Author's Note: Soooooooooooo... this has... taken a while. And I apologize profusely for that. This chapter's a little shorter than the last one, and I apologize for that too, but I promise it's necessary.

We reached a stream after several long, agonizingly slow minutes. I'd been asleep for nearly a day and my hair had fallen out of its Elsa-do. I was pretty sure it was greasy and needed to be washed. When I told Peter, he helped me lie back on the ground so my hair could flow in the water. "Don't put your arms above your head," he ordered. "You'll rip the scab open."

"Then how am I supposed to wash my hair?" I demanded sarcastically.

"Here. Let me," he insisted. He cupped one of his hands. In a moment it was full of liquid soap I was pretty sure was shampoo. His free hand scooped cold water over my scalp until every single strand was completely soaked.

"Be careful," I warned. "I have a sensitive scalp—and if you pull too hard, I will punch you." I'd slapped Tony once across the face when he'd tugged too hard. Just so you know, I wasn't lying.

"I'll be gentle," Peter promised, rubbing the shampoo over his hands before applying it to my sopping wet hair. His fingers were calloused as they swirled in circles through my locks, but they were shockingly tender. It reminded me of the time Loki and I had been watching a movie in my apartment and I sat on the floor right below where he sat and he rubbed my scalp gently. The repetitive, careful movements made my eyes flutter closed. I felt myself relaxing against the uncomfortably hard, yet squishy ground of the jungle.

I felt water coursing over the top of my head again. Peter was washing the shampoo out. I was pretty limp and totally willing to just let him do whatever he wanted. Right then. Later I wouldn't be so compliant. I know looking at me I'm just a normal kid with manners and respect, but I still had problems with authority—or self-proclaimed authority. The dirt underneath me cushioned where my shoulder blades were getting irritated with lying on the ground.

Next came the conditioner. I wondered how he knew so much about modern hygiene, but I was still in pain and pretty tired, so I let it slide. Maybe later I'd ask if I remembered. "You have got so much hair," he remarked, stressing the last three words as he clenched it in a fist. I shrugged.

"Thanks. I grew it myself," I mumbled sarcastically.

"Am I putting you to sleep?" he asked, sounding slightly startled at my tone. I shook my head where it was in his hands.

"This is so relaxing. Like you said, you're being gentle. I'm not falling asleep."

"Well, just know that I wouldn't mind if you did. I'd rather you be asleep and fine over awake and in pain. That wound can't be fun," he commented. I gave a half-hearted shrug and relaxed again. My hands idly signed my thoughts with what I knew from two years of sign language in school—and that was quite a bit but not a lot. They mostly consisted of This feels good. I might sleep. And the like.

When he was done, he put his arms under my back and sat me up. All I could do was not resist because if I tried to help him with my core muscles I'd break the scab and bleed. I could feel it pulling on my skin and winced.

I didn't know what Peter was doing, but I thought I felt a brush's bristles in my hair. There was some tugging and then I felt arms hook under my own and pull me to my feet. "Hope you don't mind a braid. I don't really know how to do hair." But I was way too relaxed and limp to even care if my hair was in a braid or some fancy prom-night up-do. I took one step forward and practically collapsed. I was a little too tranquil for my own good. "Whoa there, love," Peter said. He scooped his other arm under my knees and picked me up.

"Did you drug me?" I asked.

"I… don't think so," Peter admitted. I nuzzled my face into his chest. I could feel his heart beating against my ear. He was warm. After almost four years of Loki's chilly hugs and the brotherly but overheated ones Steve gave me, the normal body heat was something of a relief.

He took me back to the bed just outside the camp and tucked me in. Before he could leave I grabbed his wrist. "Callie said I was special. Am I?" I sounded loopy—even to my own ears.

"That's it. Time for you to take a nap," he decided.

"Am I?" I repeated forcefully, all relaxation gone for a moment.

Sighing, Peter knelt down next to the bed near my head. Giving me a smile, he put his hand on my face. "You are."

End Note: Oooooh! I enjoyed writing this one. It's kind of... cute. I guess.

To "callieandjack": I'm glad you like the sass. And there's definitely more to come. I just haven't worked on it in a while.

Thanks so much for reading!

~Cass