappearing into his hairline.

"Seriously?" Tony repeated once he had turned back to Flash.

Flash made a small chocking noise.

"Christ." Tony breathed, with a small chuckle, "No wonder you're a dick. Your parents screwed you good."

Flash stammered an incomprehensible retort, but broke off quickly when Tony took another step forward and clasped a hand around Flash's shoulder tightly.

"Though not nearly as much as I'm going to screw you if I you ever do that again. Do I make myself clear?"

Peter was sure that Flash's head was going to bounce straight off at the speed he was nodding.

"Good." Tony smiled, all of his teeth glinting in a way that reminded Peter vaguely of a cartoon shark before it took someone's leg off. "Now fuck off."

If Peter weren't still trying to wrap his head around the last few seconds of his life he would have laughed at the sight of Flash practically clawing his way up the stairs with his hands and feet, before disappearing inside.

There were a few other students milling out of the doors now - some stared as Flash fled back inside, but most gapped incredulously at Tony, who was making his way back down the stairs to Peter.

"Flash? Seriously?" Tony asked again, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the door Flash had disappeared through. When Peter nodded Tony let out a bark of laughter. "Christ. That's practically child cruelty."

Peter laughed a little with him, his nervousness bleeding through badly. Lots of people were staring now.

Tony paused when he was eye to eye with Peter. All the laughter gone from his expression.

"What's with that?" Tony asked seriously, nodding towards where Flash had been standing.

Peter shrugged again.

"Nothing."

Tony stared.

"Really, it's nothing."

Peter glanced around. Wow. They were really gathering a crowd now. On the plus side, Flash would never be able to claim his internship wasn't real again.

But. On the down side.

Everyone was staring.

Was this what it was like for Tony all the time? God. It sucked. Peter's insides felt like they were coiling and uncoiling at 100 miles an hour.

Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod.

A hand latched on to Peter's sleeve and pulled him down the stairs.

For a wild moment Peter thought it was Flash - with a death with clearly, because Peter was fairly sure Tony wasn't joking with the life ruining comment - but the hands were gentle with him while they led him down the stairs and into a sleek, black car that was waiting at the curb.

The hands ushered Peter inside, and the quite, empty space seemed to shatter whatever had taken over him.

Shit. Had he just freaked out? At school? In front of everyone?

And Tony?

Oh god, kill him now.

Tony slid into the car after Peter, slamming the door behind him.

"Punch it, Happy."

Happy – who was sitting in the driver's seat, as per usual – sent a little nod in Peter's direction before pulling the car away from the school. Peter should have been pleased. Happy's reactions to him usually stayed within the range of frustration and exasperation – a nod was almost a hug in Happy speak.

But Peter was too distracted by the fact he had just freaked out in the middle of school.

"Don't sweat it, kid." Tony said.

Clearly Peter's mortification was written all over his face.

"Seriously, don't worry about it. Everyone freaks out sometimes."

"You don't," Peter murmured. Why doesn't something ever try to eat him when he wants to be eaten.

"I grew up with this," Tony shrugged, leaning back in his seat and looking over at Peter. "I had to get used to shoving cameras out of my face before I could even walk."

Wow. That sounded awful.

"Don't worry, you wont have to get used to it," Tony said. "I'll avoid school-yard appearances where possible-"

"-no you don't have to do that, it's fine, I don't mind-"

"-though I will make an exception if that little asshole is going to be a problem." Tony plowed on over Peter.

"He's not." Peter assured, staring down at his hands.

"Really?" Tony asked, staring over at Peter. "So he's not the kid that's been harassing you for months?"

"What?!" Peter squeaked.

"Yeah, that's right, May and I chat." Tony said, and then paused for a second. "Well, mainly she calls me in the middle of the night to yell at me – but occasionally, after the yelling, we chat." Tony added thoughtfully. "So, what's this kids deal?"

"He wants on the decathlon team." Peter admitted, with a shrug. Trying his best to play it all down.

"And what? His plan to do that is to torment you until you withdraw?"

"I guess," Peter muttered. He so didn't want to have this conversation. "I don't know. It's not a big deal."

"If he's pushing you down stairs it's some kind of deal."

"I'll deal with it." Peter insisted.

"Well," Tony stressed with a shrug of his own. "You're kind of not."

"Well you're kind of not dealing with, Cap, so, you know, whatever." Peter snapped.

The car fell silent.

"What?" Tony asked, painfully calm.

Oh god. He did not just say that. This is not happening.

Peter shook his head manically.

"Happy, pull over."

Happy steered the car to the edge of the road and slid into a park.

"Okay," Tony said firmly, moving forward in his seat to look Peter in the eye. "What is your problem with the Captain?"

"N-nothing." Peter stammered, eyes fixed on his hands. "Nothing. Forget I said anything. I didn't...I-I didn't-"

"Stop deflecting." Tony ordered. Peter fell silent. "You weren't happy when I told you Cap was moving in – and I got it, he did punch you a few times in the face – but you're nicer to criminals that shoot at you, which I strongly disagree with, but that's not the point right now."

Peter remained silent.

"What's going on, Peter?" Tony asked, all frustration slowly giving way to confusion. "I thought you liked him. When I told you why we were going to Germany I was a little nervous you'd swap sides, you were that excited to meet him-"

"-I would never do that." Peter insisted harshly, cutting Tony off. He would never have dared, usually, but he needed Tony to hear this. Needed him to believe it. "I would never do that to you."

Tony stared at him as if he'd grown an extra head.

"I know you wouldn't." Tony said slowly. "Kid, where is this all coming from? I don't-"

"I know what happened in Siberia."

The words were barely a whisper, but Tony heard them.

"Happy, get out of the car."

"What?" Happy barked from the front seat, where he'd been trying to look like he wasn't listening to every word. "Come on, no-"

"Oh yes," Tony cut him off, waving an impatient hand at him. "Out. Now. Go get a double chocolate, vanilla syrup, extra pump espresso or something."

Happy muttered mutinously but heaved himself out of the car nonetheless. Slamming the door closed behind him.

As soon as he was gone Tony's attention focused back on Peter, and he shrunk back a little. Dammit. Should have just kept his mouth shu-

"What do you mean?" Tony's hard voice cut off Peter's internal berating. "What do you know about Siberia?"

Peter considered staying silent, but the look on Tony's face told him that that wasn't going to be an option now.

"I know you went after the Captain." Peter murmured, fiddling with a hole in his sweater. "I know you found him - and the Winter Soldier."

Peter's hands clenched around his sleeves, and he refused to look up into the brown eyes he knew were staring at him.

"I know they nearly beat you to death."

Peter heard Tony's teeth clench together.

Neither of them said a word.

Tony was silent for so long that Peter was half expecting him to ask Peter to get out of the car. Maybe he should just go? Clearly Tony didn't want to talk about this. And why would he? God, Peter shouldn't have brought it up. Such a dick thing to say. Why not remind the man of the time his friend kicked the shit out of him. Yeah. Peter should just leave now, before he could make anything worse-

"How did you find out about this?"

The words slid out of Tony's still clenched teeth.

Peter shrank lower in his seat.

"I was there when you called Happy." Peter muttered. "Or in the next room, but Happy was shouting so I came to the doorway. I could hear you talking about the Captain." Peter fiddled some more with his sleeve. "I could see what they'd done to you."

Tony let out a pained sigh, and then – much to Peter's surprise – slid closer.

"Well, Happy and I are going to have a discussion about what a private conversation entails." Tony began, shooting a dirty look out the car window in the direction Happy had disappeared in. Guilt built up in Peter's chest. It hadn't been Happy's fault –

"But, you need to know that what happened was complicated." Tony went on. His voice faded a little. "There were mistakes made on both sides."

"Beating the crap out of a friend counts as a mistake?" Peter asked, dubiously. Not bother to cloud his resentment.

"No, but-" Tony began again, but Peter cut him off. He'd heard enough.

"-there are no buts. You don't do that. You just don't." Peter insisted, starting to get worked up.

"-it's complicated-"

"-how is that complicated!" Peter fumed. "You don't hurt your friends!"

"PETER!"

Peter fell silent.

Tony took a deep breath.

"It's not that simple." Tony insisted. Peter opened his mouth to argue but Tony held up a hand and plundered on. "It's not that simple, because I started the fight."

That rendered Peter silent.

He gaped at Tony for several seconds, not quite sure what to say to that.

"Why?" The word left Peter's lips in a breath of confusion. As soon as it had, though, Peter regretted it.

Tony's eyes fell, and he pulled away. All of the energy that seemed to seep from him, all of the time, just faded. Suddenly he seemed old. Tired.

"The Winter Soldie-" Tony said, but broke off. He stared out the car window for several seconds. Peter fidgeted nervously.

"James Barnes," Tony began again. "Has a long history."

Tony's eyes flicked back to Peter.

"Unlike Rogers, he wasn't always asleep." Tony leant back in his seat, resting against one of the car doors. "And, when he was awake, he did...things."

Peter stared in confusion.

Tony sighed again.

"He killed people. Lot's of people." Tony went on. "And there are some who have broached the idea that he should be held accountable for those murders."

If possible Peter was suddenly more confused.

"But, wasn't he brainwashed?" Peter asked, slowly. "Like, Hydra, they brainwashed him didn't they? It was all over the news. They released videos of him being conditioned like some kind of animal."

"Yes." Tony said. "He was."

"Then how is any of what he did his fault?" Peter asked, lost. "I mean, if he was brainwashed, then doesn't that kind of make him a victim as well?"

Tony stared at Peter for so long that Peter was beginning to think he had finally over stepped. That the older man wasn't going to answer.

He was wrong.

"Yes." Tony said eventually. "Yes, it does."

"Then I-"

"-look." Tony cut Peter off, leaning forwards so that his elbow rested on his knees, and his face sat at Peter's eye level. "What happened in Siberia was an epic cock-up. Alright? We let out anger the better of us, and we shouldn't have." Tony said, watching Peter's expression carefully. "But the point I'm trying to make is that the mistake was on us. As in all of us. Because, trust me, I gave just as good as I got." Tony smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "It wasn't the Captain's fault." He made a sour face as soon as the words left his lips, before hastily rephrasing them. "It wasn't solely the Captain's fault. Okay?"

Peter nodded.

"And it definitely wasn't a good example of conflict resolution." Tony added, his typical bravo returning. "In the case of Flash, for example, I wouldn't recommend it. I would instead encourage a subtle emotional, and social crippling. You start with-"

The driver's door swung open, and Happy slid inside. Hands full of some chocolaty, overflowing, Frappuccino.

"Where the hell have you been?" Tony demanded.

Happy swirled around.
"What?" He fumed. "You told me to go. You wanted to talk to the kid-"

"-Yeah, and now we're done." Tony cut him off. "Come on, chop chop. Lots to do tonight. We have to get through all the upgrades and home before the kid's curfew."

Happy nodded jerkily, scrambling to turn the car back on.

"No time for indulgences," Tony insisted, snatching the Frappuccino out of Happy's hands and shoving it into Peter's.

"What!?" Happy huffed. "You told me to go and get-"

"Time is money." Tony stressed, and Happy finally pulled away from the curb.

Tony shot a wink at Peter, and Peter barely held in a chuckle.

He took a sip of the Frappuccino.

"Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"You're always going to be my favorite."

"Damn straight."