Some nights, Peter can't sleep.
And there's not... there's not any specific reason for it. There really isn't. There's not some deep, psychological fear of dying as soon as he closes his eyes or whatever.
He knows that he should sleep.
He knows he'll wake up in the morning.
He could list all the things he knows, can know them inside out, 100% for sure, and it still won't change the strange feeling gnawing at his chest as he tells himself one more chapter, then I'll sleep even though he knows that it's a lie, built alongside the steadily growing stack of books beneath his feet.
With May, she would come in at around 10 and remind him, voice weary and amused, don't forget to go to sleep, yeah? and he'd laugh sheepishly as she forced him into bed, drawing him through the motions of preparing to go to bed.
Matt, though, Matt, drifts at the edges, wanting to help but unsure how, knowing that he ought to do something but unsure of how to.
And Peter, Peter would rather Matt just go to sleep so he says, "Go to sleep, Matt, I'll sleep soon," and they both know that it's a lie but Matt doesn't know what to do, so he just gnaws at his nails and murmurs, okay? in a lost voice, as though he wants to do more but is afraid to ask.
And lately, Matt is too haunted by his own nightmares to go into Peter's room.
Peter sees him, fluttering around the edges of the home, burying his face in his hands as he tries to control his breathing and telling Peter in a raw voice, "Go away, I'm fine," and they're both lying to each other but unsure of how to stop.
But this night, this night Matt leans against Peter's doorway and says in a quiet voice, "You've been on that page for the past 10 minutes, kid. What's up?"
"Nothing," Peter says, and it's a lie but they've both lied before so he thinks that Matt will just let this one slide.
Matt doesn't.
He walks into the room and sits down next to Peter, holding out a hand expectantly, eyes blank and staring at Peter.
Peter sets his book down and takes Matt's hand, warm and callused and large enough that it easily wraps around his bruised knuckles.
"It's not nightmares," Peter says, weary and shaken and never quite sure why. "It's never... it's never nightmares."
"No," Matt agrees. Shakes his head. Smiles, almost bitterly. "That would be too simple, wouldn't it?"
Peter presses his forehead against Matt's knuckles, and he murmurs, "Are you here to tell me to go to sleep?"
"I'm here to tell you that I'm not going anywhere," Matt answers, smooth and steady and firm as a rock. "That's all."
"Okay," Peter says and draws his head away from Matt's hand, picking nervously at the hem of his shirt before he asks, "Are you... do you think that you'll be going to sleep anytime soon?"
"Will you be?" Matt asks with the odd amusement that comes only from sleep deprivation lining his words.
Peter barks out, sharp laughter and cracked voice, "I'll go make some tea. I think that I read somewhere that valerian tea is good for sleeping. It's not as popular as chamomile, but it's one of the most well-proven herbs with sedative properties by multiple studies and..."
He's babbling, he knows, but Matt is still holding his hand and not interrupting, even as they stand up and Peter starts heading towards the kitchen, Matt strolling out behind him. Peter talks about dumb things and about things that aren't dumb but he makes them sound dumb because he has not slept in... a long time... and when he can sleep it's short, 6 hours at best.
Peter stops talking about stupid things once the tea's ready, because they take the tea to his room and shut the door and close the blinds and sit on Peter's bed, backs to the wall and arms smooshed against each other, and he knows that Matt needs to talk, too.
He waits in silence, and then Matt laughs, "Are you trying to wait me out, kid?"
"Depends," Peter blows on the tea, and takes a cautious sip, sulking when it's too hot to taste properly. "Is it working?"
Matt laughs again, ruffles Peter's hair, and then says, "Come on, kid."
"Come on, adult," Peter mimics because he is obviously a Mature Person.
Matt blows on his tea, his own special way of procrastination, of making seconds tick into minutes, and then he says, "It's like you said, kid, it's not the nightmares. It's... I don't know. I feel like I'm going to miss something if I sleep. Something important."
"You won't," Peter says, sensibly.
"I know," Matt agrees, frustrated. "I know this, so why can't I..." He huffs, irritated. "I wish I could be normal."
Peter wants to make a funny quip, say something like, now where's the fun in that? and maybe it's just because he's too tired but all he can do is press his head against Matt's shoulder and murmur, "Yeah."
Yeah, he wants to be normal. To walk into a building without thinking the ceiling's going to fall. To do his homework right after school instead of at odd little moments where he can grasp free time not being a part-time superhero. To step into a bus without the knowledge that he could crush it with his bare hands.
"I'm not very good at this parenting business, am I?" Matt laughs suddenly, and then sighs. It's honestly a bit depressing.
"You're not my dad," Peter mumbles.
"I suppose not," Matt agrees, and they are silent for a moment, sipping tea and huddling against each other.
"I don't want to sleep," Peter says wearily.
"You don't have to," Matt answers, even though he technically does.
"You're a," Peter yawns, "You're a bad influence."
A small, crooked smile pulls at one of the edges of Matt's lips as he remarks, "Tony must be rubbing off on me."
"Mm," Peter takes another sip of his tea and then puts it down on the table. "Stay a while?"
"As long as you need me, kid," Matt promises.
They fall asleep on each other, tea half finished, and it's not quite perfect yet but maybe it's almost okay.