Author's Note: Shoot, fam! When I posted chapter 4, everything was mostly okay, but now the whole Earth freakin' shut down!? Humor aside, everyone please practice caution and stay safe and healthy. :) Thanks for all the support and feedback, it's been much appreciated.

I ended up merging the 5 and +1 cause it fit better, so I hope we're all good with that.

Warnings: Panic attacks, disassociation, mentions of thoughts of self harm.

"Now the night is coming to an end,

The sun will rise, and we will try again,

Stay alive."

—Twenty One Pilots "Truce."

5 & +1

Tony takes him to a therapist that Friday. Peter missed the rest of the week of school, opting instead to remain home and quietly read and watch hours of BBC's Merlin that he can barely remember. He didn't want to face Ned, or MJ or any of them again, and Pepper and Tony hadn't pushed him to.

The therapist is a woman, Maria Jackson. She's short and dark-haired, but smiles warmly at him and doesn't seem offended when he doesn't shake her hand. Apparently she used to work for S.H.I.E.L.D., which doesn't seem strange. What surprises him more is that most of the Avengers have seen her at least a few times.

They spend that session going over a long questionnaire, and Peter walks out with a diagnosis. Depression, anxiety, and post traumatic stress disorder. Maria, Tony and Pepper talk for a few minutes privately when Peter has been released into the waiting room.

"Just discussing some ways for us to help," Tony says when Peter asks about it in the car.

"The suggestion of medication, if you'd be willing to try it." Pepper adds, but she's frowning. Peter's stomach sinks, latching onto why almost immediately.

"But with Spider-Man…"

"We'd have to up the doses to fight your metabolism, and I don't know how that will affect your brain," Tony finishes the thought for him, hands gripped tightly around the steering wheel. Peter's on hands clench around his phone and earbuds, rubbing the length of cord in between his pointer finger and thumb. "We're just going to try this for now, and if it doesn't work, we'll find something else."

Peter nods tiredly, worn. He rests his head against the cold glass.

Pepper twists around to face him properly. "But this doesn't mean that you can only discuss your emotional problems with her, alright? This isn't a replacement for me and Tony. If you want to talk to us, don't ever hesitate."

Peter gives a tight smile of reassurance, but he doesn't know how he feels about this. "Okay."

He feels like he's lying, though, because he's not okay with this.

000o000

May doesn't win the court case.

Peter didn't expect her to.

But it's still weird to leave the room without having spoken a word to her and realize that she no longer means home. But May hasn't meant home for a long time, and coming to accept that as truth will...it won't make everything better, but it ought to help. Maybe. She doesn't go to jail, though, that honor goes solely to Matt.

Peter put someone else in prison. Someone that wasn't a super-villain.

He…

Yeah.

Peter walks into the building Peter Benjamin Parker and leaves as Peter Benjamin Stark.

He cries anyway.

000o000

"She...she didn't…" Peter struggles to find the words, seated on the couch in Maria's office. It's his third appointment this week. The court case was Sunday, and it's Thursday now. Tony—FRIDAY, really—caught him in the kitchen yesterday morning with a knife as he debated if cutting open his skin would help relieve the pressure.

Tony had to wrestle it from him. Peter screamed like he was being murdered.

So now he sits the office like nothing happened, even though he knows that's what Maria wants to talk about.

"What did May not do?" Maria questions, leaning forward, hands resting crossed on her knees, but her gaze is focused on him.

Peter blinks, trying to remember what he was going to say. He rubs his arms. "Everything. She didn't do everything. And...and at the court case, she just stood there and cried. She looked at me, but it wasn't looking, as if...Am I real, Maria?"

Maria seems surprised by the question. "What do you mean, Peter?"

"Everyone just...they don't see me. This went on for five months and no one I knew...I'm not a very good liar. Did I accidentally just...stop existing and no one's told me yet? Am I real?" He looks up at her earnestly.

Maria's expression is serious, but almost smiling. "Yes, Peter, you are very real."

He thinks of Ned, MJ, and May. The listless weeks and the endless months. Peter's eyes feel wet. He always goes into this sessions with the intent to not cry, but he's slipped up a few times. "Then why doesn't anyone see me?"

000o000

"You seem happy."

Peter hesitates, his fingers wrapped around the door to the locker tightly as he braces himself to face the owner of the voice on the other side. After the first day back, Peter's done his utmost to ignore both of them, even if it's been a little rude. But Flash has proven himself to be strangely good company, even if he shoves and wrestles with Peter a little more than he's used to from everyone else, Peter has...it's weird. To have lost something to gain an ally.

Peter breathes out very slowly and then closes the door, revealing MJ's face on the other side. She's staring at him with a quizzical expression. Her lips are pursed together, hair falling around her face in a way that flatters it. She looks beautiful, and for a moment, Peter's breath catches in his chest.

Then he lets it go.

She stares at him, books clutched against her stomach. Ned is nowhere to be seen. He watches her for a moment, unsure what to say. MJ speaks first, "I mean. It's been a while. You don't...look dead today."

Peter huffs. "Thanks."

MJ's face twitches. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Do you need something, Michelle?" he questions quietly.

She flinches at the name. "I just...I want to know why. You're happy. Happier. Did you go out last night? As...you know?"

"No." Peter answers, voice clipped. He stares at her for a long moment. Betrayal tastes on the end of his tongue. It seizes at his throat and refuses to let him speak. He needed her, he needed Ned and they both...both weren't...but can he blame them? He never said anything. "No. May lost guardianship to me. That's why I'm happy."

MJ's jaw drops. She stares at him with eyes blown so wide they're in danger of simply bursting from her skull. For a brief moment, he considers sneering something nasty at her. Of accusing her. Of shouting and being angry, but anger doesn't fix it. Won't fix it. As much as he wants to let himself scream, he doesn't. Instead, he dips his head slightly and he makes to move away.

MJ grabs at his arm. "W-wait," she stutters, "Peter."

He doesn't pull away. He glances back at her, resigned. "Peter, I don't understand. How...what happened? You haven't mentioned anything...not...not since December when Ned…" her face loses color. She swears softly. "Oh. You weren't joking. What...what…?"

He breathes out slowly. The memories threaten to claw at him. The despair. Anxiety. Everything. It's a flood of water hidden behind the flimsiest door in the history of the universe. One wrong word and it will come crashing down and drown him.

"MJ," he says the nick-name carefully, resting a hand on hers. She stares at him, into him. "A lot has happened since we came back. A lot that I didn't speak about, so I'm partially to blame for this, but...but MJ...I can't just matter to you when it's convenient."

They can't be friends whenever MJ or Ned decide to spare a moment for him. Peter just can't do that anymore. May was like that, and it's not normal. That's not how you treat someone you care about. At least, at least that's what everyone keeps telling him.

MJ flinches. "That's not—" she stops herself, biting on her lip. She squeezes his bicep, resigned. She doesn't try to deny it or shout at him for accusing her of this. It's...weird. It's almost as if she agrees. "I don't know...I'm not good at people. Friends. When you and Ned had your...your thing I was...scared. I thought that you...I knew that you weren't doing well, even if I...I just...I didn't know what to do. Ned reached out to me first, and I didn't mean to gang up on you, but I..." MJ begins to cry. Peter has never seen her cry before. She's always seemed so...unbreakable. "I'm awful at this, aren't I?"

But the thing that breaks her is Peter.

Peter sighs, leaning against his closed locker. The people hurry past them, intent on finding lunch. Only a scarce few pay attention to them, and the drama unfolding in the hallway.

"A little bit." Peter mutters in admittance. MJ's face twists into something ugly before she throws her arms around him and begins to sob openly. Peter doesn't know whether to push her away or hold on, putting together what he lost. This friendship almost feels like it belongs to a different person. A person who died the moment May admitted she remarried. Maybe even when he got stuck on the space-ship.

Peter hesitantly puts a hand on MJ's back. His fingers feel funny, and though her grip is tight, he doesn't know if he's drawing comfort or panic from it.

Flash suddenly appears in front of them, an eyebrow raised inquisitively. Peter looks down at the sobbing figure again and then up to Flash, giving a soft shake of his head. No, he doesn't need Flash to deal with her. It's...weird. For so long, he would have plead for help against Flash for the longest time. Having Flash conspire with him…

Peter shakes his head again, and wraps both his arms around MJ to comfort her. To let her back into his life. Because he's already lost enough. He doesn't want to lose her either. Even if what they have now won't be the same as what it was before.

000o000

I'm going to be late today. Staying after to talk with MJ. Txt you when done. -PP

I'll be waiting. Don't feel obligated to keep talking to her if you don't want to. -TS

It will be fine. -PP

Still though. -TS

000o000

He and MJ sit on the stairs of the school once they've been dismissed and MJ listens quietly while Peter explains everything. The words get caught in his throat more often than not and he feels like he's admitting some sort of crime, but MJ grips his hand and doesn't let go, giving it a squeeze every time he stutters or his breathing hitches.

With everything out, Peter desperately prays this is the last time he will have to explain this to anyone.

After he's quieted, MJ looks forward for a moment, her expression dark before it crumples and she rests her head on his shoulder, gripping his hand tight enough he's worried she might break circulation. "I'm such an idiot," she says, rubbing at her face. She cried for him. Not because of him, for him.

Then, she punches him on the arm. Peter yelps, hand wrapping around the offending appendage, but it's with more surprise than pain. "And you are too, you utter cabbage head!" she shouts, "I would have listened if you'd said something, God knows I should have noticed in the first place, but that doesn't—tell me, in the future, if anything like this happens or I swear on my own grave that I will make your life miserable."

Peter smiles faintly, reassured. This is normal. A bit of normal.

MJ's lower lip trembles and she shakes her head. They sit in silence for a while, looking out at the street and watching the sun trek across the sky. Eventually, MJ mumbles, "my eyes are swollen, and it's your fault, you jerk," and Peter releases a startled laugh. He missed this. He missed her snide name calling and the banter and everything that slowly slipped away as things got worse. He can't remember the last time he smiled and laughed so much.

"Sorry." He offers.

MJ punches him again, but this time it's much lighter. "Don't you ever apologize for this," she warns him, "it wasn't your fault."

Peter's expression grows strained, but he doesn't fight her.

A little after five, MJ says she should probably make her way home and Peter nods, offering to accompany her, but she shakes her head and calls her mom instead. Peter does the same with Tony.

They wait together, but MJ's mom arrives first and she waves at him as she leaves, shouldering her backpack. Peter gives her a strained smile as the car pulls away, moving outside of the school to find a bench to perch on.

He waits there for a while, with his math textbook in his hands opened to the triangles they're supposed to be working with, but his brain is far from it. When he imagined talking with MJ or Ned in December, it was always this abstract thing. Something that would be hard at first, but when it was done he'd feel better. The more time that passes between the conversation and now, the worse Peter feels. As if he's done something horribly wrong.

What if, tomorrow, when MJ comes to school, nothing has changed? She'll still shun him and be angry, and he'll have poured out his heart and it will mean nothing. What if she's...what if, what if, what if.

"Stop it," Peter chides himself, curling his fingers around the textbook and straining his eyes to look down at the math. He'll drown in what if's if he lets himself. And he's not allowed to do that. Peter pulls out his homework from his backpack and is ruffling through the dang thing for a pencil when Tony arrives.

"Hey kid," he says, window rolled down and eyebrow raised behind sunglasses. "You look like you could use a lift."

"More like a blanket," Peter mumbles, gathering up his school stuff and quickly stuffing it inside the backpack without zipping. He scrambles into the passenger seat and pulls the door closed behind him, rubbing his hands together. "Thanks for waiting, sorry for throwing this on you."

"Don't apologize." Tony says firmly, then waits silently, obviously expectant as he signals to turn back onto the road. "So. Bad, good?"

"Both," Peter admits, lifting his hands over the heater. "I don't think she's mad at me, so that's nice."

"If that's the most positive thing you have to say about the whole thing—" Tony starts, exasperated.

"It's not," Peter quickly interrupts. "It's just the first thing that comes to mind. She took it okay, even if I filtered a lot of it." He told her a story, not a chronological report of the last two months of Peter Parker's life. Peter bites on his lip, "But I don't know if things will ever be the same again. Ned still won't talk to me."

"He'll come around." Tony promises, stopping the car for a red light.

Peter sighs, wrapping his arms around his chest. "I hope so. But at the same time I don't." Tony tilts his head a little. Peter explains after a moment, "It's...it's like, I want to talk to Ned, but at the same time. He…" He looks away, reluctant to continue. Peter hasn't been able to look at a mirror properly since December, and it's almost the end of February now. And even though Ned has tried to talk to him a few times in the hall since then, Peter's panicked and hid like a child.

He just doesn't know if things can ever be normal.

"Hurt you and that's not a pleasant feeling," Tony fills in. Peter looks up, startled. He forgets how fast Tony's mind is sometimes. Tony's gaze is focused on the road. "And that's fine. Pete, you are under no obligations to keep talking with him, but he was your friend. That said, if you don't want to keep associating with him, you don't have to."

But that horrifies him more than anything Ned could say. Ned is his guy-in-the-chair. Peter can't imagine enduring this without him forever. "I just don't know how to talk to him," Peter admits. He rubs at his face, scooting his backpack away from his feet with the edge of his shoe. "MJ is MJ, but Ned...we've been friends since we were seven. You'd think he would be easier."

"Not necessarily," Tony shrugs. "Rhodey and I have been friends since I was fifteen, and sometimes that makes it worse when we argue. Just because we know each other doesn't mean that making amends is fast."

Peter frowns. "I'm just...not ready. MJ was hard. I don't really want to talk about it with anyone else yet."

Tony nods, but his lip quirks somewhat. "For the record, kid, I am proud of you for talking with her. That wasn't easy."

"I just hope it's worth it," Peter mumbles, staring towards the window and watching the world begin to blur.

000o000

When he gets home, Peter's anxiety only gets worse. His feet won't stop moving, and he feels like a bundle of energy ready to burst at any moment. He can't eat dinner and can hardly focus on anything beyond how much he regrets saying anything to MJ.

She's going to hate him.

Or judge him. Or laugh at him. Or do all three then refuse to talk to him again because she thinks he's pathetic, because Peter turned into Cinderella, and that's not very superhero-y.

Three AM finds him in the bathroom throwing up as Tony rests a hand on his shoulder and quietly reminds him to breathe. Peter doesn't cry, but the empty hollowness is almost worse than tears. He dry heaves for what feels like forever before miserably slumping against the wall.

He shouldn't have said anything. Is there a ctrl z for real life?

Peter spends the rest of that night in between Pepper and Tony, barely poking his head over the rim of the blanket. He feels like a six-year-old. Or a baby. And though his guardians eventually fall back to sleep, Peter lays there, staring up at the ceiling and memorizing the ceiling as well as he knows his own in May's apartment.

He feels dizzy.

Vertigo.

("Insomnia." Maria explains as Peter tries to describe the feeling of restlessness that refuses to let him go. The need to sleep, but the lack of it. "It affects everyone differently. It sounds like you've had a vicious cycle of it the last few months."

Peter had stared at her, puzzled, his anxious finger pulling coming to a stop. "But it was my spider sense. I'm not in danger anymore, so I understand."

Maria brushed dark hair from over her face, seeming to be trying to find something to say. "Sometimes it takes our bodies a lot longer to learn that then our minds."

Peter thinks about the flinching. "Yeah.")

000o000

MJ is standing outside the school when he gets there, and he almost flips a prompt one-eighty and hops back into the car where Pepper is waiting with Morgan. C'mon, Spider-Man, he chides quietly, and shoulders his backpack, twisting the strap as he squeezes it and hops up the stairs to meet her. Ned is no where to be found.

"Hi." His mouth is dry.

MJ shoves a paper bag against his stomach. Peter grunts somewhat, hand lifting to take the bag by instinct. Without prompting, MJ says, "It's breakfast. For you. You didn't eat anything."

Peter's brow furrows. "How did you know that I didn't—"

She lifts an eyebrow. "Because I know you. Even if I've done a crap job at showing it recently. Did you get any sleep last night—no. Don't answer that. You didn't. I think I should be flattered that my opinion matters so much to you, but I'm more annoyed that it kept you from taking care of yourself. Eat your muffin, my mom made it. There's some grapes and a banana in there, too."

Peter blinks at her. He doesn't understand. Everything has changed. Everything. They live in a different decade, Peter has lost any and all family ties, Spider-Man, and so much more. How could she have still known that he would do this? "But I'm not the same person. You can't know me." Peter argues, his voice strained.

MJ frowns and then squeezes his shoulder. "You have changed," MJ agrees slowly, as if tasting the words to make sure they're coming out right. "But not that much. You're still...well, you."

Oh.

And it's weird, but Peter thinks that MJ couldn't have chosen better words. Because if Peter is still Peter, enough of Peter that MJ can recognize him, then that means that Matt didn't destroy him. He didn't rewrite Peter and stuff something hollow and broken in his wake. Matt hurt him, but he didn't maim him.

Peter isn't...dead.

He's still him.

Whatever that means.

000o000

"I'm not dead," is the first thing Peter tells Maria when he steps into her office the next appointment. His therapist stares at him for a moment as if confused, then bemused, and smiles.

"No, I think not." She agrees, gesturing that Peter should take a seat. He smiles without prompting this time and sits next to the overstuffed pillows, trying not to sink into the middle of the couch. It feels like water sometimes, like the longer he remains, the further he sinks. Maria takes her familiar place on the couch opposite him. "Any reason why you're bringing this up? Did something happen?"

"Matt did," Peter's grin doesn't slip at the mention of the name, a rare, but satisfying feat. "And he didn't kill me."

Now Maria is confused. "Peter?"

Peter explains about his conversation with MJ outside the school. "I mean, I'm not the same," Peter explains, "I don't think I ever can be again, but it's...he only, like, shaved branches. Not killed the whole tree. I'm alive."

Maria nods, something knowing in her gaze. "Yes, Peter, you're alive." She echoes.

000o000

Peter tells Flash before he tells Ned. Well, that's not a good example because Peter told Flash before he told MJ. But the point is that this is dragging, and Peter needs to kick his butt into gear and confront the problem or bury it. He can't linger in this limbo anymore. So he swallows his fear and tries to put on a brave face.

Peter catches Ned after school on a Friday on the end of the week he told MJ, just in case this turns into another disaster, he'll have a weekend free to lick his wounds and hiss. Ned turns when Peter calls his name, and his expression immediately falls, guilt etched onto every available crease.

Ned is already moving back towards him before Peter stops moving, and the two of them meet in the middle, like some sort of bad parody of a Hallmark movie. The scenes where the two people run to each other after seeing each other for the first time in forever. That.

Peter opens his mouth to say something, his throat hot and mind buzzing, wishing frantically that he hadn't incited this and he could leave. Ned doesn't let him speak first. Instead, he wraps Peter in a hug and starts to cry.

Everyone Peter knows has been crying.

It's like he can summon it with his mere presence alone.

"Peter, I am so sorry. I was being such an idiot and all you did was say something and now we haven't spoken in two months and I'm such an idiot and—"

Peter stays there for a moment, blinking with confusion and trying to process what happened. He'd prepared himself to apologize first, to explain what was going on and plead with Ned to understand that he was being stupid. He didn't...he didn't prepare himself for Ned to do, well...this. Peter swallows and raises his stiff hands to embrace Ned back.

Peter tries to force his muscles to relax, but they won't. Jumbled up and tense like a coiled spring. "Did MJ tell you?" he questions, his voice barely above a whisper. "About Matt and May?"

Ned draws back at that and stares at Peter's face, confusion evident. "About...no. She didn't tell me anything about that." Ned's face falls. "Oh no. What happened? I knew I should have talked to you, but I was trying to give you some space after January and gosh, I feel so awful for what I said and—is May okay?"

He fidgets. Peter doesn't know. He honestly has no idea. He hasn't seen her since the court case. He feels like he should check up on her. That he should see how she's doing and get her anything she needs. But the idea feels him with so much dread it feels tangible.

Something must register on his face, because Ned is hugging him again. "It will be okay, Peter. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me—no, don't. I've been the worst friend in the history of friendships, and you have every right to not want to talk to me again."

"Ned," Peter sighs, making an exasperated noise in the back of his throat. "I'm not mad."

"That's what makes this worse." Ned mumbles hopelessly. "Because you should be. You're a better person than I am. Always have been."

Peter put someone in prison. He ruined May's life. The validity of those statement is up for question. His muscles are still stiff when he says quietly, "Can...can we talk? I...have a lot I want to tell you."

Ned nods, "Of course. I'll listen this time. I promise." His expression flares with guilt again, distress clear. Peter should reassure him, but he's exhausted. He just...he'll do that later, when he's finished, and doesn't feel like he's going to explode.

Peter releases a deep breath and braces himself.

000o000

"So how are things with your friends?" Maria asks, sitting down on her couch and handing Peter the requested glass of water. She settles easily, one knee over the other, heels looking heavy and uncomfortable around her feet.

Peter takes a sip, "Better." He admits. "Things aren't...I don't know if they'll ever be what they were, but they're trying now. Ned didn't take it quite as well as MJ did. What I mean by that is that he wasn't as quiet. I don't think I've ever seen him swear so much." Peter rolls his eyes, and adds fondly, "And when I was done he promised to exile himself from my life for being I quote 'the worst human ever'. You'd think this was the first time we'd ever argued."

Maria smiles gently. "So you've forgiven him?"

Peter hesitates. "Not completely. I'm trying, but it's hard. He means well, but..actions speak louder, y'know?"

"I do." Maria promises, clasping her coffee cup in both hands as she takes it from her desk. Peter's never seen her drink from it. He thinks she just likes the warmth. "And how are things with your family? Are you having any adjustment problems?"

Peter contemplates that, swishing the water. He looks down at the swirling depths. "No." He admits, and his heart aches when he says, "It's like I've always been supposed to be there, and not with my aunt."

Maria hums. "What do you think about that?"

He nearly crushes the cup, suddenly feeling inexplicably small again. "I—I don't know."

000o000

Peter brings the suggestion forward at dinner a few days later, because the open space means less chance of claustrophobia squashing him, and there will be a table between him, Pepper and Tony. It's a habit now, from May and Matt. A table serves as a meager shield.

"Can I go out in the suit tonight?" he asks, flicking food around with his fork like he's flippant about this when his gut is clenching so hard he might vomit. Pepper and Tony stop eating and look up at him, then each other.

Morgan looks confused, her quest to get as many green beans on the floor as possible without their parents noticing so she doesn't have to eat it lapsing momentarily.

The silence feels like a noose. Peter scrapes the fork against the porcelain, wincing, but the noise is better than the quiet. He hooks his ankles together beneath the table to try and quell the bouncing.

Tony clears his throat, and Peter looks up. "Are you sure you're up for it?"

That wasn't no. Relief gushes out of his lungs. "I'm not sure," he admits, "but I miss it. And I want to try."

He can see his guardians warring with themselves before Pepper gives a reluctant nod. "Alright, we'll try a few hours tonight. Does that work? You check in with us every half hour, and stop if you're getting overwhelmed."

He nods, elated. "Yeah. That sounds great."

Tony smiles, but it's tight. "Good. Get your homework done and let us know when you're going to leave. Morgan," the brunette snaps her head up from the floor to look at her father, eyes wide with innocence.

"Yeah, Daddy?"

"Is that six or seven?" Tony questions pointing his fork towards her. "How many do you got down there? I need to know how many to put on your plate."

Morgan's face falls, and she mumbles a word that Peter feels his expression go wide for. Tony pales somewhat, shooting a glance towards Pepper who doesn't look impressed.

Peter glances at the floor and counts eight. Huh. Last he checked there was only three.

000o000

Peter finishes his homework and puts on the suit for the first time since October—September?—a while ago. He pulls on the mask and breathes in deeply, a comfort he can't describe washing through him. This. This is home. The smell, the feeling, the reassurance. This is something Matt didn't taint. That he couldn't steal.

"Hello, Mr. Parker," Karen says softly.

Peter nearly cries. "Hi, Karen."

Peter lets his guardians know that he's leaving and goes to the roof of Avengers Tower.

He runs to the edge of the rooftop, rolling his shoulders and bracing himself before he leaps off the edge. Adrenaline fuels his senses, lighting a fire in his stomach and pooling into his chest, his arms, his wrists. He free falls for several long seconds, a delighted whoop escaping him.

Then he twists and lifts his wrist, firing a web. It catches, and Peter is jolted, momentum swinging him forward. He fires another. Twhip, twhip, twhip. The noise as familiar to him as breathing, but as comforting as one of Tony's hugs.

Wind ripples past his ears, and Peter hears someone release a shout of delighted surprise. He opens his eyes and sees fingers pointing towards him phone's raise.

"Oh my gosh, it's Spider-Man!"

"I thought he was dead!"

"Spider-Man!" Similar cries rouse around him, and the entire street seems to have paused to simply stare. And Peter can't help but smile beneath the mask, pausing between swings to wave at everyone below him.

"Hello, pedestrians!" he calls cheerfully.

Air burns against his face, the chill digging into his bones.

But all that is good in this world, it feels absolutely wonderful.

000o000

"You didn't feel upset, facing guns after what happened?" Maria questions carefully.

Peter bites on his lip. "I did." He admits, "I froze up. If not for my spider sense, I'd, uh, probably be a morgue rather than sitting in front of you."

"I see." Maria says. "What did you do?"

Peter is quiet for a moment, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles. He doesn't know whether to be proud or confused as he says, "I called Tony. We talked, and he came and got me."

Maria smiles, "That was a good decision. It's good that you're placing trusting other people again."

Peter looks up at her, conflicted. "I don't understand."

Maria leans forward, setting the coffee cup on the ground. "Let me say it like this: You're letting people take care of you, because you believe that they'll do it. You weren't doing that when you started coming to see me. I know that this may seem like a little thing, but it's not. It's a very hard thing to learn again, but you're making wonderful progress."

Progress.

Peter is making progress.

000o000

It's late March, practically April by this point, when the small bubble of safety Peter built around himself pops. And it doesn't go with a small pin poking through the side and air slowly fizzing out. No. It is, for all intents and purposes, a freaking nuke blasting into the thing.

The day started out normal. Well, as normal as Peter's normal is now. Morgan couldn't find the match to her favorite pair of shoes and Peter helped her look for the better part of fifteen minutes before Pepper entered, opened a drawer Peter swears they looked at six times between the two of them and produced the missing item. Running late, Peter had skipped breakfast and Happy drove him and Morgan to school.

He made up the stairs before he tripped on his untied shoe-lace and face planted. Flash, MJ, and Ned had laughed, but helped him up to his feet and Flash had snidely said "I'd thought you'd be more sticky than this" before they entered Midtown.

Peter passed his physics test.

Lunch happened.

And then dismissal.

Peter met Flash in the hall and they'd been walking towards the exit when Peter realized how crowded outside was. Brow furrowing and some dread building in his stomach, he looked at Flash, "Did something happen?"

Flash shrugged. "Not that I know of—is that the news?"

Peter squinted, frowning. "More than one station."

The two of them progressed hesitantly, and Flash pushed open the doors. Peter followed, hand tight around the strap of his backpack before one of the reporters turned, spotted him and then suddenly he was being swarmed by cameras flashing and microphones stuffed into his face. It's so loud. And bright. Too much.

Too much, too much, too much—

"Peter Parker, how does it feel to have been adopted by Tony Stark?"

"Is it true that you were a charity case he took in?"

"Are you related to him by blood?"

"How long have you been living with him?"

"Do you have insights for us on how it is to live with an Avenger?"

"Is it true—"

"Mr. Parker!"

"Mr. Parker!"

"Peter Parker!"

Stop, stop, stop—

"The son of Tony Stark—"

"I'm not his son," Peter manages to squeak out. Stop it. He'll say anything to make them stop it. His heart is pounding against his ribcage, battling for his attention and screaming at him to run. Peter lost Flash in the crowd, and he can't see him or anyone he knows. He's being swarmed. The people boxing him in, hands at his face, the winking lights. "I'm not his son, I'm not," he keeps repeating it, but his voice is small and lost in the midst of everyone else's.

Photos. Hands. Stop. He needs them to stop. Hands. Hands. Grabbing. Bruising. Clawing. Choking. Rattling him back and forth. Shoving. Never ending. Pain, pain, pain—questions. So many questions. The police, child services, everyone. Yelling at him to talk about Matt. To talk about what happened and pushing him over the edge.

Shattering Rudolf.

He can't feel himself. He can hear his breath and feel his heart thumping, but he is completely numb to his toes, his fingers, his face. He can't move. Can't walk. Can't do this!

Gunshots fire, snapping him into reality harshly. The reporters stop, whirling away from him to face behind them several people openly gasping and jolting backwards from the noise like it will cause them physical harm. Peter breathes out heavily, panting. He can't breathe. He's going to collapse. He can't feel his feet. Is he still gripping his backpack, what is he doing?

Peter sees the raised weapon amid the ground, but he can't see the source. Webshooters. He needs. Things. Webs. He needs his...that would be just his luck, wouldn't it? The adoption goes sailing through the media and not ten freaking minutes later, Peter has to reveal his identity to the public.

"Thank you for attention." Relief cascades through him hard enough that Peter wobbles. Natasha. The gun was Natasha. "Now get out of the way."

The crowd, unfortunately, chooses this moment to recover. "Ms. Romanov, did you know—"

"No comment." The voice isn't Natasha's. It's Steve's. The leeching questions and attention has slid to the approaching Avengers, and Peter watches their progression through the crowd, unable to move. The familiar head of red hair pokes through the the reporters, quickly followed by Steve's and then Bruce's.

Steve has a hand on Natasha's back, obviously leading her throat the progression, but Bruce breaks away as quickly as he can, hopping up the stairs and grabbing Peter's shoulder. Peter nearly crumples, swaying in the direction of the man. Bruce calls his name a few times, but Peter isn't able to hear it as anything more than faint mumbling.

Bruce's hand lands on his face, then his forehead, snapping his fingers in front of Peter's eyes. He can't feel anything, he only watches it happen. Peter blinks, but is too stiff to move his head. Is he breathing? Natasha and Steve swarm in front of his eyes and speak with each other rapidly before Natasha slaps a baseball cap over his head, steals Steve's jacket and swings the backpack over her own shoulder as she wraps Peter in the stolen article of clothing. She hands something to Steve and Bruce then, before wrapping her arms around Peter's shoulders and shoving him in the direction of the crowd. Then through it. Peter's legs move only because Natasha will drag him if he doesn't go.

The journey seems to take an hour, even though he's done it in seconds before. The crowd is thick and relentless. Peter wonders with a sudden desperation where Tony is. Why he sent the Avengers instead of coming himself. Does he know? (Publicity would have been worse, a quiet part of Peter's mind points out, Tony couldn't come without making it explode.)

Natasha opens a car door and Peter is shoved inside a moment later, nearly tumbling face-first into the floor. Strong arms catch him and haul him upright. Tony. Peter's entire body seems to melt suddenly, the stiffness receding as he releases a strangled cry and wraps his arms around Tony's shoulders and buries his head into his parent's chest. Tony removes the cap and holds him, gripping at his head and shushing him. Natasha takes the seat on Peter's other side as Steve takes the driver's seat and Bruce the passenger.

Happy isn't here, Peter registers faintly. That's weird.

Natasha's hand begins to rub against his back around Tony's hand. Steve starts the car. People are still talking outside. "We're alright, I'm sorry," Tony whispers, "I didn't want things to turn out like this. We're alright, just keep breathing."

Peter isn't even crying. Just shuddering like he's got a terrible case of frostbite.

"Dad," he croaks. His voice feels strange. "Dad..."

"I'm here," Tony promises, "I'm not going anywhere."

Peter curls into the hold, too exhausted to keep himself upright anymore. "I know," he mumbles into Tony's chest and squeezes his eyes shut.

000o000

Peter's sitting on the couch in the Avenger's communal room a few hours later, Morgan is sharing a blanket with him as she leans against his arm, flipping through a book. Tony and Pepper are working furiously between laptops and phones alike as FRIDAY whirs through data. Behind them, Bruce and Steve are pacing. Natasha is on the other side of the couch, on the phone with Clint. Happy is somewhere in here, but Peter can't remember where.

He's instead focusing on the pictures Morgan is pointing out to him and burying himself in the Stark Industries hoodie Tony let him borrow.

"As far as I can tell, someone opened their big, flapping mouth in prison and it caught the attention of the media." Tony says, releasing a long sigh and rubbing at his face. Peter clenches somewhat, looking up from his sister to the Avenger.

"Matt? This was Matt?"

"I don't know how, but it looks that way," Tony is far from amused. "Trying to get the last laugh, I guess."

"He won't be laughing when I'm finished with him," Natasha says smoothly.

Tony snorts darkly, "Leave something for me?"

Natasha only smiles sharply and then returns to her conversation with Clint. He's been doing his utmost to not listen to what they're saying. Peter bites on his inner lip, burrowing beneath the blanket again, hiding his face inside the hoodie. Morgan rests a hand on his leg, as if trying to offer comfort.

Tony releases an agitated breath, "We weren't ready for this to happen. I was going to go public in June, not April. They're going to be vultures for the rest of the school year."

Pepper runs a hand through her already tussled hair. "We'll have to pull him out for the rest of the week until we can figure this out. We can't have a repeat of today. Maybe even for the rest of the year."

Peter flushes slightly, but shakes his head. "No. I don't want to stop school," he finally has a reason to go that isn't hiding. "I'll deal with them. It...It won't be great, but...we kind of all knew this was coming."

Tony looks apprehensive. "Pete, I've been pushing cameras away since I could walk and I still find them overwhelming. I don't want to put you through that every day."

Peter doesn't either, but he refuses to lose this. He won't let the media control his life. Not like Matt did. If they want to be a brat about this, Peter will be, too. "I know," Peter promises, "but I don't want this to make things worse."

The bubble. That went pop, but Peter refuses to let this deteriorate him.

"I can just go with Happy. They can't find me the most invigorating story forever. They'll get bored. They don't bother Morgan."

"She's five." Pepper points out, "And they know that we would destroy them if they bothered her."

Tony looks thoughtful after that, a faint smirk twitching on the edge of his lips. "Then I guess we better do the same about Peter." Pepper grimaces, but nods, picking up her phone and standing up. Peter shifts his position somewhat, thoughts snapping together.

"Wait—are you going to sue them?"

Tony's expression clears so suddenly that Peter knows he's hopped onto the answer with his first try. He pales. "Tony, please, I've already put someone in jail, I don't need this to—"

"We're only going to threaten," Tony interrupts, waving a hand like this is better. "The last thing you need to deal with is this right now, Peter. I don't want you to be afraid of going outside."

"But—"

"No buts. They won't know whether or not to take us seriously and back off. I've done it dozens of times. I know how to play this game. And—Peter? You didn't put Matt in jail. He did that himself."

000o000

Whatever it is that Pepper and Tony do seems to work for the most part. After a week, Peter feels safe to leave Midtown without being tackled by the media. It isn't ideal, but it's better than nothing. Tony makes a formal post on social media explaining about Peter, crypt and to the point. Tony adopted Peter, the reason why remains a mystery. It's kind of funny the theories that people come up with, but it an aching way.

The only problem post the "reveal" is the fact that suddenly all his classmates know who he is. Peter's always hidden behind a mask of anonymity, and it's weird to lose that. Everyone wants to talk to him, or has questions, but MJ, Ned, and Flash act like sharks. Ruthless.

Peter sinks into himself and allows himself to feel the small margin of relief that he doesn't have to wave them off himself.

000o000

Almost exactly a year since this entire mess started, Peter is sitting outside a Starbucks. May is on the other side of the table. Across the street, Tony and Natasha are sitting side by side, inconspicuous to anyone who doesn't know them, but waiting to interfere if Peter gives them the signal.

Peter stirs the cream inside the coffee with a straw, watching May as intensely as she's looking at him. She looks tired, a little worn, but better than he was expecting. She's not wearing her wedding ring, though, apparently—Peter wasn't told at the time—she signed divorce papers on top of trying to fight for custody.

May rests her cup down on the table. The silence is awkward. Strained. Not at all what they used to have before.

Peter releases a long breath through his nose, steadying himself before asking, "How is your baby? Do you know the gender yet?"

May's fingers tighten. She blinks rapidly, as if trying not to cry. "Male," she says quietly. "Everything's going fine as far as the doctor's can tell. But I'm not going to keep him."

Peter blinks, aghast, "Why?"

May blinks some more, looking at his face carefully. Peter shifts in his seat, noting the way that May looks ready to clench the Styrofoam between two fingers. "I don't think I'm ready to be a mom yet. I failed you, and I don't want to do that to the baby. I have some friends who haven't been able to get pregnant. They agreed to take him. I'll still see him, but at least this way he'll get the care he deserves."

Oh.

"That's…" Peter considers his words. "Brave. To put the needs of your child above your own."

A few stray tears slip down May's face. "It's what I wish I'd done for you." She reaches for his hand and Peter lets her take it after a second. She smiles, but it's sad, then she laughs forcefully, "But here I am again, wasting our day together by moping over myself. How's school?"

"Fine."

"How did that Spanish exam go? In January?"

Peter clenches. (Later, Peter.) He draws his hand away from hers, stuffing it inside his pockets. "New topic," he suggests and refuses to be guilt tripped when he sees her expression fall. His relationship with his aunt is different now. It's always going to be different, and Peter...honestly doesn't know what he thinks about that. But there are lines he won't play on, and that's one of them. And that's okay. Maria said that he doesn't have to bend his comfort zone to align with someone else's.

"Are you happy, Peter?"

The question throws him. He stares at her for a moment, processing it, and curls his toes inside his shoes to stop himself from doing the anxious leg bounce. "Yeah," he says, and is surprised when he realizes it's true. He never would have thought it possible after Christmas, but here he is. Six months later. Things got better. They didn't get better right away, but they got better. "Yeah, I am."

May frowns. "Even after everything? With the media and Stark being your guardian?"

Peter nods slowly. He takes a sip of his bitter coffee. "He's not my guardian, May," he corrects, smiling softly when he appends, "he's my dad."

He is the child of Tony and Pepper Stark. He thinks he has been since the Snap. Peter isn't going to deny it any longer. And if he's being honest with himself, he doesn't want to.

Author's Note: The title, in case you were wondering, is the fact that M&M's are made with chocolate. Peter's not one for M&M paradise anymore. Leading out from that, I just want to take a second and reassure anyone who has conflicted feelings about their parents that it is completely valid. We do not have to idolize the people that birthed us.

Create an environment where you can heal, and where other people feel safe to heal, too.

But on top of that, trauma sucks. Just putting this point blank. Whether it be from mental illness, an event, whatever, it sucks. But, my stars, everything is temporary. This pain is temporary, the people that hurt you are temporary. You are not trapped, you're not a hopeless case, you can find healing. You'll be okay. I love you all, 100% here to support and provide a place of healing. We're all safe here.

Thank you so much for reading, your support has been food for my soul. You're amazing, and don't you dare forget that. ;)

-LodestarJumper