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The teen and the Avenger sat in the backseat, Happy taking them back to the compound while Peter chatted about his day. Tony nodded along, making Peter feel a little unsure if he should continue on, but couldn’t really stop.
Since the base was in a secluded area, a car following didn’t happen often. Especially not one that wasn’t in the bases log. Peter perked when he noticed the confused look Happy made through the rearview mirror, this instantly cause his mentor to turn and look out the back.
The cars back window was tinted, meaning they were out of sight but Tony’s brow still furrowed which shut the teen’s ramblings up. Peter felt his neck tingle, in a split second he moved and pulled the inventor down before a bullet pierced through the back windshield. Sending glass over their heads and causing Happy to swerve.
Tony’s hands quickly found their way over the child’s head, keeping him down against the seat as more shots rang in the air. Tires screeched and one popped letting the three all know one of the back tires had blown. The car turned in the opposite direction, the shot’s stopping as their car skidded to a stop next to them.
Peter could barely see as Tony pulled the seats down to access the trunk, but it was quick as the man practically lifted him by the waist and shoved him in before whispering sharply, “Stay quiet,”
The boy’s eyes widened as the seat fell back into place, not fully though, a sliver of light carried through and Peter’s throat already started to catch. Peter listened as his mentor was pulled from the car.
“Mr. Stark,” A voice called cocky yet delightfully, “And Mr. Hogan, I’m so happy to see you,”
“I thought you were rotting in jail,” Tony returned, looking at a pitiful man that had worked for him, and tried to steal his work while assaulting several of his employees.
A laugh sounded in the air, but Peter couldn’t focus on that. He could only focus on how dark the small space was, how his lungs began to feel as if they were filled with the dusted cement he’d inhaled when he’d fought the Vulture.
Phantom pain from that day began to consume him, yet his mentors warning stayed and mind and his hands clamped over his mouth before he could scream out for help. Shivering, Peter’s bit down on his lip hard to stop himself from making any noise at all.
He could taste blood idly dripping into his mouth, further bringing him back to the crushing weight of concrete. Panting heavily through his nose, the boy squeezed his eyes shut. The least bit relieved that he could actually move, and curled up into a ball.
Peter tried to focus on how his mentor and Happy were in danger, the fact didn’t help his ever beating heart but the thought didn’t distract him from his constricting chest. His gag reflex nearly kicked in, his throat had gone dry to quickly Peter could only swallow the blood flowing from his lip as if it’d help.
The boy didn’t know if it’d been the gunfire from before that left his ears ringing, but the sensation of the the world around him blurring into the same roar of a warbling cry of a jet. His teeth chattered as he forced his jaw open to make sure he didn’t bite straight through his lip.
He settled for biting down on the juncture of his hand, shaking as a small layer of sweat began to cloud his temples and forehead. The force of his jaw and eyes squeezing down only filled his mouth with more blood, but the pang in his head began to waver into the same sensation of his ringing ears.
Mocking him. Drowning him. Burying him alive, holding him hostage. Burning his chest from the inside, scorching him alive and constricting his ribs and lungs, holding them so tightly the boy could believe his body would collapse into a black hole.
The pain in his hand from the teeth breeching the skin didn’t even register, not as his eyes rolled back into his head and the dark world went from what was known as eigengrau to plain black.
---
Considering the blood on his lips and teeth were still wet as he felt hands under his arms pulling him into a safe embrace, Peter figured he wasn’t out long. His eyes begged to stay closed against the light, but he opened them regardless. Not all the way though, he simply squinted.
Easily able to identify his mentor from the goatee, but the boy’s eyes only opened when he noticed the man's tan skin had red clinging to it. His mentors forehead and temple had blood dripping and following his jaw line. His chin had a small scrape as well, but the man didn’t look exactly pained, worried, yes.
“Jesus kid,” Tony exhaled, an armored hand running through his hair. Peter leaned into it, the cold helping his heated skin. Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, voice small and breathless as he pleaded, each word a pause a part.
“No, no...small...spaces,”
“Okay,” he heard his mentor whisper, his cheek resting on the boy’s forehead and giving the small body a squeeze. Tony didn’t know if he was assuring himself for sticking the kid in the trunk and sending him into what he assumed was a panic attack or if he was assuring Peter. Considering the boy just leaned further into the touch, limp and boneless, looking absolutely wrecked; Tony took comfort in that Peter at least felt safe.
The armor had been in the lab for some last minute maintenance, meaning it had to fly over to subdue the men which for the time being had left them defenseless. At least now Happy stayed outside of the car, watching carefully over the men even when a his grazed shoulder dribbled lightly. It’d only take a stitch or two maybe even three but otherwise he was alright.
From what Tony could tell, Peter had somehow hurt himself worse than his and Happy's injuries combined. The boy’s bottom lip was split badly, he thought it would have been more swollen than it was but assumed Peter’s healing factor could explain it.
His hand though, his hand left blood that stained his skin all over. It had dripped down his arm, beneath his jacket and stained the sleeves. The kid had really clamped down hard, Tony could see a small portion of the inside of the kids hand. Helen could fix it, but Tony grimaced as he noticed if the boy had bit barely a millimeter higher, he’d have likely bitten straight through a large vein. Shifting the boy’s hand, Tony had to look away when he realized he could see bone.
“I’m sorry kid,” the sleeping boy didn’t hear him.
---
The insistant sleep that’d held the exhausted boy beneath its overwhelming current pushed him out into shallow water where his eyes opened. Taking in his surroundings, Peter quickly realized he was in his room at the compound.
Yawning the teen's brow quirked when something on his bottom lip brushed against his upper one. Raising his hand the boy’s eyes widened at how bandaged his hand was. Wrapped expertly and tightly, but his fingertips remained bare.
Running a finger tip over his bottom lip, Peter felt the stitching and shamefully pulled his hand away before holding his hand to his chest. His eyes began to rise a little with tears wanting to fall, but Peter shook his head to push the possible freak out away.
He didn’t need to reminisce on his time in the trunk, it was over now. He was okay, yet the blurry version of his mentor’s bloodied face made the boy sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bed.
The weight of it made him feel uncertain, his body still didn’t seem to want to do much after he’d been shaking in a car for god knows how long. The sleep didn’t exactly help him too much, he may have felt rested but fatigue still held him hostage.
Then again he normally always felt off after a panic attack, anyone (May) who’d been around long enough to deal with his panic attacks knew he’d be off kilter for at least all of the next day. But something in Peter knew these new attacks about enclosed spaces were different.
The teen didn’t know how to feel about that, but even if the fact frightened him. He didn’t want to burden anyone in asking for help, he’d been having panic attacks for years, why should he ask for help just because they’d been a little worse than usual?
He had an inkling of what the problem was, especially because of when the world began to feel tight and suffocating he always believed he could possibly truly be in that moment, homecoming night under the rubble. But he wasn’t a psychiatrist, just a kid with access to the internet. How would he know if he had PTSD? His claustrophobia was likely just crippling, hell, his fear of spiders was too.
Looking down Peter noticed his clothes had been changed, and with a small whiff Peter realized his skin had been washed. Tongue running over his teeth, Peter knew from the minty taste, his teeth had been cleaned too.
Curling his toes in the fuzzy socks his feet were wrapped in, the teen managed to get to his feet. Slowly making his way to the closed curtains to peek out, it had to be dawn considering the sun seemed to be coming up.
Padding back to the bed, Peter noticed his phone on the bedside dresser. Reaching for it with his wrapped hand, Peter sadly pulled it back to his chest and grabbed it with his good hand. It was about to be six, meaning everyone else wouldn’t be up for at least a few hours. Considering his body’s fatigue, Peter couldn’t argue with getting a few more hours of sleep and crawled into bed, making sure not to put any pressure on his hand.
Every few seconds his tongue grew tempted to lick at the stitches. But sleep took him away from the small temptation, especially when Peter realized they’d likely be able to be removed the minute medical knew Tony and him were awake. Tony needed to be informed every and any time the boy even walked into medical, at times Peter thought it was a little weird that Tony would ask ever time if he was okay when all he really needed was a bandaid. But he knew the concern came from a good place.
When the boy woke the second time, Friday greeted him pleasantly.
“Good morning, Mr. Stark is in the main living room. I’ll let him know you’re awake so you’re lip can be looked over and you can eat,” Peter just nodded, a soft yawn escaping, the tingling tickle of the stitching almost making him giggled. Processing her words the boy waddled from his bed with his favorite blanket to the living room.
Tony smiled when he saw him, but the boy could tell the man had been up late. Worry still seemingly consuming him.
“Hey kiddo,”
“Morning,” the boy yawned, moving over to the couch where his mentor sat and took a seat at least a foot away. Pulling his legs towards his chest and hugging the blanket around his shoulders.
“How’s your hand?” Tony asked, setting his tablet down and turning toward the younger man.
“It’s okay,” the boy replied softly, still keeping the appendage close to his chest.
“You ready to get those stitches out of your mouth?” The man asked, his voice soft too.
“Yeah,” Peter agreed, getting up with his mentor. Tony's arm sliding around the boy’s shoulder, leading him towards medical. Helen gave a cheery 'good morning', already pulling out a new small pair of scissors.
She snipped the scissors excitedly, tapping the seat in encouragement for him to hop up. Peter did so, not expecting Tony to sit beside him. Helen with her gloved hand lifted his chin, explaining, “This may hurt because it likely scabbed underneath and that may pull and bleed a little,”
She snipped and pulled, not even stopping when he winced as a scab pulled, but his mentors hand rested on his back and sweeped up and down in reassurance. She wiped away the small blood spots with a tissue, handing him one to hold to his lips as it clotted.
“All done!”
Nodding, the boy hummed and held the tissue. Tony grabbed an extra tissue, carefully wiping a drop of blood that escaped on the side of his mouth. Peter let the man dote on him, Tony helping him hold the tissue until the bleeding stopped completely.
Tony threw it out, and Peter almost moved until Helen came back with some butterfly bandages. But she approached Tony instead, the man almost waved her off but something kept him still and allowed her to change his other bandages. He figured if he didn’t put up too much of a fuss, maybe Peter would start to realize getting help wasn’t so bad. Even if he thought so too.
The boy didn’t watch for long, he got to his feet and grabbed another tissue. Blowing his nose near the door so they wouldn’t hear it. Tony thanked Helen for her help, getting up and following the boy out to the kitchen. Tony watched as the kid seemed ready to make himself something, but stopped and held his blanket and arm back to his chest.
“I’ll make the food Pete,” Tony assured, a hand on the boy’s back as he led him back to the table.
“Thank you,” Peter praised, playing with the blankets frills as Tony got to work. Eggs, bacon, the works. With Peter’s metabolism, he’d need plenty. Peter felt a little dumb for not grabbing his phone, but figured walking away while someone was making him food was rude.
“I’m sorry kid,” Tony spoke, throwing the egg shells out. But the teen only looked up at him confused.
“Why?”
“I shoved you in a trunk kid,” The man looked terribly upset at that, but Peter quickly defended him.
“You didn’t really. Not all the way, and we were being shot at,”
“I wish I didn’t have to do that, but-”
“You didn’t have a choice,” Peter argued, “I only freaked out ‘cause ever since what Toomes did my claustrophobia has been terrible. You kept me safe the best way you could, you couldn’t have done anything else,”
Tony’s body straightened, hand moving quickly to turn the hotplate off so nothing burned and asked immediately, “What did he do?” The boy seemed to realize his mistake and looked away.
His mouth opened to speak only to go quiet again, “Do we have to talk about it?” Tony could already see the tremors and teary eyes. The kids behavior had been more reserved than usual since he woke. Tony, as much as his constricted chest and thumping heart wanted to know what the hell that monster had done to his son, Peter wasn’t ready to talk about it.
“Not now,” Tony concluded, getting back to their meal before setting it in front of the boy. The child grabbed his utensils, looking the smallest bit distressed before Tony took the plate back and cut it for him.
“Thank you,” The older man nodded, mind just focusing on the fact that he’d have to come up with some new protocols for the boy’s claustrophobia. If he’d been feeling guilty about the trunk before, true guilt is what seemed to consume him now.
But they were okay now, no one was shooting or hitting him. Peter wasn’t in the trunk of the car crying and biting through his very skin. Happy wasn’t holding to his bleeding arm. Everything would be okay, not truly okay though, Peter still needed to tell him what the Vulture had done to mess with his claustrophobia so badly.
---
A month and a half had passed since the incident, a month and a half of the inventor not truly able to relax around the boy until he knew what had happened. He’d spent countless nights up thinking of all the different possibilities and none helped to soothe him.
“He dropped a building on me,” the words weren’t prompted, a movie had been playing and Tony had been going through his tablet for some new deal Pepper wanted him to look over. His heart dropped at the confession.
Head turning to look at the boy, as Peter kept his eyes on the screen even as they began to tear up. The broken warehouse flashed in the man’s mind, and Tony believed himself to be a fool because he should have known that had been it. But the thought hadn’t crossed his mind, in the very least he’d suspected the kid got stuck under some plane parts. Not several tons of concrete.
“The nightmares and panic attacks are bad. I know what panic attacks are like, but everytime I’m somewhere small, I’m there again and everything hurts and I...I-”
“Hey, I’m here Pete,” Tony assured, moving closer to hold the boy close and help calm him. Tony knew exactly what the problem was, he knew what the boy was suffering from. Knew because he dealt with it too.
“You have PTSD Pete,” Tony explained softly, earning a round of tears as the boy buried his face in his mentors throat. The inventor wondered when Peter could talk with his therapist.
“I know Pete, I know,” he cooed, running his hands through the boy’s hair. Once the boy’s fit ended, the boy didn’t let go. Just held on as Tony provided as much comfort as he could. “We’re going to get you help, make sure the nightmares aren’t so terrible. And help so you can learn how to deal with what you thought were panic attacks,”
“I don’t-”
“I know you don’t want help because you’re scared, I was too when I found out something was wrong. But I got help, and I’ve been a lot better because of it. You will be too. Would you let me set you up with my own therapist?”
The boy looked away, tears raining down his face before he nodded.
“Yes please,”