Look I updated! It's only been eleventy-million years! ಠ_ಥ

*Whispers into the void* I am so sorry...

(Talks of Triggers and Dissociation)

All from Peter's pov.

Distraction; a thing that prevents someone from giving full attention to something else.

Sam suggested that Peter figure out some sort of healthy outlet. Something that would take his mind off of things and help him regain control of himself when he was having a bad day.

Peter tried different things. Taking Sam's advice to heart and forcing himself to move forward. Peter was sick of being stuck in this time loop of jittery nerves and bottled up emotions. He was ready to move on.

He tried painting with Steve.

But Peter was no artist.

He tried cooking with Sam.

Peter would burn water if it were possible.

He tried Archery with Clint.

Peter was now banned from touching any bow.

He tried meditating with Bruce.

Being stuck in his head wasn't a good idea.

Peter finally figured out that he needed something that he was good at and enjoyed, but it needed to be physical as well as mental, something that would keep his mind busy and his brain focused.

That ended up being sparing with Natasha.

Peter didn't feel like he had to talk when he was with Natasha. He didn't feel obligated to fill the silence like he did with some of the others. But at the same time, if Peter did feel like talking, he felt that he could freely, with no judgment.

It was nice.

It was comforting.

It was safe.

Nights were the hardest.

It was stupid.

It was illogical.

It was childish.

The night held nothing different from the day. Peter knew this. He knew this. The Tower did not change with the suns setting, it was all the same, Peter's floor, his room, it was all the same.

So why did he always feel so uneasy in the dark?

Peter huffed at the empty room, fed up and irritated with himself. He needed to get over this faster, it was taking too long, he should be over this by now. Shouldn't he? It had almost been a full month now, enough time has passed and now he needed to get a grip.

Peter flipped off his bedroom light, plunging his room into blackness and walked over to his bed, willing the anxiety already building in his stomach to go away.

Dissociation; to be disconnected from reality, or to separate one's self from a situation.

The air woodshed out of Peter's lungs as he fell to the floor. The teen squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to just breathe and to think of nothing else but the beating of his heart and the pull of his lungs.

Natasha asked him if he was alright. He nodded, barely hearing her words over his own ragged breathing. He would be fine, he just needed to focus on current, and not let his mind wander away with him.

Peter had woken up in a fog today, one that left him feeling tired and drained. He was disconnected, probably due to his nightmares last night. It was part of the mind's defense mechanism, to try to pull the person away from their body in order to protect them from what might be happening in reality.

Sometimes Peter would get stuck that way, after a panic attack or possibly a bad trigger. He would drift in this in-between place where he felt detached from himself but at the same time still wanting to get away.

But other times, like right now, Peter could catch his mind before it fully floated away. Focusing on what was real, what was happening at this very moment,

The burning of his lungs.

The pounding of his heart.

The coldness of the matt against his back.

And then Natasha's hand in his own as she helped to pull him back up to his feet.

Sometimes it was unexpected, well actually that was a lie.

It was always unexpected because for the most part, it was something you couldn't account for.

Triggers, they were a tricky thing.

Some you could remember getting, you could remember the moment it fried itself into your brain.

Others you have no idea how they came about, but just because you don't know why it's there doesn't mean it isn't real.

Some made sense, others were dumb and didn't make sense at all. Not even to the one experiencing it in that moment.

Peter was crouched down on his bathroom floor. He didn't really know why. He had been brushing his teeth, getting ready for bed, there shouldn't have been anything to bring this bout of fear on.

But that didn't matter, because whatever had caused it had already done its damage and Peter was left gasping for breath, clutching at his chest as he forced himself not to dry heave.

He was starting to go back, he could feel it.

Hot oil,

slick and soft,

sharp teeth-

"No!" Peter shouted at himself. He was not going back, he refused, he would not allow it. He wouldn't.

"Okay, Parker." Talking out loud, didn't Sam say that talking out loud could help when on the verge of a panic attack? "You are in the Tower. You are on your floor in your bathroom."

It was weird talking to himself like that, his voice echoed off of the tiled walls and bounced back at Peter, but for some odd reason, it helped. "The tile is cold on my fingers, and the fan is loud in my ears." This was what Peter did when he was trying to reel his mind back in, saying the things out loud made him feel like a bit of a freak, though.

But that had already been established when he had woken up with super-strength and micro hairs that let him stick to walls hadn't it?

"There's water on my socks, and toothpaste in my mouth."

"The sink is dripping, and there's a shattered glass on the floor."

"I am stronger than this and I refuse to have this panic attack."

"My fears do not control me, and I will get through this just like I did when the universe has thrown things at me before."

"I am the Amazing Spider-Man, and a little PTSD is not going to knock me down."

Edit- Hey guys, so I've decided to leave this fic be- when I started writing this I was in a bad place, and I am no longer in that place.

I really wanted to take this fic down- but I hate it when people delete stories- so as a compromise I decided to take this off of the RH series, so this is no longer set in that AU.

And honestly, I don't mind this ending, Peter is slowly getting better- PTSD doesn't just go away, and some days are harder than others, but that doesn't mean we can't cope.

Thank you for reading.