Peter softly exhales but he doesn’t make a sound. He wishes he did, that way he could be reminded that he actually did indeed live, and wasn’t just a trapped prisoner in his own mind. The human mind, Peter thinks, is a very complex thing. It’s made of a different breed of wiring unlike a circuit board yet their functions are dual; one and the same.

At least that’s what Peter reads off his homework as his cheek is pressed against the smooth expanse of his desk, pen close in hand. The human brain is just as delicate, Peter reads from his textbook, like a circuit board and when damaged, it can have nerving and permanent effects. Which is why when the brain sustains damage, the route to recovery may sometimes be difficult, if not impossible. 

Suddenly his head hurts. At first, it’s a quiet prick reminding Peter of what numbness used to feel like The prick quickly becomes a scream, a loud violent scream demanding to be heard just like all the similar instances before. 

This, Peter thinks about. He doesn’t know why he keeps on hurting, yet he does. It’s a force of randomity, choosing when it will strike upon its next victim. The stabbing white-hot fury has been going on for months. The fury is so strong that tears begin to well up in the teenager’s eyes and spill silently down his cream-colored face. 

The Stark-Rogers stands, slowly as to not aggravate the screams in his head even more. Despite the effort, the ache in his head increases tenfold and Peter presses a hand to his face in order to stop his vision from blurring uncontrollably. The ringing in his ears stings and Peter bites down on his lip to prevent himself from a cry written in anguish. So hard that blood spills into Peter’s mouth as an attempt to nullen the void. He needs his dads, Peter thinks, and uses to propel himself further. 

The teenager is unconsciously crying as he trudges down the hallway and into his papa’s arms. Steve was leafing through another novel as he picked up when the father heard a soft sound of sniffling that could be from only one person. A fatherly switch enabled over him and his captain dad senses were tingling. He lifted his gaze and a feeling of sadness washed over him. His child, the one he and his husband took in after finding four-month-old him abandoned in an alley was crying silently as his bleeding lip quivered. Peter was red-faced and blotchy, a hand trying to massage his head as he tried his hardest not to break down. 

Steve’s expression is soft as he bookmarks his page and sets it aside. “Baby,” he says while pulling the fifteen-year-old boy onto his lap, “What happened? Another headache?”

Peter nodded through an avalanche of tears. He curls on top of his papa’s lap, resting his head against Steve’s chest, right over the man’s heart. 

Steve presses a kiss to the top of Peter’s head, wishing he could do something more to alleviate his son from pain. It’s a simple wish of any parent, and to have to wish that is a blow to the father in his heart. He’d rather get shot, face through all the torture he’s had, and hadn’t experienced a dozen times over if it meant that Peter would be okay. But Peter’s not okay right now, but to the veteran, it’s okay. 

He wears a reassuring smile as he tucks Peter’s weary head under his and hums softly, getting Peter to focus on something else than his pounding head. He speaks softly as to not hurt his child any more than he already is, “How bad muffin?” He rolls out one of Peter’s more favorite nicknames as he senses Peter’s headache to be a lot worse than the others he had in a long time. 

Peter’s answer confirms his papa’s theory as he replies lowly, too strained from the pounding of his skill, “Ten.” Ten is the highest number on the scale that the son came up with his dads, who needed to know how much pain Peter was in so they could best handle it. 

Steve looks down at the trembling bundle in his arms, “Why don’t we take a nap, yeah?” His voice is still low yet kind and supportive as he continues, “Dad should be on his way with some medicine for you from Bruce. C’mon bear, I’ll carry you. My room or yours?”

Peter’s head is against the curve of Steve’s shoulder as he rasps, “Yours. Your blanket is warmer.” His arms hang loosely around his father’s neck as loose tears spill down his cream-colored face. 

Steve feels the wet patch on his shoulder and holds his son tighter. He finds Peter crying more often and as paining as it is, all Steve can do is dry his tears and soothe his distress. Peter used to be a ball of warm energy, and it’d show in his eyes, But now those eyes are diminishing lights of emptiness. Steve wants his Peter back, but then he remembers that the sniffling weight in his arms is his Peter. But to the father, it’s all okay. 

Those are the thoughts that occupy the veteran’s mind as he pulls the covers down so Peter can get comfortable easily. The darkness rests easier on the boy’s eyes, and Steve’s just happy to ease his baby’s pain, no matter how little it is. 

He slides in next to Peter, snaking an arm around Peter’s waist and pulls him close to his chest. He feels how tense Peter is, os a hand moves to rub his back while the other tugs on Peter’s hair. He speaks, “Bambino, what hurts?”

Usually, Peter would make up a lie to reassure his dad’s worries. They worry enough about him as it is. This time, the teenager needs comfort and reassurance desperately. The Stark-Rogers doesn’t have the strength nor the energy so he admits through thick, pain-smitten tears, “My head and my heart.” He sniffs, “It hurts all over and it doesn’t stop!”
 
Peter wants to be angry, he really does. But when your head feels like it’s on fire, your eyes hurt even when they’re shut and your heart clenches so tight that you think you’re going to die, you don’t really have the capacity to do anything but cry.

Peter sniffs as he intertwines his fingers with his papa’s, “Papa, it hurts so much. I can’t, it hurts too much.” He can’t stay calm no matter how much he tries, helpless as he wonders what’s happening to him. He begs as Steve’s fingers find it’s way back to his hair and massages him, “Papa, I need it to stop. I need it to go away.” The aching boy dissolves into cries, “The pain just won’t go away and I don’t know what to do.” Help me, please! 

Steve nods consolingly as he looks into Peter’s chocolate-tainted irises, “I know bear, I know. I’m going to try, okay honey? And then you can have some medicine. But until then, it’s Captain Papa Bear to the rescue.” He grazes his calloused fingers against Peter’s face, wiping away stray tears while wearing a reassuring, promising smile so Peter has something more to hold onto. 
“I got you,” Steve starts, feeling a random but sudden urge to protect his precious cub, “And I always will.” His fingers are gentle but firm, and the tension between the molecular space makes the ache in Peter’s head hurt a little bit less. 

As for Peter, he melts into his dad’s touch, desperate, and craving for more. The father and son are silent except for the former’s occasional hum as they snuggle close to each other. 

Out of nowhere, the veil cracks, Peter’s question is so soft that were it not for Steve’s accelerated hearing, the father would’ve missed it. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“Peter,” Steve starts as he wipes dribbling tears off Peter’s face, “What could possibly be wrong with you?”

Tears stream down Peter’s face as he replies, “There has to be something. People don’t usually get all these headaches, it’s not normal.” He presses himself closer to the Avenger’s sweatshirt material bawling, “I just want to be normal again!”

Steve wraps his arms around his son, rubbing soft circles on the boy’s back as he speaks, “Pete, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay kiddo. You’re normal bud, I promise you. Sometimes our bodies run into little phases, that’s all. If you really want, we can see Bruce later this week and he can check you out again, but I’m telling you you’re okay.” He pulls Peter on top of him, massaging his boy’s shoulders. He props Peter up so he could drink some water, remembering he read somewhere that water helped headaches. 

He continues, “You’re going to be okay. I promise you, sweetheart. I know it’s hard, believe me, if I could make you feel better I’d do in a heartbeat. I wish I could make all this pain go away, but you, me, and dad can tough this out. We got this.” He presses a kiss to Peter’s forehead, “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. Papa bear promise.” He smiles as he ruffles Peter’s hair, getting a slight smile out of Peter, “I love you so much, you know that? Let’s get some rest and when dad comes, you can pick a movie for us to watch.” 

The father yawned as holds Peter protectively, “I’ve got you and I’m never going to let go.”

A/N: hey my dudes!!!! I wrote this a while back after a really bad headache/day so if it's more angsty than usual that's why. But this isn't as bad as the one that's coming your way mwhahahaha....