Peter spooned a clump of cereal out of his bowl, contemplating it sombrely before tipping it back into the grey mess below.

Two hands appeared on either side of Peter's cereal. Or what was left of his cereal. "You do know it's not actually going to dissolve no matter how much you play with it." Peter glanced up from the sopping mess to find May leaning across the kitchen counter, staring at his with a raised brow. Peter ducked his head back down to his bowl – but he was already too late. "What's up?" May asked, leaning down on her elbows and actively searching for Peter's eyes.

Peter swallowed the lingering anxiety that had been eating at him since last night – the fight, the call and the bleeding Avenger that had slipped out of his window without a trace despite Peter spending the rest of the night (and morning) searching for her. He plastered a smile on his face and prayed it didn't look as painful as it felt. "Nothing." He said, widening his eyes innocently – oh god. He hoped she couldn't see how red they were. He was exhausted. Beyond exhausted –"Really – it's just-" Peter shrugged. "Been a long week."

May shot him an odd look. "It's Wednesday, Pete." She said. Peter groaned, and flopped his head down onto the bench. May chuckled, running her fingers through his hair. It felt nice. The tension that seemed to have cemented in his shoulders eased – just slightly. "Does this have anything to do with the hole in my bathroom wall?"

And just like that the tension was back – with a vengeance.

"I'll fix that!" Peter blurted out his head snapping up. "I swear – don't even worry about it. I'll go by the hardware shop on my way home and-"

"Hey – hey," May shushed him. "It's fine. Accidents happen. Don't worry about it, we can fix it up on the weekend – a little bit of plaster and paint and it'll be good as new."

Peter nodded slowly, his head sinking back down onto the bench.

"You're sure it's nothing?" May asked, her hand sinking back into his hair. Peter nodded into the bench, doing his best to stay awake and quickly failing. "You know you can come to me, right – no more secrets." May's hand paused in his hair.

Peter looked up, forcing a smile back to his lips.

"Yeah – I know."

May ran a hand through his one hair more time. "Okay." She nodded, clearly not convinced, but letting it go regardless. God, Peter loved her. She gave his head a couple of quick pats like he was golden retriever, pulling a sad chuckle from Peter's lips, before leaning her elbows against the bench and resting her chin on her entwined hands. "You should get moving, don't you have decathlon practise before class?"

Peter glanced over at the microwave behind her head – and the red time stamp blaring on the screen.

"Oh shit." He muttered, throwing his spoon down and snatching up his backpack from the floor. He launched over the couch and towards the front door.

"Have fun – don't study too hard." May called as he stumbled into the hall.

Shit. Shit. Shit. The word echoed in his head as he flew down the stairs – not willing to even spare the seconds it would take for the elevator to reach their floor.

MJ was going to murder him.

Peter busted through the building's front door and took off in the direction of the subway – slinging his backpack over his shoulder as he went. He tore across the road to a symphony of honking horns and through a nearby alley – scaling a wire fence and skipping over the dumpster below. He darted back out onto the street, narrowly avoiding a cyclist, before breaking into a sprint again. Okay. Practise was in twenty minutes. If he caught the train scheduled to leave in two, he'd be there in thirty minutes. Twenty-five if he pushed it – or less even if he ducked over the music building. The school would be empty, no one would see –

Peter had just leapt off the curb when a sleek, black car pulled in in front of him – barely giving him enough to skid to a stop before he was sent flying over the hood. As it was he collided with the side of the car with a loud thunk.

"Oh, god." Peter scrambled over to the driver's tinted window. This was exactly what he didn't need this morning. "I am so sorry! Serious I-"

The window slid down – and Tony's face appeared.

"Get in." He said sharply, nodding to the passenger side.

Everything in Peter froze at the sight of the man. Never mind that he'd seen him almost everyday on television for the last week – or that in the weeks before that he'd watched more YouTube clips of Iron Man spotting's than he would ever admit to – seeing Tony in person was like having cold water thrown over the cloud that had been his life for the last two months. All of a sudden it was like everything that had happened since then, every decathlon practise and Lego-building extravaganza with Ned, faded away and Peter was right back in that night. Cold. Confused. And terrified.

"No." Peter said shortly, his rage from last night returning. No. The man couldn't just show up when he felt like it. That wasn't how this worked.

Peter stepped back onto the sidewalk and walked away. Or tried too. The sleek, black sedan was in front of him again before he could take more than a couple of steps.

Tony was fully leaning out of the window as his eyes flashed over at Peter.

"Get in." He said slowly – lengthening every syllable as if Peter hadn't understood him the first time. Oh – he understood.

"No." Peter thundered, side-stepping the car. " If you want to talk you can pick up the damn phone when I call you-"

The driver's side door flew open, and Tony launched out. Cutting in front of Peter faster than he had thought the older man was capable of moving. Peter jerked to a stop.

"Get in!" Tony hissed pulling the black cap sitting atop his head a little lower as a couple passed them by. "We need to talk and we cannot do that on the street, unless you want Ross to get a nice picture of us hand-delivered to his desk." Tony stared over at him pointedly and Peter's heart plummeted into his stomach. Tony must have been able to see the threat hit home in Peter's expression, because a second later his eyes were suddenly much softer – and the hand reaching out to rest on Peter's shoulder was no longer clenched in a fist. "Please." Tony murmured. "Please, just get in."

Peter was already allowing himself to be lead to the passenger door as he continued to argue – but his voice was low, his heart no longer in it. No. That particular organ was still somewhere around his lower intestine. "I'm late for decathlon practise." He mumbled.

Tony heard. He held the door open for Peter. "I'll drop you off."

Peter released a heavy breath through his teeth, but folded inside the car without another word – shoving his backpack down at his feet.

He threw a glance around the interior of the car as Tony made his way back around the car to the driver's side.

"Is this a Civic?" Peter asked as soon as Tony had slammed the door closed behind him. He threw another glance around the car – as if it's modest décor might morph into Italian leather with second look. It didn't. "Why do you own a Civic?"

Tony pulled the car away from the gutter, cutting into the morning traffic with ease. "So I can be incognito when I have to drive all the way out to Queens to talk to a punk-ass kid who hung up on me." He said, yanking off his cap and hurling it into the back seat.

The words rung in Peter's brain – holy Jesus he'd hung up on Tony Stark – but he refused to let them take hold. He wasn't going to feel bad about it. Even if the man was his hero – kinda. Maybe. Completely. The man was being a dick. And Peter was feeling more than a little petty.

"Where do people think you are?" He asked. Glancing around the people passing them by.

"Happy's cutting a couple of laps around Midtown." Tony said. "We've probably got an hour or so before anyone gets suspicious." He sank back in his seat – throwing a cutting look in Peter's direction. "So, to kick us off, have you been shot in the last twenty-four hours?"

Peter threw his head back against the headrest. "No."

Tony's voice took on an uncharacteristically sharp edge. "Look at me." He said, and Peter did. He was angry – but that voice left no room for petty arguments. When he finally met the older man's eyes they were boring into his own.

"No." Peter said again. Dragging the word out.

Tony stared for a moment longer – eyes searching – but eventually nodded.

"Has Ned been shot?" He asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly at the road ahead of them as they slipped between cars.

"What – no." Peter breathed.

Tony nodded again before fixing Peter with another pointed look. "Then why...?"

Peter threw his arms up. "We were just...being stupid." He said lamely. God. Tony was going to see right through him. He was going to know. He was going to know that Peter had followed Ross's man – even when Tony told him to keep clear of everything Ross related – and he was going to know that –

"Okay." Tony said, and Peter's eyes flashed to him. He was nodding slowly to himself – the tension that Peter hadn't noticed in his shoulders was ebbing away with every short nod. "Good. That's settled." Tony's eyes settled on something on the other side of the windscreen – far away from Peter's cautiously searching eyes. His next words though left Peter spinning. "I'm sorry I've been dodging you." Tony murmured – Peter staring at him openly now, mouth hanging open. That was...not what he expected. He'd thought Tony would deny everything. The avoidance. The calls. His surprise folded to fear – god Peter did not want to address this. Did not want to talk about why Tony was refusing to speak to him. To let him help –

"The truth is this thing with Ross has spiralled – well spiralled further than I thought it would, and I didn't want to freak you out." Tony cut off Peter's wild thoughts.

Peter's brain shuddered to a halt. What? "What do you mean?"

Tony shifted awkwardly, pulling his eyes away from the road ahead of them to steal a glance at Peter. Gaging his reaction? "He's monitoring my calls." Tony said slowly, watching for any shifts in Peter's expression. Peter kept his jaw tight and his eyes fixed – but his heart was racing. "The people I visit – the people I talk to." Tony went on. "Probably the goddamn UberEats kid who delivered my Pad-Thai last night."

Peter's heart was thundering in his ears. "Why?"

Tony let out a long breath. "If he can prove that I'm in bed with someone, or something, even remotely unsanitary he'll be able to push for a subpoena that will force my hand with the Accords." Peter knew his face was getting paler by the minute – but there was little he could do with the terror that was currently strangling his vital organs. "And if I sign how they are now, I wont have a leg to stand on when it comes to amendments – and the others will have to either sign as well, or be labelled enemies of the United Nations." Tony gave a small shrug that was not nearly as casual as he probably intended it to be. It caught halfway, morphing into a cross between some kind of nauseated shiver and a muscle spasm. "Essentially our year long dance since Germany will be over – and Ross will have won."

That something that had been wrapped around Peter's internal organs clenched suddenly – and then tore them all out. Leaving Peter hollow and cold.

"Oh." He said lamely.

"Yeah – it's a bit of a shit-creek situation." Tony said, running a calloused hand through his hair –managing to make his hat hair even worse. "But it's not the point I came to make. All you need to know is that – we – well we can't talk right now." Tony's fidgeting hand stilled as he spoke. His eyes re-focused on Peter. "Not with Ross looming over us."

"Yeah," Peter said quickly, shoving the swell of crippling disappointment down. "Yeah – no – I get it." And he did. He did. Tony was in such a precarious position already – he didn't need to be worrying about Peter as well. "Why – I mean how did all this happen?" Peter found himself asking before he'd really thought the question through. "Is this all because of what happened at the Compound?"

Tony opened his mouth to answer, but faltered. His lips clamped shut a moment later. "In a sense." He murmured finally.

"What sense?" Peter breathed.

Tony stared at the road stonily for a moment before answering. "In the sense that I might have told him he could shove his Accords somewhere unspeakable," Tony said. "And then tried to kill him – kind of. A little." He added – just as an after thought.

Oh.

Peter knew his eyes were as wide as saucers – but he couldn't beat down his astonishment long enough to fix them. "Why?"

The next look Tony fixed on his was not light. It was no glance either. The older man's eyes shot to him and stayed there. Taking in every inch of him – and Peter found himself staring back into them. They were tight, and tired, but there was something in them – something deep, and gutting churning just out of Peter's reach –

And then it was gone. And so were Tony's eyes.

Tony's eyes snapped back to the road, casting a glance over the too crowded roads and crawling cars around then before flicking back to Peter casually. "You're good though, right?" He said, flippancy returning with a flourish. "All's well in the neighbourhood – and with your little friends?"

"Ugh – yeah." Peter said, the whiplash of Tony's mood change throwing him for a second. "Everything's good." He added – plastering the same smile he'd given May across his lips.

Tony's eyebrows rocketed to his hairline. "Wanna try that again with a little more feeling?" He asked dryly. Peter scowled. "I meant what I said, kid," Tony went on, pausing until Peter's eyes had glided back to him. The older man's face was hard – not an inch of uncertainty in it. "Ross is never going to get anywhere near you – that might just mean that we can't talk for a while." Tony said, lips pulling into a hard line. He pulled off the road a second later – gliding into a park on the street. "And if we loose – well – maybe for a long while."

That hollow feeling in Peter's chest returned. "Do you think you will?" Peter asked quietly – not really sure he wanted an answer. "Lose?"

"I don't know." Tony said, honestly, turning in his seat to face Peter head-on. He clasped a hand around Peter's closest shoulder. "But you'll be alright. You're smart – most of the time at least." Tony smirked. "Just use that too big of a brain of yours and you'll be all good – yeah?"

"Yeah." Peter nodded, trying for the world not to show just how much that hand on his shoulder meant to him – and how he might crumble without it. "Ugh-" He fumbled. "Good luck."

Tony clapped his shoulder one last time before letting go. "Thanks, kid." He chuckled. When Peter didn't move the chuckle grew. "Aren't you late for something?" Tony asked.

Peter's head snapped up – finally taking in something outside the car. They were only a couple blocks from the school now, Tony having gotten them there in record time. "Yeah – right, yeah." He scrambled to grab his bag from the floor, but didn't get out. Now that he was here – with Tony – he wasn't in a hurry to leave. Even at risk of death from MJ for being late to practise.

"Here," Tony reached into the glove box by Peter's knees, pulling something small and sleek out. "I'm guessing the other didn't survive." A cell phone fell into Peter's lap. He stared at it for a moment before picking it up gingerly. It felt expensive. "My direct line's already in there – but emergencies only." Tony went on – waggling a cautionary finger in Peter's direction. "And by emergency, I mean real emergencies. Like I'm bleeding out in a Denny's car-park kind of emergencies." Peter nodded jerkily. The car fell silent. With that hollowness firmly set in his chest Peter pushed open the passenger door and pulled himself out. "And Peter," Tony called to him – and Peter had his head back in the car so fast he nearly brained himself on the doorframe. "Keep the gruesome midnight Googling to a minimum." Tony asked lightly.

Peter nodded again. "Right."

Tony grinned. "Just search for porn, like a normal fifteen year old-" He called as Peter slammed the door shut.

He waited on the curb as it pulled away and disappeared into traffic – the hollow feeling in his chest only growing as he lost sight of the civic. A crushing realization that that might have been the last time he would see Tony for – well – a long time settled over him, and left him frozen on the sidewalk. Desperately trying to quash the crippling feeling that he'd just lost something.

He stood on the sidewalk for a long time, all thoughts of decathlon practise, school and MJ's murderous rage forgotten. All swallowed by that hollow feeling in his chest.

He wasn't gone – not for good anyway. They hadn't lost. They hadn't lost – not yet – maybe not ever. All of this, it was – it was just speculation. They had no guarantees that anything would change –

Something hard collided with Peter's shoulder, interrupting him mid-freak-out.

"Sorry – sorry," Peter stammered, turning to face the warm body that had just walked right into him. God he was being an idiot – standing in the middle of the street freaking out over things that hadn't even happened yet and –

Glowing red eyes met his own as he turned.

And blackness hit him a moment later.

Peter launched back into consciousness with nauseating speed.

"Nuuugh!"

He shot backwards, colliding with the back of the seat he was currently occupying – nearly toppling over – and thoroughly startling the old couple seated next him, who were now throwing him odd looks. Seated beside him? Was he in a restaurant? Throwing a wild glance around Peter confirmed this – the décor of a weathered Chinese place glaring at him – but the confirmation did nothing to ease his mounting confusion. What? How did – how did he – what?

"Tea?"

A voice broke his panic and Peter's head snapped forward – meeting a pair of emerald eyes that were seated just across from him. The eyes were...odd. They were definitely green at their centre, but the outsides were rimmed with gold, which seemed to be creeping inwards towards the irises – mixing with the green and resulting in a striking topaz. The longer Peter stared into them, the more his head spun. God – he was going to puke.

"What?" Peter managed to rasp. The woman across from his held up a white and gold teapot, nodding at the empty cup in front of him.

"Tea?" The Scarlet Witch asked again, Peter's brain finally kicking into gear enough to recognise her. He could be forgiven for not putting it together immediately – after all she looked nothing like she had the night before. Gone was the dirt caked onto every inch of her bare skin, matted hair, and the blood that had haunted Peter all night as he'd imagined her bleeding out in an alley somewhere. She was still pale – and moving quite cautiously – but her clothes were clean, her hair brushed and the bullet wound hidden beneath a worn looking sweater.

"What!?" Peter croaked again, throwing another wild glance around the restaurant. Older couples sat all around them, most of them chatting away in incomprehensively fast Mandarin, while staff wandered about the tables delivering wicker containers of food, stacked one on top of another. A sign for the Bryant Park subway entrance – on 42nd – caught his eye just outside the restaurant's dusty windows. 42nd – oh god – was he in Midtown?

Peter threw a wild glance down at his watch. 9:15. Oh god. May was going to kill him. MJ was going to kill him. He needed – he needed –

The Witch merely watched, one hand still resting on the handle of the teapot that she had placed back on the table, as he began to hyperventilate. "How old are you?" She asked when his head had started snapping from one side of the restaurant to the other – because he could not be in Midtown. No. He was at school – he'd been – he'd been late. He was – he was with Tony.

And then everything snapped into place. School. Decathlon practise. Tony. Tony leaving.

Maybe for good.

Peter's words were a lot harsher than he really intended them to be – but he really had no idea how he'd gotten here, and to be honest he'd met his quota of things he could deal with today hours ago. "How old are you?"

"Twenty." The Witch answered without hesitation – those odd, gold and green eyes never straying from Peter.

The honesty of the answer took Peter aback. "Fifteen." The word left his mouth before he'd really considered it – god, his brain was still fuzzy. The Witch merely nodded though, lifting the teapot of the table once more.

"Tea?" She asked for a third time – raising a single eyebrow in Peter's direction. He nodded jerkily – though to be fair he would have nodded at just about anything she said in that moment, only catching every second word at best. There was a cloud in his head and he reallywasn't enjoying it. "I'm Wanda." The Witch – Wanda – said once Peter's cup was full and he'd stopped blinking every two seconds, everything slowly coming into better focus.

"I know." Peter nodded, the fog in his brain finally staring to clear. "Peter." He said, before really considering whether he could. He tossed another quick glance around the restaurant. "H-how did we get here?" He scooped up his cup and took a long sip, his hands shaking slightly.

"I brought us here." Wanda said, taking a sip of her own mug with her right hand. Her left stayed firmly under the table, likely cradled against her side. Peter – with a sting of guilt – imagined it would be agony to move anything on that side at the moment, with the hole in her stomach so fresh. "I'm sorry for-" She waved a hand at Peter's forehead. A red glow formed in her eyes for just a second, but faded quickly, "-but we needed to speak alone."

Peter didn't know what to say to that – or how to react – so he filed away the apparent confirmation that she could essentially kidnap him at any time for closer reflection (and subsequent freak-out) at a later date.

"How did you find me?" He asked instead – gulping down his tea despite that it burnt its way down his throat every time. Wanda poured him another cup when he sat his empty mug back down on the table.

"You did take me to your home." Wanda said, her opinion on the stupidity of that particular move clear in the dryness of her voice. "You know – where you live. With your mother." She pointed out.

"Aunt." Peter correct automatically. Wanda's single raised brow rose even higher – in real danger of disappearing into her hair as he only gave more away about himself. "She's my aunt." Peter muttered. God, he really needed to shut up now.

"You're Stark's kid." She said, still eyeing him up and down as they sat. "You were with him in Germany."

"You were with the Captain." Peter shot back – his clear distaste for that particular choice clear.

"I was." Wanda said, her voice even. Not a hint of emotion in the words. No trace of how she felt about that particular decision.

Peter and the Captain were on relatively good terms now – what with the Captain hanging around the Compound every time he'd been over before the whole Ross debacle. They'd trained together. Watched a couple of movies together. The Captain had even taught him how to make an omelette without burning it six ways from Sunday – okay. They were friends-ish. Peter liked him. Ish.

Okay – he really liked him – but every so often the image of Tony, on a med-evac from Siberia, beaten to an inch of his life, flashed across his eyes.

Yeah, he liked Steve. But he'd chosen Tony. And if this was about to come down to another choice, he would back Tony.

Peter would likely back the older man to the day he died.

"How did that work out for you?" Peter couldn't help but asking. The topic was still sore – even over a year later – and Peter always seemed to respond to it with scathing sarcasm. The others – even Tony – usually took the time to say something distinctly adult-like and frustrating like it's complicated, kid or it's wasn't that simple. Wanda did not.

If Peter's words had been the bark – Wanda's reply was the bite.

"How has Ross worked out for you?"

Peter's stomach dropped heavily – leaving a sickening feeling in the empty crevasses of his gut. He didn't reply. Even if he could have gotten the words out, which he doubted he could, he had nothing to say. She had him, and they both knew it.

Wanda filled his cup again.

"I didn't bring you here to argue." She murmured, cutting through the silence that had settled over the both of them.

Peter curled his suddenly cold fingers around the steaming cup. "Why did you bring me here?" He asked his eyes fixed on the swirling contents of the cup. Not ready to meet those golden, green eyes that seemed to stare straight through him.

"I need you to get something to Stark for me," Wanda said. "It can help him – he'll know what to do with it."

Peter's eyes shifted away from his tea and back up to Wanda. "Why?" He asked, brows furrowing.

One of her eyebrows lifted again. "Because I took a bullet for you – I think it's fair to say you owe me a favour." She said, pointedly.

"No." Peter shook his head. "Why would you want to help Mr. Stark?"

More so than any other the question seemed to catch her off-guard. She pulled back slightly, as if the words had stung a little, and Peter suddenly found himself wondering if he's pressed on something that went deeper than whose sides they'd picked in Germany – but before he could take the words back she spoke.

"Because I can," She murmured. Those topaz-streaked eyes drifted down to the table – suddenly lost somewhere very far from a Chinese restaurant in Midtown. "And because he's done nothing to deserve the way I've treated him." The words were so soft that Peter barely caught them. A moment later her eyes were back – and the ghosts in them shoved back into their cages.

"They've been looking for you." Peter said. Not really sure what to say – but not willing to let the moment pass. "All of them." There was something haunting in her eyes that cut Peter to the bone. He had to admit he forgot who she was sometimes – an orphan, and refugee, of a city turned to ash – so overwhelmed by what she was.

"I know." Wanda said. "But I'm not done yet."

"Done what?"

"Righting my mistakes." She said. "As much as I can, at least." A tight smile crept across her face, not reaching her eyes. "I'm not like them – not like you, I don't think." She said, nodding at him thoughtfully. "I didn't get into this for the right reasons," Her eyes fell down to the now cold tea clutched tightly in her hand. "And now I don't know my place in it – or if I have a place." Even the forced smile fell. "If I deserve one." Those eyes crept back up – the topaz in them blinding. "I guess I'll find out when I'm done." The hand that had been wrapped around her mug disappeared into the folds of her black jacket, pulling out a hard-drive and setting it down on the table between them.

"Please, give this to Tony."

Peter dropped his eyes to the hard-drive for just a second – taking in its unusual slimness and lack of any noticeable brand – but it was long enough. When he glanced back up Wanda's seat was empty.