4.

"Oh my god, this is amazing!" Peter gushed as soon as he was inside the training room. "This is amazing. This is probably the best moment of my life - including that time Flash got a physics question wrong at a decathlon meet and MJ-"

"Wow, kid." Tony chided. "This is just a bit of a trial run, okay? See how everyone gets on."

"Yeah!" Peter insisted, trying his best to seem professional despite his excitement making him want to literally bounce off the walls. "Definitely. All just chilling. Chilling like a-"

"For my sake please don't finish that sentence," Tony shook his head. "We're just ten mature adults, coming together to see how we get along as a team now. Sort out the dynamics."

Peter nodded manically and took another look around. God. This was so cool. The Avengers training room. The Avenger's training room! And he was actually going to train with them. Oh god. This was the best thing to even happen to him. Hands down. No questions. Not even any close comparisons –

"Well, 9 and a half mature adults." Tony muttered, breaking off Peter's racing thoughts.

"Hey." Peter argued, turning to shoot a light glare at Tony who was still waiting by the training room doors, "I'm at least two thirds."

"You can be two-thirds if you stop gaping at everything and come and wait over here like a normal person." Tony waved him over. Peter followed, still craning his neck to take in every inch of the room.

"Okay, here's the deal," Tony began. "We're going to train for a few hours, make some small talk and try not to kill each other. Think you can handle that?"

Peter nodded again.

"Good." Tony sighed. "That makes one of us."

Before Peter could reply the double doors opened and Rhodey stepped inside, his bionic leg-crutches clunking loudly with each step inside the large room. He was dressed in a loose t-shirt and cargo pants. Ready to work.

"Oh, thank-Christ you're here." Tony panted. He took a steadying breath that Peter hadn't realized he needed. Wow. He was really nervous about this. Should Peter be nervous about this?

"Chill, I'm here." Rhodey said, moving over to Tony. "Everyone's arriving."

Tony nodded and began clicking his fingers nervously. Glancing about the room – or generally anywhere other than Rhodey and Peter. Peter moved forward, but Rhodey cut him off.

He moved towards Peter and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"How you doing, kid?"

Peter had met Rhodey a couple of times now. They'd met when he'd walked in on Tony trying to remove Peter's suit after some goon, breaking into a hardware store, had sprayed him in super adhesive. Not Peter's finest moment.

Rhodey, though, had been oddly cool with the whole thing.

He'd barely even raised an eyebrow before asking where Tony kept his baking spray. When Tony had fallen into a panicked tangent about why he was not allowed to keep baking supplies in the penthouse – curtsy of Pepper and several failed attempts – Rhodey had simply held up a silencing hand, disappeared for several minutes and returned with a jumbo jar of peanut butter.

Needless to say, Peter was free in no time. But incredibly sticky.

Yeah. Really not his finest night.

He'd run into Rhodey several more times since then, mainly in the Avengers Compound where Tony was still improving his bionic legs. They often sat around and ate pizza while Tony worked. It was nice. The man was just, so, constant. Nothing ever rattled him.

Peter could see how he and Tony got along so well. Where Tony was a constant mirage of movement, Rhodey was solid and immoveable.

"How's school?" Rhodey went on.

Peter gave a shrug.

"That kid, Flash, still giving you trouble."

Peter shot an annoyed look at Tony – which the older man completely missed. Tony had started to pace across the doorway, hands fiddling with his sleeves, and gaze still fixed on anything but Peter and Rhodey. Peter's annoyance faded away. Wow. He was really nervous. Was there something Peter didn't know? Was this likely to end badly?

Peter moved to take a step towards Tony again, but Rhodey moved just slightly to the side, blocking him.

"Just let him go." Rhodey murmured, not even needed to look over at his friend to know that he was panicking. "He's not so great with situations he can't predict with a mathematical algorithm." Rhodey explained. "He'll be fine once everyone's here, and nobody spontaneously combusts."

Peter nodded slowly.

It made sense, really. They hadn't all been in a room together since Germany, and that had ended...badly.

"So," Peter began, his own nervousness building. "Who exactly is here?" He asked. "Mr. Stark didn't really say..."

"We'll Steve's here," Rhodey said, leaning down and fiddling with a screw on his metal leg-braces. He shot a quick look up at Peter. "Tony says you already know that." Peter scowled again. Rhodey didn't push the subject. "Same with Bruce, and Vision's been living here for the past year already, so he's here." Rhodey straightened back up. "Other than that, Sam, Clint and Scott are all flying in from underneath whatever rock they've been hiding under. And Natasha. I've got no idea how she's getting here though, or where she's been, but she said she'd be here so-"

The training-room's double-doors swung open, and the woman herself walked in.

She was dressed in all black – just like the last time they met – but instead of a cat suit, she was dressed head-to-toe in tight fitting combat gear. Her blonde hair – wait, blonde? Wasn't she a redhead the last time they-

"Do you just wait out there for someone to talk about you, so you can make a dramatic appearance?" Tony asked, finally pausing his pacing to glare at the Black Widow. The. Black. Widow.

Peter was in the same room as the Black Widow.

"Tony." Romanoff nodded. She glanced across the room. "Colonel Rhodes. Peter."

Peter's eyes widened.

As did Tony's, though not, Peter suspected, out of awe.

"How do you know his name?" Tony fumed. Romanoff smiled, just slightly.

Peter's spider-sense tingled.

The double-doors opened again a head of messy brown-hair appeared.

Clint Barton. Hawkeye.

OhmygodthiswasthebestdayofPeter'slife.

"We late?" He asked, stepping all the way inside. "Sorry, bit of a piloting mishap. Turns out the pilot couldn't actually fly a plane-"

"-I can fly a hell of a lot better than you can, you-"

Sam Wilson followed Barton inside, his metallic wings securely fastened and folded up against his back. He scowled as he spoke.

Barton cut him off.

"-giant metal, fairy wings don't count." Barton argued, "A Quinjet is a sophisticated, and advanced piece of technology. Okay. Not even a close comparison to your glorified gliders-"

"-my what! These wings are one of the most advanced aero-dynamic instruments in history-"

Bruce slipped in the doors behind the two men, took one look at them while they bickered, and moved towards Peter and Rhodey.

"Hey Bruce," Peter waved. Bruce smiled a little.

"Hi Peter, how you feeling?"

"Much better than last time."

Bruce let out a small chuckle, that didn't reach his eyes.

"I'm glad."

Rhodey shot them both a confused scowl.

"I didn't know you two had met."

"Oh yeah," Peter said, enthusiastically. "He helped me when I was dying of a drug-overdose."

Rhodey's eyebrows rose, just an inch. Ah. Maybe not the best choice of words.

Peter was spared from explaining when the last of the team wandered through the double-doors.

Vision, fully clad in slacks and a purple sweater, swept inside with his usual silence and grace, and a scrubby looking, brown-haired man followed him. Who was he? Peter didn't know him?

Before Peter could question it the doors opened one last time and Steve Rogers stepped through. He closed the door softly behind him.

"We ready?" He asked, glancing around at the many faces in the room.

A few nodded in return, but most glanced over to Tony, who was standing with his arms folded near the wall of windows.

For a minute no one said anything.
"Yeah," Tony murmured. It traveled through the reinforced room. "We're ready."

Steve nodded, glancing around at the others. Everyone stood slightly spread through the room. Peter, Bruce and Rhodey to the left of the door, Romanoff alone in the middle of the large room, Tony by the windows, Vision in back corner, Barton and Wilson just in front of the large doors, and the Captain and mystery guy barely through them. Ah. Peter was starting to see why Tony was so nervous.

For a really long moment no one said anything.

"Okay," The Captain said at last, breaking the silence and taking a large step into the room. "Where do we want to start?"

"How about introductions?" Tony shrugged, nodding at the strange man standing hovering next to the Captain "Whose this guy?"

"Oh, this is Scott Lang." Rogers said at once, waving a hand at the man, who gave an awkward wave of his own to the group. "He's-ugh-"

"I was the dude in the red suit." Lang cut in when the Captain broke off, unsure. "I was tiny, and then kinda big-"

"Giant-tiny-red-dude!" Peter yelled, eyes-wide. "Yeah, wow, you were awesome."

Every set of eyes in the room flicked to Peter.

Ah shit.

"You are a child." Barton said, staring over at Peter in astonishment. Barton cast a stray look around at everyone else, all of which were still staring at Peter. "There is a child in the room." Barton clarified, as he couldn't quite compute that bit of information. "Whose child are you exactly?" He asked.

"He's mine."

The gaping stares shot over to Tony.

"Not like that. Christ." Tony added. He waved a hand over at Peter, who still stood between Rhodey and Bruce, and suddenly felt a lot less enthused about this whole thing. "Everyone this is Peter Parker, or Spiderman as YouTube has coined him."

That got the attention of the room.

"Um. How old is he?" Wilson asked, his voice tense.

"He's fifteen," Tony cut in, and then continued on over several outraged cries. "And before any of you contest, he's about to kick all of your asses, so...don't."

"Just because he can, doesn't necessarily mean he should." Wilson argued, staring over at Peter with an unreadable expression. "Fifteen, Jesus, are you still in High School?"

Peter opened his mouth, but nothing came out but a chocked breath.
"He is." Tony answered, pulling himself away from the windows and making his way over to Peter, Bruce and Rhodey, stropping just foot or so in front of Peter – half shielding him from the eyes of the other Avengers. "And he's also far too stubborn to stop swinging from skyscrapers and attacking muggers, no matter how many people ask him to. So feel free to try."

Several of the others opened their mouths to do just that – Wilson and Barton most animatedly – but the Captain cut them all off. His was voice calm, but eerily final. Peter couldn't imagine many people arguing with that voice. Himself included. Not that he wouldn't do just that if Rogers started to weigh in on Tony again – because that was not happening. At all. Peter would have a lot to argue about if that started up right in front of him. This was Peter's choice, not Tony's, and it the Captain had something to say about that he could say it to Peter's face, not –

"Peter's a part of the team now, so he'll train with us like everyone else." Roger's voiced echoed through the training room, cutting off Peter's already enraged train-of-thought. Huh. That was not what he'd been expecting. Judging by Tony's look of utter astonishment, the older man hadn't expected the support either. "Any other questions before we get started?" The Captain asked, staring around the room.

Lang raised a hand in the air, stirring several chuckles.

"Umm. Yeah." He started. "What exactly do we do now?"

Even the Captain had no real answer for that one. Everyone stared silently around the room again. God. It was like waiting for the first person to rack up the nerve to dance at a school event. Someone always did, eventually, but the awkward loitering before hand always left Peter queasy.

You could have pounded through this awkward silence with a sledgehammer.

So of course, Romanoff did.

"We hit each other repeatedly in the face." Romanoff said, her face even and arms crossed across her chest as she stood in the middle of the room. A silent challenge. "Whose first?"

No one said a word.

Peter leaned closer to Bruce. "She's joking right?" He murmured.

She was in fact not joking.

Peter watched in awe as Wilson, Barton and the Captain all faced off against the Widow - one at a time. Wilson was flipped onto the mat in just a couple of seconds. Peter wasn't entirely shocked at that though. What had shocked him was that the Captain eventually joined him. The fight had lasted much longer, it was clear that he was much more of a match for Romanoff, but Peter noticed at once that he was clearly reaching for her more than she was reaching back. It left him open. And she never was. Rogers was agile, sure, but he relied on his strength a lot as well. It was what he was known for really, and Peter was sure that in any other fight the combination of the two would have worked. But not in this one. Peter wasn't sure what it was. Whether it was Romanoff's speed, or her ability to turn every move against an opponent, or the fact that she seemed to know every move someone made before they made it, but the move Peter watched the more he was captivated. She never lost. She just didn't. Even when it came to Barton's round - and he lasted longer than both the Captain and Wilson, clearly more experienced with her particular brand of insane-ninja-skills - she didn't loose. Barton still hit the mat in the end, but he'd given just as good as he'd got.

Peter was pretty sure he was in love. Or petrified. Definitely one of the two.

"Kid, at least try and make it look hard. You know, for the rest of us."

Scott Lang was next to Peter on one of the exercise mats, struggling through a round of push-ups while Peter flew through a set of his own.

Peter grinned and smashed out the last few with a flourish. Scott let out an exaggerated sob and flopped to the ground, spread out like some kind of dilapidated worm.

Scott was weird, but kinda awesome. He was also just as new to the group as Peter, so the two had gravitated together when the group had divided up for a warm up (or to be beaten up in Wilson, Rogers and Barton's case).

Warm up was a loose term though, as it ended up only being Peter and Scott that pumped through a few cardio sets. Rhodey - still out with his legs - had watched the fights, yelling suggestions, while Tony and Bruce hovered around the fighting mat as well. Vision had remained in the corner of the room. Just watching.

"What kind of a warm up is that?" Wilson had called down to Tony and Bruce, halfway through his time with Natasha, and clearly needing a minute to catch his breath. He nodded over at their relaxed position by the mat.

"A scientific one," Tony had retorted without even a beat. "We're running the odds on how many times you're going to hit the mat if you keep this up."

Wilson had barely had time to let out a sarcastic bark of laughter before Romanoff was on him again. And he was on the mat. Again.

Even Peter gave up his rouse of warm-up to watch Romanoff and Barton go at it one more time. With Scott still face down on the mat beside him, no one was there to mock his for openly gaping. Which he was. Not even subtly. Especially when the match ended with Romanoff swinging her legs around Barton's throat and twisting him to the mat.

"I'm getting to old for this shit." Barton muttered, but he was smiling slightly as he heaved himself back upright. But the Widow had moved on.

She was staring at Peter now.

Oh shit.

"How about you, little spider?" Romanoff murmured, smiling just enough to get Peter's spider sense tingling.

Peter was on his feet with a hell yes on the edge of his tongue when Tony cut in.

"No." He called, not even bothering to look up from the phone he was typing on. "There will be no breaking of the underage participants before we even get past the warm-up."

Romanoff smirked but didn't protest.

"I think we're all warm now, anyway." Rogers agreed, moving back into the middle of the room. "Why don't we all get suited up and head outside for some drills?"

The team nodded and began to trudge out of the training room. Peter, who had his suit on under his sweats, pulled his mask out of the pocket of his hoodie and made his way over to Bruce who was heading out a glass-side door of the training room and into the garden.

"No suit?" Peter asked as he caught up to the older man.

Bruce turned and, upon seeing Peter, smiled. "No. I don't think the other guy's going to make an appearance today."

Peter nodded absently. Tony had already told him not to push Bruce when it came to the hulk. They were lucky to have the man here at all at the moment.

"So what's up with Vision?" Peter asked instead, matching Bruce's stride as they made their way down to an empty patch of grass at the back of the facility. "Does he normally get in on these things?"

"I'm not really sure," Bruce admitted, watching the android in question step straight through a wall and out onto the back lawn. Awesome. "I've never trained with him before, but-"

Bruce cut off suddenly.

"But what?!" Peter pushed before he could stop himself, trying to keep his voice low.

Bruce sighed, but leaned a little closer to Peter.

"Wanda's not here."

The Scarlett Witch. Peter had noticed when she didn't show with the others, but he'd been so absorbed with the others that he'd forgotten to ask about it.

"Why?" Peter asked. "Wasn't she with the Captain."

"She was..." Bruce began carefully, still watching Vision as he moved across the lawn to stand at the edge of the trees that lined the estate.

"And where is she now?" Peter asked. He knew he should let the whole thing go. That clearly no one wanted to talk about it, but now they'd started on the topic Peter found himself brimming with curiosity. He'd admired these people for so long - it was just so captivating to be with, and hear about them, in person.

"No one knows."

That got Peter's attention.

"No one knows?" Peter repeated, astonished. "How can no one know?"

"Apparently she left in the middle of the night while they were in Wakonda." Bruce explained. "Left a note saying there were things she had to do, had to fix, and just disappeared."

"Wow." Peter breathed, glancing over to Vision as he started to however just an inch or two off the ground, head lifted to the sun.

"Yeah," Bruce agreed just as the doors to the compound opened and the others began spilling out. "Best not to bring it up though." Bruce added softly as the other moved towards them. "Tony and Steve have already had a row about it, and fighting is going to get us no where at the moment."

Peter nodded.

"Why would her not being here effect Vision though-"

Peter cut off sharply when the others started to reach them.

"Ready to go, kid?" Tony asked, setting down the case, with his Iron-man suit inside, on the grass.

Behind Tony, Rhodey was already in the War Machine suit, shooting up into the sky with Falcon hot on his tail. Scott was no where to be seen - meaning he was probably already tiny and slipping between them all - and Romanoff and Barton were at the edge of the lawn, talking too softly to hear.

The Captain was the last the make it down to the lawn. He was fully suited up - cowl and all - and running his hands over his shield.

Rogers looked up and met Tony's gaze for just a second, before nodding softly at the engineer. Tony returned the nod, just slightly, and the Captain ran his hands over the shield one more time before sliding it into place across his shoulders.

"Shall we?" Tony called. Rogers nodded.

Peter took it all back. This was the greatest moment of his life.

He was flying through the air, swinging around the Avenger's facility while the Avengers battled around him. Tony had released a crate full of training bots, and they were now flitting through the air and along the ground while the Avenger's chased after them.

"-one on you're tail, Falcon." Barton called across the comms. from his perch at the edge of the facility, where he was firing arrow after arrow.

"Got it," Falcon called, spinning up into the sky with the drone at his heels.

Peter swung around the corner of the facility, webbing an unsuspecting drone of his own and catapulting it into the side of the building. It crumbled upon impact.

"Hey," Tony's voice echoed through the comms. "Mind the building. I just had her renovated."

"Really!?" Falcon called from above them all, trying to throw off his tail in the clouds.

"Oh, yeah," Tony said, blasting a bot clean out of the sky. "Had the whole kitchen redone."

"Finally get that soft-serve machine I told you about?" Barton asked. An arrow whizzed by Peter and slammed into a bot that was shooting towards him. Awesome. Peter flipped backwards and shot out another web, swinging himself up towards the very top of the facility.

"Yeah, and a waffle-maker that makes waffles in the shape of the Hulk. Had to special order that one-"

"Chatter!" Rogers' voice cut them all off.

God. This was amazing. This was the best day of Peter's life.

Rogers was on the grass, beating bots to the ground left-right-and-center with his shield. Romanoff wasn't far behind, taking cover in the trees and surprising the bots that strayed in after her. She took each of them down with electric bracelets that Peter had absolutely no desire to get to know.

Vision was up in the clouds with Wilson, occasionally shooting down a beam from the jewel in his head and obliterating the bots. Rhodey and Tony were circling the compound, shooting down bots as they ringed around the entire group.

Bruce had gone inside as soon as the bots were released, already edgy and not really up for team bonding.

Scott was nowhere to be found. But every so often a bot would explode mid-air, and Peter could swear he saw something tiny fly off from the debris.

Yeah. Definitely the best day of his life.

"You've still got a bot biting at your heels, Wilson-"

"-PETER MOVE!"

Tony's voice cut through everything else.

Peter, who had just shot a web into the side of the facility and was riding it down, looked up to see Falcon wiz up and over him. And directly through his webbing. The web formula snapped under the pressure of Falcon's sharp, steel wings, and then Peter was no longer gliding.

He was straight out falling.

"PETER!"

Tony's voice echoed through the comms. but Peter barely noticed. He was too busy trying to shoot a new web onto the facility before he hit the ground. Hard.

But the snapped webbing seemed to have done something to his wrist-shooters because the left one was no longer working, and if he used the right the odd angle would propel him straight into the windows of the compound. The bullet and missile proof windows. Yeah. That didn't sound fun. Though neither did hitting the ground after a six-story drop, but Peter was very quickly running out of options-

Something solid slammed into Peter.

Metallic arms wrapped around him in a death-grip and threw them both off to the side - slamming into the grass at an angle, with Peter clutched to the metal breastplate.

Despite the angle, and landing on top of the hulking metal figure, Peter felt a couple of ribs give way as they hit the ground. His shoulder, too, popped hideously, and began to scream with pain. Peter clenched his teeth together to keep quiet.

As soon as they had skidded to a stop, though, Peter sprung up to his knees, leaning over the brilliant red Iron Man Suit beside him. Ribs and shoulder be damned.

"Oh my god! Mr. Stark are you okay!? What-"

The suit, which was now half hurried in the grass, opened at once and Tony pulled himself out. He clawed his way to his knees, and across the grass to Peter.

"Jesus kid, are you okay?!" Tony's hands reached out, one closing around Peter's undamaged shoulder as the other reached up and ripped the mask of Peter's head.

"I'm good. Really. Bit sore, but – what about you? T-that was a hard-"

"Don't worry about me, kid." Tony sighed, tension draining out of him as soon as he'd yanked the mask from Peter's face and could see that he was relatively unharmed. "My suits are actually made to fall a few hundred feet, unlike your glorified tissue paper! Why didn't your parachute release!?"

"Oh, ugh," Peter stammered, "I meant to tell you about that, I kinda used it. A few days ago. I meant to-"

"Oh, for Christ sake kid. We talked about this. As soon as you use it you come to me, and we replace it. Do I need to put an automatic shut down in the suit, because I will! I will have Karen forcibly march your ass back here and-"

"-everyone okay!"

The others were starting to reach them now. Roger's being the first. He must have really floored it, because last time Peter saw him he was on the other side of the compound, but there he was skidding to a stop beside them both, breathing heavily.

"Are you both alright?" He went on, eyes rolling over Peter and Tony.

"Yeah, we're good." Tony sighed, beginning to heave himself up, "One of us is totally grounded from patrolling for a few days – Christ I sound like my dad, how does this keep happening – but other than that-"

"Ah, that arm does not look so fine."

Scott had popped back into normal size beside them all, and was staring down at Peter's dislocated arm with equal amounts of disgust and concern.

"What arm?" Tony asked rounding back down on Peter and finally noticing the arm Peter was currently cradling to his chest. "Kid!?"

"It's fine." Peter gushed, pushing up to his feet with his good hand and grimacing when it put pressure on his ribs. "Really. It's just dislocated. It'll be fine in a few hours. Same with my ribs."

"What ribs?!" Tony protested, moving closer to Peter and seizing his good shoulder again before running a gentle hand across Peter's torso. Peter couldn't help the groan that slipped through his lips when his ribs protested painfully at even the gentle pressure.

"Okay," Tony said, pulling away and resting a hand on Peter's back, marching him towards the compound. "You're done."

"No! No. Really. I can still help. I-I can-"

"You," Tony cut Peter off. "Have a date with an X-ray and a very large icepack."

Peter groaned, but didn't bother arguing.

He could already feel his shoulder trying to heal – but with the bone out of place the whole thing was starting to set a little strangely. Yeah. Probably better to fix that.

"-Brucie-bear!" Tony called, plundering through several different cupboards in the medical room. "Where are the micro-freezers?"

"The what?" Bruce's voice called from another room down the hall – where he was taking a closer look at the X-rays of Peter's ribs.

"The micro-freezers," Tony screamed back, heaving a frustrated sigh when he came up empty in another cupboard. "You know. The mini, instant, icepack things I made a few months back."

"I don't know, Tony." Bruce called. "Just use a real icepack."

"No," Tony groaned, slipping out of the med-room and into the hallway.

His voiced echoed loudly through the compound's basement level.

"These were so cool! They set on the skin and-"

"Didn't they burn you the first time you used them?"

"Yeah. But I fixed all that-"

Peter was sprawled out on a med-bed, newly aligned shoulder strapped down to ensure everything stayed where it was supposed to while it healed. His ribs had been looked at, and deemed a clean break, so there was nothing to do but wait for it all to heal. It'd only be a few hours. But still, a few hours of lying around doing nothing. Ugh.

At least Tony had been entertaining to watch as he flitted about the med-room playing with all of the equipment. That is, until Bruce had come in and banned him from touching anything after he got halfway through making a sentient defibrillator. Tony had been naturally outraged, while Bruce's exasperation rose with every syllable.

"Tony you made an AI out of a blender." Bruce had reminded him, eying him critically.

"Wha-" Tony had squeaked, pressing a shocked hand to his heart. "You love Frederic-"

"-and you can't even use the blender anymore! As soon as you start to put anything in, it turns on and tries to blend your fingers off!"

"He's vivacious." Tony insisted, with a shrug. "And he likes blueberries, so you have to put them in first."

The whole conversation had come to a dramatic ending when Bruce had all but banned Tony from the room, and Tony had stalked around in search of his micro-freezers – which Peter was honestly not sold on. Though he would take a real icepack right about now. The joints in his shoulder were really starting to ache.

"-here."

A frozen bag of peas appeared under Peter's nose.

Peter looked up at Rogers, who had appeared in the room out of nowhere.

The others had called off the training exercise as soon as Peter had fallen. They'd all loitered a little while Bruce looked him over, but once he'd been given the all clear they'd all dispersed so shower and settle in for the night. All except Tony and Bruce, who had hung around to bicker and keep Peter company.

Peter had assumed Rogers had cleared out with the others, but apparently not.

"Peas?" Peter asked, probably a little more dryly than the man deserved. He was trying to be nice after all. Sort of. Maybe. "Really?"

Rogers shrugged, setting them down next to Peter on the bed. "I can go find Tony and his skin melting micro-freezers if you like?"

"Nah," Peter denied quickly, pulling the peas towards him and pressing them hard against his shoulder. "These are fine."

Rogers nodded a little awkwardly, but he didn't leave.

"How's school going? Anything-" He began, but Peter cut him off.

"Sorry, but I don't really want to make small talk with you."

Yeah. That was definitely harsh, but Peter really wasn't in the mood to be nice to Rogers. Not that he was even in the mood to be nice to Rogers. But if the Cap wanted to argue then –

"Fair enough."

Peter's eyes snapped up to meet the blue irises staring down at him softly. So damn sincere. Wait. What. A serious case of Déjà vu washed over Peter, and he blamed it for throwing him off-guard, because before he knew it he was calling out to Rogers.

"Mr. Stark told me what happened." Peter blabbered, and Rogers stopped midway to the door. "In Siberia."

The Captain turned, slowly, eyes falling on Peter again. Cautious eyes this time.

"He did?"

"Yeah." Peter went on. Well, he'd dug himself into a hole, might as well make a crater out of it. "He said it was both of your fault's." Peter said carefully, watching Rogers for any hint of emotion. There was none. The man stared down at Peter solemnly. Never moving to interrupt. "That the whole thing, blowing way out of hand, it was kinda everyone loosing their cool-"

"It wasn't."

Scratch that interrupt part.

"What?" Peter asked, thrown off. God. If this asshole was about to blame the whole thing on Tony then Peter was –

"It wasn't everyone's fault. And it certainly wasn't Tony's." Rogers said, his eyes never falling. "It was mine. Just mine." There was a sternness in his voice that Peter hadn't expected. "And don't let Tony tell you any different."

"But – he said-"

"-I let my personal feelings on – well, just about everything – get the better of me. And Tony paid for it. So did Rhodey. And the others. You. None of us should have been at that airport. Or in Siberia. And if I'd just been honest with Tony from the beginning, we wouldn't have been."

That rendered Peter silent. Rogers sighed, and then moved forward. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, by Peter's legs.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked, when his head finally wrapped around the Captain's words.

Rogers stared at him for a minute – taking in his evident confusion – before shaking his head softly.

"That's not my story to tell." He said soberly. Something about his voice kept Peter from arguing that particular point.

Peter opened his mouth to say something else, but Roger's spoke first. And Peter's words faded away.

"Tony's a good man. Better than he knows, and I'm glad you've got his six." Roger's said, a soft smile curving at his lips. It didn't reach his eyes though. "He needs someone to remind him of that every now and again."

Peter sat up a little straighter.

"I do." Peter said firmly. "Have his six." He added.

"Good." Rogers said without missing a beat. He leaned forward, just an inch. "And I have yours." He said, staring straight into Peter's eyes. If it had been anyone else it might have been awkward, but from coming from Rogers the declaration held weight.

So. Damn. Sincere.

"I mean it. If you ever need anything, I'll be there." Roger's said. "I'll have Tony program my number into your suit. You can call me night or day. I'll answer."

For a second neither of them said anything. What do you say to that? Especially considering Peter was starting to feel really conflicted about that man. I mean, he still hurt Tony, and that was one hundred percent not okay no matter what had happened –

"This team-" Steve said, breaking Peter from his wild thoughts. The Captain's eyes had fallen while Peter was lost in thought. They were now staring at his hands, which were clenched together tightly in his lap. "This team is the most important thing in the world to me, and I won't anyone on it down again."

"What about your friend?"

Peter hadn't meant to ask. He really hadn't. But, god, he was so curious. He hadn't dared bring it up with Tony, but he really wanted to know. He'd been in Germany, seen the soldier, fought him, and yet he knew nothing.

"He's safe." Rogers replied. "A very long way away." He added gravely. "Truth is, I clung to him when I found out he was alive. Clung to the idea of him, as if by holding onto him I could hold onto what little I had of my old world." Rogers' eyes drifted, and Peter didn't have to be psychic to know that he was an age away. And then he wasn't. His eyes were back, focused on Peter. Sad, yes. But not lost. "But this my world now, different as it is. I have friends here. Purpose. And I don't know where he fits in, in that. Or if he can." Rogers ran an exhausted hand through his hair. "I don't know him anymore, not really. And he doesn't know me."

Peter stared at the older man – half of him wanting to reach out, but not sure how.

Rogers cleared his throat and glanced back up at Peter, his face a little taken aback.

"I'm sorry," Rogers' said, shaking his head, "You don't want to hear about all this. Get some rest, kid-"

"No – I do. I-I mean, if you want to tell me, I do. I don't mind." Peter babbled. He glanced down to the bag of peas that were resting on his shoulder. It had just about stopped aching now.

"And I get it." Peter murmured. "If something happened to Ned – my friend – I think I'd probably do some pretty stupid shit, too."

Rogers chuckled softly, but again, it didn't reach his eyes.

He pulled himself off the bed and to his feet, moving back towards to the door. Before he did though, he pressed a soft hand on Peter's uninjured shoulder.

"Rest up, kid."

Peter called out to him before he could disappear down the hall.

"Rogers?"

"Steve." Rogers corrected, turning back to Peter. "You can call me Steve."

"Steve," Peter said, testing the word on his tongue. It felt weird, but not wrong. "Touch Mr. Stark again and I'll fling you off the Manhattan bridge. Hard."

"Good."

Peter's eyebrows rose almost all the way into his hair, but Rogers – Steve – was already gone.

A crash sounded from a room at the other end of the basement, and Peter sat up a little higher – trying to peak down the hallway. A second later Bruce's voice echoed through the basement. Loudly.

"Oh, for god sake, TONY!"