Peter stretched, arms bumping into the headboard and leg extending over the side of the bed. He blinked the sleep from his eyes. Since when was he in his bedroom? Tossing the covers off of himself, he stood, almost tipping over back onto the bed. Peter massaged his temples, which suddenly ached as his blood struggled to get to his brain. He shouldn't've stood up so quickly. Instead of giving himself time to recover like a normal person, Peter staggered to the door and down the hall. Blood pressure finally recovering and letting him see and hear properly, something pricked his ears. Slowing his walk, he crept closer to the end of the hall, straining to make out the hushed voices.

"-usually takes over a year. How am I supposed to do this in less than a month?"

"Tony, you're the smartest man I think to ever exist. If anyone can do it, it's you."

There was a long drawn-out sigh. "It's not going fast enough."

"Look, obviously, I don't understand any of this science stuff, but I know you. I know you care about him, so I know you'll find that cure."

"He's so young. He's got his whole life ahead of him and- I can't fail."

"Maybe you should take the day and spend some time with him."

"No. No, I can't afford to lose any time, much less a whole day. I shouldn't even be up here right now. The best thing I can do for him is spend every second in the lab."

"You're gonna kill yourself if you don't let yourself re-"

"I don't care!" Tony bit. He sighed. "I can't lose him again."

A heartbeat. "I know."

"No, no you don't. You have no idea how much I lov-" Tony's voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "I didn't invent a goddamn time machine only to sit by and let him die from some stupid fucking disease."

"So you did build it because of him…"

"Yeah. So what? You said it yourself: the only person I look out for is myself. I built it to bring him back. Everyone else was just a tag-along, ok? Sorry if that hurts your stupid moral compass."

The other man's voice was soft when he spoke again. "I was wrong, Tony, when I said that. I don't think a single person has sacrificed more to protect this world." Tony grumbled something incoherent. "I mean it."

"Whatever, it doesn't matter. What matters is the kid and he's… he's not doing so well. You should see him; he looks like he's a step away from death."

Welp. Peter didn't think he looked that bad, but whatever.

Seeing this conversation going in the direction of pity on his part, Peter thought it wise to interrupt and put an end to it. Creeping back down the hall, he made a show of opening his door and closing it loud enough to be heard from down the hall. Just in case, he also audibly yawned as he approached the end of the hall.

Stepping into the central part of the penthouse, he feigned surprise at Steve's presence.

The man's eyes did a once over of him, he tried to hide the tense look behind a warm smile. "Hi Peter."

"Hey kid."

"Hi Mr. Stark. Mr. Rogers."

"It's Steve," the buff man said kindly.

"Oh sorry: Mr. Steve."

The man's smile twitched and his eyes squinted. "N-no- that's not what I…"

Peter tilted his head. "Mr. Steve Rogers?"

The man opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Mr. Stark snorted and ruffled Peter's hair. Peter blinked; that was a new one.

"Is there another meeting or…?"

"No." Steve shook his head. "I thought I'd swing by, see how everyone's doing."

The realization suddenly hit Peter that Tony had told Steve about him being sick before the man had arrived here. Peter wondered who else knew. Did all the Avengers know? Or just Steve? It was no secret that Tony secretly valued the former Cap's opinion and confided in him from time to time. So did only Steve know? Peter wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. He hated pity.

Speaking of which, Steve was looking expectantly at Peter. Peter blinked. Had he missed a question? Oops.

"Huh?"

"I asked how you're feeling."

"Oh, yeah. I'm good- I'm, uh, I'm… doing. Yeah."

The man slowly nodded.

"Wait," Pete held up a finger, "what happened? I was at the table… and then I wasn't?"

"Yeah, you passed out again," Tony spoke up.

"I did?" He squinted, foggily recalling a couple seconds worth of memories. "Oh. How long was I out?"

"A few hours."

"Tony told me you've been passing out quite a bit lately."

"Well I don't know if I'd say 'quite a bit.' More like 'once in a while'." Steve and Tony shared a look. Peter crossed his arms. "Stop having a silent conversation in front of me."

Both men looked at him now, seeing the grumpiness on his face.

Tony held up his hands placatingly. "Sorry." Tucking his hands into his pockets, he jutted his chin. "You hungry? I just made lunch."

At the mention of food, Peter heard his stomach gurgle. Tony had his answer. The man's mouth twitched into a small smile and he motioned to the table. Peter followed, claiming a seat. His eyes greedily scanned the dishes splayed across the glass tabletop. Multi-coloured bowls held curry, rice, buttered naan, and fried vegetables. It all smelled amazing! Pete dove in.

"Oh my god, Mr. Stark, this is soooo good!"

Tony clapped his hands once and sat back in his seat. "HA! I'm telling Pepper you said that!" Peter paused his chewing for a second and titled his head. "Pepper says my curry 'is too bland'," he explained.

"Pepper doesn't know what she's talking about."

"I'm telling her you said that!"

Peter had spoken without thinking of the ramifications of his words. "Wha- Mr. Stark! No! I barely even know her, I can't get on her bad side!"

Tony rolled his eyes, smiling. "Fine."

"Phew."

From the corner of his eye, Peter noticed Steve watching them, a warm smile on his face. Peter wondered what that was about.

The buff man spoke after a moment. "So, what have you been up to, Peter? Tony told me this is your first time staying at the tower."

"Uh, yeah- yeah. It, uh, it is, yeah." He looked around the kitchen. "It's super nice. I think my favourite part is the view."

"It is nice. Whenever I'm here, I like to sit on the balcony there to watch the sunrise."

"That does sound nice."

"You should try, it's an even better view than through the windows."

"Yeah, but all the balconies have glass floors…"

Steve went to say something before stopping and squinting.

"Kid's afraid of heights," Tony piped up in explanation.

"You- wait what?" Steve's head swivelled between Tony and Peter.

"Yes, it's true okay: I have a healthy apprehension to heights. It sorta went away with my powers, but it's back now." Peter crossed his arms and sat back. That was until his taste buds cried out for more curry and he gave in, shovelling a spoonful into his gullet.

Steve exhaled through his nose in amusement and exchanged a look with Tony, who was smirking. Peter ignored them.

They ate in silence for several minutes until Tony got up and threw his plate into the dishwasher. "Alright, I'm headed back down to the lab. See you later, kid."

Peter waved goodbye, wondering how many days it would be until he saw the man again.

Apparently Steve wasn't going with him. Huh. Ok then. Peter was sitting alone with the Steve Rogers. Former Captain America now turned part-time avenger.

Peter blinked at him. Steve blinked back. "What?"

"Nothing." Peter scraped his plate clean, getting every last bit of food. "You're… staying?"

"For the day, yeah."

"Oh."

"What?"

"Nothing." He paused. "Which room is yours?"

"Uh… the third to last one."

"I knew it…" Peter muttered to himself. No one else had shirts that tight in their closet.

"Huh?"

"Did Mr. Stark, like, decorate your room and stuff- like with stuff he thought you'd like? And did he have, like, stuff he thought you'd need in your room?"

"Uh… the room- it was decorated nicely, if that's what you mean? And it had hotel-style shampoo and soap in the bathroom…"

"But, like, did it have posters and furniture and paint and little personalized details and stuff?"

"…No…"

"Huh."

"W…hy…?"

"Nothing. So what do you do when you're here? I'm starting to get bored."

"I usually workout and then walk around town, and then workout again."

Peter blinked. No wonder he was jacked. Not as jacked as Thor though. "Does Thor ever stay here?"

"Uh- I don't think he ever has, no."

"Dammit."

"Excuse me?"

"Hmm?" Peter leaned forward, mouth a thin white line. "Nothing. Anyway, I can't really work out or go out, so…"

"Oh. That makes sense. Uh…" He scratched the back of his neck and looked around the room. His eyes landed on something on the tv stand and they took on a mischievous glint. "Have you ever played poker?"

. . .

The tv blared. "Why the hell should we try to find a cure or treatment or anything for these fuckers? Let 'em die. Why the fuck should we waste our tax dollars and our resources to save these- these freaks huh?!" An angry man yelled into the microphone. His face was red and spit flung from his mouth as he glared into the camera. Peter could feel the hatred dripping from the man as though he was glaring at Peter himself.

"What about children who are mutants?" the reporter prompted.

"Hey, look I don't want kids to die ok. I'm not heartless, but they're not human and we gotta remember that. These mutant kids are gonna grow up to be monsters like all the rest of 'em. And those fuckers need to go before they kill us al-"

The tv screen went dark, taking the angry man with it. Peter turned his head to spot Steve holding the remote in his hand. "You shouldn't be watching that garbage, Peter."

The man had one of his stereotypical 2-sizes-too-small t-shirts on and his skin gleamed with a light sheet of sweat. After thoroughly kicking Peter's ass at poker, the man had gone downstairs to workout. At least he'd been nice and not made Peter bet real money or anything; they'd discovered they both liked Ritz crackers, and, seeing as there was only half a bag left, they'd used the individual crackers as playing chips. Peter had won a couple rounds. Apparently he didn't know the game well enough to 'have a tell' and had gotten lucky a couple times because of it.

Peter just shrugged. "You know, when I found out I was… different, I didn't really feel too different. I mean, a little, but I still just felt like me. But now," he nodded to the tv, "I really feel like a mutant. I… I think I'm starting to understand why so many of them are angry."

Steve didn't say anything for a while. He leaned against the other end of the couch, eyes cast to the tv like he could still see the angry man. "It's ok to be angry, you're allowed to feel that way." He inhaled and looked at Peter with intention. "Just remember: you have a whole group of people here who accept you."

Peter attempted a small smile. "Thanks Mr. Ro- I mean Steve."

The man smiled at that and started making his way to the hall. He paused, looking back. "And I mean for anything." Peter tilted his head. Steve's eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. "Mutations and sexuality."

With that he dipped out of sight, leaving Peter to gape at open air.

How did he-?! Had Peter really been that obvious?! He hadn't even told anyone yet. He'd thought about talking to Ned, but he wasn't even sure if he was in fact… y'know? And if he was, then…? Ok, look, yes he found some men attractive, but, come on, who didn't think Zach Effron was hot? Right? He was an objectively attractive guy, it wasn't gay, or- or bi to admit that.

Right?!

Uh… right?

. . .

He was hungry and Tony had said he could order anything. Normally he'd refrain from taking charity from people, but he was stuck here and free animal crackers were hard to resist. So he'd ordered, like, five boxes of them. He was sure Stephen would reprimand him, telling him he was supposed to be eating healthy food to keep his immune system strong, but Peter only had, like, three more weeks to live. If he wanted animal crackers he was going to have animal crackers.

Having Steve around had been a nice distraction, but the man only stayed for a day. It was nice to have gotten to know him, though; he was pretty much just as nice as the rumours said. Peter would've liked the opportunity to play more poker with him.

Oh well.

Peter had also hoped Ned and MJ would've been back in town with the new government mandates. Unfortunately they were both still stuck in Boston, because they had robotics: a class that had to be in-person instead of remote.

Oh well. Again.

"So, it's true." The voice came from the armchair and made Peter jump. This was probably the only moment he was thankful he didn't have his powers, otherwise his head would've smashed into the ceiling. The chair turned and Peter was faced with the eyepatch man himself.

Peter's brows furrowed. "Nick?"

The man's eye narrowed and he started getting out of his seat.

"I MEAN Fury! Sorry."

The man relaxed, resting back into his chair. "You really are a mutant."

Peter's mouth went dry. "Uh…"

"I don't care. I am curious, however, why you refrained from informing anyone of this."

Peter jutted a thumb in the direction of the elevator. "Well, I mean, I didn't even know until, like, a week ago when Stephen told me."

"Hm."

"Uh… yeah, so… anyway..."

"And now you're sick."

Peter's shoulders slumped, not bothering to mask the sadness in his voice. "Yeah."

His eye did a once-over of Peter. "You look sick."

"Gee, thanks."

"You think I'm here to be your friend or something, Parker?"

"…No. But you still don't have to be mean…" The man narrowed his eye. "Well fine then," Peter crossed his arms, "if we're not being considerate of each others' feelings, lemme ask: am I supposed to look at the eye or the eyepatch?"

Nick's face fell into a very grumpy frown, although he looked more exasperated than insulted. "Stark sure you're not his bastard?"

Peter reeled back at the vulgarity of the question. "WhY wOulD YoU-?! Why would you say that?!"

He just sat there, watching Peter like he was trying to figure something out. Peter shrank under the man's stare. "My dad is Richard Parker, just FYI."

"I know."

Peter grumbled something incoherent along the lines of a sassy. 'blah blah blah.'

Nick chose to ignore it. "Are you going to join the mutant army?"

"Say what now?"

"Are you. Going to. Join the mutant army?" Nick repeated like Peter was a toddler.

"Why would I do that?"

"Let's start with the fact that you've caught a, currently, fatal illness that we've traced back to an American underground lab."

Peter's stomach twisted and his brain focused painfully fast. So it was the government after-all. Figures.

"If you're trying to convince me to stay on your side, maybe choose a different tactic?"

"I didn't come here to convince you of anything: I came to assess a threat."

"So much for being accepted," Peter grumbled to himself. "So what, just cause I'm a mutant now, I'm a threat?"

"You're a threat because you're powerful."

"Really? Then why didn't you ask me about any of this when I actually had my powers, huh?"

"Because you weren't afraid before."

Peter blinked. What? "What?"

"Last time I let someone powerful who was upset go unchecked, a whole town got enslaved by mind-control."

Wanda. Peter had seen the news.

"That was different. She… she was grieving…"

"And you aren't?" Peter clamped his jaw shut. He knew. "All it takes is one little poke to push someone over the edge. Loneliness and fear are a dangerous combination."

"I'm not a monster. I don't hurt people."

"But you could. A lot of people."

Peter's gut was in knots at this point.

"But I won't."

"You've tried. Twice."

Ok now Peter wanted to throw up. How did this guy know everything?!

"I… you're right." It was true. Peter had a dark side and it… it had almost gotten the best of him twice. Who was to say it wouldn't again.

"And what do you suppose we should do about that?"

Peter paused, Fury was looking him in the eye, shadows clinging to his face. A zap ran down Peter's spine.

Fury stood.

Peter subconsciously took a step back, brain focussing painfully fast all at once and heart kicking into high-gear. He took another step back, swallowing. His mouth felt as dry as a desert. He felt adrenaline rush to his legs, making them feel prickly, and his mind screamed at him to run.

GOD he couldn't tell if it was his spider sense or not. He didn't know if that power was still around?

Furry reached into his pocket.

Peter jerked back. Fury's expression didn't change as he pulled out a container. He opened it and plopped a white candy into his mouth. "Altoid?"

Peter blinked. He looked down at the container, suddenly realizing he was all but hyperventilating with how loud his breathing was in his own ears.

Clearing his throat, he tried to act casual. "Uh, n-no thanks. I don't like mints."

The man didn't say a word as he slipped it back into his pocket. "You're a good one."

"What?" Peter's voice was still breathless, close to a wheeze. Oh boy, he was feeling real light-headed.

"I won't go as far to say you're an angel - everyone has a dark side. You have been able to catch yours before it spiralled, however."

"I-" That wasn't true. He'd been able to stop himself the first time, with Ben's killer, but with May… if it hadn't been for the other Peter, he would've murdered Osborn in cold blood. "But I didn't…"

Nick tilted his head slightly. "An orphan who watched his uncle and aunt die in front of him. Then almost his mentor." He paused. Peter stood awkwardly, trying to decipher if he was supposed to say something to that, and if so, what? I mean, what're you supposed to respond to something like that? Nick continued. "You need to be kept an eye on. But I believe your experiences have made you concerned with helping others, not harming them."

"I- I try. I really do."

"I know."

"...ok."

"So, I won't kill you."

"Oh god. Uh. Th-thank- thank you, Nick- SHIT! Fury, Sir. Sorry."

Nick rolled his eye so far back that only the white of it was visible for a solid 3 seconds.

"Anyway. Do you want an animal cracker?"

Much to Peter's surprise, the man's hand dove into the bag without hesitation, although his expression was still its usual Grumpy Nick™ self.

Peter stared at him, still wary of what he was going to do next.

"Stay out of trouble, Parker."

Fury left by jumping off of the balcony. And with that, their very confusing and wildly concerning conversation was over.

Peter collapsed into a chair, hand on chest as he tried to steady his uneven breathing. "Oh my god, my life flashed before my eyes, holy crap."

"Hello, Peter."

"GAH!"

"My apology for scaring you yet again," FRIDAY said. "It appears that I was disabled in the penthouse two minutes ago. Do you know what happened?"

"Oh god." Nick really had been ready to execute Peter if he had to. Ho-ly….. "Uh…"

"Did something happen?"

Tattling on the world's most dangerous (and paranoid) spy probably wasn't the best idea. "N… no? No. Uh, n-no. No."

A second passed. "Ok. I will inform the Boss that you are unaware of how I was disabled."

"...ok."

"Your blood pressure is high. How're you feeling?"

"Oh, I'm, I'm good, yeah, I'm- uh, I'm… yep."

"Alright. I see you are low on pre-made meals. Would you like me to order you some take-out for dinner? Tony has informed me that a large pepperoni pizza with extra pepperoni from Eddie's Pizza is your favourite. Would you like me to order you one?"

Mr. Stark knew all that? That was, like, exactly right. Huh.

"Uh… sure?"

"Ok. It has been ordered and will be delivered in approximately 30 minutes."

"Cool. Thanks, FRI."

"You're welcome, Peter."

. . .

"So you're telling me a vase fell on your head? What're you, like, a magnet for getting hurt or what?" Stephen said flatly while shining a flashlight in Peter's eyes. Clicking it off, he put it away.

"I dropped an animal cracker and, when I bent over to pick it up, I bumped into the sidetable and the vase fell off. I didn't even notice it. Guess that means my spider-sense is gone."

Tony squinted and held up a few fingers. "That's, like, your 4th power gone. How many powers do you have?! Jeez."

Peter opened his mouth to reply before shutting it again. He frowned, trying to count in his head.

"It is odd how many powers you have," Stephen piped up with crossed arms. "Usually mutants only have a couple at most."

Peter just shrugged. "Are you sure I'm a mutant?"

Stephen's face took on a slightly pitying expression. He knew Peter was looking for an out - for any glimmer of hope that he had more than a month to live. Scratch that, 2.5 weeks to live.

He nodded. "I'm sure."

Peter bit his tongue to keep from uttering a curse. Damn Parker luck. If there was a God, apparently Peter had pissed him off big time in a past life.

"Your head's gonna be fine. You don't have a concussion, just a bump. Put an ice pack on it for a couple hours for the next two days. It'll be fine."

"How's the cure coming?" Both men went tense and they shared a look like Peter couldn't see them standing right in front of him. "Great," Peter said flatly.

"We didn't say anything!" Tony griped.

"You didn't have to. I can see you guys, you know."

"It's going fine," Stephen spoke up.

"That's code for terrible!"

"It is not!"

Peter was dead. Oh man. Jinkies. Zoinks. Ruh-Roh.

Peter could feel the barbed wire tightening around his gut, and his shoulders tightening. He bit his tongue in an attempt to steady his breathing, which was trying to pick up, making him feel just a tad bit faint.

Right now was not the time to panic. That was for 2 am alone on a bathroom floor in pitch-black darkness with a carton of ice cream. Not now.

"Kid?"

Peter (with half-success) pulled himself back into reality. He nodded, voice breathless when he spoke. "Yeah.. okay."

"I mean it, it's all going fine," Stephen said.

"Mhm. Ok." He nodded again, chest feeling painfully tight. "Thanks Stephen."

Peter slid off the bed. He felt something. He paused. Uh oh.

"Oh god." He folded in half, grabbing onto the bed to steady himself. An all-too familiar eerie sensation was creeping down his throat. "Oh no."

"Kid? What's happening right now? FRI, what's happening to him?"

"What's going on?" Stephen dipped around Tony, bumping the man as he did so.

"I-" Peter wheezed. "I have-"wheeze "as-asthma."

"What?!" Both men cried in unison.

"I-" wheeze "-I forgot." His hand slipped from the bed and he landed on all fours, gasping for air.

"OH MY GOD PETER! Your inhaler, where's your inhaler?!"

"Don't have-" wheeze "-one." He let out a long drawn out wheeze. "I might be-" wheeze "dying."

"FRI! GET ME AN INHALER!"

"YoU DoN'T hAVe oNe hERe?!" Stephen barked. "WHAT KIND OF SHIT MEDBAY IS THIS?!"

"Already on its way, boss." FRI chimed from the ceiling.

"Ok, kid! Uuuhhhhh, just- breathe. In and out, in and-"

Stephen literally pushed Tony out of the way. "Here, put your head between your knees; it'll help open up your lungs,"

"I'm fi-" wheeze "fine. It's passing. No. Nope. It's getting much-" wheeze "-much worse." The entire weight of a collapsed warehouse was sitting on his chest again. His throat was sucking in air, but it wasn't reaching his lungs. It felt like his throat was a straw with a hole in it, losing almost all of the air it was trying to futilely consume. His chest burned and black spots speckled his vision. Somewhere in the distance he could hear himself gasping like a fish out of water - or like those old people in movies who die all dramatically in a hospital bed.

Oh no.

He'd never gotten around to seeing the newest Batman movie. He shouldn't've put it off - the theatre was just so packed. Now he was never going to get to see Robert Patterson's beautiful face all emo in a bat suit. "Oh god."

"JUST- just do as I say, ok? I'm the doctor here."

Peter did as Stephen had instructed. It kinda helped, but he was definitely still dying.

"FINALLY!" Stephen's shadow disappeared from over Peter and he heard a thud a second later. Tony was suddenly there, pulling him up and shaking an inhaler before shoving it in Peter's hands. "BREATHE!"

Pressing down on the button, he inhaled.

"Oh thank god." Peter sucked in the air like his life depended on it.

Oh yeah.

It did.

He took another puff.

"I can breathe. Air has never tasted so good, oh my god." Peter pushed himself up, slumping back onto the bed. "Ugh."

"How?! How could you? How could you forget that you have asthma?!" Tony cried.

"ThiS iS WhY YoU TElL mE EVERYTHING!" Stephen cried before collapsing into a chair and running his hands down his face.

"I used to have it," shaking the inhaler, he took another puff, "it went away with my powers. So yeah, sorry. Forgot about it." Peter's head fell back, eyes casted to the ceiling. "Man, I have not missed this stupid disease. It's annoying."

"Oh my god…" Stephen muttered.

Tony clutched his chest and gingerly sat down. "Are you trying to kill me?! Because you almost did."

"Christ, kid. Keep a goddamn inhaler on you, will you?"

Peter blinked, watching as both men struggled to recover. They were worried…? Like, that much? Huh. "Uh, yeah, yeah….. Sorry."

Stephen waved a hand in dismissal and sat forward. "You forgot, whatever. It's… whatever. I'm going to go get myself a drink then get back to work."

"I think I'll join you," Tony added, getting up and following the man out the door.

Peter raised an eyebrow. Guess that was a goodbye? Taking a third puff, Peter steadied himself to his feet. "Thanks, FRI."

"Are you feeling better now, Peter?"

"Yea."

"That is good to hear. I had a second inhaler delivered to your room. If it's the wrong kind, let me know."

"Will do. I appreciate it."

. . .

The liquid collected into a thick droplet and crept its ways out, leaving a stain of red on the peach of his skin. Setting down the paring knife, Peter sat back, watching his hand, analyzing the cut closely.

"What are you doing?"

Tony's voice made Peter jump. He hadn't heard him sneak up with his stupid hearing being back to normal human standards. Ugh. Having received no answer, Tony stepped forwards, but came to a dead stop at the sight of the knife sitting on the coffee-table. Apprehensive question flickered through his expression. He spotted Peter's hand which had a cut spanning the palm and bleeding crimson.

His eyes widened. "KID! DID YOU- did you cut yourself?! Why?!"

Looking back at the cut, which hadn't changed, Peter inhaled and closed his hand into a fist, lowering it. "I think my healing factor is gone."

Tony hesitated, his blooming mania lessening. Peter heard him sigh. "That the last one?"

Peter shrugged, biting his lip to keep from crying. He felt like a pile of crap. Literally and figuratively. His brain was mush from feeling sick and tired for, like, a week and a half straight, and he was sad. He was really sad, ok? He didn't like being just Peter Parker. He liked being Spider-Man, for better or for worse. He'd been pathetic as a human when he was fifteen and he was pathetic as a human now three years later.

"Did you really hafta cut yourself to check?"

Peter shrugged again, earning an eyebrow raise from Tony. Waiting a moment to see if the kid would respond, Tony took the knife to rinse it off in the sink. A few minutes of silence passed between them, giving Peter time to collect himself again.

Moving so he was sitting criss-crossed on the couch, Peter started picking at the lint on his socks. "Hey, could I ask a favour?"

Stark turned around from the sink, facing the kid who was squinting at him.

"Could you ask Happy to give me a ride to my storage locker? He won't answer my calls. I would take the subway, but I don't wanna risk getting anyone else sick." And he couldn't really spare any extra cash for a cab if he was gonna make rent this month…

"What do you need from there?" Stark asked with a quizzical look.

"I used to wear glasses. And now that all my powers are gone and stuff, I can't really see anything." Peter squinted even more, proving his point.

"Huh. I didn't know that. What's your prescription?"

"Pfffff. I can't remember. But I can barely make out your face from here." He shrugged.

Grabbing his jacket, Stark headed towards the elevator. "Come on, I'll give you a ride."

"You?" Peter tilted his head as he crawled off the couch.

"Yeah, you got a problem with that?"

"What NO!" Much to Stark's amusement, the kid's face turned beet red as his eyes widened like saucers. "Of course not! I just didn't- I thought you would've been busy or… something, you know?"

"I am busy, but you're more important." Stark pretended to scroll through his phone, the mushiness of his own words making it impossible to look at the kid. "Besides, Stephen and Bruce have got it covered for the next little while." Sure, Tony was gonna use this time to sleep, but whatever. After years of pulling all-nighters, he was well-practiced in the art of losing a few hours of sleep. Or days. Or whatever.

"Oh." Looking up, Tony saw Peter blink in surprise. "Uh, th- uh, thanks Mr. Stark."

"Yeah, yeah, here-" Tony tossed over a roll of gauze "-I don't want your blood all over my car."

"Right. Thanks."

Clearing his throat, Tony called the elevator. "Now hurry up or I'll leave you behind."

"Coming."