The playroom on the communal floor of Avengers' Tower was impressively expansive. A huge, open plan space with floor to ceiling windows, a soft play area, boxes of lego, coloring books strewn across a table, and a big screen TV. Fuzzy blankets and pillows piled up on side of the sofa, and stacks of DVDs and games, huge beanbags and a toy chest brimming with all sorts of neat things. As a kid, he would've killed for a place like it.

He tended to hang around the playroom most days - they were recuperating from a long and unsuccessful mission chasing leads on Thanos with the Avengers, along with some smaller missions, showing them how to guard the Galaxy. The true emotional upheaval had been coming back to Earth for the first time since he was taken away. It was horrifyingly different.

Upon searching for his grandparents, he found out his Grandpa had passed away five years ago. His Grandma before that, even. His uncle too, decades ago. He had no living family. He was the last Quill.

Despite going through this trauma, he had to admit that moving into Stark tower, albeit just for this break they were having, was an amazing experience. Tony Stark was an ever generous host, and the Guardians had wanted for nothing. They had a floor in the tower with separate bedrooms and bathrooms, a communal kitchen and living area, and even a balcony that overlooked New York City. Peter remembered dreaming about up and leaving his sleepy Missouri town and going to New York, he used to believe that when he turned eighteen he'd be old and wise enough to face the big city. Now that he was here, even though he realized he'd seen much bigger cities on planets much more advanced, nothing beat the view of Earth's New York. He told Gamora, Drax, Rocket and Groot all about it before they had arrived, showed them movies, explained about the pizza and the bagels and the coffee, the buildings, the accents. He saturated them with so much NYC culture, even they had been excited to see it.

The Avengers were good allies in battle without a doubt, but they were also surprisingly good friends. Peter felt welcome there, and stumbling upon their unorthodox way of unwinding had been easier to accept than he thought it would. They had been up front about it before arriving back on Earth, and he thought he'd be beyond weirded out. Yet it seemed so minuscule next to everything else that was happening once he got here. Who cares if Bucky and Clint pretend to be little kids? His team members mostly took it well - Groot, of course, did not judge. He made a brilliant babysitter in fact, letting the boys climb on him and using his extending branches to make racetracks for their toy cars.

Gamora took some time to come around, having limited experience dealing with any children. Once she did, she interacted with them quite a bit, even telling them some Zehoberei stories she remembered from her own childhood. Drax wasn't familiar with Earth customs and assumed it was normal, and he enjoyed the company of the littles.

However, Rocket was another story. He found it odd, and was awful at biting his tongue about it, just like he was about literally anything. The others were working on it, but Peter found Rocket's reaction strange. Making such a big deal out of it. Rocket avoided the playroom and often avoided the communal floor altogether. It didn't help that he was on house arrest. They all were.

Of course, the Avengers had informed the US government of the Guardians' presence, but two aliens, a boy that had been abducted from Earth without a trace, a walking tree and a talking raccoon all joining the Avengers were each too much of a PR nightmare to deal with at once. So this Earth trip was taken in secret. Rocket took this the hardest. Not to mention, he was going through trauma of his own; an identity crisis. Peter had long looked forward to him finding out what a raccoon actually was, but it had broken Rocket's heart to know he was so far removed from his species. He had laughed it off after Tony and Bruce showed him videos of wild raccoons doing silly things, but only Peter knew that after they had gone up to their rooms, Rocket had poured himself a tumbler of whiskey and asked to be left alone. That was last week, and since then had only seen Rocket out of his room a handful of times.

Peter can hear Steve reading to Bucky and Clint in the playroom. He has this melodic way of storytelling, gives each character a funny voice and really delivers those punchlines. He has both the kids in hysterics half the time, or alternatively, if they read a sad story, he'll convey the emotion so well they might both end up in silent tears. Peter leans up against the door and takes in the cozy scene - Steve's back to him, reading Where The Wild Things Are, with Bucky and Clint curled up on the beanbag under a blanket, both looking halfway to sleep.

Steve Rogers had long been the character of Peter's childhood comics, a war hero, the greatest American that ever lived. Truth, freedom, bravery, all that good stuff. Now, Steve had stepped in to help him through coming to terms with this new Earth, with all of his family gone, and his friends scattered to four corners of the globe and no way to contact any of them. He guessed everyone in his town in Missouri probably assumed he was dead - the missing child case must've went cold years ago. He was ruined by thinking too much about everyone who had been hurt by his disappearance, it wrecked him almost as much as spending his life agonizing about not taken his dying mother's hand in his, letting her last words come out as an urgent plea. He had only stopped thinking about that every night, and now these new thoughts haunted him, picturing his desperate Grandparents having just lost their child and grandchild on the same day, hopelessly believing he might come home. Everything that had happened in the past year, both finally meeting and having to kill his deranged Father, and losing his Dad, Yondu, was still fresh in his mind too. Coupled with knowing how badly he hurt his family, the thoughts were like a river building up behind a dam. Overwhelming him, threatening to drown him.

Steve never wavered on supporting him through it all since coming here. He claimed it was the Dad in him, and he always made sure Peter slept, ate, and bathed, but he was also the man who had been frozen for seventy years and come out to find his friends and family gone. He completely understood Peter on that level and never patronized him, but gave him honest advice about what it was like for him, and ways for Peter to deal with the many emotions assailing him at once. Growing up with the Ravagers, Peter had to stow away his empathetic nature, his sensitivity. Here, it seemed to be encouraged.

Tony even arranged to get him a therapist right in the tower for sessions once a week, which was good because he was dealing with severe anxiety whenever it came to leaving his floor. He wanted to punch himself because it was so ridiculous. He'd been on worlds with perpetual Earthquakes, poisonous gas, alien species that could swallow him whole. He'd happily get in the Milano and fly a few star systems away, but somehow Earth, despite it's banality in comparison to the places he'd been, seemed terrifying beyond comprehension. Steve would just sit and listen to his fears.

Peter broke out of his reverie when he realized Steve was finishing his story to the boys, so decided to steal away for some alone time.

He sat in his room, and turned on the StarkPad Tony had graciously given him. He opened Google, and knew there was only one thing he wanted to do right now.

He googled his Grandfather's name, against his better judgement.

Of course, the results revealed links to archived newspaper articles about the mysterious 1988 Missouri child disappearance. Appeals were made, his Grandparents had done interviews. He even managed to stumble upon had a follow up interview they did in 2003, saying they weren't giving up hope and ending it with, "if you're out there, Peter, know that we love you. We miss you so much, and we think about you every day. Come home." He felt his blood run cold and the sentences blurred, his hands began to tremble, his shaking fingertips brushing against the words.

In a fit of rage, he threw the StarkPad as hard as he could across the room, letting out a pained noise that he wanted to be a yell but was probably more of a whimper. He wanted to do something, anything, but continue living with this guilt. A sob caught in his throat and hot tears spilled down his cheeks, and he wailed, barely able to catch his breath between pitiful cries. He slid off the bed and onto the floor, hugging himself around his knees, thinking about every person he had lost - his Mom, Yondu, his Grandpa, his Grandma, his uncle. His ravager buddies that had died in the mutiny. He even felt something for Ego, his monster of a father, simply because he had spent his life wishing to meet him, and was crushed to find out what he did. He hadn't cried like this in so long, so long in fact that he couldn't bring to mind when he had last cried out loud about anything after he grew up. That was just it - he didn't feel grown up. He wanted his Mom and he wanted Yondu and he wanted his Grandpa. He sucked in more air and let it out in a quiet moan, rubbing at his snotty nose. He couldn't regulate his breathing and calm down. Then, there was two swift knocks on his door.

"Peter? Peter, I'm coming in, okay?"

Steve burst in, and to Peter's far off, vague amusement, was holding a plate of pancakes obviously meant for him. Yet he could only look up at the Captain plaintively, his breath hitching and shoulders quaking as he continued to cry.

"Oh, honey." He placed them on the bedside table and knelt next to Peter, grabbing a tissue out of his back pocket and wiping at his nose. He held the tissue over his nose. "Blow."

Peter did, and felt like a baby. He had seen Tony and Bucky cry, for various reasons and at varying volumes. They never cried for long because Steve knew just what to do. Peter felt an urge come over him in his vulnerability, and he stretched his two arms up towards Steve.

Steve didn't need any other prompting and gathered Peter under his arms and heaved him up onto his hip. He sat down on the bed with Peter on his lap, rubbing his back and simply letting him cry. He bounced his legs gently, and reached a comforting hand up to run through Peter's hair. Peter knew he should feel utterly embarrassed; he was getting tears and snot and probably drool on Actual Captain Freaking America right now.

"Pete, I want you to breathe for me. Remember how Anna showed you?" His therapist, Anna, had taught him how to breathe through a panic attack, but this felt different. This wasn't panic. This just felt like pain.

Nevertheless, he felt himself calm down somewhat, the rhythmic bouncing and rubbing of his back and hair made him melt even more into Steve. He hiccuped a few times, but they remained in a wordless embrace for a few minutes, which Steve eventually broke.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"I…"

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I'm not a baby."

It wasn't what Peter actually wanted to say, but he felt like he had to so that Cap would take him seriously. He made no move to actually get off his lap.

"You don't have to be a baby to need a hug and someone to listen to you."

Peter nods slowly and moves his head from Steve's shoulder to his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. After a few minutes of this, he pulled away and looked over Steve's shoulder to the abandoned StarkPad, which had luckily landed on soft carpet and sustained no breakages. He cast his eyes down and started absentmindedly fiddling with the cuff of Steve's shirt.

"My new tablet, I googled my…my Grandpa on it. An' he left a message for me years ago in an interview about my dis'pearence. 'N it made my cry 'cause I miss him, and it made me think on how bad I miss everyone else."

"That's only natural." Steve gently brushed his hair back from his flushed face.

"Yeah. I never really thought about it once I got older. But losin' Yondu, comin' here again…I feel so weird. I've had two sessions with Anna but I haven't cried about it all. Just now is the first time."

"You can talk to me about anything at all, you know that right?"

"I know, Steve."

In the ensuing silence, he felt awkward, wanting to get off his lap but feeling stuck there. Suddenly there was a tinny cry. A baby monitor app on Steve's phone told him the boys were awake. Peter hopped up off his lap, trying to quell the disappointment of their moment being cut short.

"Eat a few bites of pancake and drink some water, buddy. I'm gonna take care of this, but don't worry, I'll be back soon, okay?"

Peter took the glass in a shaky hand and nodded. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Pancakes! Eat."

With that, he was gone, leaving Peter wanting to cry again.

Except this time, it was just so that Steve would come running back.