Work Text:
Peter POV:
A sickening crack reverberated through Peter’s skull as the back of his head collided roughly with the brick wall behind him. Ringing filled his ears and black spots danced in the outskirts of his vision, taunting him with the threat of passing out. What a way to end the day, right?
Peter already felt off when he woke up this morning. The lights seemed a tad too bright when he opened his eyes, and the loud sounds of NYC bordered on overwhelming. As he sluggishly moved throughout his apartment (if you could even call it that), the telltale signs of a headache began making themselves known. The pressure building behind Peter’s eyes and the ache at the base of his neck all made it incredibly difficult for him to focus on the eggs he was halfheartedly attempting to cook that he probably wouldn’t even eat half of. The strong smell of grease and the gas stove alone had him feeling slightly nauseous.
Giving up on the eggs, Peter instead reached for the large bottle of painkillers he kept on the counter. Logically he knew that the pills could barely touch any pain he was in due to his high metabolism, but he hoped that the placebo effect would maybe kick in and help him out. Not that it had in the past, but never say never! After downing four pills dry, Peter opened his phone, squinting against the bright light to check for any new crimes on his police scanner.
The thought of patrolling had his head aching even more, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t dealt with this before. Even before the spike in his arachnid hormones had his senses on the fritz, Peter had always had enhanced senses. And on occasion, those senses would overwhelm him to the point of intense migraines and even the inability to function like a normal person for a few hours. So yes, he had dealt with this before.
But before he had…
No. Peter was an adult now. He didn’t need anyone to help him or coddle him because things got a bit too loud. And besides. One patrol wouldn’t kill him.
And that’s how Peter ended up with his head slammed against a wall by some low level thugs who were making a poor attempt at robbing a bank.
Great.
His heightened senses had picked up on a shout from a few blocks over, causing him to lose focus and become open to an attack from one of the thugs. If his head wasn’t killing him before, it certainly was now.
In a moment of panic, Peter sent webs flying, hoping to pin the robbers to the ground or the opposite wall. He blinked rapidly, willing the spots in his vision to dissipate. The thugs had been caught in the webs, if a little carelessly, and Peter breathed a sigh of relief, reaching back to prod at the back of his head.
Suddenly, the ringing in his ears was replaced with a thundering wave of sounds, each one grating at his ears and sending a sharp spike of pain through his temples. He could hear the screech of tires when a car swerved two blocks over, the sizzle of a grill at some food truck, the fighting of a couple in their 12th story apartment, and everything in between. Every little sound was so clear to him, yet each one blended into the cacophony in his head, making each one both distinct and indistinguishable. The streetlights burned into his retinas, forcing Peter to shut his eyes harshly.
At the base of his neck, Peter could feel his Spidy-Senses going haywire, screaming at him to leave and escape whatever danger surrounded him. A ball of panic lodged itself in his chest, his breath quickening and vision narrowing.
He needed to leave. Now.
Peter racked his brain for some witty one-liner to throw at the thugs. But his head was spinning and he honestly felt like he might throw up if he opened his mouth. So Peter opted for escaping back to his apartment as soon as possible.
He relied mostly on muscle memory and a prayer to swing back home, narrowly dodging buildings and the occasional pigeon. He wanted nothing more than to lay in his bed, surrounded by complete darkness and Tony there to keep him grounded through the noise, just like he always did when this happened.
Wait.
Peter staggered, missing his next swing and tumbling roughly onto the roof of his apartment building. The panic in his chest increased tenfold as he dangerously neared the edge.
Tony had always been there for Peter when his senses became too overwhelming. The first time it happened in front of the man, Peter was sure that he would die of embarrassment, that Tony would laugh and tell him to shake it off. Instead, he was worried, frantically asking Peter what was wrong and how he could help. Once he was able to give a vague and panicked explanation (Tony had to figure most of it out for himself, since Peter was practically catatonic), Tony was able to calm Peter down by bringing him to a dark and quiet room and threatening every Avenger in the tower with their life if they even made so much as a peep.
And then Tony stayed.
He stayed until Peter had passed out from exhaustion, his body too overwhelmed and shot with panic to remain conscious any longer. He talked to Peter in hushed tones, asking him to focus on his voice, his breathing, telling him that he was safe and that everything would be ok. He brushed his hand through Peter’s curls, or gently rubbed his back, or just held him in a crushing hug, giving Peter something tactile to focus on and ground himself with. Later, Tony had a room in the tower remodeled to be pitch black and almost completely soundproof. It was a haven to Peter's heightened senses, but it was not what comforted him most on days like this.
That was all Tony.
And before Tony, the first time it happened, it was May.
But she was dead because of him. And Tony was dead, leaving Peter with no one because not a single soul on Earth remembered or cared for him anymore.
No one had been there to comfort him in a long time.
Peter let out a low whine, curling in on himself and squeezing his eyes shut. He ripped off his mask, freeing his skin from the suffocating material. One hand grabbed the hair at the base of his neck, scratching and pulling roughly against the constant buzz of his Spidy-Sense.
He wanted MJ or Ned.
He wanted May.
…
He wanted Tony.
***
Frank POV:
Frank wasn’t sure what he was expecting from the spider kid’s apartment, but it definitely wan’t the kid curled up in the fucking fetal position before he even walked in the damn place.
Frank had agreed to meet with Peter to debrief a major drug deal they were trying to take down together. He thought it was only fair for them to meet at the kids place this time, rather than Peter setting off almost every trap Frank had at his safehouse. Whatever was happening right now was not a part of the deal.
“Kid? You good down there?”
Peter had his mask clutched in one hand, his eyes screwed shut and his breaths rapid and shallow. He didn’t seem to recognize the fact that Frank was there, much less his words. What the fuck?
Frank took in a sharp inhale as his gaze caught the kid’s other hand carving angry red marks into the back of his neck.
“Pete!” Frank crouched down, wrenching Peter’s hand away with more force than what was probably necessary. “Cut that shit out!”
Peter suddenly tensed up, seeming to recognize the presence of another person with a start. Tears started forming in his eyes, shocking Frank into taking a step back. He didn’t do that mushy shit.
“I’m sorry!” Peter shouted, “I’m sorry, it's so loud and there’s- there’s danger somewhere I don’t know- I don’t know I’m sorry!”
“Woah” Frank was lost as Peter began breathing even quicker, almost hyperventilating. What the hell was wrong with him? “There is no danger, kid, we are at your apartment. What’s the matter with you?”
Peter’s hands moved to cover his ears, his eyes remaining tightly shut. Frank listened closely to the noise of the city surrounding them. Sure, it was constant, but not any louder that NYC normally was. And it was nearing night, there were no bright lights to shield from.
With a frustrated groan, Frank raked his hand through his hair, unsure of what the fuck was happening. Peter was muttering to himself, something about danger and noise, but still refusing to let any tears fall.
Suddenly, Frank remembered something Matt had mentioned to him ages ago.
“With my heightened senses, I can sometimes get overwhelmed by the input, especially in a big city like this. It’s like I can hear and feel every little thing all at once.”
Oh.
Shit.
Peter let out another quiet whine, snapping Frank back into the present.
“Okay, kiddo, I get it. I bet it is loud as hell out here. Let's go inside, yeah?”
Peter sniffled, but didn’t give any other signs that he understood Frank's words.
“Alright, but you owe me for this.” Frank sighed as he tried his best to scoop Peter up into his arms without jostling him too much. It was almost the same as when…
Frank shuddered, preferring not to think about when he almost killed the last friend he had left.
The roof access door leading to the apartment was unlocked, dumbass kid. Frank nudged the door open with his foot, and took in a room that barely constituted as an apartment. There was tech thrown about randomly, clothes scattered across the floor, and what appeared to be burnt eggs abandoned on the small stove.
“Jesus kid, this is worse than my place.” Frank kicked tech and a takeout container out of the way as he walked over to Peter’s bed. All the while, Peter had tucked his head into Frank's chest, seemingly trying to hide from the rest of the world. He trembled in Frank’s arms, forcing the frown on Frank’s face to deepen.
Frank attempted to deposit Peter on the small bed, but Peter’s grip on him only tightened, his panic palpable in the air.
“No, please don’t go, I’m sorry!”
Something tightened in Frank’s chest, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time. Not since having to comfort his own children.
“Okay, Okay kiddo. I’m right here, you’re safe. Just a little, uh, overwhelmed?” Frank moved so that he was sitting on the bed, Peter’s head in his lap, his face facing Frank to shield him from any light remaining in the already dark apartment. There was still a tenseness to his shoulders, his breathing ragged. “Hey, you need to breathe, alright?” Frank floundered, not sure how to get the kid to breathe and not pass out from hyperventilating. “Just follow me, okay?”
Frank began to exaggerate his own breathing, slow and obviously so that Peter could follow along. Peter tried to match his own breaths to Frank’s, but he kept stumbling, losing his place and having to start again. Frank started to move his hand up and down Peter’s back in time with his breathing, trying his best to be gentle, something completely outside his realm of knowledge. He hoped it was helping, because Frank really had no clue what he was doing.
Finally, after what could have been minutes or hours, Peter’s breath evened out and the shaking subsided slightly. His hands no longer covered his ears, and the tenseness in his face and shoulders relaxed. Frank sighed, moving his hand from Peter’s back to his hair, ruffling the curls there slightly.
It was then that he noticed the tacky blood beginning to dry at the back of his head. Panic seized Frank’s chest as he inspected the wound. It seemed that the kid’s healing factor had fixed up any major damage, but the kid was sure to have a killer headache when he woke up.
“Pete?” Frank whispered, but got no response from the kid. Frank realized that he had fallen asleep, his body and mind most likely exhausted from processing everything. He looked so young like this. Frank had noticed this in the hospital too, that when he is finally able to relax, even if forced to by his own body, Peter actually looks like the kid he was meant to be. Not the lonely hero he had become.
Something protective and fierce sparked in Frank’s chest at the idea of Peter facing this alone. Who was looking out for this kid?
Frank groaned, but cut himself off before he could wake Peter. Jesus, he really didn’t need another responsibility right now. He glanced down at the kid, looking more at peace than Frank has maybe ever seen him.
Fine.
But he’s not going soft or anything.
Just helping out a friend.
***
Peter POV:
Peter stirred to the noise of a car speeding by his apartment. In the distance, he could vaguely hear his downstairs neighbors talking lightly and music coming from the building across the road. He groaned slightly as he slowly opened his eyes, looking up only to find,
“Frank?”
Peter started to sit up, realizing his head was practically resting in Frank’s lap. Only when he moved his head, a wave of vertigo forced it back down, the back of his head aching slightly where he was hit.
So much for sleeping it off.
Frank glanced down, fixing Peter with a pissed off glare.
“Go back to sleep, dumbass.”
Peter’s eyes were already beginning to close, exhaustion taking over once again. His apartment was quiet and dark, finally reliving the strain on his senses. The feeling of being near someone else without fearing for his life was like sunlight coursing through his veins. Warm and comforting, soothing his previous panic. It was so foreign to Peter, having someone else to look after him instead of doing everything by himself.
It was nice.
Really nice.
“Thank you.”
Frank huffed, and before Peter could even begin to feel embarrassed, Frank placed a hand in Peter’s hair, luring him back to sleep.
Yeah, sleep sounded nice.