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“Exactly how many broken white men do you plan to bring me, brother?” With hands firm on her hips, Shuri watched as the Dora Milaje steered a gravitating stretcher into the laboratory. “It grows boring after the first two times.”

It turned out that when she was informed their company had arrived, that actually meant ‘hey, what’s up, we’re right around the corner and about to barge through the doors at any second. Don’t be startled or scream or anything like that.’

Shuri didn’t scream.

But she had been dangerously close to spewing a rainbow of words in her own native tongue. Possibly so lewd, it would’ve made her mother blush. And ground her for a week.

Tony noticed her before anything else, which was an impressive feat considering the magnitude of technological wonder that encumbered the room. She looked the most unenthusiastic of the bunch, despite the excited commotion that approached her. And apparently, she had no plans to hide it.

The dirt that Tony and Steve tracked inside seemed more interesting to her than anything else.

“Sister,” T’Challa started, no real heat to his words. He barely stopped his pace to throw her a look. “You’re not being very welcoming. Will you please be of reassurance to our guests?”

All at once, they quickly poured inside, with T’Challa leading at the head of the gurney. Tony and the others followed closely at the caboose, with Steve practically tethered to the opposing side. The others weren’t far behind.

They couldn’t be — detours weren't a luxury they could have, not with the Dora Milaje breathing down their neck at every step they took. If the female guards got any closer, Tony would’ve demanded they at least feed him dinner first.

Shuri spun on her feet, her eyes bulging comically large.

“Reassurance how?” There was no small amount of force to the attitude that coated her tone. To add to the dramatics, Shuri waved a flopping hand at the group of outsiders T’Challa brought with him. “These people just came barging into my lab — I do not even know their names! And you want me to feed them tea and cookies? What exactly do you expect —”

Shuri’s eyes darted to the other side of the room.

"Hey!”

At the sound of her shout, the Dora Milaje took quick stance. All four soldiers drew out their weapons at once, the sound of vibrating metal echoing sharply against the chamber walls.

Everyone looked to Shuri.

And then to where Shuri pointed.

“Don’t. Touch.” Her eyes narrowed. By a lot. “Anything!”

Shuri’s finger was so stern and stiff, it may as well have been one of the spears that the Dora Milaje held in their grasp.

Each one aimed directly at Bruce.

Who froze like a deer in the headlights.

His hand remained mid-air, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. It hovered halfway to one of the many sleek, holographic consoles that lit up the lab in translucent light.

He didn’t dare budge a centimeter further.

“Who is this man?” Shuri spun around to face T’Challa, who appeared to be the least fazed of the group. His sister’s indignance appeared to be like any other day for him. 

Royalty didn’t change them from being siblings. And Tony could tell, all the way down to the little side-glares they’d throw one another. Like they were talking about stealing the others favorite jacket, and not the presence of well known superheroes in their kingdom.

He’d like to think they were well known, anyway. It seemed he may be wrong about that.

“This is Doctor Bruce Banner.” T’Challa gave a lop-sided smile as he crossed the room, waving at his guards along the way and urging them to stand down. Hesitatingly, they lowered their spears, though their eyes followed T’Challa at every step he took. “Believe it or not, sister, you’re not the only intelligent person in this world.”

If looks could kill, the King would be dead.

Luckily, T’Challa seemed more than accustomed to his sister’s behavior. He responded to her glare with a smug grin, side-stepping the others and personally approaching Bruce.

Bruce’s hand still remained mid-touch to the consoles. He still hadn’t budged.

Not even a centimeter.

“Do not let appearances deceive you. Doctor Banner is a world renowned, genius physicist, and an exceptional man of science at that. And not just in America. His kind heart has pushed him to do things, and to be led to places, where his self interest never comes first. There are quite a few things you could learn from him.” With a firm but gentle touch, T’Challa rested his hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “He is welcome here, as are they all.”

After a beat — one that felt like a century and a half — Bruce slowly retreated his hand. He managed a sheepish smile, at best, before stuffing it inside his pant pockets.

The jeans barely clung to his waist with the assistance of a makeshift — and very frayed — sisal rope.

Shuri didn’t grace T’Challa’s backhanded compliment with a response. For the first time since the barrage of people came flocking inside, she eyed them all. Individually, each person making her eyebrow arch higher.

And higher.

And if possible, higher.

“And they are…?” she asked.

T’Challa cocked his head to the side. “Perhaps if you listened when I talk to you —”

“I listen!” Shuri rebutted. Her hands flew right back to her hips. “You said blah blah blah, Avengers. Blah blah, fix this. Blah blah blah, I’ll get you an American cheeseburger. Blah blah, you’re the best Shuri, save us all —”

Shuri fell into a fit of laughter, a bout of amusement that very obviously wasn’t shared by her brother.

“Sister…” he chastised.

Standing up straight, Shuri brushed him off with a flapping hand that could’ve been made out of rubber.

“Chill!” She approached the gurney and those surrounding it, while simultaneously working quick movements on the device strapped around her wrist. It looked like a watch, but clearly wasn’t. It garnered Bruce’s attention all the more. “Pardon me for being busy creating this poor boys means of survival to read up on the names of our guests.”

Bruce inched closer to her, his neck craned so far out it could’ve been mistaken for a turtle sneaking out of its shell. He managed to get a few feet closer to Shuri before she threw out her other hand, stopping him in place.

All while never looking up from the interface casting up from her wrist.

“I apologize again for how short notice this was." Steve cleared his throat, standing opposite side of her with his hands clasping loosely in front of him. “Considering what you’ve done for us in the past, and...what little options we have left…”

Steve noticeably lowered his head, looking at Peter in a way that didn’t go unheeded. The boy remained still as stone, the only sign of life coming from the slight rise and fall of his chest. Even that was subdued, having been covered by a thick, wool blanket.

If the concern he felt were any stronger, it would’ve hit the Citadel in waves that knocked them off their feet.

It was a hot second before he returned his gaze to Shuri. “Well, we’re hoping lightning can strike twice.”

Tony side-eyed Steve, lateral to his own stance, sandwiched between the hovering gurney. It was obvious the man felt apprehensive without his notorious uniform. Slacks and a t-shirt just didn’t bring the same kind of protection to the game.

That would be something they could both agree on. He was less than thrilled being sans his Iron Man armor. Especially considering the unexpected ride they’d just encountered.

T’Challa gestured towards Steve with his head, all while eyeing his sister. “I do not believe you need introductions for the Captain.”

Shuri didn’t look away from the levitating interface. In fact, she seemed to work all the faster.

“I never said I did,” she dryly tossed back. Her fingers moved with impressively quick motions. “But I would like to know why there is a man with an arrow down his pants watching me like a hawk.”

No sooner than the words left her mouth did all four women of the Dora Milaje turn on Clint, their spears pointing at him as quickly they had at Bruce.

The palpable sound was enough to send shivers down Tony’s spine. It was the equivalent of crystal clear mountain water. A noise so clean and pristine that he was sure his ears had never heard it before.

Hesitatingly — slowly — the archer lifted both hands into the air.

His face screamed guilt.

“I can explain —”

Steve made that face. “Clint —”

“Barton!” Tony beat him to it. His shout practically echoed off those cathedral ceilings from above. “What part of disarm all weapons was the difficult part to understand!”

Clint noticeably rolled his eyes, but kept his hands in the air where the pissed-off-women-with-spears could see them. Even he wasn’t stupid to fight Vibranium when pointed at his face.

“Oh, like you don’t still have your gauntlets somewhere on you!” Clint fired back, only managing to twitch once when the spears moved closer to him. Maybe twice. He wouldn’t admit to it, though.

Tony glared with barred teeth. “I don’t!”

Clint’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “You don’t? Really?”

A sound nearly came out of Tony’s throat. It was definitely a growl. Infuriated, frustrated, and downright pissed growl.

“Do I look like I wanna mess around with these people?” As if to make a statement that didn’t need to be said, Tony pointed down to the gurney below him. His hand nearly made contact with Peter’s shoulder. “Now?”

Clint pulled a face. “My bad! I thought—”

“I was joking,” Shuri cut in, just barely looking up from the display. “Is there really an arrow in your pants?”

The beat that followed could’ve lasted a lifetime and then-some, and no one would’ve known a difference.

Clint’s eyes darted to each individual spear the Dora Milaje held. He almost could’ve sworn he saw his reflection in the sharp, pointy metal that was far too close to his face for his liking.

“...yes.”

His smile did nothing to abate their defenses.

“Brother!” Shuri exclaimed, twisting around and waving her hand again in a floppy gesture. “Who are these people!?”

T’Challa sighed, just enough that it brought down his shoulders. His expression was softer compared to those around him, still unfazed with the tumult.

Of all people to remain nonchalant, Tony would’ve never assumed it’d be the King. Today was certainly full of surprises.

He looked down at Peter and bit back his own sigh.

He hated surprises.

“That’s Clint Barton. Agent of SHIELD, a founding Avenger, and extremely skilled marksman.” T’Challa turned to Dora Milaje, specifically eyeing one woman of the bunch. “There is no need, Okoye. Stand down. We will get nowhere if we keep pointing weapons at one another.”

Okoye didn’t take to the command. She only held her spear higher.

“The white man has an arrow down his pants,” she threw back, her accent heaviest on her tongue. “History is not kind to us when it comes to these sort of things.”

“Can we stop talking about what’s down my pants?” For what it was worth, Clint asked as kindly as he could, what with the weapons about to slice off the skin to his nose. “It’s making me a tad bit uncomfortable.”

The look Okoye threw him was sharper than her spear.

Clint’s smile fell at the drop of a hat. He had a wife. He knew when to not mess with an angry woman.

“I knew he brought his arsenal inside while you were preoccupied transporting the boy,” T’Challa admitted, his stance towards Okoye’s anger far more cavalier than the others. It earned a look of incredulous doubt from Okoye, to which he smirked. “Please. Pay more attention to your surroundings.”

Okoye hesitated before lowering her staff. As quickly as she raised it, she spun it behind her and slammed it to the ground.

The blunt end of the staff hit the floor with a thunderous rumble.

Tony swore the impact sent an aftershock through his calves and straight into his heart, skipping a beat where it was needed the most. A quick glance to Steve was all he needed to see the feeling was mutual.

A dinner plate was the only Vibranium they were used to. In more ways than one, they had been blown off their feet.

“You let these strangers in here, to our home, with weapons at their side — and you question none of it.” Okoye didn’t ask. It was a statement to the matter. “How much blind faith do you have, my King?”

Clint threw a nervous glance to Tony, who tossed a similar expression to Steve. The soldier, however, remained neutral through it all. If any of that were a facade, than Tony would have to admit that he’d become a damn good actor.

T’Challa dipped his head low, holding with it a firm sincerity. “My faith is not blind. My faith is confidence — confidence in you. In the Dora Milaje. In my sister. Confidence in Wakanda. My faith is in knowing the good things we have done for those who had no hope left. Those like Barnes.”

T’Challa turned to Steve, the smallest nod of his head speaking more than his words ever could.

The gesture was returned, equally as small, but appreciated nonetheless.

He turned back to Okoye, who still seemed displeased. Yet the grip on her staff had slackened, if only by a margin.

T’Challa noticed. “You, my friend, must allow your faith to be bigger than your fear. If there is no trust you can offer to these people, then I insist — you must trust me.”

Tense silence fell over the room. Tony hadn’t realized his hands balled into white-knuckled fists until the indents of his fingernails began to leave painful marks onto his skin. His stomach had tightened into a knot that made it hard to breathe, and if the gurney next to him weren’t hovering, he’d have gripped onto it for support.

There hadn’t been a question if Wakanda would help them or not. He didn’t realize that was even an option to consider.

Suddenly, the idea of being sent back home on the Quinjet made their situation all the more fragile.

And during all this, Barton had an arrow down his pants.

Because of course.

Okoye shot T’Challa a cool stare as she lifted her finger, shoving it directly in Clint’s direction.

"Ukuba iluchukumise utolo," ” she threatened, "ndiya kumbethelela emhlaben."

T’Challa smiled. “Okoye…”

There were many languages Tony could speak, but Xhosa wasn’t one of them. Hell, this was his first time ever stepping foot into Africa. So while he couldn’t interpret what the woman had said, he could at least assume it was flippant based off the casual smile that T’Challa had in return.

No one could be sure, but there was enough of a twitch in Okoye’s lips that made it seem as if she wanted to return the gesture.

“The frequency mesh is set up!” Shuri excitedly announced, breaking through the tension like a wild bull on stimulants. “Once we —”

Tony quirked an eyebrow. “You don’t want a full classroom attendance, Princess Leia?”

Both tightly braided buns resting on each side of Shuri’s head almost bounced at how fast she whipped her head around.

“Who?” She furrowed her brows. “You?”

Tony cocked his head to the side. He couldn’t tell if he came off as looking offended or not — judging by Clint’s snicker, he did. But he would insist he looked more perplexed than anything.

Especially as Shuri dismissively waved him off.

“No introductions needed,” she airily stated, signaling towards the guards to help her push the gurney into the middle of the room. They followed suit, gently moving the floating bed until they reached an overhead machine. Stopping only once Peter laid precisely underneath it. “Of course I have heard of you, Stark. Your technology is very well known.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony followed them with quick steps, only briefly glancing at the apparatus that began to lower from the ceiling. It was small, but noticeable. All the technology around him was noticeable — similar to his, yet somehow far different. If he had the time, he’d be like Bruce — taking in every little device, nook and cranny, with a childlike wonder.

Bruce hadn’t even noticed they moved. He was studying what Tony swore was just a simple mountain rock taken from the foothills.

“Yes, indeed. We teach it here in Wakanda.” Shuri watched with careful eyes as the machine slowly descended from above. A smirk eventually pulled at her lips. “In elementary school.”

“That’s enough, Shuri.” T’Challa folded his arms over his chest, easily looking the most intolerant thus far.

Of all things to have pushed his buttons the most, it was his own sister. Not a sentient being of man-made creation being brought to their homeland. It was his sister that did the trick. 

Tony once heard Steve describe the man as being ‘down to earth’, but it said a lot more seeing it for himself. He was so caught up observing the two that he hadn’t noticed the ceiling apparatus had fallen lower, and finally locked into place.

Shuri did notice, keeping her eyes on both it and the holographic interface in front of her. All the while, she nodded her head towards the far end of the room.

“Who’s the girl?”

Tony had to look to see what she was talking about. More importantly, who she was talking about.

Wanda had been so quiet, he nearly forgot she was there.

Apparently, so had they all. The girl stood in the furthest corner of the room, somehow managing to evade even the Dora Milaje in the process. Her hands wrapped so tightly around herself that the seams of her green jacket were taut and close to ripping. There was very little of her face to be seen, most covered by the lackluster red of her hair. No doubt purposefully so.

“Wanda Maximoff,” Tony supplied, eyeing her up and down, and silently noting just how withdrawn she’d become since — well, the bridge incident, if he were to originate a point in time. He shook off the thought, turning back to Shuri. “She’s here to...tame the symbiote. If anything were to happen.”

A muted noise drew from above. Tony briefly looked up — it was the most sound any of the Wakandian technology had made so far. And yet the clunky little device suspended high up in the air was as small as a StarkPad.

Only, it began to glow purple.

“And exactly how is that possible?” Shuri asked. If a voice could ooze incredulity, hers would have been chocking on it.

“She’s a witch,” Clint was quick to step in and answer, his voice dry and yet somehow also sounding proud. It was an odd mix. But for the others, it made sense.

For Shuri, it made none.

“Oh.” She paused, for the first time since beginning her work. Her hands froze in position, stuck mid-air. Hovering on an ambiguous workstation as her brain tried to compute what she was just told.

Tony wouldn’t deny taking pleasure in that.

“Yeah,” he smugly said, with a grin that matched his tone. “We got a couple tricks up our sleeves as well.”

Shuri looked like she wanted to throw sass right back at Tony — something was sitting on the very tip of her tongue, he could tell. And boy, would he have enjoyed whatever smart-ass, sarcastic banter she’d have for him to work with.

But the whole ‘witch’ thing had thrown her for a loop. Far harder than even she expected.

When Shuri returned to work on the interface, her movements were much slower than before. And noticeably, she kept turning to look at Wanda, each time her expression growing more fascinated than the last.

Off to the side, Okoye let out a low hum.

“You know,” she directed her attention to T’Challa without ever looking at him. “When you said you were going to open Wakanda to the rest of the world, this is not what I imagined.”

“And what did you imagine?” T’Challa placidly asked.

The glow from the apparatus above began to grow and expand, increasing in both intensity and width.

“The Olympics. Maybe a Starbucks.” Okoye watched the device carefully, the purple light beginning to reflect against her eyes. “Certainly not the housing of a sentient being and young girls who claim to be witches.”

Steve broke his gaze from the ceiling and looked towards Okoye with an expression that was understanding more than it was berating.

“It’s mutated enhancement, similar to Peter here,” he stated, one hand scantily motioning down to Peter. “Wanda, she’s got, sorta...well, psionic abilities.”

It was the best way that Steve could describe her. It hadn’t even been a full three years Wanda had been in their lives, and if today had proved anything, her powers weren’t solidified in nature. They were still figuring her out.

She was still figuring herself out.

Steve frowned, watching as Wanda pressed herself as far up against the wall as she could. Judging by the reclusive stance she’d taken, that wasn’t a fact she was too keen on.

The last time Steve saw her so afraid to use her powers had to be after Lagos. 

“We don’t know how,” Clint began, speaking what was already on everyone’s mind. “But she managed to level the playing field with our good ‘ol creature of the night.”

“Level the playing field?” Shuri’s brows tightly knitted together. “What do you mean?”

“She gave it the boot,” Tony simply answered. There was a moment of silence that told of Shuri’s confusion. When she didn’t catch on, Tony turned to Wanda herself. “Maximoff? Share with the class?”

Wanda didn’t say anything. Just gripped her jacket tighter.

“She’s shy,” Clint threw in, almost as a defense to her sudden, odd behavior. He definitely saw that look from Steve on his way to Wanda, and he definitely ignored it as he plopped himself against the wall next to her. “The symbiote tried saying hello on the ride over here. She packed its bags and kicked it out. End of story.”

If Wanda wanted to say anything in response, she didn’t have a chance.

“There was another outburst?” Shuri’s movements suddenly quickened, though not before exchanging a worrisome look with T’Challa.

Tony wasn’t bothered by Shuri’s nervousness. But he didn’t like seeing something similar cross over T’Challa’s face.

Steve looked between the two and raced to ease tensions.

“Narrowly,” he stressed, palm outwards in the air.

Shuri paused, only to ask him, “So there was an outburst, then?”

“I believe the word used here is narrowly.” Tony frowned, not liking what he heard in Shuri’s tone. And he definitely didn’t like the way she began to work on computer’s display — faster, and with far more purpose than before.

“Not narrowly,” Bruce said from across the lab, all the while shaking his head. “Not narrowly at all.”

Tony threw him a look, but didn’t get far in achieving an intimidating stare. Not that it would’ve ever bothered Bruce. The scientist was somehow immune to even his most terrorizing glares.

“Oh no, no. No no, that is not good.” Shuri brought up a load of holographic screens mid-air, a sudden array that clouded every open space between them. All stemming from nothing, and yet somehow connected somewhere. “If the symbiote has awoken again, then we must hurry.”

Tony’s eyes locked to each display, and he fought to absorb what he saw. Some weren’t even in English. Before he could count how many images had even appeared, a brief flick of Shuri’s wrist sent them away.

In its place, the device from above sounded to life, creating deep hum and a sweeping whir.

Tony shot his head up, only to be blinded by a spectacle of radiant purple that had him throwing his forearm across his eyes.

“Holy —” Clint’s swear was drowned out by Bruce’s, “Whoa.”

For a split moment, the laboratory was bathed in a regal, violet light. The walls shined in an iridescent mauve, no corner finding itself untouched. Quickly, the light narrowed, until its width was just that of Peter’s small frame.

“Every time the symbiote awakens, it not only uses the boy’s body as a source of energy,” Shuri began to explain, tossing the wool blanket off Peter in one, swift motion. “It gets closer to becoming a creature of its own.”

Tony unshielded his eyes, just in time to watch as the glow — and whatever it contained — descend down onto Peter.

“Hey, hey, hey!” He managed to jump three feet ahead in one leap, panic too lenient a term to describe what he felt. It was alarming to watch something completely unknown wash over Peter without so much an explanation — because it wasn’t like completely unknown substances hadn’t already gotten them into this mess.

Two spears crossed over one another, forming an X that blocked Tony’s path. He stopped dead in his tracks, so much that his sneakers squeaked along the resin floors.

“Relax, rich man,” Shuri responded almost immediately, her tone matching the eye roll that could’ve been seen miles away.

Tony wasn’t sure who to glare at harder. The Dora Milaje, keeping him barricaded to one spot. Or the teenage girl, tapping away endlessly on holographic interfaces.

He opted for the teenager. He had experience in that field.

And the Vibranium spears, rightfully, humbled him.

“Relax?” The purple illumination highlighted the crease between his brows. And nearly every damn stress line that found its way onto his face. “You got a drink stored away somewhere for me? Something strong, I hope — single malt would be fantastic right about now.”

Steve noticeably bit back a sigh. “Tony —”

“Because that’s about the only way I’m going to relax — especially with – with – with —” Tony’s finger shook wildly as he pointed to the apparatus above. “With that thing doing that thing,” he pointed down at Peter. Finger still shaking. “And not knowing what it is.”

“Tony.” Steve’s voice grew stronger.

“I’m just being candid here, Rogers,” Tony whipped towards him, “honesty all across the board —”

“It is a frequency mesh,” Shuri curtly interrupted them both. The two men turned to her in response. “I believe my brother mentioned something about trust? That can go both ways.”

Timidly, Bruce approached the cluster of folks, bypassing the Dora Milaje and their spears.

“What’s…” he eyed the apparatus from above, and then what holographic composition it brought downwards. “What’s – what’s —”

“What he said,” Tony sharply tossed in.

If they wanted answers before action, it was too late. The transparent, gauzy sheet of something took less than a few seconds to settle over Peter. Less than that to disappear entirely.

It took far longer than a minute for Tony’s heart rate to return to its normal rhythm.

The only saving grace was how little bothered Shuri looked. Even T’Challa, noticeably interested in the device and presumably as clueless as the others, didn’t seem to fret.

“My sister has created everything you see around you. And more that you don’t,” T’Challa casually mentioned. He unfolded his arms from his chest, at the same time the Dora Milaje uncrossed their spears. “I understand your apprehension over what may be required to treat the boy. It is best to remember that we walk this journey together. We are discovering, just as you are discovering.”

Tony unclenched his jaw by force, and then again when a static haze began to flicker of Peter’s unconscious form.

And then again when Bruce pushed his way past him, his fascination at the technology clearly driving the wheel of his bran.

“Okay. I concede.” Tony meekly raised his hands to the air. “Fire away on all cylinders, Marie Curie.”

Shuri’s resistance to continue didn’t last long. Tony was almost ashamed at himself; it was as if she were more than used to people doubting her intelligence.

But she didn’t give him longer to linger on the thought.

“It’s a skin binding, electromagnetic, strictly modulated frequency mesh,” Shuri began, pulling up diagrams via her wrist. “Using micro-doses of Vibranium—”

“This uses Vibranium!?” Bruce gawked, one finger sharply pointing down to Peter.

Tony slapped his finger away and glared.

Expectedly, it did nothing to intimidate the scientist. It never did.

“As I was saying.” Shuri resisted the urge to roll her eyes for the upteempth time. “It uses micro-doses of Vibranium to seal and lock onto his body, binding to the epidermis of the skin and essentially creating a second layer to the stratum.”

Across from Tony, Steve hummed. Tony wasn’t sure what all of that he actually understood, but he’d give the man credit for trying to understand.

Tony, well — he had questions.

“You gave the rugrat sunscreen?”

Clint beat him to it.

“It is not —” Shuri couldn’t hold back. She rolled her eyes. “The frequency mesh bonds to —”

“That’s similar to the new skin! Right, Tony?” Bruce looked to Tony, who seemed one bursting blood vessel away from an aneurysm. When it was painfully apparent the man didn’t want to engage, Bruce turned back to Shuri — excited as a puppy. “It’s this — this — well, its a nanite cast, basically. A mesh material of nanobot technology that promotes bone growth at five times the rate of normal healing. We created it a few months ago, for – for Pete, here, actually. It healed a tibial fracture in...one week? Was it one week, Tony?”

“One week and two days.” Tony found himself clenching his jaw again. He was going to need to see a dentist when all this was over with. “Focus on the problem at hand, yes?”

Shuri’s hands moved a few translucent images to the side, clearing a path way to show her face, and just how high up her eyebrows jumped.

“So...you created our kinetic skeleton, then?”

The excitement drained out of Bruce at record breaking speed.

“Uhhh…” he drawled out, forcing a tight smile that pulled painfully at his cheeks. His glasses slipped and he didn’t bother moving to adjust them. “I...guess so.”

Tony roughly, and rather loudly, clapped his hands together.

“Bring it back in, everybody,” he sharply threw out. “Present moment, please and thank you.”

Deaf ears surrounded him. Either that, or they were purposefully ignoring him, and that was an option Tony refused to venture down.

“We’ve had that for ages.” Shuri smirked at Bruce, her grin only growing larger the more defeated the older man appeared.

T’Challa tilted his head to the side. “Sister…”

Tony wasn’t the only one being ignored. Shuri didn’t so much as spare her brother a look.

“Our ancestors created it,” she told Bruce.

“They did no such thing, Shuri,” T’Challa scolded, going to rest his hand on Bruce’s shoulder, only to be politely waved away.

To the side, Steve audibly cleared his throat. “With all due respect in asking, how does this —”

“—work!” Tony quickly jumped in. And not a moment too soon. He didn’t want to see the result of his agitation mixing together with his anxiety. It sounded downright nuclear. “How does it work? You’re speaking infra-sound — temporal frequency. Since when did noise become player number two in this game?”

Shuri pointed a finger at Tony, but not in disdain. It was enthusiasm.

“Exactly!”

“Exactly what?” There was that nuclear feeling of Tony’s again. He held off making a face in lieu of letting his hands ball into fists, hoping he could channel all the frustration down into his fingertips.

Shuri hastily moved holograms out of the way until finally, she landed one singular image. It was part of the documents they had received from Steve.

From OsCorp.

“When did noise come into play? That’s the question.” She enlarged the hologram before stepping back. “Because it was never intended that way — the symbiote derived from the Oz Formula, and Oz was designed as artificial biogenic mutage. Cell destruction, and cell alteration, have nothing to do with sound.”

“Unless...it comes from cell alteration to the tympanic membrane,” Bruce theorized, more unsure of his answer than anything. “Maybe the ear drums were re-wired for noise sensitivity?”

Shuri shook her head. “No, because that would have to mean the symbiote’s main purpose is functional. Which was —”

“The cure for cancer,” Tony hastily joined in. “An organism that would take form as a genetic body suit and eliminate cancerous cells and tumors as they appear.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Shuri started, gesturing tepidly to where Peter laid. Another wave of static cast over his body, this time less noticeable than before. It looked eerily similar to diminishing white noise on a television. “But the symbiote that has bonded with this boy is not the symbiote intended to exist.”

“It's his DNA that makes it work — it relies on the markers on the radioactive spider they created, the same one that kicked the bucket after biting him. But his DNA was never used in the trials,” Tony’s reply was dry. And correct. “Once this sucker got a taste of his DNA, it became —”

“A creature of its own.” Shuri finished for him. Though not in the way Tony expected.

The sudden unease that overtook her voice was enough to set his teeth on edge.

“Every time the symbiote awakens,” she needlessly pointed to the holograms, “it won’t just use his body as a source of fuel. It gets closer, and closer, to becoming a creature of its own.”

A highly charged silence washed over the lab. In the time that followed, the mesh that embedded along Peter’s skin flickered and fritzed a total of three times. The last static outburst was barely visible, as if nothing had ever touched him in the first place.

Clint frowned, pushing himself off the wall with the heel of his boot.

“What does that mean?” he asked, as tense as his bow string.

Shuri turned to look at him, before looking at the others in front of her.

“It means even one more appearance of the symbiote could kill Peter. And from there, his body will just be used as…” she trailed off. “As a host.”

They were talking about death again. Tony swore he left that talk back in New York.

“Sound, Shuri,” he urged, no shortage of weight to his tone. “What’s the hypothesis?”

For the first time since they met, Tony saw the look of uncertainty cross into Shuri’s features. Confidence had been replaced with doubt, and every bit of it showed.

“Honestly...it is an assumption,” Shuri admitted. “I believe if just enough frequency of sound is kept on the epidermis of his skin, it’ll prevent the symbiote from arising through his pores. A barrier. The micro-doses of Vibranium will provide just that. It’s temporary, of course, but it should give us time to figure out how we remove the symbiote from his DNA.”

Steve took a step back from the gurney, almost to give himself room to examine the situation.

“And this will work?” His eyes slid to Shuri as he asked the question, but it wasn’t her who answered.

“We’re about to find out.” T’Challa stepped forward, passing both Steve and Shuri on his way.

In his hand was a small, rectangle object. No bigger than Steve’s pinky, and softer at that. It was made obvious when a dull crack was heard, the item broken in half only by the force of T’Challa’s fingers.

“ Vuka, young child,” T’Challa coaxed softly, waving the small piece underneath Peter’s nose in back and forth motions. “The time for sleep is no more.”

Bruce leaned in, nearly chest-to-gurney as he eyed the little object between T’Challa’s fingers.

“That’s...that’s – that’s incredible. Does it – is it kinetic energy? How does it work?” His rambling came with an overwhelming sense of child-like fascination, and eagerly, Bruce turned to look at T’Challa with curiosity that he couldn’t contain. “What is that?”

T’Challa didn’t look his way as he deadpanned, "Smelling salts."

With a startling gasp, Peter awoke beneath them.

“Whoa, whoa!” Tony placed a firm hand on Peter’s buckling shoulder, keeping him in place. “Easy, Underoo’s, easy…”

A harsh, rattling gasp filled Peter’s lungs with air, managing to sound wet and dry all at the same time. A shallow exhale followed not a moment later, his head bouncing off the gurney as he fell back against the bed.

The force alone was enough to rattle his body.

Peter stared up at the ceiling, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. The smell of ammonia slowly left his nostrils, though a slight burn definitely lingered in the air. With watery eyes, he blinked and blinked, struggling to see anything that wasn’t a blurry figure hovering over him.

There were a lot of blurry figures hovering over him.

When Tony’s face finally came into focus, he decided that was good enough.

“...hi?” Peter croakily managed. The smile he gave clearly wasn’t as comforting as he’d hope it would be, because it did nothing to strip the worry off Tony’s face.

The next face that came into his line of view, however, smiled right back at him.

Shuri waved. “Hello, broken white boy, number three.”

 

 

In just an hour, Shuri had managed to gather all the details she possibly could on the symbiote.

And then some.

And to Tony’s surprise, even more after that. All in the span it took him to find some coffee in what Wakanda considered to be their most advance, sky towering Citadel. Taller than the waterfall seen outside the many windows he passed by.

“Color me impressed, your highbrow highness.” Tony eyed the screens intently as he walked inside, studying every diagram, calculation, formula — everything that spread out across the room. There was enough and some to spare. Triple, maybe quadruple what they arrived with.

Shuri smirked, with an eye-roll that followed. “How adorable that you think your opinion of me matters.”

Her fingers typed swiftly on the translucent keyboard beneath her, lighting up in sparks of purple that matched the monitors lining the wall. They encircled the lab, a broad ring of screens that bordered the room.

Shuri stayed center to it all. Working in fast but efficient movements, her eyes darting wildly but precisely at her surroundings. There was absolutely no criticizing her methods behind it all — especially considering in the mere hour since they had transferred Peter to the infirmary halls of the Citadel, she’d managed to discover…

Well — all of this.

“Bruce?” Tony set down his coffee cup as he snapped his fingers twice, never looking up from the screen in front of him. “C’mhere. Take a look.”

In the time that it took Bruce to shuffle his way across the lab, Tony had since enlarged the illustration on the monitor. A single pinch of his fingers and it rendered the hologram 3D, bringing it outwards from the computers and towards the middle of the room. Floating in the space between them all.

It sparked Steve’s attention. Having been leaning against one of the consoles, he straightened his back and stepped forward, all with a crease deepening between his brow.

“If you had to guess,” Tony started, turning towards Bruce. “What’s it look like to you —”

“Like it’s thinking.”

There was no hesitation on Bruce’s part.

Shuri paused her work, watching as the man attentively circled the hologram, nearly walking into it more than once. Along the way, the purple skeleton of its composition bled into his clothes and accentuated the crevices of his face; canyons that weaved through his skin, easily making him seem ten years older than what he actually was.

Or maybe that was just stress doing what it did best.

Suddenly, Bruce spun on his feet. Facing Shuri directly. “When you said it would become a creature of its own —”

“And what?” Shuri asked. “Did I stutter?”

Across from them, Steve’s eyebrows drew tightly together with confusion.

“What does that entail, exactly?” he asked. His eyes drifted to the spinning hologram, but he mostly stayed focused on the others. “We’ve seen the symbiote — in the flesh. We fought up against it. How much more alive can this thing get?”

Shuri opened her mouth to answer when Bruce beat her to the punch.

“What’s right here — what we’re seeing now —” Bruce wagged his finger straight into the hologram. It barely even fritzed at contact. “This isn’t the organism from OsCorp’s reports. It may have started that way, but this a cerebrum. A brain. This has taken on a whole new form.”

“Birthed a new form,” Shuri explicitly corrected, making her keyboard disappear with a simple wave of her hand. “It has spawned life by taking another’s.”

Eagerly, she stepped away from her console and around the rest of the computers, approaching Bruce in the center.

“In just the few weeks this symbiote has gained a host, it has found ways to thrive of the sources it feeds from.” She stopped short of being a few feet to the 3D image. Staying just far enough away that the light barely reflected on her face. “Creating intelligent life, intentionally or not.”

“Very intelligent life, at that,” Bruce muttered. More than once he circled the diagram and its spinning features, examining it all the way down to its core. If he concentrated harder, Tony was worried the vein bulging on the side of his temple would finally burst.

And that said a lot, considering the near-Hulk out they’d just encountered.

Finally he stopped, turning to Tony with a finger that pointed inside the hologram. Deep enough that it finally sparked a burst of light, a burnt fuchsine that ignited brightly.

“Look at this. These neurons, the synapses between the lateral and medial receptors…” A chilling demeanor washed over Bruce, a cold sweat that nearly glistened on his skin. “Tony, this is organic intelligence.”

The hologram continued to spin. Slowly, giving time for them to absorb all its traits and features.

With the way Bruce looked, he may have well been handed the codes to all the nuclear weapons in the world.

It wasn’t the first time Tony had seen the scientist ladened with knowledge.

“It sure as hell picked the right DNA to snack on.” Sullenly, Tony leaned against the nearest console bench, and frowned. “In more ways than one.”

Twenty thousands questions raced through his head, in a voice he couldn’t ignore. None giving him enough time to focus on a single answer. They flooded his head like a dam broken across a river.

Would the symbiote have progressed this far, and this fast, had it found someone who had half of Peter’s IQ? If someone had Peter’s arachnid DNA but the common sense of a caveman, would the symbiote even thrive in such a dreary, brainless environment?

Yet the most pressing of all was the unknown.

Knowing what the symbiote possessed, but not knowing what all it could do.

The unease noticeably sinking into his muscles was one both Tony and Bruce both felt before. Familiar, but daunting. A time that ended with an entire country falling to ruins at the hands of their own brilliance.

This was different, of course.

But the fear was all the same.

Tony’s brows pulled together, and he could feel the skin across his forehead tightening in thought. Ultron was made of them, after all. Traits of both Tony and Bruce fused together with the far off aspirations of achieving better access to world peace.

The same couldn’t be said for the symbiote.

No, this creature was draining Peter’s intelligence for its own survival. Taking his smarts for his own. Downright thievery.

And if they didn’t hurry up, that same intelligence would be used against them.

Tony hummed to himself. So it was a little bit like Ultron, after all. Go figure.

“So,” Steve frowned, his back noticeably stiffening, “to answer the question —”

“Very,” Bruce curtly answered. He turned to face Steve fast enough to give himself whip-lash. “It’ll be very alive.”

Suddenly, Shuri’s shoes hammered across the resin floors of the lab. Picking up a pace that only added to the anxiety beating inside Tony’s chest.

“It is as I said before,” she quickly crossed one end of the room to the next, picking a single console out of the many. “Just one more emergence could be all the symbiote needs for total and complete autonomy of its own.”

As Shuri went to typing on the keyboards, Bruce stepped away from the hologram.

Right as Steve stepped forward.

“This isn’t just a poison that’s killing Peter…” Steve concluded. The closer he approached, the more the light reflected across his eyes. Adding a purple tint to his otherwise neutral skin color.

Looking at him, Tony’s expression went grim.

“It’s siphoning his life forces,” he needlessly added, a rasp in his voice fracturing his facade. The distress underneath his words was visceral. Enough to break Steve’s fortitude, though only for a brief moment. “Sucking away every bit of juice needed to jump start its own battery.”

Sometimes things didn’t need to be said. By the look on Tony’s face, Steve was sure this was one of those times.

He didn’t see despair on Tony often. Stress, anger, frustration and denial, sure. But despair was force of its own. Reserved for the end of the road.

Two floors up and Peter laid in the Wakanda infirmary halls. Dead man walking in the eyes of the SHIELD experts back home. A hail mary attempt being the most the people of Wakanda could offer.

The symbiote would eat Peter alive until he was nothing but a shell of skin and bones. Their eleventh hour was closely approaching midnight, and they were out of luck unless they could remove it.

“What happens then?” Steve looked around to the trio. All three of them, individually. His unease only increased with each passing glance. “What happens if the symbiote gets what it needs from Peter, and it becomes…”

The unspoken ate into the air with a fierce hunger. Steve briefly looked to the opaque lab doors, right to the exit that would lead them not far from the infirmary bays and where Peter stayed.

His eyes stayed there when he spoke again.

“What happens if becomes a creature of its own?”

The way Shuri looked, she didn’t seem eager to answer the question.

Luckily, Tony was ahead of them all.

“FRIDAY,” he announced to no one in particular. His jaw clenched as he whipped a pair of glasses from his back pocket, sliding them onto his face with ease. “Use this module and combine it with the specimen samples taken from Peter an hour ago. Toss it in a blender and give me the most likely scenario.”

A pause was the only thing heard next. Shuri furrowed her brows and even Steve looked a bit puzzled, watching as Tony stared intently at the hologram that spun in the middle of the room.

Nothing changed. The skeleton remained the same, the structure unchanged, still glistening with a sharp purple that lit the lab in a violet overcast.

Suddenly, Tony tapped a single finger on the side of the frames. It shot a projection right out from within, casting over Shuri’s diagram in the process. Not just an overlay, but consuming it from top to bottom.

Once completed, and free from his AI, Tony removed the glasses and returned them to his back pocket.

“Still want that answer, Cap?” he solemnly asked.

Turning back around, Steve frowned, facing the new picture ahead. The rendering had a bright glow that mirrored colors onto his face, but it was different from before. Darker, turning his ocean blue eyes into a deep, ominous mauve.

Slowly, it morphed into nothing but blackness. And remained that way.

Steve wasn’t a man of science. Surrounded by the intelligence of those around him, he considered himself barely above average. On a good day.

But he knew a monster when he saw one. And staring ahead at Tony’s hologram, that was the exact thought that crossed his mind. It stuck there, too, replaying on repeat and shaking his nerves with a foreboding fear he hadn’t felt in quite some time.

What started as a deformed, shape of a brain evolved into a sinister face. Something with eyes and teeth of its own — more teeth than Steve could count. Sharp and piercing, littering the mouth with tiny daggers, dripping in its own sludge.

The eyes stared right back at him. Enormous and white, with no pupils dotting the center. So large that they consumed half of its face, or whatever name could be given to the distorted, unsightly figure.

It was monster.

Through and through.

“We can’t let a creature like that exist,” Steve murmured, wondering where the strength in his voice had gone. He cleared his throat, but the knot in his chest barely cut loose.

Bruce let out a mirthless huff. “Nah, I think it sounds like a fun Friday night.”

Steve didn’t share his sense of humor. Grimly, he folded his arms across his chest, growing stiffer than a board.

“Will the frequency mesh keep it dormant until we figure this out?” he asked.

“Theoretically,” Shuri answered, a slight shrug rustling the orange lab coat that she wore. “The symbiote emerges at the presence of excited neurons. If the frequency mesh should fail, all we have to do is keep Peter emotionally stable.”

Bruce couldn’t keep his chuckle hidden well enough.

“You’re saying we need to keep a hormonal sixteen-year-old teenager from getting moody?” Bruce twisted around, his eyebrow up high. “Tony?”

There wasn’t a beat that followed his answer.

“Still keep that bag of weed on you?” Tony dryly asked, forcibly keeping his voice light.

Bruce blinked.

“I, uh…” A modest cough rose from his throat, right as his eyes cast towards Shuri.

Her lips tugged in a smirk.

Whatever grin Tony may have had quickly fell as he met Steve’s glare, head-on. He failed to find any humor in the moment, and it was painstakingly obvious. A burden of agency suddenly weighed insurmountably on his shoulders.

It was a look Tony had seen before. Countless times, in fact. A look that burned his skin dry and clenched his chest with an iron clad hand. The determination that set across the soldiers face meant one thing and one thing only.

He’d do whatever he needed, at all cost, to stop whatever threat came to existence.

It was the look he saw in Sokovia. When the man was ready to put his life on the line to stop the destruction Ultron had created.

It was the look he saw in Berlin. When he chose to fight for Bucky, forgoing his leadership on the team and creating a permanent stain in the process.

It was the same look he saw in Queens, not even twenty-four hours ago. When his priority number one was stop Peter. At all cost.

The grimace that fell across Tony’s face was jarring, and stringent. And he made sure Steve saw it.

“I was hoping I could begin the DNA separation based off the specimen samples we gathered,” Shuri’s voice broke through, the typing on her keyboard seeming to increase before stopping entirely. She held back a sigh. “But I can’t tell Peter’s DNA from the symbiote cells. It has completely coalesced with him.”

Steve tore his focus from Tony, turning to the younger girl without much satisfaction.

“No offense, but no news isn’t good news for us right now,” he needlessly stated. “We need answers, and we need them fast.”

Shuri looked at a loss.

“I’m afraid I don’t have them right now.” Her honesty bleed raw. The teetering hopelessness that reflected in her eyes almost didn’t match the outstanding confidence she wore just a minute prior. “My best shot is the DNA separation, but I cannot do it without the raw form of the symbiote to derive from. And there’s no way to create a cure without separating the two. I might be able to try...but it could take time.”

“How much time?” Steve asked. There was a noticeable edge to his tone. Taking on the place of a leader that needed to think critically, and losing the weakness of empathy that seeped into his words prior.

Tony wasn’t shy of noticing. He never was.

Shuri shrugged, apologetic while remaining circumspect.

“However much you can give me,” she answered. “But I’m afraid Peter may not have that.”

Steve found his eyes drifting towards the lab doors again. It turned out he wasn’t the only one; both Tony and Bruce seemed to gravitate there as well.

They had hoped to buy more time coming to Wakanda. As it turned out, it barely granted them a handful of hours.

Tony seemed the most frustrated of all. The energy radiating from him was palpable, to the point where not even Bruce wanted to stand too close to him.

If the man pulled any harder at his goatee, he’d be clean shaven by the end of the day.

Shuri took a deep inhale before continuing her work on the consoles. “If there’s any way you can get a sample here —”

"I'm sorry, what?" Tony suddenly balked, hand dropping from his face at record breaking speed. “You think this thing is just laying on-top his nightstand, stuffed between some dirty socks and gym shorts?”

This earned him a look from Shuri. “It had to come from somewhere, no?”

A look that Tony threw right back at her.

“Yeah,” he drawled out. “A lab. At OsCorp. In Manhattan, New York. It’s not like we have leftovers stored away somewhere in the fridge for you to warm up and test.”

“You’re right, though, Tony. It came from OsCorp.” It was Steve’s turn to earn a heated glare from Tony. Any hotter and Shuri was worried it might be the first thing in history to destory Vibranium. “Is there any way you can get back inside there? Grab what samples they have left?”

Bruce saved Tony from answering — which all in all was a good thing, considering he planned to spew a string of insults that would’ve left Steve’s head reeling.

“It doesn’t matter,” Bruce stated, giving a small shake of his head along the way. “He could grab the whole caboodle and it wouldn’t make a difference. Each symbiote was different, completely altered from the next. They were altering the design to try and get it to stick — which it won't do without the markers of the spider DNA. What we need is the one that bonded with Peter.”

“And it bonded with Peter. It’s on him. In him.” Tony gestured out the lab doors. “You want it? You know where he is.”

For a second, Shuri let her gaze linger on both men, her eyes most noticeably attached to Tony. It contained that sense of dismay from before. It wasn’t hard to tell that she wanted to do more, but even her technology had limits. As did her intelligence.

She didn’t bother hiding the way that made her feel. Perhaps demoralized, but likely troubled more than anything.

'Creature of its own’ began to ring in Tony’s ears. Anyone would be troubled after hearing that.

“I will do what I can without the original symbiote,” Shuri slowly voiced aloud. “But if there’s even a slight chance you could find me a sample...”

She decided to leave the rest unsaid.

The tension that filled the lab was suffocating. Feeding off the friction that came long before they landed on the soils of Wakanda.

Tony looked to Steve. Though vehement at first, it lost intensity along the way. Falling victim to the slough of despair that strangled them captive.

And in return, Steve nodded.

 

 

The chewing coming from the other end of his phone sounded an awful lot like the Quinjet engines. Boisterous, loud, downright ear-splitting. He was about to go deaf, no doubt about it.

Peter wasn’t sure if that was an exaggeration or not. All he knew was MJ’s chewing was really, really loud.

The silence that stretched on between them surely didn’t help.

"So…" she finally said, adding five extra syllables to a word that also took five extra seconds to say.

Peter knew, because he counted. Each one.

MJ popped a bubble from her chewing gum.

And kept chewing.

“Yeah…” Peter struggled to nod, his head feeling like someone had dumped cement through the empty spaces of his skull. Just moving his neck was like lifting a car.

He’d lifted a car before, so he was allowed to use that euphemism. Right?

“I, uh…yeah.”

The crease between Peter’s eyebrows deepened. Articulation wasn’t his strong suit right about now. And man, did it show.

His phone shook a little bit in his grip. He wasn’t sure what felt heavier — his head, feeling like six bowling balls fused together, or the cell phone, the little device suddenly a concrete brick in his hand.

MJ nodded. Her head, at least, looked a lot lighter than his felt.

"Yeah," she elegantly managed.

Okay, so they both weren’t at their most articulate.

Great.

More silence followed. It made each throb of his head all the more unrelenting. Peter rubbed at his eyes with his one hand, while the other held onto the cell phone. Making sure to keep it somewhat near his face where MJ could just barely see him.

"You look like shit."

Okay, so she could see him. And she decided to make that very well known.

“Yeah, I’m —”

"Like, if a dog ate dog shit and then shit out that —"

“I know!” Peter rubbed even harder at his eyes. Any more force and his eyelids were bound to peel away completely. “I know, I know. I didn’t want —”

Any of this.

He didn’t want any of this.

Peter sighed. It felt like his umpteenth sigh since calling her. And it wasn’t even like their conversation had been very long — it’d have been even shorter if he didn’t promise her Mr. Stark would pay the roaming charges to her parents cell phone plan. At this point, he deserved to win a prize or something. One thousandth sigh, one thousandth customer and all that?

“I’m sorry. Really, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to see me like...this.”

Suddenly, regret began to sink through every tense muscle in his body. This was a mistake. Why did he call her?

“I just…I just really needed you to know.”

Right.

That’s why he called her.

A pause stole his voice. Peter adjusted himself in bed, bringing the phone up higher where he could see MJ. And, unfortunately, vice-versa.

MJ nodded. This time, her head seemed a little heavier than before.

"Well…" she chewed a little bit, before giving a gulp that surely took her gum with it. Peter wanted to mention that was bad for her stomach, but thankfully he still had a few brain cells left to keep his mouth shut. "Now I know."

Peter hadn’t even told Ned yet. A hasty, scrambled, poorly thrown together text message was the best he could offer his friend in light of the time restraints given to him.

And, oh yeah, the bizarre reality that was his life and all the weirdness that came with it.

Sometimes he wondered if even the most skilled author would be able to properly articulate his problems. Maybe one day he’d sell his biography as science fiction to a ghost writer and make bank off it. Lemonade out of lemons, right?

In all reality, he didn’t know what to say to Ned.

Everything had gotten so out of hand, so fast, and suddenly here he was on a whole other continent. On the other side of the world. He promised to explain everything later — and he would. Double pinky promise on it, with a bag of Jolly Ranchers thrown in for good measure.

But MJ needed the truth now. Jolly Ranchers wasn’t going to fix what happened between them, and letting it go unaddressed would only make things so much worse.

But saying the truth felt weird.

"You have the worst luck, Parker."

That got a laugh out of Peter. It was as if she had been reading his thoughts.

“You don’t know the half of it.” He smiled weakly, enough that a bit of his teeth could be seen. The halfhearted grin didn’t quite reach his eyes, but the laugh did manage to leave a dull ache in his chest. In a good way. The kind of feeling he realized he hadn’t felt in a while.

“Things have been...insane.” Peter rubbed the nape of his neck, keeping his phone where she could see only parts of his face. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her off with how Walking Dead he was looking. “But I promise to tell you all of it. Eventually. Whenever this all blows over.”

He looked straight into the phone – something he’d barely done since calling her. It was the first time he noticed she was in her PJ’s, with her hair pulled back into a loose bun, and an over-sized shirt hanging loosely against her collarbones. It made sense — it was nighttime back in the states.

Peter didn’t know what time it was here. Or what day it was. Quite frankly, he didn’t want to know, either. It would just make this situation all the more sucky.

“I needed you to know how sorry I am.” There was no sugar coating it. No beating around the bush.

Peter brought the phone higher, no longer ashamed of the dark bags that wreathed his canary stained eyes lifeless. Or the ghostly shade that painted his skin a rubbery gray.

He needed her to see him for this.

“When I kissed you, I…” Peter stammered, feeling his heart skyrocket into his throat. It was like each pulse tore into his vocal cords, making it hard to speak through a swollen windpipe. “I should’ve known better. I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t —”

"Kissing me didn’t upset me," MJ interrupted, quickly. Like the words couldn’t come out fast enough.

Peter balked. For a split moment, his brain had shut off.

“What?”

It was MJ’s turn to bring her phone higher, further into view. She bounced a little as she adjusted herself on her own bed, surrounded by pillows far comfier than what Peter had going for him.

Wakanda was great. But Wakanda could learn a lot from the Hampton Inn.

"I’m not...upset that we kissed," MJ admitted, one moment confident, only for the next to steal that away from her. A piece of hair fell from her bun, hiding part of her face from view. She didn’t move it out of the way.

Peter furrowed his brows. “You aren’t?”

That was absolutely, positively, not what he gathered from her reaction. Typically when someone slapped him, it was because they were angry. He’d never gotten a happy slap before.

Not that he was aware of, anyway.

"Well, I mean, I am," MJ backpedaled, after several moments of silence.

That. That was what Peter had gathered from her reaction.

"But I’m not."

Okay, now he was just confused.

Scratch that, baffled.

His head hurt. A lot. And this only made it worse.

"It’s stupid," MJ hastily insisted, a wave of her hand adding to her flustering. "It doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything."

There was a lot Peter could forget. Most of history class was on the top of that list. His failing essay that still stood to be re-written was proof of that. Getting eggs for May on his way home, that was something he forgot often. Which left breakfast much to be desired, usually a cold pop-tart or a stale piece of bread thrown in the toaster out of desperation.

But something like this was far too important to forget.

He wasn’t sure why. He just knew when it came to MJ, it mattered.

“MJ…you can tell me anything.” He cleared his throat, suddenly finding it swollen with a lump that made his eyes water. “I’m really sorry, I never meant to —”

"I didn’t want my first kiss to be in the school library, okay!?" ”

Her outburst was sudden. And loud — it bounced off the walls of the rather large room they had placed Peter in.

And yet it made sense.

Peter’s eyes widened, before he blinked. And then again.

And again.

“Oh.”

And again.

And he thought he wasn’t able to articulate before. Genius IQ out the window, and all it took was a few choice words from a girl to render him dumb.

"Yeah," MJ curtly, and quietly, tossed back.

It was strange. Peter never thought silence had a sound. But the silence that followed was downright thunderous, to the point that he could feel his skin crawl.

He was kinda mad that Wakanda tech didn’t produce any noise. Even Tony’s tech, as advanced as it was, always held some sort of muffled hum. The least all the machinery surrounding him could do was fill the soul crushing quiescence that followed two teenagers awkwardly confessing their feelings to one another.

MJ’s bed made a sound as she sunk down into the plethora of pillows that surrounded her. It was more noticeable without either of them speaking.

"Girls think about that stuff, Parker." She sounded embarrassed, but Peter didn’t noticed. All he could focus on was her pillows.

Peter was lowkey jealous. He only had one pillow.

“Oh,” he repeated. And he said nothing else.

“"Yeah," MJ repeated. "I didn’t...picture it happening in the school library. That’s it. Okay?" ”

And she said nothing else.

Peter’s eyes wandered away from the phone, drifting aimlessly to places in the room that failed to hold his attention. The machines, the walls, the floors — anything was better than looking at MJ.

It was like looking at disappointment in its raw form. Disappointment that he caused.

Peter wasn’t sure he could handle that burden. Knowing that he brought on that sort of jaded bitterness to someone he cared about.

Someone he really cared about.

"But I did picture it being with you."

Like magnetic tension, his eyes were pulled right back to the screen of his phone.

Peter quirked his eyebrows high. “Oh?”

A feeling fizzled in his chest. Not bad. Nothing painful. Certainly nowhere near the realm of the crushing pressure in his head, or the drag in his muscles. Let alone the never relenting squeeze on his stomach — how could he still be nauseous, there was nothing left in his stomach.

No, it was a good feeling. He wasn't sure what it was, exactly. All he knew was the only time he ever felt it, it was because of MJ.

She scoffed at him. “Bring that vocabulary to the decathlon meet and you’re sealing our fate to losing this semester.”

The change in subject was both refreshing and devastating at the same time. Peter barely refrained from groaning, offering her a look that he hoped appeared as remorseful and sympathetic as he felt.

“How bad are things with Flash in my spot?”

MJ arched an eyebrow so high, it was a feat that it didn’t fly off her face.

"Let me put it this way…" she made a low humming sound from her chest, with her lips growing super thin — it was what she always did when deep in thought. "The sooner you’re home, the better."

Peter made a noise that could probably pass as a chuckle. He had a feeling MJ wanted to say a lot more than that. Perhaps if he didn’t look like road kill rotting in the summer heat, she may have given him a harder time.

Nah, there was no doubt about it. She definitely would’ve given him a harder time.

“Fair enough,” he settled on saying, leaning backwards into the one, lonely pillow that rested behind his neck.

MJ looked elsewhere for a moment — her bedroom door, perhaps, but Peter couldn’t be too sure. Almost as quickly, she turned back to her phone.

"Peter?"

He looked like a deer in the headlights, hearing her say his name.

Peter swallowed nervously, managing only a quiet, “hm?”

There was hesitation on MJ’s part. Her silence seemed to imply that she wasn’t sure what to say, when in reality Peter could tell it was the opposite. The words were always there, she just never knew how to express them.

Finally, she looked into the lens of her phone. Her eyes dead-set on his, and unwavering at that.

"Come home soon."

The earnest, unashamed emotion that soaked into her words was more than enough for Peter.

He gave a nod of his head. The strongest he could manage.

“Gonna do my best.”

Shuffling sounded from the phone as MJ rolled onto her side, curling into a tight ball in the bundle of pillows she laid against. They covered half her face, while the rest could still be seen. She seemed to hold her phone closer as she laid down in bed, to the point where mostly her eyes and nose filled Peter’s screen.

He didn’t mind. She had pretty eyes.

"Good," MJ whispered, her voice pitching towards the end.

Thud after thud nearly matched the pounding of Peter’s heartbeat. The footsteps that approached could’ve been louder, and he wouldn’t have cared. The person who entered the room could’ve ran inside, knocked him flat off the bed, and it wouldn’t have mattered to him.

Peter didn’t look away from the phone. He didn’t want to stop seeing MJ.

Seeing MJ made him feel okay.

He missed feeling okay.

Maybe it was the frown that pulled at Peter’s face, or the way he refused to blink for what felt like an entire minute. But for a second time, it was like MJ had read his thoughts.

She forced a smile that said everything, and then some.

It was the least he could do to return it.

The footsteps stopped at the same time Peter tightened his grip on the device.

“I gotta go,” he found himself whispering as well, and unsure why.

MJ didn’t nod, but the eyes that filled the screen seemed to reflect understanding.

"I know." Her face sunk further into her pillows, hiding her away almost completely.

With his other hand, Peter gave a meek wave goodbye.

She ended the call for him. It was a good thing; Peter wasn’t sure he would’ve had the strength to do it himself.

Just like that, the screen went to black. And for a split second, only his reflection stared back at him.

Damn. He really did look like shit.

The wallpaper of the smart phone appeared right after. The Stark Industries background was almost too bright for Peter’s eyes to handle, a sharp contrast of blue and white that threatened to burn a lasting image into his retinas.

Not cool. A hand reached down to his, gingerly taking the phone away from him. But the damage was done. The solar rays of light had left an imprint behind his eyes, something he would definitely argue was a form of subliminal advertising.

“Sure you don’t wanna call May?” Tony kept his voice quiet as he stuffed his phone deep into the back pocket of his jeans.

Peter shut his eyes and held them tight, managing the smallest shake of his head. Just enough that it didn’t make him puke whatever was still floating around in his stomach.

“Maybe later,” he managed, his face pinching together tightly in a way that made him look far older than sixteen. “It’s late, back home. I don’t wanna wake her up. And besides, I...I don’t want her to see me like this.”

Peter wanted to shake his head again, but quickly decided against it once the tilt-a-whirl ride started up inside his skull. And whoever was operating it needed some major re-training, because even as he sat still as a statue, the room would move in six different ways. It was like web slinging without the webs.

He hated every bit of it.

He hated all of this.

Off at his side, Tony made a sound that was sure to be a repressed chuckle.

“Not everything has to be face-time, kiddo,” he lightly chided, with no real heat behind his words. “You can always do it the old fashion way. Like us old people did before the internet was a thing.”

Peter looked over to him with a contemplative frown. “How’d you even survive without the internet?”

The fact Tony managed to not look one-hundred-percent done with the Peter’s sass was impressive on its own merits. But still, he couldn’t hold back the affronted huff that followed.

“Sometimes I forget just how young you are, Parker.” Tony leaned his hip against the bed, folding his arms over his chest until each hand sunk deep into his armpits.

“No you don’t.” Peter pushed himself up on his elbows, a coy grin tugging slightly on the edge of his lips. “You threatened to put my birth certificate in every hallway of the compound. You’re always mentioning my age.”

Tony craned his head over, til his cheek was practically resting on his shoulder. If he smiled, that was only because he hadn’t seen a shit-eating grin on Peter’s face in what seemed like ages.

There was no promises it would get the same response next time around.

“Yeah,” Tony said, “you’re right on the money with that.”

The smiles didn’t last long, not that either expected them to. Their current reality was too pressing for humor to be nothing more than a passing brevity.

When Peter said nothing, Tony shot him a cool stare.

“So…” he started, his head tilting further towards Peter. “Just a friend, huh?”

Peter let out a short bark of laughter, which sounded strained to Tony’s ears. His fingers began to fidget with the edges of the wool blanket that laid across his body. Tony noticed; it was a habit of nerves that never failed the kid.

“I’ll be lucky if she’s even a friend after all this,” Peter muttered, keeping his head low and out of sight.

Tony hummed, but didn’t push it.

Girl troubles sucked. But girl troubles were at the bottom of their totem pole.

The window at the end of the room showcasing the Wakanda wildlife far off in the distance spoke to that much.

Wakanda — Tony took a deep breath in, letting his eyes wander the room. Wakanda had proven to be something else. Exploring his surroundings, he found the Citadel infirmary’s were nearly as impressive as Shuri’s lab. High-tech and advance equipment closed around them at every corner, unfamiliar to his intellect and desperately calling for his attention.

God, if only he had the time to fiddle with it all.

There was no denying it, not even his pride would get in the way of that. Wakanda tech put him to shame, and he loved every bit of it.

It gave him hope. The frequency mesh alone was encouraging, having formed so close to Peter’s skin that the naked eye couldn’t see it. Even looking at the kid now, there wasn’t so much a flicker of static across his body. It was there; they assured him without reservation, despite his constant doubts. It was impressive, beyond what Tony could express.

If Shuri could throw that together in a just few hours, than surely they could make progress on removing the symbiote entirely.

Tony pursed his lips, deep in thought.

They had to; they didn’t have any other options.

“Mr. Stark?”

Peter’s voice croaked on the edges, nearly inaudible had Tony not been so close.

“Yeah, kid?” Tony looked down at him, allowing his exhaustion to be the root of his lackadaisical behavior. It was either that, or let the anxiety take over full force. There didn’t seem to be much middle ground these days.

Peter fidgeted even more with the wool blanket. “On like, a scale of one to ten —”

“No,” Tony immediately answered, looking right back at the window ahead.

“And ten being ‘this isn’t so bad’,” Peter never did take no for an answer, “and ten-thousand being ‘okay, we’re in a little bit of trouble—”

Tony bit back a groan. “Pete, we’re not going there —”

“I’m just saying. I’m under so much stress right now that my stress has its own stresses.” The fidgeting increased. Pieces of wool began to pile up underneath Peter’s fingers. “It doesn’t hurt to get a clear idea of things —”

“Oh, I’ve got a clear idea of all of this,” Tony dryly fired back, eyes still aimed directly out the window. Maybe if he looked hard enough he could catch an elephant out on the terrain. Because there certainly wasn’t any elephants in the room with him anymore.

Suddenly, Peter stopped. His head darted up to Tony, his brows pinching in a way that made his brown eyes look far too childlike for his frame.

“Mr. Stark…” he swallowed hard before continuing. “Dr. Strange couldn’t even help me. And he’s a wizard.”

Tony clenched his jaw. He didn’t like the way Peter sounded. Even more, he didn’t like hearing the facts from him. The kid was smart — incredibly smart. There was never any use in hiding the facts from him.

They had learned that lesson the hard way.

They both knew that if a man of magic couldn’t solve their problems, than they were in more than just a sticky situation.

To vocalize that much, Peter finally asked, “How screwed am I?”

And there it was. The elephant in the room long gone, stampeding freely outside with whatever other creatures Wakanda had to offer.

Tony ran his tongue across his front teeth, debating on how many ‘you’re fine, it’s fine, things are fine’ he could spew out before the lie wouldn’t be believed.

Unfortunately, it seemed they hit that mark around the time the Quinjet nearly crashed into the Atlantic ocean.

“Right now?” Tony waited a second to confirm Peter really wanted an answer. When he didn’t put up a fight, Tony twisted to face him head-on. “Okay, you’re...a little past that ten-thousand mark. Maybe closer to the twenty-thousands; I’m not sure, you have your own conceptualization thing going on here. Simple one-to-ten meter and you’re hovering on the nine.”

There was that middle ground thing again, rearing its ugly head for Tony to see. Pepper always did say that he either talked too little or talked too much. It was why she kept him out of most board meetings. That much was a blessing for him — the less time he spent in those conference rooms, the better.

Peter quickly looked away, and Tony held back a curse — full on biting his tongue once he caught the glisten of tears in Peter’s eyes.

Goddamn his mouth.

“Hey — but that’s why we’re here. We didn’t change time zones for no reason, right?” Tony grabbed his shoulder and squeezed tight, forcing his attention back where it belonged. “These people are smarter than you and I combined. Look around you — this is the next best thing to Strange. This is magic in the form of science. This is going to bring you right back down to a one. Or negative zero, I’m still not sure how your scale measures.”

When Peter didn’t look anywhere but at his hands, Tony leaned in and grabbed his other shoulder, holding both firmly.

“They’re gunna help us figure this out, Peter.” He forced himself into Peter’s line of sight, just enough that he was sure Peter could smell the freshly consumed coffee on his breath. “I promise you, okay?”

There was noticeable hesitation before Peter turned his gaze back on Tony. Part of it looked like he was too exhausted too move, and the shadows underneath his eyes testified to that.

“Yeah?” It came out in a breath, one that heaved his chest heavy. The treatments Wakanda had to offer were only stalling the inevitable, and each passing second showed.

Tony really wasn’t sure how the kid was up and talking. He’d seen corpses who looked better.

After this, he never wanted to see, or think about, parasites ever again.

“Absolutely.” Tony nodded. It was difficult to muster, but he forced what confidence he felt inside to show. For Peter’s sake. “They know what they’re doing, they got this in the bag. You’ll be right as rain in no time.”

Peter nodded, more by the second, eventually making enough movement that his whole neck wobbled. Tony wasn’t sure how much of his confidence was genuine, but Peter seemed to buy into it. And for him, that’s all that mattered.

Especially with what he had to say next.

“So hey, I gotta make a quick trip back home,” Tony forced out, his thumb pointing over his shoulder and to the doors.

Peter eyes had widened to the point that Tony was a little worried they might pop out of their sockets altogether.

“You’re leaving?” He struggled to sit up higher on the bed. “Already?”

“For an hour, tops. Two, at max.” Tony wasn’t surprised when that did nothing to console Peter. Why would it — he basically just admitted to abandoning the kid in a whole other continent. “Banner’s staying, he’s gunna watch you like a hawk. And the hawk will be here too, Barton's not going anywhere. It’s good, you’re gunna be fine.”

There was no doubt Peter had gotten to know Tony well over the last year or so. Because he sensed something off with every word Tony spewed out. Practically calling B.S without having to say a single thing in response.

He was smart. There was never any use in hiding the facts from him.

“Listen,” Tony sighed, letting one hand drop of Peter’s shoulder. The other stayed put. “They need a sample of the original symbiote. The real deal, raw and under-cooked, without your DNA swimming in the mix. It’s our only shot at getting this sucker out of you.”

Peter furrowed his brows. “Where are you going to get it?”

It was a million dollar question. Tony would pay his entire fortune for that answer.

Instead, all he could do was shrug.

“Can’t say for sure. I’ll re-trace your steps, rummage through your stuff. Maybe get lucky.”

It wasn’t the answer Peter wanted to hear.

It wasn’t the answer Tony wanted to give.

But it was the truth. If Shuri needed the original symbiote, and it was the best chance at Peter’s survival, then Tony had no other options. He had to take that chance while they could. As slim as it may have been.

Peter’s concern didn’t waver. It only intensified.

“What about SHIELD? And the government?” A grimace tightened his face when he tried to lift himself higher. Tony pushed him down, gently, a quiet urge not to move. Once the pain passed, Peter found himself looking up at him. “Aren’t they after you guys?”

Tony gave a meek shake of his head.

“Technically, no, they aren’t after us. Just whatever weapon they think landed in the compound.” Tony looked down at him. “And that’s what Rhodey’s there for. Pooh-bear is making them sniff in all the wrong places as we speak.”

Peter certainly didn’t seem completely reassured, but he had eased up enough that Tony could no longer feel his muscles threatening to rip apart underneath his grip.

He squeezed Peter’s shoulder once more before letting go, his hand falling carelessly to the oddly shaped guardrail of the bed.

“You know,” he began, “it would go a whole lot faster if you have any clues on where this thing latched onto you. OsCorp? School? Home?”

Peter's muscles tightened up again. Tony didn’t need to be touching him to know that much.

“I...I really don’t know, Mr. Stark.” Peter pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and rubbed aggressively. “Nothing out of the ordinary happened. I just...I started getting sick and..here I am.”

Tony wished he could let the subject drop as quickly as the girl troubles. Unfortunately, this wasn’t something they could talk about another day.

“Give me something to work with, kid,” he said. “What about your clothes? May do laundry yet? Was it the jeans with the ripped hole in the butt? What about your backpack — didn’t you ask me for a new one a couple weeks ago?”

Peter’s shoulders dropped.

“I like those jeans...”

“Focus, Parker.”

Peter hunched over, slightly, enough that the over-sized Wakanda tunic they dressed him in began to slip down his shoulders.

“What about my camera?” he asked, fixing to bring the cloth material higher up his body. “I had my camera with me when I was in OsCorp. Was there anything on my camera?”

“Yeah,” Tony scoffed, resisting to roll his eyes. “You had enough selfies to make an Instagram influncer jealous.”

Peter seemed more offended at the jab towards his jeans than the pictures. Still, he looked to Tony, a sense of hope just barely clinging onto him.

Tony shook his head.

“Sorry, kid.” He shot down that hope in an instant. Killing it without mercy. “Just the photos you took. No goo to be found.”

Tony sighed bleakly at the truth in those words. He really missed being able to lie to Peter. The face that followed — a mangled mix of panic and fear, topped with an overwhelming sense of dejection — it was enough to make Tony sick.

Things weren’t exactly going as he hoped.

“Listen...chin up. We’ll figure this out,” Tony forced out, both for himself and Peter. “Stay put in the mean time. Get some shut eye, you need it. This thing is taking all it can get from you and it's your job to fight back, got it?" Tony's brows noticably dipped low before he forced the expression away. "I’ll be back before you even know it. Cross my heart.”

That didn’t earn a response from Peter.

Tony lifted a single eyebrow. “Pete…”

“I don’t think these people trust me, Mr. Stark.” Peter didn’t look at him when he spoke. He did, however, look at the guards stationed outside the door.

There were a lot of them. Tony knew, he counted each one as he walked into the infirmary halls. He was pretty sure there were more guards than medical staff. But that much he didn’t want to figure out for sure.

Suddenly, Peter whispered. Almost too quiet for Tony to hear.

“I don’t think I trust myself.”

Peter continued to stare at the doorway. Tony almost had to wonder if he even knew there was a large window in the room, big enough to see the tallest waterfall of Wakanda on the outside.

It didn’t matter to him. His focus stayed on the guards.

Tony almost couldn’t blame him. That’s where he’d be looking, too.

The Dora Milaje were no joke, after all.

“It doesn’t matter,” Tony curtly insisted. “We trust you. That’s all you need, that's all that matters.”

He may as well have not said anything at all. His attempt at encouragement was only met with silence, so viscous he wondered if Peter had even heard him speak.

“And hey, don’t forget.” Tony poked at Peter’s wrist, more than a couple times to get his attention. “You got that on you if anything happens. No metal detectors around, no one asking you to take it off. You press that and I’ll be here before Rogers can even warm up the Quinjet.”

Peter shot his head down towards his wrist, where the sleek, black bracelet still clung to him. He was actually surprised they hadn’t taken it off. Tony probably had a part in that; Peter didn’t need to ask, he was almost sure of it.

It should’ve made him feel safe. But he looked back at the doorway, frowning at the guards that stood watch.

And their spears.

He’d been shish-kabobed once before. He wasn’t keen on it happening twice.

“Yeah, yeah...you’re right,” Peter quietly managed, finding his eyes drifting off with no real basis on where to look. A vacant stare cast over him, sullen and devoid of thought.

Tony could tell. Almost immediately, he snapped his fingers in Peter’s face.

“Kid, look at me.” It took six snaps for Peter to jolt back to reality. Tony waited until he was facing him head-on to speak again. “Don’t get lost in your own head. Don’t overthink this. Nothing bad is going to happen. It’s a setback, that’s all. This is —”

“This is incredible!” Shuri fawned, all but running inside the room with her one hand holding a translucent tablet, the other waving about in the air. “I have never seen anything quite like this!”

The unabashed excitement that came barreling through the doors was night and day compared to the conversation that had been taking place. If the contrast had been any sharper, it would’ve given the Dora Milaje spears a run for their money.

Tony looked up and at who came stampeding inside, stiffly biting his tongue.

“Princess,” he firmly greeted. “Came to bid me a farewell?”

Shuri didn’t so much as pause in her steps.

“What? No. What are you still doing here? I thought you left already.” Shuri didn’t wait for a response, turning right to Peter instead. “Peter Parker, this is of your creation?”

She wagged the tablet in his face, getting so close that Tony had to smack it away from hitting Peter’s head.

Peter looked about as lost as a baby deer thrown into the streets of the city.

“Maybe?” he squeaked out. “I don’t know. Is it good or bad? The answer really depends on if its good or bad.”

Tony rolled his eyes.

Even on deaths door, the kid was still a smart-ass.

“Very good!” Shuri exclaimed, looking back at the tablet with an amazement that seeped right out of her. “In Wakanda, we have nothing like this. A few similar properties, perhaps, but all are Vibranium based. I’ve never seen anything use baseline synthesized chemicals in a way that creates such high tensile strength.”

That caused Peter to blink furiously for several more minutes.

“Is that my webbing formula?” he finally asked, barely managing to point at her tablet. She peered over the edge of the device but otherwise stayed fixated on whatever it had to offer. “How’d you get my webbing formula?”

Tony briefly looked to the ceiling, wondering if the universe had run out of patience to give him. Because he was starting to feel incredibly short of it.

“It probably came from the memory card on your camera,” he wryly answered, looking back down at Peter with a frown. “Kid, your little secret identity won’t remain secret for long if you don’t start pick and choosing what you snap pictures of.”

Peter’s sheepish smile was all he got in return.

“A synthetic compound like this could do wonders as medical grade dressings, you know,” Shuri carelessly interrupted the two. She pointed to the tablet to further prove her point, turning it around and showing Peter her findings.

For what it was worth, it seemed to spark something in Peter that made him seem the most alive he had been in days. Tony wasn’t sure where the bundle of energy came from, but he wasn’t opposed to it, either.

“Really? You think?” Peter asked, managing to slightly lift himself on the bed and grab the tablet for himself. She handed it off without a problem. “I mean, the glycine and alanine could probably be adjusted to create a longer dissolve time. But I’m not sure what that would do to the polymer — it might create a...big puddle of webbing.”

Shuri shook her head, leaning over the guardrails and pointing to the screen of the device.

“No, no, if you just do small tweaks to the silica gel —”

“But then it’s not purified,” Peter added, throwing her a confused look.

Shuri grinned. “I have just the idea, then!”

A headache began to bloom right behind Tony’s eyes. The cause and correlation didn’t go over his head, either. He went to rub at his temple, pressing harder as both teenagers continued to enthusiastically prattle on.

He should’ve known both of them in the same room was asking for trouble.

“Okay, Dougie Howser.” Tony patted the guardrail before taking off, not wasting a second in bee-lining for the doors. Those two would have to be someone else’s problem for the time being. “Stay put. Looks like you have plenty to entertain you. I’ll be back in a jiffy, got it?”

It was almost insulting how Peter didn’t acknowledge Tony on his way out.

“Is it Vibranium?” Peter’s forehead wrinkled in thought, and he watched with curious eyes as Shuri circled the bed around him. “Would you add Vibranium to my webbing?”

She waved her hand his way, floppy motions and all.

“No, no, silly boy, Vibranium isn’t needed for this.” Suddenly, Shuri stopped, pausing as a thought struck her still. “Well, maybe Vibranium could be used. The carbon tetra-chloride —”

Peter pointed his finger at her. “Increase it by two ounces and it’ll strengthen the tensile bonds!”

"Precisely!"

Tony was right at the exit when he stopped, going so far as to cling to the door-frame in hesitation. Without turning to face them, he listened to the two kids brainstorm, almost rambling on without a care to the world.

He wanted to tell them that messing with the tensile strength meant losing the imbibed esters of the webbing. Which meant no dissolvant whatsoever.

He wanted to tell them that, because he’d done it before. Having adjusted Peter’s web formula right before Strange took him and the team to the OsCorp bunker underneath the sea.

Ultimately, he decided to keep his mouth shut, leaving the infirmary bays without saying another word.

Those two could figure that out for themselves. Maybe, just maybe, it would keep Peter’s mind off the troubles ahead.

In the meanwhile, Tony made a quick dash for the Quinjet. He had other priorities on his plate.