Sorry I missed last weeks update #healthproblems

Hope you enjoy this chappie though! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Chapter 3-

Peter is decidedly not sleeping when he gets a text from an unknown number -instructing him to meet the stranger on the roof of his building- at 2:47am in the morning.

Peter glances from the old stereo he had been fiddling with to his beat up and cracked phone, his eyebrows pinching together before he picks it up and shoots off a reply.

Pepher- Not that I'm not up to meet random strangers on rooftops in the middle of the night, but... ◉_◉

Peter stares at his phone, waiting for it to vibrate some sort of response, not sure if his suspicions are correct or if the text had been meant for someone else entirely.

The teenager feels a little wired, his fingers shaking with jitters and his skin prickly to the touch. Normally Peter would take that fidgety energy and go out on patrol, let his limbs loosen with the feel of web-slinging and his mind go blank with the sounds of the city.

But May has asked that Peter take off at least two school nights a week and that he be home by 2:00am on the other nights he does patrol, and in all honestly Peter had been expecting far more requirements and restrictions so he had just given her a tight hug and thanked her profusely for going easy on him.

May has known about Peter's being Spiderman for a little over a week now, and while Peter can tell she isn't exactly happy with the circumstances, she is doing her best to support Peter in his hero work. The teenager appreciates it immensely, more than he can put into words really, he's never been so thankful for his Aunt May's adaptability.

The teen knows that his keeping secrets has hurt their relationship in a lot of ways, and Peter is fairly sure that May can tell he is still keeping details from her. But she doesn't push or dig to know them, and Peter is grateful for that. Aunt May doesn't need to know certain truths, doesn't need to worry or stay up at night thinking about those things that neither she nor Peter can change.

Peter does enough of that for the both of them.

Peter's phone vibrates a moment later, three texts arriving in a rapid fire.

Unknown- Com'on kid

Unknown- I highly doubt anyone else texts you at this hour

Unknown- And I am an impatient man

Peter shoves out of his rolly desk chair and rummages in his backpack for his old and scuffed tennis shoes, scooping a hoodie off of the floor, zipping it up to cover his Star Wars t-shirt and shooting off a quick- "Mr. Stark?" before he is climbing out of his bedroom window and crawling to the roof with a practiced ease.

Peter finds himself very glad that he and May live on the top floor because that makes the process of climbing with shoes on a lot easier, he still slips once though, the worn tread of his sneaker making a rough sound against the wall.

Peter flips onto the roof with a grace that he had never had pre-bite, landing lightly on the balls of his feet, and holding back a hiss as he jostles a still healing ankle. Tony Stark is leaned up against the railing of the rooftop, the man not looking out of place even when he probably should.

Actually, when Peter thinks about it, he would be very shocked if Mr. Stark has ever felt out of place in his entire life, it doesn't seem to matter if the billionaire is in the middle of battle, at a press conference, or on a rooftop in Queens, the man just always seems to fit.

"H-hi," Peter mumbles as he approaches, forcing himself to not fidget with the hem of his hoodie as he walks up to the man. He doesn't have any trouble seeing Mr. Stark, not with the light pollution surrounding them, hiding them away from the stars.

The teen has no idea why Mr. Stark is here. Nothing big has happened since Peter took the Vulture down a few weeks ago, Spidey has just been going throughout Queens trying to clean up the last of the weapons that Toomes sold out to random baddies, but other than that, it's been pretty quiet.

Peter's even tried to cut off part of his contact with Happy, has been careful to not bother the man with unnecessary information, he's been trying really hard to no longer be bothersome and to only call when something he can't handle on his own is going down, he's been doing good.

But still that niggling feeling of dread twists in Peter's gut. "Um, why'd you come all the way out here?" Peter asks, shifting from foot to foot as he glances at Mr. Stark. "I-is this about, uh, another-another 'retreat'?" he can't help but wonder or hope really.

Peter has wracked his brain over the past thirty seconds, and he can't think of anything he has done recently that would warrant an in-person lecture from Mr. Stark.
With Karen's help, Spiderman is leaving a lot less collateral damage behind, is becoming far more officiant in battle. Peter is improving, quicker and lighter on his feet, mind moving faster with each fight he comes away from.

Tony shakes his head, looking up from his phone before pocketing the device into his blue blazer. "Nothing that exciting," he says as he takes a step forward, slinging an arm over Peter's tense shoulders and twisting them around so they can glance over at the far-off city. "Relax kiddo, I just came to talk, nothing big and scary."

Those words make Peter loosen slightly, over these past few months if Peter has learned anything, it's that Tony Stark is blunt and to the point; if Peter was in trouble he'd already know it.

But that thought allows the teenager's tongue to unstick from the roof of his mouth and he finds himself incredulously saying, "at three in the morning? You came out here to talk to me at three in the morning?"

A few months ago, heck even a few weeks ago and Peter would have been screaming internally at the thought of Tony Stark coming to talk to him one on one in the middle of the night for no apparent reason. But now that some (because it will never fully fade) of that hero-worship and admiration has bled out Peter just finds himself confused and curious.

Tony takes his arm away from Peter's shoulders, twisting around to sit on what looks like a large, red, shiny, briefcase, before placing his right leg over his left knee, and crossing his arms over his chest- like this situation isn't something odd or out of the ordinary. "Your surprisingly hot aunt is also shockingly frightening," Tony says, almost flatly.

It takes the teenager a moment to process those words, blinking at the man sat before him. "M-my Aunt? What abou-"

"Your Aunt and I had lunch," Tony interrupts Peter's stuttering. Again, sounding uninterested.

"You…you had lunch… You and my Aunt had lunch," Peter's brain isn't helping him whatsoever, he might be smart, but it seems that even his mind has limits, and those limits are apparently 28 hours without sleep.

Mr. Stark nods, "well maybe saying lunch is putting it lightly, I would call it an interrogation, perhaps a prosecution, whatever you categorize it as- it was moderately terrifying."

Peter stares frozen, gobsmacked for a moment, the sounds of the city buzzing in his ears. "My-my Aunt, sh-she came to you, after…after she found out." And it isn't really a question but Mr. Stark nods anyway, looking slightly amused and possibly a bit bored with how long it is taking the teenager to process this turn of events.

"She called me up, I suggested a lunch date," Tony waves off, "it gave me enough time to pull up the baby monitor protocol and figure out exactly what I was dealing with."

Peter doesn't hear the next few words that come out of Mr. Starks mouth, something about 'dealing with damage control'. The teen's mind is stuck on what Tony just said, the fact that he had pulled up the baby monitor protocol to so flippantly spy on Peter.

"T-that is a complete invasion of privacy Mr. Stark," Peter says mildly numb, more shocked than offended. His head spinning slightly with the implications, and then his mind halting as he realizes he's too tired to go over every embarrassing thing he has done in the suit as of late.

Tony shrugs, fiddling with his watch. "Privacy isn't really my thing," he informs before plowing on as if that wasn't an issue at all, well to Tony it probably wasn't an issue. "Your Aunt and I made a deal," Mr. Stark says, before levering Peter with a weird look. He gestures to Peter's left leg, "how's the ankle?" he asks seemingly out of the blue.

Peter's flounders for a moment, his head feeling floaty and off-axis, his tired and muddled brain is having trouble keeping up with Mr. Stark and his constant subject changes. (Is this how criminals feel when Spiderman is firing off quips? Peter sure hopes so)

Peter had hurt his ankle yesterday on patrol, but the teenager had tried his best to stay off of it today and to eat a lot of calories so it would heal as quickly as possible. "Uh," Peter blinks, "it's fine...?" The statement comes out sounding more like a question, Peter's voice unsure and hesitant.

Tony flicks out his phone in a quick move, projecting a screen into the air, much like he had done the first time Peter and he met all those months ago. But this time it isn't footage of Spiderman saving the day, but a picture of a slightly fractured fibula bone.

Peter freezes, his mouth going dry and his fingers needing to fiddle with something. Neither he or Tony move for a long painful moment, just the sound of cars driving and a plane flying far overhead, before Mr. Stark deadpans, "ouch." In a neutral voice.

Peter swallows but doesn't say anything, giving up on not fidgeting and pulling his sleeves over his fingers to fist the fabric into tight balls of material, suddenly the city seems a bit too loud, the air a smidgen too cold.

Tony waves the image out of existence. "That was a full 24 hours ago," he says, "and guess what," Mr. Stark stands here, coming a step closer to the teenager. "Happy doesn't have one missed call from you, not even a text."

Peter takes an unconscious step back, feels the dull sharpness of where his ankle is just now newly healed. "I handled it," he informs, not sure if he is in trouble for not calling or for getting injured in the first place. "It-it wasn't a big deal, just…just a small break."

Mr. Stark purses his lips, shaking his head before making direct eye contact, Peter struggles not to look away. "Every break is a big deal," Mr. Stark says, "I gave you 24 hours to call, and you never did."

Peter doesn't have a reply for that. Yesterday had been nothing, hurting his ankle had been more of an irritation than anything else, in comparison to Peter's other injuries, the way he had felt after his fight with the Vulture, yesterday was…yesterday was nothing. But Mr. Stark doesn't know that.

"I didn't think you or Happy needed to hear when I got hurt," Peter finally finds his voice, though it comes out smaller than he would like, he clears his throat to dislodge the cotton in there.

"Maybe not the small things, but if you break a bone I wanna know about it," Mr. Stark says, "the suit was supposed to be a protection, not an excuse to become reckless." Peter makes to interrupt the man at those words, but Tony shakes his head, holding up a finger. "Sorry, that came out wrong. What I meant was. You aren't going to stop, that's been proven, and if you're going to do this then you need people to rely on." Tony rubs a hand over his face, he looks tired in the same way Peter feels.

The man looks away from Peter, gazing to the streets below instead, breathing out deeply before- "next time something like this happens, next time you get hurt or in over your head, you call."

Peter looks down to his shoes, blinking rapidly as he takes in those words. "That's what you and May decided on?" the teen asks his feet, "this was the deal. That you keep an even closer eye on me?"

It takes Mr. Stark a moment to answer, "I was complacent, before." Tony turns to look back at Peter and the teenager forces his gaze upward, forces himself to look Mr. Stark in the eye. "No matter what you might think, you're still a kid. I thought the suit would be enough, but seems the world just keeps spitting out more messes for us to clean up, and having high tech isn't always enough."

Peter takes a breath in through his nose. "What do you mean?"

Tony moves his head sharply, "I'm going to be more involved with your Spider-linging, you can't do this alone, no one can." He walks over to the red briefcase and it pops open as Mr. Stark presses something on his watch.

Peter observes in far away awe as Tony is quickly encased in an Iron Man suit, the metal climbing up his body to encircle around the billionaire in a clean and effortless display of brilliance, things like that will never cease to be cool, Ned is going to be so jealous when Peter tells him about this tomorrow at school.

Iron Man begins to hover over Peter's head, the repulsors oddly quiet in the night air. "You call, you get hurt, you get over your head, you call. None of this I'm not a kid, I don't need help BS, got it?"

Peter presses his lips together, nodding an affirmation and mumbling a soft, "okay," in numb and somewhat confused agreement.

And then Iron Man is taking off, the breeze from his abrupt launch ruffling Peter's unkempt hair and whipping at his oversized hoodie and pajama pant as the teen watches Iron Man fly into the darkness of 3:00am.

Peter gasps awake like a man drowning, bolting upright and scrabbling at the sheets that have found their way tangled around his legs in the midst of his fitful sleep. He pants open mouthed, ragged breaths coming from too tight lungs. Grabbing with trembling fingers at his heaving chest as he tries to shove the illogical fear down.

His ears are ringing and his head buzzes with a dull panic that shouldn't be there. The teen feels claustrophobic in a way he doesn't normally, and suddenly it feels as if the darkness is pressing in on him from all sides, leaving him to gasp and splutter as he drowns in shadow.

Peter stumbles out of his bed, his feet taking him out of his bedroom and into their small kitchen without a second's thought. The teen fumbles for a glass before filling it with water and downing it in a few greedy gulps, it doesn't get rid of the swimming anxiety, but it does help to settle his breathing somewhat.

The teen grips the countertop with shaky fingers, feels the way he could splinter and break the material apart if he just turned his wrist in the right way, if he lost control of his strength, if he accidentally slipped up.

"Peter?" a concerned voice whispers softly, making the teen flinch in a slight surprise. He hadn't meant to wake Aunt May, she has an early shift tomorrow at work and needs all the sleep she can get.

Peter doesn't answer, doesn't have access to his vocal cords at this moment. But May seems to know this, seems to discern what's wrong within an instant. She walks up to Peter, placing a slender hand between his tense shoulder blades and asks, "bad night?" in a simple and understanding kind of way, one that Peter isn't sure he earned a right to hear so frequently.

Peter breathes in, holds it, forces the air to stay in his uncooperative lungs for a silent moment, then slowly releases it out his nose in a controlled and practiced motion. Closing his heavy eyes, Peter nods once, because every movement seems to drain him of his already depleting energy and he's just so darn tired.

May hums, her fingers combing through Peter's slightly curly hair before she wraps her hand around his arm and pulls him away from the kitchen. Peter doesn't protest, unsticking his fingers from the countertop and letting his Aunt drag him toward the living room.

May pushes Peter onto the couch, waits for the teenager to curl into the corner before sitting pressed up next to him without a word.

Peter feels cold inside, almost numb, but he can breathe, so he's okay. Everything's okay, everything's okay.

A moment later a knitted blanket finds its way around the teen's shoulders, smelling of root beer even though it's already been through the wash, it's worn strings slightly frayed and soft where Peter tangles his fingers into the holes of the pattern. And then May is pulling Peter towards her in an almost hug, her arms around his shoulders, but not clinging, not crushing, allowing him the room to breathe. She lays backward a beat later, sighing something deep and grounding as she pulls Peter down with her so that he is almost on top of her.

Normally Peter might protest this, might say something about how he is fifteen and not five, but he just takes in the smell of lavender still clinging to May's clothes, the way her breathing is steady and strong, the feel of her long fingers scratching at his scalp in a soothing motion.

Finally, after what seems like a lifetime Peter feels himself start to relax, his shoulders loosening and his tense muscles letting go. The teen gains enough energy to untangle his hand from the blanket to bunch up some of his Aunt's t-shirt in a clingy way.

This isn't a new tradition, Peter has always been prone to nightmares while under stress or anxiety, he had bad dreams for months after his parents died, and all throughout childhood, when Ben had been laid off at work, when he skipped a grade in school, when May had found a weird mole on her arm, when Ben had died…

And whenever those nightmares occurred May just seemed to know instinctively, but she never forced Peter to talk, never asked what he dreamed about or what he was thinking. She just hugged him and helped him with her warm and steady presences.

"What would I do without you?" Peter whispers into the dark, the words said softly into May's stomach.

She hums, something low and soothing, her fingers still playing with his loose curls. "I think the question is, what would I do without you?"

Peter rubs at his side with an irritated eye-roll. Flash had whipped him with a wet towel in the locker room after gym class, and the stupid thing about it was, Peter knew the moment it was coming -could feel the way his body wanted to dodge the blow- but Peter had to force himself to stand still and take it.

The teen can still hear the way Flash snickered and mocked him before leaving the locker room, a bit more swagger to his step; can still see the way some of the other boys had given him pitying looks as Peter ducked his way out the door.

If people like Flash knew what Peter could do, if they knew who Peter was, life would be very different, maybe Peter would be the one slapping people with wet towels and making up stupid nicknames- except, Peter isn't a jerk so he still wouldn't do any of that, even if it was to somebody like Flash.

"So, you comin' over this weekend?" Ned asks as the two boys shuffle down the hall to their next period, Ned's in a very good mood today and just being with his friend makes Peter feel lighter, feel less weighed down and like the fifteen-year-old boy, he is meant to be.

Peter pulls at his backpack straps, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he smiles wide and happy. "Yup," he pops the P on the end, chuckling as Ned pumps his fist in the air with an excited 'yes!'.

"May just asked that we eat some real food," Peter goes on, grabbing a textbook midair as it falls from Ned's fumbling hands. "She says that we can't just eat 'byproducts that teenage boys let pass as edible' if we want to continue living," at Ned's confused expression Peter shrugs, "May's words not mine."

Ned shakes his head, a fond smile playing on his lips as he bounces in place. "Cool. I haven't played it yet so I am psyched!" Ned exclaims, pausing to make sure no one heard his too loud voice. Most the students are already in class, Ned and Peter (along with a few other kids) are running a bit late, all brushing past each other in a shushed and rushed hurry down the moderately empty hallway.

Ned turns back to Peter, his voice low and reverent now, but just as enthusiastic as before. "I am counting down the hours, dude, I can't wait for last period to be over."

Ned had won some sort of contest (Peter can't remember) and was able to get the new Battle Front Star Wars game even though it wasn't supposed to come out for another month. Ned and Peter are going to let themselves play video games until they fall into oblivion or a coma (whichever comes first) Peter is actually really excited for such a low-key and enjoyable weekend, he hasn't gotten to spend some good old-fashioned nerd time with Ned in a while and he thinks he could probably use the break.

"I still can't believe you won, man. This weekend is going to be a-maz-ing!" The last word is punctured with a fist bump as Peter initiates his and Ned's handshake, the two able to do it without any thought at this point, the pattern of it imprinted into both of their brains.

"I know!" Ned agrees, his voice pitching upward, "and I swear I've been waiting for you, but I did familiarize myself with the controls, because-"

Ned is cut off as a soft voice from behind says, "Peter, may I speak with you for a moment?"

Peter and Ned both turn to see Ms. Lynn standing in the doorway of her office, a small smile on her face and her hands clasped in front of her. The hall is now empty, Ned and Peter thoroughly late for class, and the bell already rung.

Ned eyes Peter for a moment, the atmosphere in the air has shifted to something less playful. Ned whispers a quiet, "uh, I'll see you after class," before scurrying off, his textbooks balanced precariously in hand.

Peter presses his lips together, "um, I have history," he informs, taking a hesitant step forward. He isn't sure why the school's guidance counselor would want to talk to him, he hasn't gotten into any fights (other than verbal ones with Flash) and his grades are improving from where Peter had let them drop last month.

Ms. Lynn smiles wider, unclasping her hands as she waves Peter's concern off. "I already talked to Mr. Gardener, he knows you will be a few minutes late to his class." So, this had been deliberate and thought out, Peter bunches the sleeves of his Midtown High sweater into his hands.

"Um, o-okay, sure let's talk." Peter shuffles into Ms. Lynn's office with her behind, Ms. Lynn having waited for him to go first. The teen plops himself into one of the large chairs, sitting on one curled leg and letting the other dangle.

He's only been in Ms. Lynn's office once before, when he had first gotten into Midtown and she had gone over the whole 'my door is always open,' and 'high school can be a difficult place', talk with him before handing him a packet of articles and pamphlets and letting him go. Which had been a little over a year now, so Peter isn't entirely sure why she is pulling him aside.

Ms. Lynn seats herself across from Peter, smoothing out her long mint-green sweater as she does so. Ms. Lynn is somewhere in her early twenties, only having worked at Midtown for three years now, she seems like a sweet person, letting the kids call her by her first name rather than her last and always seen with a smile on her face.

But even knowing that Peter feels uncertain, wondering if he had done something wrong, and then trying to figure out how he had caught the school councilor's eye and not the principal's.

"So-so," Peter begins when the silence draws out for a moment too long, fidgeting in his seat. "What's this about?" he asks, glancing to Ms. Lynn with an unconcealed curiosity.

The woman cocks her head to the side slightly, bringing her clasped hands up and resting her chin on top of them, her big brown eyes assessing, Peter feels like he is being examined. "How are you doing Peter?" she asks, her voice soft, with the slight lift of an accent.

The teenager blinks caught off-guard. "I, uh, I'm fine?" the words come out as a question when really Peter had meant them as a statement. His confusion over this situation mounting.

Ms. Lynn nods, her lips perusing in something like understanding. "How are things at home?" she asks, placing her hands onto the dark wood of her desk, everything about her is open and kind, but Peter feels his walls going up, his sense on high alert.

"At-at home?" Peter asks back, feeling a spike of confusion hit him. "They're fine, good, great, I mean."

Ms. Lynn glances to her kettle in the corner of the room, sat atop a small table with a basket of different tea flavors. "Would you like something to drink Peter?" she offers, "I'm a tea drinker myself, but I have some cocoa if you would like some?" Again, everything about her seems genuine and sweet, Peter tugs at his Midtown high sweater's sleeves as he shakes his head 'no'.

Ms. Lynn's office is warm and cozy in every sense of the word, with random knick-knacks strung about, smelling of Jasmin tea and eucalyptus leaves from the little plant sitting on the edge of her desk, a small corner couch in the back by a bookshelf with a flowery blanket strung over it.

Peter can tell Ms. Lynn went to a lot of trouble to make this room so inviting, and in a different situation, Peter can even see himself relaxing inside the office, rather than tensing up.

There is a moment, where it looks like Ms. Lynn is debating her next words, before she says, "a number of the teachers have expressed some concern for your well-being, and a few students actually." She lets her words float in the air between them, only the sound of their mixed breathing and a tiny electric waterfall to break the silence.

Peter blinks, surprised that multiple people have even paid him enough attention to notice something was wrong. "I…I'm fine, everything is fine," he tries for a smile as he says the words, his chest feeling a little too tight as he mumbles out the long ago practiced and self-told lie.

Ms. Lynn gives Peter a soft almost pitying look, her big brown eyes taking everything in. "You've shown up to school with a number of bruises, and as a student under our watch it is our responsibility to make sure you are safe and-"

Peter interrupts as he understands the 'how are things at home?' comment, he can't help but feel a burst of mortification on his Aunt's behalf. "My Aunt May isn't hurting me," he blurts, feeling a coil of protection for May twist in his stomach. "Aunt May would never hurt me."

Ms. Lynn nods, not showing her reaction or feelings on the matter whatsoever, she just seems calm and collected, Peter has a hard time reading her. "Your grades dropped significantly last month Peter, and your attendance was very spotty, some of the staff took notice, and certain things were brought to my attention."

Peter shakes his head rapidly, "my grades are almost back to normal though, and-and I haven't missed a day off school in weeks." This just feels kind of late in all honesty, last month when Peter had been gone more than he wasn't and he had been in the middle of a moderate identity crisis, that might have been the time for a talk with the school's guidance counselor.

But of course, most of Peter's problems are not Peter's problems, but Spiderman's. And there is no way Peter can tell Ms. Lynn -or anyone for that matter- that the reason he shows up to school beaten and bruised on occasion, isn't because he's dealing with domestic abuse or bullies, but because he went out and fought bad guys every other night.

Ms. Lynn's voice brings Peter out of his musing. "I'm not here to lecture you about your school work, Peter, it just seems to me that something is wrong. You're a good student, smart and determined, I just wanted to talk with you, make sure that you are alright."

"I-I'm fine," Peter says again, not quite certain of what else to say. Because sure, sometimes he is fine, but other days he isn't. And maybe being able to talk to someone impartial would help, being able to confide in another person might take some of the pressure away from his chest. But Peter shouldn't even entertain those thoughts because he can't- he can't talk about what is bothering him, what haunts his dreams, what he thinks about when he is supposed to be paying attention in class- because those are Spiderman's secrets, not Peter's.

"I've just been adjusting," Peter goes on, biting at his lip as he glances to his twitching fingers in his lap, "that's all," he finishes lamely. Ms. Lynn acts as if she actually cares, she seems like she would really listen if Peter decided he wanted to spill.

Ms. Lynn leans forward slightly, shifting so her bangs almost get into her eyes. "What are you having to adjust to? If you don't mind me asking." Again, she isn't acting like some of the other teachers, where they are complacent or far off, her attuited and demeanor makes this feel more like Peter is talking to another student, not a teacher, an adult.

For a fleeting moment, Peter wonders if that is why Midtown chose to hire Ms. Lynn, even though she is so young, or maybe because of it.

"I, uh," Peter starts, blinking to himself, as he realizes something he hadn't before- yes, his main problems might be interwoven with Spiderman's, they might be bigger issues than any other fifteen-year-old is dealing with, and it all might be a situation that Ms. Lynn would never understand.

But Peter Parker has his own set of issues too, and those, those he is allowed to talk about, those he is allowed to share. "I, uh, my Aunt and I just had to move, and um, I also am interning for Stark Industries, so it's just been really busy."

Ms. Lynn leans back into her chair nodding in understanding, her lips pursed in thought. "And right when school was starting back up, that must have been a lot to take on all at once."

Peter finds himself nodding, still gazing down at his fidgeting fingers in his lap, it's easier to not look at Ms. Lynn's soft and sympathetic eyes. "It…yeah. It's fine, I just had to get used to it." It really wasn't a huge problem, they still lived in Forest Hills for goodness sake.

It made sense, May couldn't afford their old apartment on just her income alone, and Peter was too young to get a job at this point. It was the logical step, there was only two of them now, they didn't need the old apartment. But even still, the new apartment lacked the memories, it lacked Ben. Relocating felt like the final step to moving on, and it hurt, it hurt because Peter wasn't sure he was ready to move on.

"It gets to be too much sometimes," Peter tells his lap because he can't seem to find it in himself to look up. "I just…sometimes it feels like I have too much weight, too much pressure on top of me…and I don't know what to do with it."

Ms. Lynn hums, "that's understandable Peter, from what I've heard, you've had a rough year, and sometimes even the strongest of us need a break."

Peter huffs, smiling something small and sad as he glances up at Ms. Lynn from under his bangs. "How can you take a break from your life?" he asks, not actually sure if he is expecting an answer.

Ms. Lynn smiles something soft. "Well, how would you feel about coming here when you need to?" she asks, "my office is always open, and we don't even have to talk if you don't wish to. If things becoming overwhelming or if that pressure you feel becomes too much, then I want you to know you can come to my office as something of a free zone, a place where life is on mute for a while," she chuckles here, her eyes lighting, "just long enough for you to feel less weighted down."

Peter blinks at Ms. Lynn, feeling something swelling in his chest, he thinks it might be gratefulness maybe relief. He doesn't think Ms. Lynn even realizes what her offer means to him, she just gave him a safe place to go when he is feeling overwhelmed, when the noise and lights are too much, when Flash just won't leave him alone, she just gave him a secret refuge, it almost feels like a superpower, a weapon just for Peter to use.

"Does that sound like something that might be helpful for you?" Ms. Lynn asks.

Peter smiles, "yeah…it does."

I want to let you all know that I am now a professional nerd because I wrote this chapter while wearing my new Midtown High t-shirt...yes, yes lose all your respect for me...it was a long time coming...

Alright, kiddos! Just one more chapter and this bad-boy is done, so see you next update! (and in the comments!) \ (•◡•) /