I've Got You
"Peter?"
Peter was floating. He had been cold. He remembered that. And his feet had hurt. But he wasn't cold anymore. He was warm. Laying on something soft and wrapped in a blanket, and every time he tried to move, his body refused to obey. He wrinkled his nose, the only part of him that seemed willing to obey him, and then he managed to turn his head, just a little.
"Pete? C'mon, Spiderling." A hand rested on his cheek, a thumb brushing under his eye.
He'd been kidnapped. He remembered then. He'd been...out? Somewhere? And then...then he'd been hanging from his hands, bare feet skimming the floor, cold and starving and terrified but he'd been brave and he'd gotten away. Right? Hadn't he gotten away? Because...because then Uncle Rhodey had been there! And Steve Rogers, who he hadn't seen in a while. They'd both been there. And more Avengers. Maybe even the new one. They'd found him!
Had his dad been there? He wanted his dad. With a fierceness that cut through the haze in his mind, he wanted his dad! "Dad?" he called, voice slurring, mouth refusing to form the words correctly, but he said it again, turning his head, searching. The hand on his cheek moved to brush his hair back.
"Right here. I'm right here, baby. Open your eyes. Come on, Pete. I'm right here." The voice was pleading, and Peter fought to obey. To force his eyes open despite his lingering exhaustion and the ache that returned slowly as he seemed to drag himself back into wakefulness.
"Dad?"
"That's right, buddy. I'm here."
The world was too bright even though the room was dim, and slowly, it came into focus. A lamp a few feet away. The familiar walls of the medbay. And right beside him, his dad. "Dad!" He struggled to sit up, trying to get out of the blankets, and his dad helped, pushing them away and then pulling Peter into his arms, holding him in a crushing hug. "Dad...Daddy…" Peter chanted his name through tears that came on suddenly and refused to stop, his hands sticking firmly to his dad's back with no intention of letting go any time soon.
"I'm here baby. I've got you. You're safe now. I'm right here," his dad murmured, rocking him back and forth and moving to sit on the bed, laying back against the pillows and pulling the blankets up over them. "I'm right here. I'm here. You're safe. I've got you."
Peter sobbed into his shoulder, his whole body shaking, and he had a vague memory of crying in Uncle Rhodey's arms too. Had that been real? Had he really walked through the forest and gotten away from the bad guys?
"I got out," he whispered into his dad's shirt, still crying. "Dad...Dad, I got out. I broke...broke the chains and...and…"
"I know. I know you did. You were so smart, Peter. So brave."
"I was scared," Peter cried, shaking his head, and his dad tightened his arms.
"I know you were. But you were still so brave, baby. You got away all by yourself." His Dad stroked his hair, rocking him and holding him and Peter knew that he should stop crying because there was nothing to cry about! He was safe now. Because his dad was holding him and his dad would never let anything happen to him.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah, buddy?"
"I'm still scared." Peter whispered it like a terrible secret, shame making his cheeks hot.
His dad tightened his arms, shaking his head a little. "I'm so sorry. It's okay to be scared. But I've got you. I won't let anyone hurt you."
And Peter believed him. But they'd already gotten him. They'd already hurt him. "Who were they?" he whispered from his dad's shirt.
"They...they were trying to make me give them money."
His dad held him for so long that he started to get hot, but Peter didn't want to let go. Didn't think that he could bear to let him go. Because what if those people took him again? What if they came after him and this time, Peter couldn't get away? What if he had to walk through the forest alone again? What if no one found him this time and he died all alone in the woods? Finally, though, the man rubbed his back and pressed his lips to his hair. "Alright, buddy. Why don't we get you something to eat?"
Peter shook his head, trembling at the thought of letting go, and his dad sighed.
"We're at the tower. In the medbay. You're safe here, I promise. Hey," he pulled back and Peter let him, his dad's hand pressing against his cheek. "All of the Avengers are here. We arrested the men that tried to hurt you. You're safe."
"But what about when I have to leave?"
"Then I'll be with you. Or Happy."
Suddenly he remembered, and he sat bolt upright. Happy. He'd been on his way to school with Happy! "Where's Uncle Happy?"
"He's fine," his dad was quick to reassure him. "He just got a little banged up. He's okay now. In fact, he was asking to see you. Maybe he can come for a quick visit after you eat something?"
Peter nodded, forcing his hands to let go. Forcing himself to unstick. He was safe, he reminded himself as his dad moved back just a little, even as his own heart pounded in his ears. He was safe. He was with his dad and he'd said that the Avengers were all at the tower, even the new one, and the bad guys were in prison or jail or wherever his dad put bad guys.
A nurse brought him a bowl of soup, and he dutifully ate it, along with the crackers and the sandwich, his dad at his side the whole time. Then, as his dad had promised, Uncle Happy came into his hospital room, one of his arms in a sling, black and purple bruises mottling his face. But his uncle wrapped his one good arm around Peter, squeezing him hard and telling him how glad he was that he was okay.
Peter wanted to say that he wasn't okay. That bad men had taken him and hurt him and now his dad said he was safe but what if those men took him again? What if they hurt him again? Or what if they hurt Uncle Happy or his dad? Still, he just forced a smile and asked Uncle Happy if he was okay and listened to his reassurances that he was. Then his Uncle Rhodey came to his room and held him in his arms for a long time...long enough that Peter started to drift off.
But it felt like as soon as he fell asleep, he was back in that room. Or maybe the forest. One minute he was tied up, his wrists aching and bleeding, the next, he was running through the forest, crying and bleeding and moving one leg in front of the other until he couldn't anymore. Until he was laying on the ground, shivering and crying and calling for his dad over and over until he was shaken gently awake by his father who scooped him up into his arms, sitting on the bed once more and assuring him over and over that it was okay. That he was safe.
But Peter didn't feel safe.
He didn't feel safe when he moved back into his own bedroom and woke up crying or screaming from nightmares every night. He didn't feel safe when he ate breakfast with his dad and mom, who seemed reluctant to let him out of their sight. He didn't feel safe when he sat in his room or when he was in the lab with his dad or even when he climbed up into the corner of the living room, huddling there at night sometimes until his dad came along, climbing up onto the sofa and getting as close as he could, but still not close enough to touch.
"It's okay, Pete. You're okay," his dad would always assure him. But Peter didn't know how to believe it.
His dad gave him a week off of school. A week of doing homework at home and putting off a phone call to Ned. But when he lay in his bed on Sunday night, knowing that the next day he would have to leave the tower, he found himself staring at the ceiling, heart pounding too fast and too loud until his chest hurt and tears filled his eyes. He would have to leave the tower, where all of the Avengers were, and go out in a car and even though he didn't remember what had happened, he knew that he'd been in a car with Happy. And they'd hurt Uncle Happy and kidnapped him.
Peter crawled out of bed, trembling as he inched out into the hallway. He wanted to be high up. Higher than his bed or his ceiling. So he hurried out into the living room, wrapped in his blanket, and took to the walls, climbing into the highest corner he could reach. No one could get him there, except Thor who could use his hammer to fly. And his dad and Rhodey, who could use their suits. And, he had to remind himself, the new sort-of Avenger, Sam, who was Steve's friend and who had a special wingsuit.
Closing his eyes, Peter tried not to remember the dark room. Tried not to remember calling out for Jarvis and his dad or how much it had hurt to break those chains and run through the woods. He didn't care that he was too big to cry. Didn't care that his dad might be upset if he found him awake and crying in the living room practically on the ceiling. He didn't want to leave the tower and he didn't understand why those men had wanted to hurt him.
Footsteps in the hall made him stop, burying his face in the blanket and trying to hide, holding his breath as though that would stop someone from seeing him. "Huh...Jarvis? What exactly am I seeing here?" a soft voice asked, and Peter stayed absolutely still. He'd met Sam Wilson once, and all he knew about him was that he lived in Washington DC most of the time, he had a special suit that he could use to fly, and that he came to the tower sometimes to do Avengers stuff and to talk to his dad or Steve.
"I believe young master Peter is not feeling well," Jarvis told him simply. "It may be best that I wake his father."
"Don't wake Tony just yet," Sam murmured, and his footsteps came closer before stopping right underneath him. "Peter?"
Peter didn't move from his blanket nest, the tears still rolling down his cheeks, but he didn't want to be rude to the new Avenger who was also Steve's friend. Even though he didn't know Steve very well, he knew that he was his dad's friend, and that Steve had helped his Uncle Rhodey save him. So, swallowing hard, he tried to make his voice sound normal. "Hi."
"Are you feeling sick?"
"No." It wasn't strictly true, but Peter didn't want to admit how he felt. How his stomach felt queasy and how his heart was beating too fast and his chest hurt.
"Do you want me to get your dad?"
"No."
"Okay." Peter snuck a peek at the man and found him nodding as if to himself, then watched him walk over to the sofa and sit down. Relaxing a little, Peter poked his head out of the blanket, his feet and one hand pressed to the wall. The man gave him a small smile, draping one arm over the arm of the sofa. "You know, Steve told me what happened. It's pretty amazing that you were able to get away by yourself. That must have been scary."
Hesitantly, Peter nodded.
"Back when I was overseas fighting in the war, I used to fly into enemy territory to help rescue people. That's how I got my suit."
Peter watched him for a moment, then lowered his eyes, staring at the floor as he asked the question. "Were you scared?"
"Hell yeah," Sam told him, then pressed his lips together. "I mean, uh...yeah. I was."
"Dad says that word too," Peter tried to reassure him. The man chuckled.
"Yeah?"
"Mhm. But he says all of those words are mom's words, so I'm not supposed to say them. That's what he used to tell me when I was little."
Sam grinned up at him. "Probably best not to start using the bad words until you're a little older."
Peter hesitated, then decided to ask since it was dark and he was safe and high up. "Sam?"
"What's up?"
"Did...when you were scared, or...or when you got back from saving people, did you ever have bad dreams?"
Sam nodded. "I sure did. All the time. I still do sometimes."
Peter looked around the room, then edged just a little further down the wall. "After the big fight in New York, I got hurt because one of the monsters came into our apartment, and I tried to climb down but I fell. Then...then when I was at school one day, my mom, not Pepper but my real mom, picked me up and tried to take me away. And after that, I had really bad dreams, and so did my dad."
"That sounds really scary. Did your bad dreams ever go away?"
"Kind of. We talked to a doctor every week and it made me feel better sometimes."
"Do you still talk to somebody?"
Peter shook his head. "Not really."
"Do you want to?"
Peter shook his head again. "I don't want to talk about that," he whispered, lip trembling. He wished he could stop crying. Wished he could just forget that it had ever happened. But he kept seeing the room and the men and the forest where he had thought he would die.
"About what happened when those men kidnapped you?"
Peter nodded.
"Hey, Peter?"
"Hm?"
"I think I'm going to make some pancakes. Do you want some."
That startled him, and he blinked at the man in surprise. "Pancakes?"
"Yeah. I'm getting kind of hungry."
"But...it's nighttime."
"So?"
After a moment, Peter grinned a little, his stomach growling. He'd been too nervous to eat much for dinner, and his dad hadn't tried to make him. So now, at what the clock on the wall told him was 2am, he felt his stomach start to growl. "Can you make them with chocolate chips?"
"Is there any other way?" Hesitating for only a second, Peter scrambled down from the wall, and Sam stood, leading him into the kitchen. "Pretty cool. Wish I could climb a wall like that."
"Really?"
"Of course." Sam opened the pantry and pulled out the pancake mix, and Peter pulled a bag of chocolate chips out of the freezer. Mind flashing back to his real mom, Peter wondered if maybe she'd been wrong. His dad always said his powers were cool. Now Sam was saying the same thing.
"Your wings are really cool too."
"Thanks. They're pretty handy."
"My dad said you used them to help Steve when he was in trouble."
"Yeah, I did. It was pretty...intense. And then I get an invite to Avengers Tower, and I got to meet your dad, and they asked me to come by sometimes to help out."
"But you still live in Washington DC?"
"Around there, yeah."
"Will you keep living there?"
"I will. Your dad asked all of us to help when you went missing."
"Oh." Peter watched as the man poured the batter, filled with chocolate chips, into the hot skillet. "Are you going to stay?"
"For a couple of days."
He hesitated, watching the pancake cook, and wrapped the blanket more tightly around himself. "Is...is it so you can help in case...in case they take me again?"
His dad would have rushed to assure him that of course that wasn't why Sam was here, but Sam only shook his head, speaking calmly. "It's more to make sure nothing else happens to you. You're supposed to go back to school today, right?" Peter nodded. "So, we're going to be nearby. Me and Steve. And we'll hang around your school outside."
"All day?"
"All day. We know who took you, but we want to make sure no one else tries anything."
"Sam?"
"Yeah?"
He watched the man flip the pancake, then cleared his throat. "Do...do you think anyone will try to take me again?"
"They might. Your dad is a very...controversial person. Not to mention he's rich."
"So...so I'm never going to be safe?"
Sam paused, then flipped the pancake onto a plate before pouring more batter into the skillet. Peter grabbed a fork and knife, cutting the pancake in half, then nibbled as his half and handed Sam a fork. The man smiled at him, nodding his thanks for before taking a bite. "Do you know what my job is?"
"You're an Avenger," Peter told him with a nod.
"My other job."
"Oh." Peter thought for a minute. "You're in the military like Uncle Rhodey."
"I was." Sam nodded. "Now, I help soldiers who have PTSD."
"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."
Peter's chest glowed a little when Sam lifted an impressed eyebrow. "That's right."
"That's what the doctor said my dad had."
Sam nodded. "A lot of things can cause it, including what you went through. It can make it really hard for you to feel safe. And it's true that you might not always be safe. But Peter, I want you to remember something, okay?"
Peter gave him a solemn nod and the man crouched a little.
"You got away from those men all by yourself. Something terrible happened to you, but you knew what to do. And if something like that were to ever happen again, we wouldn't stop until we saved you. That's a promise." Sam lay a hand on Peter's shoulder, smiling a little. "You're brave, and you're so smart. We're going to protect you, and you can protect yourself too. You're strong, and you have superpowers, so if anyone stands a chance against the bad guys, it's you."
The Avengers were going to protect him. Not only that, Peter realized, Sam was right. He'd protected himself. And if he'd done it once then...then he could do it again.
Sam made pancake after pancake, the two of them eating them fresh out of the skillet, standing at the stove, until Peter was full, and then Sam washed up, Peter wiping the counters down. Even though his eyes were drooping, Peter didn't really want to go to bed. Didn't want to risk the nightmares. Sam must have known because he led him back to the living room and draped a blanket over him.
"How about a movie? Steve said you liked Star Wars."
"Yeah...but we can watch something else if you want," Peter murmured, fighting his eyelids as they tried to close.
"Nah. I like Star Wars too." Then the man turned the TV on low, ordering Jarvis to play Peter's favorite movie, then took a seat on the couch by Peter's feet.
It wasn't ten minutes before Peter was asleep.
He woke briefly to his dad's voice, and Sam saying something Peter couldn't understand. Either way, his dad scooped him up, pressing a kiss to his hair, and Peter turned his face into his dad's shoulder. "Gotta get up?" Peter asked, voice slurring from exhaustion.
"No, buddy. You can go back to sleep."
Peter did, gladly, unaware that his father had just hired him a new therapist.