"I leave for five minutes and it all goes to pot." Despite the attempt at humour, Sam wears a concerned frown. "Bunch a' kindergarteners…"

Rhodes doesn't even try for the same level of nonchalant. He hasn't bothered to change out of his army fatigues either—

He enters the infirmary and marches straight to Peter. Picking the boy up, he sits on the visitor's chair and cradles Peter on his lap. Peter doesn't fight the hold, letting Rhodey pat him down and Sam rub his shoulder.

They're both jetlagged from the long flight, eyes tired but full of worry for him. It isn't clear who called the two men but either way they've made it here in record time since the fight broke up not four hours ago.

Peter feels hollowed out, gaze a thousand yards long. He's limp in Rhodes' protective arms.

Sam and Rhodes exchange a sad look when they see it.

The ache and pull of ten days worth of lying in a hospital bed make even Peter's eyelids sore.

"I'm so glad you're okay." Rhodes, perhaps the least affectionate person in Peter's life aside from Hill, in a momentous occasion to top off this day chalk full of firsts, plants a tender kiss on Peter's forehead. "Why don't you let yourself sleep, little man? You must be exhausted, especially after all of Bruce's tests. We'll be right here the whole time."

Peter's droopy eyes pop back open. "Can't. They might start fighting again. Got to…to be ready to step in."

Sam's eyes darken into something Peter can't read. "That's not your job." He drapes Peter's legs over his knees. "That's why we flew all the way here. We're the adults, Pete."

Peter wants to argue, like a festering itch under his skin, but there are more pressing things to worry about.

"What was on the tape?" His voice comes out faint. "No one will tell me."

Sam and Rhodes meet each other's eyes, the same look everyone's been throwing around since it happened. Peter feels like the secrecy and tension are contagious at the rate they're multiplying in this medical wing alone.

He's heard the hushed conversations, once everyone was done hugging and crying all over him.

Rhodes opens his mouth but is saved by Bruce entering.

"I don't know how, Peter, but you're a medical miracle." The doctor's eyes are bright. "Other than a few weeks of physical therapy to relearn how to use those legs, you're in good health, even your brain waves. It's…I can't explain it, really."

And he hugs Peter again for good measure. Peter closes his eyes against the lab coat, wrapping his arms around the soft lines and saffron smell that are so essentially Bruce.

"You're safe. You woke up…you're safe."

Bruce seems to be reassuring himself, totally ignoring the fact that to hug Peter he pretty much has to drape himself over Rhodes. Rhodes doesn't seem to mind. Sam manages to weasel through to ruffle Peter's hair, a free patch Bruce doesn't have his hand cupped around.

"Let us in on the love."

"Clint!" Peter pulls back so the archer can kneel beside Bruce and squeeze the life out of him. He's the only parent Peter hasn't talked to yet. "I missed you!"

Clint garbles something that's probably supposed to be, "missed you too," but he's breathing too shallow for it to come out. Nat stands over his shoulder with a warm look.

The archer's hands are wide and strong around Peter's back. One of his thumbs settles just above the bandages around Peter's spine and their two heartbeats throb a duet.

Unlike the others, Clint doesn't shake, doesn't kiss his cheeks like Nat did. Clint just holds his child in a shielding embrace and breathes so quickly that his chest knocks Peter's ribs.

"I'm okay," says Peter, quieter. He's never seen Clint scared before. It's like an image not quite in focus, the lines all wrong.

"Give me a minute. Just let me…just let my body figure that out, okay?"

Peter nods. He can relate.

Over his shoulder, he watches Bruce check Steve's vitals, where the man is conscious but groggy—drugged—in the bed.

My old bed.

It feels wrong that they've traded places.

It's also laughable how much bigger Steve looks in it. His legs stretch a clear ten inches farther towards the foot board than Peter's.

When Clint reluctantly lets Peter go, the boy slides off Rhodes' lap.

"Whoa! Whoa! Hey!" Sam catches Peter around the ribs before he can topple over. "I think Banner was pretty clear about the whole your-legs-are-basically-those-of-a-newborn-horse thing. Let us help you, man."

Peter does indeed feel like a toddler, legs uncoordinated and kicking while Sam holds his weight. He knows he should be embarrassed about this but here, finally awake, and crowded in a room with people he loves, Peter is just relieved.

I didn't die in that bunker. Bucky and I made it out alive.

That's the real miracle here, in Peter's opinion.

"Steve?" Peter's arms make it to the bed and Sam forgoes the pretense of 'helping' Peter to just lift him up. He sets Peter on the edge so his scrub-clad legs dangle off. "Does it still hurt?"

Steve either ignores Peter's question or is so overcome by the sight of him that he can't process anything else.

Probably the latter, judging by the fact Steve's eyes immediately fill up. With his right arm in a sling, he reaches across with his left, the limb trembling.

Peter obliges without a word, leaning closer so Steve can cup the back of his head, like Bruce, and press their foreheads together.

Various monitors start beeping but nobody jumps to do anything. Steve's injuries are numerous but non lethal and in this moment, even Peter understands that he needs this more.

Though he's careful with Peter's wounds, his grip is three times as strong as Clint's. He whisks Peter clean off his spot, even with just one arm, and embraces him full body, breathing into his hair and the bandages around the back of his neck.

"Peter."

Peter's back twinges but he smiles, remembering that day.

"Steve." Peter doesn't realize how much he's been holding inside, all the hurt and terror of being kidnapped, the longing for his parents, the certainty that he was going to die in that wasteland, until Peter says the man's name out loud. "Steve, it wasn't—I—I didn't—"

"Sshhh." Sam strokes a hand up and down Peter's back since Steve can't right now. "It's okay, little man. We got you out. You're safe."

Peter knows, somewhere in the back of his addled mind, that for them it's been nearly two weeks since Siberia. They've had time to process.

But for Peter, it's like it just happened.

The last thing he remembers before waking up to Steve's screams is Bucky's screams when his hand retracted without his consent. Book-ended by horror.

He hiccups. "Zemo! We've got to catch him and he'll come back and—"

"Pete, we caught him," says Clint. Peter pulls back to glance at the archer. "He can't hurt you or anyone else again."

Peter doesn't cry but he closes his eyes and shudders out a long exhale.

Clint explains to Peter in soft tones what's happened since his rescue, how they performed surgery and he wouldn't respond to their voices. All the moments he missed.

Peter frowns. "I don't remember that. Any of it."

Steve squeezes him once, hard, where Peter lays against his chest. "That's alright, son. We're just glad you're back."

Noticeable is Tony's absence and Peter isn't quite ready to unpack what happened in the boardroom.

It is only as his eyelids slip shut for good that he realizes two things: Sam is sitting there to act as Steve's bodyguard, Rhodes for Tony. They're muscle in case things escalate again.

And second—

"Hey," Peter slurs. "You've been puttin' me to sleep…"

Clint's rumbling laughter follows Peter into dreamland.


Look, sleepy, emotional cuddles are my Kryptonite. I will die with this trope.