I bounce out of the school doors, students flooding around me in a wave of pre-pubescent teen hormones.

Ned lingers by my side, "Is he really coming?" he asks, glowing with excitement.

"He said he was... but y'know, he might be busy, saving the world and all that."

"Yeah-"

Flash cuts off Ned's next words, "What are you two nerds waiting for?" he taunts, sautering forwards.

"No - Ah, nothing," Ned stutters.

Flash cocks a brow, "really, loser, nothing?" he takes a step closer, obviously wanting to start something.

"Hey!" The shout catches the attention of Flash, his head whips around, eyes squinting for the perpetrator. Steve Rogers takes off his helmet, straddling his idling motorbike at the curb.

Flash's mouth drops open, practically drooling. "Holy shit," he whispers.

The Captain is wearing civilian clothes, jeans and a blue shirt. His hair is mussed from the helmet, glinting in the afternoon sun.

He could be wearing one of Natasha's dresses for all that I care.

I gape just as much as Ned and Flash because OH MY GOD HE'S ACTUALLY HERE.

"Peter," Steve nods behind him, indicating for him to get on the bike. My jaw drops and I stumble forward on jelly-legs. .

"Bye Ned," I murmur, hoisting my bag further up my shoulders.

Steve smiles when I reach him, "does that do the job?"

Huffing out a laugh, "Flash just shit his pants!" I say gleefully, bouncing up and down on my toes.

Steve laughs, "hopefully that's a good thing."

"Oh it is," I reassure.

"Get on," Steve nods to behind him, a second motorcycle helmet in his hands.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'm giving you a lift back to the tower, remember?"

"Oh, I, um, sure!" I grab the helmet from Steve's hands, fitting it over my head and buckling the strap.

I sit on the shiny leather seat, I'm not sure what to do with my arms until Steve wraps them around his own waist, smiling at me.

When we're set to go, he revs the engine in a gravely roar, peeling away from the curb. I wave to Ned and Flash - the latter still open mouthed and gaping.

"Thank you," I murmur, not sure if Cap's heard it.

"No problem, Peter," he says back, voice dulled by the rushing wind.

Steve and I walk through the kitchen door. Steve swings open the fridge and I bound up to Tony like an excitable puppy.

"How was your day, kid?" Tony asks, making a cup of coffee.

I bounce on my toes, "Mr. Rogers picked me up from school! And we went on his motorcycle!"

Tony freezes, turning back towards me with an icy glare, "You did what now?"

"Seriously?! You're concerned about me riding a motorcycle?!"

"No I'm concerned about you riding a death machine. Do you even know the stats?" I open my mouth to reply but Tony beats me to it, "Because I do. The fatal crash rate for motorcycles is 72.34 out of 100,000. Motorcycles also have a higher fatalityrate per distance traveled compared with automobiles. You you know what fatal means? It means death. Peter. Death."

"Of course I know what fatal means, and I didn't die!"

"Well you could of! Does Steve even know how to drive?!"

Steve turns away from the fridge, "Of course I know how to drive, you've seen me."

"You may know how to drive on a battlefield but, do you, do you really."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because you were a poor New Yorker in the 1930s. Why would you need to drive in a civil setting?"

"Well... I may never of had driving lessons, per say, but that doesn't mean anything!"

"Steve, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"It's a motorcycle, Tony," he says weakly, "the kid does more dangerous stuff on a school night!"

"No! It's a Death Machine!" Tony ignores the latter point.

"Didn't you once have sex on a motorcycle?" Clint waltzes through the door, eating a handful of doritos.

"Several times, and that proves my point exactly!"

"How do you even..?" Steve murmurs, looking confused.

"Don't ask." Tony says, arching his eyebrows into his coffee. He shudders, a shiver running up and down his spine, "oh god don't ask."