Angst + fluff + update = hopefully peace offering for my long absence. Sorry!

Having an idea was easy.

Implementing it, fleshing it out, getting anywhere beyond the idea…was really hard.

I couldn't just…you know, go out in the city and tackle someone I thought might be a mugger. I mean, how would I even get there? The city was easily forty minutes by car. And how would I hide my identity if I did get out there? What would I do if I got hurt? Would FRIDAY think I was running away again, and contact the others? Did I want to tell them? Would they even let me do it, or would they say it was too dangerous?

And besides, I didn't actually want to hurt anybody. And with my powers still so new, I might do it on accident. What would happen then? What if I—what if I accidentally killed someone?

Needless to say, I had a lot to think about.

The constant thinking and wondering and pondering and planning had led to less depression, but also to a different kind of isolation. I would spend a lot of time reading, hoping something would pop out at me as an idea to get around, to hide myself, that kind of thing.

The others seemed less worried. I spoke more, and went out more to do stuff, but my mind was always preoccupied.

I wanted to be like them. To help, to…to have a reason.

To have a reason to drag myself out of bed every morning, even though I felt like I didn't deserve the life that had been coincidentally saved so many times.

I needed it.

In the end, one of my breakthroughs came not from books, or brainstorming, but from Clint.

He'd asked me to come help him on the range with some of the arrows Tony and I had invented for him over Christmas, which seemed like years ago, after everything. I was holding a StarkPad and logging the reaction time for each special effect after they came in contact with the target, seeing which ones had unacceptably long delays for a fast-paced battlefield situation.

"The Taser ones are good on reaction time," I said absently, running numbers in my head as I considered any other battlefield factors that might affect any delays. "I want to test them against a few different types of armor and material to see if the electricity will conduct through anything, or just metal and skin. Can we try one of the webs for now?"

"Sure, Einstein," Clint said. "I swear, between you and my kids, I feel stupid most of the time."

I snorted, resetting the camera that would capture the arrow's impact and replay it in slow motion with all the specs and numbers. "Not my fault you have feathers in your brain."

He sent me a heatless glare, saying, "You're around Sam and Tony way too much."

I grinned shamelessly.

Clint nocked his bow, leveling one of the web arrows at the target several hundred meters down the range with practiced ease, his shoulders flexing naturally.

Unfortunately, though his form was perfect as always, execution was not.

Well, it wasn't his fault. Tony and I must have miscalculated the amount of pressure it would take for the capsule housing the web fluid to detonate, because as soon as the string pulled too taut, the capsule exploded right in front of Clint's face.

I flinched at the explosion, reflexively covering my ears with my hands. To a normal person, it would've just been a startling pop, but it sounded like a gunshot to me. I could feel the panic building steadily, the sound setting off a chain reaction—

But I was getting better. This was getting easier. I could do this.

Counting to five, taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes.

I…wasn't expecting what I saw.

Clint was pinned to the floor, struggling like a madman. "Son of a bitch," he hissed, jerking his arm around, trying to pry it out of the webbing nailing him firmly to the ground. "What the hell is this stuff, gorilla glue?" When I didn't move, he looked up, saying, "You okay, little dude? Wanna help an old guy out?"

Detachedly, I nodded quickly, mumbling something about the solvent and rushing to Tony's lab to grab a vial.

In my mind, my thoughts were moving a million miles a minute.

If I had a spider's DNA, and…sticky hands, and stuff, I could theoretically climb walls and use webs to transport myself across spaces, and…and I had the upper body strength and body composition to do so.

And I had the formula for synthetic web fluid.

If I could craft it, perfect it, and create a housing for it that manipulated the fluid and made it a flexible, semisolid material that I could adjust to suit my needs…

…well, that would be a way to get to the city and around. I would just swing through the trees and the buildings.

The thought was mildly terrifying, but…well, no plan was perfect.

But it was a start.

Eventually, I got the solvent and released Clint from his captivity (not before a multitude of pictures and amused visit from Natasha and Sam), but my mind wandered th rest of the day.

…

When I was finally alone for the day, I snuck into the lab and grabbed the web fluid we had and some of Tony's spare parts, plus some tools to try to craft a housing that would suit my needs.

As I burglarized the decidedly off-limits workshop, FRIDAY cut in, chiding, "Peter, you are aware that you're not allowed in the workshop without supervision. I'm alerting Boss."

"Wait!" I said quickly, shoving a screwdriver into my bag. "Uh, I…I just…wanted to do something to help him! You know, he's been so busy lately, with the PR on, uh…R-Ross, and everything…" I took a breath, pushing the name from my mind. "I just, uh…wanted to work on Clint's web arrows since they exploded today. To help him not be…stressed."

The lie was bitter on my tongue, but the truth was a shrouded in a thick cloak of doubt that I couldn't handle voicing just yet.

FRIDAY contemplated for a moment as I sweat bullets beneath her (metaphorically? Anyways…), then conceded, "I suppose that's okay. But I will be keeping an eye on you."

I sighed in relief, grateful for FRIDAY's gentle nature. "You're the best, FRIDAY."

"Thank you, Peter. I'm aware."

I snorted, carting the contraband up to my room.

After hugging Stella (cause she was just so damn huggable) and playing with her for a few minutes, she got bored and stretched out on my bed, tired already. Which was stupid, because she always had so much energy. Oh well; I guess that meant I should start working.

I spent the better part of the night working on different housing and firing options for the web, working out different trigger responses and finding ways to manually and automatically adjust the circumference of the web strand for different situations. I hadn't extensively tested my strength yet—my arm was still kind of sore, after all—so I needed to find the perfect balance. The web couldn't be too thick that the housing couldn't accommodate it, but it couldn't be so thin that I'd snap it trying to propel myself around.

I finally settled on what I hoped was a happy medium, wiping my forehead with the sleeve of my sweatshirt before leaning back in my spinny chair (that Tony had finally let me take because I hogged it so fervently in the lab). It looked…good. Sleek, compact, and effective.

It looked usable.

Now I just had to…test it.

Which was going to be hard.

And I also needed to work on a costume or something. Something to hide my identity. And a name…? Which sounded really word, but all the Avengers had really badass codenames (except Thor, but…yeah).

Um…I mean, this was actually a lot harder than it looked…

Spider…Hero? Captain Spider? Oh God, definitely not.

I decided to write my thoughts down and figure things out. I liked it better when I could see things. So…not Captain Spider. God, I wanted to burn the idea just thinking about it.

Um…it couldn't be like, an actual spider. That would be really tacky, with Natasha already being Black Widow. Maybe…The Spider? Like, with a capital t…mm, no. That just…sounded like a bad meme waiting to happen.

Man-Spider…Oh God, I was so bad at this…

Wait. Maybe Spider-Man…? That didn't sound…too awful. But like, it was really simple and not really all that badass…and to be fair, I wasn't really a man at all. Okay, maybe a little, but I was still like 80% a kid.

But Spider-Boy just sounded like…like the world's worst teenage heavy-metal garage band, and I wanted to absolutely destroy any memory that I'd even considered it.

So…Spider-Man. Working title. That wasn't too horrible. If I made my costume believable enough—

Wait.

Hyphen. Hyphen? Did I want the hyphen? Was that too tacky? Tony didn't have a hyphen in Iron Man. Spider-Man made me kind of think of He-Man, which just…creeped me out a little. So…okay, not that one. I could do Spider Man or Spiderman, then.

Which one?

Spider Man sounded…I don't know, kind of cool, like Iron Man. Like…it commanded authority, and it made you pay attention.

Which sounded…weird. I didn't think I'd ever be qualified to have authority over anyone, so…yeah.

Spiderman…sounded good. I liked it. It sounded more…I don't know, casual, like an actual name. Trustworthy, kind of.

Okay. Spiderman. I liked that. I liked that a lot.

Spiderman.

I grinned. It was coming together.

…

"You've seemed better," Dr. Sanders said, smiling at me. I liked her office. It was cozy, and homey. I sat in the corner of a little two-person couch, curled up against the armrest. I usually liked to hug a pillow, too, and she let me. I wanted to bring Stella and hug her, but Dr. Sanders thought she'd be a distraction, unless I wanted to work on getting her registered as an Emotional Support Animal. I told her I'd think about it. She sat in an armchair across from me, legs crossed and posture relaxed.

She was pretty, with dark skin and wavy hair. She also had a gold nose ring, which I thought was kind of cool. I didn't see facial jewelry in professionals all that much, but it looked good on her. She had kind brown eyes and long, detailed nails, which looked like they took a really long time. She laughed when I asked if she did them herself, and said if she had, she was in the wrong business.

"I've felt better," I admitted, hugging the pillow a little tighter. "I still…um, hear Jason, sometimes, but it's…quieter, and less frequent."

She smiled encouragingly. "That's good. That's great progress."

I nodded, fidgeting. "Um…so, patient-confidentiality…how does that, like…work?"

She tilted her head, but her facial expression didn't change. "You mean, what do I keep private, and what do I share?"

"I guess?"

She nodded, adjusting her posture. "If you say anything that indicates you're going to harm yourself or someone else, then I have to tell your legal guardians. In that case, Bucky, which I'm guessing translates to the other Avengers, right?" She asked with a smirk.

I laughed a little. "You're not wrong, yeah."

"In your special case, if you tell me something that's worrying medically, that you haven't shared with anyone yet, I have to share it with your legal guardian and Dr. Cho. Just so we can make sure you're getting all the help you need."

I nodded. That sounded reasonable.

"So…so if I tell you something I've been really thinking about, that I haven't told anybody yet…that isn't medical and that doesn't hurt me or anybody else…could you…keep it a secret?" I asked hesitantly, not meeting her eyes.

I hadn't told anybody about Spiderman yet. I didn't really want to, but…I wanted to see if I was just…crazy for thinking I could do it. I wanted it, so badly I ached. I needed something to…to do, a purpose, a reason. I needed it. But if…it was just a stupid idea that wasn't going to get anywhere…I needed someone to tell me now, before I invested anymore time and hope into it.

"I suppose," she said carefully, her eyes narrowing in concern. "Where would you like to start?"

"Um…I guess…the beginning," I said quietly, and I told her.

I told her about how my depression mostly stemmed from not having a purpose, when my life had been saved so many times. I felt like there was nothing I could do to repay those debts, for all the deaths I'd caused. And then how I thought I might be able to do something now that I had powers, like…like my family.

I told her about the web fluid incident with Clint, and how I'd decided on Spiderman as a name. I told her all the thoughts that had been rushing through my mind.

"And…" I continued hesitantly. "I mean, I just…it would be really small-time stuff, you know?" I rationalized as I continued. Her face remained impassive, and I couldn't tell what she was thinking. "Like…stopping petty theft, or a convenience store robbery, or a break-in…you know, stuff like that. Um…yeah. That's…that's all right now, I…I can't tell what you're thinking, Dr. Sanders," I said quietly, nervous.

She nodded, leaning back. "Well, first of all, I'm very glad you've found something productive to channel your energy," she said with a genuine smile. "It's good to find something worthwhile, especially for people with depression."

I nodded, squeezing the pillow. "But…?"

"My concerns," she said gently, leaning forward; I could see the worry in her eyes, "are that you don't quite know what you're getting into. Before you say anything, let me finish my thoughts," she said, and I shut my mouth, my heart beating quickly. "Petty theft, break-ins…it would be wonderful if you could stop them, and I know you have the ability to do so. But…you're going to be faced with guns, Peter. Lots of guns. And weapons of other kinds, maybe even alien tech that was never confiscated."

She continued, and I felt my heart sink with each word. "You're going to see things that are going to haunt you, and I don't think you need that right now. You're going to see…death, and rape, sexual assault, brutal robberies…things that will stick with you. And Peter…"

She leaned further forward, taking one of my hands in her own, and spoke gently, but seriously. "There are going to be people you can't save, and I'm afraid that will send you in the wrong direction in terms of recovery. You've been making so much progress, Peter. And I'm very afraid that something of that magnitude will cause a lot of damage."

As politely as I could, I took my hand back from her. "So…it's a bad idea."

She shook her head. "It's a wonderful idea. But some wonderful ideas are very difficult to put into practice."

I already knew that.

"My advice," she said carefully, sympathetically, "is to talk to your family about it. You're very young, Peter, and they may not even want you to be putting yourself in that kind of danger."

"I can handle it, though," I argued, terrified at the thought that it may be taken away before I could even try it. "I can. I know my limits, now."

"I'm not the one you need to convince," she admitted. "I'd really like you to bring this up with your family. Maybe they can help you find a way to put it into practice. My honest opinion, Peter, is that this isn't the best idea, but you could very well prove me wrong. I just don't want you to get too involved in it just yet."

Too late, I thought.

"Can we…be done for today?" I asked quietly, putting the pillow down beside me and sitting up straight.

Her eyebrows furrowed in concern, and she glanced at the clock. "We can talk about something else, if you'd like—"

"Please?" I asked quietly, feeling…well, devastated. That sounded a little dramatic, even to my own ears, but it's…how I felt. "I'm kind of tired."

She sighed, watching me with worried eyes. "Alright. Our next appointment is Tuesday. Will you be alright to come?"

I nodded.

"I'm sorry, Peter," she said genuinely, standing to open the door for me. "I really didn't want to upset you. I just…don't want to see you hurt anymore. You don't deserve that."

I paused. "I know. I…thanks."

It wasn't her fault. I just…hadn't really…considered a lot of it that way. And now that it was out in the open…

God, I knew it was too good to be true.

…

Bucky Barnes

"Okay. Okay, got it. Yeah, thank you," I said to Andrea, Peter's psychiatrist, as I hung up the phone. Apparently they'd had a rough session, and she wanted me to check on him.

I knew something was off. Peter went to his room as soon as he was done, brushing through the living room like a ghost. I'd asked him if he was okay, and he'd mumbled "Fine," continuing on without even stopping. Steve, who'd with me, shot me a look and raised an eyebrow. I'd shrugged helplessly.

"Maybe he's having a mood swing," Sam suggested, setting a bowl of popcorn on the table. I'd just told him about the phone call. "He is a teenager going through puberty."

"If mood swings were the only qualifications, I'd label every one of you teenagers," Nat commented from the kitchen, switching on the blender.

"Well, that's nothing compared to you during that time of the month," Sam muttered under his breath. I could barely hear him over the blender, even with my enhanced hearing.

The blender stopped. "Wilson, if you'd like, I can introduce you to how it feels to have cramps once a month. All over your body."

Sam's eyes widened. "How the hell did you hear me?"

Nat sidled in with a milkshake in her hand, eyebrow raised. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Natasha Romanov."

Sam pulled a face.

Nat handed me the milkshake, and I looked at her questioningly. "It's Peter's favorite. Go ask him what's going on."

I sent her a grateful smile and stood up, heading to Peter's room.

This was…difficult. This whole parenting thing. I didn't regret a second of it, not at all, but…parenting books weren't really doing the trick.

I knew. I'd been reading them.

Rhodey walked in on me one day watching an educational video about kids going through puberty (which I never, ever wanted to hear about again) and had frozen. I'll admit I felt like I'd been caught…I don't know, doing something wrong, even though I was actually doing my job.

He just shook his head and walked out, trying not to laugh.

Well, geez, it's not like I wanted to watch it. But I didn't have any idea how to be a parent. I was taking all the help I could get.

I'd read a parenting book, and one of the chapters was Ten Tips to Get Your Teenage Son to Open Up to You. Which sounded…weird, in itself. I didn't see Peter as a son. More like…a little brother, if I had to put a name on it. Just…someone very important to me. Family.

I'd never understood why families had to have labels. Some people were just family, and that was that.

But apparently that wasn't "healthy", so everything had labels. So parenting help from a book with a colorful cover and a bunch of lists was the best I could do.

Well, I figured the milkshake bribe would help. Peter hadn't come out for dinner, so I knew something was bothering him, and he was bound to be hungry by now.

I got to his door and knocked twice, lightly.

"No," came the muffled voice inside.

This was starting well.

"It's me," I tried gently. "Can we talk?"

A pause. "I'm not really up to talking right now, Bucky."

Rule 1: Don't take it personally. Well, that's fine, I thought. I didn't take a lot of things personally. "Can I sit with you, then?"

A longer pause. "You're gonna try to get me to talk."

"No, I'm not," I said quickly. "Promise. I even brought a peace offering."

Rule 4: Give them some motivation.

Some shuffling. Soft footsteps. The creak of the door opening. A depressed looking kid.

He squinted at the cup in my hand. "Is that a milkshake?"

I smirked, handing it to him as he opened the door wider. "Nat made it."

"Oh, that means it's good," he said, taking it from me and sipping. "Mm. She makes the best milkshakes. Don't tell Sam."

I snorted. "I won't."

I sat in that spinny chair he kidnapped from Tony and waited, as he sat on the bed. He eyed me suspiciously. "Why do you want to talk?"

"Well," I said tonelessly. I leaned back and put my feet on his bed next to him. Stella nuzzled against them, precariously climbing my leg until she reached me, and I picked her up and set he against me, continuing, "because you didn't come to dinner. And after your appointment with Dr. Sanders, you didn't seem too good. She called me and asked me to check on you, too, so I know I'm right—"

"What did she say?" He asked quickly. Too quickly for it to be out of curiosity.

He was hiding something.

"Nothing," I said carefully, eyeing him as he deflated. "Just that you had a rough session, and you may need some company."

"I don't need company," he said, and by God, it sounded like he was sulking.

Peter didn't sulk. He got upset, and depressed, and angry, but I'd never seen him sulk.

"I beg to differ," I said. "I'm gonna wait right here. You can talk to me or not, but something's on your mind. You know you can talk to me, kid."

Peter picked at the fraying ends of his Avengers blanket, strewn over his bed. "I'm worried."

"About what?"

He paused. "I had…an idea. That I was really proud of and that I really want to…do. It's why I've been…better, because I've been putting literally all my energy into making it work, even though it's going to be really hard, and I know that. And I didn't tell anybody about it because I was…afraid you wouldn't think it was a good idea. But I told Dr. Sanders, because I was just…excited, and…"

He heaved a sigh, sipping his milkshake and looking so dejected. I hated seeing Peter look like that. He should be smiling like always, beaming with a grin and his damn dimples that made me know that everything would be okay. "…and she listed all the reasons it wouldn't work, and all the reasons I shouldn't try it. And it just…really upset me, because…I was getting better. I was…able to, you know, focus on something good and positive, and now it's…"

He rubbed his eyes, and I suddenly realized he was trying not to cry.

On instinct, I moved from the chair to sit beside him, setting Stella down beside him and taking the milkshake from his hands to set it on his nightstand. I took his shoulders and looked at him, saying, "First of all, I'm really glad you're putting energy into something you're passionate about." That was something I'd read in a pamphlet somewhere, or something.

For some reason, that was the wrong thing to say. His face screwed up into a tight little mess, and tears filled his eyes as he looked away. "That's what she said, right before she told me it wasn't going to work."

Oh. Well, shit.

"Well," I said, tugging him into my side with one hand and threading my fingers through his hair with the other, knowing it calmed him down, "I don't even know what your idea is. How can I shoot it down?"

He was tense under my hands, and I knew it was because he was trying not to cry. "Kiddo," I said quietly, knowing if he cried I'd lose it. I hated it when he cried. "Come on, talk to me. Whatever it is, we can try to make it work."

Slowly, he brought his arms up to hug me back, holding on tightly. "I wanted to be…like you guys," he said quietly. "A…a hero."

I was glad his face was currently buried in my shoulder, so he couldn't see the look of surprise on my face. That wasn't what I'd expected.

"Go on," I encouraged. "I'll listen."

He pulled back, wiping his face on his sleeve, and continued. "I kn-know…how it sounds. I do. I sound like a little kid who wants to be an astronaut because their mom or dad is one, or something. It sounds stupid. But…but I have powers, just like any of you," he said, talking fast. "And…a-and I could do it! I wouldn't be fighting monsters, you know, I just…want to…to help. New York is so screwed up, with robbery and…and murder and theft and…things like, like what happened to May and Ben, they…they happen all the time. And I can stop it. At least some of it.

"I can…I can stop…another fourteen-year-old kid from losing the only family he has left. I can…stop someone from being murdered just because they were in the wrong place. I can stop at least some of that." He shut his eyes, again wiping tears from his face. He refused to look at me. I put my hand on his head, tousling his hair before letting it fall on his shoulder. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. I used my thumb to wipe another tear from his face and let him continue. "I made…web fluid, a-and a housing for it…to help me get around. I'd be swinging from webs like a spider."

He laughed humorlessly, and looked up at me. "It sounds…so stupid, saying it out loud. But I could do it. I know I could…I even came up with a name. Spiderman. Um, no hyphen, one word. I just…"

He crumbled again, sobbing once, then again. I pulled him in again, holding him tight. "It's okay," I whispered, tightening my grip as much as I could without hurting him. "It's okay. You're okay. Take a deep breath for me. In…" I breathed, deeply as I could manage, and felt him doing the same, albeit shakily. "And out. Good job. One more time, okay?"

We repeated the process a couple times until he'd calmed down enough that I felt comfortable letting him stop. "Okay. Keep going. What were you going to say?"

"I don't deserve this," he said quietly. "I don't…deserve…"

I had to physically bite my lip to keep from responding immediately. Rule 6: Don't interrupt. God, but I wanted to. Peter deserved the whole damn world. How could he even consider he couldn't give what little we could offer him?

"I've been…saved…so many times. And I can't…I haven't been able to give anything back. Nothing. I have to do something, Bucky. Something that makes me feel…like I'm…I'm able to keep accepting all this. All this…this goodness and love and…a-and…"

He sniffed again, and I felt my heart crack in two. "Go on."

He took a shuddering breath. "I just…what was I…saved for…? I don't know what I'm supposed to do…if I can't…" He sniffed again. "I don't know. I-I don't know."

"Okay." I said quietly, pressing my lips against his hair. "Okay. Calm down. Thank you for telling me."

He didn't respond, just held on tight.

"Can I talk?" I asked quietly.

He nodded.

"You deserve the world, Peter. No, don't tell me I'm wrong," I said as he started to shake his head. "You're so good, Peter. You're so kind and genuine. And so brave, and strong. I don't know any other kid who could've survived everything you did and come out on the other side."

"You don't know any other kids," he accused, his voice muffled.

I huffed a laugh, gently flicking his temple. "Shut up. I'm being nice." He let out a wet laugh, and I continued. "We could never give you everything you deserve. Not ever. You've been saved so many times because you should never have been in those situations in the first place. You've been saved to do something amazing."

"Then why does it look like…like I can't do anything?" He asked, and his voice was so broken, and so exposed. "I believe you, Bucky, but I…I need this. I n-need this."

I sighed through my nose, pulling back from him and looking him in the eyes. "Look at me. I want you to be 100% honest with me. Is there nothing you can think of that will fill that void, other than what you just told me?"

He looked confused, his eyes red and puffy from crying, his cheeks wet. He thought for a moment, looking at his comforter, and shook his head. "I-I…I don't think so. I think…" he took a breath, shaky and unsteady. "I think if I'm ever going to feel like…like I can get rid of this…this weight…I have to…save lives. For…May and Ben, my mom and dad…the SHIELD agents who've died to protect me and the information…I have to feel like it's…balancing." He looked at me with wet eyes, wide and pleading and helpless. "Please."

I searched his face for a moment, then shook my head, sighing. I pulled his face in and kissed his forehead. "Okay."

He jerked back, eyes even wider. "Wh-what?"

"You heard me. Okay." I didn't know how, or when, or where…but…I knew what it was like to have a void that couldn't be filled. It was agonizing, and horrible, and…crushing. If there was a way to make that stop for Peter…I was willing to do almost anything. "Okay. I'll talk to the others, though. This is dangerous, Peter, and you're definitely not going to be allowed to do it alone. But…" I shrugged, smiling. "We'll figure something out. Some way that you can do the things you want. Okay?"

He didn't respond, just got to his knees and threw his arms around my neck, holding on. I hugged him back, and he said, "Thank you. Thank you, th-thank you."

Squeezing the back of his neck, I smiled. "You're welcome, kiddo. Now go to bed. You're always exhausted after these things."

"They're tiring," he defended weakly. "And I want to finish my milkshake."

"Fine. Finish your milkshake, brush your teeth, and go to bed. Enhanced immune systems don't work on cavities."

He laughed, wiping his eyes again and sipping his milkshake. "Watching something with me?"

"Sure," I conceded, leaning against the wall with him. He leaned against my arm. "FRIDAY, TV on. What do you want?"

Another slurp. "A new episode of Prodigal Son came out Monday."

I eyed him. "Isn't that a little dark for you?"

He shrugged. "It's good. Besides, it's not like I've never seen anything dark."

I sighed. Couldn't argue. "Fine. If I don't like it you're not watching any more of it."

He eyed me, cheeky little shit mode back in full force. "You're trying to parent me now?"

"Mm-hm," I said, stealing a sip of the shake. Damn, Nat made good milkshakes. "And if you don't let me, I'm revoking milkshake privileges."

He laughed. "Like you could. Nat would sneak them to me."

"You forget Nat's only been a spy for thirty-four years, and I've been doing under-cover ops for eighty-three."

Peter made a face. "That's not fair. Like, sixty of those years don't count."

"Sure they do."

He shushed me as the intro was playing, and settled down, slurping his milkshake.

As I'd predicted, he fell asleep twenty minutes in.

Unfortunately, caught in the show and not realizing how tired I was myself, I fell asleep ten minutes after him.

Thirty minutes later, the credits rolled, both of us none-the-wiser. I slept better than I had in a long, long time.

A/N: Hi. Um.

Sorry, uh…bout that. Whoops.

ANYWAYS. So glad you're still here! Thank you!

As always, thank you to everyone who has reviewed: DarylDixon'sLover, SkyDreamer12, Helen101, Melancholy's Sunshine, Jonah J, SongNoFound, fortisfaith3000, QueenBookDragon, BabyPinkPuppy, Jhessil, 1021, GoddessofFanfictonn, Puppens101, TheRedScreech, Guest, I.D.'s Fantasy, Just curious, monkeybaby, Tiff, The TRIGGERED Lemur, KrowsScared, GraysonSteele, alltheSinnersand, CaptainMarvel123875, xSapphirexRosesxFan, Guest, Tulips4u, skydancer121, d8rkforcen1ght7, The Silvernote, The Striking storms, Guest, Guest, ROSAFROST, BigYikesMarvel, kaycanada, Redfoxshadow, Guest, Aron R Vig, lilychaiten, Rehabilitated Sith, and Braggsy! I so appreciate each and every one of you for taking the time to comment. Thank you!

Guest: "Hey, I'm a re re re reader. I love this story. So much. I was wondering if you'd be ok if I posted this story on wattpad. Under your name of course. It's fine if not I just think more people should read this amazing story. Feel free to say no. It's your story."

Hey! Wow, thank you for the offer, that's so sweet! I actually think I might do that myself soon, so I'm going to have to say no, thank you. But I'm honored that you asked! I'm going to cross post these on Wattpad and AO3 once it's finally completed XD. Thank you again so much!

Just curious: LOL can't promise anything!

Tiff: Thank you! Yeah I wanted to make things realistic, so I'm glad you liked it!

AlltheSinnersand: HECK YEAH

Guest (Worth the wait)!: Thank you so much!

Tulips4u: OMG thank you so much! You're so kind. I'm so glad you like it!

Guest (Nothing, Peter.): Lol got that right XD

Guest (Episode V): hahaha sorry! I haven't actually seen them, so I guessed….my sincerest apologies to you Star Wars fans…

Guest (Great story): Thanks so much!

Also, I'd like to give a shoutout to kaycanada, because their review was inspiring and so, so powerful, and it was a joy to read. Thank you, kaycanada! To anyone struggling with PTSD, depression, anxiety, or anything mental health related, you're not alone, and you can win! I believe in you.

PSA: STAY HOME. WASH YOUR HANDS. And to all our front-line essential workers and healthcare professionals, you're all heroes. Thank you so much for everything you've done for the community!

Until next time :) Which I hope will be sooner rather than later…