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When Peter walked in the room, he was greeted to laughter.
“What?” He questioned gruffly, sleep evident in his voice.
“Sorry, sorry,” Tony said, going back to the stove, “I’ve just never seen your hair like that.”
He hasn’t looked in a mirror yet, but he was sure he knew what he looked like – or a vague idea at least. His bedhead was no joke, and his hair, especially when it was long, looked a bit like a birds nest, or like one of those crazy 80's hairdos where all the hair stands up on end.
“Ha ha,” he drawled in return, “At least I don’t have baby vomit on my shirt.”
Peter walked over to where Morgan was sitting in her high chair, “Good morning, Mo.”
Tony wasn’t even phased, “Yeah, that happens. It’s called ‘being a father’. You should try it sometime... wait- no.”
Now it was Peter’s turn to laugh.
“Alright giggles, calm down before I eat all your pancakes myself.”
The idea of food made his eyes light up, and he walked to the kitchen where Tony handed him a big plate.
“Uh...”
“What, Spiderboy? Not the flavour you wanted?”
“No, uh, it’s just... these aren’t pancakes.”
“What do you mean?”
Tony turned around to face Peter, who was now sitting at the islands, staring at the pancakes with a confused look on his face. “These are crepes.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot. You’re American. All about that thick slab of shit, aren’t you?” Tony said teasingly, “Well, not in my house, I say! We are having English pancakes-"
“So, crepes?”
Tony pointed the fish slice at Peter, a look of seriousness painted on his features, but a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Watch it, you heathen. It’s bad enough you’re not eating that with lemon and sugar.”
Peter wrinkled his nose, cutting up the stack of pancakes with his cutlery, “Sour sugar? No thanks. Makes gritty pancakes, not fun.”
Tony nodded, turning back to the stove.
“So, why do you do pancakes like this, then? Last I checked you were American too, old man.”
“Old man? I’m wounded, Parker,” he said, putting a hand to his heart, Peter rolling his eyes, “Truly. And you seem to be forgetting my dad was a douche and I was raised by two brits.”
Peter nodded, making an ‘Ah' sound before shoving pancakes into his mouth.
“You ever had Yorkshire puddings?”
Peter shook his head, before tilting it with a confused look.
“They’re exactly this, but savoury. And guess where they’re from.”
“...London?”
“Yorkshire.”
Peter coughed on the pancake on his mouth at that, and Tony had to slap him on the back. One his coughing fit had subsided, Tony passed him some water, which he took thankfully.
“I really should take you to London one day.”
“Sounds good, Mr. Stark.”
-
Days like this are what Tony lives for.
The Avengers were currently all in the communal living room, watching Back To The Future, the first one. Steve hadn’t seen it, and their had been multiple protests all at once at the confession.
He was sitting on the sofa, mug of coffee in hand, Peter curled into his side. Rhodey was the other side of Peter, shovelling handfuls of popcorn into his mouth.
The other Avengers were dotted around, Sam and Bucky on the loveseat, which was strangely domestic for people always insulting each other but hey, everyone’s got their own preferences. Steve, Bucky and Nat were seated together, Vision and Wanda sat on the floor, hugging cushions.
Tony smiled, and exhaled slowly, allowing himself to relish in the feeling of comfort before turning his attention back to the movie.
They stayed like that for the majority of the movie, not really moving that much, until they got quite far in: Marty had met with Doc, and were discussing the plans on what a 1980’s teenage was supposed to do in 1955.
He felt Peter straighten up on his side, before a whispered, “Oh, God...”
The movie rattled on, Doctor Brown exclaiming, ‘We’re sending you back... to the future!’ and Peter visibly slumped from his upright position.
“Pete?”
No response.
“Fri, pause the movie, lights to 65 percent.”
The room brightened and the movie paused, some of the Avengers not paying attention making noises of disagreement which were quickly hushed when they saw Peter’s face.
It was hollow – eyes empty, face blank. The almost unnoticeable dark circles under Peter’s eyes that he’d acquired through nights of nightmares and insomnia (the life of a superhero) more prominent than ever.
“He’s dissociating,” Tony said, absent-mindedly. He didnt exactly know what to do – sure, he dissociated a lot, but he didn’t know how to handle someone else dissociating.
He distantly remembers Pepper holding his hand from the times he felt, for a lack of a better word, spacey, so he held Peter’s hand, and started weaving his free fingers through the boys hair.
Sam sprang to action, knowing exactly what to do, except before he had even left the room, Peter was back in the right mind-set.
When Peter came to, he was staring right at... Well, at Tony Stark’s face. And he wouldn’t lie, the first though that came through his head was what the fuck.
“Kid,” Tony Stark said, “Are you okay?”
“Hm? Oh yeah, I’m fine, um? Where exactly... am I?”
The Avengers shared glances of worry, “Avengers Compound,” Sam said.
Peter’s eyes went wide. “How did I end up here? This is on the other side of New York, I-I'm not supposed to be here! How did I even get in here? Isn’t the security like, really good?” he gasped to himself, “Did I break in? I’m so, so sorry Mr. Tony Stark, Iron Man sir, please don’t kill me, please don’t take me to court, my aunt can’t afford to pay a fine and oh my god what the hell is going on-"
“Kid,” Tony said, effectively cutting off the kids anxious rambles. He tried to keep a calm face, but inside, he was panicking. Peter couldn’t remember anything, as far as he was concerned. He was acting like this was the first time seeing them, despite knowing the Avengers for years.
“I know it’s difficult, but just take a breath, okay?”
Peter nodded jerkily, sucking in a somewhat forced breath, not saying anything and allowing Tony to continue.
“Did you hit your head on patrol?”
Peter just looked confused, “Patrol?”
“Oh my god,” Steve muttered, and Sam decided to speak up.
“Kid, you’re Spider-Man.”
The silence that fell over them was deafening. Peter’s face was blank, like he didn’t hear what Sam said, and then...
“Ha, ha, hilarious, but if you don’t mind, I really need to find a way to get back to Queens,” he responded, turning towards the door.
“Kid,” Tony said, “We’re really worried about you. At least let us check you over, and then I’ll get my driver to drive you to Queens, yeah?”
A beat passed, in which all of the Avengers held their breath, “Yeah, okay.”
They led him to the medical bay, and he lied down on the examination table, Bruce filing in hurriedly.
“Okay, Peter, have you recently hit your head hard?”
Peter shook his head, “Not that I remember.”
“Yeah, but that’s the problem, isn’t it kid, you don’t remember. That’s not gonna get us anywhere-"
“Tony, please,” Bruce cut in, before directing his attention back to Peter, “Sorry, he’s worried.”
Peter shrugged, “It’s okay, I just don’t understand why, though. I’m not anyone special.”
Sam chuckled humourlessly, “You’d be surprised, kid.”
Peter stared at Sam for a bit, eyes furrowed, as if Sam was a mystery he needed to unravel, “Besides,” he settled on ignoring that comment, “I don’t remember a lot of things. Its one of my key personality traits.”
“How do you mean?”
He tilted his head, “I have DID, its kinda common for me to not remember stuff when I’m not fronting, but usually the others fill me in.”
Bruce nodded, “Ah, well then. Peter here hasn’t hurt himself, he’s perfectly all right-"
“Bruce, he can’t remember us!”
“Tony, listen to me. He’s alright. You might want to introduce yourself to him, though.”
“Wait, Doc,” Peter said, “Are you saying that I do actually know all of you?”
“Well,” the doctor fiddled with a pen in his hands, “Not you, I don’t think. One of your alters.”
Peter took this information in, and looked like he was halfway between shocked and angry, “I’m going to have a very long, detailed and possibly loud discussion with the system, tonight.”
“Is anyone else confused to what’s happening here?” Bucky asked.
“Dissociative Identity Disorder, abbreviated to DID, is a mental condition formed at a young age, in which the body experiences severe, repeated trauma, and splits off into multiple personalities, called ‘alters'.” Vision supplied.
“I could’ve told you that.”
“Hush, Pete, I’m trying to think,” Tony said, “So, is this the first time we’ve met,” Peter nodded, “So, I’ve been talking to a completely different person all this time?”
“How long is ‘all this time’?”
“Three years.”
Peter breathed, “Jess!”
“I’m sorry, Peter, Spidey just pushes to the front whenever we arrived here.
“And you didn’t think to tell me that we were in frequent contact with the Avengers?”
Said heroes looked confused at Peter’s seemingly one-sided conversation.
“And I’m Spider-Man? What the hell!”
“I don’t know what to say, Peter.”
“How about a ‘sorry for keeping a huge part of your life away from you, Peter.’ This is exactly what Aunt May meant when she said we needed better communication. Jesus Christ.”
Peter suddenly went quiet, staring into nothing. Tony leapt into action, ready to pull Peter back to reality, but Bruce stopped him, shaking his head, “He’s switching. Leave him be.”
When Peter came to, for the second time that night, Tony realised that it probably wasn’t Peter he would be talking to.
“Hi, sorry everyone,” Not-Peter said with a smile, “Right, what were we doing?”
“We were checking Peter over because Tony over there,” Bruce pointed at him, “Is a helicopter parent. I’m Doctor Bruce Banner, and you are?”
“My name is Ellie,” Ellie answered, with a smile.
“Woah, that’s weird.”
“What is?”
“How you’ve become... a completely different person,” Bucky replied.
Ellie looked sheepish, “It can be a little jarring sometimes, but you get used to it.”
“Not to sound rude or anything,” Bruce said, “But why are you out? From what I could tell, someone called Jess was co-fronting.”
“Co-fronting?”
“I don’t know how to describe it,” Ellie turned her attention to Tony, “Peter describes it as being in the shotgun of a car. You’re not in control, but you can still see and hear everything that’s happening. And yes, Jess and Spidey were co-fronting. I kinda just pushed everyone out of the way, because I’m the caretaker, which,” she looked at the Avengers huddled in the room, “for those unaware, basically means I protect the body from physical and mental harm, and Peter was about to go into a panic attack.”
“Really?”
“It’s understandable, I mean, he was just told that someone was a really big part of his life, and someone really cares about him, and he had no idea because no-one bothered to tell him. I’m gonna have a go at the others, by the way.”
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
“I didn’t know myself. I usually never co-front, unless the body is hurt. My main job is to look after the littles,” then, she adds on, “the alters who are younger than 11. I look after some of the middles too, but they like to be independent.” She finished, the word independent emphasised, with air quotes.
“Well, can we get to know you?”
“Of course!”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Bruce said, clapping his hands together.
The next thing Ellie knew, she was sat, in what Dr. Banner called the living room, Avengers looking at her.
“So... tell us a bit about yourself,” Tony suggested.
“Well, my name is Ellie, I’m 18, I age once every year-"
She was cut off by Clint laughing, “You laugh, Mr. Barton, but not everyone in the system ages like you think. Some age quicker, some slower, some have fixed ages, some are age sliders, so don’t be mean.”
Clint put his hands up in a surrender like gesture, and Ellie pointed her finger at him, “You’re lucky its me telling you this, and not Spidey, or Jess, because they would really rip you a new one.”
“Anyways, my pronouns are she/her, and my faceclaim, which is basically a person-slash-celebrity that I look like, is Millie Bobby Brown, which is funny, cause I’m older than her, so I’m stuck with an eternal baby face.”
“Are there things that we thought was traits of Peter that actually aren’t?” Tony said, “Like Legos. Does Peter like Legos?”
Ellie smiled softly, “Yes, Peter likes Legos. Lots of the little do, too.”
“What about star wars?”
“Uh, I think the only one who likes Star Wars is one of the littles, Keu, Peter prefers Star Trek, but has watched all the Star Wars movies cause Ned likes them.”
“How come Spider-Man knew about Empire Strikes Back in the battle?”
“Oh, at Leipzig? I think Keu was co-fronting. I remember cause I was trying to get all the kids away from the fight, but he was insistent on telling Spidey his idea, which worked out, I guess.”
Steve cleared his throat, “So, what happened?”
Her head snapped to him, brown curls bouncing on her head, “What do you mean?”
“What happened to make you go like... this?”
She took a breath, “I’m going to say this very clearly, and im not having a go at you Mr. Rogers, because I’m sure you didn’t know, but you all have to listen. Asking someone with DID, or any other personality disorder what happened to make them like that is the most disrespectful and horrible thing you can do. Because we don’t know, Peter doesn’t know any of it, even I don’t know all of it, the only person who does is Jess, the gatekeeper. If something so traumatic happened that Peter’s mind split off into different alters just so he wouldn’t know what happened, it’s highly inappropriate for you to ask.”
“Oh, I’m... I’m sorry...”
“It’s okay, I doubt you knew, but for future reference please don’t ask again. Jess will front and kick all of your asses, I had to push her down just to talk to you just then.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Nice subject change, bird man,” she said, shooting finger guns at Sam, “I don’t actually know... I don’t think Jess actually even knows... I know there’s upwards of 13-"
“Thirteen!”
“Yes, thirteen! I can tell you for absolute certain there’s about 5 littles and 3 middles, and then, there’s me, Spidey, Peter, Jess, and-"
“Okay, okay, okay, please stop, for a sec,” Tony said, cutting her off, “Wow, this is gonna be one hell of a roller coaster.”