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Silence filled Tony Stark’s workshop. There was no music blaring through the custom sound system, no robots rolling around and getting into trouble, even the variety of tools and parts that littered every available flat surface were still. The man, for once, was asleep in his actual bed. The workshop wasn’t empty, though. Peter Parker, head in his hands and body rigid with stress, sat on the floor, trying desperately to think of a good reason to explain why he was here to the man when he inevitably returned. He was supposed to be in Queens with his Aunt May. More specifically, at this time of day, he was supposed to be at school. Peter loved school. His classes made sense, he got a thrill from being able to work on crazy robot designs with Ned, or even bickering with Michelle. Thoughts inside of his head, though? Nightmares? Panic attacks in the middle of gym class? Those did not make sense and they were most certainly not thrilling.
“Peter, your heart rate seems to be increasing at a rapid pace. Should I alert Boss that you are in need of assistance?” Friday’s calm tone broke the silence and Peter’s spiraling thoughts. Somehow the AI always knew when to speak up.
“No. No, that’s okay. I’m alright.” He forced out. Even to his ears, he did not sound alright. “Is anyone else awake?” It was early, barely 7:30, but Ms. Roman- Nat (she’d threatened him with several terrifyingly creative punishments if he didn’t stop calling her Ms. Romanoff) or Mr. Rogers might be around.
“Currently Capscicle is making breakfast in the main kitchen.” Peter quirked a smile at the nickname. He didn’t want to bother Mr. Stark while he was finally getting some real sleep, but since Mr. Rogers was already awake, he could go visit him.
“Thanks, Fri,” he said to the AI, a bit of tension already leaving his body. Peter grabbed his bag, looked at his reflection in the window to make sure he didn’t look too awful, and headed upstairs to the kitchen.
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The elevator doors slid open and unveiled the heavenly smell of what could only be Mr. Rogers’s phenomenal cooking. If the man hadn’t heard the elevator as it dropped Peter off, then he definitely heard the teen’s stomach growl. Peter had taken up the habit of skipping breakfast after the particularly rough nights since it almost always came back up. Even someone without enhanced hearing would have been able to hear his stomach demanding food.
“Peter,” Steve said, eyebrows rising in surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to be at school? It’s Monday.”
A lump formed in Peter’s throat for an instant, and then he was coming up with a quick plan to cover up his absence from school. “It’s February 3rd, Mr. Rogers. You know? National Missing Persons Day?”
Steve fixed him with a patented Captain America look that demanded the truth. “Uhuh,” he said, folding his arms over his muscled chest. “So you decided that you could use that to be missing from school?”
“Well, duh,” Peter rolled his eyes, climbing onto a stool at the breakfast bar. “That’s the whole point of the awareness project.”
Steve’s Captain America look faded into one of confusion. “What project is that?” He asked, turning to check on the pancakes and pull a second plate from the cabinet to his right. Peter may have been skipping school, but Steve wasn’t going to starve a hungry teenager.
“So, basically, a bunch of us do awareness projects throughout the year for different things. We’ve done one for Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, that was Michelle’s pick, Breast Cancer, Autism, pretty much all of the standard ones, then we have some others that we choose at the beginning of the year. For this one, a couple of us were assigned to go “missing” to raise awareness for just how easy it is for anyone , not just strangers on the news, to go missing without warning. I’m one of the people, Flash Thompson,” Peter wrinkled his nose at the mere mention of the other boy, “is another, and even our English teacher is participating. Our principal knows about the project, but no one else does.”
Steve was silent for several minutes, combing through Peter’s story in his mind. It was a good explanation, but the man didn’t buy it. He set a plate with five fluffy pancakes down in front of the boy and started making several more for himself. “Peter,” he started carefully, not wanting to spook the kid, “that seems like a really good cause…” Both of them could hear the impending ‘but’ in the air. Peter quickly shoved half a pancake in his mouth to have an excuse not to answer when it happened. “If I called your school and spoke with your principal, he wouldn’t give me the same story, though, would he?”
He should have known he wouldn’t be able to lie to Captain America. Peter swallowed the pancake in his mouth and ate through the second half of it before answering.
“No,” he admitted, eyes falling to the table. “We did it last year.” Peter braced for a lecture, but it never came. Instead, Steve set a glass of chocolate milk in front of him and sat across from him to eat his own breakfast.
“We will be talking about this more,” Steve told him, looking him directly in the eye as he spoke. “But we can wait until after breakfast. I have some errands to run, so you can tell me while we’re out.”
“Do I have to go?” Peter asked, wrinkling his nose. He would much rather hang out and play Mario Kart with Clint or train with Nat.
“The other option is going to school,” Steve deadpanned, a knowing smirk flickering around the corners of his mouth.
Peter groaned and shoved a pancake in his mouth. “Fine.” He chewed thoughtfully and added, “Can we at least take your motorcycle? That thing is so cool!”
Steve couldn’t help the smile that spread over his features. “I think it would be a little cold for the bike, but if you wear a heavy jacket, I suppose we could take it.” Steve didn’t mind the cold, but it was no secret that Peter was cold on a nice day, let alone in early February. At least there wasn’t any snow at the moment. “You’re wearing a helmet, too. I’m not even going to think about letting you do something that would put me on your Aunt May’s bad side. That woman makes Nat seem like a saint when she’s angry.”
Peter’s face paled at the thought. “That makes two of us. She’s terrifying when she’s mad.” With a renewed eagerness and previous stresses forgotten, the teen shoved his remaining pancakes in his mouth with alarming speed, chasing them with the chocolate milk so that he didn’t choke. “Are you almost done? I’m going to get a jacket! Don’t leave without me!”
With a soft chuckle, Steve polished off his own breakfast and grabbed the dishes from the counter. He didn’t know why he wasn’t being more stern with Peter about skipping school, but something told him there was a good reason - even if the boy had lied about it originally. Quickly rinsing the dishes, the man placed them into the dishwasher and dried his hands. From down the hall, he could hear Peter throwing things around in his closet, trying to find a jacket that might be warm enough to withstand the wind from the motorcycle in February. The kid probably hadn’t thought about how cold it was when initially suggesting that they take the bike, but if he truly wanted to take the bike, Steve would let him make his own choices. He wasn’t one to complain about taking the bike, that was for sure. It was his baby and he loved to ride it when he could.
“Alright!” Peter yelled, bouncing down the hallway from his part-time bedroom. “I’m ready! Let’s go!” The teen looked almost ridiculous. He had on two hoodies, a leather jacket that Steve had no doubt was picked out by someone else and had never been worn before, fingerless gloves, a fluffy scarf, and a vivid red winter hat with a spiderman design on it. When Peter saw the look Steve was giving it, he tugged it down more firmly and sulked. “What? Mr. Stark gave it to me!” Then, in a quieter voice, he added, “it’s also the only one I have here, so shut up..”
“I didn’t say a thing, Pete.” Steve chuckled, calling the elevator. It was still waiting from when Peter had come up, so they only had to wait for the doors to open before getting in. “Where do you want to go first? Target or the bank?”
“Mr. Rogers, with all due respect, you really act your age sometimes.”
Steve sighed, looking to the sky and praying for strength. “Pete, I don’t know what you mean by that, but I’m going to take it to mean you see me as mature and knowledgeable.”
“We can go with that if it makes you feel better,” Peter laughed, eyes widening when they entered the garage. He quickly forgot all about Steve being like a really old Grandpa when he started up the bike. As soon as it roared to life and he waved Peter over to climb on, Steve was back to being the hero Peter had idolized as a kid. How many people could say they rode on Captain America’s motorcycle with him?? Ned would freak out if he told him.
“Hold on, Pete,” Steve called over the engine. Then Friday opened the door and they were on their way. Peter definitely had not thought about how cold it was.
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“Do you think Mr. Stark would be mad if I used the debit card he gave me to get some games or something? Ned and I saw this one that looked awesome . You play as this cowboy, his name is Artie or Arthur or something, and you get to be an outlaw! Finding treasure, robbing banks, stealing horses…. It looks like so much fun! You can even get a bounty on your head! Ned thinks he would be able to hide from the law way longer than me, but I don’t think he’d last five minutes.” Peter prattled on about the new game for several minutes, not aware of the lost expression on Steve’s face.
“Are all of the games you play with Ned so… morally ambiguous? I don’t know if those are actions that should be encouraged in youth.” Steve had momentarily forgotten his shopping list, attention shifting to Peter. “Don’t we get enough of that when we stop the people committing those crimes? Why would you want to play a game with those things in it?”
“It’s just a game! Plus, I’m the good guy in real life. It sounds fun to get to play on the other side of things. I’d never do it in real life, of course, I don’t want anyone to get hurt for real, but it’s funny to push your friends in front of a train if it’s in a game.” Peter giggled to himself as he remembered seeing someone do that in a youtube video. That poor NPC had no idea what hit them.
“Well.. I guess if you’re aware that those actions are wrong it would be okay. Tony did say it was okay for you to buy things for yourself, too, so I don’t think you need to worry about that. He wouldn’t have given you an allowance if he wasn’t okay with you using it.” What Tony added to Peter’s “allowance” every week could hardly be considered as such. It was more than most people made in an entire month. Peter didn’t seem to have any clue about that, though. If anything, Steve could have sworn he thought there was hardly anything in the account at all. Had Tony not told him about it? “Just don’t go crazy,” Steve added as a precautionary measure. “I don’t think he’d approve of you spending several thousand dollars in a day.” Suddenly Steve felt like he had signed on for much more than originally anticipated. Since when did dragging a deviant teen out to help with errands turn into a lesson on parenting?
“Mr. Rogers, I’ve never spent several thousand dollars in a year, let alone in a day,” Peter informed the man. “I’m poor, remember? Poor people don’t spend much money for fun.”
Laughing at Steve’s stunned silence, Peter ran off toward the electronics section. “I’ll be looking at games when you’re done!”
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Several hours and a handful of errands later, Steve and Peter found themselves tucked away in the back corner of a SmashBurger, eating more food than the average person would know what to do with. Peter’s backpack, devoid of all things school-related, was tossed across the seat next to him, holding the variety of items they’d picked up while out. The bad part about taking Steve’s motorcycle was that it didn’t exactly have a lot of room for storage.
“See, Mr. Rogers? They smash the patties real flat! It’s awesome! Especially once you squish the bun down flat, too.” Peter demonstrated by pressing down on the perfect bun of his second cheeseburger, flattening it as if there had never been space for it to puff up, to begin with. “Like that! Then it’s perfect and ready for consumption.” Satisfied with his work, Peter took a large bite, oblivious to the bit of ketchup that dripped down his chin. “This is so awesome. I can’t believe you’ve never been here.”
Steve grimaced and held out a napkin to the teen. “There are a lot of places I haven’t been to, Pete. Don’t talk with your mouth full.” Peter took the napkin with a roll of his eyes, wiping his mouth off just to get more ketchup on it. Steve let out a sigh he’d been restraining since they got there. “So,” he began, chewing his own burger thoughtfully. “We haven’t finished our conversation from this morning.” The super soldier looked up from his plate to meet the young hero’s eyes. In an instant, they went from bright and cheerful, to nervous and guarded. Peter was an open book no matter how hard he tried to be secretive, but Steve was patient. He would let the kid ditch the poor attempt to shroud his emotions when he was ready. They definitely needed to talk about ditching school, though. Steve was still not happy about that.
“I know, I know,” Peter began, trying for his normal brand of sarcastic humor. “Skipping school is a gateway to other bigger and badder actions that can lead me down the wrong path.” He stuffed several fries into his mouth, chasing them with a few sips of his milkshake. “I’ve seen your PSAs like, a thousand times.”
“Pete, that’s not what I meant and you know it.” Steve fixed him with a patented Captain America gaze. “I want to know why you skipped school.” It took less than a minute for Peter to crumble.
Suddenly, Peter found he had lost his appetite. The memory of the night before brushed over the edge of his thoughts unbidden, sending a shiver through him. He refused to let the memory surface fully. It had forced him to the edge of a mental breakdown, pumping his veins full of panic and adrenaline, flooding his mind with visuals of things, of people, that weren’t there, and sending him to a place he would do anything to avoid. The night terrors were all too common these days. The panic attacks that left him too distraught to even text someone for help were new. He’d stayed up for the past three days trying to avoid them, but he could feel the possibility of one lingering on the edge of his consciousness at all times. All it would take was one little push, a shattering window, shredded leaves blowing on the wind, something falling on him from above, any number of little things would unleash the panic. How did he explain that to someone as brave and steady as Captain freaking America?
“I just didn’t sleep well,” He finally said, giving Steve a nervous glance.
“Are you having trouble sleeping often?” The man asked gently. Peter nodded after a few seconds of hesitation. “Nightmares?” The word came out with an edge of pity, or maybe understanding. Peter couldn’t tell which and Steve didn’t know himself. Sure, he had bad nights of his own, but he was an adult and he had people to lean on when he woke convinced his lungs were flooding with icy water or his shield was smashing into Tony’s chest until the man was nearly dead. Sometimes the past came to life in his nightmares, sometimes the dreams warped and twisted to make them even worse than they had been. All of the Avengers experienced them.
“Sometimes,” Peter whispered. His voice was so quiet that Steve struggled to hear it, even with his enhanced hearing. “I started having panic attacks, too. When they’re at their worst, I feel like I’m back in the moment when something bad happened. There are times when I don’t even know where I am. It just feels like I’m back under the rubble when I was trapped under that building, or like I’m begging Mr. Stark to save me as I turn to ash, or-or…” Peter’s voice began to tremble before fading out. Steve pretended not to hear the sniffle Peter tried to hide.
“They’re called flashbacks,” He offered gently, reaching out to place a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Soldiers get them sometimes. So do people who have experienced great trauma. You and I have both seen enough to cause more than our fair share of them.”
“Do they ever stop?” Peter whispered, flicking his watery eyes to meet Steve’s.
“Over time, they can.” Steve heaved a heavy sigh, trying to choose his words. “I used to have them all the time,” he confided. “Sometimes it would happen when I was doing something as simple as picking up a pen I’d dropped or checking my watch. Other times it happened when I woke up panicking from a nightmare.” Now it was Steve’s turn to feel uncertain and nervous about sharing this weakness with Peter. Even with Sam, he’d hardly ever spoken about it. “It took learning to cope in healthy ways and giving myself a chance to fully process what it was that scared me for them to begin showing up less. My friend, Sam, the falcon, helped me immensely.” A small smile flickered over the edge of Steve’s lips. “He even got me to go through a few sessions of group therapy with other veterans.”
“Captain America goes to therapy?” Peter said incredulously.
“He does if it’s what allows him to keep being Captain America and helping people.”
Peter was silent for a long time. Occasionally he dipped a fry into his milkshake, chewing it thoughtfully while he processed what Steve had told him. If Captain America could admit he went to therapy, maybe it wasn’t such a huge display of weakness after all.
“Thanks, Mr. Rogers,” he said finally. “I don’t know if I want to go to therapy, but I’ll think about finding something that helps me cope.”
“Don’t rule it out completely, Pete,” Steve replied, offering Peter a genuine smile. “I can teach you a few grounding exercises to help bring yourself out of a panic attack if you’d like. Sam taught them to me back when we first met.”
“Yea, okay,” Peter answered. “I’d like that.”
Steve gave him another smile and began cleaning up his part of the table. Peter followed suit after eating his last few fries and polishing off his milkshake. “What do you say we head back to the tower? We can see just what this outlaw game of yours is like.”
“Yea! I can’t wait until you see just how awesome the graphics and the music and just the overall storyline is. Sure, you do a lot of killing and stealing and whatnot, but it’s got a good message!”
“I’m sure,” Steve snorted, not believing it for a second.
“It really does! That’s why it’s called Red Dead Redemption. Because, you know, you redeem yourself.” Peter tugged on his backpack and piled the remnants of his lunch onto the tray neatly for the person who cleaned the table. “You’ll see when we get back. I think you’ll like it.”
“If you say so, Pete.” With a soft smile on his face, Steve led the way back to where he’d parked his bike and, with Peter still prattling on about his new game, they headed back toward the tower.