Home isn't just a place

Chapter Fourteen

Peter knocked on the door, a shaky breath escaping past his lips. Despite the episode happening yesterday, despite washing out his mouth at least twenty times, he could still taste the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

"Peter?" Bruce asked, opening the door. A smile spread across his face. "Just the man I wanted to see! Are you up for giving me those samples today?"

Peter frowned, having completely forgotten that he promised Bruce he would give him some blood samples. It felt like a lifetime ago. "Er, yeah. I think you might need to do those tests, now."

Bruce instantly sobered, taking in the tense atmosphere. "What's happened?" he asked seriously.

"Can I... Can I come in?" Peter asked, subtly glancing down the hall just in case Tony decided to magically show up. It wouldn't be the first time his helicopter-dad would just show up out of nowhere and be overbearing for an hour or seven.

"Yes, of course. Come in." Bruce said, opening the door and ushering him inside. "Please, have a seat."

Peter sat down on the chair that Bruce had pointed at. Peter squirmed in the chair, unsure of what he was supposed to do now. To be honest, he hadn't really thought this far ahead. He figured that something was definitely wrong with him after last night, but he didn't want to tell his parents because he knew the Starks would freak out.

"What's going on, Peter?" Bruce asked gently, and Peter felt so grateful that he wasn't pressuring him. Just a simple question that Peter could choose to answer.

"I think there might be something wrong with me." Peter said. Bruce nodded, urging him to continue. Peter sighed. "Last night... I'm not really sure what happened last night. I think... I think I disassociated?"

"Okay." Bruce said with a nod. "That can be a common occurrence with people who suffer from PTSD---"

"No! I mean, yes, but no, that's not what I'm here to talk about." Peter said, instantly cutting off the man before he had a chance to start spouting off treatments for his PTSD.

Bruce frowned. "Peter, there's nothing wrong with struggling. PTSD is a very hard thing to work through, and it's important to talk about every setback and work through them---"

"I know," Peter rushed out. "I have an appointment with my therapist today. I'm going to talk about it with her, I promise."

Bruce sat back, looking appeased now that he was sure Peter wasn't just going to pretend it never happened. "Okay, that's good." he said. "So how can I help you?"

Peter winced. "It's what happened after the episode that I need your help with."

"Are you going to keep being vague...?" Bruce asked with a lighthearted grin. Peter smiled, but judging by the frown of Bruce's face, it came off more like a grimace.

"I started coughing up blood." Peter said looking at the ground.

"You what?!" Bruce breathed out. "Oh my god! That's not... That's not okay! Peter why didn't you say something?! Has this been happening often? How long?"

"Not often. Actually that was the first time," Peter said. "But I keep getting nosebleeds. And I get dizzy too. And really bad migraines. It only just started, though. Like a few months, maybe?"

"I think you're right. About the blood samples," Bruce said with a serious tone. "That doesn't sound... I don't know. But I need to check that out. Do a few tests, maybe. Can I take some samples?"

Peter nodded, holding out his arm, trying not flinch at the needle.

"Come now, 2176. This will be faster if you sit still. I just need a little blood."