It happened again, that thing where Peter woke up not knowing where he was or how the hell he'd gotten there.

He wasn't as scared this time around though. Probably because Captain America was holding him bridal style.

Or sort of, if the bride was all limp.

Peter woke up with his head tilted back, his neck propped on the bend of Steve's elbow. It made the world look upside down.

It was disjointing.

Add to that the fact that they were moving fast, Peter thought he might throw up.

He should probably ask the Captain to slow down.

He lifted his head, squinted at the underside of Steve's well defined jaw and asked, "Are you real?" instead.

Steve looked down, clearly surprised to see Peter awake. "Yeah, kid. I'm real."

"Okay. Just checking." Peter let his head fall back, frowned at the way the world flipped again, and decided it was best to keep his eyes closed.

He didn't open them again until Steve turned a corner and he heard Tony's voice order, "Put him here."

Tony was still in his suit, but had lost the helmet at some point. He was all sweaty, his hair was plastered down, and he had a gash that was slowly bleeding on the left side of his forehead.

"Did I hit you again?" Peter asked as Steve lowered him onto a gurney.

Tony made the same face Steve had earlier, like he hadn't expected Peter to be awake. It was only for a moment though, because then it softened into something more Tony-ish, hinting he was about to be a smartass. "No. But you did scare the hell out of me."

"Didn't die, though." Peter could be a smart ass, too.

"No. You did not," Tony conceded, the corner of his mouth threatening to rise in a smile. "Let's keep it that way, okay?"

"Okay."

Peter was about to ask what had happened, but some asshole started messing with his leg. Peter figured that was as good a time as any to pass out again.

The next time he woke up, it was a little more startling than the last, but only because someone was lying on top of him.

Beside him?

Someone was definitely cuddled up to his right side, their head resting on his chest, their arm thrown over him.

He could tell by the little snores and the worn out yellow scrunchie holding up a mop of hair that it was May.

"Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y?" he whispered.

"Yes, Peter?" F.R.I.D.A.Y whispered back.

"What happened?"

There was a short pause and then, "Boss is on his way. He will explain everything."

And okay, that was good.

He looked around, recognized the tower's infirmary and sighed. There was a clock hanging on the wall above the door. It read 4:17, but he had no idea if that was morning or night. There weren't any windows, no way to see if the sun was out or not.

His ring finger had a band-aid around the tip, there was another stuck to the side of his neck in the same place the IV had been.

He lifted his head and tried to see his leg. It was propped up on a pillow, and if he ran his hand along his thigh, he could feel a bandage beneath the blanket.

But it didn't really hurt.

At least not until he decided to move. Dumbass.

"Ahh," he hissed when he tried to shift his leg. It was quiet, not at all a loud cry of pain, but it was enough to wake up May.

She jumped off the bed and turned to Peter all in one fast, fluid move. She took one look at Peter, and her eyes widened in panic. "Oh god, did I hurt you?"

"No, May. You're good."

"Are you sure? I can go get someone."

"I promise. You don't have to go anywhere." Peter gave her a once over, trying to see anything that might be wrong, but she looked okay. Relatively. Her hair needed washed and the circles under her eyes stood out more than she probably liked, but all in all, she didn't look hurt. "Are you okay?"

May sat down on the edge of the bed. "Yeah, baby. I'm fine. He didn't hurt me."

"What about Happy? Did he—"

"Happy's fine," she assured him, reaching up and cradling Peter's face in her hands. "He got hit on the head, had to get a few stitches, but he's good. He's fine."

"And you're totally okay?"

"Completely."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said. She was still holding his face, her thumb moving back and forth on his temple. "But how offended would you be if I got Stark to put a tracking chip in your arm?"

Peter felt his nose wrinkle in confusion. "What?"

"Lisa from work did it with Charlie."

"Charlie is a poodle, May."

"Charlie gets into less trouble than you."

"You're doing that thing where you overreact again."

"To be fair, kid, you got shot." May and Peter both turned at the sound of Tony's voice. "I think she's got a point."

Tony was leaning against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest as he smiled. "How you feeling?"

Peter thought about it. "Woozy," he admitted. "Like, the good kind."

Tony laughed. "Yeah, you should be. You take a bullet, you get the good stuff."

Peter didn't think getting shot was worth it. But that didn't matter. "Did you catch him?"

Tony's gaze sort of fell to the floor. He reached up and rubbed his knuckle against his bottom lip, like he was stalling, delaying saying whatever he was planning on saying.

May must have sensed Tony's discomfort, because she offered him a reassuring smile before standing and declaring that she was going to go take a shower and find some food.

"I love you," she said, bending down and kissing Peter on the forehead. "I'll be back, okay?"

Peter frowned and looked between his aunt and Tony. "Love you, too," he said slowly, unsure why she was leaving.

May pushed the hair off his forehead. "I see you worrying. Don't. It's all gonna be okay."

Peter nodded, but he was still worried.

May left, giving Tony's arm a reassuring squeeze as she passed.

Tony sighed, ran his hands down his face and slowly pulled a chair next to Peter's bed.

Peter tried to think of a reason for Tony to look so hesitant. May said everyone was fine. Steve had carried him in, and someone would have told him if Clint had been hurt. Right? That left…

"Did he get away?" Peter asked.

"Not exactly," Tony sighed.

"What does that mean?"

Tony leaned his head down and rubbed the back of his neck, before sighing again. "We got him. Steve did a number on him, and I know I hit him with the blasters. But he fell into the river."

"And?"

"And we can't find his body."

"He heals fast."

"So do you, but—"

"No, like super fast. It's like—" Peter froze, because his mouth couldn't move as fast as the thoughts that were swirling in his head. He needed to tell Tony about OZ about the super serum. He needed them to know that there might be others out there, other test subjects that didn't live up to Osborn's standards of perfection. He needed Tony to know that he was afraid that the green goblin was still alive.

"Peter, look at me."

Peter did.

Tony leaned forward. "You're safe. Okay? He's not going to get to you again."

"If he's still alive, he'll come after me."

"But he won't get to you. I promise."

Peter leaned back into his pillows and shook his head. "You can't promise—"

"Yes I fucking can." Tony stood up and sat on the edge of the bed, mindful of Peter's propped up leg. "Despite what Pepper might say, I am good at keeping my promises. And it's not just my promise, kid. You've somehow managed to convince the whole of the Avengers that you're some lost little puppy—"

"Because I'm adorable."

Tony narrowed his eyes, totally judging, but continued. "And good luck to anyone who thinks they can hurt you. So yeah, you're officially the most protected kid in New York. Hell, even the Hulk likes you."

"The Hulk doesn't know me."

Tony held back a laugh. "He might not have met you, but he knows of you. And trust me, Parker. He's a fan."

Peter frowned. "Was he at the river?"

"Oh no," Tony shook his head, rubbed his hand along his bottom lip again. "No, he was in the tank. Remember your little glass room? Bruce hulked out after we found out you were taken."

"No way."

"Yes way. Like I said. Lost little puppy." Tony sighed and rubbed his hand atop Peter's head, ruffling his hair. "And if you think Osborn's little green act was intimidating, I promise, it's nothing compared to the Hulk's."

Peter couldn't stop the smile that followed. But it didn't last long. "Do you think he's still alive?"

"I don't know," Tony admitted. He blew out a heavy puff of air, cheeks billowing slightly. "There're too many variants. I mean, it depends on how badly we hurt him, how fast he heals, whether he can swim…"

So more unknowns.

But it could be worse. Maybe.

Peter could be dead.

Instead, he was hobbling around on crutches, enduring not only May and Tony's need to keep him in sight, but Happy's as well.

Even Pepper, Steve and Bruce felt the need to check on him more than once.

Time was fluid again, but in a normal way. It slowed in the infirmary, flew by when Ned and MJ visited, and practically stalled when Peter hobbled by the living room and saw Norman Osborn's face looking back at him from the big screen TV.

Apparently, he'd been reported missing. The police were exploring all avenues and hadn't yet ruled out foul play.

Oscorp's official statement was a big, convoluted "I don't know" and a request for the public to respect the family's privacy.

But unofficially…

Ex-Oscorp employees and Osborn acquaintances were flooding social media with theories and stories. Apparently, Norman had a history of being a fucking psychopath, and Peter wasn't the only one he'd hurt.

People had been questioning his motives and methods for years.

And more than one angry scientist was using the hashtag #OsbornOuted to spill all of Osborn's dirty little secrets.

PETA was having a field day with the mention of animal testing and mutated spiders.

"Shouldn't we tell someone?" Peter asked after another night passed and Oscorp's missing CEO was still the top story.

"Fury's handling it," Tony said, grabbing the remote from Peter's hand and turning off the TV.

"What's he telling them?" Peter asked. He tried to turn around and look at Tony over the back of the sofa, but stopped when the movement pulled on his leg.

Tony shrugged and tossed the remote out of Peter's reach. "Don't know, and I don't care as long as he keeps your name out of it."

So more unknowns.

Which was starting to be a thing.

Except when it came to Peter, because everyone was constantly asking him questions.

"Are you okay?"

"Do you feel alright?"

"Where were you?"

"You're not pushing yourself too hard are you?"

It was just like before. Peter was trying to mind his own business, everyone was minding his.

He knew they meant well, that they were worried and just wanted to make sure that he was okay, but he was already dealing with his own issues. He didn't have time to deal with theirs as well.

More than once Peter had caught himself looking around corners, expecting to see those yellow, bulbous eyes.

The first night back, he'd had a nightmare which led to him trying to climb the wall to search in the air vents.

He'd popped a stitch.

And then got yelled at.

He'd started asking F.R.I.D.A.Y to confirm that everything was okay, that the security systems were all in place and that what he was experiencing was real.

She must have told Tony, because sometime between the third and fourth time he'd asked her, Happy had sat down and walked Peter through the entirety of the tower's security network, right down to what cameras were pointing were and F.R.I.D.A.Y's unrivaled facial recognition software.

"If that bastard's still alive, he's not getting near here without us knowing about it. Okay?"

And yes, that was good. It handled the physical aspect of Peter's worries.

But what about the mental ones?

He just thought he was crazy before. But now, he knew he was.

"It's called PTSD, Peter," Tony said after F.R.I.D.A.Y had alerted him to another of Peter's nightmares. "You're not crazy, kid. You're traumatized."

"That isn't any better," Peter snapped. He apologized, but still. He was tired of people telling him that it was going to be okay, that he had nothing to worry about.

They didn't know, they couldn't possibly understand what it was like to have someone fuck with your literal brain.

Except maybe Clint.

But it took a while before Peter realized that.

It wasn't really intentional, but Peter ran away. Kind of. He was still in the tower, but had decided to ditch the ever watchful eyes of the grownups and make his way somewhere a little less crowded.

He eventually found himself in the gym. Then he ditched the crutches, and ditched gravity while he was at it.

His leg was healed anyway, mostly, and it only hurt if he put weight on it.

Or moved it wrong, or flexed the muscle too fast.

But it was fine.

He hobbled to the middle of the room, dropped the crutches in the center of the mat, and then fired his web shooter into the rafters.

It took about twenty minutes before someone came looking for him. Although, if anyone had asked Peter, he would have thought it'd be May or Tony, maybe even Happy.

Definitely not Clint.

But there he was. He sauntered into the gym, frowned at the crutches lying on the floor before turning, eyes tracking the empty room.

Eventually, he remembered who he was looking for and glanced up. As soon as he saw Peter, he gestured to the abandoned crutches and yelled "You know, it's shit like this that makes them worry."

Peter was sitting on one of the rafters, his back to the wall, his injured leg stretched out before him with the other dangling over the edge. "I didn't put any weight on it," Peter lied. "It's fine."

"Kid, I'm gonna get you a damn dictionary. Because you're idea of fine and mine differ."

He then took a running start at the wall, and with a few very impressive acts of parkour, scaled the length of it and climbed to the rafters. He then walked towards Peter oh so casually, like he was walking down the street and not balancing on a ten inch wide pole fifteen feet in the air.

Clint sat down, straddling the beam a few feet away from Peter's foot. He sighed, looked around at the rafters and ceilings, noted the cobwebs in the corner, and asked, "So. Come here often?"

Peter snorted.

"I just needed some space, just—" Peter rubbed at his eyes and let his head lean back against the wall. "Just a few minutes without everyone freaking out over everything I do."

"Well, I can't say your disappearing act helped the whole freaking out thing, but sure, I get it."

"F.R.I.D.A.Y knew where I was."

"That's not the point, Peter."

And Peter knew that. It's not that he was deliberately trying to be a little shit, he was just having a hard time focusing on everyone else's problems. Even if everyone else's problems were focused around Peter.

Clint adjusted his balance, brought his feet up onto the beam and propped his arms on his knees. "Look, this is new for Tony," he said. "You gotta cut him some slack."

That was not what Peter had expected. "What do you mean?"

"Tony's never been a dad before."

Peter frowned. "He's not my dad."

"No, but he loves you just the same." Clint smiled and gave Peter a challenging look, like he was daring Peter to argue. "And kid, there's nothing more terrifying than thinking your kid's about to die."

Peter shifted and tried to focus his attention elsewhere. He started playing with a loose thread on the hem of his t-shirt.

He didn't know why, but it always made him a little uncomfortable when anyone made a comment about Tony being his dad, even as a joke. There wasn't a reason for it and he couldn't put it into words, but the first time May had joked about it, Peter hadn't been able to look Tony in the eye for a solid week.

Although, he was willing to admit Clint had a point. But that fear went both ways.

He rubbed at his thigh, massaging the still healing muscle and said, "It's not any easier watching your parent die."

There was a moment of silence that stretched into two, and when Peter looked up it was to find Clint staring at him, his expression almost apologetic.

"No. I don't suppose it is." Clint let his knees fall open, his legs folding Indian style. "Alright, I'm about to bug you and I want you to be honest with me, okay? No bullshit. How are you?"

"I'm fine."

Clint narrowed his eyes.

"No bullshit," Peter promised. "I feel—fine. Like, way better than I have in a long time."

Clint nodded, but he wasn't done. "Dizzy?"

"No."

"Headache?"

"A little, but it's not—I'm good."

"Any more mental fieldtrips? Loss of time? All around brain fuckery?"

Peter snorted. "Not that I'm aware of."

"Good." Clint smiled, like that was exactly what he had wanted to hear. He nodded again, looked back out at the empty gym and said quietly, confidently, "You'll be okay."

"Yeah, I know." Peter sighed and leaned his head against the wall again. Everyone had been telling him that, reassuring him that the bad would pass. They meant well, but Peter was kinda tired of it.

"You'll doubt yourself, doubt your reality for a while," Clint continued. He was still looking elsewhere, his sight seemed to have landed on a distant weight bench, his gaze unfocused. When he turned back to Peter, he looked tired, a little worn. He looked like Peter felt.

"Don't be afraid to talk about it. Okay?" Clint continued. "Your people love you, Parker. They'll look out for you."

It was then that Peter realized that Clint knew, like he actually knew. It wasn't like with the others, where they were all trying to be sympathetic, offering support for something that they couldn't possibly understand.

But Clint more than understood. He'd been there.

Yeah, maybe he hadn't been systematically poisoned by a psychotically deranged megalomaniac, but a power hungry god of chaos with access to universe altering magic was close enough.

Peter forced himself to meet Clint's knowing stare, and asked, "How long before it all gets better?"

Clint's smile turned sad. "I'm not sure."

"You still—"

"No. No, I haven't had any problems with that in a while, I just—" Clint inhaled and held it, his gaze once again drifting towards the weight bench below. He let his breath out on a slow, controlled sigh. "I used to question everything, everyone right after Loki, you know? Laura was constantly having to assure me everything was fine. And I just got sort of used to having that paranoia around. And then one day I just…woke up and it was gone. Didn't notice it for a while, but yeah, it went away."

He turned back to Peter, clapped his hand on Peter's exposed ankle and squeezed. "And it'll go away for you, too."

Peter sniffed and blinked, trying to convince his eyes not to freaking water as much. It didn't work, though, because he felt a tear slip through. He wiped it away.

Clint pretended he didn't see. He gestured to the rafters and the ceiling that was only inches away, nodded towards the crutches strewn on the floor. "But not if you do shit like this."

Peter groaned and rubbed his hands down his face. "I just felt like I couldn't breathe."

Cint's phone chimed. He pulled it out of his pocket, smirked at the screen, and then looked back at Peter. "You good now?"

Peter wiped the neck of his t-shirt across his eyes and sniffed again. "Yeah. I'm good."

"Good," Clint said, putting his phone back in his pocket, "Because according to Natasha, your aunt's about five seconds from grabbing a ladder and coming to get you."

Peter laughed, and then laughed again because he completely believed May would do it.

Clint grinned then turned a worried look towards the gym door. "Honestly, I'm surprised Stark hasn't grabbed that damn suit to come get you yet."

"Pepper's probably holding him back," Peter guessed.

It was Clint's turn to laugh. Then he looked to Peter, tilted his head and gave him a look that was so much like one Ben used to give him, that Peter felt a physical pain in the center of his chest.

"You know," Clint said, "Happy told me how you used to be."

Peter felt his ears burn at the thought of what Happy could have told Clint. "The texts?"

Clint laughed again, his features looking less like Ben and more like the Hawkeye Peter was slowly getting used to. "Yeah, that too," Clint said. "But I'm talking about the secrets, the way you used to try and handle everything all by yourself, like you thought you had to save the world all on your own. You've grown, Peter. You've learned to trust others, learned to ask for help."

Peter started playing with that loose thread again. Clint reached forward and squeezed Peter's ankle once more.

"Don't back track, kid. Like I said, your people love you. They'd go to the ends of the world for you and drop everything if you asked them to. Let them."

Peter looked up, not even bothering to hide the new tears. "I'm trying."

Clint gave Peter's ankle one more squeeze, nodded, and clapped his hands on his knees. He looked down at floor and said, "Good, now come on. Let's go before the cavalry comes running."

Peter wiped his eyes again and sighed. "Yeah, okay." Then he shot his web shooter again and slowly dropped down to the floor.

He had just grabbed his crutches and was about to turn to the door when Clint called out, "Yeah, no. It's fine. I can get down on my own."

Peter looked up and smirked. "Do you want me to send Tony and his suit?"

Clint frowned. "We were having a moment, Parker, and you just ruined it."

Peter laughed and left him up there.

When he walked into the living room, it was obvious that everyone was waiting for him. They were trying to make it not obvious, or at least May was, but she sucked at it.

Tony didn't even bother trying to hide it. He was sitting on the couch, arms folded, clearly pouting.

Peter stopped halfway between the elevator and the coffee table. He adjusted the grip on his crutches, looked from Tony and Pepper to May, and said, "I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry about," May hurried to assure him. She rounded the coffee table and wrapped Peter in a hug.

He hugged her back.

"Nope," Tony said, standing with an unhappy look on his face. "No, that's not true."

Pepper reached for Tony's arm, but he batted her hand away. "No, Pep. The kid's fucking traumatized. He's officially seen some shit. How many times over the years have you screamed at me to let you help me? He needs to—"

He stopped talking when Peter walked up, dropped the crutches and wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug. On reflex, Tony returned it, folding his arms across Peter's back before he probably even realized what he was doing.

"Peter?"

"Thank you," was all Peter said.

Tony tightened the hug, one hand wrapping around the back of Peter's neck, squeezing slightly. "Am I allowed to ask what for?"

"Everything," Peter said. He thought about what Clint had said, about how Peter's people would move the world to help him. He thought back to the way they had done just that.

May had literally raised him. She had rearranged her whole world to include him in it, and she told him she loved him at least twice a day. Blood or not, she was family.

Tony, however, had no such responsibilities.

And yet, he had given Peter a panic button to carry around, and the first time Peter had to use it, the man had grabbed Captain America and come to the rescue.

He'd forced a secret government agency to investigate a gas attack, convinced a wizard to return to medicine, and opened his home when theirs was no longer safe.

And that was just in the last month.

"Peter?"

Peter shook his head and turned until Tony's shoulder was pressing on his eyes. "Just—for everything. For caring enough to—to take care of me."

Tony squeezed Peter's neck again, his tone softening. "You're welcome, kid."

Peter sniffed, took a deep breath and blurted out, "I'm gonna say I love you, but you can't make it awkward, okay?"

There was a moment's pause where no one did or said anything, and then Tony just sort of patted him clumsily on the back and gently pushed him away. He turned and walked into the kitchen, his face hidden as he asked in a strained and nasally voice, "Anyone up for tamales?" He sniffed, cleared his throat and tried again, in a much calmer, more relaxed tone, "I'm in the mood for tamales."

Pepper glanced at Peter, smiled, and mouthed the words, "Thank you."

Peter just smiled back and then said loudly, trying his best to sound casual, "I could eat a tamale."

"Good." Tony returned, his keys in his hand. His eyes were bright, a little watery. "I'm gonna go get some. I'll be back."

He waited until he got halfway to the elevator and asked, "You coming, Spidey?"

Peter grinned, picked up the crutches, and hobbled over.

So yeah, Peter might not be crazy, but things were still a little fucked.

But they were gonna get better.

A/N:This has been a crazy week, I want to thank each and every one of you for all of the support you've shown this story and me! I think this is the fastest I've ever pumped out a story of this size, (111 pages). Some of it's because I have an over active imagination, but it's mostly because I was fueled on by the response y'all had. It was like fuel to a fire and I couldn't get enough!

The next story will be a little lighter. DoctorMead gave me another prompt and my imagination is already running with it!