Request by fandom_milkshake (Wattpad)
TW: mental disorder, anxiety, breakdown, mention of harming others, mention of murder, mentioned loss of sanity
Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel.
3rd Person P.O.V.
Peter had always been a bit different. At first, it just appeared that he liked to be neat and organized, that he just liked things to be a certain way, that he wanted things to be in their proper place. Which isn't particularly abnormal behavior, especially in younger children.
It was only after Peter had turned 11 that people around him started to notice that something was a little off with the way he did things. It was brushed off as perfectionism for a few more years, everyone being satisfied with that label slapped onto the boy.
And then Peter was turning 13, and he was becoming more anxious. He often found himself lost in his thoughts, thoughts that were rather intrusive and disturbing. Thoughts that were completely illogical, most of the time.
So when Peter was heading to the bathroom every 10 minutes- on the dot- to wash his hands, people called him a hypochondriac. And Peter assumed they were right- after all, the voices in his head told him that if he touched something, or if he wasn't washing his hands constantly, then he would have germs all over him. So, Peter was a hypochondriac perfectionist.
And when Peter would brush his teeth exactly three times every night, it was just him caring about his hygiene. And when he would double-check that the doors and windows were locked before he went to bed, it was just him being cautious. And when Peter would flick the light switch in his room eight times before climbing into bed, it was just some strange quirk that brought him comfort.
Right?
Peter was 15 when he finally learned that these were not just meaningless tasks he did- they were his compulsions. Compulsions caused by an obsession, whether it was germs, cleanliness, or just trying to quiet the thoughts buzzing around angrily in his mind. His doctor explained it to him, giving Peter the diagnosis to explain what people around him had just brushed off as something less serious.
OCD, or obsessive-compulsive disorder. Peter had heard of it before, usually in the form of "ugh, I'm so OCD!" or "wow, do you have OCD or something?". It was this treatment of his disorder that made Peter feel ashamed of himself, as if it was his fault he wasn't like those other people, people who didn't have to flick the light switch exactly eight times so he wouldn't die in his sleep, people who didn't need to wash their hands until the skin was dry and raw from scrubbing, people that were normal. Because Peter certainly didn't feel normal. He felt like an imposter amongst these people who talked about mental disorders like they were a plague that could be caught.
So Peter kept his diagnosis a secret. Only he and his aunt May knew- plus his doctor, of course. And by the time Peter was 16, he had become much better at hiding it, barely raising any suspicion, blaming his constant bathroom trips on "a small bladder" or "all the water he drank that morning", or making up other various excuses for any behavior that could possibly be considered "abnormal." Nobody suspected a thing.
As time went on, Peter juggling his life as Spiderman along with his school life and home life, he could feel the stress of it all building up inside him. He found himself unable to sleep most nights, anxiety keeping him awake. His eight flicks of the light switch had doubled- now he had to flip the switch exactly 16 times before he could even think about getting in bed. And if he lost count or accidentally did an extra switch? He had to start over, because if he didn't do this every night, then he would lose his mind and go on a murderous rampage (at least, that's what his thoughts told him would happen).
Peter felt like he was drowning. Everything was slowly building up inside him, stress and anxiety and panic all swirling around to create a recipe for disaster. Peter wasn't really sure how it happened, but one day, he hit his breaking point.
The day had started out simply enough. Peter had woken up, done his routine, and gone to school. It was a Friday, so after school he headed over to Stark Tower to hang out with the Avengers and his boyfriend, Harley. Nothing too out of the ordinary.
But Peter couldn't seem to get his thoughts back under control. His leg bounced, foot-tapping in a firmly regular pattern. It was comforting, in a way. He managed to make it to bedtime without a problem, until Harley asked Peter if he wanted to spend the night in his room.
They had never shared a room before, not overnight, at least. Peter was torn- of course he wanted to sleep in Harley's room, but at the same time, he didn't want his boyfriend to know about his OCD.
In the end, Peter had ended up accepting, choosing to get ready for bed in his own room. He brushed his teeth the mandatory three times, did his quick round of the doors to check the locks, then headed into Harley's room, ready for bed. What Peter didn't think about, however, was how he was supposed to flick the lights on and off 16 times without Harley noticing.
"Darlin'? Ready for bed?" The blond asked, shaking Peter from his thoughts. The brunette glanced at the light switch, hesitating for a moment before swallowing nervously and nodding.
"Yeah..." Peter was scared, he didn't want to get in bed without finishing his routine. He couldn't get in bed without doing it. He stood at the end of the bed, frozen in place with a funny expression on his face. Harley frowned, confused by his boyfriend's hesitance to join him in bed.
"Darlin'...? Something wrong?" Harley's voice was full of concern, and that seemed to be Peter's final breaking point. He fell to his knees, letting out a loud, heaving sob. Harley was in shock, completely unsure of what had happened. Still, he knew he had to do something, he couldn't just sit and stare.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," he comforted, kneeling down next to Peter. He didn't try to hug the smaller boy or anything, not knowing if that would help or make it worse. "I promise you, whatever it is, it's okay. We can talk about it, fix it together, alright? But you need to tell me what's bothering you."
"What's going on in here?" Tony pushed the door open, seeing both boys on the floor, one sobbing hysterically and the other looking helplessly lost. Tony gave Harley a questioning look, but the southern boy just shrugged, shaking his head. He had no idea what was wrong either.
"Kiddo? What's wrong?" Peter didn't respond, but did climb into Harley's arms, hugging the blond like his life depended on it. Harley was beyond confused, but didn't hesitate to shush the crying boy and rub slow circles into his back.
"Shhhh, it's okay, I promise you, it's okay," Harley murmured soothingly. Peter was finally beginning to calm down, sobs turning to wet hiccups and soft snivels. Harley gently cupped Peter's cheek, looking him in the eyes. Peter's cheeks were red and tear-stained, eyes bloodshot with a watery appearance to them. He looked absolutely miserable, and Harley felt his heart ache for the boy he loved.
"Harls..." Peter croaked, sniffling quietly.
"Will you please talk to me, darlin'?" Harley asked slowly. Peter nodded, tucking his head into the crook of Harley's neck. Tony was still standing in the doorway, but decided it might be better to back away now and ask questions later. This was obviously a tender moment between the two, and he didn't want to make whatever conversation they were about to have harder than it had to be. The door clicked shut, and Peter and Harley were alone.
"I... I have these thoughts... a-and they tell me... they tell me bad things," Peter admitted, voice slightly scratchy from crying.
"What kind of bad things?" Harley wondered, speaking soft and slow.
"Um... like if I don't do c-certain things, then something bad will happen..." His voice shook ever-so-slightly, and Harley felt his heart ache for Peter. "Like, um... if I don't... if I don't flip the light switch 16 times before getting in bed, then I'll... I'll..."
"It's okay, I'm not going to judge you. You can trust me, alright? I'll still love you the same," Harley reassured.
"I'll lose my sanity and..." Peter shuddered. "I'll kill someone." Harley wasn't going to lie, that was a bit of a terrifying confession.
"Peter, darlin', listen to me." He gently caressed Peter's cheek, fingers trailing down to hold his chin loosely. "You aren't going to hurt anyone just because you didn't flip the light switch a bunch of times-"
"16 times," Peter interrupted.
"Uh- yeah, 16 times. That isn't going to be what decides if you do something or not." Peter was shaking his head furiously, breaths shaky.
"Yes it is, I have to flip the switch 16 times before getting in bed or else somebody will die and it'll be all my fault," Peter insisted. Harley honestly had no idea what to do. He felt like some detail of what Peter was describing to him was familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. Maybe Peter knew?
"Sweetheart... did you ever talk to a professional about this?" From the way Peter tensed up, Harley knew he had struck a nerve.
"They said I had OCD," the brunette mumbled, looking down in shame. Harley wiped a tear from Peter's cheek, smiling softly.
"That's okay, nothing to be ashamed of. But maybe we should get you some help, alright? It might help you be able to escape these thoughts." Peter seemed hesitant, but Harley wasn't expecting immediate agreement anyway. "At least consider it, okay?" The smaller boy nodded, sighing softly. "Thank you for telling me. You still want to sleep in here tonight?"
"Can I flip the light switch?" Peter asked shyly, fidgeting with his fingers. Harley nodded, getting in bed while Peter carefully counted out 16 flips of the switch. He then climbed into bed next to Harley, lights still on.
"Um..." Harley frowned. "Is it okay if I go turn the lights off?" Peter's head turned so quickly, eyes wide.
"Nononono!" He shook his hands out, waving them frantically. Harley got out of bed, hearing a loud cry from the bed.
"I won't touch the light switch, alright? I just want to turn off the lights." Peter watched as Harley went over to the lamp, pulling the plug and sending the room into darkness. He then returned to the bed, pulling Peter into his arms, spooning the smaller boy.
"Thank you, Harls. I love you," Peter whispered.
"I love you too, darlin'."