"Steve, I'm sending him home for you to deal with. If I have to listen to him bitch about how keeping the company running normally during a crisis is not his priority, I'm going to strangle him and then we'll really have a mess on our hands," Pepper bursts the moment Steve accepts her call. She sounds like she's hanging on to her composure by a thread, which tells him a lot about how Tony must be acting, so he smothers his smile and sets down the knife he's slicing up a tomato with and leans back against the counter to listen.

"That bad, huh?"

Pepper makes a growling sound and Steve has to cover his mouth to stifle his chuckle. Wow, he's really got her riled up. Then she sighs and Steve can practically hear her deflate. "I know he's worried about Peter and he feels guilty about the people who were killed and, based on the size of the bags under his eyes, he hasn't been sleeping enough again, but I need him right now."

"What do you need from him?" Steve asks.

"Paperwork," Pepper says and it sounds like she's lost all hope. "Essentially. There are several things he's already supposed to have signed off on and he hasn't and if he would just get it over with, it would be one less thing for me to worry about. I used to be able to cajole him into doing these things with minimal fuss, but..."

Steve nods. "That was when you worked for him full time."

Pepper sighs again. "Yes."

"Sir," JARVIS says, and there's a certain ominousness to his tone, "Mister Stark is coming up the elevator."

Steve raises his eyebrows and says, "Thanks for the heads up. Pepper, I'll do what I can. When do you need him back?"

"The next press conference is at six PM. I'll be there with Happy at five."

She hangs up just as the elevator doors glide open.

"God damn it!" Tony snarls, hands curling into claws, and Steve tugs out his cell phone as he moves to greet him, tapping the Avengers Assemble household shortcut.

"Technology's not all it's cracked up to be," Steve says as he slips the phone back into his pocket. "Used to be you could slam a door, get out some of that frustration."

Tony shoots him a poisonous look. "Bite your tongue, Luddite."

Steve smiles and sidles a little closer, ducking his head.

"Oh, no," Tony says, waving a finger. "Don't start with that Leave It to Beaver bullshit."

"Tony," he says, sliding his hands in his pockets and peeking up at him.

"Stop that!" Tony demands. "I'm pissed off!"

"Sure are," Steve says and he's gotten close enough to reach for the buttons on Tony's jacket. He starts undoing them, brushing Tony's hands away when he starts batting at his fingers.

"What are you doing home anyway?" he snaps. "I'm not staying. Pepper's got another thing coming if she thinks I'm gonna nap. I'm not a toddler. Would you stop that?!"

Steve looks up at him without moving his head, well aware that it makes him look sweet and boyish and that makes it nearly impossible for Tony to hold on to his anger. He can already see Tony's resolve wavering.

"Lousy day, huh?" he says, and Tony stares at him as he slides his hands under the collar of the jacket, slipping it free of Tony's shoulders.

"This is not working," Tony says. "I still hate everyone."

"Even me?" Clint says from his spot on the couch where they'd been discussing training scenarios. Tony jerks under Steve's hands, obviously just now becoming aware of the archer's presence. "That hurts, Stark. That hurts my soul."

Tony's face twists with fresh annoyance and Steve tugs him closer until they're all but sharing the same space. Clint, eternal teenager that he is, starts making exaggerated gagging noises.

"Ignore him," Steve murmurs, stepping close to catch the jacket. He can feel the heat of Tony's skin against his cheek. Tony grunts and Steve feels his fingers on his stomach. The last of the defiance in his gaze starts to ebb.

Then a bolt of lightning cracks the dark sky outside and thunder rattles the glass.

The elevator door opens to reveal Bruce, Darcy, Betty, and Natasha and from the couch, Clint drawls, "Guess who."

Some residual crackles of lightning and thunder grumble outside and Tony growls, "Damn drama queen," and pulls away. Steve sighs.

Clint makes a noise halfway between a laugh and a hacking cough at the absolute irony in that statement, but Tony just points a finger at him without bothering to look and snaps, "Are you sick? Thinking about getting sick? Get out."

Clint waves his hands, points at his throat and chokes, "Saliva—breathed it—"

"Yeah, I don't care," Tony says.

The doors to the Iron Man landing platform glide open and Thor bounds through, his arms spread joyfully. Tony stalks forward to greet him with an expression as black as the clouds outside the window, but before he can get a word out, Thor has swept him up into a hug.

"Brother!" he exclaims and Tony makes a breathless noise of indignation, his toes almost a foot off the ground. Thor sets him down a little too hard and the next noise Tony makes is pained, his knees almost buckling. He gets a white-knuckled grip on Thor's arm and Thor grips his arms in return, face twisting into an expression of sincerest concern. "Heimdall summoned me to the bridge, he said young Peter has been overtaken by some affliction?"

"What have I told you about the man-handling?" Tony demands, grimacing and rubbing at his knee. "Jesus, I think you broke something."

Thor immediately looks contrite, reaching to touch Tony's shoulder, his grip more ginger and his gaze focused on the hand Tony has at his knee. "I apologize, I was distressed to hear of Peter's illness and I have not remembered myself. Do you need to be seated?"

Tony gives him a dirty look, but lays off the rubbing and mutters, "No, no," and the rest drops under his breath, too low to understand.

Thor glances around the room, his face brightening when he sees Clint, Natasha, and Bruce. "Sister!" he says warmly, moving forward to grasp Natasha's elbows. He kisses her cheek and she smiles, leans up on her tiptoes to kiss both of his. "It has been too long."

"It has," she agrees and he releases her to drag Clint and Bruce into a hug.

"Brothers." Clint rolls his eyes, patting Thor's back as his face is mashed into the demi-god's chest plate and Bruce flushes, patting Thor's elbow gingerly.

"Good to see you, too, Thor," he says.

Then Thor relinquishes his grip on them as well and his gaze moves to where Steve stands and all of the merriness in his face fades away. He strides forward, hauling Steve into a rib-crushing hug. Steve can't help but smile, hugging back. "Hey, Thor. We've missed you around here."

"And I you," Thor says. "Things in Asgard have been, well...strained shall we say." He waves his hand before Steve can ask and says, "But I have not come to speak of my troubles. How fares mine nephew?"

"He fares fine." The six of them turn to see Peter standing in the hall doorway in his pajamas, smiling despite his clear exhaustion. "Hey, Uncle Thor."

"What are you doing out of bed?" Tony demands.

"It went from vaguely gray to thunderstorms in, like, two seconds. I know the signs. Besides, I'm on the household Assemble list, remember?"

Tony frowns and turns to look at Steve. "Well, that explains why our living room has been invaded, but not why."

Steve shrugs. "Pepper told me about the board."

Tony stares at him. "And you thought an impromptu party was the best way to deal with that?"

"I thought we could all keep Peter company," he replies. "He's getting cabin fever."

Tony's eyes go a little darker. "You're just trying to distract me. These bums are just your back up."

Steve smiles sunnily. "Could be, but Peter looks pretty happy, don't you think?" He waves a hand to where Peter has his arm hooked around Thor's neck, laughing.

Tony's expression softens when he looks over. "All right, all right," he grumbles. "But I'm not going to calm down."

"I think I'd throw myself off the building if you did," Clint says as he heads to the kitchen to raid the fridge.

"Is that supposed to be clever? You throw yourself off of buildings everyday. I'd be hard-pressed to find a building you haven't thrown yourself off of."

"I'm waiting on intel right now, Tony," Natasha says, flicking his arm with the end of her scarf. "I could go with you to Bundaberg if you like."

Tony sighs and Steve is pleased to see his temper fizzle out. It leaves him looking exhausted and resigned, but at least he's not wasting his energy being angry about things he can't change. "Thanks, Natasha, but I can handle it. I just don't want to. Bunch of slimy ingrates."

Over by the couch, Thor is removing the less forgiving parts of his Asgardian clothing, laying the armor out on a chair while he catches up with Peter, his smile wide and fond.

It's been nearly two months since his last visit; apparently the centennial review of the realm's taxes was not a speedy process.

The rest of the room is equally full of chatter; nowadays group gatherings are a special occasion kind of occurrence. With everyone's schedules it gets difficult to orchestrate them. Steve smiles to himself, just allowing himself to enjoy the pleasure of having everyone he loves together again. They've come a long way since those early days—since he washed up on that beach in North Carolina.

Steve gets a special kick out of watching the others check up on Peter, brushing lingering hands through his hair and asking if he has everything he needs. Clint joins him on the couch with a carton of Tony's favorite ice cream, offering him a spoonful. He laughs at the dirty look Peter gives him for his trouble.

It takes nearly an hour for all of them to settle in and by then Peter's got an enormous cache of goods piled within easy reach—everything from a plastic-bag lined trash can to a worn stuffed pale yellow duck with a drooping red and white gingham bow around it's neck. Nobody's sure where the duck came from originally, but it shows up whenever someone's feeling less than a hundred percent.

Tony is equally well-looked after, if more subtly. He's got a drink thanks to Darcy and a pillow thanks to Bruce and he's slumped down on the couch, looking good and relaxed except for the way his expression darkens when he's not being spoken to.

Steve is the last to sit, right between Tony and Peter.

"Start 'er up, J," Tony calls. "Pep's gonna be on my ass again in no time."

As the movie starts, Steve threads his fingers through Tony's and tugs. Tony grunts and slumps sideways into the crook of his shoulder. "Shit, I'm tired," he mutters and breathes in, sinking more fully against Steve's side.

Steve doesn't answer because he knows the second he mentions sleep, Tony will remain obstinately awake. So he shushes Tony instead and starts to brush his thumb back and forth, back and forth over the back of Tony's hand.

He's asleep before the opening credits have ended.

By the time the ending credits roll, he's slumped over in Steve's lap, drooling on his thigh.

"One more," Bruce says from where he's sitting at Betty's feet, head on her knee. She has her fingers buried in his curls and his eyes are only half-open.

"I'm game," Clint says. A ripple of seconding goes through the room, followed by, "But after I get a refill," and "Need to pee, then totally."

Steve is both hungry again and needing to empty his bladder, so he slips out from under Tony, smiling at his mumble of discontent and takes off for the head.

"Hey, Thor," he calls when he's returned and stuck his head in the fridge. "You want something to eat?"

He laughs at the expected, "I am famished, certainly!"

"I thought you might be."

"So, uh, did Heimdall see what made me sick?" Peter asks, trying to look more curious than worried. Thor leans sideways on the couch, resting his head on Peter's shoulder.

"Nay, he merely saw you were staying home from school as he made his rounds."

"Your head's like a brick, Uncle Thor," Peter complains, relieved. The longer he's sick, the more nervous he is something's gone wrong, or that somebody will figure it out and try to reverse it. He keeps having to remind himself that the test animals sometimes took as long as two weeks to go through the process.

Thor tilts his head back, grinning, and leaning a little more of his weight on Peter.

"Oh my god, you're crushing me." Peter gasps exaggeratedly.

"You know Heimdall cannot see any more than you or I would be able," Thor says as he mashes Peter into the sofa cushions. Peter groans ineffectually. "He would not be able to see an illness taking hold." He leans back suddenly and Peter blinks up at him, dazed. He's frowning. "Do you have reason to think Heimdall would have seen your illness begin?"

"No," Peter blurts and feels his face turn red. Thor frowns more deeply. "Really," Peter insists, and anyone other than Uncle Thor would be able to smell the smoke coming off his pants. "I just thought he might have seen somebody chewing on my pen or something."

Thor relaxes, a mischievous smile slipping across his face. "Someone like your Gwen Stacy?"

Steve is heating up some chicken soup on the stove, boiling up some extra noodles to throw in when he hears Thor's voice suddenly rise, alarmed, followed by the pop-crash of a glass hitting the tile.

"Is anyone hurt?" he calls over his shoulder.

"What the hell, Thor," Tony demands, slurring groggily.

"I did nothing!"

"There's glass everywhere, I wouldn't say that's noth..." Tony trails off and after a second of silence, says warily, "Peter?"

Steve turns, frowning, when he hears no response.

"Peter?" Tony barks and then his head pops up over the back of the couch, shouting, "Bruce!"

"I did nothing," Thor insists again, white-faced. "I do not understand—"

Steve's stomach lurches. "Tony, what is it? What's wrong?"

"BETTY!"

"I'm here, Tony!" Bruce replies, harried, and he freezes as he reaches the couch, a moment of plain shock crossing his face before he finds his composure. Steve turns the burner off with a snap, tossing aside the dish towel in his hands and rushing to join them.

"Dammit, will one of you tell me what's going on?" He skirts around the couch.

Tony's yelling, "What's wrong with him?"

"Calm down," Bruce orders, waving Tony's hands away from Peter. He snatches them back.

Then Steve finally sees Peter and his stomach trickles down to his toes.

Peter's eyes have gone glassy and unfocused, his right hand hanging limp over the edge of the couch and his left making small grasping gestures at his stomach. His head is hanging at a slight angle, moving in a triangular shape over and over like he's dropping off to sleep and waking again and again.

But he's not—he's not there. He's not Peter and the fear prickles on Steve's skin like a living thing, from the roots of his hair to the soles of his feet.

"It's a seizure," Bruce explains patiently and Steve's knees turn to jelly. He sinks onto the couch next to Tony, staring.

A seizure.

"Oh, fuck," Tony says and Steve's never heard his voice, thin and wavering like that before.

"Bruce," Betty says, voice still calm and measured, "call the medical bay and have them prep a bed." Then she turns her attention to them and says, "Stay calm. He's all right."

Steve wants to yell, He sure as hell doesn't look all right!

But Betty is looking into Peter's face, saying, "You're probably scared, Peter, but it's okay. You're okay. What you're experiencing right now is just a seizure. You're safe."

"Just a seizure," Tony repeats, sounding strangled.

"He was well," Thor says, and his blue eyes are over-bright. "We were talking of Gwen Stacy and—the glass slipped from his fingers—he would not respond—"

"Thor, it's okay," Bruce says, glancing up at him. He's not touching Peter, not doing anything to fix this—this seizure—why isn't he doing anything? "You didn't do anything wrong. This isn't your fault."

"Do something, Banner," Steve hears himself demand, and geez, what's wrong with him, he hasn't called Bruce by his surname in years.

Bruce's gaze turns to him, still maddeningly patient. "There's nothing to do, Steve. Peter's okay. I know it's pretty scary to see, but he's not thrashing so he's not a danger to himself. He'll come out of it."

Just then Peter's whole body loosens, his head dipping forward like he's falling asleep. Bruce catches him, keeping him from slumping forward with a gentle hand cupped around the side of his neck, the other resting gingerly against his shoulder. "Peter," he says, low and soothing, "can you squeeze my fingers?"

Peter must do it because Bruce smiles and says, "Good, good. You're probably a little overwhelmed right now, so I'm not going to ask you any questions. What you just experienced was a partial seizure. It's not a good sign, but the seizure itself is not going to hurt you. It won't affect your brain and it's not a sign of brain damage either, so don't worry about that, all right? You're okay. You're safe."

"What's happening to me?" Peter asks in a small voice and Steve presses a hand down over his mouth.

"I don't know, Peter," Bruce says honestly, "but we're going to find out."