"Your physical therapy appointment is at ten o'clock," Pepper reminded Peter – and Tony – as they ate breakfast. "I want one of you to call me and tell me what you find out."

"Peter will call you," Tony assured her.

She'd want to know how he felt, anyway, and the boy could answer that question much better than he could, now couldn't he?

"Yeah. I'll call you," he promised.

"What else are you guys going to do today?" Pepper asked, curiously.

Tony looked at Peter, who shrugged. He didn't have anything planned – although he was sort of hoping that the guardians would let him gawk at their spaceship.

"I was thinking we might take a look at the Pontiac," the billionaire replied when Peter's response told him that he was open to anything. "See what we need to do to start getting it back into shape."

The boy nodded, his expression a mixture of distress and hope. Distress because of the damage that he'd done to something that meant so much to him, and hope because if anyone could fix it, Tony could.

"That would be great. Thank you."

Pepper smiled at her guys, but forced herself to not reach out and cup Peter's cheek with her hand. He'd probably misread the gesture and think she was babying him, but she just wanted to make him lose the hurt in his expression.

"Make sure he doesn't do too much, Tony," she told her husband. "I don't want him undoing all the good progress he's making…"

Peter rolled his eyes, good-naturedly, at the admonishment, which had been Pepper's intent. It was babying, she knew, but permissible, this way.

"We'll be careful, momma," Tony assured her, smiling.

OOOOOOOO

They didn't leave the garage once they saw Pepper off. He and Tony walked over to the Pontiac, leaving the door of the garage open to allow the daylight in – although the artificial light was helpful, as well. Peter shook his head, mournfully at the damages to the car, but Tony popped the hood and put on his glasses, engaging Friday, as well, as he looked it over.

"It's not so terrible, son," he told the boy, as the AI went through the engine compartment, looking for anything out of line. "Friday says the engine itself is fine. A couple of hoses that will need replaced, the radiator and the wiper fluid reservoirs are done for – but those are easy to find. I'll order new ones, today."

"Make sure you take it out of my bank account, though," Peter said, running his hand along the dent in the driver's side fender. "I wrecked it; I should pay for the replacements."

"Fair enough." Tony was still looking through the damages. "We'll need a new grill, new chrome, headlights on both sides and the hood can probably be repaired. The fender isn't too bad – that's where the deer hit you."

"He hit pretty hard," Peter said.

"They're tough, though," Tony reminded him. "They have to be to fight for the girls every year, right?"

"Yeah."

That was a good point.

"Come on," the billionaire said, putting a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Lets go see what we're going to need to start rebuilding and repairing."

He still wasn't particularly pleased about the wreck of the Pontiac, but it would be a good way for him to spend a fair amount of time with Peter in the near future, so that was always a good thing.

OOOOOO

The physical therapist was a man that Peter already knew. He was one of the regular doctors assigned to the compound – a general surgeon, but one who specialized in physical therapy, as well. He wasn't a military doctor like a few of them once had been – or still were – but had once had his own practice in Miami, before the allure of working with Earth's mightiest heroes had drawn him back to New York.

Even better, Doctor Franklin already knew how the hand was injured, and didn't need to be filled in on any of Peter's special circumstances, since he already knew them all – and the boy was already comfortable with him.

When Tony and Peter showed up in the medical room at the prescribed hour, the doctor was waiting for them, and sat Peter on the edge of the bed, while he took a rolling stool and pulled up close to start taking the brace off.

"The hand looks really good, all things considered," Franklin said, mostly to Tony, who was hovering, worriedly. He turned it over looking at the palm, and had Peter move his fingers, first, and then the wrist. "We know you're stronger than most," he added. "So we're not going to be able to judge if there's any lack of strength by any other means than just your own perception of it," he added.

"Okay."

The doctor offered the boy his hand.

"Squeeze my hand – and don't crush my fingers, okay? I'm going to need them later."

Peter smiled at that and did as he was told, careful not to apply too much pressure, but watching the doctor, who nodded.

"How much does it still hurt?"

"It aches a bit," the boy admitted.

"You're doing too much with it," the doctor told him. He looked up at Tony. "No more kitchen helper," he said. "Not until it's stronger."

Tony nodded, but gave his son a look when Peter smiled.

"You're still going to do it," he said. "Just not right now."

"I know."

Franklin smiled at the exchange.

"We'll exercise the hand plenty, I assure you." He handed Peter a racquetball and told him to squeeze it. "Feel that?"

"Yes."

"I want you to carry the ball everywhere with you. When you're not busy, or not using your hand, work the ball a ten count, give it a rest, and then another ten. Several times a day."

The doctor looked at Tony and at Peter, to make sure they were in agreement. Both nodded.

"What else, Jeremy?" Stark asked.

"Swimming will strengthen the hand and the arm," he replied, making a motion with his own to prove that the action would include both the hand to propel the water and the arm to guide it. "The stitches can be covered with an adhesive bandage while he's in the water to keep them from getting too wet."

"You don't think it'll be too much?"

"No. Peter's young and healthy." He gave the boy a pointed look. "And if he starts hurting, or aching, he's smart enough to stop and tell someone so we can back things off a little until he has more strength in the hand. Right?"

The boy nodded.

"Yes."

"Good. Keep the brace on whenever you're not swimming or working the ball – for now. You don't need to sleep in it, though."

"Thank you."

It was the doctor's turn to nod.

"You're welcome. You both know where to find me if there are any concerns."

Tony felt a bit of relief, despite the fact that Peter's hand had looked pretty good to him, too. He patted the boy's back.

"Go call mom and let her know. And then find something to do and stay out of trouble for a while. I'll meet you for lunch in the lounge at one."

"All right." He waited just long enough to get the brace back on, then picked up the ball and left the medical room. "I'll see you, later."

Tony waited until he was gone, and looked at the doctor.

"Anything Pepper and I should be worried about?"

"It looks remarkably good, Tony," the doctor told him, honestly. "I'll want to see him a couple of times a week, for now, but it doesn't have to be anything formal. I'll just happen to run into him in the lounge, or in the pool, and take a look at it, there."

"You'll tell Pepper that, too?"

"Of course."

OOOOOOO

"Are you busy?"

"Of course not."

He gave her a look. There was a small crowd of well-dressed men and women in the background of the video call.

"Really?"

Pepper smiled.

Touché.

"Not too busy for you, sweetheart. Did you learn anything?"

"I'm supposed to squeeze this rubber ball a lot, and do some swimming every day."

"That makes sense."

Peter nodded.

"And I can't be Deena's helper, yet. He said he doesn't want me using the hand like that."

Now it was Pepper's turn to give him a look.

"Did you pay him to say that?"

The boy laughed, loving it when she bantered with him like she did so often with Tony.

"Of course not." He saw a couple more people in the background turn her direction, and one of the older men looked a little impatient. Peter shrugged. "I'd better let you get back to whatever I interrupted."

"Thank you for calling me, sweetheart."

"You're welcome. Love you."

Her smile was soft.

"I love you, too."

The video call ended, and Peter leaned back in the sofa with a sigh, wishing that he had his phone. Yes, it had been a call, but it wasn't on his phone – since Tony had officially taken it away from him. No apps, no calls, not even the time of day. Of course, he didn't need all of that, but it was a comfort to have that little piece of technology in his hand. He wondered what Ned was doing, and glanced at his watch. He'd be having lunch.

With MJ?

He wondered if she was still mad at him, and looked around, getting up and then walking into his bedroom to find his laptop. He'd send Shuri and Ned an email and let them know what the physical therapist had said about his hand. They'd want to know. He wouldn't tell MJ, though, as much as he wanted to. She probably didn't want to hear anything about what was going on with him.

He could send her a message, though, anyway. Just to say hello?

Peter sat down on his bed and opened the laptop. It booted up quickly and he was surprised to see that he had a few emails waiting for him. Not spam, either; Karen cleared all incoming spam messages, automatically, which he liked. It saved him the trouble of sorting through things that he didn't need to look at, and a lot of ads for products that he didn't want. Three emails from Ned, all from that morning, and one from Shuri – who would (or at least should) – be asleep. He opened Ned's first one, which had been ridiculously early, he noticed. Almost 3am. Wondering what his friend was doing up that late (or early) he was surprised to find a very short message.

'Hey, Peter. I just had the weirdest frakking dream, dude. Email me when you get this. I want to make sure you're okay.'

He didn't reply. Not with two more waiting to be read. Instead, he opened the next one – which was from right before he would have left for school – or maybe while he was on the bus on his way there.

'Are you sleeping in, or what? I know Tony took your phone, but you still have email. That dream was crazy. Hit reply, will you?'

Peter smirked. He didn't check his laptop very often, and he knew he should. Ned was going to kill him for making him wait so long. He wondered what the crazy dream had been about, and why Ned hadn't already told him. The guy was lightning fast with his thumbs and Peter had actually seen him use his phone to write out essays before when he'd slacked off and had forgotten that an assignment was due until the last minute. He could have told him.

The next email made him lose the smirk, though, and his eyes grew a little uncertain – while his eyebrows vanished into his hairline.

'Okay, seriously. I had this dream about some huge bad-ass named Thanos threatening to kill you and everyone else, and I just talked to MJ and she had the same dream. What the hell is going on? Talk to me, will you? Hit the reply button before my head explodes. Mom wants to know what the physical therapy guy says and MJ said to tell you to email her. I think the dream thing freaked her out, too, but you know how hard it is to tell with her, sometimes."

"Shit…"