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Broken Beyond Repair

It was day five of living in the Avenger's Compound.

Five days since Peter had regained consciousness.

Two days since Nebula had gone off on her universe-wide damage control mission. Or her soul-searching quest, depending on how you looked at it. Peter was more inclined to believe it was the latter.

Dr. Banner had said that Mr. Stark would be well enough to leave in two more days. Peter knew that when that happened, Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts would be taking him with them to the city. They would find a place to settle down temporarily and find their bearings. After that… he and Mr. Stark would have to go to Queens.

Peter tried to push the thought from his mind, but it loomed over the horizon. Returning to his home. Packing up his life in a suitcase for the second time in his life. Technically, the first time a social worker had helped him pack up his life in a Scooby-Doo backpack, not a suitcase. Going home… it was something that Peter was dreading. His nerves wound up tighter and tighter whenever his thoughts flittered back to his little apartment, and so, Peter found himself constantly seeking out distractions. Most days, Peter clung to Mr. Stark in a way that would have been both annoying and embarrassing in the time before Thanos snapped his fingers. In a less devastated world, Mr. Stark would have been weirded out by how clingy Peter had become. In a rare display of tact, he allowed Peter to hang around him. Maybe he realized how desperately Peter needed something stable in his life. For whatever reason, he didn't push Peter away. But today, Dr. Banner had Mr. Stark focusing on physio exercise to help rebuild his atrophied muscles. So Peter had to seek out a different distraction.

In a building full of Avengers, finding a distraction shouldn't be a difficult task. But it was. The compound was now occupied with more Avengers than Peter had ever seen in it. Despite their presence, the compound felt empty. Ironically, the building had felt livelier and welcoming during the time when it had just been Mr. Stark, Vision, and Colonel Rhodes occupying it. Of course, there had been a bond of trust between the remaining three legitimate Avengers. Now that the surviving rogue Avengers had returned, everyone was physically present but mentally absent. In the five days that Peter had been at the compound, he had seen feeble attempts made by the rouges to be strong in the face of other's grief. No one was successful in keeping up the charade for long. Everyone existed in a bizarre state of crowded solitude. Maybe that's what facilitated them to leave. One by one they were disappearing from the compound like ghosts. Turning their backs on a family that had never fully healed. One that would likely never be whole again.

Nebula, who was an Avenger in Peter's eyes at least, had left for space along with Rocket. Thor had left before Peter could meet him. Carol Danvers had stuck around long enough for Peter to meet her and stumble over a never-ending stream of 'thank-yous'. She had just laughed off his awkwardness and shrugged like flying across the universe to save them was no big deal. Like she had been sent to the store to pick up some milk. Peter had asked her about her powers and how she had acquired them. He listened, absolutely spell-bound, as she told him about how she had absorbed the raw power of an exploding energy core. An energy core which had contained the Tesseract. Somehow, she had survived that, though the exposure to the Tesseract and an alien blood transfusion had left her physically changed. Honestly, Peter could relate to that a little too well.

To Peter's surprise, Carol had then asked about his powers and how he had acquired them. She listened with just as much interest as he recounted his adventures through Oscorp, the spider bite, and a brief recap of the ensuing shenanigans of the past two years. Of course, a demonstration of powers was in order. Peter had climbed a wall and hung from the ceiling. He had wanted to do something more impressive, but Mr. Stark's sharp 'don't you dare' look pierced through his soul and kept his buffoonery to a minimum. Carol had insisted that they go outside for her demonstration. She lit up like a Christmas tree and flew around the spacious grounds. The following touch down on the grass, with more force than necessary had resulted in a sizable crater in the lawn. All in all, it had been a display of absolutely shameless showboating.

Peter had liked her instantly.

"You know, it's a universally known fact," Carol lip curled in disgust as she put air quotes around the word, "that humans are a race of pathetic weaklings. We're the disappointing subspecies of the Xorrians, good for nothing more than supplying warm bodies for the black-market slave trade." Peter's mouth hung open in shock. Before he could collect his thoughts and ask what the hell life was like for humans in space, Carol continued. "But I think between you, me, Banner, and Rogers we prove them wrong. The four of us stumbled into something dangerous and unexpected. Our genetic make-up was altered. We should've died but we didn't. We're made of stronger stuff." She clapped Peter on the shoulder with a grip that would've bruised him if not for his enhancement. "There's probably more like us out there. You know, I left Earth for a couple decades and it isn't the same as how I left it." Her eyes had grown thoughtful and her grip had relaxed. "Maybe I should come home more often. Check up on things."

"We'll be here when you do. You got friends." Peter said cheerfully. Carol had laughed and given him an odd look. It was too friendly and warm to be patronizing, but there was definitely a smidge of condescension lurking there.

"You're adorable."

Peter didn't know how he felt about one of the most badass people he knew thinking that he was adorable. It was irritating, but he decided to just accept that sitting at the Avengers' kiddie table was his lot in life. At least until he was an adult.

Carol had left soon after, leaving nothing but memories and Mr. Stark's grumblings about lawn maintenance in her absence. That left only Colonel Rhodes, Captain Rodgers, Natasha Romanoff, and Dr. Banner left in the building. Peter had a suspicion that Dr. Banner would leave once Mr. Stark was well. He really didn't seem too keen on sticking around.

Peter's options for a distraction were limited, and dwindling by the day. Maybe he would wake up tomorrow and find that Captain Rogers had gone back to Brooklyn. In Peter's head, a list of burning question were begging to be asked, but these circumstances were all wrong. He had always wanted to meet the Avengers, but not like this. The weight of defeat hung in the air, making Peter's interactions with the Avengers awkward and strange, but it was more than that. At times, it felt as though Peter was at school and the cool kids were gossiping about him. He wasn't sure if it was because he was the new guy or if they, like Mr. Stark and Carol, viewed him like a child. He supposed that either was possible. Still, he wouldn't let it deter him from meeting the one Avenger in the building who had been evading him like a shadow in the night.

Natasha Romanoff had spent years, probably decades, training to be stealthy and always alert. It came in handy both on the job and off of it. She seemed to have a sixth sense that tipped her off whenever Peter entered a room. This resulted in Peter only ever seeing a flash of her short blonde hair as she hastily exited through a doorway. It was strange and kind of insulting to be so blatantly ignored for no apparent reason.

Today was different, though. As Peter approached the conference room, he saw through the glass walls that Ms. Romanoff was standing in the middle of the room, alone, and analyzing various screens and holograms. She looked busy. A small part of Peter's brain told him to leave her alone. It told him that she was clearly searching for answers, and she didn't want to be bothered. A much larger part of his brain argued that he was also looking for answers, and he wouldn't get them unless he took initiative. With a decisive nod to accompany his inner pep talk, Peter pushed open the glass door.

The room was silent and the click of the door closing echoed loudly off of the walls. Ms. Romanoff turned her body to throw a glance over her shoulder. She stood in a power stance with her arms crossed over her chest. She was dressed in her black tactile suit, the one she would wear to battle. It lent her an intimidating air that seemed oddly misplaced in this situation. The battle had already been fought and lost. Why was she geared up like she was about to board the Quinjet? Peter felt his mouth go dry as the seconds dragged on and the daunting prospect of talking to the Black Widow sunk in.

"Hi, I'm Peter." He said in a scratchy voice. His cheeks flushed and he coughed to clear his throat. "Peter Parker."

"Natasha Romanoff." She mumbled before turning back to face the holograms and screens again. A series of maps of pictures filled up the area. The pictures were violent to say the least. One of them was particularly gory. It was grainy, but Peter could see countless bodies slumped over chairs, tables, and lying on the floor. Like marionettes with cut strings. Blood was everywhere, and the sight of the carved-up bodies made Peter's stomach roll. He averted his gaze from the carnage and took a couple of deep steadying breaths.

So many had died already. Fifty percent. Why would anyone add to that horrifying figure?

"What are you doing?" Peter asked as he plucked up his courage to look at the screens again.

"I'm searching for someone."

Peter couldn't see Ms. Romanoff's face, since he was standing behind her. He wondered if her expression was just as devoid of emotion as her voice was. Peter had never spoken to her face to face, but he had heard her speaking to her team mates in Germany. He had seen her in interviews. Not that that was the equivalent of knowing a person, but Peter liked to think that Ms. Romanoff probably wasn't this cold all the time. Something about this situation must really be affecting her. Peter ignored his queasiness and focused on the information on display before him.

A name stood out in the sea of indecipherable data.

"You're searching for this 'Ronin' guy?" Peter asked and he noticed that Ms. Romanoff's shoulders tightened slightly.

"Yes."

Peter's eyes flittered over the screens and he looked at the series of maps more closely. One was of eastern Europe; another was of Hungary. A highlighted city name caught Peter's eye.

"Budapest," he muttered to himself.

Okay. So, Ms. Romanoff was looking for a ruthless killer in eastern Europe? Why? Sure, the Avengers existed to help people, but this location was so remote and the crime seemed isolated. It didn't seem like something big enough to appear on the Avengers' radar. Mr. Stark had once told him that certain criminals were below the Avengers' pay grade. This seemed like one of them. Something didn't add up. Then Peter saw a familiar name and picture, and Ms. Romanoff's chilling calm suddenly made sense.

"Clint Barton is alive?!" Peter asked, louder than he had intended. He couldn't help it. He was too excited and relieved. When he hadn't seen Clint Barton at the compound, he had assumed that he had vanished along with countless others. Peter didn't know that much about Ms. Romanoff as a person, but he did know that Mr. Barton was her partner. Her friend. And now it seemed as though he had gone off alone to stop a murderer on the other side of the world. "Was he sent to take care of Ronin?" he asked quickly, his words nearly tripping over themselves. "Does he need help?"

A second passed. Ms. Romanoff stood, solid and strong, without even turning her head to look at Peter. A weight settled in Peter's stomach as he began to fear the worst. Surely, Mr. Barton hadn't been killed. No, of course not. That was ridiculous. He didn't survive so many catastrophes just to be killed so far away from home. Peter took a step closer to Ms. Romanoff's side without realizing he had done so. She turned her face away from him, so that all Peter could see was her dyed hair.

"Yeah, he needs help," she muttered in a low and controlled voice. "I think Tony is supposed to be taking a break from physio therapy soon."

Peter recognized the dismissal. Despite his burning curiosity to find out more about what had happened to Mr. Barton, he was kind of glad that Ms. Romanoff was turning him away. Peter wasn't sure how much more grief he could take. His own grief surrounded him in thick layers. The grief of others were heavy additions to add on top. If he got too close, he would be crushed.

"Oh, okay," Peter muttered and turned to the door. A large figure was entering just as Peter reached the door. Captain Rogers stood in the door way, taking up nearly all the space in it. Unlike Ms. Romanoff, who was wearing her battle suit, Captain Rogers was dressed in a casual button-down shirt and jeans. Devoid of his red, white and blue suit and shield, he was Captain Rogers not Captain America. That didn't make Peter any less flustered as he came face to face with one of Earth's Mightiest Heroes.

"Hi, Captain Rogers. Sir." He stammered out. The man gave him a tired smile and nodded in greeting.

"Hello, Peter."

Captain Rogers strode past him and approached Ms. Romanoff's side. For a moment, Peter stared after him, too star-struck to move. Then he remembered where he was and the situation that he was in. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he walked through the door.

"How old is this intel?" Captain Rogers asked in a hushed tone.

"A week. He could be anywhere by-"

The door snapped shut, cutting off the rest of Ms. Romanoff's reply. The sound proof room muted the conversation, leaving Peter to wonder if the 'he' that Ms. Romanoff was referring to was Ronin or Mr. Barton. He walked down the hall and spared the conference room one last glance as he was about to turn the corner. Ms. Romanoff had one of her hands pressed over her eyes. Her posture was curled in on itself and Captain Rogers wrapped an arm around her shoulders. For the first time, Peter realized that Natasha Romanoff was a small woman. Her petit frame was dwarfed by Captain Rogers as she leaned in to him for support. Without her iron-clad will and self-assured confidence, the illusion of strength was shattered. Peter's throat tightened as caught a glimpse in to a private moment of grief that he hadn't intended to witness. He quickened his pace in an effort to leave the moment behind him, and he set off in the direction of the Med Bay.

Peter desperately wanted to leave the compound, and at the same time he didn't. He wanted to follow in the footsteps of Nebula, Rocket, Carol, and Thor. He wanted to run away from this gilded cage, but he also wasn't too eager to leave. The compound, with all of its security, kept the real world at bay. The real world was much more dangerous now that it was in pieces. There was a strong desire to run and never look back, but where would he run to? He had no home anymore. No family. Mr. Stark would get tired of having Peter around eventually. And then what?

Oh, god. Peter was spiraling again. He stopped in the hallway outside of the Med Bay and pressed his back against the wall. In the past five days, he had four panic attacks. Four incidents of paralyzing fear accompanied by a racing heart and choked breathing. He was getting better at recognizing the signs before the attack came, so he took this moment to calm himself down.

Mr. Stark was waiting just behind this wall. Peter couldn't freak out, cause that would make Mr. Stark freak out, and Peter had put his mentor through enough emotional crap.

'If she knew, she would freak out. And when she freaks out, I freak out.'

A wet laugh escaped Peter's throat as he ran his hands through his hair. He balled them in to loose fists around chunks of his hair and dropped his head back against the wall. Peter had put May through a fair share of emotional crap too. Maybe that was an involuntary obligation that came with being part of a family.

But then again, Mr. Stark wasn't his family. So where did that leave him?

The thought was sobering, and Peter felt his heart rate returning to normal. He took a few more deep breaths and wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt. After a few more seconds, Peter felt that he probably looked outwardly calm. Passably relaxed, even though his insides still felt coiled like a spring under pressure.

The doors slid open, and Peter walked in to find Mr. Stark sitting at a table at the far end of the room. He looked sweaty and worn out, but overall not as tired as he had been yesterday. He looked up from his tray of food as Peter approached. His smile faltered for a second before spreading across his face again.

"Hey, kid." Mr. Stark beckoned towards the table with one hand and pushed out a chair with his foot. "Help me finish this gross, low-fat, no-flavour, no-happiness sandwich."

Honestly, Peter had no idea how Mr. Stark could make him laugh when he was feeling so shitty. These days, his own laughter always took him by surprise. Mr. Stark cracked a small victorious smile as Peter sank down in to the chair opposite of him.

"You're lucky I'll eat anything. Anyone else would've been put off by that sales pitch." Peter said as he picked up the untouched half of the sandwich and took a bite. He winced as he tried to choke back the bite of insanely dry bread. "Why're dey givin you low-fat food when yur tryin' ta gain weight?" His words came out garbled through a mouth full of disappointing sandwich. Mr. Stark shrugged and eyed his own nibbled half disdainfully.

"That's what I said. But then Bruce said something like 'blah blah cholesterol, yadda yadda trans fats'." Peter raised an eyebrow at that and Mr. Stark sighed before taking a reluctant bite. "I dunno, I stopped listening."

Well, Peter thought that was kinda overkill. Mr. Stark was looking stronger with each passing day. Some mayonnaise wouldn't kill him. But, what did he know? Peter wasn't a doctor. Mr. Stark still wasn't well enough for Dr. Banner to discharge him, so Peter really should have more faith in his judgement. Dr. Banner had held a steadfast resolve to keep Mr. Stark until he was well again, and Peter was shocked to see the man actually abiding a doctor's wishes. Peter knew that Mr. Stark was still furious with the rogue Avengers that occupied the compound. Over the years that Peter had spent with Mr. Stark, he had come to learn how absolutely insufferable he was when he was forced in to doing things he didn't want to do. Despite the fact that Mr. Stark clearly wanted to be anywhere else, he kept the bitchiness and sarcasm to a manageable amount. All it had taken was a soft 'please' from Ms. Potts and a knowing look from Colonel Rhodes, and Mr. Stark had somehow become complacent.

It wasn't the most shocking thing that Peter had ever seen, but it definitely cracked the top ten.

For a few minutes, the two of them ate in companionable silence, but then Mr. Stark's exasperated voice broke it.

"Okay, what's wrong?"

Peter froze, sandwich held halfway between mouth and plate, and look at Mr. Stark with genuine confusion.

"Hmmm? Nothing."

"Yeah, that wasn't convincing at all. Wanna try again?"

Peter sighed and dropped his sandwich on to the plate. He had thought that he had done a good job of keeping up the appearance of being fine. Now he was worrying Mr. Stark again. He should've just avoided the Med Bay and wandered around the compound until he was actually fine. He was no good at faking it.

"I just feel weird here." Peter mumbled. He realized belatedly that that was the sort of vague attention-seeking thing that an angsty teenager would say. He should probably narrow it down a bit. "They're avoiding me." It wasn't necessary to clarify who he meant by 'they'. Mr. Stark understood that he meant the other Avengers. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't speak. His expression wasn't exactly questioning, but it compelled Peter to justify his claim. "No, really, they are. I know that sounds like I'm totally full of myself, but I swear they are doing everything they can to not talk to me."

It was more than a little disheartening, to be honest. Ever since the Avengers' formation in 2012, Peter had wanted to meet them. It was a ridiculous fantasy carved out of wisps of smoke. Something that he could look at, imagine, but never grasp. It had suddenly become concrete and tangible when a series of unlikely events had put him on the path of gaining super powers, meeting Tony Stark, and then being officially initiated in to the Avengers. Peter had always wanted to meet the original six. The ones who had saved his neighbourhood from tyrannical aliens and nuclear holocaust. They had saved his everything. His home, his family, his friends, his life. In the subsequent years, once Peter had become powerful himself, he had kept up the neighbourhood maintenance. If nothing else, Peter had wanted to meet them so that he could express his gratitude. His fantasy had been cheerful, light, and so painfully naïve. He had never imagined that he would meet them like this.

Broken.

Defeated.

Hopeless.

In his imaginary meeting of the Avengers, they hadn't dropped their gaze to avoid Peter's eyes. They hadn't changed direction in the hallway in order to avoid being near him. Meeting the Avengers had been everything that Peter had ever dreamed of, but it was all wrong.

"Why do you wanna talk to those guys anyway?" Mr. Stark asked, his light sarcasm barely concealing the reservoir of bitterness. "Is my sparkling conversation not enough?"

Peter knew this was a sore spot for Mr. Stark. It was obvious how his old team mates had hurt him, and he resented having to remain under the same roof as them. Normally, Peter wouldn't bring up such an uncomfortable topic, but he needed to know what was happening. He needed to know why he was being left in the dark again.

"It's fine that they don't want to talk to me. They don't know me and I don't know them. But I feel like they're hiding something from me. Something big." He hated the secrecy, and he hated the fear that clawed at his insides at the prospect of learning the truth. Mr. Stark's gaze softened and he considered Peter for a moment. Peter could sense that he was standing at the crossroads of a hard decision. "Mr. Stark?"

The man tossed his half of the sandwich down to join Peter's abandoned half on the plate. He scrubbed a hand over his newly kempt beard and his eyes regarded Peter with a weary gaze.

"They don't want to tell you about the mission that happened while we were unconscious."

Peter didn't know what exactly he had expected Mr. Stark to say, but it wasn't that. A mission? A mission for what? To rescue Mr. Barton, maybe? Was that why Ms. Romanoff was crying?

"What mission-?"

Mr. Stark waved his hand in a 'quiet down' sort of gesture. Peter's mouth snapped shut.

"Long story short, Nebula led the team to Thanos' location. The idea was to recover the stones and reverse… everything."

What…?

What the hell did that have to do with Mr. Barton? It didn't. There were more things, more secrets. Bigger secrets than Peter could've fathomed. Peter could hear blood rushing in his ears and his fingers gripped the armrests of his chair with too much force. The metal molded around his fingers with an angry groan. Mr. Stark's gaze flickered to his white-knuckled hands with a cautious look.

"They were too late. The stones are gone and Thanos was killed." Mr. Stark said. Somehow, he was calm. The steadiness of his voice contradicted the content of his words. This was a joke. It had to be. A very elaborate and tasteless joke, because there was no way…

No possible way.

Mr. Stark's mouth set in a grim line. It's appearance on Mr. Stark's face was foreign to Peter, and the sight of it made everything feel real.

"That means that this is permanent," Mr. Stark stated firmly, but kindly. His words filled the silence as Peter's brain tried to make sense of it all.

"Killed." Peter heard his voice, though he couldn't feel his mouth move. "Who killed him?"

Mr. Stark wrapped a hand around Peter's stiff fingers and tried to gently loosen his grip on the chair. Peter had super strength which placed him at an unfair advantage over normal people, so he usually complied with these sorts of physical gestures. Now, it felt like an electric current was running through his body. He wouldn't be able to open his hand, even if he wanted to.

"It's not important, kid."

"Yes, it is."

Peter could feel his muscles jumping from the intensity of his stress. His rage simmered just under the surface, and he needed find a direction to channel it. Someone had fucked up, and it had cost every living being their chance to regain happiness. Something in Peter's expression must have told Mr. Stark that he wouldn't let this go, that he couldn't let this go, because he stopped tugging at Peter's hand. He sat back in his chair, with a defeated sort of air.

"It was Thor."

Name. Direction. Purpose. The electric current that held Peter's body captive broke, and he sprung to his feet.

"How could he do that?! How could he kill him before we could find out all the facts?!"

Peter's voice ripped from his throat with such raw intensity that it stung at his vocal cords. Mr. Stark didn't flinch, as Peter though he might. Instead, he was watching him with a sort of hardened patience.

"There's nothing more he could've done, Pete."

"We could've found out more!" Peter's feet were moving, pacing. Rage compelled him to move and he couldn't stop. He could feel Mr. Stark's eyes following him. "What if there was an option that we didn't know about? A way to bring everyone back? Thor killed Thanos before we had a chance to find out!"

"The stones are destroyed. Using them to reverse the snap was our only option." Mr. Stark's voice was so irritatingly placating. It grated against Peter like sandpaper. Didn't he understand how severe this was? How could he make excuses for the guy who put the last nail in the coffin? "I know it's hard to accept, but this is our life now."

Mr. Stark was in front of Peter. His hands placed themselves firmly on Peter's shoulders to hold him still. Peter's hands twitched as he suppressed the instinctive urge to push Mr. Stark's hands away. With great restraint, he contained himself. The energy circulating in him caused him to tremble. Mr. Stark faced him head on. When pitted against Peter's raging turmoil, his eyes remained unwaveringly calm and somber. It was terrifying, and Peter felt something in him start to crumble.

"But the stones-" Peter began.

"Are gone." Mr. Stark finished for him.

Just like that, the fight left him. Peter felt light and he was certain that if Mr. Stark wasn't gripping his shoulders, he knees would have buckled. He barely registered the fact that Mr. Stark was pulling him closer, that his arms were wrapping around him and caging his unresponsive body.

"I don't say this to hurt you," Mr. Stark murmured, his voice rumbling against Peter's slight frame. "But we need to look at the future for what it is."

Little by little, the numbness left, and the pressure and warmth of Mr. Stark's hold on him made him feel grounded. Peter's own arms raised hesitantly and wrapped around Mr. Stark's back.

"M'sorry." Peter's voice was muffled by Mr. Stark's shirt. "I shouldn't have shouted at you."

"It's fine, kid. Shout if you need to. Do what'cha gotta do." Mr. Stark gave his body a slight squeeze before pulling away. A hand remained on his shoulder and it led Peter back to his seat. "I just wanted to clear the air before you decided to run off and pick a fight with a Demigod. You're a tough little Spiderling, but I'm not so sure that you would walk away from that fight with all your teeth."

"I wouldn't know where to find him anyway." Peter said as he sat down, suddenly exhausted from the day. "He went off on his own days ago."

Mr. Stark hummed lightly in agreement, but his eyes looked troubled as he took his own seat. Shame shrouded Peter as he realized, too late, that Mr. Stark probably wouldn't appreciate being reminded that his old friend is in such a terrible state. Just like how Ms. Romanoff hadn't appreciated all those questions about her lost friend. It would seem that Peter just couldn't say anything right today.

"Do you really think Thor would hurt me?" Peter joked as he tried to lighten the mood. Mr. Stark cracked a weak smile. It wasn't enough to banish Peter's guilt.

"Maybe not intentionally, but I mean, Point Break's got a mean swing. That's all I'm saying." Mr. Stark voice rang with a familiarly light candidness before his smile dropped. "Plus, he's hurting too." He added and Peter dropped his eyes to the table.

Despite his lingering rage, Peter couldn't help but feel ashamed for how he had acted. This was the world they were living in now. No take backs. No do-overs. All they could do was rebuild and move on. Peter had to accept that. He wasn't sure if he could.

So, it's been a while. Thank you for your patience. Life gets in the way and all that jazz. On the bright side, it won't be so long for the next chapter update because it is mostly written already. This chapter was meant to be a small anecdote/flashback thing in the next chapter. But then I had to expand on it because the rogue Avengers got in my head and were like "hey, we deserve our moments. Don't be lazy". And, ya know, I just couldn't argue with that.

Also, a brief explanation as to why some characters are Mr. Ms. Dr. Captain, while others are on a first name basis. Peter refers to the characters that he is comfortable around by their first name. Mr. Stark is an outlier as a character that Peter is both comfortable around and has respect for.