Irondad and Spiderson // One Shots

I'll Protect You (1)

I'm writing this while eating lasagna

TW: basically the three main types of abuse (verbal, physical, sexual) all that horrible jazz for our bby. (Mainly in the second part)

Don't worry I make it better.

Peter has many walls.

No, not physical walls. Not walls that you can see with the naked eye.

Peter has mental walls. Walls that surround a certain section of his brain. Walls that protect him.

Protect him from memories.

Protect him from people.

Because people are mean and sick. They will break you.

So Peter built up his walls after being broken by too many people.

Peter doesn't trust easily anymore, he doesn't open up easily anymore. Peter's walls protect him from having to do those things.

His walls protect him.

🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒🥒

Peter sighed as he walked back to his foster home from school.

These people were nice. They didn't hit him or yell at him. They took care of him.

They just didn't trust him.

I mean who could?

He's been tossed from home to home. And the day he came to them he was bruised and battered, he refused to speak or look at them for a week.

But what can you except from a kid that's been in the system since he was four?

He's never been wanted. He's just used for the money they get for keeping him.
He doesn't know what it's liked to be loved.

He doesn't know of a mothers kiss or a fathers strong hug.

He doesn't know what it's like to be in a home and feel safe. He's not used to safe.

Safe is a foreign word that he doesn't the meaning of.

--------

"Hey there, Peter. How was school?"

Peter looked to his left to see Alicia, his foster mother, pulling cookies out of the oven.

He didn't know why he felt a pang of fear every time he walked in the house.

These people are nice. He reminded himself that everyday.

"It was okay, Mrs. James."

"Peter we've been over this. Call me Alicia, and while you work on that come have some cookies." Alicia pulled out a plate a dumped all the cookies on it.

She pushed it towards the bar stool Peter had sat himself in.

He picked up a cookie and examined it.

Stop, Peter. These people don't drug your food.

He bit into a cookie and chewed it as he listened to Alicia talk about her day.

"Oh, would you like to lick the bowl? I'm pretty sure a little bit of raw cookie dough won't hurt." Alicia pushed the bowl over to him, the spook still in it.

Peter gave her a small smile and told he thanks.

As he ate the cookie dough in the bowl he answered a few questions Alicia would ask him.