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The mansion was too quiet at night. he hated that. Too much time in his brain alone, not good.
During the day, there were voices
Distant laughter drifting through the halls, footsteps on polished floors, doors opening and closing, the faint hum of appliances somewhere far away. Even when Peter stayed in his room, curled into the corner with his back pressed firmly against the wall and his knees pulled tight to his chest, he could hear it.
Life. Movement.
Proof that the world still existed outside the four walls around him.
It helped.
Not enough to make him relax, though. But enough that his brain didn’t spiral completely. and that was a good start. For him at least.
At night, everything changed.
The silence wasn’t empty.
It was heavy. It make him remember.
he didn't like that.
It pressed against his ears until he could hear his own heartbeat. He didn't like that.
His heartbeat was not natural. It didn't make the sound it used to do before, he didn't like tha.
He could feel, but above all, hear the metal arms in his back, it feel unnatural and it heard even more evil. He didn't like that.
He could hear his blood passing through his veins, he didn't like that, I take him feel the blood in his body.
He could hear his senses working, all of them worked way too enhanced, more than before thanks to hydra. He hated that, he hated feeling that, he hated thinking like that, he hated hearing all that, he hated hydra above all for making him more of a freak he was before.
So yeah, Peter didn’t like the quiet.
Not even a little bit
Quiet meant danger, Quiet meant something was coming. Quiet meant people were waiting.
Quiet was the lab, well not exactly this quiet there was always a little bit of noise in the lab, the machines always make some noise, but it did remind him of when other experiment, other specimen died and their machine stopped making sound, working, because they were dead now.
The quiet remind him of how alone he was, even before the lab. People didn't like mutant's.
that sucks, bug. His uncle would tell him. He was not a bug, he was a spider! But after uncle died he was alone again, always in silence, no one liked mutants, well other mutants liked mutants.
not truth. His mind tell him. They were mutants that didn't like mutants, but the pretty lady Rogue and funny accent Gambit weren't like that, Right?
He wanted to believe that so bad. His really liked them, he felt a litte more safe with them, hearing their heartbeats always calmed him down.
he was not
He slept anyway because he was exhausted. He haven't sleep since before they rescued him.
Because his body still hurt in places he couldn’t explain, because nightmares came whether he slept or not.
The lights were too bright. They always were.
White.
Blinding.
Endless.
Peter couldn’t move his arms. He couldn't see why though.
Straps bit into his wrists, digging into skin already rubbed raw. He could feel the skins burning
Something cold pressed along his spine — metal against bone.
... Wait what?
He tried to breathe, but the air wouldn’t go in right. His chest kept stuttering, lungs refusing to cooperate. Fucking hell.
“Subject is conscious.” subject? His name was Peter!
“No sedation. We need accurate response data.” heavenly hell, please don't.
“No.." Peter tried to say.
His voice didn’t work. It cracked before he even started taking
Metal screamed.
Pain detonated across his back.
What was happening..
His body arched off the table involuntarily, muscles locking so hard his vision went white.
He couldn’t stop it.
He couldn’t stop it.
He couldn't stop it.
“Hold him down.”
“I am holding him down!” someone shouted back.
“Vitals spiking, good. record that.”
Peter screamed. Loud, out of the top of his lungs.
He woke with a choking gasp.
Dark. Different dark.
Not the lab. Not HYDRA.
thank god.
His room. In The mansion X, Remy and Rogue give him the room when they bring him in, they were good people, or at least they faked it a little too well.
Safe. Safe.
Safe. His senses told him.
Except his body didn’t believe that yet.
His heart slammed so fast it hurt. His skin felt too tight, like it didn’t fit right over his bones. Air came in sharp bursts that wouldn’t slow down no matter how hard he tried.
Then the pain hit. Harder than before.
His back. It was a heartbreaking pain.
A deep, burning ache along his spine , hot and mechanical and wrong...
Too wrong.
A soft whir clicked behind him.
Peter froze.
No.
No no no no.
please no.
Slowly, with dread crawling up his throat, he twisted his head.
Moonlight spilled through the window.
But it was enough to see. Metal limbs.
Six of them, all extended halfway out of his back.
Trembling.
They always came out when he was scared. God he hated that.
His stomach twisted violently. He felt like he was going to puke
“I don’t want them,” he whispered, voice shaking. “I don’t want them…”
I don't want them
I don't what them
I don't want them
I don't want them
I DON'T WANT THEM.
The limbs twitched again, sensors reacting to his distress, defensive protocols misfiring between fear and perceived threat.
His breathing got worse.
Too fast.
Too loud.
Too much.
too much
Too much
Too much
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Walls closer.
Air heavier.
He scrambled backward until his spine hit the headboard, hands clamped over his ears even though there wasn’t any sound.
Images slammed behind his eyes.
Bright lights. Hands pinning him down.
Voices talking about him like he wasn’t a person. He was one!
Pain. A lot of pain. He just wanted it to stop
Stop
Stop
Stop.
STOP.
A sob slipped out before he could stop it. His chest hitched violently. why would they do that? Why was he the one they left behind, the one that survive? Why couldn't he died with the other?
Peter soon realized he knew nothing, except he suddenly knew.
He didn’t want to be alone right now. Well, he didn't want to be seen, but he also didn't wanted to be alone
does that make sense? He hopped it did.
The realization terrified him almost as much as the nightmare.
Because wanting meant needing.
And needing meant someone could decide you were too much.
And if they decided you were too much for them... Well t hey could send you back.
He did not want to go back.
His brain supplied the memory instantly.
Are you gonna put me back?
No one had answered with a promise he trusted yet.
Not fully.
Not deep down to his brain that maje him actually believe it.
His fingers curled into the blanket.
Remy. He discovered that was his name a couple days ago, he have been calling him funny accent. Maybe he shouldn't tell him that, he did not want to upset him, right?
Anna Marie or Rogue. Peter didn't know which one was the real one, he still call her pretty lady in his mind. She always smelled nice, and have such a bright smile, yeah Peter decided he liked her. She was his favorite.
But they were here, both of them. Down the hall.
Sleeping.
Probably tired.
Probably didn’t want to be bothered.
Probably—
Another sob escaped. Before he could help it.
The metal limbs jerked violently behind him, scraping lightly against the wall.
Okay.
Okay.
He just needed—
He needed them.
Just for a minute. He didn't even need to wake them up right? Plus they said they were always for him.
That means even at night when he got nightmares, Right?
Well did it count as a Nightmare if it was just a memory? He hopped it did. Because they said he always could come to them if he got a Nightmare, not a memory.
Maybe he would lie and say it was a Nightmare if they asked, he was just going to see them, see if they're fine.
Just until he stopped shaking.
Then he could come back.
They wouldn’t know. They didn't have to know
They wouldn’t be mad. He hopped
Peter slid off the bed slowly, legs trembling under his weight.
The floor was cold against his bare feet. Pretty lady rogue said he needed to cover his feet's if he was on the ground. Okay maybe he was going to use the walls
He winced as the implants shifted, a sharp pull running up his spine.
He didn’t use them.
He refused.
The implants wasn't part of him. He did not accept them.
Instead of using them his instinct took over.
His hands pressed against the wall.
Fingers stuck.
He climbed.
Up.
Onto the wall then onto the ceiling.
Quiet.
Silent.
Natural. Like a little spider boy
His body moved in smooth, controlled motions despite the shaking. It was easier like this , safer , being above everything.
Predators watched from above.
Prey stayed low.
His brain didn’t know which one he was anymore. He just wanted to be Peter, okay?
He reached the door and paused, clinging flat to the ceiling above it.
What if they said no?
What if they told him to go back?
What if—
His chest hitched again.
He reached down, unlocked the handle, and slipped into the hallway.
The corridor was dim, lit by small nightlights spaced along the walls.
Peter moved along the ceiling silently, limbs tight to his body, breathing shallow.
The mansion smelled different at night.
Cooler.
Cleaner.
Wood polish.
Laundry detergent. Yikes he didn't like that one.
Something faintly floral drifting from somewhere distant, that one was cool.
His senses cataloged everything automatically.
No immediate threats.
No footsteps.
No voices.
Just the low hum of electricity in the walls.
He reached their door.
Stopped.
Clung there.
Watching.
Listening.
He could hear breathing inside.
Slow, Steady.
But alive.
His throat tightened, He almost turned around.
Then his back spasmed with another pulse of pain from the implants. He really hated them
A small whimper escaped before he could stop it.
Without noticing he knocked the door.
Soft.
Barely there. Couldn't even hear it if you tried.
Nothing happened, as expected.
So he knocked again, a little louder.
Inside, there was movement.
Fabric shifting.
A sleepy voice.
“…mm?”
Peter froze. bad idea. He thought.
The door opened a crack.
Remy stood there, hair messy, eyes heavy with sleep, wearing loose pajama pants.
He blinked down at Peter.
It took less than a second for the sleep to vanish completely.
“Hey,” Remy said softly, immediately lowering his voice. “Petit… you okay?”
Petit was short right? Hypocrite Remy wasn't that tall himself, Peter lied to himself
Peter couldn’t speak tough, he was so scared that he woke him up, maybe it was a bad idea after all, he could totally spend another night without sleep, right?
lie. You can't little spider. He hated his another sense, plus. Since when could he actually understand it? Creepy.
Remy noticed the shaking first.
Then the tear tracks. He tried to wipe them off, couldn't do it properly
Then the metal limbs twitching behind him. Remy’s expression changed instantly when he saw thatm
“Oh,” he murmured gently. “Nightmare, yeah?”
Peter nodded.
A tiny little nod.
Remy opened the door wider without hesitation.
“You wanna come in?”
Peter hesitated, he really wanna come in with them, he wanted to hug rogue so bad, and let her call him honey or sugar while brushing his hair. But that would be too much trouble, she was sleeping. She didn't want to be bad. To be too much trouble for the pretty Lady
“…I don’t wanna get in trouble,” he whispered.
Remy’s chest hurt.
“Hey,” he said quietly, crouching to eye level. “You ain’t in trouble. Not now. Not ever for somethin’ like this.”
Peter swallowed.
“…can I stay? Just a little?” he asked, eyes begging for a positive answer.
Remy’s face softened completely. “Course you can.”
Behind him, Anna Marie, our pretty lady, stirred awake.
“Remy?” she mumbled sleepily.
“Pete had a nightmare,” he said softly. His hand slowly caressing Peter's head. She sat up immediately.
“Baby?”
Peter’s eyes snapped to her.
Something inside him loosened just a little. He really liked her, she was so sweet with him, always.
She pushed the blankets back.
“C’mere, sugar.”
That was all it took.
Peter moved fast, way too fast, climbing onto the bed awkwardly, metal limbs twitching as he tried not to hit anything.
Rogue pulled him close instinctively, gloved hand cradling the back of his head.
“Oh, honey,” she murmured. “You’re shakin’.”
Peter buried his face into her shoulder, fists clutching her shirt.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he mumbled.
Remy climbed back into bed beside them, pulling the blankets over Peter’s legs.
“You ain’t wakin’ us,” he said softly. “We just happened to already be awake.” lie. Both Remy and Rogue knew that one was a lie.
Peter let out a tiny breath that almost sounded like relief. Wanting to believe that
Anna Marie rubbed slow circles on his back, careful around the implant points. Trying to not make him uncomfortable.
“You wanna tell me about it?” she asked gently.
Peter shook his head hard.
“No.”
“That’s okay,” she said immediately. “You don’t gotta.”
Silence settled.
His breathing stayed uneven for a while.
Then slowly, gradually, it began to match hers.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
It was good. He could feel the limbs starting to loose. It was just a matter of time for the metal limbs to retract with soft mechanical clicks, folding back toward his spine.
His body sagged with exhaustion. It always hurt him.
Remy watched carefully.
“Back hurtin’?” he asked quietly.
Peter nodded against rogue's shoulder.
“Yeah.”
Remy adjusted the pillow behind him to support the weight better.
“Better?”
Small nod. Maybe he did like the french guy, only a little bit. He told himself
Anna Marie pressed a kiss into his curls. He loved that.
“You’re safe here,” she murmured.
Peter’s fingers tightened in her shirt.
“…promise?”
Her throat closed.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “Ah promise.”
Minutes passed.
Peter’s grip loosened.
His body melted into the warmth between them.
Remy thought he was asleep already when Peter spoke again, voice slurred with exhaustion.
“… your a good momma…”
Rogue froze.
Time stopped.
Peter nuzzled closer unconsciously, seeking warmth.
“…a good momma…”
Oh God. He was so sleepy right now, both Remy and Rogue (more her than him) loved that one sentence, almost as much as they loved that kid laying right on top of Rogue's chest.
The word hit her like lightning. Her eyes burned instantly.
She looked at Remy over Peter’s head. Still caressing his back and leaving some kisses on top of his hair once in a while.
Remy’s expression softened in a way she’d only seen a few times before. She loved that.
He reached over and squeezed her hand gently.
Neither of them spoke.
They didn’t want to break the moment.
Peter sighed softly, completely asleep now. Not signs of nightmares
Rogue swallowed past the lump in her throat and pressed another kiss to his hair.
“Ah got you,” she whispered with love. "we got you"
Remy pulled the blankets up around all three of them.
“Sleep, petit,” he murmured.
At the end the three of them were sleeping
With Peter between them, fully asleep.
For the first time since they’d found him—
He was sleeping peaceful.
And neither of them planned on moving. Not at all.
Not all night, not the next morning, not until he woke up, after all he was their little spider boy.