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Tap. Inhale. Tap. Exhale.
It was 8:33 AM on a Wednesday morning in January. Peter was in his history class, watching the lecturer drone on and on as if it was her destiny to do so. Peter was refraining from picking the tips of his fingernails off.
It's so satisfying. And it's his most painful fidget. But it's so satisfying.
He was not paying attention. The teacher's words were blurring together as she rambled without writing notes down on the board. She really should write notes down on the board. How can she expect him to write down the information if she continuously changed topic every fifteen seconds? He could hardly hear her from the back of the classroom.
The kids to the left of him were smacking gum, the ones directly in front of him were whispering gossip about who they assumed was pregnant, the one diagonal to the left was wearing so much perfume she was the personification of a Barbie in crisis.
Tap. Inhale. Tap. Exhale.
He was tapping his fingers on his pencil, grateful he remembered the mechanical ones today. Wooden ones don't feel right. And they can break. And if they break he would have to get up and sharpen it. And everyone would watch him. And he can't handle that.
Tap. Inhale. Tap. Exhale.
The annoying kid was trying to play devil's advocate again on people deserving human rights. His voice was scratchy and his laugh sounded like someone gurgling water incorrectly. Peter wanted to bang his head on the table. This kid is pulling his facts from freaking 4chan. The teacher legally can not call this kid a moron. Peter pities the teacher.
Tap. Inhale. Tap. Exhale.
The teacher spoke too quickly. Peter couldn't process her words and write them down at the same time once again. He considered reading off of his neighbors paper to get information. But the teacher turned out the lights and started a video on the projector. The Barbie girl reapplied her perfume.
Peter swore he was going to suffocate from it.
"Peter are you ok? You look..." Ned's voice wavered as Peter sat down for lunch. Ned couldn't seem to finish the sentence. He was too sweet to do that.
"Like shit." MJ on the other hand, was not.
"Thanks, I know," Peter grumbled and opened his lunchbox. He sighed when he realized his soda leaked in it at some point and now everything was sticky. Including the tips of his fingers.
"Yikes. That looks fun to clean up." MJ said dryly and passed her friend some napkins. Peter laughed and took them, padding them onto the wettest spots first and hoped it would subdue the grossness a bit.
"Flash screamed the entire time in science today." Peter said quietly and rubbed his temples "Are we sure he's a nerd? He sounds like a frat boy."
"His lifestyle does mimic the one of a fraternity star. But sadly his muscles could not last against those gruesome arm wrestling matches." Ned replied.
"Since when are arm wrestling matches gruesome?" MJ asked.
"You win every one of them so you aren't allowed to comment, MJ." Ned tsked in fake offense. MJ smirked and continued eating her Mac and cheese, she passed an apple to Peter. Peter took it with gratitude.
"But other than Flash and his fangirling about whatever in science, what's up with you? You seem really tired recently." MJ noted. She watched as Peter stared straight ahead at his apple. Dark circles prodded under his eyes, as if they were begging to grow and consume his entire face.
"I can't sleep. I can't focus. I can't get into my hobbies like normal. It's so weird, I'm Spider-Man! I have fought so many villains, I should be more alert."
"Have you been putting too much on your plate again? You know that you'll exhaust yourself with too much work." Ned said with a concerned expression. Peter shook his head and took a slow bite of his apple, looking exhausted even doing that.
"No, I've just been at the Avengers for the past month while May is going on her trip to Europe. I love them but I just feel so... constricted."
"Are they too overstimulating? If you ask them for some accommodations I'm sure they'd understand." Ned told him.
"Stark is a fucking billionaire, he can buy an entire sensory filled haven for you if he wanted. He's basically your dad at this point, be totally would." MJ agreed.
"I know they would. I just haven't... well, you see..."
"Peter do they not know you're autistic?" MJ asked. Peter nodded sheepishly, keeping his gaze downcast.
"Have they not figured it out? Natasha knew I had ADHD after five minutes of knowing me." Ned said.
"I have been masking. A lot. When I'm around them I don't stim, I try not to info-dump more than your usual nerd, and I mimic their behavior patterns. It's like I'm acting. MJ, you love Shakespeare. You can appreciate that." Peter explained. MJ and Ned shared a worried glance.
"So you have been masking for over a month now. What about when you feel overstimulated and don't want to talk?" Ned asked.
"I just... suppress the anxiety and keep talking even though my head is pounding and my throat feels scratchy and all I really want to do is curl up in a blanket and listen to music."
"Peter! That isn't healthy!" Ned chided him gently.
"What about touch? Please tell me you at least set a boundary when you aren't in the mood for physical contact." MJ asked.
"I just power through it. I'm fine with touch the majority of the time so I know I'll get over the feeling soon, might as well not make a big deal about it."
"Peter you are ignoring what your body and mind needs to be its best. You are draining yourself by masking all the time." MJ told him. She herself was neurodivergent as well, and she knew that a burnout was heading Peter's way.
"But I'm not even medically diagnosed. I don't have the right to tell them that I'm autistic." Peter argued.
"You were raised in poverty, and autism diagnoses are so expensive for no reason. But if you wanted to, I'm sure Stark could fork over some money to--"
"He would Ned, I know that. But what if I learn I've been faking it this entire time for attention? What if I learn I am a liar and a fraud and I am just overdramatic?"
"Peter. All of your friends are neurodivergent. You wear socks inside out because the seam in them makes you want to rip your hair out. You have to be told the exact time, if someone says 10:35 when it's 10:32 you get visibly irritated. If you are not autistic, we are all doomed." MJ reiterated the symptoms without even pausing to think about them.
"But I still could be wrong."
"If you are, have you harmed anyone by taking the label for a bit? Nope. You just discovered new things about yourself that help you function. Neurotypical or Neurodivergent, everyone is allowed to assess their emotions and boundaries." Ned assured him. But Peter still looked antsy.
"Is the self-diagnosis the only reason you aren't telling them?" Ned asked. Peter didn't respond for a moment, then he opened his mouth to reply. But a distraction came. He stiffened as some senior girls skipped over to his table. The tallest, a brunette with no sense of personal space, hugged him from behind without warning.
"Aww, Peter you look so handsome today!" The girl spoke to him childishly, as if he was some puppy to awe and oooh at "Are you getting your schoolwork done?"
"Yes." Peter said dryly. He was too tired to deal with this. MJ and Ned glared at the trio of girls, but the trio ignored them.
"I brought my friends over to meet you Petey! This is Trish and Rachael! This is Peter, he's a little shy!" The leader of the trio of torture said.
"Can you guys leave? We're trying to eat our lunch. He's obviously not in the mood." MJ snapped. The lead girl removed her arms from Peter and placed them on her hips.
"Why do you have to be such a bitch? You don't know what Peter wants." She hissed. Peter wanted to throw an apple at her.
"You are talking to him like a puppy." Ned told her.
"Wellll, puppies are cute and friendly, just like Petey!" The girl said then turned around to speak to Peter again "You know, you're so quiet in class. But then you talk a lot with your friends at lunch. Why is that?"
"Because... I'm not supposed to talk during class?" Peter was confused. The girls giggled at him as if he was a pitiful social experiment.
"Aw, he rests up his voice for lunch with his friends! How cute!" Rachael said.
"He reminds me of this one guy I saw on this reality TV show. He was an autistic guy that found a girl to love him, isn't that so sweet of her?" Trish said.
The class bell rang and the trio was left as quickly as they came. Peter turned to his friends with tired eyes.
"Ew. Neurotypicals." He shuddered. Ned and MJ shared his sentiment. Peter closed up his soda stricken lunch box and clenched his fists, conflicted with himself.
"That's why I can't tell them. I'm already the baby on the team. If they find out... I don't even want to know how things would change." Peter said solemnly.
Peter Googled symptoms of autistic burnout after MJ warned him of it a second time in study hall. The screen was too bright. His head hurt as he struggled to read symptoms such as extreme lethargy, trouble processing information, memory issues, loss of words, loss of motivation, irritability, anxiety, depression, and heightened stress.
He exited out the tab and ignored it.
When Happy dropped him off to the tower, he did something unusual. Happy put his window down and took his glasses off when Peter got out the car.
"You were oddly quiet today. Everything ok?"
"Yep! Never better!" Talking felt like sandpaper against his nervous system, and his emotions felt fake and scripted rather than genuine "Sorry Hap, I was busy texting a friend. But I would love to tell you all about my adventures--" Happy pulled the window back up and drive away. Peter smiled softly. It was that easy to act energized. That easy to fool the people around him.
"Hey kiddo," Tony told Peter when he came in.Tony was cooking one of Peter's favorite meals, a cheesy spinach ravioli with a special homemade tomato sauce. Peter loved this meal because he always knew what to expect from it, and that it tasted like perfection. He loved it so much he was tempted to eat it all day everyday if he could.
"That smells delicious!" Peter said excitedly. Peter's head hurt. He was excited and happy about the ravioli, but didn't feel like expressing it out loud. But that is what Tony was used to from him. And Peter couldn't change that.
"Of course it does, I made it," Tony hummed happily and started setting the table "The others will be here soon, do you mind setting the table?"
"Sure!" Peter replied and jumped at the chance to be helpful. Even though his body ached and his shoulders tensed at the clattering of plates being set down, he kept at it. His brain felt like a pile of Fruit Loops being boiled.
Peter stared down his meal whenever the team arrived for dinner. Peter preferred to be quiet when eating, it helped him savor his food and give his brain a break from the stress of estimating social cues correctly. Unless it was with Ned and MJ, being around other neurodivergent people felt like a blessing. He could be around them much longer without feeling drained. And they wouldn't do the thing.
"Are you ok?" Steve asked Peter. Peter looked up, and realized forgot to wear an expression. Although the five minutes of his resting bitch face provided him with much needed relief, he forgot his teammates have only seen him with cartoonish caricatures on his face.
The Thing™ was when people constantly asked Peter if he was ok when it was just his facial expression at rest. Him, MJ, and Ned had found their own ways to notice when things were off with one another while understanding that tone and facial expressions aren't always the cheat code.
Peter really wanted to say: I'm actually doing a lot better not forcing myself to have a plastic smile.
But that was something an irritated, burnt out, autistic Peter would do. And he didn't want the Avengers to know that side of him.
"Yep! I'm just lost in my thoughts. Currently calculating how much money I have to spend at the half off sale for all SCI-FI books next weekend." Peter replied. He felt so fake. So tired. He wanted to stop talking.
He was glad he didn't turn non-verbal easily. His struggles were more with processing verbal information, textures, and social cues. Even though talking sometimes exhausted him, he could force himself to keep going.
MJ and Ned would throw him out a window if they knew he was forcing himself through stressful situations because it wasn't "impossible" to get through.
"Kiddo I already told you, I can buy out the store for you if you want." Tony told him. Peter rolled his eyes lightheartedly.
"Yeah I know, but still. Math." Peter smiled and the others chuckled.
"He's just like you Stark." Bucky told him. Peter threw a hand to his chest in mock offense.
"How dare you! I am nothing like him! I have much better hair than him." Peter quipped and everyone laughed. See? This was the Peter they knew and loved. He was snarky, he was witty, he was... only authentic half the time.
The rest of the week was destroying Peter. Fire Alarms blared with flashing lights, group projects where he was forced to do all the work, clothes felt too tight and suffocating. That Friday, after spending the prior night tossing and turning for hours because of a leaky sink and the chatter of his teammates in the living room, Peter overslept.
"Shit." He said as his alarm was blaring for who knows how long. He slammed snooze. His ears were ringing and everything was too bright. He had homework last night he didn't do because he didn't remember the information on how to do it. His days were getting spotty and he felt like he was walking underwater through an overgrown patch of seaweed. Everything was going slowly and he had no clue what to do.
"I can't go." He felt himself close to tears. Ned and MJ weren't going to be there, they had a field trip. He was going to be one while Flash laughed at him and popular girls pretended to be his friend to act like they're charitable for being nice to the weird kid. He could imagine squeaky sneakers and people coughing. He could imagine getting yelled at for not getting it like the others did.
He just wanted to sleep.
"Peter, you're going to be late if you sleep in much longer." Friday warned.
"I don't care." Peter snapped. He was angry. He was exhausted. He just wanted to exist but the real him was always too weird and he was constantly told to tone it down.
Friday didn't say anything to Peter, but Tony did show up five minutes later.
"Kiddo, Happy is going to murder us both if you don't get up."
"Fine by me." Peter said, half asleep and half enraged at his senses wanting to go haywire. He just wanted to sleep while Friday played brown noise for three hours straight.
"Are you ok? Do you feel sick?" Tony went up to him and put his hand on his forehead and Peter flinched. Tony's hands were clammy and covered in callouses and they were too much for him right now. Tony examined Peter for a moment, deep in thought.
"No fever, but you look pale. I think you should stay home today. I'll have Happy pick up your school work. You stay here and rest, I'll bring you some breakfast later."
"Thank you." Peter said lethargically. He then added "Do you have noise cancelling headphones? From the lab."
"Yeah, you want those bud?"
"Please." Peter asked. He didn't process how Tony didn't seem surprised, or how Tony made sure to enter extra quietly when coming back into the room. The room went pitch black, courtesy to Tony demanding Friday make the room Peter's favorite and most used light setting.
"So, the kid's taking a nap." Bucky said as he poured himself a cup of coffee "I miss those days. The next time I will get a good nap is when I'm dead."
"I took one the other week actually," Natasha yawned and flipped a pancake aggressively "After a 72 hour prank war with Clint, my body gave out."
"Nat that's not a nap. That's literally your body shutting down." Bruce said with concern.
"Same difference." Natasha shrugged and put her burnt pancakes on everyone's plates. They clinked onto the plate with an echo. Steve stared in horror.
"Maybe we should leave the cooking to Tony." Steve said gently. Natasha stabbed her rock-hard pancake with a knife. Steve did not mention her cooking failure again.
"Anyways, back to the kid," Bucky said with his mouth full of crunchy pancakes "Is he alright? I don't know if it's just me, but he's seemed a little less upbeat the last few days."
"Stress headache is my guess. I get them all the time when I'm overwhelmed. A good nap and a day out in sunshine always fixes mine." Clint said.
"I prefer bounty hunting. The adrenaline kills all your pain. Nature's Advil." Natasha said.
"Nat, we are not sending Peter off bounty hunting. He would probably become best friends with the criminal or something." Tony said then handed Natasha some actual Advil from the pantry "And stop breaking the law. Bounty hunting is illegal. We have a reputation to uphold."
"If you cared about reputation you would shave that hideous goatee." Natasha quipped.
"Peter just seems to be feeling under the weather." Tony said, ignoring Nat's goatee statement.
"Physically or mentally?" Bruce asked "Cho could check him out either way."
"I'm not sure yet. I'm going to wait this out and see how it progresses." Tony said and eyed the pancakes (AKA charcoal) warily. He put some bread in the toaster and laughed awkwardly.
"I don't think Peter is in a pancake mood today. He doesn't like eating stuff with syrup in his bed." Tony said.
"That's fine. I'll DoorDash something from his favorite bagel place instead. My treat." Natasha offered. Steve gawked at her.
"So Peter can get bagels, that you're paying for, but we have to eat these bricks or experience your wrath?" Steve asked.
"Yes precisely." Natasha said with a grin and took a bite out of her pancakes. Everyone shuddered at the crunch.
Peter woke up around lunch time. He physically felt caught up on sleep, but his mind still felt groggy. He was thankful Friday still had the lights dimmed the best they could possibly be.
He then realized he was still wearing the headphones and in a panic he took them off. What would Tony think now that he asked for them? Was he being too obvious with his sensory issues?
He forced himself out from his bed. The bed was warm in contrast to the crispy January air that was trying to infect his room from out the walls. The blankets were soft and comforting, and his phone and books were right on his nightstand. Needless to say, he did not want to get out.
Still, he did.
As he walked through the halls to the training room where he knew the others would be, his body felt like heavy chains were dragging him down to the ground. He didn't want to keep going.
Still, he did.
And that is what life had always felt life to Peter. A constant juggle between people telling him he was too childish, too mature, too dramatic, not dramatic enough. He was being pulled down constantly no matter what it was. And being Spider-Man was the only thing he really felt he could do well. He couldn't lose that.
"Hey kiddo! Feeling better?" Bucky asked him whenever Peter walked into the training room. Peter felt empty of words, he was holding onto the last of his energy to even look remotely alive.
"Much!" Peter said with a cherry smile, but he was fraying on the inside. He wanted to say more. He wanted to prove he was normal and they could rely on him. He just didn't have the strength to do that right then.
"That's good," Bucky seemed a little concerned as to why Peter wasn't speaking in paragraphs like usual. But he seemed to shake it off easily, giving credit to Peter's silence as the remains of a headache that has slowly dissipated.
Peter smiled weakly at him, he needed more energy to fake it. The training room was always bright and smelled like bleach. It was cleaned regularly, which was good, but that made the scent strong, not so good.
Peter grabbed his web shooters and began his stretching routine. He forced himself to ignore the clings of Nat's metal weaponry, or the tense sound of bow wire stretching as Clint began to release an arrow onto the target.
"Kid, want to practice with the knives?" Natasha called from across the room. Peter excitedly skipped over and picked up the biggest one.
"Nuh-uh, you're not ready for one like that. Let's try something smaller, something more your level." Natasha snatched the blade and switched it with a smaller, duller one. Peter tried to bury his true feelings away. He had handled dangerous technology and weaponry multiple times before, but the team still tried to put training wheels on him. Imagine if they found out--
Peter threw the knife angrily, and it hit the target perfectly. Natasha whooped and clapped him on the back. The touch felt like fire to his skin, the sensation burning painfully as it felt like too much in that moment.
Peter realized then just how much noise there was in that room. In... everywhere. He realized right then that no matter what the future brought, he would always be trapped with these sensory issues and feeling like a flawed human. He would always be one step behind everyone else. He would always be given the little dagger in life.
Peter stared silently at the knife and felt his stomach twist. He felt so out of place. Although he could fight, he could defend, and he could communicate like every other person in that room... he felt like an outsider. An off brand human, if you will. He might be able to do the same things as the others, but to the world the way he did those things would be off. Like generic cereal compared to the real deal.
In that moment he realized no matter how hard he tried he would always feel like an outsider in some form. He hits the target but it's never enough for everyone else.
"I think my head is hurting again." Peter lied, his voice flat and empty. He walked over to the target, pulled out the knife, and handed it to Natasha without looking her in the eyes.
"Pete? I know you, this attitude isn't from a headache. What's wrong? You just threw it perfectly." Natasha asked, puzzled by the quick change in Peter's demeanor. Peter started to open his mouth, but his eyes and throat started to burn. He cleared his throat and shrugged.
"No really, it's just my head." Peter felt himself slowly beginning to snap. He was overloaded with his senses and emotional, he couldn't have a conversation like this. He needed to step away from the noise, reassess his senses, and ground himself.
"Peter I don't know what's going on, but you don't have to snap at me. Please just tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing you've done," Peter said, evening his breathing as much as possible "I just need to be alone for a bit."
"No, you're upset. I'm not going to leave you alone." Natasha said and clasped a hand on Peter's shoulder. He immediately tensed.
"Please don't touch me." Peter said, his voice strained.
"Did I do something wrong?" Natasha asked, still touching him.
"No, I just need to be alone."
"Why? What have I done wrong?"
Peter has never understood why Neurotypicals assumed his direct communication was a lie. Peter has communicated that he needs alone time and that it was nothing Natasha has done that has upset him. But yet she has relentlessly tried to hover over him. In her efforts to comfort him, she is merely making him more anxious.
He would tell her if he wanted her with him, why doesn't she just listen?
Peter used his super strength to stalk away from her, Natasha looked hurt that he left her touch like that. It make Peter's chest hurt seeing her like that, but he couldn't find the words to explain.
"I'm sorry." Peter said quietly and ran out as the others on his team looked at him with wide eyes and worry. Peter wasn't one to snap or sink away from someone's touch. No one was used to this behavior. Not from Peter, at least. After Peter was gone Bucky whistled sharply.
"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed." Bucky said as he twisted some gears in his prosthetic arm. He winced from tightening one too much then relaxed after fixing it.
"This is unlike him. I hope everything is ok." Clint murmured as he sharpened an arrow head for his bow. Steve seemed to be calculating something in his mind, just as Natasha almost walked out to check on Peter.
"Nat, I think he just really needs to be alone right now," Steve held his arm out to get her to stop, "The kid has always been honest with us. I don't think provoking him anymore in an effort to comfort our own concerns will do any good."
"Ugh, I hate when the old man is right." Natasha grimaced and backed off.
"Will you accept the fact I'm right about your god awful pancakes now?"
"Hell no. My pancakes are great. They're just... an acquired taste."
Suddenly, the doors slammed open with a bam.
"Any guess as to why Bruce called me and said he saw the spiderling running through the halls crying?" Tony said angrily, fists clenched "I swear if any of you said something--"
"Stark." Steve said firmly, it was enough to get Tony to snap out of his rage "Peter got a little emotional in here and started snapping at Nat. None of us know what's going on."
Tony paused, thought for a moment, then sighed.
"Let me guess, he didn't want you to touch him or talk to him after he wanted some alone time." Tony said.
"Uh, actually yeah. That's pretty much what happened." Natasha said.
"Did you keep trying to talk and touch him after he said not to?" Tony asked. Natasha didn't respond, and that was all the answer Tony needed.
"For Christ's sake... didn't you learn not to push boundaries as a spy? I'll be right back."
"Tony, the kid's really shaken up-- maybe you shouldn't--"
"Clint, he's my kid. I know what I'm doing.
Peter stared at the ceiling from his bed. Tony had switched the sheets. That was fine. But they were a different kind of fabric. That was not fine. This fabric was too thick and too itchy. Peter would overheat and fall victim to itchiness. It didn't help that Friday's system wouldn't stop beeping for her monthly update.
Peter felt so weak and stupid. He curled up into himself and felt a few tears drip from his eyes. He felt pathetic. He was exhausted. Every one of his senses were upped to eleven and every thing he felt made him feel even weaker and more stressed. He wanted to snap, he wanted to scream. He wanted to have some of his stim toys to calm down but he left them at home because he thought the Avengers would ask about them.
Although him snapping at Natasha was already bound to cause some questions. If not about autism, probably on his well being. Peter sucked at lying. He needed to come up with another story to hide behind. He hated this.
His heart was racing. He felt trapped in a whirlwind of emotions. Friday kept beeping, her beeps erratic and without a pattern Peter could predict. All the stress of the day was slamming into him and--
"I knew something was wrong."
To his surprise, Tony was standing in the doorway and came in slowly, quietly. Peter was shaking, and was finding it difficult to breathe.
"Can't- breathe." Peter choked out. Tony slowly walked over and sat beside him.
"Breathe in and out, slowly. Focus on how the air feels going in and out." Tony said quietly. Peter copied Tony's breathing motions, feeling himself wind down a little.
"Here." Tony handed Peter some cards once he seemed calmer, "Communication cards. Friday, turn the lights on. Dim. You can read those and hand me the one you need."
Peter shakily took the stack, and looked through them until he found one that said "Physical Contact (Ex. Hug)". Tony sat on the bed and Peter slumped against him, copying the rise and fall of Tony's chest to help him start breathing regularly again. He used Tony to help ground him, remind him that he is real and it will be ok.
He looked through the cards again. "Tired." read one, and Peter handed it to Tony. Tony read it and nodded.
"Is it ok if I speak?"
Peter showed him the card that read "Yes." then a second one that said "Quiet."
Tony nodded and made sure to keep his voice low.
"You have been acting very tired lately. Teach called me. Said she's worried about you, you keep zoning out during class. Forgetting assignments. Do you know why?" Tony said, his voice thick with knowing.
Peter froze in fear.
"I think you are ignoring your needs." Tony said and looked at Peter sadly, "Friday is required to tell me if you search anything regarding your health. Even if that's mental."
Peter's eyes widened, then shut painfully.
"How long have you known?" Peter said, he was still quiet and felt overstimulated, but he had to get the question out.
"Four months ago you searched how to hide autism. Along with how to hide anxiety attacks." Tony said quietly "I never knew how to approach you with it. But I think I should have."
Peter held out a card: "I'm sorry."
"No. I'm sorry you felt like you had to hide it from us. Kid, it's obvious hiding it has drained you significantly. You don't have to go through stuff alone."
Peter couldn't find a card to say what he wanted, so he grabbed a notebook to write it down on a piece of paper.
If I can't handle loud sounds and textures, how can I be the Spider-Man you need?
"Peter you are the Spider-Man we need. Autistic or not, you are perfect as you are and for the role you play here. Just because you handle things a little differently doesn't mean shit. You are kind, resilient, and the only person in this world that can be the Spider-Man. If you need accommodations to help you work around struggles, you got it. We all got our struggles. We don't give up on each other because of them."
I feel weak.
"You aren't." Tony said so adamantly that Peter couldn't breathe for a split second. Tony was so sure, so proud of Peter. Peter was used to teachers screaming at him to get it together and older adults treating him like an experiment. No one had ever believed in him after knowing. They all felt like he was incapable of existing like other people.
"I want you on our team." Tony said "I want you to kick alien ass, I want you to train with us, I want you to help me invent. Because, one, you are more than capable. And two, you're my kid. I've grown pretty attached to you." Tony said, a little sheepishly at the end. Peter smiled, his eyes getting a little watery.
But you guys keep me on Baby Monitor Protocol.
"Because I care about you and worry for you. Not because I don't think you wouldn't be able to do it. I'd do the exact same with Pepper. But... you're right. It's time for you to go on harder missions. You've proven yourself." Tony explained. Peter was about to scribble THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU on the notebook paper, then paused and thought about what MJ and Ned warned him about.
I think I might need some break time first. I've been doing too much and I'm drained. I can't be productive like this.
"That's ok, the missions will always be there in the future. For now, focus on yourself and your well-being."
Can you help me tell the others later? After I nap.
"Of course kid," Tony smiled softly "Anything I can do for you before I go?"
Peter paused for a moment feeling guilty for asking for something.
New blankets? If it's no trouble. I'm so sorry it's just these are super itchy and--
Tony gently put a hand on his arm to stop him from writing.
"It's ok kiddo, I'll get you a new blanket. You rest for a bit."
One more thing?
"Sure kid."
Can you sit with me for a while.
"Of course. I'll sit with you whenever you need me to. I'm here for you."
The next day Peter stood beside Tony in the living room, all of the Avengers sat on the couch patiently. And together, Tony and Peter told the Avengers. And surprisingly to Peter, no one reacted like it was some tragedy that would ruin his life (like Aunt May did). No one spoke to him in a high pitched voice like he was a baby (like the trio did). They just, accepted it as if it was as simple as his hair color.
Natasha and the others apologized for not understanding his boundaries before, and asked that he always call them out if they messed up again in the future. Also, apparently Bruce was also autistic and assumed Peter had it for a while.
Nothing really changed between the Avengers after that, other than better communication and feeling closer than ever.
Peter wasn't treated as a weakling like he thought he would have been. He was treated like a member of the team and he was eternally grateful to have a group of people that supported him fully.