#his breath stinks so bad it's probably its own torture method

[k9punkout]

in reference to this poll that urak won

[rebel-by-default]

Overload

So I had a go at writing an autistic Peter Parker fic. I often headcanon Pete as autistic, and Tony so very clearly has ADHD it often surprises me it’s not canon (at least in the MCU). Anyway, the characters are probably way off, but I mostly wrote it for my own enjoyment. 

Peter should have known things were going to go wrong today, the day had been cursed from the start. Waking up 15 minutes before his train left for school, forgetting his headphones, and apparently losing every single fidget toy he owned. The train had been completely packed and overwhelming, the stench of too many people crammed into a small space, mixing with various breakfast foods and the background stink of New York Public Transport.

With nothing to fiddle with, Peter absentmindedly chewed at his hoodie strings, not realising until it was too late, that he had chewed on them far too aggressively. Holding his severed hoodie string in his hand, he sighed and resigned himself to a Bad Day.

By the time Peter trudged into school, he had given up on any hopes of masking as neurotypical. Hood up, sunglasses on and hands slammed tightly over his head, he knew he looked odd, but there was no way he’d make it to class without his hood up.

“Hey Peter! Excited for the Weekend?”

A hand tapped Peter on the shoulder and he jumped round, curbing his jump to something resembling normal human abilities at the last second. The owner of the hand, Ned, quickly pulled back, and lowered his voice.

“Are you having a Bad Day?”

Peter just nodded mutely.

“Here” Ned whispered, rummaging in his bag, “I’ve got some spare headphones. Figured it was always good to be prepared”.

Peter grimaced, but smiled in thanks, and quickly went to plug his headphones in. He had always been in awe of Ned’s complete understanding of all of his quirky behaviours, it was nice to have a friend who got it, and was completely supportive.

When Peter had decided to first tell Ned, he was terrified. Terrified that Ned, a certified weirdo, would find him just too strange, and no longer want to be his friend. It had happened before. Peter remembered the ‘friends’ before Midtown Tech, sneering when he didn’t get a joke, or laughing when he flung his hands over his ears at the sound of a siren. He had learnt to hate himself, to hate the word written all over his medical reports. Autism.

When he managed to move to Midtown, he thought things would be better, as a scientific school, he had hoped he would meet more like-minded people, but one wrong step had led to Eugene Thompson, Flash, deciding that he was the resident nutter. Although May always encouraged him to be open and proud about a part of himself, Autism became a dirty word. It took Peter an entire year to tell Ned, stood in the parking lot at the end of school, practically vibrating with anxiety. When he finally managed to stutter through an explanation, he stood poised for danger, as if ready to run from his expected mockery, but Ned had simply shrugged and said “huh”, before running straight into a monologue about a new Star Wars Lego Kit.

Since that day, Ned had asked Peter how best he could support him, and often carried around a spare pair of headphones or a fidget cube.

However, today, even the headphones weren’t enough. Feeling his heartbeat rising, Peter consciously tried to push it down, taking deep breaths. Walking to his first lesson of the day, he just hoped his teachers would see his discomfort and leave him alone. Unluckily for him, the chance of an easy time flew right out of the window when an unfamiliar figure walked through the door.

“Good morning Class. My name is Ms Atkinson.”

A middle-aged looking woman with long blonde hair tied into a tight ponytail walked into the room. Even with his headphones on, Peter could easily hear her.

“I’ll be covering for Mr Harrington today. But just because I am not your normal teacher doesn’t mean you will be able to get away with misbehaviour.”

Peter sighed, he knew the inevitable was coming, but basked in the relative comfort of his hood and headphones for a few more seconds.

Ms Atkinson’s rather shrill voice quickly cut through any last minute relaxation.

“Excuse me young man, do you think that is appropriate attire for a lesson?”

Ned was about to protest, but Peter threw him a look saying, “I can deal with it” and slowly removed his hood and headphones, squinting at the sudden brightness of the room. As Mrs Atkinson walked away, Ned surreptitiously handed Peter a stress ball, Peter responding with a brief smile of thanks.

However as the lesson progressed, Peter got more and more agitated, aggressively wiggling his leg under the table and chewing his pen to death. When the bell finally rang, he was sure he would feel a sense of relief, but instead a wave of dread washed over him. He had physics next. Physics with Flash.

 Physics started out okay. Mr Richards was surprisingly supportive, and allowed Peter to pull his headphones on once any explanations of the work had been given. The work was simple, and Peter finally began to relax, until he could feel a rhythmic poking behind him. Flash had elected to take up the desk behind him, and decided that the best method of torturing an overstimulated teen was to continually prod him with a pen. Peter kept trying to shift away, but each time Flash poked him with more force. The jabbing in his back was just one sensation too much, and Peter soon felt his body melt down into a puddle of panic.

Everything was too loud, too much. His hoodie itched, and his headphones were no longer a comfortable weight, but a crushing vice against his skull. Distantly, Peter recognised that he was now hyperventilating and aggressively flapping his hands by his face, but all he could feel was overwhelming panic. Desperately trying to calm himself down, peter prayed someone had noticed his distress and would remove him from the room.

Luckily his prayers were answered in the form of MJ. MJ? Oh god, MJ didn’t know, MJ didn’t know about “The Autism”. Peter’s panic increased further, what would she think of him now? She’d never want to be friends with a loser like Peter, especially now she knew he was defective. So blinded by this newfound fear, it wasn’t until he was seated in the Nurses office that he realised he had left the classroom. Pulling his hood over his eyes and clasping his hands to his ears, he curled into a tight ball on the hard, plastic chair. Even through his hands he could here the whispered conversation between MJ and the Nurse, and the faint ringing of a dial tone, meaning the Nurse was ringing May.

Peter knew May wouldn’t pick up. She had headed off this morning to spend a girly weekend in the Berkshires with her friends. Peter couldn’t begrudge her it, even when he so wished to have her calming presence right now. Since Ben’s death she had hardly given herself a chance to relax, and Peter was glad that her finding out about Spider-Man had allowed her to come to trust Tony, and take some time to reconnect with her friends. Right now, though, Peter just wished May was in Queens, and could come and take him back to the apartment. Instead…

Instead, the nurse hung up and began to ring Peter’s second emergency contact. Even through his hyperventilation, and MJ’s murmured reassurances next to him, Peter heard her small chuckle at the name. Of course she didn’t believe him. No one did.

Even so, she rang the number, and quickly began to explain the situation.

“Hello, I believe you are listed as Peter Parker’s second emergency contact?”

“I’m afraid he is having a difficult day and appears to be having a panic attack…”

“Yes, I’ll see you in five minutes, can I just take a name down?... Yes, there is a name next to the number, I just assumed it was a joke.

…

Apologies Mr Stark, I will have someone meet you outside the school in ten minutes”

Peter was momentarily calmed by the prospect of getting out of school, when the realisation struck him. Not only had MJ seen him like this, but now Mr Stark would too. How the hell would Peter ever be able to convince Mr Stark he is Avengers material if it gets out that he’s autistic. Peter just curled tighter into himself, attempting to prepare himself for his impending doom.

Peter was startled from his trance of panic when a large and calloused hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“Come on kid, lets have some breathing. I don’t think May would be impressed if I killed you on the first day of her weekend away.”

Peter took a shuddery breath, and registered the smell of engine oil and coffee. Mr Stark always smelt of oil and coffee, even when he had just showered. It was as if the smells were physically ingrained into his being, probably from overexposure. Miss Potts often jokes that Mr Stark’s blood is probably 70% coffee at this point. The smell was reassuring, and Peter’s breathing finally began to slow

“I think its best if we get you out of here. Do you think you can stand up?” Peter made a small whimpering noise, but nodded slowly and shakily made his way to his feet. Peter felt Mr Stark’s hand on his shoulder, and let him guide them both out of the School and into the back of a running car by the gates.

“Step on it Happy. Oh and put the window tints on, will you?” Tony said, before reaching into the side pocket of the car and pulling out a pair of ear defenders, placing them in Peter’s lap.

“I’d put them on for you, but I don’t want to touch you whilst you’re overloading. Think you can put them on?”

Peter looked at Tony inquisitively, before putting on the ear defenders and shutting his eyes. Finally able to really relax, Peter began to ponder just why Tony had a pair of what appeared to be enhanced ear defenders readily available, but he didn’t think for long before exhaustion hit him, and peter was out like a light.

When Peter woke again, it was to a light tapping on his shoulder, and the sound of a voice muffled by headphones.

“Come on kiddo, I’ll leave you alone again once you’re inside” said tony, handing peter a pair of sunglasses before turning to head towards the tower entrance. Peter slid on the glasses and followed closely behind, passing through the noisy foyer to the private elevator at the back as quickly as possible.

Peter waited for the customary order of “Penthouse please Fri”, but was instead surprised by tony softly requesting the communal floor. The lift rose silently and soon they were stepping out into the open kitchen and lounge. Tony placed his hand on the small of peter’s back, gently pushing him towards a corridor to the left of the lounge, one peter rarely went down. They walked all the way to the end, before Tony opened a door to a cool, dark room.

The room was only lit by a line of warm, low lights on the back wall. Against that wall, peter could see a pile of blankets, as well as a bucket of various fidget toys and stress balls. Why did Tony have all this? Oh god, maybe May told him about “the Autism”. Peter’s breath started to pick up and he could feel his fist beating out a staccato against his thigh. How the hell could he ever look at Mr Stark again? Would Mr Stark ever let him be an avenger?

A voice cut through Peter’s panicked haze.

“you going to go inside? Not much point in a sensory room if you just stand in the doorway hyperventilating kiddo”

Tony was right, as soon as Peter stepped inside, he calmed a little. The room was quiet and still, and Peter felt just comfortable enough to snatch a blanket, that appeared to be weighted, from the pile and throw it around himself. Huddling under his newfound covers, he raised his head, expecting a sneering glance or disappointment from his pseudo father figure.

Instead he just found eyes full of caring, and a question on Tony’s lips.

“Want me to stay?”

Peter nodded, before looking back down into his lap, and slowly rocking back and forth, processing the day’s emotions.

It only took about 45 minutes before Peter was feeling ready to move again. And feeling very hungry. After the third monstrous stomach rumble, he heard Tony chuckle beside him.

“Honestly kid, I’m starting to think you’ve smuggled a dragon into my tower under that hoodie.”

Peter giggled quietly, before braving a response.

“Can we have pancakes?” he asked, voice gravelly from a day of no use.

“Sure”, Tony replied, groaning as he stood up from his place on the floor and began to stretch his legs, “although I haven’t made pancakes since the time Vision wanted to learn how to fry things. There’s still burn marks in the kitchen. So this could be… interesting”

Peter laughed again, before throwing a wry grin up at Tony.

“The good news is Mr Stark, when you get pancakes stuck on the ceiling again, I can get it down before Pepper comes home!”

“You watch that cheek kiddo, or I’ll let Dum-E make your meals from now on.”

Later, with pancakes eaten, Aunt May kept in the loop, and Star Wars playing quietly on the penthouse lounge’s television, Peter’s curiosity finally outweighed his fears.

“Why do you have a sensory room?”

Peter stared intently at Tony, watching him formulate a response, terrified of what he was about to hear. Terrified of Tony saying that May had told him everything, or that he’d read Peter’s medical reports. Terrified that this was the moment where Tony would reveal that he had never intended to let Peter join the team, that he was just too broken to be an Avenger. Peter was expecting many responses, dreading most of them, but he didn’t expect Tony to say it was for himself.

“Do you know what ADHD is Pete? I’m sure you know enough to get an idea.

Anyway, I have ADHD, only got diagnosed about ten years ago when Pep pointed out that it wasn’t normal to spend 36 hours hyper-focused on a project without eating or sleeping, and then be unable to concentrate through a 10-minute presentation that was vital to the running of my company. Add in a plethora of sensory difficulties and complete time blindness, and you get Tony Stark, ADHD”

There was a pause, before Tony continued.

“Anyway, you looked like I do when everything is a bit too much, I thought chances are, the same techniques would make life a little bit easier.”

Peter turned to Tony, taking a deep breath, and beginning his own reveal.

“I have Autism” he said, looking down at his hands, where he was fiddling with the corner of a cushion, “Usually I can handle everything just fine, but its been even harder since the bite. But I promise I can handle being Spider-Man! I promise I can still be a superhero! I’m not useless I swear!” beginning to stress again, peter pulled his knees up to his face and began to rock again, before forcing himself to stop. He hated when he stimmed in public, he felt so weak. Why had he told Mr Stark? He’d sealed his fate now, Mr Stark would just see him as a weirdo like everyone else did! Looking up at Tony expectantly, he expected to see a look of disgust or disappointment, instead Mr Stark just seemed to smile softly.

“Yeah, I thought you might, Clint’s autistic too, and you remind me of him sometimes. You actually picked up his favourite weighted blanket back in the sensory room earlier. He’s nicknamed it Sylvester. God knows why.”

“Wait, Clint is autistic? And he’s allowed to be an Avenger?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, “Of course he is? Did you think the Avengers would turn away a super-spy because he also happens to have Autism? Jesus Christ kid, who’s told you to be embarrassed of who you are?”

Peter shrugged. Aunt May had always told him to be proud of himself, that being different is not a bad thing, and his autism was just a part of him that he should love like every other part of him. Aunt May had always indulged his special interests, and had never stopped him from stimming, but that didn’t stop the people at school from putting him down. After being called a weirdo for most of his school career, it was difficult not to believe it himself. After all, if being autistic wasn’t a bad thing, why had he been endlessly mocked for it?

“Listen kid”, Tony began, once again cutting through the flood of thoughts in Peter’s mind. “Autism isn’t a bad thing. It’s just a thing. Sometimes it gives you benefits, I bet your abilities in chemistry come from years as your special interest, don’t they?”

Peter nodded.

“Sometimes, it can make life a little more difficult, but we find ways forwards. There is nothing wrong with neurodivergence. It’s not bad, it’s not a defect, it just is. It’s a part of who you are, Pete, and it’s a part of you that you should be proud of. Its certainly not something you need to hide. I’ve seen you stuff your stim toys to the bottom of your bag when you come to the tower, you have nothing to hide here.”

Tony wrapped his arm around the teenager’s shoulders reassuringly, and Peter leaned into the embrace, returning his attention to the film on screen. A little while later, as his eyes were beginning to droop, and the exhaustion of the day yet again crept up on him, he smiled a soft smile and whispered “thanks dad” as quietly as he could manage.

Peter thought he had uttered the words so quietly that Tony couldn’t have noticed, but the last thing he heard before drifting off to sleep, was an equally soft “you’re welcome, kid”, and a slight tightening of Tony’s hug around him.

He was safe, he was sound, and… he was asleep.