"Where is he?" Tony demanded, busting into Natasha's room. She was standing at the sink in her bathroom coloring her roots.

"Where's who?" she asked, slightly irritated, but still nonchalant.

"The kid," Tony spit out.

Natasha sighed. "He's on the roof."

This took Tony by surprise, even though, it really shouldn't have. "What's he doing on the roof?" he asked, suddenly more curious than furious.

Natasha shrugged. "It's where he goes to think."

Without another word, Tony turned to go.

"Tony!" Natasha called after him.

He stopped, hesitated for a moment, then turned around. "What?"

"He's scared, by the way," she said quietly.

Tony scoffed. "Of what?"

Natasha looked at him in the mirror over her shoulder. "Of you." Tony gave her a look. "Just…think about going easy on him, ok?"

Tony nodded once, then left the room.

A few minutes later, her door burst open again. "What the hell happened out there?" Steve asked, stepping into the bathroom.

"You guys all seem to have the same misunderstanding of privacy in this house," Natasha mused.

Steve looked around as if suddenly realizing where he was. "Oh, sorry." He turned to go.

Nat threw up her hands in mock annoyance. "You might as well stay at this point," she said, turning her attention back to her roots.

Steve settled on the closed toilet. "So," he said far more calmly this time, "what happened?"

Natasha sighed then launched into a tale that began with a double agent and ended with her saving Spiderman from being kidnapped by said double agent when he showed up unannounced and unprepared to fight alongside her before CIA agents stepped in and ended the incident.

Steve looked at the clock. "When did this all happen?"

"This afternoon."

Steve looked at the clock again. "Shouldn't the kid have been in school?" Natasha gave him a knowing look. "Tony must be apoplectic." Steve rightly concluded. "Where is he?"

"They are up on the roof, having, what I imagine to be, a difficult conversation." Steve looked worried. "I told Tony to consider going easy on the kid. He's already pretty shaken up and fully expecting the worst. I suspect Tony's reading him the riot act and coming up with a whole new set of rules to keep him from killing himself. That is, if Peter actually tells him the truth about what happened and accepts the consequences for his actions."

"Do you think he'll do the right thing?" Steve asked.

"Which one?"

Steve acknowledged Nat's point with a nod and a grin. "The kid."

"Oh, I don't know, Steve," Nat shot back. "He's a kid. His pre-fontal cortex is still developing. For all I know, he'll finish his conversation with Tony and immediately go out and steal a car."

"Ok, ok," Steve answered, holding up his hands. They sat quietly for a moment. "And Tony?" he finally asked.

"Well," Natasha considered, "they've been up there for ten minutes and I haven't heard any screaming or seen Peter's body plunging off the roof, so maybe there's hope."

Tony stood next to the glass door accessing the roof and studied Peter for a long time. His protégé sat on the edge of the roof, legs dangling, shoulders hunched, looking pathetically morose. Tony shook his head, rolled his eyes, and pushed the door open.

"Hi Spiderman."

Peter's head jerked up, followed by the rest of his body. He knew that tone of voice. He'd heard it on the Staten Island Ferry. And he knew it meant trouble.

"Mr. Stark, I can…" Tony cut him off with a raised hand as he strode toward him.

"We're just going to talk, all right?" he said, conjuring up every ounce of gentleness he could. Nat had been right: The boy was terrified.

Tony pointed to the table and chairs and Peter obediently took a seat. Tony sat opposite him, folding his hands in front of him on the table. "When you're ready," he prompted quietly.

It took Peter a few false starts, but eventually, he was able to tell Tony that he had heard the sirens while sitting in English class, had pulled up the police alerts app on his phone, seen that the hostage situation was only three blocks from school, asked for the bathroom pass, changed into his Spider Suit, and swung his way over, only to find Natasha already there doing battle with a man in a suit who, it turned out, was a CIA agent gone rogue, and that the rogue agent had taken advantage of Spiderman's attempt to webcuff him by grabbing the webbing, jerking Spiderman down to the ground, grabbing him, and holding him at gunpoint until non-rogue CIA agents arrived and Natasha executed the coolest leg sweep he'd ever seen, grabbed him back, threw him on her bike, and sped back to the compound, oh, and the CIA agents had come in this really cool double-bladed, double-winged like, airplane thing, and…

"Ok, ok, I've got the picture," Tony finally interrupted. He rubbed his temples and eyes, feeling an electromagnetic headache coming on. He took a deep breath to reign in his anger. "All right, Mr. Parker," he said after a minute of silence, "what did you do wrong in this situation?"

Peter's eyes immediately found his shoes. He'd been so busy relaying the afternoon's adventure that he'd forgotten he was in a lot of trouble.

"I'm waiting," Tony said, sounding slightly less gentle now than he had a few minutes ago.

Peter stammered again, still looking at his shoes. "I…um, well, I guess…"

"Look at me."

Peter slowly looked up. Yes, Mr. Stark was pissed. Again. Peter sighed. "I left school, showed up in the middle of a situation without knowing what was going on, and, um, put myself in danger?"

Tony bit his lip. "What else?" Peter shook his head, seeming slightly confused. "What was the very first thing you did wrong today?"

"Um, had my phone out in class?"

"No, that was the second thing. What was the first thing?"

Peter looked as if he honestly had no idea what Tony was talking about, so Tony threw him a lifeline. It was on fire, but it was a lifeline nonetheless: "Why the hell wasn't your suit locked up here instead of in your backpack?!"

"Oh." Peter's shoes were once again the most interesting objects in the world.

"Peter."

"Are you going to…um, ya know…?" Peter asked, his eyes still on the ground.

Tony tried to hide a grin. "Am I going to what?" he asked, knowing full well what the question was, but deciding the boy needed to squirm a little bit.

"You know," Peter said, just above a whisper.

"Oh," Tony responded, "am I going to take my belt to your ass and make sure you never sit comfortably again?" Peter's ears reddened, and Tony let the threat sit in the air between them for just a moment. He sighed. "No, I think you've been through enough for one day. But," he said quickly holding up a finger, as Peter looked up hopefully, "this is a one-time deal. I don't care if you lose a limb the next time you disobey me by taking that suit without permission. We'll get you patched up, and then you'll spend some time bent over my desk. Understood?"

Peter swallowed hard. "Yes, Sir."

"That said," Tony continued, "you are very, very grounded for the foreseeable future. And you're deleting that app from your phone."

Peter mentally shrugged. That really was the only other possible way this conversation was going to end. "Yes, Sir," he said again.

Tony studied Peter for another minute, then waved his hand dismissively. "Go to your room. Vision will let you know when dinner is ready." Peter stood up and walked toward the door leading back into the house. "Oh, and Peter," Tony called after him, "if you haven't already, like at least 100 times, you'd better apologize to Natasha on your way there."

Peter nodded, a lump suddenly caught in his throat. He and Natasha hadn't spoken since she ordered him upstairs when they'd gotten back to the house.

Peter knocked timidly on the door.

"Come in." Natasha looked up from her desk. "It's good to see at least one man in this house understands privacy protocols," she said. Peter stood awkwardly in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back, studying his shoes yet again. Natasha stood up from her desk, and moved over to her bed. She sat down on the edge, then patted the spot next to him. Reluctantly, Peter sat next to her.

"You ok?" she asked, scanning him up and down, looking for telltale signs of posterior injury.

"I'm fine," Peter answered quietly. "Um, Miss Romanoff…"

"You can call me Nat."

Peter nodded shakily, "Um…Nat…" a tear dropped out of his eye onto his hands. "I'm so sorry," he said, his voice cracking.

"Hey," Natasha answered, pulling him into a hug, "it's ok. You're ok." She hesitated, realizing what he really needed to hear. "We're ok. I know you were just trying to help, and," she added, letting go of him but putting a finger under his chin so he would look at her, "I know you were trying to prove yourself." Peter tried to look away, but she held his face firmly. "We already know what you're capable of, Peter. Maybe even more than you do. And if Tony trusts you, so do the rest of us. Got it?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Oh. No." Natasha said, turning to look at Peter. "Don't you ever call me Ma'am." Then she quickly shot Peter a grin, hoping to forestall the panic attack she saw welling up in him. "This kid is sensitive!" she though to herself, making a mental note not to speak firmly to him, even jokingly, when he was already stressed.

Peter visibly relaxed just as Vision announced dinner was ready over the intercom. "You going to need a cushion to sit on?" Natasha teased lightly as they walked downstairs.

"No," Peter answered, "not this time. I am grounded, though."

"For how long?"

"I think for the rest of my life," he answered morosely.

"No," Tony said, suddenly coming down the stairs behind them, "just 'til you turn eighteen." Peter's groan resulted in Tony putting him in a playful headlock. "Oh," he added, "and you're on dish duty tonight. Vision made fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and apple pie. All from scratch. Isn't that great?"