Tony didn't have any grey hair before he met Peter. Other people may have said otherwise but they'd be wrong.

It felt like every day he knew the little troublemaker, the more grey hair he got. If he was feeling sentimental he may have said it were worth it, but in the moment, all it was, as stressful.

His latest grey hair was due to a dinner they had. Seriously, only Peter Parker could find trouble at a simple dinner.

"Are the others coming?" Peter hopped around the kitchen, excitedly, setting the table, as Tony stirred the pasta sauce in the pot.

"Steve and Bruce are coming, but Natasha needed everyone else on a mission with her. She said she was sorry, and that she'd make it up to you. Sorry, buddy. I know you were excited."

Peter shrugged, as he placed forks down on the table. "It's okay, she texted me before she left. She said she'd bring me back a souvenir."

Tony frowned at that. "What kind of souvenir is she going to get you? Do you even know what her mission is?"

Peter turned around, eyebrows scrunched and head tilted as he thought. "I don't know. I think it was something in Portugal, maybe she'll get me a magnet or something."

Tony turned back to the cooking, shaking his head. "I don't think so. Whatever she gives you, don't touch it until I've checked it over."

Peter groaned at his fun being spoiled. "Awww."

"Whats for dinner?" Steve came in, sweat towel slung around his shoulders. Tony immediately wrinkled his nose, pointing towards the door.

"Uh uh, no way. You are not coming to the table in sweats, while covered in sweat. It's disgusting. You're being a bad example for the kid. Go change."

Peter ran over, smiling, and started pushing on the first avengers back. "Yeah, you have to wash your hands, for family dinner!"

Steve laughed and relented, leaving. "Fine! Okay, stop pushing."

Bruce came in as he was leaving, immediately frowning and pulling an air freshener dispenser from a shelf. "It's really not safe to have this in the kitchen, Tony."

Tony waved a hand. "Oh, that's not a fragrance. It's bug spray- and before you complain about that, it's not toxic to anyone but bugs. So, chill and take a seat."

The Doctor obliged, grumbling about the dangers of toxins in the kitchen. Steve came back in and joined him at the table, with a clean shirt and trousers, just as Tony finished up with the pasta.

"Okay, everyone ready? Peter helped me with it, so if you don't like it just blame him."

Peter snickered, as he sat down, excited. He'd been waiting for this dinner all week, although really it could have gone better.

The pasta tasted good, and the conversation was so boring it was actually nice.

"How did you do on that chemistry test, Peter?"

He smiled, stabbing at more pasta with his fork. Tony had given him and Steve a mountain pile of pasta, that even their enhanced metabolisms may have trouble dealing with, and he nodded as he ignored the sudden itch in his throat.

"Yeah, I haven't gotten my grade back yet, but I think I did really well. Thanks for helping me study."

Bruce smiled kindly. "Not a problem. You pick up the material so quickly, you practically teach yourself."

Peter frowned, lifting a hand to his throat, as he wheezed. Steve noticed first, looking at him with concern. "Peter? Are you okay?"

Peter shook his head. It was getting hard to breathe, and he was certain his lips were fatter than they should have been.

Bruce looked up, face turning white, and Peter's heart began racing when Tony dropped his fork.

"Oh my god."

Peter sucked in another laboured breath, watching the three men stare at him. He was getting worried now. He felt weird, and wrong, and his heart was beating so fast he thought he might have a panic attack.

It was hard to speak. "I c-can't breathe."

Bruce shot out of his chair in an instant, racing to his side, and placing his careful fingers on Peters chin; tilting his face to see better. Peter almost didn't want to know what he was seeing. His face felt puffy, and it was getting hard to see. Why was it getting hard to see? Why couldn't he breathe?

Tony's voice was thin, and scared. "Bruce? What's happening?"

Peter dragged in another wheeze, as the doctor answered; quick and worried. "He's going into anaphylactic shock! We need to get him to the med bay, now! Steve, grab him."

Peter could feel tears roll down his puffy cheeks, as he let out a choked sob. Steve jumped from his seat, dinner forgotten, as he raced over and scooped Peter into his arms, and held him to his chest as he and the others ran to the med bay.

Peter didn't know what was happening, all he knew was that he couldn't breathe and that he was scared.

Bruce ran ahead, looking back to Peter as he ran, eyebrows creased in concern over his glasses. Steve just held Peter tighter, arms tensing as he tried not to jostle the kid too much, and Peter gripped his shirt, trying to get a full chestful of air in.

Bruce immediately started rummaging around, pulling things from shelves and drawers, as soon as they arrived in the med bay. Peter was gasping for breath, when Steve placed him down on the bed, and Tony didn't know what to do.

He stood back, watching Peters back arch on the bed, hands gripping the sheets, as he desperately tried to pull any air in at all. His face was swollen, he didn't look like himself at all; and Tony didn't know what had happened.

It had seemed to happen so quickly.

Tears rolled down Peters swollen cheeks, and the worst thing was that Tony could tell that if he could just breathe, he would be sobbing; but he didn't have the air.

He wanted to help, to do anything to make Peter feel better, anything to make the agony less; but he didn't know what to do.

Steve looked as shocked as Tony was, stumbling back from the bed as soon as he'd placed Peter down. But he froze, as Peters hands gripped the sheets so hard they began to tear; Steve jumped forward and gripped his hand, pulling it from the sheet and squeezing it in his own.

His voice was barely calm, edged with panic. "It's okay, Peter! Bruce is gonna fix it! You'll be okay!"

Tony felt his whole body tremble, as he watched Peter, but he wanted to do something. He stepped towards the bed, reaching for the teenager, before Steve held a hand out towards him.

"Don't! Tony, I'm sorry. He could crush your hand like this."

Steve's expression was creased in apology, but Tony knew he was right. Steve's fingers were red with the force of Peters grip. But there had to be something he could do.

Bruce answered his silent request, calling out as he moved back to Peter.

"Get the oxygen!"

Tony took the instruction with gusto, racing over and grabbing it, as Bruce started injecting things into Peter's thigh. The kid was having so much trouble breathing, Tony didn't know if an oxygen mask would do any good.

It was agony to watch Peter in so much trouble, and not have anything better to do, than hold a mask to his face. He didn't even know what was happening.

Bruce was trying to stay calm, as he worked; injecting shot after shot into the teenagers leg. But Tony had known him a long time, and he knew, that the concentrated look on Bruce's face, and the quiet muttering under his breath, meant that he was as freaked out as he was.

It took far too long for Peters heart rate to calm, and longer for his breathing to become anything but wheezy gasps. But, finally, it seemed as though he was going to be okay.

Peter looked exhausted, laying in the bed, and taking even breaths. His hand was trembling, but he held it out to Tony all the same, other one still clutching Steve's tight.

Tony looked at the hand, and back up at Peter who cracked a smile, despite his still swollen face. "I promise not to squeeze too hard."

Tony let out a breathy laugh, and took it, using his other to wipe the stray tears from the kids face. "You okay? You really freaked me out, back there."

Peter nodded, although his breath still came with a hint of strain. "Sorry."

Tony shook his head. "It's not your fault."

Bruce spoke up, from where he was fiddling with something. "No, its not his fault. It's this things fault."

He held up the aerosol dispenser, as if it made any sense. Steve frowned.

"What? How did that almost kill Peter?"

Bruce pushed his glasses up his nose, trying to look serious in what was really a ridiculous situation. "Peter had an anaphylactic reaction, which is a very extreme form of an allergic reaction. And it was caused by the bug spray."

Steve looked confused. "Peters allergic to bug spray? I thought it was only toxic to bugs?"

Tony was about to say the same thing, when suddenly Peter started laughing.

"I am a bug! I'm Spider-Man! I almost got killed from bug-spray?"

Tony frowned, looking almost offended. "Peter, this isn't funny! That was terrifying and this is very serious!"

Bruce felt the same way, putting the aerosol down, and trying to calm the teenager. "Tony's right, you need to keep your heart rate down; its very important."

Peter just kept on laughing, and Tony threw up his hands in exasperation. "Well, I'm glad you find this funny! I'm going to look like an old man by the end of this week if you keep this up! I'll be fully grey in no time with you here!"

Peter was still laughing, despite the fact that he had almost been killed in the middle of dinner, and Tony watched him, just glad he was alive to giggle so much. Okay, maybe the grey hairs were worth it.