Okay, first of all, I want to apologize for how long y'all had to wait. My goal is to post a new chapter once or twice a week, and I'm sorry that so much time has passed. To be honest though, the last few weeks have been a little rough. I just started college and I've been struggling with depression. In short, I simply didn't have the energy to write anything.

But worry not! I managed to pull my life together and get chapter three up and running. In all honestly, dialog is my weak spot. So it's really important that y'all tell me what you think of the conversation between Ned and Peter. Sometimes, I worry that it lacks substance...

Also, I wanted to thank all of you for your support. Seriously, I am BLOWN AWAY. You have absolutely no idea how much y'all have helped pick me up when I was down and out the last few weeks.

I especially want to thank HazelCookie, Modern Demigod Hero, AquaDragonSilverFire, Daughter of StaticQuake, Unajet (whoever you are, you sneaky anon you), AraneltheSilvan, Demi-God Ginny, jayley, elisiumqueen, Steefwaterbutter (twice, dude you're awesome), littlemissliketofight, Wolfy76398 (also twice, you rock), Tori of Lorien (your comment was amazing. seriously I love the critique, it helps me improve my writing, and I seriously appreciate all the time and effort you put into that comment. It meant the world to me.), SummerMistedDragon, and cnocys (actually, it was your comment yesterday that kicked my butt and finally made me finish chapter three, so thank!)

Seriously, y'all are the best. And also thank you to everybody who has favorited and followed this story. You guys are my heroes. And I mean it.

Enjoy!

Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!

Peter awoke to a heavy, repetitive banging noise that somehow sounded muted and far away. Yet, at the same time, it was just loud and jarring enough that it made his head feel like a tiny wood nymph was trying to split it open with a meat clever.

His whole body ached. He was somewhat surprised to find himself laying on his bed in an extremely awkward angle. With a grunt, he attempted to adjust himself into a more comfortable position. Suddenly remember why he'd been sleeping so awkwardly in the first place: white hot pain exploded through his shoulder and he screamed.

Ah, yes. That. He'd forgotten about that.

Peter's mind felt hazy and he struggled to remember why he was in so much pain. What exactly had happened last night? There were images; fragments of memory that flashed before his eyes but nothing concrete. It was like trying to remember a dream.

Suddenly, his phone rang. The headache returned. Distantly, Peter wondered if blood was pouring out of his ears, yet. With a groan Peter grabbed it and checked it. Ned? Why on earth was Ned calling? "Hello?" he answered wearily.

"Dude!" came Ned's overly loud voice on the other line. It was far too loud for Peter's liking. "Are you okay? I heard a scream. Is there an evil villain in your house? Should I break down the door? –Oh. Actually, it already looks open. Should I come in and kick butt?"

Peter pulled himself into a sitting position. What was Ned talking about? "What?" Peter asked. "Where even are you right now?"

"Uh, outside of your house. I've been knocking for like, 20 minutes. You asked me to come over, remember?" Ned asked. His voice sounded stuffed up. He was still sick and somewhat irritated that Peter had made him sit outside for so long. After all, it was cold.

"I did?" Peter asked. "…I did. Oh. Oh," Suddenly everything came rushing back. The patrol, the Three Stooges from Hell, Captain America, the dislocated shoulder, Captain flipping America.

The phone slipped from Peter's grasp and landed on the floor in a clatter. That part had to have been a dream, right? There was no way that Captain freaking America was in his house, right? Cautiously, Peter stepped out into the hallway and cast a discerning glance towards the living room. There, laying on the couch, just where Peter had left him, was Captain America. Steve Rogers, Captain America, was in his house. In. His. House.

"Holy crap, holy crap, holy crap," Peter mumbled, running a hand through his hair. He was suddenly filled with excitement and nervous energy. The pain, immediately, was forgotten. When he was younger, he practically worshipped the Avengers, with Iron Man and Captain America being at the very top of his list. Long before becoming Spider-Man (and more than a few times after becoming Spider-Man) he would bounce around the house pretending the Chitauri were attacking, and it was up to him to save the Avengers and the world.

Now, suddenly, it was as if all of his childhood fantasies were coming to life. First, Germany. Then, the whole "Toomes Incident" (which was surprisingly less fun than it was in his dreams.) Now, Captain flipping America was in his house, on his couch. He'd brought Captain America home last night. The Captain America. The whole thing felt surreal.

"Captain America's in my house. Captain America's in my house," he breathed. Peter's eyes went wide when one, lurking, rather unfortunate memory surfaced from the previous night. "I stripped Captain America," he said, overcome by a sudden urge to turn himself inside out, crawl in the world's deepest hole, and die. "I can't believe I did that! That's so weird! I mean, it was for medical-y stuff but what if he thinks it was creepy? Crap, crap, crap… Karen, what were you thinking?" he mourned.

While he was thinking out loud and talking to himself, Peter was stuck by a thought: "How do I even explain this to him?" he asked himself. "Uh, hey Mr. Rogers. I, uh, was walking home last night and you looked pretty hurt so I brought you back to my house," Peter thought it over and cringed. "No, no, no. I can't say that. That sounds way too stalker-y. I don't wanna sound stalker-y. Hey, Captain America. Sorry that Spider-Man ditched you last night. He had stuff to do but it's okay, because I—"

Peter was suddenly interrupted by a loud knock at the door. "Peter? Who are you talking to? Also, can I come in, now?"

Peter face-palmed. "Crap! Ned!" he exclaimed. He raced over to the door (cringing at both the sight of the broken lock, and the returning pain in his entire body) and carefully pulled it open. "Hey, man. I'm so sorry about that," he said, breathing heavily from the exertion of hauling cheek across the apartment.

Ned ignored the apology completely. Instead, his eyes fixed on Peter's hideously mangled shoulder. A hand flew to his mouth and his face contorted in a mixture of disgust and deep concern. "Holy crap! Peter, your shoulder! It looks like it got mauled by a venomous mother badger or something. What happened? Are you okay? Do you need to go to a hospital? What happens when a spider loses a limb? Does it regrow?" he demanded.

Peter, feeling somewhat uncomfortable under his friends gaze, shrugged (with his good shoulder) and brushed the comment off. "Yeah, it's nothing. I'm totally fine," He chose to ignore the spider comment, partly because they were ridiculous questions and partly because he was legitimately concerned about losing the arm. (It was unlikely, but still. Peter tended to be a worrier.)

Ned's eyes flickered up at Peter then returned to his shoulder. It was morbidly fascinating, like watching a train wreck: it was horrible to watch but he couldn't seem to stop looking. "Uh, I don't know if you've actually looked at yourself in the mirror lately, but that isn't nothing. I mean, holy crap dude! Look, it's turning black. I don't think that's a good thing. I think you should go to a hospital, Peter. Seriously, you could be dying or something," Ned suddenly screwed up his face in deep concentration. "Do you have regenerative powers like the Doctor?"

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and, again, ignored the ridiculous question. "I know, I know. I know it's bad. Happy's coming to pick me up at 10 to take me to the hospital. But it's fine, I swear. I'm gonna get it taken care of,"

Ned, apparently satisfied with that answer, made a face of disgust and curiosity. "Like, how does that even happen?"

Peter sighed. "I got in a fight last night. There were these three guys in gas masks—"

"Dude, that's super sketchy. Never trust a guy in a gas mask," Ned interrupted. "Sorry, continue,"

"And, uh, one of the guys had this gauntlet-sorta-weapon. Remember that time at homecoming, when you saved my life from that guy with the shocker weapon?" Peter asked, trying to explain.

Ned nodded slowly. "Uh, yeah, bro. How could I forget that? That night was sick! I mean… except for Liz. It kinda sucked for her. But still, that was like the greatest night of my life. Also, expect for the porn thing. I got in a lot of trouble for that—"

"Anyways," Peter interrupted, a feeling of guilt tightening around his stomach. It was a familiar feeling that always seemed to appear whenever Liz was mentioned. He really did feel bad about the whole thing… Shaking his head he pushed the feeling aside. "It was kinda like that. Except instead of shocking things, it froze them,"

Ned narrowed his eyebrows, thinking. "How did it do that? Liquid nitrogen? Or do you think it was some kind of Chitauri technology?"

Again, Peter shrugged. "I dunno. I mean, all three of the guys were using weapons that Toomes had manufactured, so probably Chitauri technology. Anyways, he hit me in the shoulder pretty hard,"

Ned's eyes widened. "Whoa. Did you get 'em?" he asked.

Peter smirked. "Of course I got 'em, dude. I'm Spider-Man. What do you expect?" He accidentally moved his shoulder wrong and grimaced. Peter suddenly remembered the reason why he'd invited Ned over in the first place. He shifted uncomfortably. "So, um, listen. I need you to do me a huge favor," he said hesitantly.

"Uh, sure?" Ned responded, sounding equally hesitant. "It's not gonna be another bomb, is it?"

"No, no. Not that. I, um… I need you to babysit for me," As soon as the words left his mouth, Peter immediately regretted how they sounded. Babysit? Really?

Ned narrowed his eyes. "Babysit?" he echoed. Peter could see the gears turning behind Ned's eyes. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Do you have kids? Did you lay eggs? I thought you said you couldn't lay eggs? Can I help you name them?"

This was getting absurd. "What?" Peter asked, screwing up his face in a mix of confusion and a bit of disgust. "No! No, Ned, I can't lay eggs. We've been over this,"

"Oh," Ned responded simply. "Did you get a dog or something?" was his next best guess.

An all American golden retriever. Peter's brain interjected immaturely. "Er, no. Listen, Ned. I swear, I'll explain everything. But you gotta promise me that you won't freak out. Okay?" Peter said, sucking in a breath.

Ned stared at his friend with a blank expression. "Peter. How long have you known me for?" he asked.

"What?" Peter asked, taken aback by the sudden, seemingly irrelevant question.

"How long, Peter?" Ned repeated.

Peter wracked his brain. "I dunno dude!" he cried, a little exasperated. "Since, like, the third grade. So… what, seven years? I don't know!"

Ned nodded calmly. "And in those seven years since we've been friends, have I ever been one to freak out?"

This time, it was Peter's turn to give Ned a blank expression. "Yes," he deadpanned.

Ned's whole countenance seemed to wilt. "What? No. C'mon Peter! I am a calm, cool, and collected guy. Do you really think so little of me?"

Inwardly, Peter sigh and began to regret calling Ned over. He was way too tired for this. Normally, he had no problem being with Ned. After all, they were best friends. But now, the pain and sleeplessness were making him rather… irritable. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Just… follow me, okay?" he pleaded. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and slowly walked over to couch in the living room. Every muscle in his body was tense. Why was he so nervous about this? After all, Ned was someone he could trust.

The young man in question followed closely behind his friend, watching the other carefully. Peter had been acting strangely all morning and Ned found it a bit concerning. "Hey, are you alright? You seem a little tense. If you want, my mom has these awesome rose-scented bath-bombs—" the sentence died on Ned's lips. Whatever it was that he was about to say was thrown out the window when he saw who was laying on Peter's couch.

Ned gripped Peter's arm (his good one, luckily.) "Dude. Dude," he breathed. "Is that… I mean, that can't really be… dude, is that Captain America?" Ned was almost afraid to ask. It seemed to good to be true.

The Avenger in question remained in the exact same state he was left in with only minor improvements: pale and injured. The wounds seemed to be overwhelming the Super Soldier Serum: it was taking an unusually long time for Steve to heal.

A sudden uncomfortable feeling washed over Peter. "Yes," he responded dutifully with an awkward cough.

Ned's mouth fell open and he stared shamelessly at the former Avenger laying on Peter's couch. "Peter… I need you to do me a favor,"

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Depends on what it is," he said warily.

"Pinch me, 'cause I think I'm dreaming," Ned said.

Peter released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He didn't know why he'd been so nervous about letting Ned in on the secret. Honestly, what had he expected Ned to do? Did he think Ned was going to freak out and call the FBI or social services or whoever it is you notify when your best friend is harboring a wounded war-criminal in his living room?

"Yeah, he, uh, saved my life last night," Peter responded, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ned swiveled around and stared at Peter as if his friend had suddenly sprouted wings and was ascending into heaven. "He saved your life?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Look, Ned, it's really no big deal. I mean, come on. He's a superhero," Peter said. As much as he wanted to join Ned in the "Fanboying Festival of the Century" he was far too exhausted, both physically and emotionally. The last few hours had been some of the most exciting, terrifying hours of his entire life and all he wanted to do was go back to bed.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Peter, no big deal? This is Captain America. Captain America!" Ned exclaimed, as if repeating the name made his point more valid. "This is the greatest day of my life,"

Peter dragged himself over to a chair and sat down while Ned continued to ramble.

"Dude. Captain America is half-naked and laying on your couch. On Spider-Man's couch. This is like some kind of epic fanfiction. Except it's not fanfiction. It's real life and I'm a part of it," Ned rambled.

Peter gave him a confused, sideways glance. "What?"

"Captain America is so ripped. He has the face of an angel. A genetically enhanced angel," Ned breathed.

Again, Peter made a face. "Dude, is now really the time for that?"

Ned, however, seemed to ignore everything that Peter was saying. "Listen, I'm not super religious, but I think we should say a prayer. Like, right now. Just to tell God thank you for letting our lives be like this,"

Peter face-palmed. Bringing Ned was a horrible idea.

"What if Captain America wakes up and takes you in as his underling in gratitude?" Ned asked.

Peter sighed. "Ned, I really don't think that's gonna happen,"

"That would mean that both Iron Man and Captain America would be your mentors. You guys would be like some kind of super family. With Captain America and Iron Man as the super dads and you as the little super son. They would be super husbands or something," Ned rambled.

"What?" Peter asked.

Ned didn't respond. For a moment, all he could do was stare at the injured hero laying in front of him. Then, his face suddenly lit up. It was as if his brain finally started to function again and he could process actual thought instead of senseless drabble. "Do you have any idea what this means? Dude, we gotta tell somebody. I mean, this could be huge for us! Nobody'd ever bully us again!" he said excitedly.

Peter had been a little bit distracted by the constant, radiating pain, and had been having a hard time concentrating on whatever the heck Ned was saying. However, as soon as he mentioned telling someone, Peter's head shot up so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. "What? Ned, no. No. We can't tell anybody," he said, his voice taking on a deadly serious tone.

Ned made a face, startled by the sudden change in Peter's demeanor. "Why not?"

"Because he's a criminal! If we tell somebody might call the police and lock him up," Peter explained.

Ned wrinkled his nose and stared at Peter with a curious expression. "You don't really believe that, do you?" he asked carefully.

"Believe what?" Peter asked.

"That Captain America's some sort of bad guy now," Ned explained.

Peter ran a hand across his face and leaned against a wall, grimacing at the pain his shift in stance had caused. "To be honest, Ned, I dunno," he admitted. "I mean, I've seen the news and all—and, I mean, we fought him in Germany—"

This time, it was Ned's head that shot up. "Wait, what?"

Peter waved him off. He lacked the energy to go through the whole story. "I'll tell you some other time," he said. Then, switching topics he continued: "It's just… I can't believe that a guy like Captain America would be a bad guy,"

Ned narrowed his eyes. "Do you think we can trust him?"

Peter bit his lip in uncertainty. "I mean, he saved my life…" he trailed off. Can we trust him? That was the question of the century. Peter cast his eyes towards Steve's seemingly lifeless form. It was startling to see America's hero so still and fragile-looking. It made Peter feel uneasy.

"I trust him," Ned said suddenly.

Peter looked up, shaking the thoughts from his head. "You do?"

"C'mon, man. This is Captain America. Sure the news thinks he's a bad guy, but I'm pretty sure that the news thinks everyone's a bad guy," Ned expressed. Suddenly his expression changed. "Wait… when you said that you needed me to babysit, is this what you meant?" he asked.

Peter cringed, once again deeply regretting using the word "babysit". "Uh… yeah," he said with a sheepish smile.
Once again, Ned's eyes went wide. "You want me to babysit Captain America? In your house? Alone?" Ned asked.

Peter nodded. "Yep,"

"Me and Captain America. Alone. What if he wakes up?" Ned asked, panicked.

"I dunno, make conversation or something!" Peter exclaimed.
"About what?" Ned cried.

"I dunno, you'll think of something. He's human, Ned. Just… get to know him or something. Ask him… ask him what his favorite color is," Peter said. He tried to sound confident while he said it, but he knew how bad it sounded as soon as he spoke.

Ned gave Peter the done-est expression Peter had ever seen. "His favorite color? Peter, are you kidding me?"

"Oh, come on Ned! I don't know! Just… whatever you do, don't tell him that I'm Spider-Man, okay?" Peter pleaded.
"But what if he asks where he is or how he got here?" Ned asked.

"Then lie!" Peter exclaimed.

"I suck at lying, Peter, we've been over this like a billion times. Also, what do we do if Happy or Mr. Stark or somebody stays over?" he asked.

Peter froze. "What are you talking about?"

"Have you ever dislocated your shoulder before? It hurts like crap, so they pump you up with a butt-ton of drugs. You'll be high as a kite. And, I mean, if Aunt May isn't home, what if Mr. Stark or somebody insists on staying over here?" Ned asked.

Peter grit his teeth in frustration. Why hadn't he thought of that? He was just beginning to panic and lose hope when the idea stuck him like a bolt of lightning: "Easy. If they ask, I'll just say that you and your uncle are going to stay here with me,"

Ned screwed up his face, deeply confused. "My uncle?" he asked. Peter nodded his head towards Steve Rogers. "Oooohhhh," Ned said, a smile slipping across his face.

Peter returned the smile with a gracious, weary smile of his own. He felt as if an enormous emotional baggage had been lifted off of his shoulders. Everything was sorted out. Everything was going to be okay. Peter exhaled. "Listen, Ned, I'm gonna go lie down for a little while. Wake me up if you see Happy's car outside, okay? And really, dude. Thanks for everything. You're the best,"

Ned smirked. "C'mon Peter, what were you expecting? After all, I'm the man in the chair,"

Peter chuckled and stalked into his bedroom, leaving Ned alone with Steve Rogers.

Welp, everybody seemed to enjoy the last chapter preview so much so I thought I'd share another! Heads-up, for all of you who requested some Ned & Steve bonding time, your requests have been heard!

Ned admired himself in the mirror. The Spider-Man suit was surprisingly comfortable, movable and easy-to-wear despite how skin-tight it appeared. "I look so sick...!" he mumbled to himself. Yes, he knew that he probably wasn't supposed to be wearing the Spider-Man suit, but he simply couldn't help himself! It was just laying on the floor, practically asking to be picked up and tried on. Besides, Peter was in the hospital and what Peter didn't know couldn't hurt him.

"Hello. Who are you?"

Ned practically jumped out of his skin when the suit suddenly started talking to him. "I... um... uh... Ned. I'm Peter's friend. Who are you?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"I am an AI Mr. Stark designed to guide Peter after completing the Training Wheels protocol. Peter calls me 'Karen'," the kind-sounding-suit-woman responded in a calm, even voice.

"Woah, that's so cool!" Ned exclaimed. "Can you teach me how to fire webs and do cool Spider-Man stuff?" Ned asked, grinning like a kid on Christmas.

"Unfortunately, you are not authorized to use those programs," the AI responded sympathetically.

Ned sighed dejectedly. "Yeah, I kinda figured... Thanks anyways, Karen,"

"My pleasure," Karen responded.

Ned paused for a moment, thinking. "Hey, Karen? Don't tell Peter, okay?" he asked. He turned away from the mirror and froze. Karen said something in response, but whatever it was, Ned wasn't listening.

Steve Rogers was propped up against the arm of the couch, awake, alert, and starting at Ned in a mix of confusion and amusement. The Super Soldier looked as bad as he felt: he was pale and sweaty, his hair was messy and unkempt, and he looked so exhausted that the bags under his eyes had bags.

Immediately, Ned pulled off the mask. "I'm not Spider-Man," he said dumbly.

Steve chuckled a little. "I can see that," he responded good-naturedly.

Ned's brain could barely function. He remembered the promise he'd made to Peter and blurted out: "Peter's not Spider-Man either,"

Steve frowned. "Who's Peter?" he asked, sounding unconvinced.

Ned blinked and mentally smacked himself. "Uh... he's... not Spider-Man," was all he could think to say.