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- Tony Stark (and Happy Hogan.)
Peter feels his senses dial to eleven the moment he hits the ground. Hard, cold, rough concrete under his back, slamming against his head. His ears are ringing, scratchy, distorted like a broken speaker and the world is too bright, and for a long moment, he isn’t even sure he can breathe. Even the moment of his body hurts. “Kid, you alright?”
The sound of Mr. Stark’s voice echoes loudly through his head, and it takes everything Peter has not to clasp his hands over his ears and whimper. “Hey, same side. Guess who. Hi. It’s me.” Mr. Stark’s gloved hands grasp around Peter’s wrist, sharp metal points digging into his skin, sending pain up through Peter’s arms and into his shoulders and chest.
“Hey, man.” Peter greets as softly as he can, his voice sounding like a broken and hollow. Yet the volume is blown out of proportion. “That was scary” he comments, but really, he means that this is scary. Hearing everything. The heartbeat of every Avenger, every breath, every step, every car and plane, and muscle tightening and relaxing as normal human function continues.
“You’re done, all right?” Mr. Stark says sternly above him. Peter wants to agree and almost nods. Then thinks better of it. If he’s down… weak and small, injured, overwhelmed, will Mr. Stark then ever talk to him again? He fights it.
Mr. Stark takes off, leaving the argument there. Peter doesn’t have a choice in the matter. The vibrations echo through his arms, as the suit flies away. Peter wants to cry.
***
It’s not until the car ride home forty-eight hours later, that his sense starts relaxing again. He’s spent hours in a hotel room, trying to ignore the sound of Happy’s snoring in the room next door. Because Happy was right, there were in fact, thin walls.
“Could you tell the kid to stop already?” Happy voices echo from the front of the car, “I’m trying to concentrate here.” Somebody shouts through the New York traffic and Happy sighs loudly.
Mr. Stark nudges Peter a moment later, nodding towards the bouncing leg, and the fingers the tap across his thig. Peter feels flush as he forces the movement to stop, “Oh sorry. I don’t always notice when I stim. I’ll stop.”
“Stim?” Mr. Stark questions with a short tilt of his head, a frown on his face.
“Uh, yeah…” Peter feels himself growing small under Mr. Stark’s watchful eyes, and Happy’s look in the review mirror. Peter bites his tongue, cursing himself silently. He hadn’t meant to let that little fact slip. “Stimming, uh, self-stimulatory behaviors. When my sense gets dialed to eleven, doing something like bouncing my leg or tapping my fingers, can help me focus. I mean, gives me a point to focus on, instead of hearing the whole world at once I only hear that.”
“Kids nowadays” Happy grumpily speaks from the front seat, glaring in the back mirror. “Naming their odd quirks, as if that somehow makes it better. Remind me again why we need him, Tony.”
Mr. Stark chuckles – not unkindly – and pads Peter’s shoulder.
“I didn’t name it” Peter pips up, carefully meeting Happy eyes in the mirror. The car comes to a halting stop, a red light filling the space between them. “It’s a symptom or a chopping mechanism that people who are on the autism spectrum use. You know, weird quirky people like me.”
Happy doesn’t comment, the light turns green a moment later and the car moves again. They’re entering queens and Peter watches out of his window as the world passes by.
He’s sure that’s it. That his autism means Mr. Stark will never talk to him after tonight, and that Spider-man will be an enemy of the state. Peter can’t bring himself to care, Happy Hogan and Mr. Stark wouldn’t be the first people to throw him away because of his diagnosis. Wouldn’t be the last people either. Peter could thank ignorance and harmful stereotypes for that.
He doesn’t expect Mr. Stark to try and apologize. “Happy doesn’t know better” Mr. Stark notes, “He doesn’t have a lot of patience kid, never did. Doesn’t understand whole the neurodivergent world.”
For a moment Peter wonders how Tony knows the word neurodivergent, but then again, he had figured out that Peter was Spider-man. Maybe he’d found out that Peter was on the spectrum too? And he’d shown up anyway. Wanting Peter’s help.
“You knew about my autism?” Peter questions, hands fumbling quietly with the hem of his hoodie.
Mr. Stark shrugs, then nods slowly. “I suspected since our first meeting, but I didn’t know for sure until now,” he explains, “I know a bit about neurodivergent. Pepper is sure I’m in there somewhere, but I honestly couldn’t care less.”
Peter nods in understanding. He’d heard similar from undiagnosed adults before. It made sense. For Peter a diagnosis had meant understanding, it had explained why things were difficult for him, and it had provided him with support that made life easier and more livable. But for an adult who’d spend their whole life copping on their own, finding their way, a diagnosis might still explain things, but it wouldn’t necessarily offer anything to make life easier. Too high functioning to get help for tasks they’d done for a century.
“Anyways kid” Mr. Stark moves on, doesn’t linger on the topic. Peter appreciates that. “How about we record a video or vlog for that hot aunt of yours.” Peter nods slowly with a smile, pulling his phone out.
- Bruce Banner.
Peter's diagnosis sometimes makes it hard to talk to and connect with the people around him. He doesn’t have many friends at school, because making friends demands that he opens his mouth to speak, something that feels close to impossible most days. The friends he does have, MJ and Ned, see a part of Peter that most other people will never meet. A chattery, nerdy young boy, with a great passion for helping people, and science.
His first real meeting with the Avengers is not ideal. The group is loud and obnoxious, joking about with haze words and playful fighting. As Spider-man, it’s easy enough talking to them. The mask adds a barrier of safety between him and the world. Only, he isn’t Spider-man then.
Mr. Stark makes it clear early on, that it’s cool if Peter leaves when he gets tired of it if it’s too much.
While Peter appreciates the kindness from Mr. Stark, the sentiment isn’t the same from the rest of the team. “Leaving already?” Clint Barton, Hawkeye, calls out as Peter makes his escape towards the elevator. “Why don’t you stay?” the man comes over an arm grasping roughly around Peter’s shoulders, pulling him back towards the living room. “Steve and Bucky are cooking tonight.”
Peter isn’t sure how to respond to that, his sense hovering right at the edge of being too much. Logically he knows Clint means well, but it still gives Peter an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. Twisting painfully. Guilt. Because the rest of the team seems to be having a great time, and Peter is turning it down.
“O-okay.” Peter stammers as Clint starts chattering with the rest of the team again.
Clint is focused on something else, Peter opts for finding a quiet corner of the room. Needing a wall behind his back, so that he can observe the people around him. Find out how they react and respond to certain words and actions.
So, he slips down onto Mr. Stark's white leather penthouse couch and breathes. To Peter’s luck, he isn’t the only one using the space, because at the other end of the L-shaped couch sits Dr. Bruce Banner, reading some books about science. Gamma radiation affects the human body.
Bruce looks up for a second to watch Peter and gives him a soft nod in greeting. This, Peter could deal with. “Hi.” Peter returns.
The team seems to split up shortly after. Some join Steve and Bucky in the kitchen, others playing video games on the living room's big screen. Colorful virtual cars drifting across the TV.
“Aren’t you going to join them?” Bruce questions when Peter stays seated, watching from a distance.
Peter shrugs, unsure how to describe his feelings to Bruce. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be there, that he wasn’t interested in being friendly with the team. He wanted that more than anything. Knowing that he was a part of something bigger. The issue was, he wasn’t sure the others wanted him there at all. He was just sixteen, after all, these were grown adults. With more experience and knowledge. They were already so close, fighting together, back against back. Saving each other from death and injury. He’d been invited for the team hang out, sure. But that could have been of kindness, instead of truly wanting him there.
And then, there was his anxiety. One of the many diagnoses that went hand in hand with autism, like Jelly and Peanut butter. The fear he wasn’t good enough, or that he’d say something stupid, embarrassing not only himself but Mr. Stark too. The man who made sure, Peter was included.
Trying not to think about it, Peter instead remembers his therapist's guidance. Find common ground. Peter nods to the book, “Uh, what are you reading?”
“Some book Tony found” Bruce shrugs, “We have been trying to find a way of, helping on the Hulk situation. Understanding how Gamma affects the human body and the DNA, is an important first step. However, it’s rather complicated, Tony can barely keep up.”
“Because he’s more of a mechanical genius than a biological mastermind?” Peter guesses, trying to joke a little. It doesn’t come naturally to him when the mask isn’t on, but Bruce doesn’t seem to mind.
Instead, the older scientist nods slowly, putting in a bookmark, and closes it with a soft thud.
Peter looks down into his hands, nervous about making eye contact. It’s something more than autism, just then. It’s Bruce Banner, a famous scientist. Peter bit his lip, trying to keep himself steady. “I’ve read some of your research about radiation in general, the stuff you’ve written about the effect it had on you. My powers are radiation-based too, not gamma, but it was still helpful.”
“Oh?” Bruce sounds surprised, “I didn’t realize. I thought maybe Tony had created some gadget.” Then as if an afterthought, “Did you understand the research?”
It’s not a surprising question. Even for Peter’s class, only a few could understand some of the most advanced stuff. A student who was more than just a typical student. More than advanced students. Kids with had such a strong passion, that they’d do anything to understand. It just so happened, that while social rules didn’t make sense, gamma radiation did.
“Most of it” Peter confesses, “Though I’m better with chemistry than biology. The gamma part is clear enough, the actual effect and why it changed in that specific way, not so much.”
Bruce gives a short nod and seems to be almost lost in thoughts for a moment. “I’m afraid I’ve come to the same conclusion.” Oh. Peter had sort of expected the Hulk to understand his condition. “Why don’t you come by my lab sometime, Peter?”
***
“What are you standing around for?” Bruce looks at him through the open laboratory door and Peter tightens his grasp on his backpack. He’d been standing around, trying to gather the courage to knock on the door, letting his presence be known. Friday had been faster.
Peter shrugs and walks through the open door. Flinching when it shuts behind him with a loud echoing crash.
“Sorry about the mess. I didn’t have time to clean it up before you came.” Bruce comments, moving towards his primary table. The lab is chaotic, more so than Mr. Stark’s lab, but it wasn’t all that bad. Papers were littered across tables, holograms were rotating in the air, machines were working, and chemicals were cooking with bobbles on their surfaces. It was nice, giving Peter a comfortable feeling that this was a place where creativity was welcomed. Where any thoughts, all thoughts, were allowed. No matter how stupid. It felt like Peter’s room, just bigger.
He discards his backpack at the door, following Bruce through the lab. He studies and scientist, and notices then that Bruce is wearing earmuffs. “It’s fine” Peter responds, and Bruce gives him a soft smile, hearing him despite them.
“Tony mentioned your enhanced sense” Bruce then comments slowly, “If you need anything I’ve got spare earmuffs in that locker over there. I get a little antsy myself when the world is loud.”
“Because of Hulk?” Peter asks, watching some of the sketches littering the closest table. DNA string spirals up across the paper in blue ink, and handwritten notes are scribbled across the edge of the page.
Bruce nods slowly, then stops. The gear inside his head is ticking. “Peter, why didn’t you join the other game last week?”
“Uh…”
“Sorry for asking,” Bruce says truthfully, “It’s just that I think answering that question, might answer any question you have about me too.” Ah, Peter nods slowly in understanding. The sixth sense that many on the spectrum seem to share provides Peter with all the information he needs.
It makes sense. The isolation, but still being there together with the others. The couch becomes a safe space. The earmuffs. The book. “You’re on the spectrum too…? You’re… like me?”
“I thought I was the only hero on the spectrum” Bruce smiles softly, “Yet, here you are.”
It explains why Bruce’s company was easier. The older man struggled too, just in a different way. Maybe Hulk was much like Spider-Man, yet different. Allowing their inner thoughts out, when they would usually become stuck.
“You don’t have to tell the team about it if you don’t want to. But please know, they’ll understand.” Bruce smiles and gets to work.
- Sam Wilson.
“Me?” Peter stammers shocked, “No. No, no, no. I can’t do that I-“ He stops. His throat feels suddenly dry. Panic rises in his chest at the thought of it. Him undercover? It would never work.
The teams look on at his sudden outburst after he’s been quiet for most of the planning. It isn’t that Peter doesn’t want to help, or that he lacks the ideas, it’s that people keep talking. There’s no system of raising your hand and getting a turn to speak. There is nobody who looks to Spider-man for ideas because they still haven’t grown used to Peter there. Now that he finally does speak, it’s to turn their only idea down.
“Son, I doubt anyone else could pass for being a university student” Steve Rogers, team leader and Captain America speaks.
Peter shakes his head. “Neither can I” he insists. He’s sixteen, somewhat tall for his age, and could probably pass for a first-year university student in looks. But he lacks something much more important. With all eyes on him, he can’t find the words. Needs time alone to think about how to express himself. How to make them understand his point of view.
There isn’t time for that, and he knows it. Knows it, and yet he staggers to his feet, a sudden feeling of needing to run takes over. He pushes through the glass doors, and out into the hallway. He isn’t familiar with this part of the tower and has no idea where he’s supposed to go. Can’t find the elevators, Mr. Stark's lab, the penthouse, or Bruce’s lab. As if all his safe spaces are gone. But he can’t go back there either, that defeats the purpose of leaving at all.
It isn’t until he spots a bathroom sign hanging on a door, that Peter can finally take a deep breath.
Inside the bathroom is clean and white and smells like soap and cleaning supplies. It somehow doesn’t matter, as he lets himself slide to the floor at the far side of the room, trying to remember how to breathe. In and out. In and out. But it’s jagged. Wheezy. It doesn’t quite reach his lungs, no matter how deeply he attempts to breathe.
Bruce had told him the team was understanding… But Bruce wasn’t there today.
Mr. Stark hadn’t seen his diagnosis as a problem. Not something to fix… and yet, today it was.
If he couldn’t even do something as simple as this, could Peter ever be a hero at all? Helping people wasn’t always beating up bad guys and getting cats out of trees. Peter had met plenty of people out there with much bigger, more emotionally sensitive issues. Could he help them?
The door to the bathroom twists open and footsteps echo over the tiles. Someone sits down next to Peter but with enough space between them for the newcomer not to enter his personal space. He gives Peter what he needs.
“Do you want to talk about it?” It’s Sam. Of course, it’s Sam. Sam, did everything right in the eyes of their leader. “Steve was wrong to put that on you without talking to you first.”
That shocks Peter, who had expected Sam to agree with Steve.
Sam goes on. “No one ever said it had to be a student. Tony or Bruce could easily go there, as teachers. Even Rhodey could. But I know that’s not your issue, it’s not that you don’t want to help. Right? It’s that you feel incapable of helping.”
It’s as if Sam reads his mind, and maybe that’s exactly what Sam does. Sam is a counselor. A therapist, even. The older hero has seen things and knows how to read the people around him, in a way Peter never would.
“Right,” Peter gives a stiff nod. “I want to show that I’m capable as a hero, but I can barely fit into high school. I don’t know how to pretend to be something that I’m not, not if I’m not wearing my mask. So, how would I ever fit in at a university with people I’ve never met before?”
“I can understand that” Sam responds but doesn’t offer a solution. Just stays there. As if offering silent support while Peter figures it out on his terms.
At least so Peter thinks. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t autistic” Peter curses under his breath.
“Ah, so that’s what it is. Clint thinks you don’t like him” Sam comments with a grin, making a move to give Peter a playful nudge. But stops a few inches from him, waiting for permission. Peter nods. “I can see how that might pose an issue for undercover work” Sam assures, “It doesn’t mean you aren’t a good hero; it just means there is stuff for you to learn. That’s being human.”
It’s generic, but the words still ring clear and true to Peter. There is something about Sam that seems changed for a moment. The guy who usually jokes about juice boxes and Peter being too dependent on Mr. Stark. Now he looks, genuine.
“I don’t think they mind you saying no, either. I just think they were shocked. You sounded a little angry back there. Anyway… We should get back to the others” Sam says getting out. He offers Peter a hand, and after half a second Peter accepts.
“Thanks, Sam.”
“Yeah, no worries, Spidey.”
- Steve Rogers.
Steve sits across the breakfast bar, attempting to figure something out on his smartphone. Peter chews his bite of apple slowly, crisp and sweet in his mouth. Steve’s brow dips. “I don’t understand any of it,” he says, discarding the phone with a hopeless expression, and looks to Peter, “Does teens your age use codes and stuff, or is it all just random?”
“Uh, could you be more specific?” Peter takes another bit, before discarding the rest of it into the bin. Walking towards the super soldier, who looks frustrated and a little worried.
“D.I.D. ADHD. BPD. OCD. ED. ASD.” Steve lists, “I don’t understand what any of it means. Is it like brb be right back and idk being I don’t know?”
Oh. It makes sense that Steve wouldn’t be able to understand that. Peter isn’t sure most adults in his life would. Sam maybe, because of his experience. The rest of them? Clueless.
Peter takes the chair next to Steve and writes the letters up. “They are acronyms” Peter confirms as he finishes, “But they’re not like brb or idk. They’re diagnoses. D.I.D is dissociative identity disorder, meaning that the person might have multiple people inside their head. And ED stands for eating disorders, which can be anything from overeating, to not eating anything at all.”
“So, teens are… what, sharing their mental illnesses on social media?” Steve looks confused.
Peter shrugs. “Some do. They’re hoping to find like-minded people, a community if you will. Not all of them get the understanding they need, and so they look to social media for validation in how to feel and function.”
Steve appears to be trying to take that in. There’s a glimmer of understanding behind his eyes. As if he can understand the isolating feeling, and Steve probably can. He woke up in a world so different from his own.
“It’s like Bucky’s PTSD” Steve finally connects, “Right?” Peter nods. Exactly like that. “Do you have any of, uh… these?” he waves at the napkin. The letters. The diagnosis. “It seems all teens do.”
Peter shrugs, “Not all teens. But yeah, I do. I was diagnosed as a kid. ASD, Autism spectrum disorder.”
“That’s why you reacted like that at our meeting a few weeks back?” Peter nods again and suddenly regrets opening his mouth. Steve looks at the acronyms for a long moment, “Son, could you explain what that means for you? I want to understand.”
- Natasha Romanoff
Peter runs forward. One foot in front of the other, reaching for the person’s hand. The ledge is too tall, the building too wide, it’s too dark. Too dark outside… “Please, you don’t have to do this. I want to help you!” He’s scared and panicked, but he tries to hide his shaky voice and he gets closer, closer, closer…
His finger is locked around the girl’s wrist. One foot over the edge, but now that she’s in his grasp, it doesn’t matter. She can’t jump. “Let me go” she pulls hard against Peter’s grasp. Leans herself out over the edge, “I’ve got nothing left, I can’t- Let me go!”
A moment later she manages to slip from Peter’s sweaty grasp, and she falls, falls towards the ground. Her scream echoed in his ears.
Then the digital world fades around him. The girl disappears in blue light, then the buildings, and the city around him. All that’s left a moment later is a completely white room, and Peter slips the glasses off that Mr. Stark had asked him to use for training. His mentor stands before him, Natasha next to him, “Well?” he asks.
Mr. Stark shrugs, taking the glasses from Peter’s hand. “I think we’re done for the day.”
“You’re doing better in the field” Natasha comments, throwing Peter a bottle of water. It’s all new tech to Peter. But the Avengers have been using the technology for training scenarios for years. Peter is nailing playing bomb squad, earthquake protocols, muggers, and alien fighting, but he sucks at the emotional stuff. “You’ve done this on patrol before. I’ve seen the videos from the baby monitor protocol. Why can’t you do it here?”
Why couldn’t he do it here? Peter gulps down the water in a few long breaths. Trying to think of an answer.
This had been what he worried about that day in the bathroom six months ago. Being unable to save people, who needed saving from themselves. He’d have two run-ins with people like that since then. People living through their darkest hour. He’d helped them… so why couldn’t he do the same for this digital girl?
“It’s not realistic enough” Peter comments, discarding the water bottle. It sounds crazy. Mr. Stark snorts in disbelief. “I… uh… I’ve had to analyze how people react, and how people act. Friday is smart, but her program lacks those subtle human things that most don’t notice. No shaky hands, hollow voices, or fear as they stand at the edge. Because they don’t always show it, but it’s there. The fear of jumping. It’s not realistic enough. Without those details, it seems unpredictable.”
Natasha studies Peter for a long moment, watching as the teen discards his suit and replaces it with a t-shirt and hoodie. Watches as he tries to catch his breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say so many words at once before” she comments, “And I sure have never noticed the unrealistic part of it. I always found these simulations easier.”
“You don’t have to.”
“And you do?” Natasha crosses her arms. Mr. Stark makes his retreat then. She doesn’t seem to understand Peter’s words. Doesn’t even try to. The super spy taught how to read humans, but somehow lacks a basic understanding of what Peter is saying.
Peter swallows. Nods. Of course, he had to. He’d always had to. “Reading humans was never easy for me, because they never say things the way they mean them. Finding the small ques, the human programming, made it easier. Even you do those things… brushing your hair back when Pepper does it, gapping when Clint does it in the living room. It’s nature.”
“So, you’re a robot?” Natasha asks with a funny grin, “You don’t follow this code?”
Peter snorts, “You know what, yeah. I’m a robot. My coding doesn’t fit with yours, human.”
“Was that a joke?” Natasha snorts back, “it sucked.”
It shouldn’t matter what Natasha says then. Shouldn’t matter. Yet it makes Peter swallow hard. He’s too tired to deal with this now. Too tired to even try.
“Oh fuck off” Peter snaps. His heart skips a beat waiting for Natasha's reaction, but the Black Widow doesn’t seem to have anything to say. Instead, she waits for Peter to go on. Peter grasps his back and walks towards the door, towards the elevator. He stops for a second and looks over his shoulder. “I’ve got Aspergers, look it up.” Then he leaves.
He knows, logically that it isn’t called Aspergers anymore. But he still prefers the term, when he has to make people angry. Annoyed. Frustrated. Because Aspergers holds some sort of golden standard. Some level of intellect. It draws people to the word. Had Peter been diagnosed a year earlier, that would have been his diagnosis.
+ May
His body feels heavy as he walks through the apartment doors to his home. May is sitting at the kitchen table, writing on her laptop. F.E.A.S.T work. She smiles at him when she notices him. Peter doesn’t answer, too exhausted to find the words, to say them out loud. He lets his backpack fall to the ground with a thud and moves towards her, May pulls him into a soft hug without asking questions.
“Too much?” she wonders into the air between them. Peter nods against her chest. After a while, she lets go and guides him to the living room couch, gets his weighted blanket from his bedroom, and folds it over his legs. Peter leans back, trying to calm his brain. It doesn’t work, but soon it doesn’t matter. His brain feels so tired, that he falls asleep.
***
It’s dark by the time Peter wakes up. The living room TV is playing a movie, the sound is turned almost down. Subtitles are at the bottom of the screen, white blocky letters appear as the character speaks. May is sitting on the other end of the couch, a smile on her face. The apartment smells like Thai, and as Peter scans the table, he finds the source. Take-away boxes litter the living room table.
“Hi,” he tries to say, voice small. May smiles at him places an arm over his shoulder and pulls him into another hug.
“I thought tonight might be a safe food night” she comments, “I didn’t know what you wanted. If it’s too much, I can find some mac and cheese in the kitchen.”
Peter shakes his head, grabbing one of the boxes. Larb and rice and sauce smile up at him. He takes a hesitant bit. Chews slowly and swallows. “No, it’s fine. I’m just tired.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” May questions. Peter is about to say no but then changes his mind.
“I guess it’s been a lot since I joined the team more officially.” Peter explains, “They’re loud and much older than me. Some of them are good at dealing with these things, Mr. Stark, Sam Wilson, Steve I guess. They’re trying. But others have similar issues or don’t know, or just don’t seem to understand. It’s a lot.”
May nods, “Yeah, sounds like it. It’s like back when you and Ned started high school. People have to learn about you, and you have to learn about people. It takes time.”
“Yeah,” Peter agrees.
They don’t talk more after that. The movie keeps playing, and they cuddle up on the couch. May smells like safety. Like home. Like care. She can do something, that nobody else can. She understands. Has to understand. She’s spent a lifetime learning to understand.
He falls asleep with his head in her lap. Tomorrow is a new day.