This one-shot is a prompt that one of my reviewers. This is for you Selena!

Team angst/fluff here I come!

(*Set after Season 2 after the episodes "Return of the Sinister Six Part 1" and "Ultimate" (part 2 of the Return of the Sinister Six). It only involves the Ultimates)

~~Summary: It's been a week since Goblin captured and Goblinized Peter's team. Everything should be fine and back to normal, but Peter can't stop thinking about the fight and the hurtful things that had been said. Persisting self-doubt and nightmares are enough to keep him awake at night. Thankfully, he has a pretty great team to be there for him. ~~

He couldn't breathe.

Or, more accurately, he was breathing too quickly. Fast inhales that left as quickly as they came, leaving his body wanting - NEEDING - more. It made his head swim and his heart beat so fast one would think it was trying to break free from his ribcage. Then again, he supposed it would still beat so quickly even if he wasn't hyperventilating.

He couldn't see them, but he could feel them catching up to him. Creeping. Stalking. Breathing down his neck. Their shadowed bodies were barely seen within the limits of his peripheral vision, but whenever he turned to look they would disappear, only to return again when he looked away.

Peter shivered from the force of the chill that was grappling down his spine, moving across his shoulders and down to the soles of his feet. It was cold. The air was frigid and puffs of his own breath merged into the fog surrounding him - he wondered if his hyperventilating was the cause of it. A cover for his pursuers created from his own panic and desperation.

"No, no, no, no," he said the words quick and breathlessly as he peeked over his shoulder. Something moved in the grey-white fog and his skin broke out into a cold sweat. He couldn't see them, but he knew who they were. "Not again. PLEASE, not again."

He forced himself to run faster, telling his body to ignore the spikes of pain that were poking holes into his lungs and to forget about the feel of his muscles pulling so tight that they were at risk of ripping from over-exertion.

The fog twisted and swirled as if it were a living thing, sometimes pulsing with the rhythm of a heartbeat. Of HIS heartbeat.

BaDum...BaDum...BaDum...

He could feel the hard beat rattle through his bones, coming up through his feet.

"Spider," they sang from the shadows, their soft voices almost affectionate and kind, before turning into drawling tones of mockery and taunts. "Spiiiidddeeerrr..."

"Stop," Peter shouted back, though he dared not stop his own fleeing to search for the owner of those voices. "Leave me alone. You guys can just -...you aren't stuck with me anymore, alright. You can go, just - just go. Leave. Me. Alone."

They laughed, a symphony of derision and ridicule. The noise echoed deep in his head, slicing through his skull and brain like it were made of soft putty.

Maybe they decided they didn't want to play with him anymore, or maybe they got bored, but out of nowhere a clawed hand lashed out from the darkness and caught him in the back. Peter's vision went black as he was thrust into the air, his skin burning where it'd been hit. He fell to the grounds seconds later, crashing so violently he rolled across the hard, uneven floor, tearing his Spider-Man suit up in the process.

He wasn't sure when he stopped, but when he was coherent enough to think again, he could feel the bruises staining his skin and the cuts as they welled with blood, either seeping into the fibers of his costume or slowly dripping onto the inky surface of the ground.

He coughed, raspy and weak, and then groaned when his ribs tightened. His movements were slow and shaky, and he wrapped his arms around his torso in an attempt to dull the ache - it didn't work.

They allowed him his moment of weakness. A moment to regather his strength before he slowly sat up, hunched over and eyes still searching through his obscured environment. He could see them darting through the fog now, dark shapes that he couldn't make out. But they teased him; sometimes looking far away, and sometimes, when he looked down as he was doing now, he could see their feet right behind him, inches away. He jerked away, twisting to shoot a web from his wrist, only to realize he didn't have his webshooters and the feet were already gone.

He couldn't breathe.. Their very presence was that of a predator, cold and merciless. Closing in – suffocating. Choking.

"L-leave me alone," he shouted, coughing violently. He could taste copper on his tongue. "Just...pl-please..."

They laughed again.

"What's the matter, Webs?" a voice taunted, both foreign and familiar. "No jokes? No quips? You really are losing your edge."

Peter didn't answer, he got to his feet, looking for an escape.

"Where do you think you're going?" another voice laughed, also familiar but marred with such aggression and mockery that he almost didn't recognize it. Something hard hit him in the back again, slashing him from shoulder to hip this time, and Peter screamed, stumbling to one knee.

The pain burned. "W-why are you doing this? I thought," he swallowed hard, and had to suck in a breath to fight the stinging in his back, "I thought we were friends."

Their laughter turned loud and boisterous - like he'd told them a particularly funny joke. "We were never friends. You hardly filled the position of leader. We'd never willingly hang out with someone like you."

And suddenly, just like that, the fog cleared and he could see them. Four people, kids like him, standing around his broken form. He looked up into their sneering faces. Nova, White Tiger, Powerman, and Iron Fist, all snarling and angry, hatred burning in their yellow eyes. Their body's were bigger, bulkier, with green textured skin that stretched over them like dried leather. Goblins. Peter tried to get to his feet, but Iron Fist was quick to kick them out from under him in retaliation. He hit the floor again, landing on his bruised, bleeding back, and cried out, the pain blinding.

"Come on, Spider," Powerman mocked, his fists were clenched at his sides like he wanted to pummel him, "Where's the fiery attitude you're known for? Or was it just fake? A cover-up to hide your failures and doubts?" Peter didn't answer. He COULDN'T answer. Powerman chuckled cruelly and kicked him in the ribs. There was a sharp CRACK! and he grinned in delight when Peter shouted and kicked him again.

"S-stop," Peter begged. "This - this isn't you, its Goblin. Come on, snap out of it."

"Oh, but it is them." A new voice rang out. Someone else stepped from the murky mess, this one clad in a strong metal suit that had a single eye centered on the helmet, glowing a sinister green. Behind him, a darker green cape fluttered from the shoulders. A section of the mask slid up, revealing a cruel toothy grin on a twisted face.

"This is their true selves," Goblin said.

Reaching down, he grabbed a wad of Peter's costume, bunching the spider emblem in his fingers, and lifted Peter's body closer to his. "I showed them who they are. Who they're meant to be. And soon enough, Spider, I'll show you too."

"I-It's not them," Peter objected, but it was weak in his own ears. Black spots danced in his eyes, threatening to eat him up. "It's the goblin serum. It's - it's messing them up. Putting them in the form YOU want them to be. You can't just do that, Goblin, you can't just change my team."

Goblin's smirk widened. He brought Peter closer, as if to share a secret, "But I didn't change them," he said, "I never did."

Peter's eyes widened in puzzlement but Goblin smashed him back in the ground before he could ask what he meant. "AGHHH!" he cried as his ribs shattered further. The pain was excruciating, infecting his lungs and chest like a swarm of parasites. It was hard, and he almost blacked out from the pain, but when he managed to look back up, Goblin was gone and his team was surrounding him again. Only they were different. Their skin was no longer green and their bodies weren't swollen with muscle; the fangs and the claws were gone too, and their suits weren't stretched or ripped. They were in perfect condition.

They were no longer goblins, they were their normal selves.

Only, they weren't.

Their bodies may be the same, but from each and every one of their faces, a large, vicious grin slit their mouth like someone had taken a knife to their skin. Their smiles were so wide that it even stretched the mask on White Tiger's face.

They didn't move. They didn't speak. They stared down at him, and even though Peter couldn't see their eyes, he knew they weren't blinking. A chill ran down his spine and he inched away - not that there was anywhere to go.

But it was all the team needed to step closer and make their circle around him even smaller.

"S-stay back," Peter warned, one arm pressed tightly over his torso and the other holding out his wrist, despite his lack-of-a webshooter.

White Tiger sneered at the feeble attempt, "When are you going to learn you STINK as a solo act?"

"I'm-"

"I thought your loyalty was to this team," Luke demanded, crushing his foot into the ground next to Peter's foot.

"I am. It is-"

Iron Fist, kneeled down almost kindly, but his fist glowed a harsh, crackling yellow that was sickly to look at, "You're just denying the inevitable." He said, his lips pulling back into something hard and cruel.

"Not like it matters," Nova scoffed from where he was hovering off the ground. He looked down his nose at Peter, the glow around him somehow so much more intimidating than it's ever been before. "We were never really friends anyway."

Peter stumbled to his feet, but his entire body screamed at him to stop and the ground spun around him. His ribs were on fire, his body prickling with terrible sensations - everything felt raw and bruised. Their words were like punches to his gut and spread across his skin like a sick poison.

Then they were talking faster. Louder. Overlapping each other until he was trapped in a tornado of words that sliced into him like swirling glass.

His mind began to splinter.

"Numerous failures." Iron Fist sneered from the left, and suddenly all his mistakes were there in front of him, laid out flat for all to see. He saw the man that killed Uncle Ben pull the trigger. Saw himself trying and failing to become a hero his surrogate father would be proud of. Every stupid, reckless decision he made.

His eyes burned.

"You stink as a solo act," Nova laughed from above. A choked sob caught Peter by the throat as memories of countless patrols flashed before his eyes. Alone, wounds he cleaned and bandaged by himself, hiding the pain when someone jostled him in the hall, talking to no one, the stress, the anxiety, the loneliness...

"Spider sell-out!" White Tiger called gleefully behind him. Every hit he took. Every punch, kick, and bruise came back to him in a tidal wave and he stumbled to his knees.

They were pressing in on him. Each word like a stack of bricks settling on his shoulders. Each jab at one of his mistakes, every lie he's told Aunt May, all the pain he's caused his friends and family. He could see their faces in front of him. Aunt May asking him what the bruises on his arms were and Peter brushing her off. Harry asking if he wanted to hang out and the disappointment in his eyes when Peter turned him down. Every lie and misdirection he gave to MJ when she asked about Spider-Man.

Then Powerman's boots were directly in front of him, cracking the ground beneath his mighty steps. He leaned down, looking directly into Peter's face with a wicked smile. "You might have even been able to save your Uncle Ben."

The final hit.

Peter crumpled. Any will-power he had left disappeared through his hand like grains of sand and he collapsed. He didn't feel like the amazing, invincible Spider-Man. He didn't even feel like weak and pathetic Peter Parker. He was nothing. As low as a scuff of dirt on the sidewalk.

His mask was savagely torn from his head and slapped to the ground in front of him. He started at the cracked lenses, his own reflection broken up in its reflective surface.

Peter curled on the ground, ignoring the agony licking up every nerve. He brought his hands to his head and pressed the palms of them to his ears desperately. "Shut up!" he screamed. "Just shut up!"

But they wouldn't. It was a never ending chant. A song that wouldn't stop. He tried to block it out, but it slipped between his fingers. They spit at him, sometimes accompanying it with a spiteful punch or kick.

"You're a failure!"

"I thought your loyalty was to the team!"

"Could've saved your aunt the pain of all your lies!"

"We were your responsibility. Now we're just another one of your failures."

"We were never really friends."

"You're just denying the inevitable."

"Sell out!"

"Menace!"

"Freak!"

"Idiot!"

"Could've saved Uncle Ben!"

And somewhere in the muck he heard his Uncle's soft whisper, "With great power there must also come great responsibility, Pete."

"S-stop..." Peter cried, "Stop, PLEASE..." he pressed his head to his chest, hands still clamped over his ears. Tears ran down his cheeks as he squeezed his eyes helplessly.

"Please..."

 <><><><><><><><>

Peter jolted up in bed, breaths coming out hard and heavy. His pajamas were cold from sweat and the blanket was so twisted around his body it might look like a giant python preparing to swallow him. It was too tight, he couldn't breathe.

Light-headed, heart racing, Peter yanked at the blanket. When it didn't come off, he panicked and thrashed, throwing out his arms with all his might until he heard a loud SHRIPP and it fell in tatters across his lap. He sucked in deep breaths, filling every empty space in his lungs as his brain tried to settle.

Peter sat completely still with his hands threaded through his air, chest heaving. He wasn't sure where he was. What was going on. It was dark, there were too many shadows. Where is he?

His eyes flitted around the room, falling on familiar items until things slowly clicked into place. He...he was in Aunt May's house, at home. He was in his own bed, and everything was okay...everything was...okay? Unable to stop shaking, Peter wrapped his arms around himself and brought his knees up to his chest; rocking slowly.

He tried not to think about the battle with Goblin, when his team had been turned into goblins themselves. He tried to forget all the hurtful things said, and the pain, and all the hits, and the cruel looks on their faces. But every time he blinked, or closed his eyes – even for a second - there they were, painted on his eyelids like the world's most grotesque and horrid picture.

A noise of frustration pushed past his throat and he pressed his head to his knees so it was fitted between his legs and chest. It was dark in his room, and still way too musty and hot for it to be comfortable. It reminded him too much of the dank and humid atmosphere of the Hell-Carrier. Swallowing, Peter got up from his bed and stumbled through the dark on shaky legs until he found the window.

Thrusting it open, he took a deep breath and sagged into it as cool night air hugged his feverish skin.

"Was just a nightmare," he murmured, scrubbing both hands over his face as if to physically wipe the lingering dream from his mind. "Just a nightmare..."

"Peter? Are you alright?"

Peter's heart spiked and he whirled around. Danny was sitting up on the mattress they'd placed on the floor for him in lieu of a bed, blankets pooling around his waist. Peter forgot he was sharing a room with the other boy and a needle of guilt pierced his heart for waking him. He turned around, not wanting to face him in his current state.

"M'fine Danny. Go back to sleep."

He heard the mattress squeak and a moment later the floorboards creaked as Danny walked up behind him. He looked Peter over carefully and there was no denying the shake in his frame and the quiver in his voice. He placed a hand on Peter's shoulder but quickly drew it back when Peter flinched.

"Peter," Danny said gently. "What's the matter?"

Peter leaned against the window sill, his wide, exhausted eyes looking everywhere but at the other boy. "Nothing," he insisted, "Nothing, just...it's fine...I'm fine...I just...woke up was all..."

Danny didn't move and Peter tried not to imagine that it was Goblin-Iron Fist, with his sinister glowing fists and crude smile - that would be unfair to the real Danny. He didn't want to hurt Peter. If he did, he would've done so by now. Besides, it was insensitive and rude to put the faults of Goblin-Iron Fist on Danny, who had no control over what he was doing - no matter what he'd done or the things that he'd said. Peter shuddered.

"Let me make you some tea," Danny offered and he made his way out of the room without another reply, gently closing the door behind him.

Now gone, Peter let out the breath he was holding. His heart pounded again and he grit his teeth, elbows on the window sill as he dug his fingers into his head. He wasn't in the Hell-Carrier, surrounded by enemies. He was at home, surrounded by friends. He wasn't being hunted, he was supposed to be asleep. Everyone was cured, there's no reason to be so upset.

But no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get those savage grins out of his head. He ripped his hands away in favor of gripping the windowsill, the wood whining under the pressure.

It didn't feel like Danny was gone that long, but sooner than Peter expected he was entering the room again, this time accompanied by Ava, Luke, and Sam. Peter looked over his shoulder once and shook his head, scoffing quietly. Of course, Danny wouldn't let him off the hook. Danny was smart. Not to mention he can read people's chi energy, and Peter's chi was probably all over the place. He held back a sigh and kept his back turned. He wasn't strong enough to face them head on yet. He wasn't ready.

Ava was the first to speak, "Peter? You feeling alright?"

"M'fine."

But he was still shaking. Stop, Peter begged himself. Stop. Stop. Stop. They drew closer, but they did so cautiously, like they were approaching a wild animal.

Freak.

Menace.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but was greeted by Goblin's laughing face, and his eyelids flew back open. He was sweating now, running down in beads under his t-shirt. Run. The thought burst across his mind like a neon sign. Run. Get out of here. Fine somewhere isolated and alone and figure this out yourself.

You're at home, idiot! Another thought snapped back, This is safe. But that's not enough for you, is it? All you ever want to do is run away from your problems. You really are pathetic.

His team surrounded him, and even though it didn't feel menacing or threatening, his joints locked up tight and his heart picked up in speed.

Luke spoke softly, "Pete, we're your team. You can talk to us."

"Yeah, we're friends," Sam said, hovering behind him uncertainly.

We never really were friends anyway.

Peter shook his head, and he let out a weak, breathless chuckle that he wished was more convincing, "I'm okay, really. Don't worry about it."

Liar.

"Sharing one's feelings can leave them with a purer mind and a lighter heart," Danny spoke wisely.

Peter chuckled without much humor, "Read that out of a fortune cookie?"

There was an exasperated sigh from Sam, "Enough with the jokes," he said. "Come on, we know something is bothering you."

No jokes? No quips? You're losing your edge.

Peter attempted a casual shrug, but it came off stiff and his hands tightened even harder around the wood.

"Aw, but I'm such a funny guy," he retorted half-heartedly. Not that he could help it. Joking? Making fun? It was his way to deal with problems. With the pain. Just laugh it away and pretend it doesn't hurt. Be that light-hearted idiot that everyone can talk to.

Sam didn't look convinced.

Ava came up behind Peter and put a hand on his arm, and this time Peter forced himself not to flinch, "Someone once told me that we're a team and a family. And when something is bothering your family, you can tell them."

Peter nearly snorted at the irony. Yeah, he remembered telling Ava that, back when Kraven was just a weirdo with a mustache and the tiger amulet was going crazy with bloodlust and she was losing control. And, yes, he felt like a hypocrite, but...could he really tell them? Was that a position any of them really wanted to be in? Questions piled up in his throat, wanting to be heard, but fearing the answer.

Was everything they said actually true?

Could the goblin serum affect them so much that they could make up things to say?

Or did it just give them a reason to speak their mind?

He was too afraid to ask.

Failure.

Menace.

Loyalty.

Team.

Sell out.

Just like in his dream, Peter felt himself crack. He scrambled to reel himself back in as his eyes burned.

"We're here for you, bro," Luke added. "Just like you're always there for us."

Another crack in the foundation. Another hit to his defenses.

"Does it have something to do with Goblin and when we were under his influence?" Danny asked. At the mention of it, images rushed back to Peter in dark, boisterous waves. All the words said, the punches thrown – it all came crashing down, and he began to drown...

He choked on the harsh sob that wrangled its way out of his throat, tears spilling over, turning the wood and street lamps outside into watery blurs. His friends stiffened, surprised at the sudden burst of emotion. And why not? Why shouldn't they be surprised? He's kept up his strong, I-totally-know-what-I'm-doing leader façade for so long that it was probably foreign to see him cry.

For a painful few minutes the room was silent, all aside from Peter's quiet, suppressed sobs, then the spell broke and his team moved to comfort him. They surrounded him, patting his back and giving his shoulders reassuring squeezes.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Luke whispered, his hand hesitating before running through Peter

s messy bed hair. "It's okay, everything's okay. We're safe. Goblin didn't get away with it."

Peter shook his head. That was only part of it. Sure, he'd been scared, terrified even, that he wouldn't be able save the team from Goblin. The feeling of utter helplessness as Goblin flew away with them on that ship was something he never wanted to experience again. But that wasn't all of it. Something dark, and hurt, and bleeding seeped from his heart and dripped into his hands.

But they waited for him to find his words, patient in his silence as explanations wove together and then unraveled on Peter's tongue. The wood clutched in his fingers broke with a resounding SNAP!

Sam was on Peter's right side, one hand placed gingerly on the small of his back, and the other resting on the wall near the window. He leaned closer into Peter's view, concern painted on his face.

"What's...I mean - umm....is there..." he sighed nervously, looking unsure of what he was trying to say. "Is there something else bothering you?"

Peter didn't like this. Feeling so vulnerable, stripped naked and bare - humiliated and maybe even angry. He never really had anyone to share these kinds of dilemmas with. Aunt May didn't know about his heroic exploits - neither did MJ or Harry - and he certainly wasn't going to have a heart-to-heart with Nick Fury or Coulson. He's kept all these feelings bottled up inside him for so long, that suddenly being asked to let them all out was harder than he'd ever imagined.

"I...I-..." he tried, but his throat constricted and he fought down another wave of tears.

Suddenly angry, Peter tore his hands from the window sill, ripping off strips of wood as he did, and stormed away. He stopped in front of the bed, head hanging and both hands fiercely trying to rub the tears away.

Their concern was like a heavy shroud falling over his shoulders. Ugh! He hated how weak he was. Hated acting like this. Hated how much emotion the human body went through. He kind of hated everything right now. But he also couldn't prolong this anymore. His friends found him broken like this, they wanted an explanation, and Peter figured he now owed them one.

"It's just..." he started, taking a deep heavy breath. "D-did you guys all..." he bit his lip as his voice trembled and he trailed off uncertainly.

Danny gently urged him to continue, "Did we what?"

Peter took another wavering breath. "Did you guys all – m-mean what you said?" he whispered. "T-that I am just a failure? That I'm just a cheap sell-out? Are we...are we not actually friends?" The last line he said so softly he was afraid they didn't hear. He was shaking again, "Fuck, I really am pathetic," the words were quiet, but harsh, and his hands flew up to cover his face.

Instantly, his friends were back with him.

"What? No. No, of course you're not pathetic," Luke said.

"And we are friends. You're probably one of the best friends I ever had." Sam admitted. "Who else jokes with me like you? Or plays video games with me? Or puts up with my attitude?"

"You're not a failure." Danny included.

"And definitely not a sell-out," Ava added. She grabbed Peter softly and turned him so he was facing her, but he kept his eyes down, unable to look any of them in the eye. "Peter," she said, "We don't really remember everything that happened when we were goblins, so I don't really know what we said to you. But just know that we didn't mean it, any of it. You're a great guy, and you're a goof sometimes, but you're a good leader," she leaned over to meet his eyes, "And I'm...I'm sorry for anything that I might've said when I was a goblin."

That was the first time any of them had apologized about it. Of course, they thanked him for saving them, but Peter didn't really expect an apology. Why would they need to? It wasn't their fault they were turned into goblins, and certainly not their fault for being affected by the serum. Peter stared at her in surprise.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you," she continued, firmly, "And thanks for saving me, and - you know - not dropping me in the Hudson when you could've let me go to catch Goblin," then Ava was wrapping him in a hug. Peter was taken by surprise again. The only time she's ever hugged him like this was after he helped her with Kraven. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her too.

"I'm sorry too." Sam said. "And thanks for never giving up on me, Webs. You're...you're pretty awesome," he opened his arms and encased Peter's other side.

"I apologize for the grief I caused you, my friend." Danny said, his eyes kind and his smile soft. "Thank you for believing in me and bringing me back from Goblin's influence." He joined the hug, his head tucked between Peter's shoulder and neck.

"Yeah, sorry," Luke apologized,"for hurting you both physically and mentally. You're the toughest little guy I know," he wrapped them all in his arms, his head propped on Peter's head, and they stood like that in the middle of the room, probably looking like a bunch of doofuses in the dark.

But Peter did feel better. He wasn't crying anymore and the weight of his friends wrapped around him somehow eased the doubt and pain. His chest felt lighter and his mind clearer. Fuck, was this what closure felt like? Does this happen every time you talk about your feelings? Maybe he should do it more often.

But now that the stress was out of the way, Peter was very aware of his exhaustion. He yawned, snapping the others out of the peaceful trance they all slipped into.

Sam smiled up at him and it was the softest smile Peter's ever seen on him, "Come on, Webhead, back to bed."

Peter nodded.

They all unwound themselves. Peter collapsed back in his bed and was surprised when Ava, Sam, Luke, and Danny all did too.

"What?" Ava said. "You're the one who woke us all up, and I'm too tired to go back to my own room," she hit Peter's pillow a couple of times to fluff it up and sank into it.

He caught Danny's fond look and smiled back. Danny and Luke squished themselves at the foot of the bed, and Sam took the other side of Peter. The bed wasn't very big to begin with, but somehow they all made it work.

Peter's heart softened as Sam and Luke tug-a-warred on the blanket a few times and rubbed the last of his tears away. "Thanks, guys," he whispered in the dark and they all hummed back, muttering a cacophony of "Good-night's."

And that's how they fell asleep, finding comfort in one another's presence.

Later, that same morning, Aunt May stood in the doorway of Peter's room, surprised at the hoard of teenagers stacked in her nephew's bed.

They were sprawled along the blankets and spilling over the sides. Luke was spread eagle wide, with his legs and arms sticking out on either side of the bed. Sam was sprawled on top of Luke, snoring contently and using the bigger boy's chest as a rocky pillow with one of his arms pushed under the crook of Luke's chin. Danny had one leg and one arm dangling over the bed, and the other looped around Peter's middle, hugging him close. Ava, who was on the other side, had an arm strewn over Peter's head and her hair draped messily over her face as she snored softly. Peter was in the middle of the chaos, clutching a pillow to his chest with one leg pinned under Luke, the other intertwined with Sam's.

Aunt May had no clue when the kids decided to have a sleepover in Peter's room, but they all looked peaceful and content and she smiled, one hand on her chest as she watched them affectionately. She'd ask them about it when they woke up, but for now she blew them a kiss and quietly closed the door behind her.

Back in the bed, Peter sighed contently, his unconscious mind blissfully at peace. Free of the nightmares that had been plaguing him since that day.

He felt safe.

Thanks for reading! :DDD