I can't thank you guys enough for all of the kind reviews, follows and favorites! You definitely know how to keep me going! :)

A short disclaimer: this chapter does not cover all of IM3. There are some subtle changes made that will impact things down the road, and the chapter became too long for me to do the entire movie justice, so we'll see the conclusion in the next chapter. I hope you still enjoy it. :)

Peter huffed out a frustrated breath as he flopped over on his bed, hugging George tightly to his chest. Through the huge floor to ceiling windows on the far side of his room he could just barely make out the faintest hint of daylight starting to peek through the surrounding skyscrapers. It was almost time for JARVIS's alarm to wake him up for school, although he couldn't remember the last time that he'd still been asleep when it went off.

"I'm awake, JARVIS," Peter croaked a minute later as he pushed himself up into a sitting position and reached for his glasses, nearly poking himself in the eye as he attempted to jam them onto his face. No sense in the alarm going off if he didn't need it.

"Good morning, Master Peter," said JARVIS. "And congratulations on making it to the last day of school prior to your Christmas break."

"Thanks," mumbled Peter. Sliding off the bed, he shuffled into the bathroom to brush his teeth, grateful once again for the tiny lights embedded in the tile floor which allowed him to forgo the harsh overhead light first thing in the morning. After learning that he was afraid of the dark, Dad had the soft lights installed along the walls of both his bedroom and the bathroom, giving both rooms a faint, ambient glow. He'd also programmed JARVIS to play the soothing sounds of falling rain during the night as background noise, hoping it would help Peter with his nightmares. Which it did, surprisingly.

Or at least it did until the Battle of New York happened.

Stumbling into his closet, Peter grabbed at the first t-shirt and pair of jeans he could see, checking after he'd pulled on the t-shirt to make sure it wasn't on inside-out or backwards. He'd managed to make it to school one day about a month ago with his shirt on inside-out, and Flash still hadn't let him forget it.

"JARVIS, where's my dad?" asked Peter as he slid on his shoes.

"Mr. Stark's current location is the Malibu house," replied JARVIS.

"Okay. Thanks," Peter replied. He wanted to ask if his father had managed to get any sleep during the night, or even if he could talk to him, but he knew it would be futile. JARVIS refused to divulge any information on his father's work or condition unless Dad specifically told him it was okay to do so, and he'd been particularly quiet about his projects lately. And, if there was any possibility that he might actually be asleep now, Peter did not want to risk waking him. It was only around 3:30 in the morning out in California.

"Good morning, Peter," Steve said, looking up from his sketch pad as Peter wandered into the kitchen, the smile fading from his face as he took in Peter's glum face. "Were you able to sleep at all?"

Tears sprung into Peter's eyes, gritty and dry from the lack of sleep, and he looked away, embarrassed. "Not really. Maybe a bit, but I don't know."

Steve let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, Peter. I know it's hard on you with your dad away."

Peter shook his head, clenching his jaw as he reached for his cereal box and a bowl. "It shouldn't be, though," he muttered. "Plenty of the other kids' moms and dads have to go away sometimes. Why do I have to be such a pansy about it?"

"Who says you're a pansy?" asked Steve, his brow furrowing. "Someone at school?"

"No," said Peter, but as soon as the word left his lips he knew Steve wouldn't believe him. His dad always said he was a terrible liar. Which, he supposed, wasn't really such a bad thing. And Auntie May had always told him he had an honest face, whatever that meant.

"Actually, yeah."

Understanding filled Steve's eyes, and he set down his pencil, leaning back in his chair. "Well, I know it probably doesn't help all that much, but I know what it's like to be—"

"A pansy?" interrupted Peter, biting his lip as milk sloshed over the side of his cereal bowl and he fought against the urge to curse. He didn't swear all that often—Dad didn't allow it, and he knew Steve wouldn't appreciate it much either—but he hated how clumsy he was sometimes. Especially when he was so tired that he could barely see straight.

"No," said Steve firmly, his large hand wrapping around Peter's wrist as he attempted to tear off a paper towel. "I know what it's like to be bullied."

"Oh," Peter mumbled, feeling somehow even worse by the confession. Of course he knew that Steve Rogers hadn't always been the tall and strong super soldier that he was now. Peter had read up on both Bruce and Steve before the battle and during the week before they moved into the Tower. According to his SHIELD file, when he first joined the Army Steve Rogers had been a short, skinny, sickly kid from Brooklyn. It wasn't until he got his special serum that he transformed into Captain America.

"Yeah," Steve said as he mopped up the spilled milk. "I don't think there was a single alley or street corner in Brooklyn where I didn't get beat up at least once."

Peter shook his head, swallowing a mouthful of cereal. "I'm sorry. That sounds horrible."

"It was at the time," Steve said, winking. "But now it's just… part of my history, I guess. Part of me."

"Yeah, 'cause now you could beat the snot out of anyone you wanted to," said Peter quietly, his eyes firmly trained on his cereal bowl. Whereas I'm still a skinny, shrimpy, sickly kid who can't even sleep without a nightlight.

"Yeah, I probably could," Steve said, his eyes narrowing. "But not all problems should be solved by fighting, Peter. Sometimes you just need to find a way to work together, no matter your differences, because there's something even worse that's out there."

"Hmph," Peter grunted.

"It also helped me to have a friend," Steve continued, a rather glum expression washing over his face before being replaced with a slight smile. "A really good friend who always had my back. And who just happened to be a lot bigger than me. Or, at least he was before the serum."

"I have a friend like that," said Peter. "His name's Ned. And he is bigger than me, but we don't really get into fights. It's more just… being mean. Flash is just mean."

Steve clapped his hand on Peter's shoulder. "Does your dad know about this kid who's mean to you?"

Peter felt his face redden and he looked down, shoveling another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. "Yeah. Well… kinda."

"Kinda?" asked Steve, quirking an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Well… I don't always tell him everything," Peter confessed quietly. "Only when I have to, like if my glasses get broken or something. He gets really mad when stuff like that happens, and…"

"Not mad at you, surely…?"

"No, no," said Peter, shaking his head. "Mad at Flash. He's… well, he's threatened to… beat the hell out of him a few times if he didn't leave me alone."

"Ah," Steve said, and Peter was relieved to see no judgement in the man's expression. "But still, Peter. You don't think your father would want to know if you're struggling?"

"My dad worries about me enough," Peter said firmly. "And I know I'm smarter than Flash, so I can handle him. Even if I don't like to."

"Hmm," said Steve. He picked up his pencil, glancing down at his sketch pad with a critical eye. "Well, don't forget that you're not alone. I'm here, if you ever need someone to talk to. Okay?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

They were silent for a few minutes while Peter finished his cereal and packed up his backpack and Steve worked on his drawing, which appeared to be a strikingly accurate rendition of the rebuilt Stark Tower. Since it was the last day of school before Christmas break, Peter only had a half day today.

"Ready?" Steve asked once Peter had pulled on his jacket. "You might want to wear some mittens or gloves too, it's pretty cold out there this morning. And you also need to grab your helmet."

"Yeah, okay," Peter replied. Hurrying back to his room, he rummaged around in his closet for his mittens before grabbing his Iron Man helmet, which now barely fit over his head. He'd need to make a new one soon.

Everything had happened so quickly two nights ago when Dad needed to leave that no one had stopped to think about how Peter would get to and from school. There was a school bus, but Dad didn't allow Peter to ride on it, saying it wasn't as safe as he wanted. There were plenty of cars available down in the Tower garage, but Bruce didn't have an active driver's license anymore and Steve had never even learned how to drive a car, preferring to use motorcycles instead. He was in the process of taking a driver's ed course in the afternoons, but hadn't yet taken his driver's test, so it had been kind of a scramble the previous morning with trying to figure out how to get Peter to school. Bruce had suggested just taking a taxi but Peter declined, not in any hurry to get back into a cab after that scary incident in the alleyway during the Battle of New York.

In the end they had decided that Steve would just take him on his motorcycle, a vintage one that SHIELD had given him. Peter rode in front of him on the bike wearing his Iron Man helmet, which was as good as any regular motorcycle helmet, and while it had been a little more scary than Peter had anticipated, he was actually looking forward to it again. Nothing like rolling up to the school riding on a motorcycle with Captain America to impress the other kids.

It was cold this morning, so much so that Peter's breaths came out in small puffs of white as Steve carefully maneuvered the motorcycle through the Midtown streets. Nodding at the security guards as they entered the school, they were about halfway to Peter's classroom when the principal, Mr. Morita, came running down the hall towards them.

"Captain Rogers," he said, panting slightly as he offered his hand. "Forgive me, I'm usually over on the high school side in the mornings, but I heard that you dropped Peter off yesterday, and I just wanted to come by and introduce myself."

"Hello," Steve said politely as he shook Mr. Morita's hand, and Peter could see Steve's eyes narrowing, like he was trying to place him. "I'm sorry, sir, but you look awfully familiar—"

"Jim Morita," Mr. Morita said with a proud smile. "He was a Howling Commando, sir. And my grandfather."

"Oh!" Steve sputtered. "Of course! Wow! You look so much like him!"

"I've heard so many stories about you, Captain," Mr. Morita said. "I'd love it if we could sit down sometime and talk. Perhaps sometime after the holidays?" He glanced down at Peter, offering him a smile. "I know you're quite busy right now with Mr. Stark out of town."

"Yeah," said Steve, still with the same dumbfounded look he usually wore when Peter was trying to explain how to work a new gadget. "Yeah, I'd like that very much, Mr. Morita. Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir. It's nice to finally meet you." With a final nod, Mr. Morita turned and walked back down the hall, heading for the high school wing.

"The Howling Commandos," said Peter as they continued down the hallway. "That was your special Army unit, wasn't it? That attacked all the HYDRA bases during the war?"

"That's right," replied Steve, sounding impressed. "Did they teach you about that here in school?"

Peter shook his head as they arrived at his classroom. "No, we haven't learned that much about World War II yet. I asked my dad and JARVIS about it."

"Hmm. You're pretty resourceful," Steve said. "I wouldn't think a lot of of kids your age would be interested in something like that."

Peter shrugged. "I'm interested in anything that my dad's interested in," he said. "He says that's a good thing. Or at least he does most of the time."

"Well, I'm sure your dad's right about that," said Steve with a grin. "I'll see you this afternoon, Peter. Enjoy your day."

"Bye," Peter said, entering the classroom and breathing out a sigh of relief when he saw that Flash wasn't yet there. He didn't really feel like hearing his insult of the day quite yet. It was bad enough when he'd had a full night's sleep.

After hanging up his jacket and unpacking his backpack, Peter crossed his arms on his desk and laid his head down, closing his eyes and hoping there'd be enough candy during the class party today to help him stay awake.

Tony hated hospitals. The way they looked like they were designed by people with no sense of imagination. The way they smelled like a horrible combination of strong disinfectant and death. And the sounds. The incessant beeping of monitors, the static of the calls over the intercom, the squeak of the nurses' shoes against the polished linoleum floors. Pretty much everything about them made Tony twitchy.

And yet, as he sat in his chair against the wall of Happy's private ICU room, watching as the nurse fiddled with his IV's and adjusted his blankets, it wasn't exactly the same jumpiness he was used to feeling whenever he set foot inside a hospital.

It was rage.

As soon as he'd arrived at the Malibu house, after ensuring that they were indeed on a complete security lockdown, he'd gotten Pepper tucked into bed and headed down to his lab to do some preliminary research on this Mandarin, who was claiming responsibility for the explosion in which Happy was injured. Unfortunately, there wasn't a lot of information that had been made available to the public, and after exhausting several of his usual methods of obtaining classified information without satisfaction, Tony had given up and called Rhodey, asking him to come out so they could discuss the issue.

"Oh, could you leave that on?" Tony said, startling the nurse as she attempted to switch off the television. "Downton Abbey is one of his favorite shows. He thinks it's elegant."

"Oh, sure," replied the flustered nurse. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were there, Mr. Stark."

"It's okay," replied Tony as he got to his feet. It was time to go and meet Rhodey. "Also, please make sure everyone wears their badges. Happy's a stickler for that sort of thing. Plus, my guys won't let anyone in without 'em." Tony had stationed a total of ten security guards around the hospital, with two standing guard right outside the door.

"Yes, sir," said the nurse with a slight smile. "Of course."

"Thanks."

"You look like hell, Tony," Rhodey said as Tony sat down across from him at the burger joint only a few blocks away from the USAF base at El Segundo. "When was the last time you got any decent sleep?"

"Oh come on, now I gotta hear it from you too?" Tony protested. "Give me a break, will ya? Why can't people just say 'hello' anymore?"

Rhodes shot him a scowl. "Okay. Hello, Tony. You look like hell. There, is that better?"

Rolling his eyes, Tony opened his menu, trying to find anything that sounded even remotely appetizing. "So," he said. "What's with the Iron Patriot? I mean, Iron Patriot? Really?"

"President Ellis thought War Machine sounded too aggressive," Rhodes said with a sigh, looking over his own menu. "Iron Patriot sounds more… patriotic. Less violent. It… tested well with focus groups."

Tony could only stare at him in disbelief. "I am Iron Patriot," he finally growled, his voice thick with sarcasm. "It sucks, Rhodey."

"It's a done deal, Tony!" snapped Rhodes. "Just deal with it and move on!"

"Whatever," Tony grumbled, plastering on a smile as the waitress came to take their orders.

"So, are you gonna tell me what's going on with you?" Rhodes asked once the waitress walked away. "What're you doing out here, Tony? And where's Peter? I can't believe you'd leave him behind in New York."

Tony's stomach clenched at the mention of Peter. He'd only been away less than two days, and yet he already missed the boy terribly. "I couldn't bring him out here without knowing if it was safe. And now, if this really was another Mandarin bombing, then…" His voice cut off as his heart seemed to flutter in his chest, as if it was skipping every other beat, and a cold sweat broke out over his body, causing him to shiver. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to take slow, deep breaths. He couldn't afford to think like that. Peter was fine; JARVIS had informed him the second he returned to the Tower from school earlier in the day. Right now he was down in Bruce's lab, helping him with the design of the repulsors for the SHIELD helicarriers. He was as safe as he could be without Tony there with him.

"How many bombings have there been now?" Tony asked, ignoring the suspicious look Rhodey was giving him.

"It's classified, Tony," Rhodes said. "You know I can't say—"

"Rhodey, cut the bullshit. My patience level is at absolute zero right now."

"There's been nine," Rhodes said, letting out a heavy sigh. "The public's only aware of three, but—"

"Nine?" said Tony, raising his eyebrows. "Guy's determined, isn't he."

"Yeah, and Ellis is scared. He's too proud to admit it of course, but this guy's got him rattled."

"So, why didn't he come to me for help?" asked Tony. "Or us? The Avengers?"

"Because the President wants to handle it internally," Rhodes said, not without a hint of sarcasm. "He wants it to remain inside the Pentagon. Strictly government business."

"So, essentially what you're saying is that he doesn't trust SHIELD? Or the Avengers?" Tony said sharply. "I mean, why should he? We only just saved the fucking world a few months ago, it's not like it was that big a deal."

"Keep your voice down, Tony!" Rhodes hissed, his eyes scanning across the crowded restaurant. "I don't know why he doesn't want you guys involved. Either he just doesn't, for whatever stupid political reason or reasons, or someone close to him has convinced him that he shouldn't."

Tony's heart was thudding erratically again, and he reached for his water glass, taking such a large gulp that he nearly choked as he swallowed. "And in the meantime, how many other people are gonna be blown to bits while he tries to figure it out? Goddamn it, Rhodey! Happy could've been killed! And what if Pepper had been with him?"

"There's nothing I can do about it, Tony," Rhodey said through clenched teeth. "And once again, it seems like I've told you too much."

"Too much? How is giving me information on a madman who attacked someone I consider family telling me too much? Christ, Rhodey! If it'd been two days later, Peter could've been with Happy!"

"Oh my God, Tony! It's not like the Mandarin was specifically targeting your family! As hard as it might be for you to believe, not everything always revolves around you!"

Tony's head snapped back as if he'd been slapped. "Wow. Why don't you tell me how you really feel there, Rhodes? I didn't realize just how miserable I've been making your life all these years."

Rhodes shook his head, reaching for his soda cup. "Look. I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean that. There's just a lot of pressure right now. Ellis is gunning to find this guy ASAP, and he wants the Iron Patriot to bring him in. And he wants it done publicly, for the whole world to see."

Breathing in deeply through his nose, Tony glanced around at the other patrons in the restaurant. There was a family at a nearby table, a mom and a dad and their two children, and the little boy with brown curls and glasses reminded him so much of Peter that Tony's heart lurched. What if they had been out here when the explosion happened? What if Pepper or Peter had been there shopping with Happy? Tony felt his hands start to shake, and he clenched them into tight fists under the table. He could not afford to think like that right now. He needed to concentrate.

"What's the big deal?" Tony croaked. "Why's he want it done so publicly? It's not like it's an election year."

"No one likes to get caught with their pants down, Tony," Rhodes said with a sigh, swirling around the ice in his cup. "Which is how Ellis felt after New York. I guess this is his way of trying to fix that."

"Goddamn politicians," muttered Tony. "See, this is exactly why you guys could use my help. No one can get anything done when all you're looking for is your next ass-kissing."

"Drop it, Tony," said Rhodes, his voice threatening. "Please. I'm telling you, as your friend, to just drop it. There are some things you just can't control."

Clenching his jaw, Tony got to his feet, giving Rhodey a tight smile as he peeled off enough money to cover their meal. "Yeah. Thanks for the advice." Then he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

"Tony!" Rhodes called just as Tony unlocked his car. "I know that look. Please tell me you're not gonna do anything stupid. I don't need the added stress. Not now, okay?"

Tony pursed his lips as he slid into the driver's seat, donning his glasses. "I may be many things, Rhodey, but stupid isn't one of them."

"Do you want anything else to eat, Peter?" Steve asked as he finished what had to be at least his tenth slice of pizza. "You haven't had all that much."

"No," Peter said, pushing his plate away as if it had hurt his feelings. He usually loved pizza, especially New York pizza, but lately everything he ate just seemed to sit in his stomach like a lead rock. It didn't help that Steve had eaten nearly two entire pizzas all by himself. Which, according to him, was nothing new. Something about his super soldier serum made his metabolism extra fast, so he was pretty much always hungry.

"All right," Steve said gently as he gathered up the plates, stacking them in the sink. "Then I was thinking since Bruce is busy working tonight, maybe you could teach me how to play chess before you go to bed? You said it was one of your favorite games, so I just thought—"

"Yeah, okay," said Peter. He really didn't feel like doing anything except sulking, but it had been a long time since he'd last played, and Steve had been asking for him to teach him for awhile now. He and Dad had played some when they were in Malibu over the summer, but that now seemed like a lifetime ago. "Sure. I'll go get the board set up."

Dad always said that chess was a strategic, methodical game, and Peter agreed. Uncle Ben had taught him how to play shortly after his fourth birthday, telling Peter it was a good way to avoid thinking about unpleasant things for awhile and just concentrate on how to beat your opponent. Peter enjoyed it so much that he and Ben had had a standing Friday night game, complete with stove-popped popcorn and lemonade, right up until the night that he and May were killed.

Since then, he and Dad played every now and then, mostly while they were in Malibu since Dad was less stressed out when they were there. But since the aliens came and Dad stopped sleeping, Peter couldn't remember the last time they'd played together.

"Ready?" Steve asked, settling his large frame on the opposite side of the board. "Which color am I?"

Peter hesitated, his eyes sweeping over the board. He always played the white pieces because Dad liked the black ones better, but since Dad wasn't here, it felt wrong somehow for Steve to be using his pieces. "I'll be the black ones," he said, turning the board around. "Is that okay?"

"It's fine, Peter," Steve said with a slight smile. "Whatever you want is fine."

He tried hard to smile back as he picked up one of the white pawns, but it likely only came out as a sort of a grimace. "Okay. So, white always goes first, and the pawns always start. On the first move they can go one or two spaces, but they can only attack diagonally, like this."

"Okay," said Steve, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Got it."

"Good," Peter said, placing the pawn back and picking up one of the knights. "These are called knights, and can move in an L-shape."

"All right," Steve said with a nod. He reached for a rook, picking it up and eyeing it. "What about this one?"

They ended up playing for almost two hours. Peter was impressed; Steve was a remarkably fast learner for someone who'd never played before. And by the time the game was over, Peter even felt like he was in somewhat of a decent mood.

But as soon as the board was packed up and JARVIS informed them that it was time to get ready for Peter's 9pm bedtime, that leaden feeling down in the pit of Peter's stomach came rushing back. He missed his father terribly whenever he wasn't around, but nighttime was always the worst. Dad always sat with him on his bed while he fell asleep, his hand resting comfortably on Peter's shoulder. On especially bad nights Peter would even curl up on on Dad's lap with his ear pressed against his chest piece, allowing the soft humming noise to lull him to sleep. And while Steve had tried to help the night before, it just wasn't the same. His taller body dipped the bed too much, and his hand felt too heavy on Peter's shoulder. Steve just wasn't his dad.

"So I was thinking," Steve said once Peter had crawled into bed. "Maybe tomorrow you could show me around your old Queens neighborhood while Bruce is working? I still haven't made it out there yet."

"Sure," Peter said, burying his nose into George's plushy head and thankful that Steve couldn't see his sour expression in the dim light of his bedroom. He really didn't feel like going anywhere tomorrow, except maybe out to Malibu, but he knew Steve was just trying to help distract him, and right now he was too tired to argue.

And maybe Steve was right. Maybe getting out of the Tower would do him some good.

"Great," replied Steve. "The weather's supposed to be pretty nice tomorrow, so it'll be a good day to be out on the bike."

"Sounds good."

"Mr. Stark is on the line for Master Peter," JARVIS said suddenly, causing Peter to shoot up off the bed so fast he ended up with a head rush.

"Yes, please, JARVIS!" Peter exclaimed, his heart pounding. "Let me talk to him!"

"Hey, buddy," Dad said as his tired face filled the screen. Peter noticed right away that his new Iron Man suit was standing behind him, slightly off to the side. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah," Peter choked out, tears springing to his eyes at how nervous his father looked. He barely noticed Steve excusing himself and leaving the room. "I'm fine. But you don't look fine at all, Daddy. What's wrong? Is it Happy?"

"No, no, Happy's still the same," Dad said with a heavy sigh. "Still in his coma. Doctors say he'll just come out of it when he's ready."

"Well…" Peter said. "That's good news, I guess. Isn't it?"

"Yeah, I suppose. Listen, Pete… where's Rogers? I want him to hear this too."

"What—?" Peter said, interrupted as JARVIS called Steve back into the room. "What's wrong, Dad? Please, tell me!"

"Rogers?" Dad said as soon as Steve walked in. "Everything okay out there?"

"Yeah, we're doing fine, Tony. What's going on?"

"I'm placing the Tower on lockdown," Dad said. "No one goes in or out until I've determined that it's safe to leave. All right? I just wanted to give you a warning first so you didn't get zapped when you tried to go out for a run or something."

"But why?" Peter cried, tears slipping from his eyes. "Dad, please tell me what's going on?"

"Not gonna happen, bud," he replied, shaking his head as his eyes flicked over to Steve. "You can talk to Bruce when you have a minute, Rogers. He's got the scoop."

"But, Daddy—!"

"Pete, if I'm right, this is all gonna be over soon. Like real soon. I just need you to trust me, okay? I'm only trying to keep you safe."

"And I just want you here!" Peter sputtered, burying his face into George's head. "I just wanna be with you! And you won't let me!"

"We'll keep Peter safe, Tony," Steve said, and Peter felt Steve's hand squeeze his shoulder. "I promise."

"This should all be over in a few days, tops," Dad said. "And I promise, buddy, as soon as it is, I'll bring you right out here. Okay?"

Peter shook his head, squeezing his eyes closed as more tears rolled down his cheeks. "Promise?"

"Absolutely," Dad said firmly. "Bruce and Steve can even come if they want."

"But—, what're you gonna do?" asked Peter, sniffling.

Dad pursed his lips. "I'll tell you when it's over, Peter."

His father's ominous tone filled Peter's heart with dread, and he shivered, clutching George even tighter to his chest. He knew there was no sense in trying to argue, but he also knew now there was absolutely no chance that he would get any rest until he was back with his dad.

"Okay," Peter whispered. "Just, please… whatever it is… be careful."

"I will, Pete," Dad said, his lips twitching into a soft smile. "I love you, bud."

"I love you too."

"Take care, Tony," Steve said gently. "Let us know if we can do anything."

"You just take good care of my kid," Dad replied. "That's best thing you can do for me. I'll talk to you guys again when I can."

"Bye," Peter said as the screen clicked off. Collapsing onto his bed, he curled his body into a tight ball, flinching when he felt Steve trying to tug his blankets up over him.

"It'll be okay, Peter," Steve said soothingly, patting his shoulder. "Your dad's a really smart guy. I'm sure he knows what he's doing."

"I know he's smart," Peter choked out, his voice muffled against his mattress. "And I know he knows what he's doing. And that's what scares me the most."

The television screen had barely clicked off when Tony released the breath he'd been holding and pitched forward, barely catching himself on the counter as his shaking knees gave way. "JARVIS," he croaked. "Ensure the Tower's on lockdown."

"I have completed the lockdown procedures, sir," JARVIS replied. "Captain Rogers is currently with Master Peter in his room, and Doctor Banner is currently located in his laboratory."

Tony pressed his clenched left fist to his mouth, trying to inhale as another huge wave of dizziness swept over him, nearly causing him to lose his hold on the counter as he stumbled into his nearby armor. "JARVIS, what the hell's wrong with me? Am I having a heart attack or something?"

"Your heart is functioning within normal parameters, sir," replied JARVIS a second later. "My diagnosis is that you've experienced a severe anxiety attack."

The unexpected words caused Tony to blink, and he nearly laughed out loud at how absurd it sounded. "Me?"

"Yes, sir. And dare I say that I highly doubt this is your first such attack?"

But Tony, still fixated on hearing the word 'anxiety' associated with him, barely heard what JARVIS said. He was Tony Stark, dammit, and Tony Stark—genius, billionaire, former playboy, philanthropist, and father—did not have anxiety.

Maybe he shouldn't have called Peter. Tony always got upset seeing him cry, and it was even worse when he knew he was the cause of the boy's tears. But he couldn't not talk to his son. It was eating him up inside to even be away from him right now.

"All right, then," Tony said. "Tell me how to fix it."

"Reducing your level of stress is paramount, sir," said JARVIS. "If that doesn't work, then there are medications available via prescription that may help manage the various symptoms."

"Yeah, yeah," muttered Tony. There was no way in hell he was going on any mind-numbing medications, and reducing his stress level seemed like a hopeless cause at the present time. He was just going to have to deal with it until this crisis was over. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on his breathing.

"All right, JARVIS. Show me what you got," Tony said a few minutes later, stepping out of the suit and over to the open area in his lab.

"Very good, sir," replied JARVIS, and a second later a complete holographic layout of the Chinese Theatre appeared in front of him. "I've compiled a more complete Mandarin database, drawn from recent SHIELD, FBI, and CIA intercepts."

"Yeah, yeah. Anything interesting about the blast itself?" asked Tony. "I've already exhausted my limited patience with this asshole who talks like a Baptist preacher."

"The heat from the blast was in excess of 3000 degrees Celsius," answered JARVIS. "Quite a bit hotter than a conventional explosion. Any subjects within 12.5 yards were vaporised instantly."

Tony tapped his chin as he walked along the holographic street. "So really hot, but not all that big. But no bomb parts were found within a three mile radius of the Theatre?"

"That is correct, sir."

"All right," Tony muttered. "Talk to me Happy."

Gulping as a holographic image of Happy lying helplessly on the ground appeared in front of him, Tony followed his eyeline, walking over to a section several feet away where there lay a pair of dog tags partially buried under some debris.

When is a bomb not a bomb?

"Any military victims, JARVIS?"

"Not according to public record, sir."

"Okay, bring up the thermogenesis signatures again," Tony said as he climbed up onto the top of his large speaker, looking down over the entire hologram. "Take away the known locations of Mandarin bombings and factor in 3000 degrees."

"Accessing satellites and plotting the occurrences now."

"Rose Hill, Tennessee," Tony said, pointing to the large red bar on the left side of the map. "You sure that's not one of his?"

"It predates any known Mandarin attack, sir," said JARVIS. "The incident was the use of a bomb to assist a suicide. But the heat signature is remarkably similar."

"Hmm," Tony said, thinking. "Ever been to Tennessee, JARVIS?"

"Creating a flight plan for Tennessee."

"Tony?" Pepper's voice called over the intercom. She must have just finished with her evening conference call and was waiting for him to eat dinner. "Are you coming up?"

"Yeah, be right there," Tony replied. He huffed out a sharp breath as he clapped his hands together, closing out the hologram. "JARVIS, recheck security at the Tower."

"The Tower is secured, sir. As is this structure."

"Is Pete doing okay?"

"Master Peter is quietly resting in his room. Captain Rogers is still with him."

"Thanks," whispered Tony. And while he harbored some sliver of hope that Peter was actually sleeping, Tony knew that he likely was not, knowing him as he did. Peter didn't sleep well when Tony was with him, and it went even more downhill when he wasn't.

"You are most welcome, sir."

After securing the Mark 42 in its special storage locker, Tony shut down his monitors and exited the lab.

"Hey, Peter?" Bruce's kind, somewhat raspy voice said from the doorway. "Um, Steve is getting dinner ready in the kitchen. If you're hungry, that is."

Peter wasn't hungry, not in the least, but he was so tired of being constantly asked if he wanted something that he nodded anyway. "Yeah, I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay," Bruce said, pausing awkwardly in the doorway for a few seconds before turning and walking away. Peter watched him go out of the corner of his eye, his lower lip quivering. He really only wanted to be left alone, but both Steve and Bruce were making that impossible. It's as if Dad gave them specific instructions to make sure he never was alone.

Clutching George to his chest, Peter slid off his bed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he padded his way towards the kitchen. Steve had become the defacto chef since Dad had been gone, saying he enjoyed experimenting in the kitchen since the food in this time was so much better than in his own. So far he'd managed to make a halfway decent pot of macaroni and cheese, but his fried chicken recipe needed a bit of tweaking before he attempted it again.

Today it appeared that Steve was making breakfast for dinner, if the smell of frying bacon that filled the kitchen was any indication. Almost against his will, Peter felt his stomach growl. Bacon was one of his favorite foods, right up there with pizza, skinny French fries, and peppermint ice cream.

"How do you like your eggs, Peter?" Steve asked as he entered the kitchen, taking his usual stool at the bar. "Scrambled? Sunny-side up?"

"Um, scrambled please," Peter said, watching as Steve took two eggs into his large hand, cracked them both against the side of a pan, and expertly dropped them in, discarding the shells into the trash can.

"My mom always called a breakfast like this 'comfort food'," Steve said, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder. "And since she was a really smart lady, I thought I'd try it out tonight."

"Auntie May liked breakfast too," Peter said. "She was a nurse, so she'd cook early in the morning for me and Uncle Ben before she left for work."

"Oh really?" said Steve with a smile. "My mom was a nurse too."

"Yeah, I know. I read that in one of the SHIELD databases, " Peter said, clapping his hand over his mouth as soon as the words left it. "Oops, I mean—"

"Peter?" Bruce asked from the stool opposite him, looking up from his tablet with wide eyes. "Are you supposed to have access to SHIELD's databases?"

Peter squeezed his eyes closed, hating himself for blurting out something so incredibly stupid. "Probably not," he mumbled, looking timidly up at Bruce. "But—"

"You're a bit young to be poking around in those databases, aren't you, Peter?" Steve asked as he flipped over the eggs. "Does your dad know about this?"

"I only looked in the personnel ones. My dad has the rest locked down so I can't get to them," Peter said in a squeaky voice. "After Mr. Thor came to New Mexico, and after Dr. Banner showed up, and after they found you in the ice. I just… wanted to learn some more."

"More than what, Peter?" asked Bruce.

"More than what my dad was telling me," Peter confessed, keeping his eyes firmly trained on the counter. "He was upset, and I don't like it when he's upset. I wanted to see if I could help him."

Steve and Bruce exchanged a look. "And what was Tony upset about?" asked Bruce.

Peter hesitated, not really wanting to tell them but realizing he was pretty much backed into a corner. "Well, he doesn't like that Air Force guy, General Ross, like at all, so he was mad that he was causing trouble again. It's why we left New York in a hurry right after Auntie May and Uncle Ben's funeral. And Mr. Thor scared him because he's from another planet, which is just kinda scary by itself. Or at least it was before we got to meet him.

"Well, Ross is a bit of a… jerk," said Bruce, glancing sheepishly over at Steve. "And it is a bit weird to be visited by aliens, even if they turn out to be… nice aliens. But why was he upset about Steve?"

"I'm—, I'm not sure if I should tell you that," Peter said softly.

"You're not in trouble, Peter," said Steve, sliding Peter's scrambled eggs onto a plate along with some bacon and two slices of buttered toast. "And you don't have to tell me anything that you're not comfortable telling me. But if there's something I've done to upset Tony, I'd like to know so I can try to fix it."

Sighing, Peter raised his head. "It's not really anything that you did," he said. "It's just… you knew his dad? Mr. Stark?"

Steve's eyebrows knitted together. "Yeah, I knew Howard. We worked together at the SSR. Why?"

"Well…" Peter stammered, tracking his finger along a line in the marble counter. "Mr. Stark wasn't very nice to my dad when he was a kid, and he told me you guys were friends, so… I thought you weren't gonna be nice to him too. But that was before I met you, so it shouldn't count. Right?"

"No, it doesn't count," Steve said, still with a confused look on his face. "But I can't understand why Howard would… never mind. It doesn't matter right now. Go ahead and eat, Peter. Eggs and toast always taste better when they're hot."

They ate in a semi-comfortable silence, the only sounds the scraping of silverware and the din from the television in the living room, playing the early evening news. One thing Peter had learned about Steve was that he always wanted to know what was going on. He called it being aware of his surroundings, which Peter assumed was a remnant of his days as a soldier.

"Did the eggs taste okay?" Steve asked as Peter brought his plate to the sink. "I added some cream and a bit of vanilla when I was making them, so…"

"Yeah," Peter mumbled. "They were yummy, thank you."

"Mine were yummy too, Steve, thanks," Bruce said with a wink. "But now I gotta get back to work for a couple more hours. More data coming in from SHIELD for me to go over."

"Yeah, okay," Steve said, turning to Peter. "Let's get these dishes done, and then maybe you can help me some more with my computer?"

"Yeah, sure," Peter said with a shrug. More busywork, which meant that he would have even less time to work on expanding his tracking subroutine for JARVIS. I should really learn to just keep my mouth shut, he thought. Now they'll really never leave me alone.

Once the dishes were washed and dried—Steve preferred to wash them by hand over using the automatic dishwasher for some reason—Peter and Steve exited the kitchen, heading across the living room towards the elevator. They'd just about arrived at the doors when something on the television caught Peter's eye.

"What—?" he mumbled, gaping as an aerial shot of the Malibu house covered the huge screen. A wave of panic washed over him as he counted not one, but three different news helicopters hovering about over the ocean next to the mansion. "Um, why's our house on the news?"

"JARVIS?" Steve asked as his large hand cupped Peter's shoulder. "What's going on at the house? Is Tony okay?"

"Mr. Stark and Miss Potts are currently entertaining a visitor at the Malibu house by the name of Maya Hansen," replied JARVIS.

"Who's Maya Hansen?" asked Peter, trying to keep his knees from shaking. Dad had told him their Malibu address was a secret from the press, so it didn't make any sense as to why all those helicopters were flying around all of a sudden. "Is she a famous person or something?"

"Maya Hansen is a botanist who is employed by a group called Advanced Idea Mechanics," JARVIS said. "They have been developing a method of regenerating damaged tissue known as Extremis."

"Regenerate damaged tissue?" Steve asked. "You mean, like regrow it?"

"That is correct, Captain."

"But why are the reporters at our house?" Peter cried, tipping sideways into Steve's side. "It doesn't make any sense that there would be reporters flying around just because some plant lady is talking to my dad!"

"I am unable to determine why there are helicopters in the vicinity," said JARVIS. "Please stand by."

"JARVIS, can you tell us what they're talking about?" asked Steve. "It seems like too much of a coincidence that this botanist just shows up at the same time—"

"Pardon me, Captain," JARVIS interrupted. "But it appears that someone has leaked the Malibu address to the press."

Steve's hand tightened on Peter's shoulder, gripping it nearly to the point of pain. "Where'd the leak come from, JARVIS?"

"I am currently unable to determine the origin of the leak, Captain. Please stand by."

Tears of panic welled in Peter's eyes, spilling down his cheeks. "JARVIS, can I talk to him? Please? They need to get out of there before—"

But his voice cut out as the image shifted to a wider angle, and Peter watched in horror as a missile, eerily similar to the one Dad had flown through the wormhole in New York, launched from another helicopter that had just flown into the frame.

"NO!" Peter screamed, so loud that his ears started to ring. His knees gave way as he realized the missile was heading directly for the huge floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the ocean in the back. "Daddy! Look out!"

"JARVIS, what's happening?" Steve yelled. "Who's firing on the house?"

"Please stand by, Captain," JARVIS said. "I am a bit preoccupied at the moment."

"Oh my God, they're trying to kill him!" cried Peter as another missile slammed into the lower concrete support beams, causing the entire back section of the house to collapse. He covered his ears as the sickening sound of rapid machine gun fire from another helicopter blasted through the speakers, as if it was just outside instead of on the other side of the country.

"Peter!" Bruce cried as the elevator doors opened and he rushed into the room. "Peter, you shouldn't be seeing this!"

"No, don't touch me!" Peter yelped, kicking and flailing his elbows as Bruce tried to pull him away from the television. "JARVIS, please, make it stop!"

"Miss Potts and Miss Hansen are both clear of the structure," JARVIS said. "Mr. Stark is now attempting to escape."

"Is he wearing his armor, JARVIS?" Bruce asked.

"Mr. Stark is operating the Mark 42 prototype armor," replied JARVIS, just as the huge grand piano flew from the house and landed on top of the leading helicopter in a fiery explosion. "However, that suit is not yet equipped with Mr. Stark's standard combat armament."

"Fury says they can't scramble anyone who could get there in time to help," Steve called over the deafening noise of the machine gun fire, his phone in one hand. He dropped down to his knees on the floor next to Peter. "Peter, you really shouldn't be watching this—"

"Don't touch me!" Peter screamed, searing his throat with the force of it. "They're trying to kill my dad! Who's trying to kill my dad?"

"I don't know, Peter," Steve said helplessly, watching as yet another missile cut through the building on the garage level, causing several of the cars to drop down onto the cliff. Every few seconds Peter could just barely make out an armored figure running through the house, trying to dodge the machine gun bullets.

Peter had never felt so helpless in his entire life. Somehow, watching his father be attacked like some crazy reality television show gone horribly wrong was even worse than watching him fly through the wormhole. At least he'd been in control of himself then. Peter's eyes were so blurred with tears that he could barely see, but he couldn't bring himself to look away or even to blink, too afraid that it would be the last time he'd ever see his dad alive.

"There's another one!" Bruce called as another of the firing helicopters was hit with an explosive and burst into flames. But any elation Peter might have felt was short-lived as the now disabled helicopter started heading directly for the house, and his dad.

"Look out!" Peter cried weakly as the remaining section of the house started to slowly collapse into the ocean, with his dad clinging desperately to one of the steel support beams just as the screen went black. His heart was pounding so hard he was afraid he was going to pass out. "Oh my God, please make it stop!"

"Peter," said Bruce, wrapping his arms around Peter and holding him tightly against his chest. "Take a deep breath, little guy. Just try and breathe. There's nothing you can do right now. You need to try and calm down or you'll just make yourself sick."

"I can't!" Peter sputtered, trying in vain to escape from the older man's ironclad grasp. But Bruce, although not nearly as strong as Steve—at least in his normal, non-Hulk form—was still much stronger than he, and after a few seconds of trying to fight back without effect Peter simply collapsed into a sobbing heap against him. "I don't want him to die, Bruce! Please don't let him die!"

The TV screen was now showing an in-house anchorwoman reporting on the incident, with the words Missiles Launched at Tony Stark's Malibu Residence, is Iron Man Dead or Alive? crawling across the bottom of the screen as the woman's rather mechanical, monotonous voice speculated on the odds of whether or not Tony Stark could survive such an unexpected and brutal attack.

"Steve, turn it off," Peter heard Bruce say as he patted Peter's back. "We don't need him hearing anymore of that."

"Yeah," Steve whispered as he turned off the TV. "JARVIS? Is… um… what's Tony's status?"

"Mr. Stark is currently following a predetermined flight plan," answered JARVIS.

Peter's ears perked up at the AI's response. If the suit was flying that must mean his dad was still alive. Relief flooded his body and he choked on a sob, rubbing his nose against Bruce's shoulder.

"Where's he heading?" asked Steve. "And what about Pepper, and their guest?"

"Miss Potts and Miss Hansen are currently out of range," JARVIS said. "However, they both managed to get clear of the structure prior to its destruction."

"And where's Tony going?" Bruce asked. "Is he on his way here? Is he all right?"

"Mr. Stark is currently unconscious," replied JARVIS. "The flight plan was programmed for Rose Hill, Tennessee."

"What's in Tennessee?" asked Peter, scrubbing his palm across his eyes. "Why would he want to go there?"

"JARVIS, can you override it?" Steve demanded. "Have him come here instead?"

"The power levels in the Mark 42 are already dangerously low," JARVIS said. "I'm afraid I am unable to alter the flight plan."

"How bad is he hurt?" cried Peter.

"Mr. Stark has sustained a multitude of cuts and bruises, and there was some additional slight trauma to his left arm."

"JARVIS, please, have him come here!" begged Peter. "He needs help! We can help him!"

"As I said, the power levels on the Mark 42 are dangerously low. Any attempt to alter the course could result in them bottoming out completely. I will of course keep you updated on Mr. Stark's course and condition as I am able."

Fresh tears welled up in Peter's eyes, spilling down his cheeks and wetting Bruce's shirt. Bruce didn't seem to mind though, and just kept patting his back, reminding him every now and then to keep breathing, in and out, in and out. His voice eventually got so quiet and soothing that after awhile Peter even felt himself starting to drift off.

It was dark outside the large windows of the apartment by the time Peter managed to peel his eyes open again. Instead of the floor, he was now lying on the couch, with Bruce's hand resting on his back between his shoulder blades as he and Steve spoke back and forth in loud whispers. Peter drew in a deep breath, trying to not move and give away the fact that he could hear their conversation.

"There's gotta be something we can do to help!" Bruce said angrily. "Surely Fury can see that Tony needs it!"

"I agree," answered Steve. "But Director Fury said even despite the attack he's been specifically ordered by the president to not get involved. Neither SHIELD nor the Avengers are allowed to intervene since the Mandarin has been classified by the government as a terrorist."

"But that doesn't make any sense!" Bruce hissed. "Why wouldn't the president want our help?"

"I don't know, Bruce. You're right that it doesn't make any sense. But if Fury says that we can't intervene, then—"

"So were just supposed to sit here and do nothing? We lost contact with Tony over an hour ago! It's not fair to the poor kid to just sit here on our asses when we could be helping him!"

"I didn't say we were going to do nothing," Steve said firmly. "I've already gotten in touch with a Colonel Rhodes per JARVIS's recommendation. He's going to keep us updated on what he's doing in regards to locating the Mandarin."

"And what about Tony?" asked Bruce. "We don't really know where he is, or how badly he's hurt."

"JARVIS said he'll let us know as soon as the suit regains enough power for him to get a lock on Tony's location. So I think until we hear otherwise, we should assume that he's trying to repair the armor."

"Okay. But what about those people who attacked him?" Bruce asked. "What're we doing about them?"

Peter let out an involuntary whimper, and he felt Bruce pat his back. "What're we doing about them?" Bruce asked in a quieter voice.

"Well," Steve answered. "Fury said that SHIELD wasn't allowed to formally intervene. But he never said that we weren't allowed to use their available resources. So I say we compile as much information as we can while we wait for Tony to contact us. We can start with this Maya Hansen woman and why she just happened to be at the Malibu house when the attack occurred."

"All right, Captain," Bruce said firmly. "When do we start?"

I know I mentioned to a few of you that we'd see Harley in this chapter, and I apologize that he's not. We will see him in the next one though. :)

As always, I can't wait to see what you think! Please don't hesitate to leave me a review! Also, I'm geekymoviemom on tumblr too, stop by and say hi!