"Are you going to sleep all day?"

The voice was feminine, soft and a bare whisper in his ear. It woke Peter, but was soothing to him and there was no urgency in the tone.

"I might."

He was warm, and comfortable.

She joined him in his bed, scooting right up beside him and then leaning down to press a hand against his cheek.

"Are you feeling okay?"

He still didn't open his eyes, but he rolled a little toward her and nodded.

"Just sleepy."

"Stephen's making French toast for breakfast."

Peter smiled.

"Bet Tony loves that."

"He's trying to convince him to make you a special platter of it without cinnamon."

"That's gross."

He opened his eyes and looked up at Pepper, who smiled down at him. She was obviously up and ready for her day, dressed in a sweater and jeans with her hair pulled back into a pony tail and wearing very little makeup. He didn't think she needed any, really.

"I wouldn't worry too much. As much as Stephen loves to annoy him, he's probably making yours with extra cinnamon."

He nodded the truth to that, and stretched, looking toward the window. It was still snowing outside. After Tony had gone to bed the night before – or early that morning, depending on how you looked at it – Peter had stayed awake a while longer. He'd gathered his Robin Hood set together and carefully put the components back into their packaging and had turned out all the lights in the kitchen and the dining room. Then he had stood at the dining room window for a long time, looking out, watching the snow falling, and thinking about his conversation with Tony.

"Is everyone awake?"

"Yes. You're the only holdout."

"I stayed up late."

"Tony told me he found you shooting targets with the archery set Clint got you. You weren't sleepwalking, though, right?"

"No. Just awake and couldn't sleep."

Or was worried about sleeping. One of the two. Pepper brushed her hand against his cheek for another moment, and her expression made Peter think that she knew what was going through his head.

"You could have stayed in bed with us. You know that, right?"

"I'm too old to sleep with mom and dad."

She smiled at that.

"Not if it keeps you safe. Or makes you feel secure. Tony doesn't mind, and I certainly don't. It's a small price to pay to make sure you're alright."

"Thanks, Pepper."

"We love you. You know that, right?"

He couldn't help the sting of tears and he nodded silently, well aware that he wasn't going to be able to speak with the huge lump that was suddenly constricting his throat. She understood, though, and leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss against his forehead.

"I mean it."

"I know," he croaked, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. "I'm sorry."

She touched his cheek, again.

"Get dressed and come eat breakfast, okay? I feel like watching Tony spar with Stephen and you eating cinnamon is one of my favorite subjects."

"I'll be right down."

OOOOOOO

He was dressed and heading down the stairs in a very short time, and could smell coffee and cinnamon in the air long before he reached the living room – much less the dining room. He noticed Jack stretched out on the hearth in front of the fireplace, sound asleep, and then looked over at the dining room table and realized it was almost full. And that there were two newcomers to the group that was sitting around it eating breakfast.

Clint and Bruce looked over at him when he entered the room, and both men smiled.

"Have you been sleeping away the whole vacation?" Clint asked as Peter joined them, sliding into the chair between Ned and Natasha.

Everyone had plates in front of them and were eating French toast, bacon and bowls of oatmeal. Peter's stomach growled.

"I stayed up late last night," he told them both, nodding a good morning to Steve and to MJ. "When did you guys get here?"

"A couple of hours ago. My wife's folks came for a surprise visit and wanted to steal the kids, so she went with them and I went back to the compound a day early. Then I decided why not come out here early and spend some time with you guys?"

Peter looked at Bruce.

"I showed up at just the right time to be his copilot – even though I'm next to useless behind the controls of the jet."

"I'm glad to see you," Peter told them both, sincerely.

"If we'd have known you were coming, we would have saved you some birthday cake," Natasha told the two.

"No, we wouldn't have," Tony told them, coming out of the kitchen with a platter of French toast and bacon in his hands. He set them in the middle of the table, but mainly in front of Peter – who checked to see if there was cinnamon on the French toast. There was. "It was good. You snooze, you lose."

Clint and Banner both rolled their eyes at that, but they were used to Stark and assumed he didn't mean it. Much. Pepper brought out a plate and cutlery and set them in front of Peter.

"It's still snowing, but I don't think we'll have any trouble finding the hill if you guys want to go sledding today."

There was immediate agreement from Ned and MJ. They were already finished eating – as was Steve. He offered to go with them – just in case an emergency came up – and they all headed for the door to get bundled up. Peter stabbed a few pieces of French toast from the platter, ignoring Tony's scowl as he poured syrup on them. He didn't miss Clint's grin, though. Clint found Tony's obsession with cinnamon more amusing than any of them – except maybe Strange.

"How did you guys find the place in the snow?" Peter asked as the door opened and Steve, MJ and Ned left.

He could see it was coming down fairly hard.

"Stephen brought us in," Bruce told him.

"If MJ asks, though, they came with the guides by snowmobile," Stark added.

"Are there tracks in the snow?" Peter asked. "She's pretty observant."

"We can say they're buried from the new snowfall."

"Okay."

That would probably work.

"This place is pretty nice," Clint said, looking around. "Good choice, Peter."

The boy smiled at that, almost as pleased as if he'd built the cabin himself.

"Yeah. It's great."

Strange and Pepper joined them from the kitchen, plates in hand so they could eat, too.

"Gentlemen, I need a dishwasher," Stephen told them.

"I'll do dishes," Peter offered.

"I'll help him," Clint said.

"No." Strange's expression was amused as he sat down beside Natasha. "You two in a kitchen together? Not likely. When the inevitable wrestling starts, I have visions of sharp items being knocked off tables and falling – pointy side down - and landing on one of you."

"We're not that bad," Barton protested.

"You kind of are," Natasha disagreed, an apologetic smile crossing her features. "I'll help Peter with the dishes, and you guys can check the place out and then go sledding. We'll join you."

Stephen hesitated, because he hadn't intended to sled again that day. He'd had plenty of cold and exercise the last two days. Natasha raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for the excuse he was almost certainly trying to come up with and he shrugged.

"Why not?"

Maybe he'd soak the aches, pains and cold away in the hot tub later. They hadn't tried it out, yet.