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Help with the Nightmares

Just a compilation of Peter helping the Avengers fall asleep <3

Peter was a light sleeper.

The only people who knew, however, were him, and his aunt May. He knew she went out of her way to keep quiet when she slept, so as not to wake him up, but he didn't mind at all. If anything, he was glad to be able to wake up at spontaneous sounds, like a sob, or her tossing and turning in bed, because it meant that he could help her. It meant he could go wake her up, tell her it was okay, and save her from whatever shadows were attacking her mind.

The Avengers didn't know that. They didn't know that he could hear them when the woke up, panting or crying. They didn't know that having him stay over on weekends was a bad idea, if they wanted him to get any sleep—but he'd been too excited at the offer that he didn't think of what sleeping over would ensue.

Peter wasn't been prepared for waking up at 2:00 AM his first time staying over, even though he would normally be asleep at that time, unless someone was having a fit.

At first, he didn't know what was happening. He couldn't focus on his hearing, instead trying to figure out where in the world he was, why his bed was so soft, and why his room was so big, filled with... nothing. None of his personal knick-knacks, or Legos, or half-built computers. It was just a big, warm room, that felt strangely empty, even though he was occupying it.

It took him a long minute to realize that he was at the Avengers tower. It took him a minute more to remember May consenting to him staying the weekends at the Tower, and how he'd gone to bed smiling, excited for his new bed, and forgetting all about the possibility of waking up randomly.

If he was being honest, he'd remembered it at some point, then brushed it off, because 'it's the Avengers Tower. It's probably going to have soundproof walls, so I won't be able to hear anything, and maybe I'll catch a few solid hours of sleep, if my internal clock doesn't get in the way.'

And then, he heard the quiet sobs, a bed shaking slightly, enough to tap against the wall. Shudders in the dark, the pleas of, "No, no! Stop, don't—you're hurting him, stop! Don't take him away—please!"

Wait.

That was Captain America.

"I told you—I freaking told you! Oh, please, no..."

That was pure misery, if Peter knew anything about the topic.

"Stop—oh my... there's b-blood, please, B-Bucky, help—please, I—oh man, I'm gonna—I'm gonna die. Bucky... come back! Don't leave me here, please!"

Peter threw the covers off his legs and stood up too quickly, the blood rushing to his head.

Whatever. If he had the chance to help someone, it was not going to be hindered by a few flashing stars.

He staggered to the door, blinking rapidly to clear his vision, and made it through the door, then through the hall to Steve's door as he heard the soldier start to thrash in his bed, the wood knocking harshly against the wall.

He's gonna hurt himself if he keeps doing that, Peter thought, eyes growing wide as he pushed Steve's door open.

Steve himself was curled into a tight ball—a rare sight for the hero—grappling with some unseen foe, sobbing, begging incoherently, and loudly. It was a wonder no one else could hear him, because to Peter, it sounded like screaming.

And boy, was Peter not prepared to see the great Captain America reduced to... this. He'd never expected to see Steve Rogers cry, or scream in fear and despair.

Hurrying over, Peter pulled the bed—inhabitant and all—off the wall, so it wasn't so loud, and people wouldn't be woken up by the racket. From there, he made his way to Steve's side, dodging flying feet and fists, and pulled the sheets away so he could jump on the man and straddle his stomach. He grabbed Steve's wrists and pinned them to the bed by his side, kicking the blankets away to get rid of the possibility of getting tangled up in them, and making everything worse.