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“Alright, Pete, you did really great today. I’m seeing a lot of improvement. Let’s go back to that safe place like usual, okay?”
With his eyes still closed, Peter uncrossed his arms and released a calming breath.
He had reached the end of yet another session of EMDR, or Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing—the highly unnecessary and most likely extremely overpriced therapy technique that Mr. Stark had been paying for and insisting on every blipped Avenger receiving since their return from the five-year absence.
Upon Googling the acronym, Peter learned that the technique was most commonly used in treating cases of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder—to help war veterans and kidnapping victims process the traumatic memories locked in their neural pathways.
In other words, it was used in cases of real trauma so that victims could hopefully move on and heal from their experiences.
According to him, Peter was far from the prime candidate for the treatment, but if the weekly sessions would eventually get Mr. Stark to stop looking at him like he might spontaneously vanish into thin air, he just had to grin and bear it.
The teenager would do anything to leave the past five years—or lack thereof, in his case—behind him.
So, Peter did what he always did at the end of a session, he closed his eyes and tried his hardest to visualize his safe place.
Truthfully, it wasn’t easy during his first meeting with Matt—the therapist who insisted on being called by his first name—to conjure up a calming mental image.
After all, the kid hadn’t exactly felt safe in, well, five years.
There was, however, a single memory that came to Peter’s mind when he thought of the words “safe place.”
It was the memory he clung to in the middle of every night when he woke up like clockwork in a cold sweat, the comforting feeling he tried his best to evoke on his particularly "spacey” days—as he liked to call them.
“Can you tell me a little more about what you mean by that, Peter—when you say you feel ‘spacey?’”
Peter shrugged, avoiding eye contact as he picked at a small thread in the seam of his denim jeans.
“I mean, uh — I was in space when you know, it happened...I guess sometimes it still feels like I never came back.”
The thing was, no matter how hard Peter tried, he couldn’t feel the memory.
He remembered the moment, could repeat the events in his mind as if he were recalling the plot of his favorite Star Wars film, but he couldn’t be there —at least not in the way Matt asked of him.
Try as he might, Peter couldn’t really be anywhere but the here and now. It was like his memory was reset every morning only to be wiped clean again the next day—which is why it frustrated him so much for everyone to keep treating him like the poor, fragile, traumatized kid in denial about his PTSD.
Obviously, there was nothing wrong with having trauma and needing help to get better—Peter knew this better than anyone.
Hell, it was hearing of Iron Man himself’s struggle with the disorder on the news as a young boy that first incited Peter to look up not only to the hero, but the man behind the mask.
But Peter wasn’t Tony Stark, and the things that he could only imagine his now-mentor had been through during his captivity in Afghanistan were so much worse than what the young superhero could ever conjure up in his nightmares.
At least, he assumed they had been worse.
Admittedly, he couldn’t exactly remember any of the details from the dreams that caused him to scare himself awake at the sound of his own screams at least once a night—yet another reason why this wasn’t PTSD.
“Alright, kiddo, feeling relaxed? Where’s your anxiety at on the scale?”
Kiddo.
Peter hated the nickname.
“ Kiddo” was what Mr. Stark had reverted to calling him since he came back.
It was the gentler, overly cautious version of “kid” that only served as a reminder to Peter that he had come back after five years to a completely different world, and yet everyone was acting like he was the one who had changed.
In reality, Peter was the same person he had always been.
Sure, he had some trouble sleeping now and sometimes found himself spacing out when he should be paying attention in a conversation, but all things considered, he felt that he was coping a hell of a lot better than he could be—than most people were.
Tony, on the other hand, was the one with gray hairs and a wedding band on his left ring finger and a cabin in the middle of the woods and an alpaca named Gerald, and an office to work in now of all things, and a healthy sleep schedule and a wife and a five-year-old daughter who called him “Daddy” and slept with an Iron Man teddy and looked at Peter like he hung the moon and stars for her, like how he used to look at Mr. Stark and and and…
“Peter?”
Peter’s eyes shot open, jumping slightly in his seat as Matt’s calm voice halted his train of thought.
The man had a mostly neutral expression on his face, but Peter noticed the slight furrow of concern in his brow.
“M-my anxiety, right,” he wiped his suddenly clammy hands off on his jeans, “Uh—a two?”
Matt smiled, seeming satisfied with the response as he scribbled something down in the leather notebook in his lap.
“That’s good, Peter. Really good. I’m really proud of you for continuing to give this—and me, a chance to help you. I know Tony is proud of you, too.”
Peter’s lips quirked up slightly, feeling at least partially comforted by the sentiment. Though he was almost positive that Matt embellished the last part to be encouraging, it was still a nice thought.
While he exactly wasn’t sure if anything he’d done during his sessions with Matt was exactly worth being proud of, per se, he did like to think that his regular attendance made his mentor happy—if nothing else.
And ultimately—if Mr. Stark was happy, then so was he.
He just needed to figure out what to do about the nightmares…
Obviously, therapy so far had not been helping, and more importantly, Peter didn’t know how much longer he could wake up to finding Mr. Stark slumped over and snoring after having spent another long night in the chair tucked in the corner of Peter’s temporary bedroom at the compound.
On those frequent early mornings, Peter would turn over in bed and fall back to sleep only for the older man to be gone the next time he opened his eyes.
Neither of them would mention the event some hours later when his mentor groggily entered the kitchen, pausing to ruffle Peter’s sleep-tousled hair on his way to the coffee maker as the boy ate his soggy cereal at the island countertop.
Peter never admitted it, but it was during those silent interactions with the man that things felt the closest to normal for him since being back.
It was ironic, but when Mr. Stark casually acknowledged Peter’s existence, without having to say anything at all, the boy never felt more seen.
The way Peter had fit right back into Mr. Stark's routine, how they cohabitated the shared spaces of the compound so naturally—it all made Peter feel like he still belonged somewhere in the mess of the world that had moved on without him.
It was almost as if the spot he had earned in his mentor’s life all those years ago had never been filled in his absence, instead kept static and untouched all that time, patiently awaiting his return like the dusty unfinished LEGO sets that had been left abandoned underneath his best friend’s bed.
That didn’t change the fact that Mr. Stark worried.
The man was doing his best to hide it, Peter could tell, but he still caught the way Tony lingered in his doorway for a second too long after saying goodnight, and the hidden meaning behind the frequent, “You alright, kiddo?” delivered with feigned casualness.
Peter rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, “Oh, yeah. It’s no problem, really. If you guys think it’s helping then what do I have to lose, right?”
Forcing a smile, he tried to ignore the way the words caused a knot to form in his stomach. Nothing to lose but hours of sleep, that is…
Matt closed his notebook and leaned forward in his leather office chair, “What about you, Pete? Do you think it’s helping?”
Under the man’s sudden scrutiny, Peter averted his eyes, opting instead to feign interest in one of the decorative pillows propped beside him on the sofa.
He cleared his throat, awkwardly, “I, uh—does it really matter? What I think, I mean?”
Matt was silent for a moment, leaving the boy’s words hanging heavily in the air.
Feeling the heat rising in his cheeks, Peter mentally chastised himself for being so honest.
After all, the teen really didn’t think that his opinion on the sessions made a difference—as long as everyone else thought they were helping, that was enough for him.
That said, the last thing he wanted was for Mr. Stark to think Peter was ungrateful for all he had been doing to try to help those affected by the Blip.
“I think it does, Peter. It matters to me, and I’m positive that it matters to Tony.”
Peter was muttering a reply before he could stop himself, “How?”
He looked up to meet Matt’s bewildered gaze, “I’m not sure I know what you mean—”
“How do you know that it matters to him? To, uh, to Mister Stark?”
Matt pursed his lips in thought, “Well, he told me so. We don’t discuss any of the specifics of your treatment, of course, but Tony does ask about your progress—quite frequently, I might add.”
That made Peter pause, “Wait—what? Since when?”
Why hadn’t he known that Mr. Stark had been keeping tabs on him? Was he getting reports on the other Avengers, too — or was it just Peter he felt the need to monitor?
Matt cleared his throat, seeming confused by Peter’s surprise. “Since we started seeing each other…I’m sorry, I assumed you knew, seeing as you two have such a close relationship. Tony cares very deeply about you, Peter—though, I’m sure that part isn’t a surprise to you.”
Peter could tell that Matt’s failure to mention the subject before was an innocent oversight. Though for some reason, Peter felt betrayed and embarrassed. Once again, he was being kept out of the loop of something directly involving him.
His eyes involuntarily began to fill with tears, “Yeah, no—he probably told me before and I just forgot, I guess,” he quickly glanced up at the clock on the wall above Matt’s head, “My time’s up now, isn’t it?”
Matt’s eyes softened, “No worries, kiddo. It’s fine if we go a couple of minutes over—”
There was that nickname again…
Peter stood up, “No, No, it’s okay. You have other people to see. I’ll just—I’ll see you next week. Thanks, Matt.”
He quickly made his way toward the door, making sure to avoid the man’s gaze on his way there so he wouldn’t notice the saltwater threatening to spill from Peter’s eyes.
Matt began to call out, “Wait—Peter, it’s alright!” but Peter was already out the door.
Tears blurring his vision, Peter turned sharply to his right, hoping to find some privacy in the usually empty hallway.
He had just lifted his hands to his eyes to wipe away the unwanted moisture when he found himself slamming into an unsuspecting form.
Eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment, Peter was immediately stuttering out an apology when he felt the firm hold of calloused hands on his arms.
“Woah, hey, slow your roll, kiddo. Just me.”
Peter’s body immediately went stiff as he locked eyes with the last person that he wanted to see in his current state. His embarrassment only rose as he took in Tony’s wide eyes and slightly furrowed brows.
Tony immediately let go of Peter’s arms upon noticing the boy’s rigid posture, “Peter, you alright? Did something happen in there?”
Peter wrapped his arms around himself, fingers digging into the skin of his bare arms as he became aware of the loss of physical contact.
He shook his head, slightly dazed, “I t-thought you were in a meeting.”
There was a pause as Tony cleared his throat, “It, uh—well, not today, kiddo. Sorry I spooked you, I was just grabbing a coffee from the lounge.”
“Oh, right—Sorry, you can go do that now.”
For a second, something flashed across Tony’s features, but it was gone before Peter could decipher its meaning.
The man shrugged, “Nah, I should probably skip it. I’m past the Missus’ limit for today, anyway…You, uh, you sure everything’s good, though?”
“Why don’t you just ask Matt? He’s been filling you in on everything else about me,” Peter snapped.
The words were out of Peter’s mouth before he could stop them and his mouth remained hung open in surprise.
Briefly, Tony’s eyes widened in disbelief before his features hardened all at once. He crossed his arms defensively, “Woah, who pissed in your cereal this morning? Because last I checked, Matt works for me .”
Tony’s response was all it took for Peter’s resolve to resolidify.
“Oh, so that gives you the right to spy on me? I never asked you to pay for the stupid sessions anyway, but I can see now that you were just doing it to spare yourself the hassle of checking up on me yourself.”
Peter’s chest tightened. He’d been avoiding facing his insecurities surrounding his relationship with Mr. Stark post-Blip, but now that it was all out in the open, he couldn’t ignore the thoughts that had been tucked away in the back of his mind for the past few weeks.
“Hold up, not checking up on you? I think we’re both getting tired of me asking how you’re doing but clearly, that hasn’t stopped me from asking every damn chance I get. I keep hoping that one day you’ll decide you can talk to me—but I figured if it wasn’t me, then Matt was the next best thing. So, sue me for wanting some kind of insight into my kid’s well-being! I mean—Pete, I’ve been trying to give you space and all that but, buddy, I feel completely in the dark here and it’s…it’s been killing me.”
Though Tony had raised his voice, Peter somehow felt a sense of relief wash over him. This was the Mr. Stark that he remembered, the one that he recognized. His momentary anger began to dissipate as the man's words sunk in. My kid.
Could Mr. Stark really feel that way about Peter? After all this time? After having a real kid that actually shared his own flesh and blood? It didn’t make any sense…
“I just—,” Peter exhaled, “I feel like a ghost around everyone now…I know I could be more open with you, but you’re not the only one who’s been in the dark, Mr. Stark. No one tells me anything anymore. I feel like I spent all this time trying to prove myself as more than just some kid and then I come back and it feels like I’m right back to square one.”
Tony’s eyes softened once more, urging Peter to continue.
“You used to talk to me about real things, you know? That was one of the reasons I always wanted to be around you. I mean, you could be a little overprotective—”
Tony raised an eyebrow as if to say “Who, me?” and Peter rolled his eyes halfheartedly, ”But for the most part, you were the one person I could count on to treat me like an equal—”
Tony started to speak up, “Kid, I—” but Peter stopped what he assumed would be a string of apologies, “I know you don’t mean to—Wait, what did you just call me? ”
Tony appeared to be caught off guard by the question, “What? ‘Kid’? I always call you that—”
Peter shook his head slowly, “No—I mean you haven’t, since, uh, since I’ve been back.”
Tony seemed to ponder this, “Huh, I guess I didn’t notice…You don’t mind it, do you?”
Peter smiled softly, surprised when his eyes started getting misty, “No, I-I missed it…” He looked up at the man earnestly, swallowing past the growing lump in his throat, ”I missed you, Tony.”
It was the most honest thing Peter had uttered since his return and he wasn’t even in a therapy session. He felt his shoulders relax from a weight suddenly lifted that he hadn’t even realized he had been carrying around.
The first tear rolling down Peter’s cheek was all it took for Tony to spring forward, pulling the boy into his arms.
“Oh, Pete, kid, I missed you so much. God, you have no idea.”
Peter’s thin frame was wracked with sobs as his arms wrapped around the man’s waist, reveling in the feeling of safety and love that he had been silently craving for so long.
Much to Peter’s relief, Tony paid no mind to his hysterics, only tightening his embrace around his kid as his own eyes filled with moisture.
“I gotcha, bud. I’m right here. I didn’t go anywhere, I promise you,” Tony murmured softly, “Why do you think I’ve been keeping you and your aunt cooped up with me in the compound, huh? I haven’t wanted you out of my sight since the moment I got you back.”
Peter laughed softly, the sound stifled by Tony’s cotton tee shirt as he breathed in the smell of overpriced cologne and coffee grounds. Home.
Tony pulled back, searching Peter’s eyes, “By the way—that wasn’t a ‘ Tony’ I heard from you just now, was it?”
Peter shrugged, mimicking the man teasingly, “I always call you that.”
In reality, the pair both knew just how long Tony had been begging Peter to drop the formalities when addressing him, but it had always been so ingrained in the boy’s polite nature—until now.
Tony shook his head in feigned disbelief, “Oh no you don’t—you’re not getting past me on this one, ‘Roos. That footage is going in the baby log.”
“Do you mind it?” Peter asked, a bit shy at the man’s dramatics—to which Tony pulled him right back into another embrace, laughing fondly.
Resting his chin on top of Peter’s unruly curls, Tony replied, “Not one bit, bud.”
A gentle hand smoothed over the back of Peter’s head and he sighed contentedly as Tony repeated almost to himself, “I gotcha, kid. You’re safe with me.”
And didn’t Peter know it...