(A/N: Requested by Phosenixgirl198
wOW THIS IS TOOK A WHILE BUT HEY BETTER LATE THAN NEVER GET READY TO CRY HERE WE GO
PS: I feel I should also add a trigger warning; pretty sure you know what about by reading the title lmao. I got nervous just writing this good lord)
The day had started off as normal as it could, considering that Peter lived with over a dozen superheroes (and was one himself, for that matter). He had spent the day tinkering with his suit mostly, as it was a Saturday. It was one of those nice lazy days where you can just sit back and do whatever you want. He was going over to Ned's later actually. They were going to have a Star Wars marathon, it was something they did every once in a while. He looked down at the Spider-Man suit, laying out on the table. There were so many memories associated with the piece of fabric, so many battles. Quite a bit of death as well, in fact. Most recently, his aunt. His breath caught at the thought, and he shook his head as if to dispel it. It didn't go away however. It had been at least a month since the break-in, and yet Peter felt no less wrecked by it. He exhaled harshly, setting down the cloth. He ran his fingers through his hair and rested his elbows on the table.
"You're okay, you're okay..." he mumbled to himself. He felt something well up in his chest. At first he thought it was test anxiety; he may have been a so-called "genius," but that didn't mean he never got nervous before exams. Problem was, he hadn't taken a test in weeks. His breath quickened, his mind consumed with the image of his aunt laying pale and bloodied on the floor. He couldn't stop thinking about it, why couldn't he stop thinking about it? He slid to the floor, holding his head in his hands. "Stop it, stop it, just calm down..." he kept telling himself. But no matter how many times he uttered the words, his heart wouldn't slow, his breathing wouldn't quiet. Through the near-panic, he realized that he was probably having an anxiety attack of some sort. That just sent him over the edge even further; there had been a couple occasions where he had freaked out quite a lot, but he had never had a full-on attack. He wrung his hands, trying to focus on breathing. It didn't really work out as well as he had hoped.
"Hey kid, apparently everyone wants pizza for lunch, what do you..." Tony didn't finish his sentence, catching sight of his adoptive son collapsed on the floor. "Pete," he exclaimed, all but running to him and crouching next to him. "What happened, you okay?"
"I- I don't-" he stuttered, not able to get the words out.
"Panic attack, alright, uh," Tony mumbled. He eventually settled for wrapping his arms around the smaller figure. "Just breathe kid, I know it sucks, it'll go away." Not really able to do much else, Peter followed his instructions, closing his eyes and just concentrating on taking air in and out. He was gripping Tony's arm so hard he was half scared he was hurting the man. Tony however made no comment.
Eventually, after longer than he would have liked, he felt himself calm down. He didn't even realize he had been shaking until he stopped. "You okay Pete?" He nodded, slightly shifting in his spot. Tony slowly released him from his grip, almost reluctantly. "Yeah, trust me, those things are annoying." Peter looked up at him.
"Yeah, a while back. New York."
"I... guess that makes sense."
"Yeah." Tony clapped once and stood, helping Peter to his feet as well. "I can, get you some meds if you want."
"No, I-I should be fine. Thanks though."
"No problem kid. Now, what I was going to ask you is what toppings you want?"
(A/N: It's so short reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
YOU ARE READING
BEING REWRITTEN ------- Aunt May is dead. Murdered, in a home invasion gone wrong. Peter wasn't there to stop it. The Avengers took him in, but nobody really knows how to help him. And when Peter discovers the one responsible, it only gets harder. ...