2.

"Pittsburgh." Ned groaned, throwing himself backwards onto Peter's bed, until he was sprawled across the entire thing. "It had to be freakin' Pittsburgh."

"What's wrong with Pittsburgh?" Peter asked, his voice muffled by his closet doors. At this point his entire body was almost inside in his attempt to get a look at everything. It was no good though. Nothing was going to work.

"We're New Yorkers," Ned huffed at the roof. "Every other city is garbage." Peter laughed, but didn't pull himself out of the closet. He needed-he needed. Oh, god. He didn't know what he needed. But whatever it was, he was pretty sure that he didn't have it. "And, anyway," Ned went on. "It was supposed to be Vegas. They held it this round last year."

"Oh, yeah." Peter craned his head around the closet door. "Wait, wasn't that the round where a whole bunch of guys from the Atlanta team got drunk, and ended up doing like a synchronised-swimming thing in that big fountain?"

"The Bellagio fountain." Ned said, a dreamlike smile lighting up his face. "Yeah."

Peter nodded. "You think that's maybe why it's not in Vegas anymore?"

Ned was silent for a long moment. "Yeah." He shrugged. "Still. They could have at least moved it to the West-coast. Or somewhere we had to fly." He stretched out even further across Peter's bed, clasping his hands above his head and pulling back until his back gave an audible crack. "A seven hour bus trip is so not what my back needs right now." He unclasped his hand and let them flop back onto the bed beside him. "Your guy in the chair needs a better chair."

"It won't be too bad." Peter said. He pulled out of the closet, two pairs of pants dangling from his hands. "Which do you think, jeans or chinos?"

Ned shot him another shrug, which was mostly swallowed by the mattress. "It's a seven hour bus trip." He huffed. "The answer is sweats."

Peter let his arms fall to his sides. The pants draped along the floor. "I can't wear sweats."

"Why?" Ned asked, flummoxed."Justin wore his Iron-Man pyjamas last year - no one's gonna care if you wear sweats."

"I can't wear sweats because-" Peter cut himself off, glancing down again at both pairs of pants in his hands. "Because I said I'd sit next to MJ." He murmured softly.

Ned heard.

"What?" He yelped, sitting up so fast that he nearly catapulted himself off of the bed. "You're ditching me?" He gaped.

"No!" Peter stressed, taking a step forward and nearly tripping over the pants still clutched in his hands. "I - we - it just, like, slipped out." He stammered. "She didn't want to sit next to Flash, and I offered, and she-" Peter gestured wildly, sending the pants flying in all directions. "You know-" he stuttered. "Said...yes."

"Great." Ned sat back, deflated. "So now I get to sit next to Flash."

"No! You can sit-" Peter moved forward again, perching on the side of the bed. "On your own?" He grimaced as the words came out. Yeah. Not great.

Ned's glare agreed. "Thanks."

"Oh, come on, please." Peter begged, inching closer. "I'd been working up the nerve to ask her for ages," he said. "If I'd known all I had to do was almost starve myself to death to work past the nerves I would seriously have considered it."

Ned's glare darkened.

"Not funny."

Peter gave a small shrug, flashing him a tight smile. "A little bit funny?"

"So not funny." Ned stressed, pointing a rigid finger at him. "I am so wildly traumatised. Honestly." He heaved. "And now you are abandoning your so wildly traumatised friend to sit next to a girl. Rude. Just rude."

Peter felt his shoulders drop. Heart sinking. "It's not just a girl." He tried to reason, his voice fading as he fought for the right words. "It's-" and failed to find the right words. "It's MJ."

Ned sighed and flopped back onto the mattress. "Jeans," he said into Peter's blankets. "Chinos are too Flash."

Peter tossed the chinos back into the closest. "Thank-you!" he sang, lunging onto the bed, feet landing just next to Ned's head, earning him a squeak. "Thank-you, thank-you!"

Ned shoved him off of the bed. "You owe me."

Peter landed on his feet effortlessly - much to Ned's clear annoyance - and moved back into his wardrobe to find a shirt to go with his jeans. "I so do," he said. "Whatever you want, seriously."

"Yeah, yeah." Ned huffed, he pulled himself back up so he was sitting up, facing Peter who was half buried in the wardrobe again. "So what are you going to talk to her about?"

"What?"

Ned shot him an exasperated look. "Well, you're going to be sitting next to her for seven hours. You might want to think of some conversation starters."

The shirt in Peter's hand slid to the floor. "Oh, god." Horror washed over him. "I don't know what to talk about with her." He rounded on Ned. "I can barely talk to her for, like, two minutes-" Oh god. He was dying again. His chest was imploding. Tony was going to kill him. "Maybe this is a bad idea, maybe-"

Ned rolled his eyes and pushed off of the bed. "Stop," he said. "It's fine." He rolled his shoulders and then perched his hands on his hips. "We'll think of something. We've got, what," he spun to glance at the Thor clock leaning up against Peter's bedside. "Ten hours to think of something."

Peter's chest was loosening. "Right. Yeah. It'll be fine." He was twisting the shirt in his hands so tightly that he would probably need to iron it now. "We'll think of something."

Nine hours and fifty-eight minutes later

Peter felt like a dead man walking towards his noose. "We have nothing," he said, the words catching in his throat. "We have nothing."

It was the crack of dawn - the unholy hour as May had called it when they clambered onto the Subway at quarter to five - and despite the hours of brainstorming Peter had absolutely nothing to say to MJ. Nothing.

"Not nothing-" Ned started.

Peter cut him off with a sharp finger. "I am not talking to her about how ridiculous it is that popcorn at the movies is now more expensive than the movie!"

Ned stared at him with tight lips for several long seconds. "Okay. Then we have nothing," he relented.

They had left the subway and were already walking through the school gates. Peter could see the bus waiting for them by the science building. He could see the gaggle of other students milling around it. He could see MJ-

"Oh, god," he choked. He was sweaty. He hadn't sweat since the bite - not for anything - but now of all times he was sweaty. It was trickling down his forehead. Soaking the front of his shirt. "I can't sit with her. I can't. I'm going to say something stupid, and then-"

A figure stepped out from behind the bus to meet them at the edge of the science building. Peter stumbled to a halt. MJ stared. She had her backpack slung loosely over one shoulder, and a binder of note for the meet in her other hand.

"Hey Peter," she said. Her fast eyes tracked his every jitter. Or maybe that was just Peter's brain. And his jitters. Her eyes were fast though. They scanned him from almost head to toe in barely a second. She lifted a single brow.

-oh right, she had said something-

"-Oh, hey, MJ."

His voice broke slightly.

Kill him. Anyone. Please. Gods of mischief and general rascality were welcome to rain their wrath down upon him so long as they smote him on the spot.

MJ tried and failed to hide a grin. "Hi."

"Hi," Peter said.

MJ's grin was beyond what she could withhold. It looked painful.

"Hi," she said again.

"-hi," Ned cut in.

MJ spared him a glance. "Hi, Ned."

"Hi," Ned said again.

MJ nodded. "Okay." With that she turned and walked right back around the bus. Peter and Ned stared after her.

"That could have gone worse," Ned mused.

Peter barely heard him. He was still praying to anything that might listen for a quick death. It didn't even have to be painless. He was desperate enough to go with whatever was being offered.

F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice cut through the lab just as Tony was starting to get on a roll. It was taking shape. It was all coming together. Weeks upon weeks of work - of collaboration with the snarky kid from Wakanda and backbreaking nights spent bent over the tiny circuit boards - and Tony was finally getting somewhere.

And then F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice across the lab and jumped just enough to nudge two days worth of circuitry out of place.

"Sir, Captain Rogers is again requesting that you join the team for breakfast."

"I already said I would, didn't I!" Tony cried, shoving back from the desk with a hiss. Even his glasses weren't doing the trick this time. He felt like he was going blind trying to sort through the miniscule wiring. "Jesus, I'll be there. Seven o'clock. Oh-seven-hundred, or whatever the hell they say to make even the most simple things confusing. I-"

"It's currently seven-eighteen, sir."

Tony froze midway back to the circuit.

"Oh. In the morning?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

He threw down his tools. They thundered across the metal workbench. "I thought I reminded you, to remind me, to sleep?"

"You did, sir."

"And?"

"And I did so at approximately eleven-fifteen last night," F.R.I.D.A.Y reported. "To which you responded, Black Sabbath - yes, I know what you said - BLACK SABBATH! Louder. No, I'm nearly done - oh, for christ sake shut the fu-"

"-right. Yep," Tony said loudly, cutting her off. He spun absently in his chair for a moment. "Has Shuri sent anything else through?"

"Not yet, sir."

He nodded. And then nodded again, flexing his aching hands. "Alright." He stared at the mess of circuits he had sprawled across the bench. "Pack it all up."

"Shall I lift the workshop lockdown?"

Tony paused midway out of his seat. "Uh, no," he said quickly, "No, not yet. I'm not, uh - no. Not yet."

"Very well, sir."

Tony nodded to himself again.

"Breakfast, sir?"

"Right. Yes. Breakfast." Tony pulled out of his chair and ran a hand through his wild hair - and probably smearing it with even more grease. "What is the old man cooking?"

"From the looks of it, sir, everything."

Tony huffed out a strained chuckle.

"Yeah, that sounds about right." He glanced over at the bots milling around the open workspace. "U, make some sort of order out of this," he called motioning to the mess of wires he had left abandoned by his workbench. "And you," he added, turning a finger on D.U.M.M.I who was watching him warely from the farthest edge of the shop. "Do nothing. Touch nothing. You are not forgiven."

"Oh, wow, you really have cooked every breakfast food known to man," Tony said, gaping at the mound of food waiting on the communal dining table. "And some that aren't," he added looking over something that looked like the bastard child of a pancake and granola. "You know that Peter's not here right, who's going to eat all of this?"

Steve wandered over from the kitchen, a tea-towel hanging over one shoulder and a light dusting of flour covering his hands. He paused by the sink to wash them. "Clint could eat half of this on his own."

Tony shrugged, ducking over the table to scoop up a piece of bacon from the overflowing tray. "True, the man has a problem." He looked about the otherwise empty room. "Where are the others?"

"Bruce and Clint are outside. Clint wants to run some drills today and Bruce is helping him set up," Steve said. "And I think Scott just arrived, Sam's letting him in." He moved over to the table and sat one last dish down near Tony. "Wanda and Vision were in the garden, I'll call them in a minute." Steve pulled the towel from his shoulders and wiped his hands across it. His eyes fell on Tony. "How was your night?"

"Uh, good," Tony said, snatching up another slice of bacon. "Good. Yeah. Productive."

"What are you working on?"

"Nothing," Tony said quickly. Too quickly. He shoved another piece of bacon in his mouth. "Nothing exciting, anyway. Just S.I. stuff." Tony glanced around them again. "Where's scary-red?"

Steve - who had definitely been about to say something - paused. Tony let out a silent breath of relief.

"I don't know," Steve said, looking about the room too as if she might materialise. That did tend to happen. "I haven't seen her this morning."

F.R.I.D.A.Y's voice rang out.

"Ms Romanoff left the Compound at approximately two-fifty this morning."

Both Steve and Tony froze - Tony with another slice of bacon inches from his mouth.

"Why?" Steve asked slowly.

"She received a call six minutes before her departure. The call lasted for eleven seconds. The number was blocked."

Tony dropped his bacon back onto the tray. "That's...ominous."

Steve's jaw flexed. "Did she leave a message?" he asked.

"She did, Captain. She instructed you not to wait for her, but to ensure that Clint left her some French-toast this time or she would come for him."

"Has she checked in?" Steve pressed.

"She has not."

Steve threw the tea-towel down on the table a little harder than was necessary. It hit the wood with a sharp slap. "Please let us know if she does," he said.

"Yes, Captain."

Steve heaved in a breath and then glanced back at Tony. Tony - who's hand was hovering over the bacon again - paused.

"Where is Peter?" Steve asked. Tony let out the breath he was holding. "This is his on-weekend, yes?"

"Yeah," Tony said. "But the kid's got decathlon in Pennsylvania, so no dice."

"That sounds fun," Steve mused. "Hey-"

He paused when Sam marched through the door. His hands were tight by his sides, and his lips turned into a deep scowl that not even Clint could inspire before midday. Tony straightened up. Steve moved forward a step.

"It wasn't Scott," Sam bit out as another man followed him into the communal space.

"Wha- '' Steve began, but he cut himself off then the man - in a tight, three-peice suit that looked out of place amongst the brunch mountain currently testing the tensile strength of Tony's dining table - waltzed right past Sam.

The man jerked out a stiff hand for Steve to shake. "Captain Rogers," he said. "I'm Christian Wheeler, newly appointed Secretary of Defence. If you don't mind, I need a moment of your team's time."

Tony shoved another slice of bacon in his mouth. "We mind," he said mid-chew.

MJ stared blankly at him for a long moment, and Peter waited for the earth to swallow him. It didn't. Naturally.

"I-" MJ said slowly, but her brows rose in contemplation. "Really hadn't thought that much about it. But it sounds about right. A society as capitalist as this one is always on the lower end of a slope that will eventually diminish the lower class to such a point that they will have no choice but to turn their efforts to the people building the system rather than the system itself." She was nodding by the end, before seeming to remember something and looking back over at Peter. "But you do know that you can bring your own food in though, right. It's allowed. You don't actually have to buy the popcorn."

Peter nodded. "Yeah. Right. I know that - I just like popcorn."

MJ snorted. "Tough luck."

"Yeah."

A silence stretched for what felt like a long time after that, but Peter was sure it was really only a few minutes. They were almost an hour into the nearly seven hour drive and Peter was already at the point of desperation that he'd had to fall back on Ned's conversation starters.

It was going to be a long drive.

MJ broke the silence out of nowhere. "How's your internship going?"

Peter, his brain steadily dribbling out his ear the longer he spent trying to work out something intelligent to say, naturally missed her point.

"What?" he asked, gaping at her.

"With Stark Industries," MJ added. She was still typing on her phone, but she tilted her head in his direction so Peter assumed she was talking to him. That and no one else on the bus had an internship - that he knew of anyway. Not that he really did either. "You know, where you disappear to most days after school."

"Right. Good," he said quickly. "It's really good."

"Cool."

They both fell silent again.

Come on, Peter. For the love of - you can do this. Just talk. Just say something-

"I kind of had a bit of a rough patch with it - there was some internal politics going on - but it sorted itself out and now everything's really good," Peter added. "I really like it."

MJ glanced up from her phone. "Seems like a lot of work," she noted.

"It is, but it's worth it. I'm helping people," Peter said easily, and then upon realising what he had just said, back-tracked at once. "I-ah- I mean I work in a department where we help people. You know, with - with technology and - and stuff."

MJ raised an eyebrow. "Technology and stuff?"

Peter nodded slowly. "Yeah."

God. Jesus. Something. Just kill him.

"Sounds complex," MJ said with a small grin.

Peter sighed, running a hand over his face and promptly giving up on any attempt to be normal or civil or, just - anything. "You probably regret agreeing to sit with me right about now," he muttered.

"Nah," MJ said easily, back to typing on her phone. "Still better than Flash."

"That's a low bar, but right now I'll take it."

MJ laughed outright. The sound warmed Peter a little.

"You're alright," she said, sliding her phone back into her pocket and focusing back on him. "You just need to relax a little. Are you nervous?"

"A little," Peter admitted. "But not because you're frightening - or because I don't want to talk to you - it's more nervous like-"

MJ just stared at him, letting him ramble himself into silence. "I meant about the meet?"

Peter very seriously considered flinging himself out of the bus.

"Yeah, right. The normal thing." He nodded, mainly to himself. MJ gave a small shrug. "Not really. I watched their rounds from last year and they were kind of horrible."

MJ nodded emphatically, turning all the way to the side to face him. "I know right, I'm surprised they even got this far."

"I think they probably are too," Peter snickered. "I saw their team-leader's face when he got the tie-breaker right last round. He looked more shocked than the other team."

MJ laughed again. Again it felt like a little victory. Peter couldn't help but smile.

"Oh God, I forgot that-" she groaned, still grinning.

Peter opened his mouth, but before he could speak the hair on the back of his neck tickled. A second later something hit him. Whatever it was, it was small and light. It bounced right off of his hair and then disappeared beneath the seat in front of him.

"-hey Penis!" Flash's voice called from a couple of rows behind him.

Something hit him again. Peter was pretty sure they were chocolate covered coffee beans - he'd seen Flash with a bag of them when they got on. For a moment he imagined Tony's face if he knew that someone was wasting coffee-anything and that cheered him up, but then another bean hit him in the ear.

MJ let out a short curse.

"Don't answer," she told Peter.

"Penis!"

"What Flash?"

"I-"

The back of Peter's neck tingled again. He tried not to tense as the bean inevitably collided with his face - but it never did.

Instead, something much larger, and much stronger, careened into the entire bus.

Wheeler shot an irritated look in Tony's direction. Tony shoved more bacon into his mouth and chewed obnoxiously.

Wheeler turned away from him and back to Steve, painting a painfully wide smile across his lips. "This won't take long."

"I've heard that befo-"

Steve cut Tony off mid-mutter. "What can we do for you Mr. Wheeler?"

Somehow Wheeler's painful smile grew even wider. His teeth were whiter than the whites of his eyes. It was a little disconcerting to look at.

"I just want to start by saying, I'm a huge fan Mr. Rogers, and-"

"-the eggs are getting cold," Tony cut in again, shoving a slice of toast in his mouth as he did. Crumbs spilled out as he spoke. "Move it along."

Wheeler didn't even glance at him. He kept his eyes on Steve. Even Sam - still standing by the door with his arms crossed tightly over his chest - could help but roll his eyes at the clear adoration.

"I am here as your new liaison for the Sokovia Accords, and I-"

"No, you're not."

Again Wheeler didn't even look in Tony's direction. He merely ground his teeth, kept his eyes fixed on Steve, and answered.

"Yes, I am-"

Tony swiped a raspberry from the table. "No. You're not."

Wheeler spun, locking eyes with him. His smile was tight.

"Mr. Stark-"

"Our current arrangement with the United Nations is that no single government is allowed to assign a representative from a pre-established intelligence, governance or military agency. We are to have an unbiased - united - representative of all nations," Tony said, chewing his raspberry slowly and deliberately. He swallowed and leveled a pointed stare in Wheeler's direction. "So please do tell me, USA Secretary of Defence Wheeler, how you fit in that position."

Wheeler's hesitation was brief, but it was there. He was aware of the negotiations as well, and was not pleased that Tony was as up-to-date as he was.

"I am America's representative-"

"No country gets single representation - even America."

Wheeler's smile was slipping now. His white teeth were bared at Tony. "As you are American citizens-"

Sam scoffed. "Actually the majority of us are either enemies of the United States-" he waved a hand at himself and Steve "- as decreed by your predecessor - or not citizens of the United States-" he nodded in towards the patio doors where Wanda and Vision were slipping inside. Bruce was waiting out on the lawn, and Tony didn't blame him. After Ross they were all feeling a little wary of uninvited Government drop-bys.

Clint followed Wanda and Vision in. He took one look at Wheeler, raised a brow in Steve's direction, and then sank into a seat at the table and began loading his plate with food.

Wanda and Vision remained motionless just inside the door, with Vision twisted just enough to partially obscure her from view. Wanda's hands were clasped together in front of her. The knuckles white.

Tony took his own step out in front of the table, twirling exuberantly to recall Wheeler's attention, and positioned himself in front of Vision and Wanda in an effort to keep it.

"I myself have dual-citizenship - my mother was Italian - and the Riviera calls to me more and more the longer this conversation continues, and the colder my eggs get," Tony sighed dreamily.

Behind him Clint scoffed, and then proceeded to choke a little on the mammoth mouthful he had no doubt just taken. Tony heard Vision take a small step and slap the man on the back.

Wheeler turned away from them all - apparently deeming them beneath his attention - and back to Steve.

"If we could have a private word relating to-"

"No."

Wheeler's smile finally fell away. He blinked.

"Excuse me, Mr. Rogers."

"No," Steve said again. He moved to take a seat at the table across from Clint. "Our discussions with the United Nations are moving forward in a way we're all comfortable with, and - with all honesty Secretary Wheeler - you have no place in them."

Wheeler gaped. Vision and Wanda moved towards the table as well, Wanda taking a seat beside Clint and Vision taking the one beside her.

Tony leant against the chair next to Steve, stealing the bacon from his plate as quickly as Steve could serve it. Steve smacked his hand with the tongs, but he was definitely hiding a grin.

Wheeler moved towards the table, coming to a stop nearby at its head. Sam remained by the doors, his arms still folded and his glare heating.

"Are you not longer Captain America, Mr. Rogers?" Wheeler asked, careful to keep his voice even but making no effort to hide the curl to his words.

All eyes snapped to him - all except Steve's, who continued serving himself a generous piece of French toast.

"I suppose that's up to you and your governors, and whether you prove America's values worth captaining," Steve said lightly, as if they were discussing what topping he might put on his French toast, not the ideals he had dedicated - and given - his life to. "Now, if you don't mind, we're having breakfast. You can see yourself out."

Sam barely withheld a snort. Tony didn't bother too. He grinned widely, stole blueberry from Steve's plate, and lowered himself into the chair he was leant against.

Sam wandered over to the table - slipping by Wheeler with a tight, painfully bright smile of his own - and sat down on the other side of Steve.

Tony snorted again.

Wheeler's eyes shot to him.

"You can snipe all you like, Mr. Stark," he snapped. "But you may soon find yourself needing the American Government's support, and when you do you will wish you had shown the respect that is due."

That had Steve looking up.

"Is that a threat, Secretary Wheeler?"

Under the weight of Steve's - and the entire table's - gaze Wheeler backpedaled at once.

"Not at all. Just a reminder of the benefits of friendship."

Clint was twisting his knife between his fingers dizzyingly fast. "Yeah, this conversation is starting to feel not very friendly."

Steve turned back to his breakfast. "We have nothing more to say, Secretary Wheeler, so if you would-"

"Mr. Rogers, as I said I am a huge fan, but you need to understand the situation is not as black-and-white as you are painting it. You are an American citizen, and as such it is your Government's prerogative to be able to summon you to duty regardless of the United Nation's interests-"

The knife in Clint's hand stopped spinning. "So what?" he demanded. "Because some of us were born on American soil we can only serve America's interests?"

"It is not a matter of only Mr Barton, but it is a matter of serving your country. A country that supported and trained you in the skills you-"

Tony's phone buzzed in his pocket.

"-I was trained by a pretty shady guy at an even shaddier circus. You do not get to take credit for-

He reached into his jeans and pulled it out. Something had tripped one of his pre-programmed alerts. He unlocked the phone with deft fingers and pulled up the footage F.R.I.D.A.Y. had isolated.

"-but your skills were honed during your time in the American military, and therefore the American Government has the right to commandeer those skills as we see-"

"Get out."

Wheeler froze. Tony barely noticed - he barely registered speaking at all. He was scouring over the footage F.R.I.D.A.Y. had sent, watching it again, and again, and-

"Mr. Stark-"

Tony sprung out of his chair - it clattered against the floor - and rounded on Wheeler with nothing but raw fury on his tongue and panic in his chest.

"Get out."

The footage of a school-bus being overturned on a New York motorway was still playing on repeat in the phone clenched between his fingers.

Peter pushed gently against the hands herding him towards an examination room, "-really, really, I'm okay. You don't need to-"

The attending clamped his fingers down harder around Peter's shoulders. Peter twisted to break away, but those fingers wouldn't let him.

"Kiddo, there's no reason to be afraid," the attendant said, ignoring Peter completely and continuing to push him towards a free exam-room. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just need you to lay down so I can take a look-"

"I'm fine!" Peter cut over him. His heart was racing now. He could feel it speeding up as the exam room got closer. He tried to twist out of the attending's arms again. "Or, I will be. Really, please, just tell me if my friends are okay."

Peter had been in the hospital's waiting room for what felt like days, despite that he knew barely an hour had passed. He'd been staring at a clock above the Emergency room doors for every minute of that hour.

The crash itself had passed like a blur. Peter had caught MJ between himself and the brunt of the impact - managing to keep the blunt force of the truck that had careened into them from hitting her - but she and the rest of the group had been littered with scrapes from the broken windows. Almost everyone had been carted off into the Emergency department now - Ned with his definitely broken ankle, MJ with a couple of deep cuts at her hairline. Even Flash, who had moaned as if he were dying, had been taken away to have his bruises looked at more closely. Only Mr. Harrington had remained in the waiting-room, getting more and more frazzled as he fended off calls from parents and administrators alike. He hadn't noticed Peter sequester himself away at the edge of the room, and Peter had rather hoped he wouldn't. That no one would.

Peter could explain away a lot of things about his odd life. Quick reflexes - yeah, he plays a lot of video games. Pretty strong - he's a gymnast in his downtime, no need to stress about it. Even his disappearing acts he had gotten better at explaining - he gets anxious sometimes, and just needs to leave a situation. People tend to leave the topic alone after that.

So yeah, Peter had gotten much better at explaining away his spidery-ness, but not even he would be able to explain why there was a piece of blood-coated glass shoved in his pocket, and a contusion in his back that looked weeks old rather than hours. He would not be able to explain the bruises that were fading from his back even as he sat in the waiting room. And if they ran bloodwork-

Well, they just couldn't. That was a hole Peter would never be able to dig himself out of. He couldn't let anyone take samples. He couldn't let anyone look at him-

The attending snagged a hold of his sweatshirt and pushed him towards the exam room with a stern look.

"You're bleeding and you're shaken - I get it, that tumble must have been pretty upsetting - but you need to calm down."

They were at the door now. Peter's heart was in his throat. He could get around the attending, but not without causing a scene. He packed up another couple of steps when the attending let him go briefly, trying to put some space between them, until he hit the exam bed. Peter only really realized his mistake when the attending closed the door and clicked the lock.

He moved back towards Peter, stopping at a set of locked draws by the gurney. Peter shifted to the opposite side, crossing his arms tightly across his chest as he fought to keep them from shaking.

"I'm calm. I'm super calm, I promise. I just don't want-"

The attending took a quick step towards him. Peter - in his effort to get further away from the gurney and back over to the door - didn't register the needle in the attending's hand until it was in his neck.

Peter ducked out of his reach too late. He yanked the needle out of his neck and backed up until his back hit the wall. The pain of hitting the wall - his bruises might have been fading but he had still caught a lot of the crushing impact of the truck hitting the bus - jarred him out of his stupor. His heart was hammering now. Whatever was in his system was washed away as adrenaline coursed through him.

The attending reached out again, arms held out and ready to catch Peter when he inevitably fell.

"-there you go. Don't worry, I'm gonna take good care of-"

Peter didn't fall. He shoved out against those calming arms. Panic was finally overpowering his fear of causing a scene. He couldn't let them look at him. He had to go. Had to run-

The attendant lunged for him.

"-no. No. Stop!" Peter shouted, shoving him away. He had to get out - get - get anywhere other than here. He-

The attending's arms wrapped around him again. "Jez-" he wheezed when Peter buckled and tore his arms away. "Marv, you got any more sedative shots in there-"

There was a tingling at the back of Peter's neck.

"No! Don't-"

And then another sharp prick as a needle jutted into his skin again.

"You need to calm down, kid," the attending huffed as he got his arms around Peter again. "I'm trying to help you-"

Peter shoved, managing to dislodge the attending's arms and send himself careening towards the gurney, but he was definitely feeling the effects of the second shot. His body was not at peak - he'd lost a bit of blood at the scene when he'd torn the glass from his back - and the drugs were working faster than they normally would.

But Peter's panic kept him upright. Kept him moving even when his vision blurred, and his hands started to tingle, "-I don't want you to. Let me go-"

Something fastened around his wrist right as Peter's vision blurred again. He barely had a second to look down and squint at the gurney restraint being fastened around his arm before everything tipped sideways.

He wasn't out for long - or even really out at all. Even when he lost all feeling, and his eye-sight whited-out, he could still hear movement all around him.

When Peter's vision finally cleared, and his head stopped spinning, he was flat on his back on the gurney and being fastened down by even more restraints. The attending was at his ankle buckling the final strap.

Peter's panic gave way to terror. He abandoned all caution and pulled at the restraints with everything he had. It wasn't much - between the blood loss and the double dose of sedatives he was running on nearly nothing - but even so the restraints groaned, and the gurney railing buckled.

The attending jumped back before Peter's errant foot could collide with his face. The gurney's railing bent even further.

Peter could hear screaming, but it took him a moment or two to realise it was him.

"Stop - stop! Please, just let me go! Let me go-"

The bed frame attached to the restrains at his feet buckled one last time, and then Peter tore it free from the gurney.

The attending backed away a couple of steps, eyes wide and skin pale, "-what the hell - Marv, Marv get security -"

Peter pulled at the restraints on his wrists, curling in on himself and bringing the gurney frame still attached to his ankles with him. "Get off of me, get off-" he pulled on the restraints over and over, his head spinning and heart hammering, "please, please just let me go-"

The gurney, which was trembling under Peter's desperate abuse, tipped up as Peter pulled on his wrists again, and then crashed to the floor, leaving Peter hanging from it on his side. A sickening pop echoed through the room, but Peter barely noticed. He continued to tug on the restraints, ignoring the pain building in his left shoulder, which had been caught beneath him and the weight of the gurney.

He was crying - he could feel thick tears welling down his cheeks - but he couldn't find it in himself to care. He felt sick. He felt wrong. His head felt - his head felt heavy. He didn't want to stay here. He wasn't really sure where here was anymore, but he didn't want to stay-

Hands caught Peter's feet as he tried to use them to crawl across the room - gurney and all - shoving them into the floor painfully.

"Shit! Marv, get me another sedative-" a voice above Peter yelled. Hot breath tickled Peter's cheek. He fought the urge to vomit. "I can't let you go-"

A door opened, and then another voice cut across the room. A familiar voice.

"You really can, and you really will."

Peter's head snapped up, but his vision refused to clear. He could see the hospital room - or what was left of it - but little else. He fought to suck in a full breath.

He knew that voice - he knew that voice.

Mr. Stark.

The restraining hands clasped around his ankles were torn away. "Who are yo-Tony Stark?"

Gentle hands - with rough, and worn skin - came to rest on Peter. One on his shoulder, and another cupping his head and tipping it up until the strain in his neck disappeared.

Peter heaved in another breath, and as he did the room started to get a little clearer.

Tony was knelt in front of him, his crinkled eyes running over Peter and the restraints with a speed and focus that made Peter feel slightly sick again.

When Tony noticed Peter's slightly more lucid stare he shot him a tight smile and inched a little closer, bringing up both hands to cup Peter's cheeks. "Hey kid, how are you doing?"

It took a second for the question to filter through Peter's fuzzy brain, but he was slowly clawing through the fog of the sedation.

"Ugh. Okay." Peter swallowed painfully. His throat was dry, and his lips unresponsive. Was he drooling? Dear god, he hoped he wasn't drooling. "Or no, actually, I've had a kinda shit morning."

Tony shot him another tight smile. "Yeah, I bet-"

Now that he was breathing, and his heart had settled, Peter's situation started to hit him again.

"My friends-" Peter began to ask, but he was cut off by the attending who seemed to have moved past his shock of the Billionaire now at Peter's side. He edged closer to Peter and Tony.

The attending moved to pull Tony away. Peter's anxiety started to climb again.

"Mr. Stark, I can't-" the attending began.

"-afford the lawsuit that I am going to rain down on you for overdosing and hog-tying a sixteen year old kid to a bed, yeah. You really can't." Tony's voice was like ice. If the tone had been directed at Peter he would have shrunk a solid couple of inches where he stood, but Tony had his head turned towards the attendant. "Out. Now."

The attendant froze, but didn't leave. Peter could see as panic finally started to edge into his face as he took in Peter and the overturned gurney he was still strapped to. "Mr. Stark-"

"OUT!"

Tony's grip on Peter remained soft, but his voice was booming. Peter shrunk back despite himself.

The attendant hesitated a moment longer, and then fled through the door. It clicked closed behind him and Peter took in a deep, and much needed breath.

He was okay. Tony was going to sort it all, and he was going to be okay-

"-my friends-"

Tony's attention was back on him, sweeping over the restraints and the shoulder Peter could feel trapped under him, but there was not a trace of his anger left. His hands were feather-light as they traced over Peter's shoulder. Peter let out a groan. It was definitely dislocated.

"Sam's checking on them, but no one was critical, I promise," Tony said quickly, pulling away from Peter's dislocated shoulder and cupping a hand around Peter's neck to support his head at the awkward angle he was trapped in. "Just a couple of broken bones and dizzy noggins. They're okay, and so are you."

Tony seemed like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Peter. He kept one hand where it was - cupped under Peter's head to keep his neck straight - and stretched out the other to fumble with the restraint on the wrist closest to him. The other wrist was still trapped between Peter and the floor. It was going to be a nightmare to get to.

Now that the sedation was starting to wear off, and Tony was with him, Peter was a little embarrassed about his freak out. He should have handled the situation better. Actually talked to the doctor before allowing himself to be cornered, and throwing himself on the floor.

"I tried to tell them - I tried-"

"Yeah, I heard. Don't worry, it's all gonna be fine-"

Tony nodded with him, his fingers still prying at the restraints. Peter had pulled at them hard enough to stretch out the leather and bend the clasps, but Tony's quick fingers were making short work of them.

The door creeped open again, and Peter's chest tightened. Tony pulled away, spinning on the spot until he was between Peter and the door, but his tension slipped away as quickly as it came.

"Tony?" Another familiar voice called from the doorway. "Jesus."

Steve was kneeling at Tony's side before the door clicked closed behind him. His blue eyes were wide, and his hands were hovering in front of him as if frightened to reach out to Peter.

"What happene-"

Tony finally managed to pull one of Peter's arms free of the restraints, and Peter all but slid to the floor in a pool of loose-limbs. His dislocated shoulder protested painfully, but Peter couldn't find the energy to pull himself up.

Tony pulled away, tugging Steve up with him.

"Help me," he said, easing Peter back against the gurney, "Help me get him upright-"

Steve needed no other instruction than that. He was at Peter's other side before Peter could blink. With Tony's help Peter was pulled up until his back was resting against the gurney again, and then Steve threw an arm over him - keeping him firmly in place - as he grasped a hold of the gurney. Gently he pulled it back onto its wheels.

Peter nearly cried in relief when the pressure on his shoulder disappeared. The ache remained, but the agony of having all of his weight resting in it faded.

"That's so much better," Peter sighed. The words sounded slow and slurred even to him. He hoped they understood. "That sucked. Today has just sucked."

Tony's quick fingers fought with the second restraint.

"For you and me both, kid."

Once his arm was free, Peter reached down with his other hand and seized a hold of his bicep.

Tony's eyes shot wide.

"No! Don't-"

Peter pulled quickly and sharply. Another sickening pop sounded as his shoulder slid back into place. The relief was instant.

"It's okay," Peter breathed as Tony and Steve crowded around him - Tony pulling the injured from his grip and Steve pressing a warm hand against his chest, keeping him still on the gurney. "I've gotten pretty good at snapping it back in place."

"What - why?" Tony spluttered, running quick fingers along the joint. Checking that it was properly back in its socket. "Actually, no. Don't answer that. Not today. I don't think I can take that answer today."

Peter nodded absently. His eyes slid closed almost against his will. While he could feel the sedatives slowly leaving his system, his adrenaline was fading with it. Without panic to keep him moving, and fighting, the stress of the day, and the blood loss from earlier, threatened to pull him under.

Peter fought to stay awake for just a little longer. They weren't in the clear yet.

"What are you going to tell them?" Peter asked groggily. "To explain why you're here?"

Tony and Steve were making short work of checking him over. Steve had found the bruising on his back, and the healing wound from the shard of glass that had missed his spine by inches, and passed him into Tony's prodding hands, before moving to the end of the bed and pulling at the gurney.

"I'm not going to tell them anything," Tony said as he removed the shreds of Peter's jacket, which he had pressed against the wound to stem the bleeding, from his back and began poking at the puncture. "I'm going to threaten the entire hospital with mal-practice. Trust me, they'll keep their mouths shut about us being here."

Peter nodded absently, only catching every second word. He knew it was important - he knew it - but he was getting really tired now. The fog was setting back in.

He slipped in and out of awareness as Tony and Steve spoke above him.

Steve's deep voice rubbled, moving from Peter's ankles and back to his side.

"How bad is it? Do I need to go find someone?"

"No, the bleeding has already stopped." Gentle fingers clamped around his wrist. "His pulse is a little sluggish, but that might just be from all the shit the doctor plied him with-"

There was a soft tapping at Peter's cheek. Peter swatted whatever it was away, but the tapping was insistent.

"Pete - Peter?"

Steve's voice cut through the fog in Peter's head.

"Hmm."

"How are you feeling?" Steve asked. Peter tried to open his eyes, but they were too heavy, so instead he attempted a shrug. When that failed too, he lifted his hand off of the bed as far as he could and gave Steve a shaking thumbs-up.

Steve chuckled, but there was worry evident even in his laugh. "Okay. Can you squeeze my hand? Squeeze as hard as you can."

A large hand slipped into Peter's. Peter gave it a hard squeeze. Steve wrapped Peter's hand in both of his. "Thanks, Pete. You're doing great," he said softly to Peter, but then he lowered his voice. "His reactions are off, and he's weak. Too weak."

Tony let out a frustrated huff, his hands still tracing along the wound at Peter's back.

"I can't tell how deep it was - or how much blood he lost. It must have been a bit, or the sedatives wouldn't have had this much of an effect," Tony said. A draw nearby was wrenched open, and scoured through, and then Peter felt fresh gauze pressed against his back. "We need to get him home."

Gentle hands eased Peter onto his back, and then slipped under his shoulders, pulling him up slowly.

Peter blinked. Tony's face swam into view.

"Hey, hey. There you are. Come on, up you get. Chopper's on the roof."

Peter blinked again. "You flew here?"

Tony raised a single brow.

"I don't do Uber."

Peter was all but upright, albeit with the help of both Steve and Tony's steadying hands, when he started to list forward. Quick hands caught him before he could topple right off of the gurney.

"Sorry - sorry-"

Steve's face replaced Tony's. "Don't worry, Pete. We've got you." With that he slipped his hands beneath Peter's knees, around his back - careful of Tony's quickly applied gauze - and lifted Peter off of the gurney with ease.

Tony hovered nearby, practically pressed against Steve's shoulder, until Peter was situated in his arms, then he nodded crisply. "Get him to the chopper."

Peter's stomach dropped a little when Steve moved quickly, reaching out to catch Tony's arm. "Wha - where are you-" Peter felt Steve's head tip lower as he levelled Tony with a look. "Tony, no."

Tony pulled away and hustled them both towards the door.

"I'll just be a minute."

Steve's glower didn't lesson, but with Peter wrapped in his arms he could do nothing as Tony pulled further away.

"Tony-"

"Go," Tony said, ushering Steve forward. A few people were sending them odd looks. They needed to get moving. "I'll be right behind you."

Before Steve could stop him Tony melted back into the crowds in the Emergency hallway. As he did he took a few deep breaths. He needed them. He'd earned them; it had been a day.

Tony barely remembered the flight from the Compound. He vaguely remembered all but throwing Secretary Wheeler out his front door, and then storming out after him, roaring at F.R.I.D.A.Y. to get him a chopper. Steve had seized him by the collar at one point - practically shaking answers from him - and then the two of them, Clint and Sam had piled into Tony's chopper. A chopper that Clint had all but crash landed through the hospital's roof, but even that Tony could barely recall.

He'd just been getting his panic under control - F.R.I.D.A.Y. had given him constant updates, assuring that, although there had been injuries, there were no casualties, and no expected casualties from the accident - when he'd stormed through the ER doors and heard a very familiar voice in the exam room closest.

A familiar voice, and a not so familiar voice.

"You!" Tony roared as he caught sight of the face that belonged to the previously unfamiliar voice. Now it was a voice that was going to stick with him, and a face that Tony would make a point to remember.

The attending midway up the hall paled. He glanced around nervously, but no one was paying them any attention. Tony imagined a school bus full of injured children tended to send an ER into a wild scramble, and he had every intention of taking advantage of it.

"Mr-Mr. Stark. I, ugh-"

Tony stormed forward, wrapping a hand around the attending's bicep, and shouldered into an empty exam room.

Slamming the door behind him was more satisfying than it should have been. As was the attending's growing unease.

"Mr. Stark-"

"Look at me," Tony said, taking a very pointed step into the man's space. The attending moved to pull back, but Tony shot out a hand and clamped it onto his shoulder, squeezing the nerves at the base of his neck just enough to be migraine inducing, but not entirely painful. "I was never here, and that kid that you were abusing never left the waiting room, do you understand me?"

The attending gaped. Tony's grip tightened to painful levels.

"Do you understand me?"

The attending nodded jerkily.

"Yes. Yes, sir. I was just trying to help-"

"Then maybe you should try listening when people tell you to leave them the-fuck alone."

Tony barely resisted shaking the man until his teeth shattered - or throwing a punch and shattering them himself. He removed his hand before he gave into temptation to reach up with the other and squeeze until the attending turned purple.

"The other kids here from the accident," Tony said quickly, reaching inside his jeans for a pen. When he found it he turned to a small desk by the door and tore off a strip of paper from the file closest to him, scribbling his number across it. "You are going to take better care of them, and you are going to call me with updates. Then you are going to forget my number and pray that I forget this entire experience. Got it?"

F.R.I.D.A.Y. would be able to monitor most things, but the kid was going to be worried about his friends, and having a direct line of contact would put him at ease.

The attending nodded. "Ye-yes, sir."

Tony slapped the note against the attending's chest. Hard. He stumbled. Tony turned to shove his way back through the door.

"I was just trying to help-" the attending's plea had Tony pausing, "I could tell he was hurt, I just wanted to-"

"-solve a problem through blunt force and intimidation," Tony cut him off. The attending had the good-grace to look at least mildly penitent, but it did little to sooth Tony's simmering ire. "That's how you break things, not fix them."

Tony slipped back through the door with a murmured, "I'll be in touch."

Steve was getting Peter strapped in when Tony jogged over to meet them at the chopper's doors. Clint was back in the pilot's seat, with Sam next to him, gearing the chopper up to head out.

Tony paused by Steve, watching him gently tighten the straps around the shoulder Peter had yanked back into place.

A hand caught Tony's sleeve. He glanced up to find Peter's wide, and still slightly drooping, eyes staring over at him.

"He was just doing his job, Mr. Stark."

Tony huffed. "He was doing it badly."

With the final buckles secure, Steve hauled himself into the chopper and then held out a hand to help Tony do the same. When they were all strapped in - and Clint had done his customary, and always unappreciated, Schwarzenegger impression - the rotators started up, and then they were off.

Once they had levelled out Tony reached over to the kid and gave his knee a soft shake.

"How are you feeling?"

Peter was still pale - far too pale. He'd clearly lost a bit of blood at the scene, and the drugs were not helping. He looked minutes from passing out or vomiting. Or both.

From the way Steve was staring worriedly at the kid, Tony didn't think it was just his anxiety getting the better of him either.

"Shit. Tired." Peter blew out a heavy breath, letting his eyes slip closed for a second. Tony was reaching for his harness - ready to unbuckle himself and shift closer to catch the kid if he really was going to pass out - when Peter's eyes drifted back open. "Are my friends okay?"

"Yeah, they are," Tony said, aiming for soothing and not really sure that he hit the mark. Soothing had never been his specialty. "Ned's got a busted ankle, and your girlfriend got away with just a few cuts."

Peter's eyes were slipping closed again, but he was conscious enough to grumble, "she's not my girlfriend."

Tony started to unbuckle his harness, batting away Steve's interfering hands as the other man shot him a heated glare and pointedly refastened the straps.

"Sure she's not," Tony said, forcibly keeping his voice light as he met Steve's glare head on and tore at the buckles again. Steve slapped his hands away before he could get more than a couple loose.

"Stop it, he's fine-'' Steve hissed, keeping his voice low. "We'll be there soon, and I don't actually think Clint knows how to land this thing softly so-

"May-" Peter breathed.

Tony shoved Steve's hands away, but stopped trying to unbuckle himself. The old grouch was right - Peter was strapped in and coherent enough - though Tony would never admit it to his face. The man's need to 'mother' bordered on unbearable on the best of days, and it had not been the best of days.

"I called her," Tony assured the kid. "Told her we were taking you back to the Compound and she can come and get you there."

Peter nodded, and then squirmed in his seat, hand twitching up to his neck. "Ugh."

Tony was unuckled and across the space between them before Steve could stop him - not that he was trying. He was unstrapped even faster and bending over Peter with his brows pulled tight and hands hovering in the air.

Tony latched onto the kid - one hand shooting to support his head, and the other pressing into the side of his neck, monitoring his pulse. It was still thready, but not as bad as it had been in the ER.

"What?" Tony pressed. "What hurts?"

Peter shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing-" he reached a hand deep into the hood of his sweatshirt, tugging at the material and rummaging until he pulled something small from the neck. He glared at it dizzily. "Stupid coffee bean-"

"I-" Tony stared as the kid dazedly threw the chocolate coated coffee bean across the cabin. "I am too tired to ask."

"Stupid Flas-"

Tony patted him on the chest.

"Get some sleep, Pete."

A shadow fell across the room. Tony glanced up to find Steve in the doorway, his expression pinched.

Tony could relate.

They had gotten back to the Compound in good time, had the kid properly looked at in medical - and given a mostly clean bill of health with orders to rest-up until he could replenish the blood he'd lost, and the drugs fully wore off - and now Tony was making sure the kid did just that. Not that Peter had resisted. Tony had barely got him out of medical and to the first rec. room before the kid passed out on the closest sofa.

Tony had fallen in a heap in the armchair next to him and barely moved in hours. He was exhausted. The overnight lab-stint, and day full of unpleasant twists, had hollowed him out to the point that he could do nothing other than stare blankly at the wall.

God, he was getting old.

Steve moved further into the room, pausing by Peter to pull up the blanket the kid had all but kicked off in his sleep, and then coming to stand by the window closest to Tony.

The sun was setting. It cast a golden glow across Steve's face, but even it couldn't smooth the lines there.

"Wheeler's going to be a problem," Tony murmured. "He's going to make himself a problem, I can feel it."

"He's not our only one."

Tony twisted to properly look at Steve.

"What do you mean?"

Steve pulled back from the window. His hands were clenched.

"Nat's not back. And she hasn't checked in." He moved to sit on the coffee table by Tony's feet. "Something-" Steve shook his head, eyes still scanning over the horizon. "Something doesn't feel right."

Tony's gut twisted.

"You think she's in trouble?"

Steve shrugged. "Maybe. Or making it. I don't know. Something's off." He glanced at Tony. "It feels like the wolves are circling."

Tony knew that feeling. He also knew they really only had one option.

"Then let's see what bites first."  

Author's note:  

..ahhhhhhhh.

Where do I start. Firstly, I am so sorry this took as long as it did. The last year and a bit had been a lot for me. I started a new job - COVID happened - life-drama happened, and finally I wrote a book. I wrote, like, a legit novel and it took so much time that I really lost track of this fic. But, as off a few weeks ago, I am officially done with the novel and I've started querying with agents! And I'll be honest...it's been both the most exciting and the most devastating thing I've ever done.

Publishing my work here, all those years ago, for the first time felt like a leap I never thought I would take, but your responses took my breath away. For the first time, I really thought I could do this. I could write. I'd always wanted to - telling stories has always been my dream, and I've never seen another life for myself. That being said, I knew that querying (the process of sending my work out to agents and asking them to represent me) might just break me.

I have never valued anything in my life more than I value writing, and as I admit that it feels like a failure on my part, but I can't deny it's true. I have degrees, I have a great job that I enjoy, but I did all of that out of necessity. This is what I do out of love. So sending my work out - an original manuscript I've been working on, on and off, for over a decade now - was one of the most nerve-racking things I've ever done, and receiving rejections was one of the worst feelings, even though I knew to be prepared for it.

I guess, what I'm trying to say in this ramble is, you guys offered me so much when I felt vulnerable all those years ago. You gave me so much encouragement, and so much love, that I felt truly capable for the first time, and it's because of you that I finally managed to finish my original manuscript. And even if no one ever reads it, I will always be grateful for that, because when I'm at my worst - and the rejection notices are rolling in - I come back to your amazing comments, and I feel loved all over again.

So I'm here to share the love - a gift for you, for all the gifts you've given me. And you have given me so much. I will never give up on writing - even when it hurts - because you have shown me what a fantastic world it is, and just how much meaning a story can hold.

Wheeew. Rant over. Again, a thousand apologies for the lateness. I will update you very soon about whether this fic will be continued.

As always, what did you think? Let me know! I won't lie - when I eventually got back to it - this chapter felt clunky, and I don't know if it's because I was rusty, or if it just wasn't right?

Also, if anyone else has ever gone through querying - or thought about publishing - let me know! I want to hear some stories!

Again, thank you all so much for your support, I love you more than even these 10,000 words can tell you!

Eva xx