"i'm still here, holding you"
Natasha woke slowly, senses tuning in to the quiet nighttime sounds of the Avengers compound. As she blinked her eyes open, she wasn't sure what had roused her until a faint noise came from down the hall - the strangled gasp of someone caught in the throes of a nightmare.
Throwing off her covers, Natasha slipped silently from her room and moved toward the distressed sounds. They were coming from Peter's room. Her heart clenched. Ever since they had lost Tony, the kid had been plagued by nightmares of failing to save his mentor. She should have known Peter's big heart would be haunted by fears of losing anyone else he cared for.
Reaching Peter's door, she knocked softly. "Peter? You okay?"
A muffled sob came through the door. "Nat?" Peter's voice sounded painfully young and afraid.
Natasha nudged the door open to find Peter huddled on his bed, sheets tangled around him and tears streaking his face. He looked even younger than his 18 years, like the child she still saw him as rather than the superhero he had become.
She was at his side in an instant, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling him into her embrace. "Shh, it's okay, I'm here," she soothed, running a hand through his sweat-dampened curls. "Just breathe, мой паук."
Peter clung to her desperately, still caught between dream and wakefulness. "Please be okay, please," he begged brokenly.
"I'm fine, Peter, I promise," she assured him. "You're safe, everyone is safe."
After long minutes, her steady litany of reassurances finally seemed to penetrate his panicked mind. His racing breaths began to slow. But his grip on her didn't loosen, face still buried against her shoulder.
"You died," he finally choked out. "I saw it, him stabbing you, and I couldn't get there fast enough. There was so much blood..."
He dissolved into fresh sobs that wracked his slight frame. Natasha felt her heart shatter. Her poor boy, to be so haunted by the possibility of failing those he cared for. She cupped the back of his head, speaking softly but firmly.
"Peter, listen to me. I'm right here, completely fine. No one is hurting me or anyone else. It was just a terrible dream."
Peter nodded jerkily but she could feel him still trembling. She shifted them so she was leaning back against the headboard, guiding Peter to rest against her chest so he could hear the steady beat of her heart, feel the rise and fall of her breathing. Physical reminders that she was present and whole.
She began carding her fingers through his hair. "Do you want to tell me about it?" she asked gently. It might help the dark images lose their power if spoken aloud.
Peter was quiet so long she thought he wouldn't answer. But finally he spoke in a small voice. "We were fighting something, some kind of shadow monster. It stabbed you before I could stop it. There was so much blood, on my hands, everywhere..." His breath hitched on a sob. "And then you just went still, looking right at me. Your eyes..."
He broke down again, fingers twisting desperately in her shirt like he was afraid she would slip away. Natasha blinked back tears of her own and hugged him close, letting him cry out the lingering fear.
"It wasn't real, Peter," she reminded him. "I'm still here, holding you. Can you feel my heartbeat? Focus on that."
She took exaggerated deep breaths, feeling his own breaths gradually synchronize with hers. The tension slowly eased from his slender frame as he centered himself in the present moment instead of the blood-soaked images haunting him.
When his tears finally slowed, she gently tilted his chin up. "Better?"
Peter nodded shakily, looking impossibly young with his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. It was easy to forget sometimes that underneath the suit and powers, he was still just a teenager, unseasoned in loss and grief. A kid who had already suffered more than his share.
On instinct, she pressed a light kiss to his forehead, feeling him sigh and relax faintly at the maternal gesture. "Think you can try to sleep again?"
But he quickly tensed, fingers tightening almost painfully on her arm. "No, please, I can't..." His breath sped up, eyes pleading. "Can you stay? Just until I fall asleep?"
Natasha's heart melted. "Of course, as long as you need," she soothed, resuming stroking his hair. She started humming an old Russian lullaby, one she vaguely remembered from her own childhood. Peter's eyelids soon grew heavy, the gentle melody and her touch coaxing him back to sleep. But his hand stayed fisted tightly in her shirt, as if making sure she couldn't slip away.
She stayed awake watching over him long after his grip finally relaxed, his features going soft and peaceful. But she knew the nightmares were likely to return. The only cure for fear was time and loving support. She resolved to provide both in whatever ways she could for this boy who had come to mean so much to her.
True to prediction, Peter continued suffering nightmares in the following nights. They came in waves, sometimes multiple times a night, leaving him shaken and Natasha even more fiercely protective. She started having FRIDAY alert her anytime Peter showed signs of distress so she could be there before the terrors fully gripped him.
On the worst nights, he barely let her out of his sight, as if her solid presence could stave off the blood-drenched images waiting behind his eyelids. Natasha cleared her schedule, focusing solely on caring for her hurting spiderling. She knew from brutal experience that trauma's wounds sank deep and took patience and time to heal. But she would walk this path with him for as long as it took.
During the days, she made sure he ate regularly, coaxing him to do at least some light training to tire his body since sleep provided little rest. The rest of the team helped where they could, never mentioning the dark circles under Peter's eyes or his newly clingy behavior toward Natasha. They just offered silent solidarity and distractions, for which she was grateful.
And at night, Natasha soothed away the visions haunting him, remaining a steady anchor through the storms raging within him. She let Peter cling to her, stroking his hair and murmuring comforting words in Russian until he fell asleep. Only after his tears dried and his fists unclenched from her shirt did she allow herself to doze, hyper aware of his every whimper.
It hurt to see him so anguished and know she could not simply wipe the trauma away, as much as she wished she could. But she focused on being grateful Peter at least allowed himself to take comfort from her and the rest of his found family. He was slowly healing, night by night, letting himself rely on their love to chase away the lingering shadows.
So Natasha gave him whatever he needed - a solid shoulder to cry on, gentle affection to soothe him, her voice and her arms sheltering him through the darkest hours. And when his smiles came more readily during the day, she had hope the nightmares' grip was loosening.
Until finally, miraculously, an entire week passed with no disturbances plaguing Peter's sleep. The haunted look in his eyes faded a bit more each day. Laughter came easier again when he was with his friends.
On that first nightmare-free night, after doing her habitual bedtime check-in, Peter assured her he would be okay on his own for once. Natasha nodded, tamping down her automatic protective response. He needed space to heal and feel secure again.
But habits were hard to break. Later that night she found herself creeping down the hall to hover outside Peter's door, listening for any signs of distress. Hearing only peaceful silence, she allowed herself a small smile. Her boy was getting back to himself. The wounds were mending.
As she silently made her way back to her own room, she sent up a grateful prayer to whatever powers watched over them that Peter's heart retained its hope and joy, with his family there to carry him through the darkness. And she vowed fiercely to help him bear any future burdens so he would never have to face such trials alone again.
One nightmare at a time, they would find their way. And she would remind him as often as he needed that while life carries sorrow, there is always light to be found, if you have loved ones to light your way.