Stim the stress away
Pavitr
It had been been a long and draining mission for Pavitr. Getting back to HQ, anomaly contained, report in hand, and an equally as tired Gwen following close behind was well received by the two as it meant they could finally rest.
Well...
Rest is perhaps a generous word, if you ask Pavitr. Resting to Pav was stimming his heart out to finally release that overwhelming energy inside him. To get rid of all the stress, panic and sheer agony of keeping said things in. That's the thing with missions, you collect of a lot of that. And it weighs heavy when it lingers. And unfortunately for Pav it's not how anyone else he knows comes back from missions- at least not those in his inner circle like Gwen or Hobie. Which means that when Gwen suggests getting some food from the noisy bustling spidey cafe after they've been to the med-bay, he feels compelled to agree with her. It's not Gwen's fault of course, she doesn't seem to realise that's the last thing he'd even want to do, and he's never said otherwise so how would she know?
So that's what they do; they get themselves checked out and cleared for any major injuries and head to the cafe. And the noise upon arrival is enough to make Pavitr wince quietly to himself. God he just wants to sit in a quiet room- preferably his own room- and stim stim stim. Unbeknownst to him he begins to little wiggle his fingers, slowly flexing his wrists as he and Gwen get a snack and seat themselves at a table. 'Just a little longer Pav, and then you can get home and have some time to relax' he thinks to himself. He's not really paying much attention to Gwen's rambling of the mission they've just come from.
"I can't believe that Doc Ock really thought he was gonna just get away with living 'quietly' in your universe?" She says, before taking another bite, she continues. "I mean, come on dude! You think we believe that? Did he just think nah! Spider-Man India himself is gonna let that slide? Honestly, I'm so glad we got that over with! I mean-" and on Gwen goes, talking so much Pav doesn't really have a chance to get a word in (not that he minds right now) letting him slowly get caught entirely in his thoughts and-
Oh no. He knows that feeling. That mind numbingly and never ending feeling of pinpricks on his skin. He knows it's overstimulation and god he just wants to scream. 'How has Miguel not thought of having sensory rooms in this place?!' Is the last thing he can think of before he sees Gwen slowly reaching her hand over to him. "Pav, buddy you okay?" Pavitr can only flinch away and cover his ears before she pulls her hand away. He shakes his head. Talking seems too much but he manages to speak in whisper, "it's too much, too loud!" Now Pavitr is watching Gwen get up and thinks 'oh god, she thinks I'm so stupid right now- come on Pavitr! You're Spider-Man! Pull. It. Together!'
Gwen slowly pulls him up and out of the cafe, and into a secluded room. Her touch on his shoulders is feather light and honestly if he hadn't been with her the whole time, he'd think she wasn't there. "Here, let's get you seated. I'm gonna turn the lights off, okay?" She says gently. He nods, and begins to unravel from himself as the wiggling fingers and wrist flexes come back. He just wants to get it out. But he's not sure how to say that, let alone if he can do that without Gwen thinking he's some sort of idiot- someone incapable of holding the title of Spider-Man. Thankfully, Gwen speaks quietly again and tells him that he can do whatever he needs to do. It's okay. As she sits quietly next to him on a beanbag.
So he does. He stands up and just jumps on his toes and then down again, then repeats. As he slowly begins to feel comfortable that no, Gwen isn't judging him, she's not even looking, she's just sat quietly looking at the ceiling, he begins to do it and spin at the same time. And then that built up tension seems to seep out of him. So he continues and continues for what feels like forever, until he finally feels like he can just wiggle his fingers again and flex his wrists and finally sit down. He's exhausted. But at least he can say he feels like himself again- as much as he can without a nap at least. He turns to Gwen with a look of shyness, "sorry about that Gwen, I don't-" but is cut off. "No, none of that. It's fine Pav. I'm sorry I didn't realise sooner." Pav's heart feels so very full. "You feeling better now?" She asks, and when he says he's actually exhausted from it all, she lifts her wrist and opens a portal home for him. "Go rest Pav, and if you need to stim or let it all out again you can tell me, I get it. I love ya, you know." She says with a soft voice and small smile on her face. He nods, mirroring her smile before going through the portal. He lands in his room, straight upon his bed and sleeps with a full heart.
Miles
Before Miles became Spider-Man, moments of complete overstimulation were relatively infrequent. His art gave him a great sense of control and eased his anxieties when then got to bad, and being able to use his uncles punching bag also came in handy when art just wasn't enough. But now those forms of regulation aren't as accessible to him, he finds those dreaded moments of stress creeping up on him more often. Whether it be between patrols or on missions, Miles is often walking on a knives edge to stay focused and not scream at the top of his lungs.
The thing is, Miles knows he's a bit different from others- and no, not just because he's Spider-Man. No, Miles knows he's autistic. He isn't oblivious to the way that it seems only he reacts 'overly' sensitive or in some instances not enough. So yeah, Miles knows that he needs to do other things- stimming, to regulate himself. It's just... Spider-Man isn't meant to do that, right? It's not ever in any comics he's read or seen. And when he thinks a little too much about how yet again he strays from the expectations set for him as Spider-Man he can feel that stress creeping up even more until it swirls around his head like a never ending carousel of shame and guilt. 'Miguel was right, I'm not meant to be Spider-Man. I'm an anomaly!' He thinks to himself.
It's this very mindset that keeps Miles from sharing this part of himself with those in the spider society. He knows realistically they'd understand, that his friends would support him. Yet the thought of saying "Hey, I need to stim or I am gonna just scream until I cry." isn't something he's willing to say, let alone act upon. Especially when the stimming Miles is desperately withholding is to make various noises and rocking in a corner. Yeah, he's not sharing that with the class thank you very much. He's just started being allowed on missions and to be in the society, he can't risk losing that.
Of course, the universe (or any for that matter) doesn't seem to care about fucking over Miles Morales. It seems to take joy in doing so, in fact. Which is why Miles finds himself returning from a mission, bruised and totally overstimulated by the intensity of having to bring an anomaly to HQ single handedly because even with back up, this villian only seemed to have it out for Miles himself. Hobie was just collateral to the villian, and came out pretty much unscathed despite his efforts to help. So once Miles brings the report to Miguel's desk, he and Hobie take a moment to chill out in one of the many hallways in HQ.
Hobie is picking at an empanada as Miles picks at the holes that have formed on his suit. There's pinpricks under his skin, and they're getting more intense and he stands under the bright lights of the hallway. Part of Miles berates himself for not bringing his sketchbook, he could really use a distraction right now- and it'd be a great excuse to avoid any questions. However, what Miles doesn't anticipate is for Hobie's spideysense to kick off at his growing discomfort.
"You good mate?" Hobie asks, glancing at Miles, silently assessing him. It makes his skin crawl even more to be under the lights and his friends gaze. "Yeah, fine man, it's cool." Miles says. Except it's hardly believably given the way it's rushed out in one big breath, emphasising how it clearly isn't fine, nor cool but rather the exact opposite.
Hobie obviously isn't convinced. "You sure, because you're looking a bit worse for wear right now, mate." And once Hobie says it Miles knows he can't hold it in much longer. Miles slides down the wall, sitting on the floor and begins to rock. Backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, and then begins to shake his fists by his head. He can't look at Hobie, fearing that he'll be met with eyes full of disgust or hatred. Even with that fear inside him, Miles can't bring himself to stop, the scalding hot fire under his skin is too much and will come back with a vengeance if he stops now, and if he's honest he thinks he'd rather not see Hobie again if he's ever makes it through this.
Whilst he's focused in his own world and his own mind, Miles doesn't notice Hobie slowly slide next to him, and with a whiteboard and pen in his hand. It's the light but steady tapping over his combat boots which miles rocks in time to that begins to bring him back to the present. It's comforting to hear the reliable beat of Hobie's shoes against the hard floor, enough so that Miles dares to look up at his friend. The chorus of 'Please don't be mad at me, please don't hate me,' fades immediately when he sees what Hobie has written on the whiteboard.
How can I help?
It's followed by a doodle of flowers and spiders, and Miles can't help but smile, even though he can't quite catch the words that are spinning inside his brain. So he slowly reaches out to the pen in Hobie's hand, who passes it and the whiteboard over to him, allowing him to write back.
Dark room and a corner please
It's basic information but he can't quite get much more out, so he draws it instead. Two figures one enveloped in a bear hug, clearly meant to say "I need pressure". Thankfully, Hobie understands and takes a hold of Miles, sprawling his weight over Miles' shoulders as they make their way to an empty room. The lights are dimmed as far as they can go, and Hobie places Miles in a corner giving him the opportunity to rock against the wall, gently enough to not harm him, and shake his fists until he can regain control of his mind and feel the fire under his skin begin to settle. Soon Miles can feel his mouth begin to move and he finds himself humming slightly. Hobie sits quietly next to him, making a steady but not overbearing beat with his boots against the floor.
Eventually after some time, Miles comes back to himself and leans against Hobie, who pauses his tapping. "Thanks Hobie, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me." He says, his voice is rough from his consistent humming. "Don't apologise mate, it all goes Pete Tong sometimes, you know? Nothing to be sorry for. Always happy to help a mate." Hobie replies. If Miles had more energy he'd ask Hobie to repeat the first part again, but for now he was happy to sit quietly against his friend.
'Yeah, I'm gonna be okay,' Miles thinks to himself.