my glass is still half empty (but the water's fine)

oak trees don't ignore the circles deep inside that make them strong

Peter knew he was in deep shit. Panic attacks lacked any amounts of fun on a typical occasion, but the situation was infinitely worse due to the fact he was currently in his Spider-Suit.

His brain really had to betray him at that moment? Peter hadn't even been patrolling, he had just arrived home and was about to take off his suit, but no, he just had to ask Karen to read out his notifications today, and of course today of all days had to be the day they announced- well, Peter didn't even know what they had announced. As soon as he heard Karen speak the name "Albert Einstein", he was no longer paying any attention.

It was so stupid. Peter hated the fact that he was still so affected by a goddamn name. He couldn't even say it out loud. It had been 10 years since Peter had last seen Him, and he couldn't even hear a nickname He had given him. It wasn't even His name - it would take many years of therapy and support from May and Mr. Stark for Peter to even whisper the name of the man who had hurt him almost irreversibly so. 

Peter was absently aware of Karen talking to him, inciting when to breathe in and out. At some point, Peter assumed once she had realised the breathing exercises weren't working, Karen switched to naming the various sounds and objects around them. It helped, but Peter needed something else. He wasn't quite sure what it was exactly he needed yet - when he had previously had panic attacks, he would find a small, dark place, where he could feel something solid behind him, so no one could sneak up on him, and there was only enough space for one person. Just him. His closet had become somewhat of a safe haven for his panic attacks, aswell as the little gap between his bed and the wall. 

Unfortunately, after being crushed under a large building, Peter no longer found comfort in tight dark spaces, and had even discovered, depending on the circumstances, that small dark spaces were able set off a panic attack.

He took off his mask in an attempt to get more air. Peter was sure he had his back pressed up against some wall, but to be completely honest, he wasn't sure which wall it was. He was certain it was his bedroom, he could see his desk, and his star wars posters and his bed, but his mind was so out of focus he couldn't even formulate the thoughts to figure out which direction he was facing. All he knew was that he could hear the soft whirring of the repulsors on Mr. Stark's Iron Man suit. 

Hang on. Mr. Stark was there already? Peter had hoped that he'd be able to get his heart rate and breathing under control before Karen resorted to calling him, but he was not so lucky. Peter squeezed his eyes tight - maybe if he couldn't see Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark wouldn't see him. Unfortunately, as he expected, he had no such luck - he heard the man leave the suit and awkwardly stumble into his room through his window. Peter was sure if he had watched the scene, and he didn't think he was going to die at any second, he would have laughed. If he had watched the scene, he would have noticed how worried Tony had looked, and how urgently he crashed into the room, desperate to make sure Peter had been okay. 

"Hey kiddo."

Mr. Stark talked to him the same way one might talk to a small, injured animal that they needed to pick up and help. That's what Peter was right? A little, hurt, animal that needed Mr. Stark's help. He hated it. He hated needing his help - Peter was 17, he was almost a legal adult. He shouldn't need to rely on the help of Mr. Stark just to be able to get through his day. 

Despite loathing the very idea that he needed Tony's help, Peter had to admit - it was true. Maybe he would have been able to get through the panic attack without him, but the moment Peter heard Mr. Stark's voice, his brain cleared. Not completely, it still felt like the DVD logo was bouncing aggressively around the inside of his head at triple speed, but it cleared enough to register sounds and the fact that somehow, he had made his way onto the ceiling without even realising it.  

"Pete, kid, I need you to come down from there bud." Mr. Stark extended an arm towards Peter. He couldn't deal with that. He couldn't. He loved Mr. Stark, almost like a father, but Peter couldn't let him touch him. He couldn't. He couldn't. 

So, instead, Peter slunk down from the ceiling, moving away from Mr. Stark, crawling along the walls. Peter saw the hurt flash across his face. If he had blinked he may have missed it, but he didn't. Peter knew it was his own fault, he had caused Mr. Stark to be hurt. He knew why he was hurt - Peter constantly leaned into his touch, and only FRIDAY knew how many times Mr. Stark had carried him to bed after falling asleep on his couch during their weekly movie nights. Both of them were used to physical contact with each other, but Peter couldn't let him touch him. He couldn't. He couldn't.

"It's okay kiddo. It's just me. It's just me." Peter could feel the rumbling of his voice through the floorboards as the man sat down on them. Enhanced senses and all that. He could feel it. He visibly relaxed at the feeling. Mr. Stark was able to comfort him without making any contact. This was good. This was helping. 

"Peter, I'm going to put my hand on your left shoulder, okay?" Mr. Stark asked permission. Peter's head shot up and he reflexively moved away. Peter couldn't let him touch him. He couldn't. He couldn't.

"You don't want me to touch you?" He asked. Peter shook his head violently and quickly. Mr. Stark tilted his head in subtle confusion as Peter squeezed his eyes tight, and somehow curled into himself even more. He appeared to be bracing for something, and when whatever he was preparing himself for didn't happen, his head slowly lifted and he made eye contact with Mr. Stark for a second, before adjusting his gaze towards the floor in front of him. 

It was just Mr. Stark. He was sitting a couple feet away from Peter, cross-legged. He was fiddling with his hands - Peter wouldn't realise until later that Mr. Stark very rarely comforted with his words, but instead resorted to bear hugs and reassuring squeezes when his loved ones were upset.

Peter could feel the comforting rumble of his voice through the floor when he spoke, and he felt safe. 

He was still trembling, unable to stop himself, but he managed to croak out a simple "sorry" before the big knot in his throat came back and rendered him silent. Mr. Stark lifted his arm slightly to rest it on his shoulder as he told Peter that he had nothing to be sorry for, but quickly put it down, pulling his hand into a fist,  remembering that a comforting pat might not be so comforting at the time. 

"You're gonna be okay Pete." Mr. Stark paused after seeing Peter lowering his legs from his fetal pose - just a little bit, not a lot, but enough for Mr. Stark to notice. "Is talking helping?" He asked. Peter nodded, not making eye contact with him. 

"Did I ever tell you about the time..."

Peter knew Mr. Stark was telling him silly stories to distract him, but Peter wasn't focusing on the stories. He was focusing on the low rumbling he felt from the floorboards that were created by his voice. Peter found himself getting closer and closer, and by the time Mr. Stark's story was finished, Peter was lying with a flat back down on the floor. Every part of his body that Peter could get to touch the ground was touching it. 

"Do you want me to keep going?" Tony asked. Peter continued to stare up at the ceiling.

"Please." He managed to whisper, his voice still cracking. When Tony started softly telling Peter about the countless times Rhodey had pranked him in his own house, and the time he set up a fantastic date with Pepper and somehow everything he had planned seemed to go wrong, Peter scooched himself towards him, and curled up right next to him, facing the wall and his back touching Mr. Stark's leg. Now Peter was making physical contact with Mr. Stark, he could feel the rumble of his voice even clearer, and Peter was okay. 

"Mr. Stark?" 

"Mm?"

"Thank you."

Mr. Stark turned his head and looked at Peter with more adoration then one could imagine someone ever having. 

"I would do anything for you kid." He told him softly. The feeling of his voice was now not only rumbling through the floorboards, but buzzing against Peter's back aswell, the gentle words wrapping around his entire being like a blanket, the warmth settling on him like dust.

Tony said he would do anything for him.

Peter believed him.