There was a medic waiting in the lounge with Sam when Natasha carried Peter into the room, Clint close beside the two and shaking out the rain jacket that he'd pulled from over Peter once they'd made it inside. Romanoff carried the little boy over and sat him down on the table to make him a little easier to get to.

"What happened, Peter?" Sam asked, reaching out to touch his soaked hair.

He was shivering, now, but he wasn't crying – although is big brown eyes were filled with sorrow and sadness and were red.

"Tony's mad at me…"

"We'll worry about that in a bit," Natasha told him, moving just a little to allow the doctor to have access to his patient. "Right now, let's get you checked out."

"Someone bring some dry clothes," the doctor ordered. "And a towel or two."

Clint left to obey, leaving Natasha and Sam to watch as the doctor brought out some medical equipment and set it on the table next to Peter's leg. The boy turned to look at them, but the doctor took his head in his hands and forced him, gently, to look up at him.

"How does it look?" Romanoff asked, sliding her hand along Peter's back to support him.

"What did you hit, little man?" the medic asked.

"A tree… I think. I wasn't watching where I was going."

Gentle fingers probed Peter's lower lip.

"Don't bite me…"

That made the boy smile for the first time since he'd left the workroom.

"Okay."

The lip was carefully moved to expose Peter's teeth, which the medic pushed carefully to see if they were loose.

"He cut his lip with his bottom teeth when he hit," came the final diagnoses. "His teeth are fine." The medic smiled down at Peter, charmed at having such a young guy for a patient when he was used to headstrong adults. He tapped the boy's nose, making him smile, again. "Get him dried off, changed into something warm, bundle him up and keep him by a heater or the fireplace until he's warmed up. It doesn't look like he's concussed, but call me if he starts acting weird."

"Weirder than normal?" Natasha asked, also smiling down at the boy.

By the time the doctor was finished with him, Clint had returned with a couple of towels and clean, dry clothes. They were Peter's, which told the boy that the archer had gone to his little room to get them. Clint stepped up, taking the doctor's place closest to Peter, and began drying the boy's hair, and carefully doing the same to his face and neck.

"Hands up, kid…" he said, demonstrating, and Peter lifted his arms so Clint could pull the sweatshirt off, as well. "Nat? Scoot."

She rolled her eyes, knowing that Peter probably wouldn't have kicked her out of the room while they changed him from his wet clothes into dry, but she was fine with it. She didn't actually leave the lounge, though. She settled herself on the sofa on the other side of the room while Sam and Clint helped the boy out of his soggy wet clothing and into some that were much warmer.

"Bring him to me," she ordered the two men when he was dry.

Clint handed him to her and Romanoff covered both of them with a blanket to help warm him with her own body heat as well as his, and gathering him into her embrace.

"Better?" Clint asked, sitting on the arm of the sofa.

Peter nodded, resting his cheek against Natasha's arm, and wallowing in the feeling of being warm, once more – not to mention being held.

"Ready to talk?" Natasha asked, gently.

The boy nodded, but he didn't lift his head.

"Yes."

Sam took a seat in a chair next to where Clint was perched. They were pretty skillful interrogators – and Peter was eight – so either of them could probably have asked the questions, but they left it up to Romanoff, who was the expert with questions, if not children.

Besides, she was holding him, just then.

"What happened with you and Tony?" she asked.

"He introduced me to JARVIS, but I already knew him."

"And Tony didn't know?"

"No. I didn't tell him. JARVIS told me not to."

"Then he can't be mad at you for that."

Peter sniffed.

"He is."

"You mentioned that you wanted Tony's help."

"Yes."

"Because you want to learn to be a superhero…?" Natasha asked, remembering the conversation.

"Yes."

"You're a little small for that," Sam pointed out.

"I know."

"But…?"

"But I need to learn how to use them."

"Them?" Romanoff echoed. "Them what?"

He hesitated, looking at her, and then turning his head each direction to look at the other two.

"You won't tell?"

"Not if you don't want us to," Clint said, indulgently, as if expecting Peter to mention that he was super smart, or something.

A good skill, and impressive as hell for an eight year old, but not really something that would make a person a superhero. Tony Stark needed a suit wrapped around him, after all, and he was the smartest person Clint knew.

Peter buried his face in Natasha's collarbone and told them, succinctly, the same story that he'd typed out to JARVIS. First his basic history; losing his parents, and then living with his aunt, and then being sent to a temporary foster home when she'd gone to jail and died, and then moving to Eric's. They all three already knew that part, of course, but they all started paying more attention the more story was told. Especially when Peter told them about the trip to the lab and the bite from whatever it might have been.

"So what kind of things are we talking about?" Sam asked, curiously. "What can you do?"

"I'm not sure," Peter admitted. "I mean, I know I'm pretty strong. And I wasn't, before. And I feel people around me when I can't see them. I see in the dark pretty well."

"That's because you eat carrots," Clint told him.

"Strong how?" Natasha asked, although she echoed the smile that Peter sent Barton's direction. "Can you pick up those books you sit on in the chair?"

"Stronger than that." He yawned, mightily, worn out from talking and being warm now, after his harrowing ordeal. "I don't know how strong, though. I'm not sure how to experiment." He closed his eyes, nestling his head against Natasha's curves. "Which is why I needed help."

"That makes sense," she said, approvingly – and maybe a little indulgently, as well. He was eight. How strong could he be? She brushed a kiss against the top of his head "Why don't we experiment, later? Then we can see."

"We could, now."

"I want you to relax," she told him. "We're just going to hang out, okay?"

"What do I do about Tony?" he asked, pulling his head away from her to look up at them, hopelessly. "He doesn't like me, anymore."

"He likes you fine," Clint assured him. "He's just gotta get over the mad, first. Stark's like putting a mentos in a bottle of coke, sometimes. Reactive as all get out, and doesn't think, first."

"Besides, you don't need Stark," Sam pointed out, also noticing that Peter was looking a little droopy-eyed and tired. "There's a whole bunch of superheroes, here, that can help you. Take a nap, buddy. It won't seem as awful when you have a little sleep under your belt."

Peter closed his eyes, still holding Natasha.

"I want Tony to like me…" he murmured, falling asleep.

He did need him. He just didn't realize how much until it seemed he was gone, now, for good.

Tony was still arguing with his AI when the call came into Steve's earpiece. Now, though, he was tinkering with a program on his display, clearly looking at JARVIS' programming.

"Peter's fine," he said, despite the look Tony gave him that tried to make it seem as if he wasn't interested. "He busted his lip open and will have a bit of a bruise. No stitches, or anything."

"Well, that's lovely," Stark said, feeling relief but not showing it. He was adept at hiding his real feelings, after all. "Now I have to convince his foster dad that I didn't get mad at him and hit him, or something."

"I don't think you'll need to worry," Rogers said.

"Easy for you to say," Tony replied. "The guy's huge. And pretty protective. JARVIS? Any video of him running in the woods? Or are you going to keep that from me, too?"

"Running into the woods, yes. Running into the tree? No."

Slightly mollified by the reply, Stark got to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Steve asked.

"I'm going to go check on him."

"He's asleep."

"Good. Then he won't be so annoying, will he?"

Steve frowned.

"Tony…"

The billionaire rolled his eyes. He was over the mad – at least, JARVIS's attitude had convinced him that he had been angry at the wrong person, anyway – and was worried, now, despite the reassurances from the updates Steve had given him.

"I want to make sure he's alright."

Steve wanted to check on him, too, so it didn't take much convincing.

"Fine."

"JARVIS? Where is he?"

"The lounge."