The World I Knew [Discontinued]

TMI

Peter shot to the other side of the couch faster than he'd ever moved in his life, his head whipping to the side to see the intruder, deflating with dismay when he confirmed his own fears, the sight meeting him to be May, standing in the doorway behind them. She was watching them, her face emotionless, but not cold and stony.

"May." His voice came out choked and uncertain.

Tony, being the suaviest suavy suaver suave to ever suave the earth, merely turned around and flashed May a press-worthy smile, pretending nothing had happened, and even acting like he hadn't been surprised. "Morning, Mrs. Parker. D'you sleep well?"

May stepped into the room. "'Son'?" she repeated.

"I was just talking to your nephew, here. Just some stuff."

Peter mentally groaned, his face in his hands as he slid down, out of sight behind the couch back where May couldn't see him, and his head just short of the armrest. His breath was caught and clipped, unable to get out or in his lungs properly.

"Peter, explain," May said. Her voice was fairly even, but there were traces of uncertainty and skepticism.

Out of sight, Peter nudged Tony with his foot, almost desperately.

"It's simple--"

"No," May said, cutting him off, "I want to hear it from Peter."

At this point, as you could probably guess, Peter's face was aflame with guilt and embarrassment, like a naughty child getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Only this was much...

much...

much...

... bigger.

What was weird was that Peter hadn't actually done anything wrong.

Had he?

Nevertheless, Peter could feel Tony's eyes on him. May's as well, even through the cough. So, he peeked through his fingers at Tony for help, but the man only gave him a shrug and a nod, urging him to speak.

"Peter?"

Peter sighed shortly, fear putting his hair on end, such to the point that he felt almost constricted, like someone was physically pushing down on his tongue so he couldn't talk.

He wasn't scared of May, he was scared of what she would think about what Peter knew he should be saying. He didn't know if she'd approve of the adoption, he didn't know if she'd even say yes. Would she even see the relationship between her own nephew and Tony? Would she appreciate it and go along with it? How was he supposed to explain this?

"I-it..." Peter said, then trailed off, unsure what to say, how to say it, or if he even could say. "It's complicated." The two, puny words came out in a single breath--something he was now almost painfully short of supply on--and they sounded quietly, almost a whisper.

"Breathe, Peter," Tony reminded him. "Kind of an important thing, bud."

A short, gasping puff of air made it into Peter's lungs, followed by an even quicker exhale. His hands were pressed so hard to his face that he was sure he was sticking to himself, sprinkles of color sprawling across the darkness of behind his eyelids.

"C'mon. You're okay, remember?" Tony's hand was a warm, grounding weight on Peter's knee, squeezing hard enough for Peter to notice. "Relax, and breathe. You can do it."

"Y-you--explain," Peter got out, the use of his own voice making him seize up choke on his next mouthful of air. "I-I can-can't."

He then tried to listen as Tony gave the quickest summary of their plan, out of anything Peter had ever heard--fifteen words at most--and by the time he was done, he was down beside the couch, his fingers trailing lightly over Peter's wrist as he gave soft comforts, sweet little nothings as he tried to encourage Peter to breathe more than he currently was.