#nat: … peter do we need to schedule another therapy session?

[mamaspidershit]

Peter: I wish I was a dinosaur.

Natasha: Why? Cause they're big and scary?

Peter: Because they're dead.

[sunmoonandeddie]

little ballerina (15/16)

pairing: peter parker x reader

word count: 3,796

summary: After The Snap was reversed and the world went back to normal, Natasha Romanov had one request of her team: to infiltrate and destroy the Red Room.

chapter warnings: Swearing, mentions of sexual assault

masterlist

a/n: Let me know what you think!

You groaned as your eyes slowly opened, wincing at the light.  Your entire body hurt.  At first, you thought you were having deja vu.  It felt exactly like the first day you were arrived.

As you woke up a little more, you became aware of the beeping of the heart monitor, and of the weight in your right hand.  Turning your head, you felt yourself grow warm with love as you saw Peter sleeping in the chair beside the bed.  His hand was gently clutching yours.

You hadn't gotten to look at Peter in a long time.  Just... look.  His hair was longer, a little shaggier, than the last time you had seen him up close.  There was a bit of a five o'clock shadow dusting his jaw, making him look a little older than his twenty-two years.  He had a new scar right above his eyebrow, the pale pink contrasting against his skin.

Your cheeks went red as his eyes suddenly blinked open, looking away from him.  But you let him hold onto your hand as he turned to look at you.  "You're awake."

Nodding, you bit your lip as you looked down at your lap.  The dark purple bruises that littered your arms gave you chills.  You could only imagine how the rest of you looked.  If the soreness was anything to go by...  Well, you knew it couldn't be pretty.

Peter's hand squeezed yours, causing you to turn to him.  The look in his eyes...  It wasn't pity, like you expected.  You couldn't quite pin down what exactly the emotion was.  "I'm so sorry, angel.  If, If I had been there sooner, I might've been able to—"

You shook your head as you rolled over onto your side with a wince.  "It wasn't your fault.  You got there right on time, actually."

Peter had already heard from the doctor that Dr. Harry Garner hadn't been successful in his attack, but it didn't change the fact that you were hurt.  Scooting his chair closer to you, he pushed your hair back from your face before rubbing his thumb gently against the cuts that the doctor's fingernails had left on your cheek.  "I shouldn't have let you go in alone."

You didn't reply, just closing your eyes as you relished the feeling of his hand on your cheek.  You had never realized just how much you had missed his touch, or how starved you were for it.  And now that you had it back, you didn't know if you were ever going to be able to let him go.  You had pushed him away once.  You didn't think you would have the strength to do it again.

You also didn't think you could do that to Peter again.

So maybe, instead of pushing him completely out, you'd just keep him at arm's length.  He'd still be in your life but he'd be kept at arm's length so that you didn't end up hurting him.

That could work.

You were brought out of your head by Peter, who ran his fingers through your hair.  "What are you thinking so hard about, angel?  I, I can practically see steam coming from your ears."  He laughed as you rolled your eyes, biting his lip as he looked at you.  The two of you sat there, just looking at each other for a long moment.  "I've missed you," he whispered.

You bit your lower lip, your hand reaching up to cover his.  "I've missed you, too..."

Peter suddenly looked behind you, and you turned your head to see a woman standing there in a white coat and a stethoscope around her neck.  Natasha and Bucky were standing behind her, worried looks on their faces.

"Hello, Y/N.  I'm Doctor Marie Cooke," the woman said as she walked over to you slowly.

She was observing your reaction to having her in the room, you realized.

Once she got a few feet away, she clasped her hands in front of her.  "Your team had me come in from New York City just for you.  They care about you a lot, you know."

You were a little confused.  "What about the doctors in the medical bay?"

Tony frowned as he rubbed the back of his neck.  He glanced at Natasha and Peter, his eyes going down to where his hand was holding yours.  He was rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb, providing a sense of comfort and safety.  "Well, you see...  Dr. Cooke is...  She's..."

When it became clear that he wasn't going to say it, Natasha filled in, "She specializes in care for victims of sexual assault."

"I'm here because I'm trained on how to give you the best possible care, while also making sure that you feel safe," Dr. Cooke said as she grabbed a chart from the end of your bed.  She looked over a few things, before pausing and motioning to Peter, Natasha, and Tony.  "Are you alright with them being in the room during this?  These types of discussions can be extremely personal and I want you to be as comfortable as possible."

You looked at the three people, and you slowly nodded, biting your lip.  Peter squeezed your hand again, smiling encouragingly at you.  "You've got this."

Once you had said you were okay with them staying, Natasha and Tony sat on the other side of you.  They were mostly quiet, their presence meant to give you emotional support.

"I completed a sexual assault forensic exam while you were sleeping, but I just need to check your vitals and change your bandages, okay?  Is it okay if I ask you a few questions while I do this?"

"Yes."

You watched as she moved to the side that Natasha and Tony were sitting on, pulling on her stethoscope.  She seemed incredibly kind, and you appreciated how calmly she spoke.  It relaxed you and made you trust her a little more than you would've otherwise.  "Can you tell me what happened after Dr. Garner destroyed your comms?"  She carefully pressed the stethoscope to your chest, moving it in various places.

It made you a little anxious as you realized that you were naked under the hospital gown, but you didn't say anything.  She had you lean forward, and as she continued to listen to your lungs, you began to tell her what happened.  "I...  I ran for the door.  When he followed after me, I tried to do a roundhouse kick, but he caught my ankle and... h-he flipped me onto the ground."

"Take as long as you need, sweetheart."  Dr. Cooke gently helped you lay back down, grabbing something from the desk.  "I'm going to wrap this around your arm to take your blood pressure."

You watched quietly as she wrapped a cuff around your upper arm, inflating it.  When she placed the stethoscope under the edge of it to listen, you continued, "He...  He dragged me a few feet before grabbing my hair and dragging me the rest of the way to the bed like that..."  Peter was tensing beside you, his grip on your hand tightening a little, but you ignored it.  "Th-That's when he lifted me on the bed.  I...  I tried to get off but he—"  You had to pause, taking in a deep breath as you tried to keep yourself from crying.  The thought of what he had done to you made you feel so... so dirty.

She gently picked up your free hand, pressing two fingers against your inner wrist.  "I'm checking your respiratory rate, okay?  Go ahead and take a moment, and just breathe for me."

You were grateful for the break.  It gave you a moment to compose yourself, even though you know that everyone in the room would've understood completely if you had broken down then and there.  By the time she was done, you were ready to continue.  "That's when he pinned me down.  He was...  He was tearing off my clothes and was about to..."  You bit your lip as you looked away.  "Th-That's when Peter came in."

Glancing over at him, you were greeted with Peter's crooked smile as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles.  "You're, You're doing fantastic, angel."

Dr. Cooke walked to the desk, where she opened a cabinet and pulled out a thing of gauze and medical tape.  "I'm going to change your bandage now, okay?"  She carefully peeled off the bandage that you hadn't even realized was on your forehead, tossing it into the trash.  "Can you tell me how you got this?"

Frowning, you tried to remember just when you had hit your head.  "I...  It was when I tried to do the roundhouse kick and he flipped me.  I hit the e-edge of the wall."

"Well, you have a bit of a concussion, but it should clear up nicely in the next few days."  She looked over your chart, writing down a few things.  "Other than that, you're free to return to your room.  But I'd like to schedule your first therapy session.  Is tomorrow at eleven okay?"

"Therapy?  What about Brenda?"

"We thought," Nat said as she cleared her throat, standing up, "this might be a better option for you."

"I'm also a licensed therapist," the woman said with a dazzling smile.  She had a very maternal aura that kept you from giving a flat out 'no.'

Plus, you could see just how badly Natasha, Peter, and Tony wanted this to work.  So you nodded, because you knew how guilty they felt, and you wanted to do anything to make that go away.  It wasn't like it was their fault.  You had been the one to volunteer.

That night, you found yourself tossing and turning while trying to fall asleep.  But anytime you closed your eyes, you just saw his face.  It got to the point where you kept thinking you were seeing him the corner of your eye, haunting you like a ghost.  But anytime you turned to see if he was there, it was just another shadow.  Another trick of the light.

The clock struck one in the morning, and you were still no where close to falling asleep.

You could ask Wanda for help, but you knew how that would turn out.  You couldn't deal with restless sleep that left you more tired in the morning that you had been the night before.  That's what you had had every night for the last few months, and it never got better.  Being put to sleep by Wanda was like putting your body on pause for a few hours.

But the one person who could truly help you was actually home.

So you slipped out of your bed, wincing as your feet touched the cold floor.  You tiptoed across the hall, biting your lip.  Your hand was raised to knock on Peter's door, but you were hesitating.  What if he was already asleep?  What if he told you to go away?  What if, after all this time, he had finally let you go?  It wasn't like you'd be able to blame him for it.  You had been trying to get him do just that for months.  The logical side of you knew that none of that was going to happen.  He had stayed with you while you slept in the hospital, holding your hand the entire time.  He had risked his life while saving you from Dr. Harry Garner.

Taking a deep breath, you lightly knocked twice on his door.

"Come in."

Your heart caught in your throat as your hand moved to the doorknob, hesitating to open it.  You had one last chance to run.

But you couldn't keep running.  Even if it seemed like a good idea, all it did was hurt you and your little family in the end.

As you pushed open the door, Peter looked up from where he was working on his laptop.  "Hi," he said, clearly a little surprised.  "Are you okay?"

Your fingers fiddled together as you stood in the doorway.  Your feet shuffled a little as you kept your eyes away from his.  "I...  I can't sleep.  Can I stay with you tonight?"  When he silently nodded, you walked over to the bed, watching as he pulled back the covers for you to slide in.

"Do you mind if I work on my laptop for just a few more minutes?"

You shook your head no, relaxing as you burrowed under the sheets that smelled so much like Peter.  It was like being wrapped in a giant hug.  You could feel him glancing over at you ever so often as you closed your eyes, lying on your side facing him.

True to his word, Peter only typed away at his laptop for about five more minutes before shutting it, placing it to the side.  He crawled under the blankets but kept himself on the other side of the bed.  "Is this okay?" He asked anxiously.  "I don't want to get too close if you're not comfortable with it."

"This is good," you murmured, already half asleep.  But you reached across the bed, finding his and and intertwining your fingers.  "Goodnight, Peter."

"Goodnight, angel."

You woke up the next morning to his hand still in yours, and you sighed in relief.  You had actually slept through the night for the first time in months.  Peter looked so at ease beside you, it made your chest hurt.  You couldn't stop yourself from wondering what it would be like to wake up next to him every morning, to curl up next to him, to kiss him good morning.

No.  You couldn't start with that.  You were only friends.  That's it.

Doing your best to not wake him, you crawled out of the bed and left his room, shutting the door behind you with a soft click.  Feeling a little more refreshed, you found yourself wandering to the kitchen.  You needed coffee, badly.  And the pain medication that the doctor had prescribed for you.

You were standing up on your tiptoes, trying to reach the pill bottle that someone had placed on the top shelf, when someone came up behind you and grabbed it for you.  "Good morning," Peter's raspy morning voice said, his breath tickling your ear.  "You were gone when I woke up."

"Coffee."  You cleared your throat awkwardly as you squirreled away from him, taking the pill with you.  As the coffee began to brew, you popped two of the naproxen, washing it down with a glass of water.

"Do you want French toast or eggs?"  Peter asked as he searched the cabinets.  "Or pancakes?  We can put blueberries in them, like you like."

You shook your head, turning to look at him.  "Peter, stop."  He frowned as he stood up straight, looking at you.  "We...  We can't..."  Your eyes turned to the floor.  "We can't go back to the way things were."

You could feel the hurt coming off him as he took a few steps towards you.  "What do you mean?"

"I...  I can't have you close to me," you stammered, your hands balled into fists at your side.

Peter scowled as he looked at you in disbelief.  "Why not?  Why the hell did you even push me away in the first place?"

You tried to turn away, grabbing the pot of coffee and pouring yourself a cup.  "It's not important," you insisted as you moved past him to grab the coffee creamer.

"Like hell it isn't," he retorted, watching as you walked back and forth.  "Why won't you talk to me, Y/N?  I thought we were best friends.  Then one day, you don't give a shit about me."

"That's the problem!" You said, whirling on him.  "I give too many shits about you!"

"What the hell are you on about?"

You were growing more and more frustrated, becoming increasingly aware of the tears as it felt like barbed wire was closing around your throat.  "I can't be the reason you get hurt, okay?!  I won't do that to you!"

He rolled his eyes, his jaw tense.  "Is that what this is about?  Because you think the Red Room is going to make you kill me?"  He leaned against the counter, his hands gripping it until his knuckles were white.  "How many times do I have to tell you, they're not going to get to you?"

Shaking your head, you did your best to block him out.  "You don't get it.  I'm going to end up hurting you, and then you're going to hate me."

"Why?!"  You looked at Peter in shock as he finally got sick of your excuses, slamming the pan he was going to use to make pancakes onto the stove.  "Those aren't good enough reasons for pushing me away."  His hands were moving in large, fluid motions.  "Everyone here is at risk of being hurt by each other.  It comes with the line of work.  So you can't use that as an excuse for pushing me away when everyone else has pushed past their self-doubt."  You were shocked as he continued to yell, both of you starting to cry.  "Why the fuck did you push me away?!  And none of that fucking bullshit about hurting me because I don't care about that, okay?  I don't care if I end up dead in a ditch because of you, as long as you're in my life.  So why the fuck would you do this?!"

"Because I love you!"  You hadn't intended on shouting as loudly as you did, or confessing to him at all.  But he was yelling and you could see how hurt he was and fuck.  You had done that to him.  And maybe you were tired of hiding and pushing him away.  You were tired of punishing yourself for the atrocities that had been done to you.  You were open and vulnerable because you had almost died the night before.  Your chest was heaving as you stared at Peter, who was frozen in shock.  "I pushed you away because I fucking love you, okay?!  You are the best thing that's ever happened to me, but people who are close to me usually end up dead, and that can't happen to you!  I won't let it happen to you!"  Your voice dropped in volume as you wiped at your eyes.  "So if that means that I have to push you away to keep you safe, then that's what I'll do.  No matter how much it hurts."

Wiping your eyes, you began to walk towards the elevator, almost running.  Hell, you wanted to sprint away from him.  You couldn't imagine what he had been thinking as you laid your heart out bare for him.

You let out a gasp as a pair of hands turned you around.  Peter looked down at you for a second before he pulled you into a kiss, his hands on either side of your face.  Your heart was racing as you wrapped your arms around his neck after a moment's hesitation.  Peter was here.  Peter was here and he was kissing you after you had admitted to being in love with him and fuck, it was everything you had ever imagined and more and you never ever ever wanted to stop kissing him and—

Peter pulled back, resting his forehead against yours.  "I am so fucking in love with you, Y/N."  His voice was deep and gravely with desire as he held onto you, his lips brushing against yours every time he spoke.  "I'm going to love you no matter how much you try to push me away, so please don't."  Tears were still falling down his cheeks as he kept his eyes closed.  "Please let me love you like you deserve to be loved."

You didn't know what to do.  Hearing those words made it impossible for you to push him away.  Knowing that he loved you made you want to hold him forever and never let him go, despite your reservations.  You had to choose between your head and your heart.  Your head told you to push him away again, to say no.  But your heart was screaming for you to say yes, to let yourself love and be loved.  Natasha's words flashed to the front of your mind.

"People like us...  We don't usually get happy endings.  So when you find someone that you can have that with, you should hold on and never let go."

So you nodded.

You nodded, and Peter looked at you in disbelief before he scooped you up in his arms, holding you tightly against his chest.  You were both crying, eyes puffy and red, but you were laughing.  You were laughing because you loved him and he loved you and even if it might not last forever, you were going to hold on while you could.  He loved you, and while it wasn't going to fix what had been done to you in the past, he believed in you and pushed you to heal, no matter how difficult it was.

Just then, the doors that led to the rest of the compound opened, and the rest of the Avengers walked in.  They had all been talking amongst themselves, but when they spotted you, they froze.  Peter was still holding onto you, one hand resting on your cheek while the other wrapped around your waist.

"Is this finally happening?" Bucky asked nonchalantly as he walked to the fridge, taking out a bottle of water and chugging it.  The others were following slowly behind him.  "Because if so, I'm going to need to give the Dad Talk to Peter."

A laugh fell from your lips as you glanced up at Peter, who nodded.  You then nodded back at the others, who all began to whoop and holler as they congratulated the two of you.  But even with all the noise and people around, the two of you only had eyes for each other.

"I love you, angel," Peter murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"I love you, too."

"Okay, love birds," Tony laughed as he dragged out plates and the pancake mix.  "Enough with the mushy stuff.  Come help make breakfast."

And as you looked around at the rest of the Avengers around you, you felt another wave of tears threaten to overcome you.  You had a family.  You had people who loved you with your faults, and pushed you to become and better every day.

For the first time in a long time, you knew you were going to make it.  Even if it took a long time, you were going to be okay as long as you had the people around you by your side.

[spongeekat]

We Don’t Want to Lose You (Superfamily + Spideypool One Shot)

Read on Ao3

Masterlist Here

Summary: Fanfic Request : "Spideypool (and/or superfamily) where no one realizes how fucked up peter is until someone sees cuts on his arms" AKA Peter has been secretly suffering for years, but is bad at opening up. And then it builds too far.

The first time Peter was caught trying to kill himself, he was 17 years old.

Peter was an adorable kid.

His large, brown eyes lit up whenever his superpowered family returned home from a mission, greeting each of the Avengers with a warm smile, rambling off questions about their adventures one by one. He took care to assess everyone’s wounds, helping Bruce to clean the minor ones. If anyone returned incapacitated, he stayed by their side to assure they wouldn’t wake up alone.

He did well in school despite rough patches in his childhood, and no longer living with his Aunt and Uncle, he took care to bring every A and school project to their house when he went to visit. He kept a careful schedule to assure he would call his Aunt at least once a week to update her on his life, and went out for lunch dates twice as often.

He kept his bedroom somewhat clean when he wasn’t tiring away at science projects, and worked with Tony in the lab while making sure his father didn’t starve himself sick. He helped Steve with the domestic side of the household, and kept the other Avengers entertained in their days off.

He stayed by his Aunt’s side through his Uncle’s death and the 6 month recovery, keeping her on her feet even when he was struggling to stay on his. And when he finally returned to the Stark Tower to live with his adoptive parents once more, he revealed the powers he’d kept hidden the past year. And then he worked with the Avengers, putting his life on the line to make sure others didn’t have to.

He was caring. He was sweet. He was happy.

...He was happy...

Wasn’t he?

Bruce had been the one to find Peter. He’d been passing by the bathroom on coincidence, heading to his lab well past midnight to fiddle with gear when he couldn't sleep. A retching sound from inside had immediately stopped him in his tracks, and he'd tumbled through the door a second later.

When the lights flickered to life, he certainly hadn't expected to find Peter collapsed on the floor, clutching onto his stomach as if it was being ripped out. Empty prescription bottles laid scattered around him, and from the bloody vomit, he could see Peter's body was rejecting the pills faster than they could kill him. An hour of non stop begging, and Bruce had promised not to go wake up his parents while he was treated in the tower. Peter had given his word not to attempt to hurt himself again, and Bruce told Steve and Tony their son had the flu. He’d kept close eyes over him the next year, and when Peter showed no other signs of another suicide attempt, he'd dropped the matter. It was a mistake he regretted immensely.

The signs that anything was off were few and far, to the point they weren't concerning. He’d been diagnosed with anxiety when Tony and Steve had first adopted him, though they took careful care to regulate medication and therapy visits until he had started to feel more level. When Gwen had first died he’d been depressed and inconsolable, and Tony and Steve were the first to encourage him to take time off from being a hero to recover. He was difficult to open up, and he appeared frustratingly optimistic at all times, making it near impossible to tell when he was actually struggling.

So it was quite jarring for the Avengers to find themselves staring at evidence Peter was slowly crumbling under their weight.

The gym was silent. Steve and Bucky had broken their pattern of hooks to freeze with their gloves still in the air, eyes trained on the slim thigh that was bridged between Peter’s hip and Natasha’s arm. Tony had been running on the treadmill, which was now quietly buzzing behind him. Bruce and Wanda had only come down to see the bout between Natasha and Peter, the former’s fingers wrapped tightly around his ankle that she held high. His shorts had ridden up when a flying kick had been stopped by her grip, and he was now crushed under the suffocating tension. Hard eyes stared back at him, and with a sharp tug on his leg, Peter had pulled his foot back into himself and pulled on the hems of his shorts to keep them down.

“What the hell are those?” Natasha repeated with an intimidating fierceness that could make anyone wince. The 20 year old in question stared back at her as if he was about to be hit by a speeding truck, and with the heroes now gaping at him, that was very much possible.

“Scars from a fight.” Peter returned automatically, his hand covering them self consciously beneath the polyester. “It’s nothing. Seriously, Nat. I just got hurt one time and they never healed properly.”

The lines were too straight and thin, filed messily in a patch down his otherwise unmarked thigh.

“Do you think we’re stupid?” Tony’s frown grew to match the others in the room, and while he sounded angry, it was clear worry was overtaking him even more so. “Did you do that? To yourself?”

“Maybe the three of us should discuss this somewhere private.” Steve’s gentle voice suggested, his hand clamping down on Tony’s shoulder to halt his descent on the wide-eyed Peter that looked like he’d been cornered.

“We can talk right here.” Tony challenged, sharp eyes never once leaving the quivering boy. “Have you been cutting yourself?”

“No. This isn’t something we need to talk about.” Peter snapped suddenly, withdrawing from the mat as he backed away towards the exit. “It’s none of your business. Can you guys just drop it?”

“We’re definitely not ignoring that, Peter.” Steve’s voice was harder this time, and even he looked like he wanted to reach out and stop him from leaving. “This isn’t something we can brush off. If there’s something wrong that you’re not telling us about that’s leading you to hurt yourself, you need to let us know. We can’t help unless you want us to.”

Peter’s chest began to constrict from the panic of the confrontation. He never wore shorts, maybe twice he’d donned cargo shorts for a family outing in the past 5 years, and today he had felt a weird bout of security that in the heat of the summer, no one would look twice at his legs. Even more so, he thought the scars had been blending more in his skin, yet apparently that wasn’t enough for superhero eyes not to catch them.

Pressure spread from his chest into his head. He grimaced from the tightness, taking another careful step back. “I said I didn’t need help. Nothing is wrong.” He insisted once more, the fullness of his mind growing heavier. His eyes widened, then his head turned rapidly to Wanda. “And stay out of my head. I didn’t ask for some Avenger’s therapy session, and I don’t want anyone digging around in my thoughts. Please just... I have to head up and do homework before patrol. I gotta go.”

Peter all but swung up the stairs as he scrambled to the glass door and drug it open, his feet moving lightning quick to carry him up into the tower.

There was a stunned silence left behind after Peter had cleared out, the other Avengers staring at the spot left behind as they weren’t entirely sure what to say to alleviate the situation. Bucky took his quiet leave, and Wanda wasn’t far behind, apologizing for scaring Peter off. Tony grabbed his bag to call it a night, though, as he turned around, he was met with the concerned expression of Bruce staring right back at him.

“There’s something I need to tell you. About Peter.” The scientist spoke carefully, keeping his tone level. “I’m sorry to have kept this from you for so long. I had promised I wouldn’t say anything, and he never gave me a reason to.”

“That’s alright.” Steve cut in before Tony could demand an answer from Bruce, pulling on his shirt sleeve as he approached. “You were respecting his privacy. But if we should be worried, it would be nice to know.”

“Yes..uh.” Bruce heaved a small sigh, his fingertips rubbing circles against the bridge of his nose to alleviate the stress. “Then I’ll tell you everything.”

----

Tony wasn’t angry at either Bruce or Peter for not telling him. Hurt, maybe, though that was mainly derived from the fact that his son had been at a low enough point he’d tried to take his own life and he’d never been the wiser. In fact, he wasn’t sure how much attention he had even given Peter that week he was supposedly sick. The fact that he may have blown off caring for him altogether in the way of work was a guilt he couldn’t quite bear.

He sat quietly on the couch beside Steve, a strong hand comfortingly caressing his thigh to keep him calm. Steve seemed just as stoic and lost in thought, neither really having reassuring words for each other at the moment. The prospect of coming dangerously close to losing the light that burned brightly in their life had been enough to scare them both into a mortified resolve.

“I never thought it’d be him.”

Steve looked up at the sound of Tony’s half-audible voice, his eyes softening. His fingers tightened to show he was there, though he could feel the way his husband tensed even under his grip. “Tony... “

“I’m not saying it’s his fault.” Tony sighed thickly, and his fingers danced over the lip of his whiskey glass. “Obviously, this sort of thing isn’t a decision he made one morning. But I still feel like it was my fault. For never getting him help.” He dropped his head back on the sofa, the unfamiliar ceiling staring back at him. He didn’t spend much time in the apartment as of late. The thought made his lips purse. “Did we send him to a therapist? We didn’t, did we? I think, after Gwen, that was on my list of things to do. But work was more important. So I forgot. Or probably just crossed it off because it wasn’t important. But you know what was? Work.”

“So we didn’t put in as much effort as we could have.” Steve’s hand went firm, and demandingly kept Tony’s attention on him. “And that was irresponsible. And I regret it as much as you do. But we also had no idea what he was going through. He doesn’t exactly talk to us, even when we push. And we just got lucky that he wasn’t able to.. That he was able to heal.” He heaved a heavy sigh, and took a decisive drink of Tony’s alcohol that would have no effect on him. As expected, it barely even burned. “But now that we know, we can take the steps to help him. Find ways to make him happy...and Tony, you know the one person he’d be willing to open up to.”

There was a long, heavy pause. And then a firm “no.”

“I don’t like it, either. I don’t trust him. And he’s not a great influence on Peter. But he made him happy.”

“He can’t love away depression.”

“But he can encourage him to get help. And even if he won’t talk to us, he’ll at least still have a support system he’s comfortable with.”

“You think a psychotic man my age is going to make him happier? He has more of a chance of dying with him.” Tony didn’t mind blunt, as much as he knew his words would only hurt Peter further if he were here. But Tony could never really stop himself, and he knew that was probably a reason why Peter was so depressed. “He left him in the first place.”

Steve sighed and picked himself up from the couch. He refused to fight over Peter’s rights to happiness as an adult. “You forced him to. If you really want to make things right, you need to stop interfering.”

It was jarring, but it was true, and it left an awkward guilt in Tony for doing what he felt made him a good parent. Though it was obvious now he didn’t deserve that title.

“I’ll have someone find him.” Tony finally caved, his hand clutching his pounding head to reign in the negative emotions.

“Thank you.” Steve smiled, and Tony sent a silent prayer they were taking the right steps to saving their son’s life.

---

“It’s not a therapist, Peter. Just keep walking.”

Peter threw an anxious and distrusting look back at Natasha, his intimidating Aunt barely an inch away to cover his exit. At least she had been upfront about keeping a hard watch over him these past couple of days. Everyone else acted like they were walking on broken glass around him, and he hated it. “You’re a professional liar, Nat.”

The widow rolled her eyes and gave a firm shove to his shoulder, forcing him to continue down the brightly lit hallway to one of the business rooms in the tower. The summon had been spontaneous, though it seemed the others all knew what was coming. It was pretty eerie.

They got to the doors with a minute to spare, and Natasha didn’t allow any time for him to stand and plan his escape before she was pushing open the doors. Inside, the bright light revealed his fathers standing in the doorway. Further back was Thor, and Bruce sat at the table. Next to him sat a red and black ghost that Peter hadn’t seen in over 2 years. His eyes instantly lit up when the man stood from the table, and they were on each other in a second.

“Petey-Pie, you look as good as I remember you.” Wade enthused as he reached out his arms to catch him. “Can’t believe you’re really here and--!” “...Ow, nice to see you too, sweetie.”

“You lying jerk.” Peter stood over the crumpled Wade with his fist clenched tightly, skin slightly reddened from where he’d planted his hello to Deadpool’s masked cheek. The adults jumped at the sudden violent outlash, but none made to interfere. “You disappear for 2 years without so much as a word, then suddenly come back and expect me to be happy about it?” He breathed, staring him down with intense eyes.

“I know! That was wrong. But I didn’t really wanna leave. I just had to ‘cause the Avengers thought I was a liability and all.” Wade shrugged, trying not to anger Peter any more, because he was damn strong and he had gotten punched in the face by a lot of angry strong people. “So you’re not happy to see me?”

“...Of course I am.” Peter sunk to his knees directly into Wade’s arm, his arms casting over his neck as he held him as tightly as his anger would allow him to. Wade was all too happy to oblige.

Natasha withdrew from the room shortly after, along with Bruce and Thor, when they had assured there was no violent intentions coming from Wade. Steve and Tony kept their overwatching positions, however, the distrust clear in their face and body language.

“Hey, Peter.” Tony finally spoke, moving to sit down at the meeting table behind them. “You know why he’s here. So let’s talk.” He cast an inviting hand to the chairs situated across from him, though Peter chose to ignore it and stand. Fine. He had a right to be upset at having his privacy invaded. But Tony wasn’t going to give up this time.

“He’s here because it was wrong to take him from you. You’re an adult, and as much as I hate that you can’t see he’s a bad influence--”

“Tony.”

Tony threw a look to Steve, relenting his sour mood for Peter’s sake. “You’re an adult, and I shouldn’t have made that kind of decision for you. I won’t stand in the way of you two anymore.”

“Can I start calling you Dad?”

“That’s pushing it, Wade.”

“Got it.”

“Anyways, Peter, there’s another reason why we brought him back.” Tony said as his expression grew a bit more serious, shifting forward in his seat. Peter felt the tension growing heavier in the room, knowing all eyes were trained on him at that point. He was tempted to take a step back, dip out before the conversation reached an uncomfortable level, but he was sure that was why Steve was still by the door in the first place. “You can’t keep whatever is hurting you to yourself. And we know you won’t talk to us. So we want you to have someone you won’t just lie to.”

“So you came back to spy on me?” Peter grimaced over at Wade, who instead shook his head back quickly.

“No, no, never.” Wade insisted as he reached out to grip Peter’s hand. “I’m not gonna tell anyone if you ever decide to open up to me. Not even if I’m tortured. Cross my heart, still won’t die.” He seemed amused by his own joke, but continued to ramble off. “Anyways, baby boy, I just don’t want to see you hurting all alone. I wanna be here for you, even when you don’t want me. I know that isn’t a great deal. I wouldn’t want me around either. But I want to at least try to make you happy.”

“I-It’s not that I’m exactly unhappy with my life and stuff. You guys are fine.” Peter frowned, hating himself for his decision not to cover up. It was a simple fact that could have easily avoided this discomfort and uncomfortable level of attention he wasn’t looking for. He appreciated them wanting to help, but he’d also dealt with heavy emotions alone for years, and he wasn’t about to ask for people to be a part of it. “And I’m glad, Wade, reallyglad to have you back here. But I’m not just sad I’m…”

Peter’s voice trailed off, though no one spoke. They were waiting for an explanation Peter didn’t know how to give.

“I just don’t feel… like I should… be here?” Peter said cautiously, turning his eyes down to the table. He didn’t want to face them, really not wanting to see their reactions to what he saw as dramatic thoughts. “Like, just after everything… I don’t deserve it.”

“Peter, you--”

“I know.” Peter sighed, cutting Steve off, as he closed his eyes and ran a stressed hand through his hair. It was tangled, not really having energy to brush it as of late. He hadn’t been sleeping particularly well, either. “I know that you’re going to tell me you guys love me, and that I’m Spider-Man and all, and I know. It’s not like it’s because of you guys, or anyone. It’s just… feelings I’ve had to deal with for a really long time. And I’ll work through them eventually. But I don’t want anyone forcing anything on me or… sending my ex-boyfriend to counsel or whatever.”

There was a pause for it all to sink in. But they understood, at least as well as they could.

“We’ll back off.” Tony relented, massaging the bridge of his nose. It was a hard promise to make, even harder to keep, but he knew pushing wouldn’t help. “You have to promise not to do anything stupid. Come to us, or that,” He said, jabbing a thumb at Wade. “If you’re having trouble.”

“We don’t want to lose you.” Steve added, sighing lightly.

“I… yeah. Sorry. I’ll try.” Peter mumbled with a hopeful look, though he knew it would take a while before he was ever ready to discuss the fucked up emotions and thoughts he suffered through.

Maybe, though, he’d be able to ignore it long enough everyone forgot about the entire thing.

-----

The second time Peter tried to kill himself, he was 22 years old.

-----

Peter’s plan had succeeded. Tony became busy at work. Steve was forced into multiple Avenger’s missions a week, and replacing the gap that Tony left behind became a difficult task he was completely engrossed in. His family returned exhausted most nights at best; injured and sullen more often. Wade had to disappear at the 5th month mark to meet with some big contact in France that he promised didn’t include ‘un-aliving’ anyone who went down easily. So Peter was left to his own devices for extensive amounts of times. And while he had been doing fine in the eyes of Wade and his family, inwardly, he’d been having a rather tough time.

The nightmare were what troubled him most at first. Repetitive images of Gwen’s lifeless body snapping haunted him most nights. Others, it was Wade screaming in pain that Peter couldn’t prevent. Sometimes it was the image of his Dad chugging whiskey like it was water. Sometimes it was Steve suppressing Bucky through his sleeping fits and the guilt stricken across his face. In the end, they left him a sweaty mess sitting alone on the ledge of the building, trying to calm himself off enough in the cool night air to go back to sleep. Until the day that nothing worked.

He hadn’t felt right all morning. He was irritable and hollow, and it led to him snapping at Bruce when he’d checked in if he was okay. Apparently word went around that Peter wasn’t in the best mood, because no one else came around to bother him the rest of the day. He’d gotten a total of 1 hour of sleep the past 2 nights, and at this point he was downright void of energy or proper thoughts. He’d called Wade, desperate to stave off the anxiety and depression, but he never answered. Steve was asleep. Tony was gone. So Peter had decided to sleep it off.

When he awoke, the tower was empty. His nightmare, this time, was about Eddy and Aunt May. Two people he’d dragged into his mess of mistakes that had suffered for it. The empty hole was festering in his chest, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. He felt numb. Every crater of his body was filled with buzzing negativity. He found himself stumbling up the wall to the one place he had learned to relax, the wind pulsing against his back the higher he climbed. Somewhere along his ascent he stopped. He wondered why he held on. He measured the agony he was feeling now and had been feeling for years to the painlessness of death. And somewhere along the line he had let go. Wind whistled in his ears. His body went into panic mode, and his own breathlessness made him black out. And he waited for the impact of the ground rushing up to meet him.

He woke up with a killer headache, a broken arm, a few broken ribs, and sutures tucked into his lower abdomen. Tony slept on a chair in the corner of the hospital room. Steve was gone. Wade sat directly on the end of his bed, staring at him through his mask so intensely that it almost scared the shit out of him. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but his voice was raspy and barely came. Wade shook his head, reaching out to grip his hand as he scooted closer to speak softly as to not wake Tony up.

“I love you.” Wade mumbled as he tugged his mask up to expose his lips. He pressed them gently to the back of Peter’s bruised hand, though the action felt heavy. “And I shoulda known you would do it. I think I did know, but I didn’t think you were doing that bad.”

“Wade-...”

“It’s okay, baby boy. Just listen.”

Peter went quiet, which was better, anyways. It hurt to breathe.

“I’m taking you away.”

“What?”

“Just you and me. And we’re gonna go vacation on an island, and watch girls dance in coconut bras, and fuck in the sand at night so I don’t get those burns on my ass.”

“L-Look, that sounds nice, but school and work--”

“And then you’re going to talk to me. Every day. I don’t care how long we have to stay. But I want to know every horrible thought haunting you. I want to know every part of you. You fought my demons, so I want to fight yours. And then we’re going to come back, and I’m going to help you out of bed every fucking morning until you’re strong enough to do it yourself. I don’t plan on losing you, sweetie, until I’ve found a way to die with you. And I plan on doing everything I can to keep you with me another hundred years.”

Peter was stunned. In disbelief. But he nodded nonetheless, letting Wade indulge in his fantasy. There was a high chance his parents would stop this plan in its tracks, but for now, Peter just wanted to relax into the thought that he might not feel this shitty forever. “Okay?”

“Yeah..that sounds like exactly what I need right now. Thanks.”