The room he was installed in next to Tony's permanent quarters was tiny. It was more of a servant's quarters, Steve told him – although he pointed out that there weren't really any servants at the compound and it was a figure of speech. There was a bed, a desk, a computer display and an adjoining bathroom. Peter looked around with interest, despite the modest size.

"It's nice," he assured both Tony and Steve. "Thank you."

"What did you pack in this thing?" Tony asked, shaking his hand with exaggerated agony after he put the backpack on the boy's bed. "It weighs a ton."

"All my stuff," came the reasonable reply. "The important stuff, anyway."

"Like what?" Steve asked, curiously, wondering what an eight year old would think was important.

Peter sat down on the bed and opened the backpack, more than willing to tell them. It was important, but not secret.

He pulled out a small bundle of clothes and set them aside; toothbrush, toothpaste, pajamas, jeans and a t-shirt weren't important, apparently, Tony decided, as the boy reached into the bag and then handed Steve a yellow manilla envelope. Rogers opened it, pulling out several pictures.

"That's my mom and dad," Peter told him, watching as Tony looked over at them, as well. "And May."

They were a good looking couple, Tony decided.

The envelope also produced a man's wristwatch; a handsome one of silver and black, but clearly adult-sized. There was a gouge on one side of the face, but it was running. "That was my dad's," Peter said. "When I'm bigger it'll fit me."

"It's nice," Tony said, returning it, carefully, to the envelope. He had a feeling that he knew where the damage to the watch had come from, but he wasn't going to mention it. The envelope also held some little mementos, small treasures that obviously had some value to Peter, even though none of it was particularly flashy. "Are you sure that you want to carry it around in your backpack like that?"

Peter nodded, taking the envelope back and tucking it back into the bag.

"One of the kids at the home told me I should," he replied. "Just in case something happens, and they move me without any warning. That way I don't lose anything. He said he lost all his stuff during the first year he was in foster care, and that he was giving me the best advice that I'd ever get from anyone."

Both men were silent for a moment. Peter didn't notice because he was looking through his bag.

"The rest is a couple of old books, and this…"

He held up the stuffed bear that Tony had won for him at the carnival, and Stark smiled, reaching for it.

"Hey! I remember this guy."

Peter grinned, looking at Steve.

"He won it for me last month."

Steve smiled, too, pleased that there was something more cheerful to look at and still a little shaken by the fact that a little boy like Peter was carrying everything that he cared about around with him all the time, just to avoid losing it because his life was so uncertain. Steve had seen bad things done to good people in his life, but such a reminder that those bad things happened to little guys, too, was enough to make his eyes sting.

He took the bear from Tony, examining it with embellished care.

"Yeah? Playing cards?"

"At Coney Island," Tony told him, also looking a little shaken.

"He knocked down some blocks and let me pick whichever one I wanted," Peter confirmed, putting the bear back into the backpack when Steve handed it to him. He wasn't upset; and didn't realize that the two men were. "I got that one because he had the happiest face."

"He's great," Steve said, impulsively reaching for Peter, picking him up and draping him over his shoulder like a sack of flour, eliciting an excited giggle. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

"Tony still needs to get his things unpacked," Steve told the boy, who was looking perfectly comfortable hanging upside down. "If you don't want to wait, you can come with me, and he'll join us in a few minutes."

The boy looked at Tony, to see if he was alright with that. None of the ground rules that the billionaire had mentioned had said anything about staying close to him, or avoiding being alone with any of the others. Understanding the question, Tony nodded and shooed him away.

"I trust Steve to make sure you don't get cake for lunch. Just save me a spot."

"Okay."

They left Tony at the door to his quarters, and Steve swung Peter back to his feet, showing him around as they walked toward the lounge.

"Do you live here all the time?" Peter asked when the man mentioned other rooms that were more permanent, even, than Tony's.

"Pretty much. Unless I'm gone on a mission, or a training."

He saw Peter's interest and told him a couple of quick – and PG rated – stories of a recent trip that he'd taken earlier that year with some of the others. By the time he was done, they'd reached the lounge, and Peter saw that Sam and Natasha were waiting, with another man, who smiled, cheerfully, and introduced himself as Hawkeye – but said he could call him Clint, if he preferred.

"What do you do for fun, Peter Parker?" Clint asked, smirking when the boy sat on the chair, but couldn't see over the table top.

Natasha snorted, went to an impressive bookshelf, and brought over a couple of thick reference books for Peter to sit on, booster style.

"I hang out with Tony."

The man groaned, while the others rolled their eyes in various stages of amusement.

"You need more hobbies, then."

"We went to Coney Island," Peter told him. "And to the park, and the zoo. And he helps me with my schoolwork when I need it. I go to his office after school and spend time with him."

"Do you need help very often?" Sam asked, curiously.

They'd all heard that Peter was brilliant. Now to see if Tony was exaggerating.

"No. Not too much." He was handed a bottle of juice by a passing waitperson. "But more than the Tatros can. They're really great, but they don't understand my work."

"Who are the Tatros?" Clint asked.

"They run the home I live in."

Peter was several months distant from losing his aunt, and a couple of years distant from losing his parents, so he was able to tell them all his history without being too teary-eyed. Although he did choke a little when he mentioned that May had been the last real family that he had, and had tried to sound worldly when he'd noted that he was going to have to live in homes until he was old enough to take care of himself.

The others (except Clint, who really hadn't been around to be briefed on Peter) all knew the story. Romanoff had immediately looked into the boy's past when she'd first heard of him, and had relayed it, briefing style, to the others. He was gossip, after all, and had managed to get Tony Stark to pay attention to him without non-stop complaining. Clearly there was much more to Peter than showed externally.

"And you're in college?" Clint asked, amazed.

"No. I take high school classes, though – and just passed a test that can allow me to have placement in some college courses."

"College at eight?" Sam said, shaking his head. "He's like Tony's mini-me, or something."

"Peter's much smarter than I was at his age," Stark said from behind them, walking over just in time to hear the comment. He smiled at the books Peter was sitting on, and tousled those curls. "I didn't really start to bloom until middle school – much to my father's disappointment. Peter's going to be something special by the time we're done with him."

None of them bothered to hide their enjoyment at just how proud of the boy Tony sounded – or how Peter flushed with pleasure at the praise. It was clear the little boy adored Stark, and that Tony actually might like Peter, too.

"You want a burger?" Natasha asked.

Peter nodded and while the Avengers fed their young guest they also interrogated him, finding out what he liked and didn't like, and what he actually did do for fun. They found out that he could ride a bike, couldn't swim and had been fishing a time or two and wanted to try camping and canoeing.

"We'll have to figure out a way to trick Tony into taking you camping, sometime," Steve said, amused. "Could handle two birds with one stone that way if you took a canoe along."

"Not a chance in hell," Stark replied, also working his way through a burger and fries. "My idea of camping is a luxury resort with a rustic sounding name and a cocktail in my hand."

"Language," Natasha chided, before Steve could. "He's a little guy, Tony. You can't swear in front of him like that."

Stark looked confused.

"What did I say? You mean hell?" he rolled his eyes. "Peter lives with five teenaged boys. He's heard worse."

"Which doesn't mean you can corrupt him," Romanoff said, leveling a killer glare at the billionaire. "Right, Peter?"

The boy hesitated, not willing to be drawn into an argument, and not familiar enough with Natasha that he understood she was teasing him, and goading Stark.

An arm came around the boy, lifting him from his chair and a hand went to his head to give him a noogie.

"Don't listen to any of them, Peter," Clint assured him. "And if Tony won't take you camping, then some of us will, instead."

"Today?" Peter asked, hopefully, not at all perturbed at being lifted like a bag of potatoes.

"Nope. Winter's coming," the archer told him. "It'll be too cold, soon, for anything like that, unless you're a sled dog. We'll do a raincheck until spring."

"Besides, it'll give us a chance to plan, better," Steve added, clearly enamored of the idea of a camping trip – which wasn't something that he'd done all that often, either.