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Peter wanted to be polite. He’s been polite his whole entire life. He really did want to be polite here, even if Mr. Stark, and Captain Rodgers, and literally every other Avenger seem to disagree.
It’s not his fault that the Captain’s blonde hair and blue eyes look exactly like Skip’s. It’s not his fault he can’t get the pictures out of his head every single time the man talks to him. And it is certainly not his fault that Tony happened to use that stupid nickname in front of the stupid captain and make him stupidly freak out!
But no, now Tony and Steve and pretty much everyone else in this stupid tower seems to think that he’s a “moody teenager” with “anger issues” who “hates Steve” as if he has any control over the situation.
He really did try to be polite. He tried to avoid Steve without making it obvious, he tried to make himself smaller like he always has, but instead of his problems being ignored and left alone, for some reason every single person has bothered him about it. All but one.
Peter sits in the gym, breathing heavily. Natasha is a couple feet away from him, beating the pulp out of a punching bag. He stares at his own, defeated. He feels a tear roll down his cheek, but doesn’t stop it. Natasha doesn’t care. He isn’t sure if she knows how much that means to him.
The words “get out” jolt Peter from his thoughts. He didn’t hear the door open. Great going, Parker, that’s an easy way to get killed. Peter chooses to ignore that thought, following Natasha’s words to a blonde man standing in the doorway.
A hand on his waist, on his mouth, on his-
The man looks confused. Skip never looked confused. That’s Steve.
The recognition doesn’t stop the fear. The memories.
“Quiet, Einstein. Not so loud, just keep that pretty mouth shut.”
That isn’t what Steve says, obviously. But it doesn’t matter what he says, as Natasha is pretty much shoving him out of the room, slamming the door behind.
He sits down on the bed, that blonde is standing over him, whispering things, vile things, things he barely remembers. But he remembers enough. He remembers how disgusting he was, how he let the teen shove Peter to his knees and-
“-eter, Peter, I need you to listen to me, I need you to breathe.” A hard russian voice cuts through the haze. “In and out, follow my motions, okay?”
He nods weakly, taking shuddering breaths in and out. He tries his best to follow her. He doesn’t do a great job. She doesn’t care.
“There you are, маленький паук. It’s okay. You’re safe, I promise.”
“How- how did you know I was- I was g-gonna spaz out?” He stammers, desperately wiping the tears from his eyes. They keep coming.
She makes a face at his word choice, but holds her tongue for now. She can discuss the ways that language impacts people and mental health later. He’s only a teenage boy, after all.
“I’ve worked at plenty of shelters, Peter. I can recognize the signs of a flashback.”
He goes bright red. “It isn’t- I-it’s not- It wasn’t… that.”
“So you’ve been running away from Steve ever since you’ve started staying here on weekends for no reason at all?”
Peter can’t really argue with that. He tries to anyway.
“It’s- it’s nothing. It’s not what you think, and- and you wouldn’t get it anyways.”
“I think I might.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You don’t know, you- you don’t even have- have a clue what I’m talking about!”
Natasha actually laughs at that, a full-bellied laugh. “I think I do have a clue what you’re talking about, Peter, I think I have a lot of clues. Steve reminds you of someone from your past, seemingly at a much younger age, as you’ve been exhibiting symptoms of C-PTSD. Not to mention the fact that he isn’t your only trigger. I can see the look in your eyes when Tony puts a hand too low on your back, or when someone mentions certain words. I get it, Peter. I know.”
“But you’re like… cool.” He whispers. “You’re a badass super-spy, and I’m just…”
“Might break your brain here Pete, but even badass super-spies can experience trauma. You’re not alone. I… I know how crushingly alone it makes you feel. But you aren’t. I’m right here. And I will keep being here, even if you don’t want me to be. Because I get it. Okay, маленький паук?”
“Okay. Thanks Nat. Sorry for… Sorry.”
She just shrugs, with a soft half smile. “Don’t be. Just keep living.”