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Reading older Spiderman fics of yours and now all I can think about is Peter drinking a red cherry slushie or asking if he can get one while out with one of the Avengers or something and then realizing "oh he's not okay uh oh" like it's a code word. Do with this what you will /nf – anon
Hey I know you just finished a big fic, so feel free to take your time or ignore this! Just a quick Spidey idea: Irondad and the Avengers affectionately embarrassing him, someone accidentally takes it too far, angst and then comfort and apologies. Maybe some protective Yelena or Pepper, idk. Anyway, have a good day 🩷 – anon
Weird things happen inside your body when you get really, really angry.
Some people say they feel hot all over, like they're a kettle just begging to let off steam by shouting really loudly. Some people say they feel cold, like they've just been dropped into a freezing lake and left to struggle their way out. Some people's anger is wet, tears streaming from their eyes as they stumble over their words in an effort to shove the emotion out of their body in as many ways as possible. Some people's anger is dry, where it's nothing but words effortlessly aimed at their target to cut them down without so much as a flinch.
Peter's anger is none of that.
There's a faint ringing in his ears. That's the first thing he notices. He's standing somewhere only because his head is at the right angle for him to be vertical, and he's blinking because that's what his eyelids are supposed to do. The rest of his body might as well be a mystery. He can't feel his hands, his chest, his legs—none of it. He can only hear this faint ringing.
Distantly, some part of him recognizes that this isn't good. The last time he felt disconnected from his body like this, he was—
Well.
Not anywhere good.
The next thing he realizes is the temperature. It's quick, barely a moment; in reality, all of this probably takes place over a few seconds, but to Peter, it's an eternity. A flood of heat like the blast wave of an explosion rockets through his veins with all the ruthlessness of a tsunami. The ringing gets louder, the pain in his body abruptly makes itself known, his hands are clenched into fists—when did that happen?
The flash dies down and now all he can hear is laughter. People are laughing. Loud, grating, mocking. They're laughing. They're still laughing. They've always been laughing. They won't stop laughing.
There's a pain in his chest that won't stop either. He doesn't know what type of pain this is but it's there. It's there and it keeps getting worse and it's spreading to his shoulders and his knees and his arms and his legs and he's shaking, how long has he been shaking for, he doesn't know, but he's shaking and he wishes he could stop because that probably won't make them stop laughing, in fact it might make them laugh even more, and he doesn't know what he's going to do because this anger isn't just a part of him now, it is him and he doesn't know how to control it but he has to control it before it spirals out into other emotions that he can control even less than he can control his anger and the people are still laughing.
He doesn't realize he's moving until he looks up and sees a door approaching. Good. Doors mean exits, they mean getting away from wherever he is right now, and that's good. He tells the world he can see to make the door come towards him faster and it does, and that's good.
There's a hand on his shoulder. He only realizes it when the door stops approaching. He turns his head and looks at the arm and then looks up at the face it's connected to. He blinks. He knows this face. This is Steve's face. Steve, who wasn't there, Steve, who just came through the door, Steve, who isn't laughing.
He sees Steve's lips move. He's probably saying something. He can't hear what Steve is saying over the ringing in his ears and the laughter. So much laughter.
Oh. He's moving again. He must have said the right thing to make Steve let him go. He casts his mind back to see if there's a record of whatever it was he just said and his mind only returns the words cherry slushie. Steve must have laughed when he said that, right? Those are quite silly words to say when someone tries to stop you from leaving a place when people are laughing.
(He doesn't realize that Steve most certainly did not laugh when Peter said cherry slushie. He doesn't realize that the reason he was suddenly able to keep moving is that Steve's grip went slack as his face dropped, and that the reason he didn't go after Peter is he was moving quite quickly across the room to get someone else's attention.)
The next thing Peter registers is cold. It's cold outside. When did he get outside? He doesn't know. He was up high, he knows, where the laughing was, and this is not up high. This is the ground. So he must have gotten down here quickly or he has no idea how long it's been since he could actually hear the laughing and not the phantoms living behind the ringing in his ears. That distant part of him continues to recognize that this is bad. This is bad, that he can't remember how long it took him to get down here, and it's bad that he continues to move like a ghost across the street towards the buzzing haze of a neon sign.
He pushes open the door. There are a lot of lights in here. A lot of lights and colors and this strange smell that makes some part of his shoulders relax. He's going towards something on instinct, he realizes, walking through aisles of linoleum until he reaches his destination. He reaches out and grabs a cup and stares into the red.
There's a straw in his hand. There's a cool cup in his hand. There's a slushie in his hand.
The first taste of cherry is a revelation. He blinks, lets out a great huge gasp, and starts to cry.
His body comes rushing back to him like baby chicks clamoring for their mother's attention. His arms are shaking, so are his hands, and his feet hurt from these stupid nice shoes he's been forced to wear. His chest is still aching like someone shoved his heart up against the lockers of his ribs, and his gut is wailing about how hungry it is and how betrayed it feels. He scrabbles for a napkin from the plastic dispenser and scrubs it harshly over his face.
He's made it out. He's okay. He has his stupid cherry slushie and he doesn't have to pretend he has everything together anymore.
He knows Mr. Stark didn't mean it.
He knows that, somewhere. He knows it in that part of him that insists on going to Mr. Stark when he's having nightmares, or the part of him that will put his head on his shoulder during movie nights, or the part that says he's hungry only to blink and see a feast of take-out assembled before him.
But then why would he say that?
He doesn't know how they got here. He doesn't know how the topic of genuine humanitarian efforts for increasing mental health awareness and treatment got on to let's talk about all the embarrassing things about Peter. He doesn't know why Clint started teasing him about his first suit that he cobbled together in his room because he just needed something. He doesn't know why Natasha started interrupting him when he tried to defend himself, saying it's okay, Baby Spider, listen to the big heroes for now, and treating his protests like he was a toddler. He doesn't know why he looked to Mr. Stark for help and all Mr. Stark said was well, come on, Pete, why do you think your code word is 'Underoos?'
Cherry slushie. Cherry slushie. Everything will be okay if he just keeps drinking his cherry slushie.
He doesn't know what to do right now. There isn't anywhere he can go. It's late, he remembers that much, and the bored college kid behind the counter isn't likely to kick him out any time soon, but he knows enough to know he probably can't just stand here and drink the slushie he hasn't even paid for.
He hasn't even paid for this!
Peter's hand shakes as he looks down at the half-drunk slushie and then back up at the machine. His hand goes to his pocket and—
He doesn't have anything. He doesn't have his phone, he doesn't have his wallet, he doesn't have anything. Not even his ID card to get back into the building. He's in this stupid aisle with his stupid slushie and he's too stupid to have figured out a way to get out of here.
"Good choice."
He does not throw his slushie everywhere because someone takes it from him before he can. He just blinks as they hold the cup back up to the machine, filling it the rest of the way, before the arm loops through his and starts guiding him through the aisles.
"I really like beef jerky and those shitty American chips," the person says, "so I'm going to get those. What else are you going to get?"
Peter just blinks in the direction of the Ritz peanut butter crackers and there's a hand grabbing a bag off the shelf.
"Perfect. Anything else, Baby Spider? Aunt Spider treat."
Aunt Spider. Yelena. This is Yelena. Yelena wasn't laughing at him. Yelena is here. Yelena will take care of him, right?
He reaches for the sour Starburst before he has time to think himself out of that.
Yelena takes it without batting an eye and leads the way up to the register, Peter trailing behind her. She places everything down and pulls out her card, her other hand wrapping around Peter's and pulling him close. It should feel infantilizing. He should be saying that he's not a child, that he can stand here without her holding his hand. But this doesn't feel like the laughter, it doesn't feel like those words that were hurled at him upstairs, it feels…good. It feels like she's here, she's here with him in between the ringing and the laughter and she's not going to let him get hurt.
There's a plastic bag slung over her arm like the fanciest of purses and they're back outside. She puts his slushie back in his hand and he takes a sip out of habit. The cherry washes over his tongue and he manages a shaky sigh.
"Thank you, 'Lena."
"You're very welcome. I should be the one thanking you for having the great idea to go to that little store for snacks. They do not take advantage of their proximity to this building, I tell you."
Only then does he realize that Yelena's leading him back across the street towards that building. "A-aunt Spider, I don't want to—"
"We are not going back up there," Yelena interrupts kindly, "we are going with Pepper to sit in their fancy greenhouse and eat snacks and rant about annoying rich people."
"We are?"
"Mhm. Look, there's Pepper, right now."
Sure enough, looking like the goddess she always does, there is Pepper Potts, waiting just outside the door. She smiles when she sees him and leans over to ruffle his hair. It feels nice. He likes how Pepper mothers him just a little, gently wiping his cheek with her thumb.
"Come on, then, you two. We've got a bench in that conservatory with our names on it."
Yelena snorts. "Is your name actually on one of those?"
"Yes, actually, it is, but we're not going to that one. It's one of the overly fancy marble ones that aren't comfortable at all. The one I'm thinking of is the wood kind that rocks a little when you sit on it."
"Oh, that sounds perfect. And is it—?"
"Overlooking that fountain they have on the west side."
"I'll never understand rich people."
Peter just holds on to Yelena's hand and rests his shoulder against Pepper's as they ride the elevator back up. The doors open and the rush of heat is a balm on his shaking hands. There comes the smell of fresh rain, plants, life, just beckoning them into this little sanctuary and it's all he can do to follow Pepper through the paths until she sits them on a little wooden bench that's like a rocking chair, but in bench form. There's the slightest mist in the air and he just tips his head back and breathes.
"Here," comes Pepper's gentle voice, "do you want to take your jacket off, Peter? You look a little flushed."
Oh. Yes, he does want to do that. He takes it off and drapes it over the back of the bench, cradling his slushie as Yelena hands Pepper a package of Swedish Fish and a bag of pretzels. For a few minutes, all they do is eat their convenience store snacks and enjoy the warm air.
"Peter?" Yelena prompts as gentle music drifts from some hidden speaker. "Are you okay?"
"I think so. 'M better now."
She taps the edge of the cup. "Did you need this, or…need this?"
"The f-first one." He swallows. "It was just bad for a moment, but I'm not—I'm—it's okay. It's not like that."
Pepper reaches out and puts her arm around his shoulders. He leans her head into her. Yelena's hand is warm on his knee. "What happened, sweetie? Steve came and found the two of us, said you needed some support—"
"N-nothing happened, really, I just—" Yelena squeezes his leg— "I…I just…got overwhelmed."
"Please tell us," Yelena says softly, "I know you're not telling us everything."
He can't help it. He sniffles. "They were being mean to me."
He sounds like a kid. He is a kid. That's their whole point, how much of a kid he is. They embarrassed him because that's what you do to kids, you embarrass them, but that's stupid anyways, and he doesn't get why people do that because the whole point of letting a kid be a kid around you is that you don't judge them for how they are and how they're figuring stuff out and embarrassment hurts, so why would you want to hurt your kid, and that doesn't make any sense to him because they know that he's embarrassed about it sometimes because he's a teenager and that's all he knows how to do, and why would they do that to him when they know—
"Breathe, Baby Spider," comes Yelena's voice, "it's okay. We understand, shh, breathe now."
Oh. He said all of that out loud. How embarrassing.
"It's okay, sweetheart," Pepper murmurs, carding her fingers through his hair as Yelena gives him a napkin, "you're right. That was mean. And it's okay that you needed to get away from there."
"I don't get it."
"I don't understand it either."
"You are both only children, yes?" Yelena asks. "It is the way of siblings. This I understand, but it should not be the way with you. You do not have siblings, you do not know of this way. And you are my Baby Spider, and they should know better."
Peter just looks at her with his eyes all big and she cups his face in her hands.
"I have not had a little brother before you, but you are my little brother and my Baby Spider. I will not be mean to you, not when you are already hurting. If anyone ever hurts you or embarrasses you like that, you come to me, yes?"
"Y-yes, Aunt Spider, I will."
"Good." She kisses his forehead and hands him his Starburst. "Now, eat your sugar and drink more of your sugar. We have a garden to enjoy."
They do. It's a wonderful garden. Pepper keeps her arm over his shoulder as they eat their horrible convenience store snacks, just enjoying the silence and the warmth and the peaceful air. The water of the fountain provides excellent percussion for the music playing softly over the speakers. Peter finds himself drifting, his head on Pepper's shoulder, his hand in Yelena's.
(Steve had gone straight to them, after all, to tell them what Peter had said. Yelena had rushed off and Pepper had followed, telling Steve not to let anyone else follow them for the moment. He had nodded and stood by the door, a hand on Tony's chest when he realized his bambino was missing and had left his phone behind. Natasha and Clint had tried to get around him too, only for Pepper to text him saying that they were safe, they were upstairs, to leave them be for a little while longer. That made the others back off, if only to retreat to their own phones to text Pepper and say they were sorry, they didn't realize, they wanted to apologize to Peter too. Pepper had read their messages and sent no reply.)
"…guys?"
"Mm?"
"Yes, Peter?"
"C-can we come here more often?"
"Of course. I'll let them know to expect us."
Yelena laughs. "Do you think they'll let us bring our snacks every time too?"
"Of course they will, I'm Pepper Potts."
Peter giggles and closes his eyes, his cherry slushie melting in his hand.
(Steve can't hold them back forever, and eventually they spill into the garden, looking around for their missing Peter. They find him dozing on Pepper's shoulder, Yelena glaring at them. Steve wakes him gently, coaxing the slushie from his grip with a slightly pinched expression. Tony wraps him up in a cuddle so fierce it takes his breath away, Natasha and Clint making their own apologies with snacks and regretful words. Pepper watches all of it, a grateful look at Steve over their shoulders. Steve just nods, once. They would always be here.)