"Did he sleepwalk?"

Strange shrugged and looked over at the boy sleeping curled up in the beanbag chair closest to the fire. All one could really see of him was a shock of dark hair with the blanket that was pulled all the way up and over his face, but there was no doubt who it was under the blanket.

"Natasha didn't get any indication that he was in trouble, so I'm not certain. He was there when I got up and came down to make coffee."

"Is he alright?"

"I just made sure he was breathing, Tony. Other than that, he looks fine and all I did was cover him with a blanket to make sure he doesn't catch a chill."

"Huh." Stark frowned and was clearly debating whether to go check on Peter himself – or to wake him up and send him back to bed. It was still pretty early in the morning, after all, and they were the only two actually awake, yet. "I suppose he's fine where he is, for now."

"Did you notice it stopped snowing sometime in the middle of the night?"

"Yeah. We'll give it a couple of days to allow Jim and Polly to dig their snowmobiles out, and then we should be out of here, I imagine."

"Ours will have to be dug out, as well."

"Yeah, I know. It'll give them something to do when they get tired of sledding."

"I don't know that they will."

Tony smiled.

"Then it'll give you something to do."

He was pretty sure Strange was done sledding. At least for this trip.

"I'll form a committee."

Stark snorted.

"There's coffee?"

Meaning did he actually brew some for everyone, or did the doctor simply think himself up a single cup for the moment, since no one else had been awake.

"Yes. Help yourself."

"Thanks."

Maybe he'd see if Stephen wanted to play that 3-D chess game. Stark had visions of becoming really good at it and beating Peter – and maybe winning some bets, for a change.

OOOOOOO

"If you don't wake up, you're going to miss breakfast…"

Peter tucked his head further under the blanket, ignoring the voice that was whispering in his ear. He couldn't ignore when someone sprawled on him, though, leaning over his chest and poking him in the side – but mercifully keeping clear of his hip, which wasn't up to horseplay just yet.

"You're not supposed to be hurting him."

"I'm not hurting him. Am I hurting you, Peter?"

"You're killing me."

"See?"

"I'm going to tell Natasha…"

"She's the one who sent me."

"To wake him up. Not to sit on him."

Peter pulled his head out from under the blanket and looked at Clint and Bruce, sleepily. He noticed several things at once; the first being that he was sleeping in a beanbag chair and not up in his room with Ned snoring in his ear. He thought back to the night before, but couldn't remember getting up – but also didn't remember having any weird dreams, either.

Another thing he noticed was that bright sunlight was shining through the dining room window for the first time in days. He also couldn't miss that Hawkeye had his butt firmly planted in the middle of Peter's chest, even though most of his weight was actually distributed on the bean bag on either side of Peter, so it was hardly a burden – much less causing any pain.

"Are you hungry, Peter?" Bruce asked as Barton stretched himself out across the boy's chest, perpendicular to the way Peter was laying. "Breakfast is almost ready."

"What are we having?"

Barton twisted around and smirked.

"French toast."

"Bet Tony loves that…"

"Natasha asked for it, specifically," Clint told him, still smiling – and still sitting on Peter, only now he was wrapping himself up in the boy's blanket, gradually stealing the cover from him. "If Tony wants something else, he's going to have to volunteer to cook."

"Come eat, Peter," he heard Steve call from the general direction of the dining room table. "It's getting cold."

"I can't," Peter replied, and now it was his turn to smirk. "Clint is sitting on me."

"I told you no roughhousing," Natasha said, unseen by any of the three.

"He's lying, Nat," Clint responded, wriggling his rear against Peter but now completely flat on him to prove he wasn't sitting up if she were to come looking. "I'm just waking him – exactly like you asked."

"With his butt in my ear, practically," Peter said. "I think I'm going to suffocate."

"Clint…"

Natasha's voice held a warning, and Barton rolled his eyes and grinned. Then he rolled off Peter, taking the blanket with him and getting to his feet.

"You win this one," he whispered, pretending to be a lot more sinister than his amused expression really allowed. "But next time, Peter Parker… you'll end up in a snowbank."

"Bring your army, Arrow boy," Peter told him, reaching a hand up so that Clint could help him to his feet. Which he did, carefully, making sure that Peter had his legs under him before letting him go. "You'll need one."

They headed to the dining room, still smiling, and although Peter ached a bit, he felt pretty good, really. His hip hurt, but it was a throbbing that wasn't the stabbing pain that was so agonizing. He saw that everyone was already seated at the table, aside from Ned and Strange, who were apparently the cooks that morning. Ned was bringing out a platter of sausages and eggs, and Strange had set a large plate of French toast in front of Tony, beside the empty space that was obviously being saved for Peter. Peter couldn't help but notice the doctor's smug expression when the boy sat down gingerly between Stark and Pepper.

"You guys didn't have to wait for me," he said, apologetically.

"We wanted to make sure there was plenty for you," Strange told him, sitting in his place directly across from Tony and beside Natasha, who was amused at the byplay that was going on around her.

She knew how much Strange loved to dig at Tony by feeding Peter anything with cinnamon – usually French toast, of course – and even better, Tony knew it, too. Peter loved French toast – almost as much as Natasha did, so he was a willing accomplice on the days that Stephen had the opportunity to do something like this, and she couldn't wait for Tony's response. Which wouldn't be right away – and maybe not even during the trip but would certainly come.

"Thanks."

The people at the table began helping themselves to the spread in front of them, and Peter took a few slices of French toast. He wanted to ask Tony if he'd been sleepwalking, or how he'd ended up in the beanbag chair, but no one seemed to be concerned when he looked at Pepper, or at Natasha, and Tony simply had the resigned expression he normally wore when Dr Strange was getting the upper hand in their verbal and sometimes not so subtle sparring.

"It stopped snowing," Ned told him, unnecessarily. "Do you think we can go snowshoeing after breakfast?"

Tony opened his mouth to reply, but Peter shook his head.

"I'm probably not up to that much activity, yet," he admitted. "If it's okay for you guys to go, though, you should go without me. Just make sure you take a lot of pictures, so I see what you find out there."

Ned looked at Stark, who looked surprised that Peter hadn't made him argue about allowing him to go. Tony nodded.

"If someone is willing to go with you. I don't want you out there alone."

"I'll go," Steve said. "If someone will watch Jack for me."

"I can watch him," Peter assured him. "I think I'm going to stick close to the cabin this morning, at least."

He was tired, still. He might just go back to bed after breakfast.

"I'd like to go, too," MJ admitted, looking guilty for wanting to leave Peter.

He understood, though. It wasn't something you could do every day in the city, after all. Might as well take advantage of the opportunity when it was up.

Clint, Bruce and Elmer all decided that they would go, as well, and the group was big enough to reassure Tony that they wouldn't have any problems. Pepper volunteered herself and Tony to dish duties, freeing the others to leave as soon as they were finished eating – which didn't take long. Those going out for the morning cleared their dishes and then headed for the door, stopping in the anteroom to get bundled up. Elmer made sure to grab his camera as well and in less than fifteen minutes, the cabin was quiet except for Jack, who whined when he realized that Steve had left without him.

"Did I sleepwalk?" Peter asked the others, scooping up the puppy and rubbing his belly to distract him.

"Probably," Tony replied, with a shrug. He took a sip of his coffee, clearly not in any hurry to get started on the dishes. "Stephen found you in the beanbag chair this morning."

"With no indication that you actually did anything," Strange told him. "You weren't chilled, and there was no sign that you went outside."

"Maybe Ned was snoring," Natasha suggested. "And you were just looking for a quiet place to sleep."

He gave her a dubious look and she smiled and shrugged.

"Maybe."

"I don't remember doing anything after going to bed."

"I wouldn't worry about it, Peter," Tony told him. "It's just down the stairs. No harm, no foul, as they say."

"Is there anything you want to do this morning?" Pepper asked.

"I could help with dishes."

"We can handle the dishes," Stark told him. "I don't want you on your feet that long."

"I was, yesterday."

"You were sledding. On your rear."

"Give it another day," Strange suggested. "Let's make sure all the activity from yesterday doesn't cause a setback."

"We'd know by now, though, wouldn't we?"

"Just do what I tell you, Peter. It won't hurt you to miss washing dishes one more day."

He shrugged but didn't argue. He was aware of the fact that none of them would probably side with him on the issue – and Strange was right about it not killing him to take another day off before trying to do anything else. He rubbed Jack's velvety ears, watching as the puppy's eyes closed in bliss and then kissing him on the nose.

"What are you guys going to do?" he asked.

"After dishes? I think we're going to make it a relaxation day and just play cards," Pepper said. "Do you want to play?"

She was pretty sure of the answer, but wanted to make sure he understood that he was invited.

"No. Thank you."

Natasha frowned.

"Are you restless?"

"No. Not like you think, anyway. I just wish I would have brought a book to read. It would give me something to do."

"What book?" Strange asked, and Peter smiled, aware that the doctor was offering to get him one.

"Hunt For Red October?"

"That's a movie," Tony told him, remembering that he'd said it was one of Ned's favorites.

"It's a book, too."

A moment later it was on the table. A fairly thick book with a picture of a submarine on the cover. Peter smiled.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

They all watched as Peter picked up the book in one hand, scooped Jack up with the other, cuddling the puppy easily, and then walked to the living room and settled on the sofa. Stark got up and disappeared with Pepper into the kitchen, and Natasha and Strange cleared all the remaining dishes and then wiped down the table. When the dishes were in the dishwasher and they settled down to play, Natasha went into the living room to see if Peter needed anything.

She found the boy and the puppy both sleeping. Peter with his head on the soft arm of the sofa, sprawled along the length of it, with Jack sprawled beside him, cuddled up against the boy's chest. She smiled, pulled her camera out and took a couple of pictures, then carefully picked up the book that was threatening to fall onto the floor and set it on the coffee table.

"Is he okay?" Tony asked, reaching for the deck of cards Stephen handed him.

"He's asleep. Both of them."

"Good."

He couldn't get into any trouble that way. At least, not with them all right there, after all. For that matter, neither could Jack.