home ; peter parker

chapter nineteen

     Peter had recovered slowly, courtesy of the temporary absence of his 'powers'. Although his body was far from better, he was still in good spirits. He quickly realized that after he was kidnapped, he had been dumped off at the Avengers Compound! While he was still healing, he got to stay there in a guest room. Well, it was originally a guest room, but his newfound family had all decorated for him and designated it Peter's room. He even had a little sign with his name on the door. His room was on the same floor as all of the other Avengers' rooms.

     He had breakfast, lunch, and dinner with whichever Avengers were present, and each day he became closer to them. They felt like more of a family that Aunt May ever did, and he selfishly began to dread the day he would return to her.

     For now, life was going great for Peter Parker.

     Well, except for how sometimes he woke up at night screaming and crying. It was especially embarrassing because every time he did so, one of the Avengers would come rushing in and soothe him until he fell back asleep. Peter quickly figured out that they had even started to have shifts.

     But besides that, all was well. He called Ned most nights, and his best friend was relieved to hear he was all right—and ecstatic that he was with the Avengers. For the time being, all of his homework was online.
     May had occasionally visited, always putting on her nice facade. Even if she was alone with Peter, she just pretended to be the most caring person in the world. She knew better than to smack him around where there could be cameras or AI's listening.
    He still did get her degrading texts, though.
    Those were fun.

     "When are you coming back to school?" Ned asked him one night.
     "Soon, I think. I'm sure the Avengers are tired of me," Peter laughed.
     "You have to invite me over when you're feeling better. By the way, you still haven't filled me in," Ned reminded him.
     "I can't tell you yet," Peter sighed, repeating the same excuse for the one-millionth time. 'Those agents could be listening,' he thought.
     "Alright... Well, feel better! I gotta go eat dinner, I'll catch you later."
     "Bye Ned," Peter smiled and the call disconnected. He ran his hands through his hair and stretched.
     He'd been stuck at the Compound for a week, and all he wanted to do was get out and do something. He wanted to go patrolling, but the others insisted he should rest. "It's temporary," they said. "You'll be back in no time," they said.
     Ugh.
     And not to mention the therapist Tony and Pepper were making him see. She was nice enough, but Peter wasn't exactly one to dump his emotions onto another person. He hated bothering other people about his emotions. 'It's her job,' he reminded himself. It was just kind of awkward. He didn't feel comfortable about the fact that she knew his secret identity. Though, he supposed he couldn't explain being kidnapped to her if she didn't know.
     He did tell the therapist some things that he'd never told anyone before. His panic attack in the bathroom, how Flash lowkey but also highkey bullies him, the fact that he was kinda-sorta tortured when he was captured, how whenever he falls asleep he can only think of the room and being tied to the chair, that kind of stuff. He also told her about the good things he's done. The woman he once walked back to her home after she was being mugged, the children he's saved, and countless more stories.
     Peter had started to like the therapy sessions a bit more, even though his nightmares wouldn't budge. He liked doing the exercises he was assigned.

He sat on his bed, not wanting to fall asleep. Not wanting to see the room again. He wiped his blurry eyes and looked to the clock.

2:46 AM

     He sighed, flopping down on his bed.
     "FRIDAY?" He whispered.
     "Yes, Peter?"
     "I'm bored."
     "I recommend getting some sleep," the AI responded.
     Peter rolled on his side, silent for a moment. "No, I can't."
     "Why is that?"
     He swallowed. "You have to promise not to tell anyone."
     "If what you are about to tell me will harm you or any others, I am not permitted to keep it a secret."
     "Okay... Well, this doesn't harm anyone, because it was in the past, so you have to keep this a secret." Peter sat up again. "So, when I was kidnapped... I was tortured too. I haven't told anyone other than that lady I have to see. I think some of the doctors know though, they found burns on me when I first got back here... Maybe they told Mr Stark and that's why he got me a therapist... Anyways, I can't sleep because everytime I try to, I can only think about the room I was held in. It's all so embarrassing."
     "Trauma is not embarrassing, sharing with other people takes a lot of courage."
     "It's not trauma..." Peter denied. "Ugh, it's so stupid. I shouldn't be having nightmares over it, I'm Spider-Man for God's sake! The Avengers have probably all gone through worse things than I have, and here I am being all helpless. It's pathetic! God, Flash is right."
"There is not a 'Flash' in my database."
"Oh, Flash Thompson. Well, his real name is Eugene. He picks on me, I guess." He mumbled, then panicked the moment he registered what he had said. FRIDAY was bound to tell the Avengers that someone was bringing him 'harm'. "I mean, he doesn't really pick on me. He just, um, teases me. We're friends, I was just being overdramatic," He corrected himself.
"Okay," FRIDAY said, the AI's voice revealing nothing. Peter wasn't sure whether she picked up on his terrible lying or not. For Flash's sake, he sure hoped not.

     3:37 AM

     "I recommend you get some sleep," FRIDAY stated, repeating what she had said nearly an hour ago. Peter sighed, putting down his pencil.
     "FRI," he sighed tiredly, rubbing his face in frustration.
"Sleep deprivation is damaging to your health, I will have to alert Tony Stark—"
"Okay, okay!" He cut her off. "I'll go to sleep, just... please don't tell Mr Stark."
"Okay."
He looked at his drawing with unease as he stood from his desk. The room. It was something his therapist had recommended. Drawing the room out, facing his fear.
     He wasn't the best artist, but he had gotten quite good at drawing the room, considering how many times a day he drew it. He closed his designated therapy notebook and flopped on his bed.
"Night FRI," he muttered.
"Goodnight Peter," she replied.

author's note;
hey guys :) how is everyone? i hope you're all staying safe during the coronavirus <3