Peter Parker's Past

Peter entered the compound, yawning.  He felt utterly drained from the encounter, mind racing unnaturally. Man, I need to sleep.

He frowned.  Considering almost every Avenger was supposed to be here, it was unusually quiet.

“Hey, FRIDAY, where is everyone?”

“All Avengers currently present are gathered in the living room, except for Bruce Banner.”  

Peter smile.  Ah, yes, movie night! He hoped they weren’t watching Mad Max again; Bruce always got frustrated at that film.

He yawned again, and stepped into the living room, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

“Man, you will not believe what just went down, I . . .” Peter trailed off.  Every single Avenger was staring at him, stony faced. Clint looked shaken, Thor lost and strange.  Natasha’s eyes were unusually bright and Tony . . .

. . . Tony looked utterly broken.

“Are-are you guys okay?” Peter’s voice rose in pitch. “What happened?  Has something gone wrong? Do I need to suit up?”

“FRIDAY,” Tony whispered. “Cancel the Catch ‘Em in the Act Protocol.”

The little light on Peter’s HUD blinked out.

Peter forgot how to breathe.

“Oh.” He chuckled nervously. “Um . . . where’s Bruce?”

“In the kitchen,” Natasha said. “He had to go calm down.”

Oh.

Oh.

Shit.

“You-you guys saw all that, huh?” Peter gulped in a breath and smiled humorlessly, looking down at his shoes. “Yeah, that was - that was rough-”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Tony asked, voice breaking on the last word. “Tell me?  Did you even go to therapy? Does-does your aunt know?”

Peter exhaled.  So this is a conversation that’s now happening.

“Yes, I went to therapy for several years.” He was proud of how steady his voice was. “May knew but I never said how bad it was; I only told my therapist. Besides-” Peter smiled, but it felt more like a grimace. “I’m fine!  This was years ago, I’ve basically gotten over it by now.”

“This isn’t the sort of thing you just ‘get over’, Pete,” Tony grated. “I mean Jesus, you were-”

“I know!” Peter cut in.  His breath grew short. “I know.  I was there.”

“How old were you?” Bucky asked distantly.

“Um, eleven I think?  Might be wrong.”

“Eleven.” Bucky repeated flatly. “You were eleven.” He got up out of his chair and left, kitchen door swinging in his wake.  Steve sighed shakily, but didn’t follow him. The rest of the Avengers looked despondant, but Tony-

Tony looked fucking furious.

“Tell me their name.” His voice was clipped. “Tell me their name and I swear I will - we will -”

“See, this is why I didn’t tell you!” Peter burst out. “I knew you’d overrreact!”

“Over- overreact?” Tony’s voice rose.

“Tony-” Natasha began, but Tony cut her off.

“You - fucking - overrreact, I’ll show you overreact, I made a fucking mess in the sink-” His whole body shook and he stumbled at Peter, eye wild- “Here, let me fucking showyou-”  He grabbed Peter’s wrist.

Peter yelled in pain.

Tony let go.

“What the hell is happening in here?” Bruce entered, looking very worried. His gaze flickered between Tony and Peter, and his brow furrowed. “Tony, did you . . .?”

“I-I didn’t mean . . .” Tony floundered, gaze fixated on Peter’s wrist. “Jesus, kid, I-”

“It wasn’t you,” Peter said hastily through gritted teeth. “I twisted my wrist earlier, that’s all.  You didn’t hurt me, Tony.” But Tony’s eyes were already shuttered. He turned away and sat down on the couch next to Clint, face in his hands.

Natasha shut her eyes.

“What Tony means to say,” She said, “Is that we were all just worried for you.  We didn’t know about any of this, which, granted, is your decision to make.” She fixed Tony with a stern look, even though the billionaire couldn’t see it. “But, if you wouldn’t mind explaining a bit, it would put all of our minds at ease.”

“I for one, would love to know who exactly did this to you.” Steve’s voice was carefully controlled, but Peter could hear the rage behind it.  Peter bit his lip.

“His name was Skip Wescott.” The name sat heavy on his tongue like poison. “And he’s in prison for life for what he did.”

“He is.” Natasha exhaled. “Good.  That’s all we really wanted to know. That, and if there’s any triggers we should avoid.”

“It’s not like I have PTSD or something!” Peter defended.  “I just . . .” Get nightmares.  Hate certain songs and nicknames.  Avoid intimate relationships.

“I know,” Natasha replied patiently. “But it’s good to know anyway what might make you uncomfortable, even if it’s not necessarily a PTSD thing.”

“I’m fine, seriously!” Peter said defensively. “I’ve dealt with this for a long time on my own.”  Tony let out a soft, distressed sound.

“You know,” Steve said carefully. “Having PTSD isn’t something to be ashamed of.  I’m pretty sure most people in the room have some form of it.”

“Really?” Peter’s brow knitted.  He couldn’t imagine any of the others tangled in nightmares in the way he often had.

“Yup,” Tony said, voice muffled.  “Can’t stand water. Afghanistan ruined pool parties, I tell you.”

“I’m sure they did, Einstein,” Clint snorted.  Peter stiffened. His breathing quickened, eyes glazed over. Natasha narrowed her eyes.

“. . . Peter?” She asked cautiously. “Are you okay?”  Peter didn’t reply, and the other’s slowly realized that something was wrong.

“Peter?” Tony’s voice was more urgent. “What’s wrong?  Hey, answer me, bud.”

“No,” Peter whispered. “Please-”

“Just relax, Einstein -” 

“You do know how to take it like a champ!”

“Einstein, what did I say about making me mad?”

-eter!  Christ, he’s having a panic attack-”

“Just relax, it’ll be over soon.”

A hand touched his back.

“No!” Peter cried. “Don’t touch me! Please, I don’t want it, I don’t-”  He scrambled backwards away from the touch, away from the voices calling him back-

His back hit the wall.

“Just take it, already, will you Einstein?”

Little Peter whimpered, tears leaking out despite his eyes being tightly shut.  A hand caressed over his cheek, and Skip leaned closer, hand drifting downward-

“Peter?” This voice was new, calmer. “I know you can hear me.  You don’t have to do anything, just listen to my voice, alright?  You’re safe. You’re at the Avenger’s compound, in the living room.  We were going to have a movie night.”

“Movie?” Peter asked.  His voice felt distant, as if spoken by someone else.

-isten to me, Einst-

“Yup,” The voice replied, and he realized belatedly that it belonged to Clint. “Name two things you can hear right now.”

“. . . C-crying,” Peter forced out. “Traffic . . . outside.”  And yes, now that he concentrated, he could actually hear those things.  He also realized that he was sitting on the floor.

“ . . . Floor’s dusty,” He muttered. “Should clean it.” Clint snorted.

“We’ve got DUM-E for that,” He said. “Why don’t you open your eyes, kid?  I know it’s scary, but you’ll feel better.” Peter grimaced, but slowly cracked his eyes open.  His surroundings were blurry from tears, but he saw that the rest of the Avengers had moved to the other side of the room, except for Tony, who was seated beside him.  Clint was crouched in front of him and smiled when their eyes met.

“See?” He said. “You’re fine, your safe.  Everything’s gonna be alright.” Peter took a deep breath . . . 

. . . and burst into tears.

“Oh, kid,” Tony sighed. “Can I hug you?” Silently, Peter nodded, and was instantly engulfed.  He focused on the smell and the feel of Tony’s jacket, and felt both vunerable and safe.

“I’m sorry,” Tony murmured. “I’m so sorry, Pete, we shouldn’t have confronted you like that.  That was very mean of us.” Peter buried his face in Tony’s chest, but didn’t answer. They stayed like that for a while, and slowly his sobs turned into hiccups, and he felt like speaking again.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said softly. “I don’t know why I reacted like that.  Normally, stuff like that - nicknames and stuff - don’t trigger me anymore.  They just make me uncomfortable.”

“With everything that’s happened, us . . . interrogating you, what you dealt with earlier, I’m not surprised,” Steve put in solemnly.  Peter looked up at him where he stood by the TV; Steve was gazing at him softly. “Sometimes stuff like that can trigger us without us realizing, and something else, something smaller, can set us off.”

“Doesn’t make you weak,” Tony said, tightening his arms around Peter. “Doesn’t mean you’ve gone backwards.  It just happens sometimes; it’s not your fault.”

“Oh,” Peter sniffled. “That- that makes sense.  Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Tony chuckled, holding him tighter. “You’re okay.  We’re okay. I’m glad you trusted us enough to tell us about it.” Peter nodded.

“. . . can we watch Star Wars now?” He asked petulantly.  The others laughed, and Tony smiled, letting go.

“Sure kid.  We can do that.”

And as Peter settled on the couch, head on Tony’s lap, he knew that, somehow, he’d be okay.