It was the overwhelming, and very urgent, need to pee that finally woke Peter. He had no idea what time it was, but his room was quiet for once so it must have been late. Or very early. Either way, no time to be awake.

Except he really needed to pee.

"Ugh."

His eyes stuck together, as if someone had spilt an entire can of adhesive in the crevices of his eyelids. No matter how hard he tried he just couldn't pry them apart.

Something warm and soft stroked through his hair. Sliding through the curls with aching familiarity.

"Hey, hey," an equally familiar voice murmured from somewhere close to Peter's ear. "You awake?"

Peter forced his eyes open through pure will alone. For a moment everything was a dimly lit blur.

But he knew that voice.

"May?"

She materialized above him - leaning out of the plush chair she was sat in, pushed up to the very edge of the bed Peter was currently occupying, and over Peter. One hand lost in Peter's hair as she continued to stroke long fingers over his scalp.

The motion nearly had him back to sleep before he could process being awake.

"Yeah, honey," she whispered, the hand that wasn't lost to the wilds of his curls moved to rest of Peter's chest. "It's me."

She looked tired- exhausted - but content when she smiled down at him.

Had she been on night shift? Peter couldn't remember, and despite being in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar bed, it was that that fact that tipped him off that something was not quite right. He always knew her shifts.

His eyes squinted as he tried to bring her more into focus.

"Y'kay?"

His tongue felt too heavy. And cold. Actually the entire of him felt cold. And heavy.

"Yeah," her smile grew, just a little, as she chuckled softly. The fingers in Peter's hair didn't slow. "I'm fine. You're fine. Everyone's fine." Peter - using every bit of force he had at the moment - managed to raise a shaking hand off of the bed. It hovered in the air between them for barely a second before May was wrapping a hand of her own around it. Pulling it closer so she could press a soft kiss to his palm. "Got back to sleep, baby."

Peter wasn't sure if he nodded. He'd meant to.

"M'Kay."

And then it was all gone again.

When he woke again it was in the same bed, and the same strange room. And to the same, now desperate, need to pee.

He was alone now though. May must have ducked out because the chair next to his bed was still there, pushed right up against the med-bed, but it was empty. The bed itself was definitely medically purposed. Peter hadn't really noticed the last time he woke, but as he pushed himself into a sitting position the assorted equipment and wires came into focus. And there were a few of them - some still connected. Most were sticking to his bare chest, and looking up he could see that they were reading his heart-rate, blood pressure and temperate. Actually there were several machines close to the bed that were reading his temperature.

It was there – sat as upright as he could get - in the dark of the plain, cream covered room, that it all hit. All of it.

The attack on the school. The submarine thing. Their escape. Drifting.

Drifting away.

"Wanda." Her name slipped from between his lips before he could even register it.

Oh god. Where was she? If he was here alone then-

"Miss Maximoff is currently in the room just across the hall." F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice flooded softly through the dark room and Peter's breath hitched at the sound of it.

"Is she-is she-"

He couldn't bring himself to say it. He just couldn't.

"Miss Maximoff is alive and recovering much like yourself." F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice replied and Peter felt the breath that had been caught in his chest finally release. She was alive. He was alive. They'd made it. "She has not yet regained consciousness but her vitals have improved considerably since you were both brought to the Compound early yesterday morning."

Peter let out another deep breath, but somewhere between his chest and his lips it became a sob, tearing its way out of him. Another followed it. And another.

"You seem to be in distress Mr. Parker," was it Peter's fried brain or did the AI sound softer. Warmer. "Would you like me to alert Mr. Stark or Mrs. Parker to your wakeful state?"

Peter raked his hands across his face - scraping away the tears.

"No." He replied instantly. "No. Don't-don't tell anyone. Just-just give me a minute-"

Peter sucked in several heavy breaths through shaking lungs.

"Of course Mr. Parker."

Peter couldn't say when the AI had become comforting. When her voice had started to bring with it a consuming sense of safety. Of reassurance.

"Peter," he whispered as the sobs began to fade and his chest no longer felt as if it might split open at any minute. "C-could you call me Peter?"

There was a brief pause.

"Of course, Peter."

Peter let out another shaking breath.

"W-hat day is it?" He cast his eyes around the room. It was dark, but there were peaks of light sliding beneath the blinds that covered the wall of windows to his right. The room itself was fairly plain. Just his bed, various medical equipment and a few seats spread through the room, along with a sofa that Peter was sure was worth more than anything he owned.

Definitely in the Compound.

"It is Friday, Peter." F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice rung out again – still soft. "Friday the 16th of March, 2018." She added. "The time is 7:14am – Eastern Standard Time – and we are currently in the Avengers facility known as 'The Avengers Compound' in Upstate New York-"

The words started to fold together, and with them other facts that Peter had forgotten. Or simply misplaced. He imagined he'd never be free of the image of his best friend at the barrel end of a pistol –

"Ned?" His name tore out of Peter's throat. "Ned?!" He scrambled further up, the wires attached to his chest pulling at an odd angle. The once steady beeping of a nearby machine hit overdrive. "My friend – at school – there was an attack-" Oh god. Oh god, what – "There was an attack – did he – is he-"

F.R.I.D.A.Y's response was instant.

"Mr. Leeds received only minor injuries during the attack and is currently at his home in Queens, New York by order of Mr. Stark who threatened – and I quote – to 're-route your every goddamn collage application to Chucky Cheese if you don't stop calling! I will call you when he is awake and ready to see people, until then get some damn rest kid'."

As quickly as the sobs had come, chest-quivering rounds of hysterics took their place. At the idea of Ned harassing the Avengers for information. At Tony's reply. At the knowledge that they were safe. They were safe. It was really over –

"He's okay." Peter murmured, reassuring himself more than seeking confirmation, but then another thought hit him. And panic a moment later. "MJ – shit – I don't– I didn't-"

He hadn't seen her. He hadn't seen her at all. She'd been in Chem. – not close to the doors but the soldiers had stormed the school so quickly that they could have been anywhere by that point –

Again F.R.I.D.A.Y's response was so quick it cut over the thoughts that were threatening to suffocate him.
"There were no serious injuries sustained by any student or faculty member during the attack at Midtown School of Science and Technology – yourself and Mr. Leeds being the only two with mild injuries to speak of."

Oh. Okay.

"Okay." The word slipped through his lips as he fought to process it. "Okay. Okay." They were fine. Everyone was fine. Wanda was going to be fine.

Somehow – despite the crippling fear that he had lost everything, which had consumed him during those days in the cell – everything had worked out.

Everyone was safe.

Everyone was home.

"Would you like me to call Mr. Stark now?" F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice murmured.
"No." Peter said again. His cheeks were wet. Why were his cheeks wet? He swiped his hands across them again. When had he started crying? "No. I'm alright. Really. I just-I just need-" It was all a little bit much, too much information all at once. He felt like he'd been living in a constant state of adrenaline and fear for weeks, and now it was just all over. The whiplash of it all was crashing down on him. He meant to say something along those lines – to try and describe the consuming feeling that the floor had been ripped out from beneath him and then restored in such quick succession that his feet still felt like jelly, but what ended up coming out was – "I need to pee." And he did. So badly. It was easier to focus on that. He could fix that. "I need to pee really badly."

"There is a restroom through the door in the left corner of your room."

Peter started to slide towards the edge of the bed, but was stopped by the tugging wires attached to his chest.

He ran a hand over them. "C-can I remove these?"

F.R.I.D.A.Y's response was hesitant, but no less sure when it did come.

"They are not vital to your recuperation," she said, and Peter imaged that was the only reason she had agreed. Tony was not usually lenient when it came to him leaving the med-bay without a personal entourage – despite the hypocrite having done so himself on multiple occasions much to Peter's discomfort and Rhodey's fury. "Yes. You may remove them."

So Peter did. F.R.I.D.A.Y switched off each machine as Peter pulled the wires away, and then he was moving his feet towards the edge of the bed and stepping off.

And then promptly falling onto his face.

"Don't call Mr. Stark!" Peter hissed from the floor, already sensing the AI's intention. "I'm fine, I just- I just need a minute."

Apparently his legs feeling like jelly was not just a metaphor for his life. It was, as it turned out, as he tried to force them under himself again, very apt.

Peter wasn't sure if F.R.I.D.A.Y's silence meant that she had listened, or that she had already ratted him out and just didn't see the need to tell him that, but either way she said nothing as Peter forced his way back to his feet. He moved slower this time, grasping onto the bed, and the chair next to the bed, as he maneuvered his way towards the bathroom door. He made it without any other spills, or Tony bursting in, which was a plus. And after having emptied his impossibly full bladder he felt a little better. A little more solid.

No less likely to fall onto his face though he realized when a wrong step nearly had him toppling through the bathroom door on his way out. He managed to catch himself on the doorframe, just, and then took a minute to steady himself there.

He really wasn't sure what to do now. He didn't want to go back to the bed. No. He'd spent days, alone, on the bed in his cell, and then days on the small piece of debris in the middle of the ocean. No. He wanted to move, to walk – to go outside.

Yeah. He wanted to go outside.

Again, much easier said then done. He made it to the door of his room without any spills. And then again to the end of the hall just beyond his door. He stopped in the archway of the hallway, leaning on it more than he wanted to admit, and wrapping his hands around his bare chest. He wished that he'd thought to bring a blanket, or a jacket, but going back for one now seemed like a lot of effort.

"Peter, perhaps it would be best if you went back to your room?" F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice called from above him. It was a soft voice though, not commanding or curt like he had heard her with some of the other Avengers. Not caught constantly between amused and frustrated as she always seemed to be with Tony. "You are not yet recovered, your body temperature is still unstable and the after affects of severe dehydration are likely to worsen with physical activity."

"I'm not going for a run." Peter argued, but even as he did his eyes slipped close. Just for a minute.

"You are tired and should therefore rest." Came her frustratingly logical response.

"I just-" he fought for a second for words, but they failed him, and he ended up with, "I just need to go outside."

He expected her to disagree, to send him back – to call his aunt or Tony, but she did not.

Her silence this time was the longest so far.

"There is a door to the back lawn down the stairs to your left, midway along the corridor directly to your right at the bottom of the steps."

Peter forced his eyes back open.

"Thanks F.R.I.D.A.Y."

This time her reply was instant.

"You may count on me always, Peter."

Peter didn't have a chance to think on that too much before voices were flooding up the hall. He pulled back behind the archway. Just enough so than anyone walking by on the other side would likely miss him. He wasn't sure why – it wasn't as if he was doing anything wrong, per say, but he had a feeling that neither his aunt nor Tony would be as understanding as F.R.I.D.A.Y if he quite suddenly voiced an unexplainable need to be outside. To lie on the grass, outside – with no water or cells in sight.

Oh. Maybe it wasn't so unexplainable.

The voices were getting louder.

"-really, I should get back to him."

May. That was May. Even from his place Peter could smell the soft hints of her perfume. The smell had almost driven him insane when he'd first been bitten. It was everywhere in the apartment – so strong in places that it had given him a headache. Now it smelt like home. Like safety.

"-kid's out like a light, and well out of risk of any set backs." That was Happy. What was Happy doing here? He never usually hung out around the Compound, preferring to stick closer to the city. "You know that, Tony's had almost the entire medical staff on his payroll look at the kid and had them tell him the same thing. He's just tired – though not nearly as much as you at this point. Seriously. You're giving the kid a run for his money when it comes to the bags under you eyes, a few more days and you'll be reaching Tony level-"

Peter risked a glance out from behind the arch and spotted the pair of them standing just down the next hallway. Happy had one hand in his pocket, but the other was resting lightly on May's arm – and it looked like she needed it. Even at a glance Peter could see the exhaustion set in every inch of her. The way her arms hung long at her sides, and her wet hair was dripping gently onto her clothes. She hated that.

A stab of guilt hit Peter faster and harder than he was prepared for and he pulled himself back behind the arch, leaning against it heavily.

"-I know." May was saying. "I do, it's just-I just got him back," the words were barely a whisper, but Peter heard them as if she's shouted them. Each one cut deeper than the last. God, what had he put her through? "The idea of not having him close-"

"-I'm not suggesting going home," Happy cut her off. "Just to get some food – downstairs there's a huge spread at the moment, apparently the Cap stress bakes, though no one's really surprised about that – and then get some sleep in a real bed. The room right next to his is free, and I'm sure F.R.I.D.A.Y will keep you updated on his every move – right F.R.I.D.A.Y?"

Peter felt his gut clench.

"Absolutely Mrs. Parker," F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice replied. "I will not hesitate to inform you as soon as he is in need."

May let out a sigh that sounded borderline painful.

"Alright," Peter could imagine her rubbing the spot between her eyes as she said it, as she so often did when she was stress or exhausted. "Alright – food and sleep. Lead the way."

Peter imaged Happy did, as a moment later he heard footsteps again, though this time they were heading back the way they came – away from Peter.

"Thanks for covering, F.R.I.D.A.Y." Peter whispered, still leaning heavily against the archway.

"I merely spoke the truth," F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice washed down on him. "As soon as you are in need of her, I will contact her."

Peter nodded.

"Is she-is she okay?"

There was hesitation again before F.R.I.D.A.Y replied.

"Your disappearance, and subsequent disappearance at sea, has caused a degree of stress, for both Mrs. Parker and the occupants of the Compound." She said, finally, but carefully, as if choosing each word with care. "But I have no doubt that your return, and rehabilitation, will alleviate that stress."

"How stressed?" Peter pushed, "I mean, was everyone okay?"

The hesitation was longer this time.

"Mrs. Parker did not come to the Compound until after you were returned, and therefore I cannot report on her condition during your disappearance, save for the phone calls she shared with Mr. Stark."

"And Mr. Stark?" Peter pressed, feeling as if there was something she was trying very hard not to tell him. "Was he okay-is he okay?"

The hesitation after he finished talking was longer than any so far – so long that Peter thought perhaps she might not answer him. Tony was, after all, her creator, and it was a bit of a personal question. It would make sense that she would not divulge such information easily.

Peter pulled himself away from the archway with no small degree of difficulty and began to make his way to the stairs as F.R.I.D.A.Y had instructed when she finally answered.

"Mr. Stark was distressed at your loss." She replied, the statement leaving much to be desired in regards to detail. "As were the others – I therefore think it the best course of action that you take measures to ensure that such events do not reoccur."

A hysterical laugh broke free of Peter's chest before he could stop it.

"Yeah – don't worry. It's not an experience I'd like to repeat either."

Peter reached the bottom of the staircase and started forward.

"To the right, if you please, Peter." F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice called down to him.

"-but I can see a door from there-" Peter said, moving towards the patio door just ahead.

"To the right, please, Peter." F.R.I.D.A.Y repeated.

Glanced upwards for a moment – a habit he'd never really gotten out of despite how it made Tony chuckle every time he saw – but didn't argue. The AI was currently letting him further than May or Tony ever would, so he thought it best not to push his luck.

"Alright." He murmured, moving down the hall to his right. It didn't stretch very far. Only a few doors littered each side before he was moving out into a large open area, where plush sofas surrounded what looked like a solid marble coffee table. The room was flooded with light from the windows that took up every inch of wall, and just as F.R.I.D.A.Y had said there was a door to the back lawn right on the other side.

What F.R.I.D.A.Y had not mentioned was that Tony was currently sprawled across the couches that separated Peter from that door.

She'd lead Peter right to him. Traitor.

Peter took a hesitant step forward, not sure whether to make a break for the door and hope that he didn't wake Tony, or to stop for him.

The man looked as awful as Peter felt.

Bruise like bags ringed both of his eyes. He was sprawled across the couch like he he'd merely sat down for a moment and then released that he couldn't stay upright a second longer and promptly keeled over – his feet still firmly on the floor. It didn't look comfortable. Not even to Peter, who had slept upside down on his roof once just to prove to Ned that he could. Peter should wake him. He really should. It couldn't be good for his back to sleep like that – but also, he still really wanted to go outside. Needed to go outside. Just for a moment, just to prove to himself that he could. That he was finally free.

And there was no way Tony would let him.

In the end Peter never had to make a choice, as he stood in the archway for so long, torn between his mentor and the door just beyond him, that his legs decided they were done walking for the day and promptly buckled. He hit the small table beside him on the way to the floor – spilling the knick-knacks scattered along it to the ground. They thundered across the tiles, echoing with every bounce.

Tony shot up off the couch. His eyes snapped to Peter a second later, and he was off the couch before they had even had time to focus.

"Peter!"

Peter, who was halfway back to his feet already, through pure force, was hauled up the rest of the way by shaking hands. They ran over him, skimming along his shoulders, coming to rest on his upper arms. Keeping him upright.

Tony's dark eyes bore into him.

"Kid? What's wrong?" Those eyes racked over every inch of him, one hand pulling away to hover in the air between them, shaking. It was the shaking hand that did it. Peter had been okay. He was okay – but that hand was shaking. That steady, sure, hand that had caught him more times than he could count, was finally shaking.

And so was Peter.

Both of Tony's hands clasped back around his arms as Peter swayed.

"What are you doing down here? Do you need something? Were you-" The words trickled from between Tony's lips so quickly that even Peter had to fight to keep up. Brown eyes were racking over him again, terror in every line of them. And there were lines. Tony joked everyday that Peter scared years of his life – but looking at the older man now Peter was honestly worried that he had. He looked exhausted, and weak. Pale. Peter felt the sudden need to reach out and keep him upright despite his own knees threatening to give way on him.

"I'm okay." Peter forced through his teeth. "Really-" He took a breath, a much-needed one if the instant relief in his chest was any indication, and made himself stand straighter. Steadier.

He was okay. He was okay.

Tony was evidently not so easily convinced. Those hands fluttered again, one coming to rest against his chest. It remained there, a steady warmth settled right over his heart that Peter couldn't help but lean into. Lean into and breathe again. It was easier this time, with that light pressure against his chest – keeping him grounded.

Peter's eyes drifted open when Tony spoke again – wait, when had they closed?

"F.R.I.D.A.Y I told you to alert me when he woke up!"

F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice filtered down from above them.

"He is awake – and you have now been alerted to that fact."

Tony shot a murderous glance at the ceiling.

"You-don't think that I wont re-code you, you-" Tony trailed of, his frustrated murmurs imaginative but lacking any real heat. His hands curled more firmly around Peter – pulling him back towards the stairs he had just descended. "What are you doing down here – come on-"

Using more effort than it really should have taken Peter pulled Tony to a stop before he could move more than a few steps.

"No."

Tony rounded back on him – refusing to let go of for even a second.

"No?"

"No." Peter said again, taking his time to take a breath. Now that he had he realized just how much he needed to – and how much it felt like he hadn't over the last, god, how long had he been gone? "I want to go outside."

Tony's eyes widened to the point that Peter worried they might fall right out of his skull.

"You want to what?" Tony threw a wild glance outside, taking in the frost ridden grass just beyond. "Kid, it's the middle of March – it ain't warm out there." Those hands that were pressed again Peter's arm and chest tightened, just a little. "We just got your body temperature above Popsicle level, okay, you're not going to sit outside-"

Tony attempted to pull him another step further, but Peter dug his heels in. Literally.

"Please." The word fell out while he was trying to find a way to explain – to make Tony understand that he needed this. He needed it. Just for a minute. Just one minute – "I don't want to lay down anymore. I don't- I don't-"

The words caught in his throat, and so did the next, forced breath, and for a second he was choking – and then those hands were pressing down on him again. One still pressed fast against his chest, and the other bracing against his back.

Holding him together.

"Hey," Tony was leant in close, eyes locked onto Peter's forcefully that Peter couldn't have looked away even if he had wanted to. "Hey, kid, look at me. You're okay. Everything's okay-"

F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice wafted over them again.

"Peter has been in and out of distress since he woke twelve minutes ago."

It was Peter's turn to shoot a murderous glance at the ceiling. He doubted his had anywhere near the heat Tony's had held if his shaky legs were anything to go off. "And has expressed several times that he would like to go outside."

"I don't want to stay in the room-" Peter rushed. He didn't need F.R.I.D.A.Y freaking the older man out enough to call the medical team down to them. He was okay. He was okay. "I don't want to be stuck there-"

"Okay," Tony nodded, those hands at his chest and back still holding firm. Peter heaved in another breath – ready to argue again – before Tony's words started to really settle in. "Okay. Outside." Tony murmured, steering them quite suddenly in the other direction. It took Peter's brain a full minute to realize what was happening – even as Tony was still speaking. "Outside in at the crack of dawn in March – F.R.I.D.A.Y have someone bring him a jumper, and blankets, lots of blankets. And a space heater-"

Tony reached around him and shoved the glass door open – showering them both in a waft of cool air.

"Thank-you."

God, he was nearly crying. As they stepped out into the small garden, Tony keeping a hand tightly closed over Peter's arm, Peter fought back tears. They were outside, on the ground.

He was free.

He was free.

"I got you, kid." Tony murmured as they maneuvered their way over to a small grassy patched that had been spared the worst of the icy condensation curtsey of the overhanging roof above. Moving through the courtyard to get there though left them fully exposed to the icy winds that cut through with a viciousness. Tony shivered, "Jesus – okay, over here-" Peter felt nothing.

When they reached the small patch of clear grass Tony pulled them both down, keeping a hand on Peter every second until they were both sat on the ground – Peter with his legs folded in on himself, and Tony leaning into him. As soon as they were down Tony pulled away – and for a terrifying second Peter thought he might leave him there, in the cold, alone – but not sooner had the man's hands left him then they were back again, wrapping his suit jacket tightly around Peter.

Peter struggled as Tony tucked the jacket into Peter's sides, keeping it as close to him as possible. "You don't need to-" The hard look Tony shot him silenced Peter before he could even get the words out.

"Keep it on or we're going back inside. As it is your Aunt's going to kill me if she finds out about this." Tony grumbled, forcing Peter's arms the rest of the way through each sleeve. "How are you feeling?"

Peter moved to give a half-shrug, but averted last minute. God. Everything hurt.

"Okay."

The jacket was wrapped tightly around him, but Tony didn't move his hands from Peter's shoulders. Instead he used them as an anchor to keep him in place as Tony stared down at him.

"Want to try that again?"

The words weren't hard – not the clipped, strained words that usually flowed freely from Tony's lips whenever Peter got himself in a dicey situation. No. They were soft. Real.

The mask of calm that Peter has plastered on his face from the moment he woke up slipped, just a little.

"Just-just off." Peter murmured, fiddling with the sleeves of Tony's jacket before he remembered how much the quickly fraying fabric was probably worth and crunching his hands into fists to keep from damaging it further. "I don't know, I just-" he struggled. Tony didn't push. Just watched as he fought for words, a solid warmth at Peter's side. Eventually he gave up trying to find the words to describe the knot in his chest that just wouldn't ease. "Is Wanda really okay?"

Tony took the change of topic without argument, and Peter felt like crying with relief.

"She was in a bit of a bad way when we found her – just like you – but she's getting better-"

Peter nodded.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y said she hasn't woken up yet?"

Tony hesitated.

"No. Not yet."

That knot in Peter's chest tightened.

"Is that bad?"

Tony regarded him evenly. "We really don't know." He admitted, stretching his legs out and wrapping his arms around his knees. "Wanda's a bit of an enigma." He went on, and Peter found himself leaning closer. "What she did – lifting the Raft – we didn't know that she could do that, so we're really not sure what the repercussions of it will be." Peter nodded slowly. "But she's got the best doctors money can buy – and Vision, who arguably knows more about her powers than anyone could – so she'll be just fine. I promise. You just worry about yourself for a while."

They fell into silence for a moment – it stretched until Peter couldn't handle it anymore.

"What happened?" He murmured.

Tony turned towards him. "What do you mean?"
"All of it?" Peter breathed, a cloud of steam stemming from his lips. "What happened with school? The boat-thingy? How did you find us? How did we get here-"

Tony's hands were back on his shoulders.

"Okay, okay, take a breath." Wasn't he? Oh. His lungs were burning – maybe he wasn't. Tony's fingers relaxed their death grip on his shoulders, just a little, as Peter hauled in a shaky breath. "That's it. Nice and easy." Peter nodded, too tired and strung out to really be embarrassed at the tears that slid their way silently down his cheeks and over his chin. Tony whipped them away with deft fingers, saying nothing. Peter ached to wrap his arms around the man. "Nothing happened with the school – it's still under investigation, but with Ross still in position that won't be going anywhere." Tony started once Peter was somewhat back in control of himself, still wiping away the stray tears that fell across Peter's cheeks without comment. "The Raft is gone. Sunk. You don't have to worry about it anymore. A fishing boat picked you up a couple of days ago now – and they contacted the coast guard whose transmission was one of many I was tapped into, so we were able to get a location on the boat and pick you up. Brought you straight back here, where you have been since." The hand that was still perched on one of Peter's shoulders – the other still gently swiping away the tears on his cheeks – squeezed, just slightly. Peter's eyes drifted up to meet Tony's. "It's all over." Tony murmured again, his eyes never straying from Peter's. "It's all over."

Peter lost the battle for the last piece of his self-control and flung himself towards Tony. Tony caught him without hesitation, wrapping his arms so tightly around Peter that if he were anyone else it would have left bruises. The pressure against his chest, all along his back, as Tony clutched him against his own chest was all that kept him from completely breaking. That bruising pressure keeping him together. "It's all over." Tony murmured, his lips brushing against Peter's hair as he rested his cheek atop Peter's head where it was cradled in the arch of Tony's neck. Peter's fingers twisted in Tony's shirt as he clung to him, no doubt ruining the hundred-dollar fabric.

They stayed like that for sometime. Peter cradled in Tony's arms as he wept. He tried to stifle the sobs, to pull himself together, but every attempt left him shaking and gasping worse than before. Somewhere in the back of his mind Peter knew that as soon as it was over he'd be horrified. He'd spent nearly a year now fighting to prove himself to this man, to prove he was ready, that he wasn't a child, and here he was falling to pieces in his arms, smearing snot, tears and god knows what else across his shirt. But Tony wouldn't let go. Even in the off moments where Peter managed to pull himself half together Tony refused to let him pull away, not that his attempts had any real heart. Those arms were all that were holding him together – or what was left of him.

Somewhere behind them a quiet whoosh announced the glass door to the Compound opening, and footsteps crunched across the icy ground. Peter didn't open his eyes. Didn't pull away. He was too tired. It was all just a little too much.

"Someone put in an order for a cotton-blend overload?"

Clint's voice washed over the pair of them. Peter felt Tony's head shift, just slightly, where it was still rested against his hair.

"Okay, firstly, I am offended that you think anything I own is a cotton blend. Please. It's pure cotton or wool. No blends-" Tony's voice brushed over Peter's head, the quip more soothing than it really should have been. It was just like normal. Everything was just like normal. Almost. "And secondly, yes, give em'."

The icy grass next to Peter gave of a soft crunch.

"And the space heater?"

Steve's voice was soft – like always. Peter had been surprised, when they'd first met, by Steve's soft voice. He didn't really know why but he'd always imagined Steve having a booming voice – a voice you could hear across battlefields, across crowds or any injustice. He always had in the movies. Actors had roared and screamed their way through dozens of films about him.

But Steve was soft. His voice was soft. The hand that moved to rest on Peter's arm, just below where Tony's arm was wrapped around his shoulder, was soft. And Peter couldn't imagine him any other way now. Everything else was wrong. Every movie and every legend felt cheap, felt like they'd spent too long looking at Captain America and not Steve Rogers. Because they were different. They were. Captain America the face on his breakfast cereal. The grainy image on a PSA that Tony had dubbed, remixed, and played on repeat on every screen in the compound for days after the team had retuned. He was what the people made him.

Steve was...not.

Steve was the far too big body to be sliding down, and hunching over, as he was where Tony and Peter were huddled together. But he did.

He was the soft voice you heard across battlefields because you were looking for it.

Tony nodded again over Peter's head. Through it quickly turned into a whole body shudder as his jacketless torso finally began to rebel against the icy winds that were pelting against his back.

"Space heater," Tony nodded. "For him-" Peter felt Tony's head come to rest against his hair again, his breaths coming in pants now as the cold started to get to him more and more. Peter tried to turn, to start to inch of the jacket Tony had wrapped around him, but the older man's arms were like chains and didn't give him even an inch to move. Someone above them, however, did. Tony let out a disgruntled huff, and a second later something was wrapped tightly around the both of them. Several something's, cocooning them together like some kind of weird slug, or "-Clint, what no – no, we are not a burrito-"

Tony's grouching was like a soothing balm at the back of Peter's mind – which had begun to wonder again. God he was tired. Tired and just...tired, but in a different way. Not in the my bones will never hold my weight again kind of way, that was the first tired – the familiar tired – but in the I'm a little worried that literally anything beyond the nest of blankets I'm correctly swaddled in might just break me kind of way. He'd known the feeling before – after Ben. When the world had been too much, and everything had felt like it was caving in on him. When even leaving the apartment had taken hours of mental prep – and several ditched attempts – because everything, everything, out there was there to break him and –

"How you doing, kid?"

Steve's voice filtered through the panic that was settling over him. Gentle hands, as they fiddled with the blankets wrapped around him, adjusting them so they rested just about his chin, brought him back to the icy compound courtyard.

Peter gave a small shrug, despite that it was lost in the masses of blankets.

Steve seemed to feel it.

He had settled on Peter's right side, as Tony was still stuck to his left like an octopus thanks to Clint's burrito wrapping skills, his legs curled beneath him as he slid closer to lean up against Peter's shoulder.

Oh god. He was a space heater. Jesus. That had to be not right. No one could run that hot – or maybe Tony had been onto something, maybe Peter really was that cold. Whatever the reason Peter found himself falling almost limp against Steve's side – and yeah, that, that, he was definitely going to be embarrassed about later – but Steve didn't pull away. The opposite. He turned just slightly so that Peter was leant up against his chest, and he could wrap a secure arm around both Peter and Tony. Keeping them both upright despite Peter's attempts to drag them down.

"That's more than fair, you've had a hell of a week."

Peter felt the words rumble in Steve's chest when were his frozen cheek was pressed up against it.

Peter nodded.

"Just breathe – you're okay." Tony's voice murmured from above his head, his face still resting against the top of Peter's head – probably mere inches from Steve's now, but he didn't pull away. "We've got you."

Peter nodded again, trying to keep himself together by pure will despite that those words were trying to break him.

But they were the kind of words that broke you so that you could rebuild on them – and build something better. Because if building block number one was we've got you Peter knew he'd never fall, and every step from that one suddenly seemed much less daunting. Every stone from that first seemed more solid.

Peter's eyes drooped.

We've got you.

He was okay.

We've got you.

His friends were okay.

We've got you.

He was free

We've got you.

Peter's heavy eyelids were suddenly too much.

We've got you.

They slid closed and, between one moment and the next, Peter slipped into the first peaceful sleep he'd had in months.

We've got you.

Tony's eyes met Steve's over Peter's head as the kid finally drifted off. As they did the hand that had been splayed over Tony's back, keeping both him and the kid upright, curled in a fist around the blanket covering them both – knuckles digging, just slightly into the muscles on Tony's back. A solid pressure. A solid pressure keeping him in the courtyard. Keeping him with Steve and Peter.

Keeping him from freaking the fuck out.

Those too blue eyes – streaked with flecks of gold as the sun continued to rise over upstate New York beyond them – never wavered from Tony's. And in them he saw his own words reflected back at him.

You're okay. We've got you.

And he believed them.