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“So then I was all like — ‘hey guys,’ and then Mr. Stark was like ‘come on Cap, don’t do this,’ but Mr. Rogers was ‘no, I gotta’. So Ant-Man went from this tiny little dude to his normal size — but oh, he turns really giant later. Like, super giant. Like, you know the Green Giant from those cans of peas? May used those in her Shepard's pie. Well, she made that once, didn't really then out. Anyway she had those peas left over from Christmas and it sorta reminded me of that Green Giant. But not like the Hulk, just regular dude style. Anyway, he knocked me down but I got right back up and went after the others —”

Hanging upside down and attached to a spider web sticking to the ceiling of his room, Peter spun slowly by the nature of gravity. He twirled in a lazy and gentle circle, still dressed in only sweatpants and a baggy AC/DC t-shirt. Over his head was his Spider-Man mask, letting him speak to his AI.

Of course, and as per usual, he did most of the talking.

“—and then, oh, this part was really awesome. I webbed up Falcon so he couldn’t move, like a butterfly in a cocoon. He was pissed! Actually, I think he still is. I guess he holds grudges, I dunno.”

Peter raised an eyebrow beneath his mask, right as he spun to the window of his room— squinting at the sun that started to shine through.

“Huh?”

“Ohhh, right, right.” Peter stretched his legs out in front of him, yawning loudly before clapping the heels and soles of his feet together once more. “It was something over the Accords and Bucky Barnes, the Winter Soldier guy. Dude had an awesome metal arm!”

Peter paused, considering her question. It wasn't like Mr. Stark had told him much after returning from Germany. In fact, when it came to Cap and the others, he kept his lips sealed tight.

“Yeah, I guess not." Peter shrugged, the movement jarring his shoulders from hanging upside down. "I mean, the Accords were repealed and all that. At least that's what the news said, and what they're teaching us in school. Something about being an injustice of equality and whatnot." Peter let one hand off the web, waving it around above him. "So...with that out of the way, they wouldn’t have anything to fight about, right? They all still live together. That’s gotta be cool.”

“Yeah, I think so." Peter frowned. "Why?”

The spin took him back to the door of his room, where a ray of sunrise glistened off the doorknob ahead. Peter stared at it as he thought over his answer, trying to remember what little they were learning in school and what May would talk about when watching the news.

It wasn't a lot, the more he mulled it over. As if history wanted to forget the government ever tried to put their hands in the superhero business.

With SHIELD back to controlling the Avengers — that much school did teach them plenty of, along with a few inside things Peter found himself learning from Mr. Stark — it was as if the Accords never happened.

At least for the public. After last night, Peter had a feeling it affected the Avengers more than Mr. Stark ever let on.

“He never told me the full story," Peter finally answered, gripping the web near his pelvis tighter than before. "Just that there were fine lines he didn’t consider and it was a bad idea.” Slowly, Peter swung away from the door, his back turning to the doorknob that glistened with the morning sun. “It really doesn’t matter anymore. As long as it’s all over with, anyway. I hate it when people are fighting.”

In the grand scheme of things, Peter considered himself lucky; during his parents time alive they rarely, if ever, fought around him. If they did, he was far too young to remember. And Uncle Ben and Aunt May? He always considered them to be a fairy tale couple. If they ever had an argument, it was usually about him. Almost always money related; they had fights over where he’d go to school, how they’d spend his parent’s social security money, what therapy he needed — he’d spend those days locked in his room, blasting music through his headphones.

To him, fighting was ridiculous. There were so many worst things happening in the world; engaging in a petty argument or school fight seemed beneath him.

Flash called him a pussy.

May called him a pacifist.

Peter didn’t know what to call himself.

“Karen?” His voice cracked a bit towards the end, and he cleared his throat to rid the sound.

The spin took him right back to the window, where the sun rose higher through the glass. Peter hadn’t slept all night; his thoughts racing a thousand miles per second, stuck in a never-ending loop of guilt and dread. Not only was Mr. Stark angry with him, but he was sure all the Avengers were as well.

It made him feel sick to his stomach. Or maybe that was the non-stop spin he'd been doing since before the sun started to rise.

“I think they were fighting about me last night.” Peter's voice was quiet, barely heard over the air conditioning coming from the ceiling vents.

At first, he wasn't sure if Karen would even respond. The pause that followed was long, especially for her.

The tingling in the back of his neck alerted him to a change in his environment — Peter never got a chance to respond. Before he could react, his bedroom door swung open after three quick, and very brief knocks.

Standing in the doorway was a tall, strawberry-blond-haired woman, already dressed for the day. She looked professional with her outfit — a tight, black pencil skirt, white button down, and heels to match.

Surprised at what she saw, she cocked an eyebrow at Peter and his current position.

“You must be Peter," she greeted him, a smile laced into her words.

Still gripping the web that hung from the ceiling, Peter was mid-spin as she spoke. Half-facing her, and half-facing the window behind them, he awkwardly waved a hand.

“Hi.”

His spin continued. Painfully slow.

The chirping birds from outside filled the silence between them and she patiently waited for him to return to her direction, leaning against the doorway the whole time — a smirk noticeably pulling her lipstick stained lips.

Peter finally faced her. And not a moment too soon, he jumped down from the web.

“Hi-hi, I’m, uh, I'm Peter. Peter Parker.” Frantically wiping his hand against the oversized sweatpants, Peter made sure his palm was dry and clean before extending it out for her to shake.

Instead of engaging, she stared at him, eyebrow still high in the air.

Peter's mechanical eye shutters blinked three times before he realized what was wrong. They proceeded to then go wide, the whites large and prominent.

“Oh! Right! Uhm...” He pulled back his arm and ripped off the Spider-Man mask, ruffling his fingers through his hair to clear the brown locks from his forehead. “Sorry 'bout that. You, uh, you must be Ms. Potts. Misses Potts? Soon-to-be-Mrs. Stark?”

Her smile grew. “Pepper is fine.”

“Cool, cool, cool…" Peter nodded, anxiously, all the while fidgeting with the mask in his hands. "So, uh....good mornin’, Ms. Pepper.”

Pepper chuckled, softly, swallowing her lips and the lipstick that painted them as she fought off a growing grin.

“Good morning, Peter,” she repeated back to him. “Why don’t you join us for breakfast?”

Peter tossed his mask aside, not even looking as it landed somewhere on the floor.

“Uh, no, I’m—I’m fine. I’m good, thanks,” he sputtered, shaking his head like a wet dog. After last night, the very idea of encountering the still-very-angry-Avengers made his stomach gurgle with dread. “I’m not really hungry —”

The loud rumble of his stomach exposed his lie. 

Peter winced, visibly cringing. Maybe that gurgle wasn't dread after all.

Pepper looked at him, incredulously. They both waited until his stomach’s growls faded away, and once they did, she pointed down the hallway.

“Come on.” Pepper gestured her arm out of the door, smiling the whole time. “I’ll show you to the kitchen.”

Peter did a quick double-take behind him; the bed he never slept in suddenly looked more appealing than before, despite the sun rising through the bay windows telling him it was long past time for sleep.

As if on cue, his stomach once again decided to make itself known, twisting and rumbling and making all kinds of loud noises that had him admitting defeat.

He was hungry. And hunger usually won most arguments.

Peter had a feeling if hunger didn't win, Pepper Potts most certainly would.

While the kitchen wasn’t far from the east wing, it gave Peter plenty of time to think. Like — did they have a janitorial staff here? Would they be upset if he was walking barefoot on their clean floors? Were the floors even clean?

Why was that guard playing galaga instead of monitoring the security feeds?

Was it that type of poor security monitoring that caused the break-in last night? Should he tell Mr. Stark that his security guards were slacking off?

Peter barely noticed when they approached the eatery, Pepper leading the way inside and him following behind her. Like all rooms he encountered in the massively large facility, it took him by surprise. The design was sleek and homey, and expensive looking.

To think that he considered May’s upgraded backsplash the coolest thing ever.

The skylights let in the morning sun and he was immediately bombarded with the smell of bacon and eggs. The kitchen table and counters were covered in buffet servings of food, with not a plate left untouched. The coffee that steamed in the pot was fresh enough to be smelt from a distance.

Sam, Rhodey and Steve already occupied the three stools at the bar. There was one empty seat at the table behind them. The chairs were otherwise all occupied, Vision and Wanda sitting close together while Natasha and a man he didn't meet last night sat across from them.

“Good morning, everyone,” Pepper professionally greeted them all, a slew of mumbled ‘mornin’s’ overtaking the room.

She put her hand on the small of his back, and it was the first time Peter noticed he hadn’t budged an inch since they got there. He took a couple of steps forward, enough for Sam to look up from his plate and notice his presence.

“Awww,” Sam apathetically teased. “Is Blues Clues being dropped off for breakfast?”

Pepper squinted her eyes in his direction. “Play nice.”

“Seriously, you’re going to scare him off.” The blue-eyed, dirty-blond haired man who Peter never met suddenly sat up from his chair, making long strides as he crossed over to the kitchen entrance.

“Hey,” he greeted, hand outstretched to Peter. “I’m Clint. We didn’t get to meet last night.”

By nothing short of a miracle, Peter was able to keep the "Holy shit, it's Hawkeye" exclamation in his mouth where it belonged.

Aggressively wiping his palm against his shirt — well, Mr. Stark's shirt — he once again made sure his hand was dry of nervous sweat before offering it to Clint.

“Hi, yeah, uhm, I'm-I’m Peter.”

Clint shook his hand twice, a firm clasp that clenched down to his bone before he pulled away. Then, before Peter knew what was happening, his arm wrapped around his shoulder and led him further inside the kitchen.

“Nice to meet ya, Peter.” They sat down, Clint having pulled out a chair for him. “How old are you, bud?”

Peter looked around at his surroundings, trying to gauge the others and see if he had permission to even talk — let alone answer Clint's question. He didn't need to be a genius to know his age made them uncomfortable — angry, even.

Yet, doing a double — no, triple take at everyone around him, Peter couldn't help but notice that no one seemed as bothered about it anymore.

Natasha scrolled through her phone while Vision and Wanda seemed to have a private conservation of sorts in the lounge area, their plates at the table abandoned before he sat down. To his left and at the bar counter, the three men occupied themselves with their own meals, unconcerned by the new presence in the room.

Maybe they weren't as mad about it as he thought they were.

Or maybe they were and they were just buying time until child protective services showed up.

Peter pulled his chair closer to the table, wincing as it squeaked along the ground.

“Fifteen,” he answered, and quick to correct, “Almost sixteen.”

To his surprise, his answer made Clint smile.

"Ah," he said, pulling out his own chair and taking a seat. "You’re around the same age as my son, Cooper.”

“Come on, dude!” Sam threw his fork down on his plate, a loud clatter resounding. He craned his head around to look at Clint. “Don’t make it any weirder than it already is!”

Rhodey lifted his hand, but didn't look at either men as he said, “I second that.”

Clint rolled his eyes at them both.

“You guys are being such grandpa’s,” he teased, throwing a casual gesture at the bar. “Leave that job to Steve.”

At hearing his name, Steve looked up from the newspaper unfolded in front of him, peering over his shoulder with curiosity. “Hm?”

Natasha's snicker, as low and quiet as it was, immediately caught Peter's attention. He shot his head towards her, watching as she kept her neck low and her eyes on her phone, but a smirk and a chuckle changing her expression.

He then looked back at the bar, where Sam muttered something about 'young brats' and 'old farts' as he took a piece of bacon off Steve's plate.

Peter didn't realize he was smiling at the interactions until he also realized that the entire team wasn't present.

“Where’s Mr. Stark at?”

The voice that sounded from the ceiling almost made him pee his pants.

FRIDAY's voice was far from new for Peter, but he hadn't been expecting her to answer. Without a second thought, he looked to the ceiling as she spoke, as if he could actually see the AI in the kitchen.

Pepper sighed, her shoulders dropping in a less-than-pleased way when she heard FRIDAY's answer.

“I’m going to handle that," Pepper informed them, her heels clicking as she walked away. “I mean it boys — play nice!”

Peter watched her leave the kitchen, never having noticed when Wanda left her conservation with Vision to gather another plate of food. Surprised didn't sum up his reaction when she approached him from behind — he was seriously going to have to use the restroom at some point if this kept up. 

Before he could even consider asking where the bathroom was, she reached over his shoulder and gently set down a plate of food in front of him.

“Oh. Wow.” Peter's eyes went comically wide at the large portion of breakfast food. Eggs overlapped bacon and pancakes stacked on top of each other, drizzling with thick maple syrup. There wasn't an inch of the plate that hadn't been covered. His mouth began to salivate just at the sight.

“You are growing boy,” Wanda casually stated. “Eat. We have plenty.”

“Right. Yeah…yeah.” Peter looked behind him, nodding all the while. Of all things in the last twenty-four hours, eating was going to be the least of his problems. "Thank you….?”

She smiled in return, the same type of grin he had seen from her last night. Peter couldn’t pin what it was, but there was definitely something behind it.

That was, unless, all magical Sokovians smiled that way.

“Wanda.” Her answer was short and straightforward, immediately followed by her return to Vision across the kitchen.

Peter furrowed his brows, watching as she walked away. There was something about her — the Scarlet Witch, as he'd always known her — about the way she looked at him that he couldn't quite pin down.

It was strange, almost like someone had read his journal and dropped hints of the things he wrote about, all without ever directly admitting what they knew.

Not that he kept a journal. His thoughts were way too fast to keep a journal. And not that he had any secrets, outside of Spider-Man, which they clearly knew about now.

Paranoia began to wash over him, making him wonder if she knew something about him that not even he knew.

That wasn't possible, was it?

Who was he kidding. Radioactive spider bites and magical Sokovians weren't supposed to be possible, and yet look at where they were now.

Peter quickly realized he was staring at the two of them, immediately diverting his attention to the eggs and bacon on his plate. He had to admit, the food smelt delicious.

And as if on cue, his stomach rumbled again, sharing the same thought as his head.

The rustle of Steve’s newspaper and the clanking of silverware filled the room, only accompanied by the occasional slurps of coffee. If it weren’t for his nerves, Peter would have assumed it was a peaceful silence; a calm that the team didn’t often encounter. Despite him being around, they all seemed to mind their own business, like it was just another day to be had.

And then Peter realized — here he was, having breakfast with the Avengers.

It was surreal, practically unbelievable. And he left his cell phone in his room — of course that'd be his luck. A photo of this would make his whole year — screw that, his whole life.

“Drive yet?”

The voice came from across him. He shot his head up and saw Natasha looking at him, her neck still low to her phone, only her eyes raised to him.

“Uh, yeah actually." Peter nodded, a little too jerky for his liking. "I, uh — I got my permit not too long ago.”

Across at the bar, Rhodey let out a mix of a chuckle and scoff. “So you swing seventeen hundred feet in the air...but don’t have a license to drive a car.”

Peter lowered his head again, his fork pushing away eggs from butter and syrup.

“I’m working on it,” he mumbled.

And the silence returned.

Clint slurped on his coffee, Natasha made a few clicks on her phone, and Steve turned a page of the newspaper. It was like an incredibly awkward Thanksgiving dinner, only instead of Uncle Ben’s cousins and nephews, it was Earth’s Mightiest Heroes who outranked him in every possible way.

For as incredibly cool as it was, Peter wouldn't deny it was also painfully uncomfortable.

Suddenly, Sam spun around on his stool. “You gonna sit there all day or you gonna eat?”

Peter didn't realize until it was mentioned that he hadn't even taken a bite of his food. And his stomach was still gurgling and rumbling, begging for some of the bacon that his nostrils got full whiff of.

“Yeah…right," Peter gulped away his stammer. "Right, uhm, sorry.”

“Ignore him, he doesn’t mean anything by it." Clint rolled his eyes, getting up from his seat to pour himself more coffee. "It’s eat or have it eaten around here. You’re lucky there’s still food left. Cap only had six plates instead of his normal eight.”

Steve, not looking up from his newspaper, shook his head. “That’s an exaggeration.”

“Exaggeration?” Clint huffed. “I make sure my wife feeds me before I come here because nine times out of ten, there ain’t any scraps left around here.”

“I remember my driver’s test,” Natasha changed the subject, her eyes still on her phone. “The instructor gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Didn’t know Stalin had a driving school,” Rhodey quipped from at the bar.

Natasha’s cold stare could easily kill, leaving shivers down Peter’s spine. He was thankful that Rhodey was on the receiving end and not him, watching the two quietly as he shoved a mouthful of food into his mouth.

And then another.

And then another.

Holy crap was he hungry. Peter looked down at the plate and quickly forced in two, three and four more bites, the mixture of pancakes and bacon heavenly to his taste buds. Any more and his cheeks would implode from the pressure.

“Oh god, my driving test…” Clint set down the coffee pot while raising his mug to his mouth. “I drove up in this dinky-rinky 1963 Pontiac. The passenger door was a whole different color, the trunk wouldn’t stay closed, and it was covered in dents. The entire class was laughing at me.”

“You sure that’s why they were laughing at you?” Natasha teased with a wink.

Clint stuck his tongue out, coffee-covered and all, as he returned to his seat across from her.

Peter watched the interaction with what smile his mouth could make, chewing eagerly on his next forkful of food.

“That’s the kind of car my aunt drives,” he managed between bites of food — pancakes made most the words incoherent and garbled. 

“Oh yeah?" Clint asked, taking a sip of fresh coffee. "Kids still as harsh as they were back then?”

Swallowing heavily, Peter paused halfway to stuffing three pieces of bacon into his mouth.

“I, uh, I actually — I didn't use that car," he started to say. "Mr. Stark lent me his Audi prototype for the test.”

Clint's coffee mug froze half-way to his lips, no different than the bacon that Peter now devoured. Natasha locked her eyes with Peter's, her neutral deadpan expression falling flat as she quirked an eyebrow — and she arched it high.

Looking over at the bar, Peter saw that Sam was flabbergasted with his mouth gaped open. And Rhodey seemed equally shocked.

Steve, of all of them, looked to be the most confused.

“Tony…let you borrow his car?” Rhodey asked slowly, not hiding the disbelief that laced into his tone.

Peter decided it was best to just nod instead of talking, both worried that he might say something to further upset them, and worried that the food would come pouring out of his overly stuffed mouth.

Rhodey went on to mumble about ‘bastard won’t lend me his cars’ and Sam just shook his head, bemused.

Peter returned to eating, finding it easier to focus on shoving food into his mouth rather than have a conversation where he might slip up and say something even more stupid.

Steve, who had since disregarded his newspaper, watched Peter with intent interest. A quick glance exchanged with Natasha told him he wasn’t the only one with a sudden change in thoughts.

Her eyes reflected a similar notion — realization.

Turning a bit on the stool, Steve kept his eyes on Peter as the kid stabbed his fork into his eggs. If he noticed someone staring at him, he wasn't saying a word about it.

And Steve — well, Steve couldn't get his thoughts straight.

Sure, Tony had admitted last night that he was the one who made the Spider-Man suit, and it was him who lent Peter all the tech and gadgets.

But that was professional. It wasn’t even out of character; in fact, it screamed Tony Stark, the man all but eager to have others use his tech. A day that went by where Tony didn’t create something for the Avengers, Stark Industries, or anyone else was a day they needed to worry about.

His car, though?

Steve was taken aback. The man had a hundred cars, easily. Lending one out wasn’t an inconvenience of any sorts. Yet to lend a new one; an expensive prototype to a kid for his driving class — Steve had seen the Youtube videos. Spider-Man didn’t drive well. At all.

Steve liked to think he got to know Tony well over the past handful of years, well enough to know he didn’t trust easily.

He had to have put a lot of trust in the boy for that.

Watching Peter swallow down mouthfuls of eggs, somehow looking even younger than last night— Steve really didn't like that — he subconsciously wondered what it was he'd done to deserve so much trust.

And just maybe, if Tony could manage it — maybe he needed to give it a shot as well.

Peter nearly coughed on his next mouthful and Clint smacked him against his back as he did.

“You might want to make sure you come up for air, son," Steve mentioned, letting his lip curl upward as he did.

“Sorry. Sorry…” Peter garbled between spoonfuls, waving off Clint's hand as he went to pound against his back again. “I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

He slowed his pace, though not by much. Wanda had already gotten him a second helping, her behavior gaining a few stares that she avoided by returning to the lounge with Vision.

Peter didn’t seem to mind, eagerly digging into the food. He felt that he could eat six to seven plates and still not be full. It had been like that ever since the spider-bite.

“You could give me a run for my money with that kind of appetite.” Steve raised an eyebrow, as if he could hear Peter's thoughts.

Peter sheepishly smiled.

“You always say to eat a full meal,” he briefly paused, his smile falling flat. “Well…you in the videos, anyway.”

Natasha frowned and cocked her head so far to the side, it nearly met her shoulder.

“I’m…sorry," she started. "Could you repeat that, Peter?”

Peter looked up from his plate, slowly examining the confused but very interested faces staring him down.

“The…PSA’s…” he squeaked out, “…from school.”

“The PSA’s?” Rhodey parroted.

It was a moment too late that Peter noticed Steve shaking his head — frantically shaking his head, almost mouthing ‘please don’t’ in his direction. All eyes were on Peter, reminding him distinctly of last night.

He bit the inside of his cheek; May always said he needed to learn to keep his mouth shut.

Deciding he was already one foot into the mess, Peter continued on. Anything to get the stares off him.

“Yeah. You know…the stay-in-school type, eat a hot lunch, don’t use fireworks…" Peter began to mumble, lowering his chin to his chest. "...tooth decay…”

Sam's laughter howled through the kitchen like a wolf — the only thing louder was each slap on his knees.

Rhodey stood up from his stool, the leg braces whirring with each quick step he took towards Steve.

“Tooth decay?” he repeated.

Steve bowed his head out of sight. “They were…they said it was…for a good cause.”

Rhodey turned away from Steve and to Peter’s direction, finger pointing right at him. “Pete, I’m going to need access to these videos. ASAP.”

Sam’s laughter had quickly become hysterical; his fist pummeling the counter, his chest heaving for breath.

“It was after New York," Steve tried to defend himself, unable to keep the pink in his cheeks from growing. "They said it would inspire — it was…for the children…"

Peter grimaced hard enough to show his back molars, giving the Captain an apologetic look as he returned to his food. It wasn't fair to have everyone looking at Steve, so he figured his gaze was better off watching the maple syrup pool around the edges of his plate.

He also figured Natasha was doing enough staring for the both of them. He never saw the Black Widow smile before, never in the pictures or the news footage.

She was definitely smiling now.

“I need to know so much more.” Sam took a deep inhale, and one more to follow. “So much more. Oh god, Steve, did you do D.A.R.E? Tell me he did D.A.R.E.”

Steve frowned. “I don’t understand that reference.”

Sam had swiveled around to Peter, awaiting the response that came in a sharp nod.

“Yeah, kind of,” Peter admitted. “I always thought that one was a little hypocritical. I mean ‘don’t do drugs’ coming from the man who did like, the biggest drug of them of? Why —”

“Zip it, Spiderling.”

Everyone’s attention fell to the entrance of the kitchen. Even Wanda and Vision paused their private conservation, looking across the way; watching as Tony quickly came strolling in.

The man always did find a way to own the room.

His finger pointed sharply at Peter on his way to the kitchen island. “The last thing I need to deal with today is the sentinel of liberty turning you red, white, and blue.”

Tony had already made his way past the others and behind the bar counter, pouring himself a hot cup of coffee.

Rhodey watched him, his arms crossed and face stern, his demeanor changing instantly. The others sat quietly — even Peter — all unsure of what to say.

The sound of his coffee pouring into the mug was the only noise they heard for some time.

“But you know," Tony placed the coffee pot back on the burner and raised the mug to his lips. "The kid does have a point. Shouldn’t be giving advice you can’t follow, Cap.”

Steve furrowed his brows, giving Tony a hard once over before speaking. “I’d watch yourself. It’s not like you’re the best role model right now.”

“Alright!” Tony loudly announced, setting his mug down with an audible clank! A bit of coffee split over the rim. “We’re going to nip this in the bud — now."

Tony clapped his hands together and cracked his knuckles before setting both palms on the counter, leaning over it heavily. The darkening bags under his eyes were obvious with the overhead sunlight brightening the room, and his white button down was heavily wrinkled, his tiring work from last night evident in his appearance.

Peter figured he wasn't the only one to forgo sleep.

“A very… prominent, important lady figure in my life has highly recommended I offer an apology of sorts to reconcile things," Tony started to say, watching inattentively as Wanda and Vision approached the group, and as Clint and Natasha leaned back in their seats with interest.

Rhodey just contiuned to stare him down. The decades of their friendship was showing, clearer than the morning sun from the outside.

“What?" Tony turned to Rhodey, a shrug following his words. "That wasn’t good enough for you?”

Steve glared. “Stark—”

“I’m joking. Christ.” Tony took a sip of coffee, letting it linger in his mouth for a second. “Still haven’t removed the icicle from your ass, I see.”

Tony's snark didn’t receive a response, though Steve’s dirty look did intensify; his eyes shooting daggers in his direction.

Tony acknowledged that heated glare with an exhausted sigh.

“Parker…wasn’t suppose to be kept from the team, okay?" he began, tapping his fingers along the counter in a way to buy his next words. "It wasn't that he was confidential, he just wasn’t...disclosed.”

Rhodey tilted his head to the side. “How is that not confidential, Tones?”

“It’s not confidential because I say it’s not confidential,” Tony snapped, reaching for his coffee mug a little too quickly and growing agitated when the hot liquid split around his knuckles.

From next to him, Sam muttered, “Great reasoning."

“Listen,” Tony harshly spoke, grabbing the nearest dishrag and halfheartedly cleaning his mess. “It was the kids request that he be kept under the radar. He finds this secret identity thing to be a cutesy little act. I even offered him a spot on the team, shiny new suit and all—”

“I—I never permanently turned that down, Mr. Stark." Peter slowly raised his hand in the air, finally finding his voice."I just—”

“Hush." Tony pressed his finger to his lips. "The adults are talking.”

Peter's hand fell to the table, and he bowed his head, poking at his leftover scraps.

“Just…friendly neighborhood Spider-Man…on the ground…” he muttered under his breath.

Steve stood from his stool, newspaper disregarded and plate of food long since left untouched.

“You offered him a position before we even knew about him?” he asked more for confirmation than anything else. His tone spoke that he wasn't surprised, but his face said different.

Both men stared at each other, the stress between them flooding the room like a broken dam.

“I did,” Tony answered, short and sweet.

“Bold move, Tony.” Rhodey shook his head along with his words.

“Yeah, well, that’s not new,” Natasha drawled a bit incontestably.

Tony pulled a face but stayed otherwise unruffled.

“I was ready to accept the consequences then," he proudly stated, his stance firm. "And I still am now."

Steve approached him, slowly, from behind the counter of the bar.

“The last time you dove head first into something that you didn’t fully comprehend, we almost lost the team.”

“We lost the team, Rogers,” Tony bit back — the cold pain they both harbored leaking right into his voice, chilling the otherwise warm kitchen. “And I’m trying my damnedest to bring it back together.”

Steve froze in place, the only muscle moving being the eyebrow that arched to his forehead.

“Keeping secrets isn’t the way to do that,” he rebuked.

Though neither spoke with anger, the tension in each response didn't go unnoticed. It wasn't casual, it wasn't pleasantries — even Clint looked way, distracting himself with his coffee mug.

Peter figured it wasn't a good thing if the others were put off by the two's animosity.

Maybe he'd been onto something. Maybe the Accords had affected the team more than Mr. Stark let on.

“You’re right,” Tony suddenly agreed, finally breaking the silence with a harsh clap of his hands. “You’re absolutely right.”

For a moment, Steve appeared confused, unsure of where the conservation was going. 

With tired eyes and a posture admitting resignation, Tony looked directly at him — the hands that clapped together parting away to gesture right at Steve.

“I’m sorry," he said, both hands gestured to Steve before he dropped them to his sides.

The room became so quiet Peter was sure he could hear a pin fall to the floor. He looked towards the others for signs of how to react — in his defense, when it came to Mr. Stark and Captain America, he never encountered a discussion between the two men that didn’t involve physical fighting. And Germany was, of course, his only encounter with the two men.

From what he could gather, the apology was not expected.

Clint frowned, looking at Natasha with the same expression Peter held. “Are my hearing aids acting up, or did he just —?”

“I’m sorry," Tony stretched out the two words until they were nonsensical, turning towards the group with his hand gestured toward them. "To all of you.”

“Hold on," Sam frantically dug into his pant pockets. "Can you say that again, I need to record that —”

“Keep being a smart ass and I’ll take it back,” Tony retorted.

Slowly, Sam sat back down in his seat; though the way he crossed his arms over his chest showed signs he wasn't ready to just forgive and forget yet.

“My intent was never malicious with Peter." Tony sighed, rubbing harshly at the nape of his neck. "He’s just a boy trying to keep his family and friends safe and honestly, can you be angry with that? None of you can look me in the eye and say you wouldn’t want the same thing." Tony noticeably turned to Clint. "Hell, Barton, your entire family is a secret from the world.”

Clint shrugged, not making an attempt to dispute the fact.

Tony continued on, “I respected his request and followed through with it. So if you have anyone to be mad at, it’s me — but it’d be pretty damn stupid to stay mad over something like this. We have bigger fish to fry.”

Rhodey looked between him and Peter, raising an eyebrow with curiosity.

“You trust him then?” he asked.

It was easy for Rhodey to tell when Tony was bullshitting. They had been friends for a long time, way before Iron Man, long before Afghanistan — there was a foundation between them that couldn’t be rattled. His entire life changed along with Tony’s, somehow joining him in the crazy ride of War Machine, the brief blip of Iron Patriot, and ultimately landing with the Avengers.

So when Tony nodded, he wholeheartedly believed him.

“I do,” Tony said, flapping a hand in Peter's general vicinity. “He’s good. He’s better than good, he’s great.”

Nobody missed how Peter looked up at hearing those words, his eyes sparkling with a sense of pride that made him grin ear-to-ear.

For a moment, Tony looked nowhere else but at that. A shadow of a grin washed across his own face, something that not one person in the room didn’t notice.

The exchange was brief, but unique, giving Tony a different light to him; a humility that bounced off him no different than the skylights from above.

Steve noted that.

It was gone within the second, the moment Tony realized things had gotten too sappy for his own liking. “Stop it kid, you’re giving me reflux.”

Despite his remark, Peter still smiled.

“Maybe we should be the judge of that,” Sam advised, wagging a finger at Peter. “Go down to the gym and have a couple go’s with him.”

“I could manage a couple of rounds,” Natasha quipped. “Spider-to-spider.”

She winked in his direction, but it wasn’t the type of look that left butterflies in Peter’s stomach. His eyes went wide and he could have sworn his heart stopped for a moment.

Fighting the Black Widow? Nope. Not today. He'd run right home to Queens to avoid that happening.

“No, Tony’s right,” Steve thankfully interrupted. “We have more pressing issues at hand.”

Taking a minute to relax with his posture no longer tense, no longer ready to fight, Steve leaned somewhat casually and calm against the kitchen bar.

“Did you find anything?” Steve asked, noticeably looking to Tony — frowning when the man shook his head.

“Nope. Zip, nada, zilch.” Tony dug into his pants pocket, pulling out a small object and tossing it across the counter to where Peter sat. “But security did come across this.”

Peter caught the object with surprising agility. Clint and Natasha were both impressed that his hand shot up in the air despite his head staying down low, too focused on stuffing his mouth to even notice what came flying in his direction. Once in his hand, he looked up at it and frowned.

“Awww,” Peter whined, “drone-y.”

“I was able to retract the data from the Spider-tracer," Tony went on to explain, folding both arms over his chest. "Whoever it was, they came straight from Queens to here, no pit stops. Then…nothing.”

Rhodey had walked towards Peter and, without asking, put his palm out for the drone. Peter handed it off, fork in his mouth as Rhodey examined it curiously.

“This is the only thing he left behind?” he asked.

Tony reached for his coffee mug with a nod.

“You think he found it — took it off when he knew he was being followed?” Sam asked, directing his question to the entire group.

“Or it fell off,” Peter spoke up, back of his hand wiping at his mouth.

Tony clucked his tongue, setting his mug in the kitchen sink.

“Those things don’t just fall off, kid," he mentioned. "I designed them not too."

“But what if…theoretically…” Peter slowly started to say. "It didn’t have anything to attach to anymore?”

Tony looked at him like he grew five heads and eighteen toes. It wasn't until Vision and Wanda approached from behind that someone acknowledged his theory.

“Would that not be falling off?” Wanda asked, confused.

Peter looked behind him, finding her gaze and locking on it. “It’s just really weird that he was there, and then he wasn’t. The same thing happened in Times Square. He was there, I had him, and then…”

“Poof,” Clint supplied.

Peter pointed towards him, excitedly nodding. “Poof!”

“Are you talking about the possibility of teleportation?” Vision calmly asked.

The room fell silent, all eyes on Peter — waiting for an answer that he didn't have proof of.

“Yeah, I mean…" Peter glanced around and weakly shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe?"

It wasn’t until he said it out loud that Peter realized how silly it seemed. The others took a moment to ponder the thought, obviously having dealt with their own share of strange encounters over the past handful of years.

But no one seemed to entertain the idea as seriously as he did.

Peter couldn't blame them; none of them had seen what he saw. One moment he saw Mysterio and then suddenly he was fighting Cap? It was too weird for his liking.

Rhodey eventually turned to Tony. “This facility has military grade CCTV security cameras, wouldn’t they pick up something as abnormal as a disappearing thief?”

“We don’t even have footage, Rhodey,” Tony’s voice was defeated as he dejectedly explained the fact. 

Just like that, Clint dropped his fork and shot up from his chair.

“What do you mean we don’t have footage?” he almost barked the question — a far cry, Peter noted, from his casual demeanor prior. It wasn't like he could blame the man; the facility was highly guarded and secured.

Sam was onto something last night; Peter and Mysterio shouldn't have been able to break in so easily.

Unless Mysterio didn't break in at all. Peter couldn't help coming back to the teleportation theory. It was the only thing that made sense.

“Everything within a mile radius of the south-east workshop shut down. The alarms worked solely off generators from the basement, otherwise we wouldn’t have even been clued in," Tony told them. "Whoever it was, they left us in the dark ages."

Peter's eyes darted like a runaway ping-pong ball as he took in the facts.

It was just like Times Square. Just like the police radios and cell phones.

“A technological blackout.” Natasha looked towards Peter, almost as if she plucked the thought straight out of his head. “That’s what you said last night. The fog he emits creates a technological blackout, like how he shut down all of Times Square.”

Peter could only nod, unsure of what else to say.

Steve, arms crossed and leaning against the counter, looked up at Tony. “And the only thing stolen was The Chameleon helmet?”

“Compound has been swept ten times over," Tony concisely answered. "Whoever it was, that's all they wanted."

Rhodey rubbed at his forehead. “Forensic find anything — fingerprints, DNA…?”

Tony shook his head. Rhodey cursed under his breath.

Vision hummed with interest. “Who else could have known about the device to commit thievery over it?”

It was something no one had considered yet. The focus on the thievery didn't leave them much time to consider the thief. After all, it had only been a couple days ago that Tony presented them the shiny helmet; giddy like a schoolboy over his newest invention.

Speaking of — Tony looked towards Peter, his eyebrow quirked up.

Once realizing what was implied, Peter’s eyes shot open wide as saucers and he viciously shook his head.

“I—I didn’t tell anyone about it, Mr. Stark — I swear!”

Tony immediately turned to Sam, his eyes narrowing.

“Oh come on,” Sam exasperatingly huffed. “Rhodey and I had our fun with it, that’s it.”

“He’s right, Tones,” Rhodey defended. “I put it back in the workshop that night, locked up and secured.”

Steve approached Tony, standing right at his side as he quietly asked, “You think we have a breach?”

Tony rubbed his neck and sighed. “I don’t know.”

Rhodey was right; they had built the facility to be top of the line, highly secured. Built to protect the team and the millions of dollars worth of tech they dealt with. Since the Accords had dissolved, SHIELD was a constant presence in the building — more of the facility belonged to them then it did Tony.

It wasn't something they could argue; the compound had become their next headquarters.

The chances of someone breaking in from the outside were slim to none. Yet the very concept of having someone on the inside that could betray them...that made Tony feel sick.

“Either way," he started to say, shaking off the thought. "We need to find it and fast. In the wrong hands…”

Tony trailed off, but no one needed him to finish.

An appearance changing helmet? They had already suffered the consequences brought on by Ultron. There was no telling what would come out of this mess.

“Can you disable it from here?” Vision asked. “Like your Iron Man suits, can you remotely disable it from our current location?”

Tony half-shrugged. “Well, you would think I could, yes.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It means I never fully finished it,” Tony bit back. “I hadn’t installed the remote connectivity feature yet, whoever has it…it’s a one way on-button.”

A blanket of stress fell over the room, a collective ‘uh-oh’ echoing their thoughts — Peter’s included.

Vision, who normally seemed to have an answer to any equation provided, frowned with confusion.

“How does one find someone who can...take on the appearance of anyone?”

No one had an answer. And breakfast suddenly seemed trivial, food having gone cold and plates having gone untouched.

It was Rhodey who stared Tony down from across the room, his look speaking the words that they both kept between them.

Tony cursed to himself.