This is set in an AU where Civil War never happened and Peter was recruited by some other means and they all live happily at Avengers facility.
Just a lil' fic for my lil' sis cuz she's a huge Spiderman fan.

(I did some research for this story. So most of it's true. Some of it is made up for the sake of the plot.)

The title is taken from a Sleeping At Last cover of a song I've never heard before.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" Peter asked, wincing as Steve pounded with particular force on the metal plates secured to the rooftop.

"It's just a quick repair job on a simple HVAC unit," Steve assured him, giving the base a final decisive blow.

"Right, right. I was just wondering if, maybe, we shouldn't have just called in a qualified technician," Peter said, folding his hands behind his back to appear as unassuming as possible. "Since you're, you know, old."

Steve paused in his work to raise an eyebrow at the high schooler.

"I mean, not old old," Peter hurriedly backtracked. "But you did grow up in the forties. And they didn't have air conditioners back then, so I figured you might want someone else to work on this for you."

"You know why we can't have workmen here," Steve said, allowing the teen's comment to slide without reprimand.

"Because this is a secret facility," Peter dutifully recited.

"That's right." With a smirk, Steve returned the hammer to the toolbox he'd brought with him. "Actually, I was born in 1918 so technically I up in the Twenties. And we did have air conditioning back then."

"Really?" Peter's eyes lit up at the prospect of learning new information.

Steve nodded. "Bucky and I didn't have any in our houses, of course, but the movie theater had some. I remember the summer of 1928. It was hot as the devil that year. Bucky showed up on my doorstep with a pair of quarters and we walked down to the movies, just to escape the heat for an hour or so."

"What movie did you see?" Peter asked, absorbed in the story.

"Steamboat Bill, Jr.," Steve answered promptly. "Starring Buster Keaton."

"I've heard of Steamboat Willie but I've never heard of Steamboat Bill," Peter said.

Steve sighed. "No, you probably wouldn't have. It wasn't that popular. And it was a silent film, so I doubt many people today would care to see it." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, that was all a long time ago. The point is, I think I can handle fixing a loose plate on the HVAC unit base."

"I'm not sure I see how those two equate-" Peter cut himself off abruptly when the hairs on his forearms suddenly stood up.

His heart picked up its rhythm and an intense feeling of imminent danger swallowed him.

"Hey, Captain?" he stuttered around a mounting sense of dread.

Steve was gathering the supplies they'd brought with them. "What is it, Peter?"

"I don't know," Peter admitted, using his vantage point on the edge of the roof to scan the property for threats. "I just have this feeling…" The single road leading to the main buildings was clear, as was the lawn. The forest bordering the complex was also undisturbed and he began to doubt his own vague misgivings. "It's probably nothing." He turned around, only to come face to face with a military drone.

The drone fired on him. The shot narrowly missed him, though the force of it knocked him backward. His arms pinwheeled uselessly for a moment, seeking something to hold onto. But without his suit, and the web solution stored in it, he had no way to stop his plummet to the ground. His feet left the edge and there was nothing but air under him. Before he could even gasp, a hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. The abrupt halt yanked at his shoulder and he groaned.

"Hang on, Peter!" Steve shouted from above him.

Peter whipped his head up to stare at him in amazement. "Nice reflexes, Captain." Then his eyes widened as the drone appeared over Steve's shoulder. "Look out!"

Aided by the teen's timely warning, Steve dodged the drone's next attack. His movement aggravated the strain Peter felt on his arm, causing the young man to wince. Then Steve pulled on the arm, hard, and Peter cried out as his shoulder was wrenched from its socket. He had no time to reflect on the pain since Steve had returned him to the roof and was pushing him into the limited shelter of the HVAC unit.

"Stay down, kid!" he ordered, snatching the toolbox.

Peter immediately popped his head up from behind the machine, cradling his dislocated arm and watching as Steve flung the equipment at the drone. It deployed a gun from its underside, easily shooting down the projectile. When it turned the barrel on Steve, the soldier rolled out of the way. The bullets peppered the roof where he had been, leaving a scattered collection of pockmarks. Ducking down again, Peter prayed the gunfire would garner the attention of their teammates inside the compound. He and Steve needed backup right away.

Rapid footsteps prompted him to leave his safe space again. A pair of shoes came dangerously close to kicking him in the face, as their owner leaped onto the HVAC unit to use it as a springboard. Even as Steve launched himself at it, the drone attempted to counter his move, firing at the air conditioner. It exploded, throwing Peter several feet across the rooftop. Shaking off the effects of the concussive energy, he rose shakily to his knees. To his right, Steve was rolling to absorb the impact of his landing, supposedly after attacking the drone. But it appeared as though the drone had outmaneuvered him, as it now hovered higher over them. It let out another spray of bullets, aimed in Steve's direction. The captain expertly evaded the salvo, causing the drone to rotate its gun in search of an easier target. It swung around to point at Peter. He froze, exposed and powerless without his suit. The weapon rumbled, preparing another barrage.

Without warning, Peter was tackled from behind. Gravel bit into his palms, knees, and cheeks as Steve's considerable bulk drove him to the roof. The air was forcibly pushed from his lungs, and he struggled to take in another breath. When he tried to lift his head to draw one, Steve's large hand settled at the base of his skull and pushed him back down.

"Not yet. Stay still, Parker." Steve's voice was directly beside his ear.

The next few moments happened so closely together, it was nearly impossible for Peter to distinguish one from the other. The drone opened fire. Steve jerked. The distinctive whine of Iron Man's repulsor. An explosion. Smell of burning metal. Something wet seeping into the back of his t-shirt.

"Cap! Kid! Are you alright?" The mask did little to muffle the frantic tone of Tony's question.

"What the heck was that and how did it get in here without setting off any of the sensors?" That was Sam, although, with his face mashed into the roof, Peter could only guess at the ticked off expression the ex-airman was wearing.

"Okay, Captain. You can let me up now," Peter prompted, wiggling in a vain attempt to get free.

Steve didn't let him up.

"Please, Captain Rogers. It's getting a little hard to breathe," Peter panted, squirming uselessly.

Heavy footfalls thudded closer, accompanied by robotic whirring. "Kid? Is that you under there?"

"Yes, Mr. Stark," Peter confirmed. "He won't let me up."

"Come on, Cap. The threat's been neutralized," Tony stated. "Time to get up."

Judging by the sound of it, Peter surmised he was prodding the super soldier with the toe of his boot.

"Cap?" Sam called, worried at the lack of response from their leader.

Tony swore. "He's bleeding!"

The wetness on his back now made a horrible kind of sense and Peter panicked. He surged up, using strength he was hesitant to before.

"Whoa, stop. Stop, stop."

At first the words didn't register. Peter was too caught up in his frantic bid to get free.

"Stop, kid!"

It was only when Tony's armored hand dropped onto his uninjured shoulder that he recognized the meaning behind the order, and the fact that it was being issued to him.

"Don't move yet. We don't know if that bullet's in Cap's spine or not. We can't risk moving him just yet."

"Please, Mr. Stark, get me out." Peter's lip trembled.

Tony crouched down, mask lifting to reveal his face. "We will, I promise. Just let me have FRIDAY run a quick scan to find out where the bullet is, okay? Can you hang on for just a minute? Can you do that for me?"

Unsettled by the uncharacteristic request, Peter forced himself back from the brink of hyperventilation, taking shallow, yet calm breaths. Tony was still waiting on a response so Peter mutely nodded, fighting against the instinct to bolt, the urge to simply throw off the weight pinning him down and run.

"Okay." Tony sounded relieved and a bit surprised, as if he hadn't thought Peter would comply. "FRIDAY, talk to me. What are we dealing with?" The faceplate clicked back into place and Peter couldn't hear the AI's response.

Having managed to prop himself up on his knees and one elbow before Tony stopped him, Peter had to lock his muscles to keep from collapsing under the super soldier's limp form. Sam was calling the medical team to the roof and Peter focused on that conversation, rather than the warm moisture absorbing into his shirt. It wasn't enough of a distraction however, and he found himself drenched in sweat, his limbs shaking.

"Mr. Stark." He used the name itself as a plea, unable to articulate his confusing jumble of thoughts centered around the bleeding hero draped across him. "Mr. Stark, please."

His left hand skidded forward, a physical sign of his crumbling emotional state. His fingers left grooves in the collection of pebbles beneath him and he stared at them, muscles quaking. Despite knowing he had the capability of lifting a car, it seemed impossible now to bear Captain America. The man who had protected him. Taken a bullet doing so. Could die for it, as his blood was slowly draining out of his wound and soaking into Peter.

"We're clear to move him," Tony announced, just as Peter was considering collapsing as a better option than holding up his terrible burden.

Two sets of hands cautiously lifted the soldier's body and eased him to the roof. Peter sprang to his feet, stumbling back, away, putting distance between himself and his savior. The door behind him opened and a crowd of medical personnel sprinted onto the flat roof, equipped with a gurney. They surrounded Steve, blocking him from Peter's view. Tony answered their rapid questions the best he could, while Sam monitored their progress, instructing them to be careful. In a matter of minutes, they had Steve strapped onto the gurney and were manhandling it down the stairs. The other two Avengers followed, leaving Peter alone on the roof, absently supporting his dislocated right arm with his left.

It was almost like being transported to an entirely different location. Without the commotion of the medical staff and Sam's useless directions and Tony's presence, the roof was lifeless, nearly silent. Numb, Peter glanced to the side, where that stupid HVAC unit used to be. And to think, less than half an hour ago, Steve had invited him up to observe his attempts at being a handyman. The machine was little more than scattered pieces of metal and wires now. Peter looked up into the sky, to the spot where the drone had appeared. Recreating the scene in his head, he tracked its path through the air, how it had avoided Steve's jump, and ended up in the position to deliver that awful shot. His eyes drifted lower again, to the place Steve had tackled him, had shielded him with his own body. There was blood there, in the rocks. And something that glinted with reflected sunlight. Hesitantly, Peter moved close enough to bend over and retrieve it. It was a bullet. Misshapen, flecked with blood. It was the bullet Steve had taken for him.

Rather than the sick feeling he had anticipated, Peter gazed at it dispassionately before dropping it into the pocket of his jeans. A light breeze drifted past him, ruffling his hair, chilling the wet spot of fabric on his shirt. The sun gradually moved further south, easing the day into late afternoon. Birds flew to and fro, landing in the trees before taking flight once more. The whole scene was picturesque. Peter didn't notice any of it.

Eventually, not even knowing how much time had passed since he was left alone, Peter found his feet moving him toward the door. He descended the staircase, moved to the elevator and selected a destination as if in a trance. Some part of his brain was functioning through the haze, however, since he ended up in the medical wing. There was no one in the facility's equivalent of a waiting room, so he took a seat and stared at the muted television hanging on the far wall.

"-loss of consciousness was really more of a preemptive move from his brain. Apparently it was concerned with how close the bullet came to his spine. But it never hit it. Didn't hit anything important actually, that's one of the benefits have having a beefy frame I guess. Anyway, he's out of surgery now. The doctors are calling for a six day recovery time. Must be great to have super healing abilities."

Peter startled, eyes shifting focus to Tony Stark, who was standing directly in front of him, though Peter couldn't recall his approach or the beginning of his rambling update. "What?"

Tony sighed. "You weren't listening, were you?"

"Where's Captain Rogers? Is he okay? Can I see him?" Peter nearly tripped over his own legs trying to rise from his chair so quickly.

"Take it easy," Tony advised, eyeing him critically. "You don't look too good, kid."

"I'm fine," Peter dismissed, wavering on his feet.

With a firm hand on his shoulder, Tony effortlessly subdued the teen. "Hang tight, buddy. I'm going to go get a nurse."

"I said I'm fine," Peter repeated, though his tone lacked conviction.

"Yeah, but your impression of a drunk zombie says otherwise," Tony shot back. He moved across the room, only to pause at the double doors leading to the treatment area in order to fix Peter with a hard stare and an authoritatively pointed finger. "Stay put."

Lacking the energy to disobey, Peter stayed.

"Pale skin, dilated pupils, weaving where he stands, the whole nine yards." Tony's voice preceded his return.

The doors were opened, allowing Tony entrance, promised nurse in tow. Gaze glued to the magazines stacked on the waiting room table, Peter felt more than saw the nurse kneel down beside him.

"Peter? Can you hear me?" she asked gently.

"If you're a good little boy and answer all the nice lady's questions, you'll get a lollipop and a sticker at the end," Tony snarked.

Peter didn't react to the teasing. He nodded, only to appease the nurse.

"Are you hurt anywhere, Peter?" she questioned.

He shook his head. Then, remembering his shoulder, he changed to a nod.

"Where does it hurt?" the nurse asked.

He gestured to his right arm. "My shoulder."

"Would you mind if I take a look?" the nurse continued.

"Hey, kid. You're getting checked out by an older woman," Tony stated with clear innuendo.

Tony was ignored as the nurse began her exam. When she prompted Peter to scoot forward in his chair, she gasped at the large bloodstain on his shirt.

"What happened? Are you still bleeding? Why didn't you say something?" the woman fired off her inquiries, quickly exploring the area with her hands in search of the injury.

"It's not mine," Peter said quietly.

"What's not?" Tony asked, tensing at the sight of so much red on his apprentice.

"The blood." Peter glanced between him and the nurse lethargically. "It's not mine."

"Thank heavens for small mercies," the nurse muttered before removing her hands. "But it looks like your shoulder is dislocated. We'll have to treat you for that. Come with me, please."

Tony shifted, face creasing with guilt for overlooking the obvious damage.

"Can't you just fix it here?" Peter implored.

The nurse frowned. "I'd rather get an x-ray first."

"Please," Peter whispered. When the nurse's face remained stoic, he turned to Tony. "Mr. Stark, I don't want to go back there. Please, can't we do it here?"

Tony's eyebrows drew together sympathetically. He squared his shoulders and drew up to his full height. "Of course we can. Can't we?" He pinned the nurse with a patented Stark smirk. "After all, I only hired the best. So I'm sure this lovely woman is prepared to do whatever is required of her in order to treat her patients."

The nurse pursed her lips, then sighed in defeat. "Fine. But he has to take some pain killers before we begin."

"Done." Tony nodded.

The nurse raised her eyebrow. "He's a minor. He needs parental consent."

"I'm his acting guardian." Tony defiantly jutted out his chin.

"Really?" Peter and the nurse asked simultaneously.

Tony threw his hands in the air. "Yes really. May Parker and I made it official months ago. I can get the paperwork for you if you still don't believe me."

Despite the lethargy slowly taking over his mind, Peter felt a wave of warmth wash over him. Tony studiously avoided eye contact with him, unnaturally absorbed in the Nissan commercial on the silent TV. The nurse returned with the medicine, putting on a pair of gloves before preparing the syringe. Peter barely noticed when she injected the opioid.

"Alright, Peter. I'm going to reset your shoulder now. Are you ready?" she inquired.

Peter took a short breath and nodded once. Holding his arm in the correct position, the nurse began the process. The procedure lasted several minutes, though the painkiller kept Peter pleasantly distant from the ordeal. Finally, the joint slid back into the socket and the woman stepped back.

"Okay, Peter, I'm all done," she announced gently.

Peter exhaled through his nose, relieved and grateful.

"Mr. Stark, if you would find him a clean shirt." The nurse turned to Tony expectantly.

Tony looked surprised by the request, but only for a moment. He meekly left to retrieve the fresh clothing. The nurse said something about finding a pair of scissors and getting him a sling, but Peter wasn't listening. He was drifting again. He drifted through the nurse leaving and reappearing. He drifted through Tony's return. He drifted through having his shirt cut off. He did come back to himself in time to see the nurse place it, blood already browning and stiffening the fabric, into a bag for disposal. It took a combined effort from both the nurse and Tony to thread his arms into the sleeve of the button up Tony had managed to find in the back of Peter's closet. When they'd accomplished that task, the nurse put the sling on. Peter grimaced, but found the pain bearable.

"You're going to need to take it easy for the next couple weeks. Keep this sling on for the rest of the day and come back tomorrow for a more thorough examination," the nurse ordered. "Now I suggest you go to your room and get some sleep."

"Thank you," Peter murmured, sluggishly getting to his feet.

Tony was a stabilizing presence at his side, helping him out of the chair and across the room.

"What happened out there today?" Tony questioned as the doors slid open to admit them to the rest of the facility.

Brow furrowing, Peter struggled to recall the exact details. "We had just finished fixing the AC and then that drone appeared and attacked us."

Clearly not the report he had been hoping for, Tony merely hummed in general frustration.

"Mr. Stark, who sent that drone? How did it get past all the sensors?" Peter asked.

"I've already got FRIDAY working on that," Tony assured him. "When I find out who it was, they're going to get a much nastier surprise than a simple drone. Imagine their faces when the Iron Legion pays them a visit."

"I bet they'll wish they never-"

"Peter Parker!" The shout cut into Peter's next comment, and both he and Tony turned around.

The nurse was taking quick steps to reach them. "I'm sorry to ask you this, but would you mind coming back to medical?"

Out of habit, Peter glanced to Tony for permission.

"Why?" Tony snapped. "You fixed his arm, he took his meds. The kid doesn't want to be in there. Why do you want him to go back?"

The nurse actually looked apologetic. "It's not about him. It's about Captain Rogers."

"Is he okay?" Peter asked anxiously.

"Physically, he's as well as he can be, all things considered. But he is growing agitated," the nurse said.

Tony crossed his arms. "What does that have to do with Peter?"

"He's been asking for him," the nurse answered. "The doctor thinks it would help if he could see him."

Tapping Peter's left forearm lightly to garner his attention, Tony said, "You don't have to. Cap's a grown man. He can behave himself in the hospital. If you'd rather-"

"No," Peter interrupted firmly. He looked at the nurse. "I'll go."

"Thank you." She escorted them back the medical wing, through the double doors, down a long hallway, turned left at the intersecting corridor, and paused outside one of the rooms.

Raised voices could be heard through the closed door.

"Let me go."

"Captain Rogers, you just came out of surgery."

"I know, I was awake for it. But there's something I need to go check on."

Peter glanced at Tony apprehensively.

The nurse said, "Try to keep your visit brief. We'd like him to rest." Then she left them.

Tony shrugged and pushed the door open. Steve had his legs swung over the side of the hospital bed and was making an attempt to stand, while the frazzled nurse assigned to him struggled to stop him.

"Okay, Florence Nightingale, we'll take it from here," Tony said.

Flustered, the nurse gladly retreated from the room.

Steve looked intently at Tony. "Tony, where's Peter?"

"Here," Peter timidly responded from the doorway.

When he saw him, Steve visibly relaxed, shoulders sagging and breath exhaling. "Thank God you're alright."

"Well, mostly," Tony corrected. "He's probably got some form of shock, not to mention the dislocated arm he failed to mention." He pierced Peter with a disapproving stare. "Which will not happen again. If you're hurt, you tell me about it. Got it? You are way too young to be following Cap's macho example of hiding injuries. Okay?"

Peter blinked at him.

"That's not a rhetorical question. I want you to answer me so I know you're not going to do it again," Tony said.

Peter shook himself and made direct eye contact with Tony. "Oh yeah. No, of course. It won't happen again, Mr. Stark."

"Good. Because your aunt would kill me. Actually, she still might. I'd better call her right now." With that, Tony walked out the door, considerately closing it behind him and thereby forcing Peter further into the hospital room.

Steve eyes ran over the teen assessingly, before his gaze locked onto the sling. "What happened to your arm?"

Peter lifted his good shoulder in a shrug. "Got dislocated. But it's fixed now."

"How?" Steve asked.

Peter dropped his eyes.

"Was it me?" Steve's voice was quiet. He took Peter's silence as the confirmation it was. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

Immediately shaking his head, Peter countered the apology. "It wasn't your fault. Besides, it could have been worse."

Though he didn't smile, the lines around Steve's eyes softened and some of the tension left his body.

"What did the doctors say about…?" Peter trailed off, gesturing at the bandage vaguely outlined beneath Steve's thin hospital gown.

Steve's hand subconsciously drifted to his right side, hovering above the surgical site. "I was lucky," he smirked wryly. "A couple inches to the left or right and things would have gotten a lot more complicated." Peter blanched, so Steve quickly reassured him. "I'm going to be fine. I'll be back to normal long before you are." He tipped his head to indicate Peter's sling before continuing. "It was a clean shot, straight through and through. Missed all my organs and bones." He smiled disarmingly.

"Speaking of which." Peter clumsily fumbled in his pocket. "I found this."

He offered the bullet to Steve in his outstretched palm. Steve took it from him, lightly running a finger over the smashed metal.

"Well I'll be," he chuckled.

"Thank you," Peter blurted.

Steve seemed surprised, setting the bullet on the bedside table before looking to Peter again. "For what?"

Peter dropped his head, a blush stealing over the back of his neck and the tips of his ears. "For saving me."

"Oh, no." Steve shook his head. "You don't have to thank me, Peter."

"I couldn't do anything. When I saw that drone-and it started firing, and I just...froze," Peter confessed in a jumble.

With a slight groan, Steve got to his feet and crossed the few steps separating him from the younger man. "You didn't have your suit."

"You didn't have your shield," Peter shot back.

"I have a lot more combat experience than you do," Steve finished smugly, winning the argument.

"If you hadn't done what you did, I might-" Peter started.

Steve never let him finish his sentence. He carefully wrapped his arm around Peter's left shoulder, tugging the teen closer for a quick embrace, mindful of his immobilized right arm. "That's what I'm here for."

"Being a human shield?" Peter questioned dubiously.

"Taking care of my team," Steve corrected gently.

Peter smiled shyly, pleased by the inclusion.

"Now." Steve leaned over and picked up the spent bullet. "What do you think Tony will want to do with this? Make it into a necklace? Turn it into a fridge magnet?"

"Or maybe some kind of strange Christmas tree ornament?" Peter suggested.

"That's not a bad idea."

Steve grinned and Peter found himself smiling too.