Work Text:
Peter Parker hadn’t had comfort in a very long time.
It had been a year since the battle on the Statue Of Liberty and Peter had adjusted to his new reality. He devoted much more time to Spiderman than his life as Peter Parker, an identity that he had to re-establish into databases in order to get a job to pay his rent. He had considered changing his name and letting Peter Parker cease to exist completely but he couldn’t bring himself to sever the connection to May.
He had managed to pass his GED and got a part time job at an independent cafe, training quickly after all the times he had watched MJ work. That seemed like so long ago.
He picked up odd shifts on days when he wasn’t patrolling, like today. The shift was dragging and he let himself fall into auto-pilot at the bar, making drinks as time passed. He mostly kept to himself at work, despite the efforts of his co-worker, Harley Keener, a sandy-haired boy with a boyish grin consistently plastered on his face. He was unbothered by the lack of response from Peter and proceeded to talk as if in conversation in his smooth Tennessee accent.
The bell of the cafe rang out to signal the arrival of a new customer and Peter looked up nonchalantly.
He froze.
A familiar figure stood in the doorway of the cafe.
MJ met his eyes as she walked over to the till and smiled politely before looking away to give her order to Harley. The bell rang again as Ned Leeds hurried in, telling her off for not waiting for him.
“Peter?” Harley had finished serving them and walked over to the bar to stand in front of him, blocking his view.
Peter snapped his gaze to Harley and opened his mouth but no words came out. He couldn’t breathe. He backed up stumbling over a trash bag before beelining for the door to the back area, the door slamming behind him.
He knew he was spiralling as he clutched his chest, still trying desperately to take a breath, collapsing onto a chair.
Why were they here? Why were they here? Why were they here? Why were they here?
Everything was muffling around him, his pounding heart drowning out all other sound. He didn’t hear the door opening, but then Harley was in front of him with his hands out.
“Peter?...You need to breathe…I think you're having a panic attack.”
Peter could barely hear him, his voice sounding almost underwater, but he made out Harley was telling him to breathe. Peter shook his head at him; no matter how hard he was trying, he couldn’t take more than short gasps. Harley waved his hand to bring his attention back to him and started to exaggerate breaths with hand gestures for Peter to match.
Peter breathed with him until finally he was taking deep measured breaths. He slumped in relief, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.
“Are you okay?” Harley asked concern etched into his voice, “I used to know someone who had panic attacks. They suck.”
Peter opened his eyes, looking towards him, but didn’t say anything.
“Is there anyone I can call?” Harley prompted.
Peter felt a tidal wave of emotion wash over him because that was just it. There was no one left he could call. His face fell and his eyes welled up with tears at the reminder.
Harley’s face fell at the response.
“Peter, can I hug you?”
Peter considered for a moment, slightly confused, before nodding wordlessly.
Harley smiled and leaned forward to wrap his arms around him. Peter tensed, then relaxed into it. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be held; it was warm and felt safe.
Harley stayed there for a few minutes before pulling back but keeping his hands on Peter’s shoulders.
“Just sort of looked like you needed one,” he said gently.
“Thanks, Harley,” Peter replied, managing a small smile. At that moment, he didn’t feel quite so alone.