#fnd!reader

"'m fine. Just tired," you lie.

Well, it's not a lie exactly. Tired is actually a weak word for what you are. Your limbs feel weighed down. Your legs are shaking fainting, and you know they'll buckle the second you put weight on them.

"I think I'm gonna go to bed early," you decide, pulling away from Peter's embrace.

"here, I'll walk you," Peter says, jumping up.

Show off you think, knowing how long it will take you to stand.

"That's okay, babe, stay and talk with your friends,"

You grab you navy forearm crutches and gingerly set your legs on the ground. Needles shoot though the bottoms of your feet as you lean forward, shifting weight on them. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself before pushing to your feet.

You wobble on your feet, struggling to find your balance for a moment. Peter grips your waist, steading you. Your face burns hot from the position change and the eyes of the other Avengers on you.

"I've got it. Just got a little dizzy," you choke out through the pain.

You start towards the hallway, biting the inside of your cheek. Your legs ache, feeling like Thor smashed them with his hammer. Your feet drag slightly, and every step is a shaky struggle.

But you push through, fighting to walk as "normally" and fast as you can with the eyes on our.

Your breaths come in ragged, shallow pants by the time you reach the hall. You shoulders relax the second you're outside of eyeshot from the living room.

You slow your pace, moving your crutches forward one at a time before dragging one leg forward. Your knees give out with every step, forcing you to put more and more weight on the crutches. Your muscles shake and twitch, fatiguing quickly.

It happens almost in slow motion. You reach the carpet halfway down the hall. You shift one crutch forward on it, but lean your weight onto it to move the other before it's fully stable.

The rug slides, the crutch bearing most of your weight going with it.

A strangled scream rips from your lips as you tip forward. Your knees slam against the floor, but something catches the back of your shirt, holding up your torso before you can fulling hit the ground.

Peter's arms are around you in a second. He's on the ground, pulling you into his lap- carefully moving your legs for you- and hugging you tightly.

You realize it was one of his webs that caught you. He gently pries your forearm crutches out of your hands, allowing them to clatter to the ground.

You hide your face in the crook of his neck, clinging to him with all your remaining strength.

The dam on the pain you were trying to supress breaks, and you start to cry in pain and embarrassment. Your knees feel like they were shattered, and your legs ache so bad, the press of Peter's jeans under you hurts.

"I've got you, I've got you, I have you baby," Peter mumbles, his tone still rushed and adrenaline seeping through his words. into the top of your breath, "You're safe, I've got you babygirl,"

"I'm sorry," you sob, "I didn't mean to-"

"No, no, sweet girl, I'm sorry," Peter interrupts, "I should have pushed harder. I should have noticed,"

"You weren't supposed to notice," you sniffle, "I didn't want anyone to,"

"Oh luv," he sounds absolutely heartbroken, "How bad is it?"

"'s really bad today," you cry, "I can't- I don't- it's getting bad, Peter,"

"I've got you," Peter repeats, "We'll figure it out, baby,"

You loose track of how long he holds you like that. You crying, him just muttering comforting words into your ear.

"Let's get you to bed, angel," he whispers, effortlessly standing up with you in his arms.

Peter takes you to the bathroom first, setting you down on the toilet. He sets out while you go to the bathroom, keeping the door cracked.

He rushes back as soon as you're done. He takes a moment to check your legs for injuries from your fall. Your knees have started to bruise, but that's the only visible thing despite them feeling like open wounds.

He starts gently pulling your clothes out, lifting your arms and legs for you. You stifle a cry as he pulls your pants off, the fabric scrapping against your skin.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," he mutters, pulling of his extra soft t shirts over your head.

That's the only thing he puts you in before picking you up again, carrying you into your shared room.

He sets you down on the bed as carefully as possible before crawling in with you. He settling in bed next to you, pulling the covers over you. Only the silk sheets touch your legs, which feel more like tingling than stabbing your nerves.

"Where's it hurt, baby?" Peter asks gently, cupping your face.

"My legs and my knees and my stomach," you whimper, "Everywhere,"

"Do you need heat or cold?"

"Heat," you respond quickly.

It sounds counterintuitive, with your pain feeling like hot flames. But cold or ice burn your skin hotter than even the pain.

Peter pulls your heating pad out, covering your aching knees with it. He turns it on, and you sign in relief as it starts to heat up. Your legs still ache intensivly, but the heat helps ease the sharpness of the pain in your knees.

"Baby," Peter starts hesitantly, "Have you eaten anything today?"

You bold upright, leaning over the side of the bed as you gag. You dry heave over the empty trashcan- left next to the bed for this every reason. Peter holds your hair/braid/locs away from your face, rubbing circles on your back.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," he winces.

"I'm sorry," you whimper, "I can't, hurts too bad, I just can't,"

"I know baby," he sighs, pulling you into his arms as the nausea starts to ease, "I know. I just... You have to eat at some point. Just a little,"

"I can't, Peter," you sniffle, "I don't wanna throw up again, my throat is raw and my stomach hurts just thinking about it.

He's silent for a moment, but rubbing patterns on your back. You can hear his heartbeat under your ear with your head on his chest, it's steady pulse a comfort for you.

"I think you should go back to the doctor,"

"They're not gonna help me. They're just gonna say I'm faking it or exaggerating or just need to exercise more and just eat anyways,"

"no. I'm not gonna let them just ignore you," Peter starts, "We'll take you to Bruce. In the morning. Maybe there's some medicine you can take, or something-"

"Peter," you whisper, "I'm so tired,"

"I know baby. I know. I've got you know. I'm gonna protect you," he whispers.

You sign into his chest.

"You can't baby," you say gently.

He's silent for a moment.

"I hate that I can't protect you for this. From your own body," he admits, "I wish I could take all this from you,"

"I know. God, it's almost like you've got a hero complex," you joke weakly.

Peter's chuckle is strained.

"You can't fix it, but... I don't need you to fix me, just hold me," you says, tears burning your eyes.

"Always," he promises.

You lay in comfortable silence for a while before you break it.

"So. Is it too early to joke that I can't help but fall for you again?"

Functional neurologic disorder (FND) refers to a neurological condition caused by changes in how brain networks work, rather than changes in the structure of the brain itself, as seen in many other neurological disorders. Physical symptoms of FND are genuine but cannot be explained by changes in the brain structure. The exact cause of FND is unknown.

FND symptoms may include:

• Seizure-like episodes (non epileptic seizures) • Short term or long term paralysis of limb (s) • Movement problems • Problems with cognitive function • Dizziness • Speech difficulties, such as sudden onset of stuttering or trouble speaking • Problems with vision or hearing • Pain (including chronic migraine) • Extreme slowness and fatigue • Numbness or inability to sense touch • Dystonia • Bowel and/or bladder dysfunction • Gastrointestinal issues FND is real. FND is valid. FND can be debilitating. FND patient deserve dignity, empathetic healthcare, and resources for quality of life and independence. Resources/more info on FND

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