It's a Spider Thing. {Peter Parker and Natasha Romanoff}

{2} waffles. do you want some?

"Peter."

A new voice. Foreign yet familiar at the same time. He clung to the sound like it was his own personal life preserve, keeping him afloat in the sea of his own demons that threatened to pull him under blackened water until his lungs burned and the sun disappeared. Peter didn't want to fend for himself in the dark against the cold and the voices- he didn't want to fight anymore.

"You're okay." Came the soft murmur again.

It chased away the cold that had invaded his body, froze his insides and turned his blood into thick tar in his veins. Then the heat was engulfing him, wrapping securely around his quaking frame in a hold that Peter didn't remember feeling before. His head fell against a chest despite his rigid posture and the sobs that racked through his body; Peter hadn't cried in front of someone in years, showing weakness in front of his handlers had never been an option but he couldn't stop as the weight of what he had done come crashing down around him like he was being buried alive.

He felt vulnerable and raw and everything was too much- the arms shifted and Peter felt a flare of gut-wrenching panic. "D-Don't leave." He breathed out, voice cracking.

Natasha didn't respond, instead continued on her self-appointed mission of moving their position so that they were both laying down against the mattress, the teen cradled against her as if he would fall apart if she so much as loosened her grip for even a second. She was still cautious of the boy, hyper vigilant of the way he could throw her away from him and across the room like flicking off a bug. Despite the obvious and blaring dangers, she'd brought him into her apartment anyway- not Shield because apparently the assassin liked a difficult life- but to her own home where she knew he'd be safe and that she could hide him if the need arose.

Peter stiffened in her arms, as if only just realising what he had spoken aloud.

"Wanna talk?" Natasha whispered, hand drifting to his sweaty curls. She could feel tension slowly building in his shoulders; he didn't fight her arms but no longer relaxed into them.

"I can handle it." He ground out defiantly.

"So that's why I'm sat here then?" She asked, still not moving.

"You can go- it's fine." Peter tried pulling away and Natasha thought about letting him go. But there was a tremble to his voice that betrayed his emotions and her arms simply wound tighter around his chest as if she could physically keep him curled up beside her. She took advantage of the moment he paused in bafflement at her reaction and brought him closer.

"Can't get rid of me that easily."

He blinked and wriggled again. "Seriously, you don't have to-"

Natasha huffed. "Shut it kid. It's happening. Let it go."

Silence fell around the pair, Peter dutifully ignoring the relief the seemed to flow into his body and he sunk into Natasha's arms. He hadn't realised how exhausted he felt- it was a deep, constant ache inside his bones that was only now being acknowledge after years of neglect. Uncertainty reared its ugly head before Peter firmly shut it out; he didn't know how the long the comfort of Romanoff would last but he knew he'd rather ignore the fact that his weird sixth sense had silenced than confront it.

"Gotta open up kid." Natasha commented.

"You go first." He grumbled, his hearing zeroing in on the sound of her heartbeat.

It was steady and constant, lulling him to sleep despite his survival urge screaming at him to stay awake, to not give in to the comforts around him. Peter didn't care if he died today or the next- he just wanted sleep and if Romanoff smothered him then he'd deal with it when the time arose.