Peter had to stop once on the way to his room to rest, and Strange frowned down at his young patient.

"Tired? Or in pain?"

"Mostly just tired, I think," he said, leaning against the wall in the corridor and closing his eyes against a wave of dizziness that was either from being tired, or maybe from the shooting pain that ran the length of his arm into his hand. "Don't tell Tony and Pepper, alright? I'm okay."

"Does it hurt?"

"A little."

Strange wasn't fooled.

"A lot?"

"Yeah. But it's no big deal, okay? I'll just go to bed and sleep it off."

"From what I understand it's most likely the healing process itself that is causing you the most pain," Stephen told him, stepping forward and putting a hand on Peter's good elbow. An instant later they were standing in the boy's quarters, beside his bed. "We can up the painkillers and see if it helps."

"It won't." Peter shook his head as he eased to the bed, gratefully. "Thanks, though."

"It won't hurt to give it a try. If nothing else, it'll help you sleep."

The boy nodded, and sighed.

"This isn't really the best time for me to be hurt, you know."

"Is there ever a good time?"

"No. But Homecoming is tomorrow and there's no way I'll be able to go – even if I had someone to go with."

Ah. That explained it. And why Peter's expressive eyes looked so unhappy – injuries aside. Not only was he missing a dance – and Strange knew the boy enjoyed dancing and every occasion that he'd had to do it since he'd learned how – but he was still thinking about the call from MJ.

"It's important that you try to keep positive about things, Peter," Strange told him, seriously. The boy was old enough to be told why, and Strange knew he would respond better if he didn't feel like they were coddling him – even though the Avengers absolutely were going to continue to do just that. "Depression is a real concern for us in this instance. You're hurting, and miserable, and – literally – the only injured person on the planet for a short time. But you need to remember what you did to become injured; you saved countless lives – half of the universe, even. You should be proud of yourself."

"I didn't want to save them all," Peter admitted, looking away. "I was just thinking of you guys."

Which made the surgeon smile, slightly.

"It doesn't matter, really. The vast majority of those that you saved are never even going to know your name. You know that, and it's to your credit that you're alright with it. Don't worry about the dance; there'll be others, I assure you. And don't worry about the rest of it, either," he added, specifically not mentioning names. "That kind of thing straightens themselves out, eventually."

Peter didn't look convinced, but he nodded rather than argue.

"Yeah. I'll try."

"Good." Strange was bemused to once more find himself in a position where he was counseling a teenager. It wasn't a role that he'd ever have imagined for himself – but he'd go out of his comfort zone to do what he could to make things easier for Peter, if he could. "Get comfortable. I expect Pepper and Tony will be in shortly to keep you company."

"Thank you."

A syringe was in Stephen's hand, then, and he administered a shot of a local pain medication quickly and with the competence of someone who had done just that a million times.

"If it doesn't help let me know."

"Yeah. I will." Maybe. "Thanks, again."

The sorcerer winked, and suddenly there was a tray beside Peter on the bed. It held half a dozen perfectly made corndogs, a bag of potato chips that he knew Peter liked and a platter of French fries.

"You're welcome. Eat something."

The doctor left and Peter got himself under the blankets before dragging the tray awkwardly over his lap and then picking up one of the corndogs.

"Karen? Will you call Ned, please?"

OOOOOOOO

It took them longer to get back to Peter's room than they'd intended. Steve and Carol walked into the room with Natasha and made a beeline for the table with Tony and Pepper.

"How's Peter?" Carol asked, curiously, as Steve and Natasha both smiled a greeting to Shuri, always pleased to see the girl.

"You just missed him," Tony told them all. "He had lunch – sort of – and Stephen just took him back to his rooms to get some rest."

"He's out of bed, already?" Steve asked, frowning. "Is that a good idea?"

"Stephen is keeping an eye on him," Stark assured him. "He's definitely limiting him for now."

"How is his hand?"

"Still waiting to see how that is going. Looks promising, though."

"If you have a minute," Steve said. "We'd like your debrief. You and Pepper, both. To get it out of the way."

Tony hesitated, and they all knew why.

"I'll go stay with Peter until you're done," Natasha offered.

The billionaire looked at Pepper, who shrugged, leaving it up to him, and then he nodded.

"Sure." He turned to Shuri. "Don't leave the compound, right?"

"I won't," she assured him.

"We'll keep an eye on her," Rocket offered.

"I am groot."

The princess rolled her eyes, good-naturedly, and that made several of the adults smile.

"Thanks." Tony looked at Natasha. "If he's still awake, just let him know we'll get there as soon as we can."

"I will."

She turned and left the room, and a moment later Tony and Pepper did the same with Steve and Carol.

"Have they already debriefed you?" Shuri asked Rocket, curiously.

"Yeah."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

The racoon narrowed his eyes, suspiciously.

"Are you supposed to know?"

She smiled; disarmingly charming and shrugged.

"I am here, am I not? They did not put any restriction on me – aside from the general safety one to stay on the premise. Clearly I am not a threat to their security."

"True."

OOOOOOOOO

Peter was sitting up in his bed when Natasha walked into his room. He was alone, there was a tray with corndogs across his lap – proof that Stephen had almost certainly been the one to supply them – and he was in a conference call with Ned. She smiled, looking at the large flat screen television mounted on the wall at the bottom of Peter's bed. Rather than forcing him to need to hold his phone, Tony had had the TV set up for conference calling with Karen, and Ned's cheerful countenance looked back at her when she came into view.

"HI, Natasha."

She settled next to Peter – on his left side – and picked a corndog from his plate before returning the greeting.

"Hey, Ned. How are you?"

"Good. Thanks."

Peter had a corndog in his good hand, too, and he looked at her before gesturing with the corndog toward the screen.

"Will you please tell him that he needs to go to homecoming and that it's stupid that he doesn't go just because I'm not going to be there?"

"You're not going to homecoming, Ned?" Natasha asked, curiously.

"I was thinking that I'd skip it. You know, since Peter can't come. It wouldn't be fair, really."

"Except that you asked Bonnie, and that means that she wouldn't get to go, either," Peter pointed out. "That wouldn't be fair to her."

He looked at Natasha who nodded.

"He's right. You can't stand up a date if there isn't a good reason."

"She wouldn't mind."

"It wouldn't be fair," Peter repeated. "Besides, someone has to be there to tell me what happened and what I missed."

He wasn't quite able to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but while Natasha caught it, Ned missed it. The other boy shrugged.

"Fine, I'll go. But it won't be the same without you."

"Yeah…"

"So what's really going on with Flash's dad?" Ned asked, suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"Flash is bitching about all the other soldiers in his dad's National Guard unit being released back to their homes, but he says that his dad hasn't come home, yet, and he says that the Avengers must be keeping him prisoner – otherwise he'd have come home by now." The normally cheerful teen rolled his eyes. "If he was my kid, I'd stay away from home, too."

Peter smiled his agreement.

"He is still here," he said, looking at Natasha for confirmation, because he hadn't seen the man since that morning when he'd come in to check the bandages on Peter's arm and hand.

She nodded.

"He's helping with Peter's injury."

"He's a heart guy," Ned pointed out, echoing the same thing that Peter had said. "Is Peter's heart damaged?"

Now he looked concerned.

"No." Natasha answered before Peter could, mainly because she knew more about it than the boy did. He had been in and out of lucidness when the explanation had been given to him. "He's been working with traumatic burns on the side, with his army unit and some other medical people. When Peter was hurt, he was our closest expert, and now he's sticking around to keep an eye on his progress. We aren't holding him prisoner, though."

Ned smirked.

"I knew you weren't. Flash is just being his usual self. What's his dad like? Same as Flash?"

"No," Peter replied, and hid his smile when he spoke next. "He seems nice enough. He definitely knows his stuff – but he's kind of like Stephen; bedside manner and all snooty and pompous. Know-it-all and not afraid to tell you what to do…"

"I heard that," Strange said from the doorway, drolly, his arms crossed over his chest.

It was Peter's turn to smirk; he'd known the doctor was coming; he'd felt him. Even more, from the amusement in Stephen's expression, he knew Peter had known.

"Oops."

"Peter needs to take a nap, Ned," Strange said, walking into the scope of the camera. "He'll call you, later."

Ned was amused, too.

"Yeah. See you guys."

The call ended, and Peter and Natasha both looked up at him.

"I could have given you carrot sticks…"

"I'm glad you didn't," Romanoff told him, munching on her corndog. "Are you sticking around?"

"No. I'm going back to the sanctum for a while. Everything good, here?"

She nodded, her free hand resting on Peter's uninjured shoulder.

"We're fine."

Peter nodded his agreement.

Strange left, then, and Peter frowned, looking around.

"What is it?" Natasha asked, curiously.

"Karen? Are you integrated with all the video cameras and security cameras in the compound, still?"

"Yes."

"Find Nutmeg for me, will you?"

"What are you looking for?" Natasha asked, and then shook her head when the TV's display once more came on.

This time showing an image of one of the corridors - somewhere near the gym from the looks of it. Walking along the corridor, awkwardly dragging Peter's Ironman doll was Nutmeg, looking for all the world like he owned the place and had every intention of taking the doll someplace to eat it in private.

The toddler in Peter screamed in indignation at the sight, even as Romanoff smiled.

"I'll go rescue it."

He nodded.

"Thank you."

"Save me another corndog."