So it says here... *squints at the smudge on my hand* ...that it's been a while since I uploaded! Whoops, sorry! I've got my muse back though! So here we are with the resume of OWOW!

His rest was not dreamless long. The moving of the Quinjet and the accompanying hum of the engine, buzzing through the airborne vehicle, helped plumb through the depths of his repressed vaulted memories. The details were static in his head, buzzing at the edges of his conscious, of staring out the window one lonely July night, watching the sky for airplanes, trying to trace the horizon for his disappearing parents. Everything was blurred and muddled, the only stagnant prominence being an underlying bad feeling that something had gone wrong outside of his Aunt's and Uncle's nigh-forgotten apartment. The Quinjet tilted smoothly to adjust its course, and the minute movement took his thoughts elsewhere, away from the foggy remnants of a life long deceased. The small World War II era plane was sketchy and small, domed but encased in rustic marks from years of disuse and leaks in its storage. His feet moved automatically to board the rickety bucket of metal, and he placed himself into a seat rigidly, staring straight ahead as the soldiers coming with him to monitor filed in. It was the first time he had to fly to a mission. He reasonably knew it would be impossible to walk or drive to Germany from the room he'd been holed up in the New York area, but the reasoning wasn't enough to dissuade the blossoming fear in his stomach at being in the metal death trap.

'It's been a good four and a half years since they died to the plane crash, Peter.' The dark voice whispered in response to the unwanted emotion. 'Do you want the mask to slip?'

But the fear wasn't something he could help; he'd had nightmares for weeks after being taken in by May and Ben regarding planes, he was sure. The details slipped through his fingers on what happened in them, the only lingering remnant being that planes were dangerous and deadly. He had been petrified of the flying vehicles since, though, part of him reasoned, it was a rather trivial fear compared to the last three years.

Don't think about it. The voice hissed disapprovingly.

But thinking about it was all Peter could do now.

The Quinjet was as smooth as ever to the other occupants on the plane who, after boarding the vehicle, had settled down for the long ride. Clint was in the pilot's seat, keeping an eye on the controls despite the Quinjet being on autopilot. Tony had just gotten out of his suit, having it stand to the side in a deactivated position, when the kid had plopped in the seat next to him. Natasha went to the other side of the kid, a look Tony couldn't read on her face as they flew away from the remnants of HYDRA, left to the snow. Peter fell asleep shortly afterwards, curled in the seat and head bowed rather awkwardly with the broken prosthetics. An ache shot through Tony's face as he took in the damage the spiderling had; he still looked rather emaciated from the two week stint he pulled (and, in Tony's opinion, he was already underfed; his ribs had been an inch away from countable under the simple black unitard the kid had been wearing that they had the decency to leave on, and that was before he'd been on the streets fighting for his life), and the bags under his eyes were prominent, a sickly purplish black to his pale scarred face. A line of long-dried blood trailed from his left eyebrow to his chin, and the torn fabric on his chest rustled under his silent breaths. Despite the blood and grime that coated him, it appeared the worst of his physical wounds had mended themselves shut. It pained Tony to see such a small kid lay in such a rigid position, but there was a notable looseness to his shoulders that the billionaire hadn't seen a single instance in the presence of the former asset in any prior moment he'd paid attention. He was somewhat relaxed for what was probably the first time in many years.

Tony didn't want to disturb the kid, and he knew while the kid had super healing, most of them that had gotten the brunt of the injuries did not. Rhodey's leg supports had taken a hit in the rubble, as well as an unfortunate rib. He was currently sitting on the other side of the Quinjet, talking quietly to an undisturbed Vision, who was acting as a pillow for the sleeping Wanda, who was probably trying to sleep off the headache from the rock that had knocked her on the head in her impromptu shielding. It wasn't serious, thankfully. Natasha was methodically wrapping an arm in gauze from where it had been clipped by one of the tongues of fire, and T'Challa was on the phone with Shuri, catching his sister up on what had went down. Sam had taken off his damaged gear and placed it by the damaged arm Bucky had opted to take off, and the two were in a somewhat awkwardly seated circle with Scott (with the three leaning over each other in the conjoining seats) to see if any of them had injuries that needed immediate First Aid. Bruce was holding the kit in-hand, reorganizing the supplies left-over from when he and Steve had done their round in the Quinjet, doling out the materials to the companions who needed it.

Tony's left arm hurt like hell, and the list of injuries didn't look pretty for the bedraggled heroes, but the philanthropist was well aware it could've been worse. Most of their injuries were from the battle with Ross's lackeys and Winter Soldiers, with a few residual hits from the collapsing building. If they weren't as formidable as they were... Tony knew they would be among the many that had a grave among the burning cinders and the billowing snow that was, more than likely, burying the ruins. He had already called up Helen and the other medical staff for the Compound and let them know what to expect for their general recovery, though, for once, he found himself holding back the exact details from Helen Cho. He knew she was a formidable doctor, and had helped them through their scrapes before, but something about the situation made him hesitant to voice it. Perhaps it was because he didn't know what to say about the situation.

It was wild to the genius that 20 days ago they had been made aware that a dangerous assassin under HYDRA's thumb was after the targets on their backs. It was weird to think that 3 days afterwards, they had met and identified the assassin. It was absurd to remember that the following 12 days had been spent painstakingly tailing the assassin and trying to earn his trust, and that 5 days later they would be helping that assassin free himself from the torture he'd been imprisoned in. His eyes had automatically fallen to stare at the aforementioned killer, and if Tony hadn't wanted to ruin the mood, he would've scoffed at the odd turn of events. How could he dream of saying that they were bringing home the person that had been attempting to kill them not even a month priorly because said person was a fourteen year old kid? It sounded ludicrous in thought, let alone in word. He was too exhausted to compile a convincing lie and too worried to tell her the truth about the kid they were returning with.

Seven hours into the return trip, his thoughts were distracted by the kid's brows furrowing, and Tony, now alert, watched as Peter's shoulders tensed, face scrunching slightly as his body drew closer to itself and became more rigid. He hadn't moved much, but it was enough to draw the eye if one wasn't preoccupied. It looked like the spiderling was having a nightmare. He reached out a hand to see if he could gently wake the kid up, and noticed Natasha following his movement, but his hand immediately jerked back when Peter gasped silently awake, shooting up from the hunched position he had been in, eyes wide and pupils pinpricks. His prosthetic arm jerkily responded to the motion before flopping back into his lap as his feet moved to the floor. His breaths were silent, but his chest moved fast, before slowing as he took in his surroundings. The others had now noticed, and the kid seemed to shrink under the gazes.

He looked around for a second, head swiveling to observe what was within arm's length, before the kid deflated. His flesh hand rubbed nervously against the mangled prosthetic arm before he croaked, "Bad dream." His voice was hoarse and scratchy, broken and quiet from disuse. Tony frowned, making a note to give Peter a phone when the billionaire first was able to. His voice would need strengthening over time from years of disuse; texting in the interim would be the better option.

A brief silence accompanied the soft words, before the others that were awake went back to what they had priorly been doing. Tony caught Natasha's stare from the other side of the kid, and he sighed quietly, shooting her a minute shrug while Peter's focus was elsewhere. He wanted to comfort the spiderling, but it wasn't the smartest move when the teenager was so newly freed from years of poor treatment. Even though his heart ached to give the kid a hug to help him down from the nightmare, it wasn't the smartest move. So, with three hours left of the flight, Tony tried something else. He had long since taken his suit off, so the philanthropist reached into his pocket and pulled his phone out. He held it out for Peter to see, the movement followed by an unreadable gaze. "Here."

Peter's brows furrowed, and his head tilted slightly to the side as he contemplated the device. Tentatively, he grabbed the phone in hand, squinting at it and the buttons curiously. His fingers found the power button, and the phone screen turned on. The kid flinched back the slightest bit, before his gaze widened in curiosity. A small grin crossed Tony's face at the former asset's behavior; he was like a cat examining a toy. Tony reached over, slowly, holding his palm open. Understanding, Peter placed it back in Tony's hand. With a larger smile, Tony unlocked the phone, before placing it back in Peter's hand. "It's a phone." Wait, would he know what a phone was? Pursing his lips, the man added, like the genius he was, "It's, uh, a small portable computer!"

The kid's wide-eyed curiosity was momentarily soured by the kid staring up at Tony, head tilted further to the side. Okay, that was... probably not the smartest analogy. Well, there was nothing better than demonstrating it, anyways. He tapped a notepad app, then pressed the 'New' button. "This will let you type messages out so you don't have to strain your voice." Crap, did Peter know how to write? Tony's brow furrowed, before he added, "Uh, well..." he tapped the body of the message to get the keyboard to pop up. He typed Hello :) in the space provided, leaning back from the kid. "You can use the keyboard to do it, like that."

The mutant pursed his lips, before setting the phone on his lap since it was a bit hard to type with one hand. His left hand jerkily pressed to the screen until the letter input, and after a few minutes, he tapped Tony's arm again, then held the screen up to the man. What was that explanation? The screen read.

Tony internally sighed in relief that Peter was getting it. Rolling his eyes playfully, he chimed, "It worked, didn't it, Pete?"

Peter blinked, nose scrunched at the nickname. He got rid of the message, before writing another at his slow, single-handed pace. When he was finished, it read, Please don't call me that.

A small frown dressed the older man's face, but he nodded. "Alright, Peter."

Peter backspaced, then put in, Thank you.

"You're welcome."

What does a phone do? The message came. The displeased expression from Peter's face was gone, replaced by poorly masked curiosity.

"I'll show you."

"We will be arriving at the Compound in fifteen minutes." FRIDAY's voice chimed through the Quinjet.

Had that much time passed already? Peter was surprised, if not a tad thrown off. He'd grown so accustomed to keeping track of time as well as he could when awake that it had become second nature. Yet, during the entire demonstration of the phone, courtesy of Tony Stark, the mutant hadn't had half a mind to pay attention to their progress. The device he had been handed was the most interesting piece of technology he had seen in a long time. It was capable of doing so much! He itched to take it apart and look at the components, see if there was something to make it more efficient, but this particular device wasn't his. When he asked, though, Tony assured him he would get his own when it first became available.

Now he was feeling nervous as they approached the ground, shifting slightly in his seat. He had only briefly been in the vicinity of the building once after he'd escaped it; it was a rendezvous with the Avengers to gather more supplies, though he hadn't risked entering the building. He hadn't wanted to be seen by the SHIELD trainees then. They were still there that day, no doubt, and would probably have a lot of questions about the shady, scarred child accompanying the renowned superheroes. He began to quietly regulate his breathing, eyes shutting and fist clenching slightly to focus. Don't panic, Peter. He thought. You're going to be okay.

Can we be sure of that? The dark voice at the back of his mind supplied idly, given rise now that his distraction was no longer the center of attention. You somehow managed to win the affection of the heroes, but what about SHIELD? What about the government? They'll come knocking eventually.

Shut up. Peter's breathing became a little less refined and a bit more ragged. It'll... it should be... it should be fine! Yeah. It...

He was broken out of his thoughts by Tony gently tapping his arm, which made him jump slightly. "Sorry," the man responded apologetically. "You just looked nervous, so I wanted to let you know that, whatever happens, I'll have your back. Alright? I don't give a shit what SHIELD or the government or whoever else thinks about you. You deserve a second chance, and I'll do whatever I can to give it to you. I'm sure the others feel the same way. Just sit back and let us take care of it. Does that sound good to you, Peter?"

Peter vaguely wondered how obvious his anxiousness must've been for the comment to come up. The words were kind, but he wasn't quite sure how valid they could be. What was the relation between SHIELD, the government, and the Avengers, anyways? Were the Avengers the higher power, was SHIELD, or was the government? Would the Avengers be enough in the face of his crimes to fend off prosecution? He thought, chewing the inside of his cheek. He was thankful for the support, regardless. He just didn't feel he could be worth it. Nevertheless, he tapped Tony's arm to respond, since the phone was back with its rightful owner. Y-E-S. T-H-A-N-K-Y-O-U.

The man smiled, but before he could respond, FRIDAY chimed in, "Touching down in approximately five minutes. Please follow landing procedures."

Peter watched the others that had been standing sit, and he curled up tighter in his own seat in response. He hadn't moved from the seat, incapable of moving far with the damaged prosthetics and harboring some distrust towards the jet despite having ridden on it on the way to Siberia. He was already buckled in, but the clicks rang across the space. Focusing on his hearing, he followed the vehicle's movement as the landing gear was brought out. It slowed and touched down, landing gently on the tarmac with a slight jolt. They unbuckled then stood, with everyone grabbing their stuff. Peter had nothing to grab, since everything he needed was on his person, though frowned as he unbuckled himself. How was he going to get off the Quinjet when he could barely amble along on the mangled prosthetic foot?

"Need a hand?" Natasha asked him, noticing his predicament. Peter gave a hesitant nod, and took the assassin's hand in his own functional one to pull himself up.

Once up, he had to place his good hand back on the seat to steady himself, the prosthetic arm dangling limply as he bent to maintain balance. He let out a quiet breath, brows furrowing. How in the hell was he going to get off of the Quinjet when he was toting around two malfunctioning chunks of metal screwed and clasped to his body?

"Here." His head turned sharply to spot Tony sidling up to one side, arm opened so Peter could wrap his good arm around the man's neck. His suit was at alert behind him, and Peter was momentarily distracted by the fact that it was able to move on its own. He'd have to freak out about that later.

With Natasha helping balance him on the other side, Peter snaked his hand around Tony's neck and shoulder, and the three slowly made their way out of the Quinjet once the bay door was opened. It wasn't as fast as Peter would've liked it to be, admittedly, but he kept nearly stepping down on the bent prosthetic foot and tripping. It was rectified, though before that he had almost had a painful reminder that it was no longer functional when he biffed it against a divot in the ridged descent. They were the last off of the Quinjet thanks to this, but Tony and Natasha didn't seem to mind, and Peter wasn't keen to bring it up.

He got another good look at the Compound, and anxiety clawed at his throat, stealing his breath for a few moments before he swallowed thickly. Now that he wasn't preoccupied with studying the building from a tactition's standpoint, it was quite the sight to behold. It reminded him of warehouses he had seen around, but it was spruced up to look like a genuine base. The buildings looked sleek and modern, with a driveway leading up to the building, along with parking spaces. The entire area was surrounded in clearings and trees, with lights installed along the sides of the streets to keep the facility's roads lit when it got dark. The Avengers logo hung proudly on its face, marking the building's purpose for anyone that came.

Entering the building, Peter's senses were assaulted by the chaos of the building as they entered the medical bay. Doctors and nurses raced to and fro, shouting orders, dragging equipment and medicine, and getting prepped for treating their newly arrived patients. Peter tensed at the commotion, his senses spiking at the overwhelming environment. The cacophony of noise, sharp scents, and movement was making his head reel from the input. His spine straightened and his flesh hand clenched into a fist from where it was wrapped around the back of Tony's neck, and his breathing quickened.

Noting this, Tony flashed a worried look at Natasha, whose brow was furrowing. "The room's too chaotic," Natasha said softly, barely loud enough for Tony to hear. Peter cringed anyways. She only had scratches, burns, bruises, and a sprained wrist, but that was something she could live with. "I can stay by Peter's side, Tony. You-"

They were interrupted by Helen Cho, who, upon spotting them, was weaving her way through the chaos to approach the group. Her gaze fixed curiously on Peter, before giving Tony a raised brow. "It's been a while since you've had to call me, Stark," she stated, letting her eyes drift over to Natasha before staring at Peter again. A small smile cracked across her lips. "Who's this? I didn't think you dealt with anyone younger than an adult."

"Very funny, Helen," Tony said softly, mindful of the boy he was helping hold up that seemed to grow more uncomfortable by the moment. "Could we get Peter into a quieter room?"

Noting his pained expression, Helen gave a nod, and beckoned the three of them to follow her. They made their way slowly through the crowd, Natasha and Tony acting as buffers to keep people from bumping into Peter. They entered the room Peter had, ironically, woken up in after his initial attack on the Compound. Natasha and Tony helped Peter over to the bed, and the mutant sat on the edge, his expression more lax now that he was further from the chaos. If he focused, he could still hear the noise, but it was blessedly muted.

Helen frowned, pointing a pen at Peter. "Are you making a habit of bringing kids into fights? I'll admit that's something I could've seen Tony doing, but Natasha, I expected better."

Natasha rolled her eyes at the tease. "We were brought into his fight, more like." She let out a sigh, scrubbing her face with her unsprained hand. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get myself patched up real quick so I can sit with Peter." With that, the ex-assassin left the room.

Tony could practically feel Helen's questioning gaze burrowing into him. He sighed, absentmindedly running a hand down his goatee. "I'll explain it all later. Can you help Peter first?" Yes, he was injured, but as far as he was concerned, the kid had been hurting for far longer and deserved some proper treatment.

Helen looked like she wanted to press further, but held back. Instead she grabbed a clipboard and a pen. Clicking it open, she turned to Peter and asked, "Alright, what should be dealt with first and foremost?"

Peter's eyes twitched slightly, and Tony stepped in before the line of questioning could go further. "He... doesn't really speak much right now." The billionaire let out a breath. "Uh, let's see... he's got a healing factor, but it doesn't seem to be working fast at the moment since he was on the run the last two weeks. We can deal with the rest later."

Helen's frown deepened, and a shocked look crossed her face. "He was on the run?" She asked incredulously. She huffed out a breath, knowing Tony wasn't going to explain now. She'd just have to wait until later. "An IV drip will be administered, and we can dress his others injuries from there. His clothes will need to come off, excepting undergarments. Those prosthetics will also have to go," she was perplexed how they had gotten so mangled in the first place. "They're not working, why leave them on?"

Tony nodded to that, exhaustion tugging at his bones. With a quick glance into the hallway, he said, "Thanks, Helen. Take good care of him, will you?" He then went to leave the room, but was stopped by a sudden strangled noise from Peter. Looking back, the kid looked terrified, hand clenching the bed tight enough that it was starting to tear the fabric. He frowned, before realizing that Peter's only real experiences with anything hospital had likely not been pleasant. No wonder he wouldn't want to be alone.

It tore at his heart that he couldn't stay with Peter, but he needed his own treatment. The philanthropist turned to the ceiling and said, "FRIDAY, can you send any Avenger that got off relatively unscathed this way once they're done, if they want to come? At least one of them would be fine." There was no way he was going to leave the kid unattended with people he knew far less than the hero team when he was clearly spooked. To Peter, he affirmed, "Don't worry kid, I'll stay until someone else comes, okay?"

"Yes, boss." FRIDAY stated.

Peter swallowed thickly, before nodding hesitantly. Part of him berated him for being so weak, but he couldn't help the fear and nausea that crept up on him at the prospect of being alone with a doctor. It reminded him too strongly of- Don't think about it don't think about it don't think about it. His grip on the mattress relaxed, and he watched with some gratefulness as Tony sat in a chair nearby. He hoped everything would go by quickly, so he could get it over with.

He'd nearly panicked when it came time to insert the IV drip. He'd never been a fan of needles, and that fear had only grown worse with the poking and prodding HYDRA had done to him as a young child. Sensing this, Tony had given him a breathing exercise, providing a helpful distraction to the mutant. He hadn't even felt the drip being inserted into the crook of his elbow, and when Helen had said she was done, he had stared at it with some trepidation. It seemed safe, though, but the wariness at whatever happened to fill the bag hadn't dropped much at the reassurance it would help.

Then, it was time to remove his suit. Peter was more than ready to get out of the outfit, more than willing to get out of anything associated with HYDRA. The symbol on the chest of the destroyed society stared up at him mockingly as he stripped down to the black unitard. He pursed his lips, suddenly self-conscious of what his body would look like. Admittedly, he didn't get to see it often, but he knew it was a mess of scars and malnourishment. A quiet sigh was followed by the inner layer coming off, exposing his pale skin, tattooed with scars. The only article of clothing left on him were a pair of boxers, exposing his mutilated body in its fullest.

Tony couldn't help the sharp inhale that followed seeing the kid's exposed body for the first time. He had read that the kid had been through hell, but seeing it made the reality of the information he had been granted real. If he hadn't seen the horrors he had in his line of work, he was sure he would've been nauseous at Peter's body. A quick glance over at Helen confirmed she was feeling similarly, with the doctor's eyes wide and her mouth slightly agape. He couldn't blame her; he wouldn't have thought it was this bad, and he had the background information to work off of.

Scars littered his flesh like a tapestry. A sickeningly long one stretched from his left shoulder to just under his right-side ribs. A long-healed burn marred a good portion of his right side, going from mid-back and wrapping around to his stomach. Four slashes, diagonal and layered crisscross, rested above his heart. Various cuts and nicks of all shapes and sizes danced across his skin, some with the precision of a surgeon and others that were ragged tears from a situation long past. His flesh arm was sleeved with the marks of battles long waged, with the residual signs of electrical burn sizzling up his palm to his mid-forearm in a Lichtenberg Figure. His legs seemed to have received a fair brunt of damage as well, with one particularly nasty, jagged one running from his right hip and twisting around to the inside of his right leg, ending at the ankle. Three scars stood out to Tony the most, though.

The first was the site where his flesh foot used to be on his left leg. The flesh looked jagged, as if the foot had been cut off with a handsaw, with torn, long-healed edging lining the seamless integration of the mechanical foot. The second was the one that made up where his right arm used to be. It looked to have been haphazardly removed without a care, circling the spot it had once occupied in a wreath of scar tissue. The last was the one that really caught his attention, though. A HYDRA mark, etched jaggedly in the middle of his superior trapeziuses. The skull and tentacles, though rough and small, seemed to stare mockingly at the hero when he spotted it. Anger began to burn deep in the pit of his stomach at the thought that they had carved that onto the kid, as if declaring the mutant was their property.

The silence was broken by an uncomfortable shuffle from Peter, who had been watching the two in growing apprehension. His gaze dropped to stare at his lap instead, where he got a good view of his ribs and slightly atrophied muscles. Admittedly, this wasn't much different from what he was used to seeing, and he remembered being much, much skinnier a few years back. Regardless, he knew it wasn't great that he could count his ribs. He was thankful his body hadn't shut down on him.

Helen seemed to snap out of her stupor first. She took the unitard from Peter and set it to the side, before voicing, "If you don't mind, Peter, your prosthetics should be taken off. Is there a way to do so safely?"

Tony watched the kid consider the proposal, and a flicker of worry coursed through Tony. He hadn't seen the kid without the prosthetics; he'd only seen him strap the arm to his side and fix it when it had gotten broken before. What if the prosthetics were stuck to his body? That thought was cut off quickly, however, by Peter reaching his arm across to the limp prosthetic arm. His fingers deftly pried up three clasps, one on both sides and the top, then moved to the circle on the center of the shoulder. His fingers seemed to gain traction on the otherwise smooth surface, and soon he was using three fingers to spin the circle counterclockwise. The arm steadily unscrewed from its position, and Peter stopped when it reached the end of the screw. He took the metal arm off and set it to the side, exposing the implanted metal screw and plate that kept the bone and flesh underneath from being exposed. He then proceeded to lean down and do the same procedure with his foot, spinning the heel this time, before sitting it beside the arm when it was off.

"Oh." Helen coughed, taken aback. She had fully expected to help Peter get them off. The fact that he got them off so easily worried her. How often had he taken them off and put them back on to get to the point where he was able to do so easily with his one flesh hand? Straightening out, she said, "Thank you." She wasn't thrilled to see the fresh cuts, bruises, and burns, though they were admittedly hard to tell apart from the old, healed ones. "With that out of the way, we can fix you up the rest of the way." She offered him a smile. "This shouldn't take long."

Peter huffed out a breath from his position on the bed. The wheelchair they had given him wasn't too far away, but he'd never had the chance to use one before. He'd been shown how it worked, though, so he, in theory, could work it. The issue was getting into the wheelchair. It was right beside the bed in case he wanted to move around while his prosthetics were scrapped, but that was the exact issue; it was hard to maneuver with his body wrapped in gauze and ointments, with no right arm and the nub of a left leg.

After some careful consideration, he removed the IV from his arm, then slowly yet surely eased himself off of the bed and into the wheelchair, wincing slightly when he hit his leg against the sturdy bed frame. He twisted in the wheelchair from where he had entered on his side, straightening into a sitting position and settling his lone foot into the provided foot rest. He was beyond grateful it was a mechanical wheelchair. He had been shown the normal wheelchair, at first, but Bruce, who was with him at the time, had shot down that proposition quickly, taking into account that he only had one arm to push the wheelchair with. So, with some strings pulled by Tony, who had heard from the room next door, he was given one he could control with a small control panel on the left-hand side.

It felt rather constricting to have his movement restricted to the device, but it was infinitely better than crawling. With that thought in mind, he wheeled out of the room. The hallways were, thankfully, quieter as the day carried on and the heroes were tended to. Most of the help had gone home, with the necessary staff moving in and out of the rooms periodically. He made his way down the hallway a short bit, peeking into the rooms he passed by to see if he spotted anyone. Surprisingly, most of the rooms were empty. A small frown brushed his features at this.

Moving further down the hallway proved fruitful, as he heard the starts of a conversation. Curious and lonely, he whirred down the hallway, coming across two open doorways filled with light. A quick glance inside showed a few of the heroes looking to a shared spot outside of his view. The two rooms seemed to be conjoined. He wheeled up to the door, and caught a glimpse of what, or rather who, they were all staring at; Nick Fury. The conversation had been in a lull as he'd been approaching, but now it seemed to have resumed. "Look, I'm just the messenger." Fury sighed, a look of slight annoyance on his face. "I'd be more than happy to tell the UN that they could take their bitching elsewhere, but they're insisting."

Peter hovered by the doorway as Steve, sitting on a chair next to Bucky (the latter of which was loosely dressed in gauze and on the edge of one of the beds) voiced, "He's in no condition to be interrogated, and we're in no position for that, either. And watch your language!"

"I can't believe you're still keeping that alive after all these years." Clint grinned, while Wanda buried her head in her hands, laughing. Vision squeezed her arm gently from where his arm was draped around her shoulders, slightly concerned for his tired lover.

Bruce exchanged a glance with Natasha, both of which had slight smirks on their face at the comment, knowing full well it was Steve's inside joke meant to relieve some of the tension. Natasha's gaze caught Peter hovering by the doorway, and the smile faded slightly, replaced by concern. Scott and Sam were sitting off to the side, both sitting on the edge of Rhodey's occupied bed. Sam had a bandage above his eyebrow and on his cheek, and Scott's left arm was wrapped in gauze to stave off a burn he'd gotten while shrunken. Rhodey's torso was loosely bandaged, and one of his feet was in a cast and elevated.

Tony and Pepper were seated just in view, the closest to Nick. Tony's left arm had been sprained and was wrapped, and he was sporting a shiner on his right eye. Pepper was dressed immaculately, as if she had just finished a meeting and had come to visit upon hearing they had returned. Tony seemed to be lost in thought, before he took it upon himself to get the conversation back on-topic. "That's a political nightmare I don't really want to touch," he pinched the bridge of his nose. "The UN's rushing it, demanding an explanation immediately. If we went now, anyways, without a break, they'd be more than willing to use Peter as a scapegoat-"

Peter wheeled quietly into the room, realizing this was a conversation he was going to be present in, even if they didn't like that he was. With the others now noting his presence, the conversation paused awkwardly. That... wasn't what the mutant expected to happen, to be honest. Nervousness fluttered in his stomach at the worry that he might've overstepped his bounds. Now that he was here, though, there wasn't any way to back out. So, shyly, he raised his hand and waved, croaking a rough, "Hello."

Nick let out a breath. "Speak of the devil..." he muttered softly, but not soft enough for Peter's enhanced hearing to miss it. The former SHIELD director straightened. "Hello, Peter. We were just discussing the UN and your future."

The mutant maneuvered the wheelchair over to be by Tony's side, a questioning look on his face. With a frown, he began, "Why is the U-" before his throat rebelled, the itchy feeling overwhelming. He cringed back with barely repressed coughs. For once in a long time he was genuinely begrudging the forced muteness HYDRA had instilled. Noting his difficulty, Tony once more offered his phone. After typing the message, he turned the TTS feature on so the rest of the room could hear it, too.

"'Why is the UN involved, and what does that have to do with me?'" FRIDAY read aloud from the phone's speaker.

"I'm presuming you know about the UN?" Nick asked, to which Peter offered a quiet nod and a slight shrug, showing he'd heard about it but admittedly hadn't known many specifics. So, to cover it, the man continued, "The UN is the intergovernmental organization that helps maintain international peace and security. All 193 countries have been working with us the past two months to establish the Sokovia Accords, a regulation on superpowered individuals and enhanced. Thaddeus Ross was one of the US representatives and was the one who proposed the original, limiting Accords." His words were met by uncomfortable shifts throughout the room, and Peter could practically taste the bitterness. "Ross was a member of the UN that was actively trying to usurp it from the shadows, under all of our noses, until you came to light. The files we managed to recover are damning, both for Ross... and for you."

"We couldn't get many specifics, both from the files Faulers gave us and the ones we raided from HYDRA before we met up. During our return trip, while you were asleep, Faulers took the files and gave them to the UN. Needless to say... they're pissed," Steve's arms were folded, and the man out of time sounded tired and worn. "Even without exact details, the evidence would've been enough to have Ross incarcerated. You're the only living remnant from that operation, so the UN is scared."

"And you're the perfect scapegoat since you also happen to be the one who dealt most of those crimes, even though you were being forced to. They're pissed and want justice. I didn't think Ross could piss off so many countries simultaneously." Bucky huffed.

Peter frowned slightly at that, though he stilled as memories began to swirl inside of his head, etched in blood and tears. With a shaky hand, he had FRIDAY read, "'They didn't care who or what got in the way. If someone was in their way, I got rid of them.'" His hand stilled slightly, breathing getting a bit more ragged, before he forced himself to add, with FRIDAY's vocalization, "'Anyone. Didn't matter where or how, if they were around the target and could pose a problem, they were killed.'"

"Which is why the UN wants to settle the matter immediately," Fury sighed, weary. "I'll tell the UN to hold off for a week or two so you all can get your bearings, but that's all the time I can buy you." He moved past the group to the doors, turning to offer a final word. "I figured you would want to know. I will be back later with their official word on the matter."

The man walked off, leaving the group to ruminate by themselves. Peter controlled his breathing once more, careful not to clench his fist too tightly on the wheelchair. He was exhausted, and dizzy from moving away from the IV drip. He passed Tony his phone back, offering a small wave before wheeling out. He could think about that mess later, when his head wasn't spinning so badly. The mutant made it back to the room he was staying in, then slowly got back out of the wheelchair by using it as a stool for his foot to push off of and using his arm to drag himself into the bed. He picked up the IV's needle, looked away, then inserted it back into the crook that had been left in the gauze. Sinking back into the bed with a quiet sigh, he stared at the ceiling, mind swirling with a million and one indiscernible thoughts. He drifted off shortly after, with one thought on his mind.

What will I do now that I'm free?

He didn't have an answer.

Peter needs some therapy, don't he?

Hehehehehe.

(OLD REVIEW REPLY TIME WOWIE)

Verinorina (already answered in a PM buuut)- this fic is gonna be long :D

SarahS18- Thank you ^-^

I.D.'s Fantasy- You win some, you lose some. Als :D

Entomoid- I can't say much without spoiling but the Doctor Strange arc is next and that may or may not be covered ;D

Krakengirl- Noooot quite but we'll see what happens!

Next time on OWOW: Memories can be painful, but the best distraction is learning!

Discord: /7jYYC36