In honor of author feeling burnt out, about to start their period, and the multiple panic attacks I've had this week. Is it ptsd? The world may never know. I don't reccomend being in a shooting btw wasn't cute or fun really was scary and not nice tbh
Enjoy
--mostly timeline noncompliant
I just like using the tower bc it's easier to imagine even tho its gone
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Peter was going through the motions. Every class felt the same, every emotion was washed over in gray. He had no energy left to give.
He felt himself dragging even in the places he used to enjoy.
Chemistry? He couldn't remember a thing they had learned, and it was his favorite class.
It all started with an accidental lockdown. Someone hit the button on accident, sending the entire school hiding under desks and then barricading doors and hiding in the corner, texting parents with worried eyes and uncomposed faces.
Peter didn't know what to do or how to feel. In the moment, he didn't really feel anything. When he heard the alarm, there was a swell of panic, and then nothing. His body went into autopilot, successfully keeping him calm and functional through the adrenaline, enough to even joke under the table they hid under before they knew it wasn't just a drill.
After the lockdown had been called off, he sat back in his seat, mindlessly doing his work. His heart was racing wildly now, despite being safe. He kept scribbling away at an equilibrium equation.
It was weird the way he could hear Ned calling his name, but he couldn't hear him. His head did nothing to tell him how to respond, barely even process that words were said.
"Peter."
He was stuck, staring at something that he couldn't tell what. He wasn't present and he couldn't get back in touch with his body.
"Peter?"
"I think he's ignoring us."
"I think he's traumatized."
"Hey, Peter?"
Finally he could look over. His eyes were tired, "hm?"
After that he didn't remember the rest of the class period. Or most of the next.
Later that week was the panic attack. Some stupid kid came banging at the door, kicking it heavily and laughing outside. He was at school late, participating in a self defense class. He felt his entire body seize and stall as the director told them to practice individually while he went to yell at the mischievous teens.
He was frozen. He felt sick. He couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe.
He was stuck staring at the wall, his face paling and tugging anxiously at his fingers. He needed to be alone. He needed to be by himself. He couldn't breathe.
"I'm going to the bathroom." He told an acquaintance, his voice catching just slightly at the end as he left the block without permission and jogged to the bathroom.
There was nobody inside. He began to pace and when the dizziness got too bad to stand he locked himself in the handicap stall and slid down against the wall, still squatted over his toes, clinging to the wall with all his might as black crowded his vision and unpromising tears tugged far in the back of his throat.
His vision was blurry, all he could focus on was how hard it was to get any good air in, despite the amount of breaths he was taking.
He tried to remember how to breathe deep, but it was hard. So hard. He didn't know how to take deep breaths.
When his mind finally cleared a little he forced himself to take deep breaths, and at first even his attempted deep breaths were fast. He needed so much air and he wasn't getting it.
He slipped back into hyperventilation a few times, but eventually got back to normal breathing.
He decided he had been gone long enough, even though the dizziness or nausea hadn't faded in the slightest. He slowly raised his body, climbing back up the wall and balancing on the stall door, letting his stomach flip, knowing he wouldn't throw up but still being nervous to leave the safety of the bathroom drains.
His feet were firmly on the ground, but he still didn't feel steady.
Going back out into the echoey gym made him realize this wasn't over at all. He was trembling and the world was tilting slightly. He tried to look composed but the second he got back to his spot in the block, he felt like he was going to pass out.
He mindlessly began practicing what the others were, slower, trying to maintain his breathing and stay present. Apparently he did a good job because nobody noticed his struggle or mental war over going back to the bathroom when the nausea got worse.
The rest of practice he did what he was told, zoning out consistently, missing instructions here and there. He didn't feel well.
And then he remembered he was driving Ned home from practice. It was cold and rainy and he couldn't stay focused at all.
He was on unfamiliar roads where the lines weren't bright under the water and his windshield wipers just weren't fast enough and he kept drifting to one side or the other, making cars especially nervous to drive around him.
Halfway through the way back to his apartment his phone (with the map to tell him where to go) fell down. He pulled over to the side of the road to pick it up, put his flashers on, and then realized how dizzy he was. He took a deep breath and tried to find his footing but he couldn't.
He was stuck in the side of the road in the middle of nowhere and he didn't feel good at all.
He picked up his phone and rung the only person he knew would just handle the situation.
If he had called May, she would have worried. Plus, she was working the night shift. She couldn't help him or answer if she wanted to.
He typed in the memorized numbers that belonged to Mr. Stark's phone and held the device close to his ear, letting the road spin in front of him as card whizzed past and his turn signals clicked on and off with the flashers system.
"Heya, underoos. Whats up?"
He couldn't really think of what to say. He knew he needed help, he just didn't know exactly what he needed to achieve that.
"You there?"
"I need help." He said calmly. He didn't know what else to say. His voice was steady in the silent car.
"Alright, I'm getting your location. Are you hurt?"
"No I just-" he hesitated, "I just don't feel well."
"Are you on the side of the road?"
"I can't focus on driving right now. I- I can't." He didn't know how to explain.
"I'm coming, bud."
"You or Happy?" Peter asked wearily, he felt so exhausted and out of touch with his emotions.
"Me. I'll be there."
"Okay." He answered.
"Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?" Tony asked.
"Yes." Peter answered.
When Tony got there the kid was sitting in the driver's seat, staring blankly forward. They hadn't spoken since Peter's last response, but the call hadn't ended either.
"Underoos?" Tony asked, lightly knocking on the window.
Peter looked over, his expression exhausted as he pushed open the door and climbed over to the passenger seat, letting Mr. Stark leave his suit in the rain and climb in his car.
"Are you sick?" Tony asked, reaching over to feel the boy's forehead, a couple of jokes to make the situation more lighthearted sparking, but he didn't say anything further. He could tell this was serious and that they would fly straight over the kid's head.
"Feel sick." Peter said, not explaining any further as he stared off into the rain, once again stuck in his head.
"Okay, hey. Pete, you there?" Tony asked.
A second later he nodded, then brought a hand over his eyes, "I can't stay focused." He said, his heart racing for no apparent reason.
"It's okay, did something happen?" Tony asked, reaching out to rub Peter's back, give him something tangible to focus on.
It worked a little bit.
"Um, the last couple of days have just been really." He took a breath, "hard."
"Why?" Tony asked.
Peter leaned back in his seat, trying to relax his shoulders, staring blankly into the rain, "do you remember that mall shooting where like eight people died about a year ago?" He asked weakly.
Tony shrugged, "vaguely."
"I was there. My Uncle Ben died there." He said, swallowing after, trying not to feel the pain all over again, trying to breathe.
Tony was quiet for a while, "I'm so sorry, Peter." He said after a minute of letting the topic sit.
"The other day they accidentally set off a lockdown at school and- and I thought it was real. We all did." Peter said, his voice getting stuffy, the words getting cought in the back of his throat. His heart was racing all over again, "and then today someone- someone was kicking the doors and-" he hiccuped, and Tony pulled him into a hug, letting the boy cry into his shoulder.
"This is nice." Peter said, laughing a little as his tears subsided.
Tony pulled away and smiled.
"I just- I've been having panic attacks and I'm just so out of it. I had a panic attack earlier after the door and I just-" he sighed, wiping his face with the heel of his hand and sniffling.
"It's okay, kiddo." Tony said, "You wanna hear something funny? I mean it's not funny but it's kinda funny."
Peter just nodded, still hiccuping.
"A few years back, you were probably still in middle school." Tony said, waiting for Peter to huff as he got another jab at his age before continuing, "After the aliens came to New York? I had this issue too." He admitted, "my house got blown up and then Jarvis accidentally flew me to Tennessee and I pulled over to the side of the road, on the phone with the kid who's garage the suit was in, and I was having a panic attack. Kinda like you right now."
Peter smiled.
"And this kid, Harley is name was? I don't know, anyways, cute kid, he always made it worse but also always made it better. He helped teach me in that moment that there's always a way out." Tony offered as advice, but because he couldn't stay serious for three seconds he added, "or something."
"I had to go find the mandarin and bla bla and I felt like I couldn't do it, I felt like I was drowning and it was impossible to heal from what had happened because i was constantly living in it in my head, but it gets better. He told me to just invent something because I told him I was a mechanic. And that's what I did and it worked out so I think, even though all of this is so fresh in your head, that you can make it work too. Yeah?"
Peter just nodded, "I don't know what I was supposed to take from that."
"Yeah, me neither." Tony said, "want me to drive you?"
Peter nodded and buckled in as Tony commanded Friday to fly the suit back to the compound.
"Is your hot aunt home?" He asked.
Peter shook his head, "I won't see her for another couple days cause her shifts are starting and ending before I get out of school."
"Alright to the tower it is then. Pepper has been wanting to meet you anyways so this'll be a good leeway." Tony said.
"I don't have any clothes or anything." Peter replied, thinking of the things he needed.
"We'll get you sorted out. Are you feeling a better?" Tony asked.
"A little." Peter answered, he felt more awake now, more focused.
"I thought so." Tony said with a sly smile, then shifted the car into drive like that was his plan all along.
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This has 2024 words which is crazy (not including this just everything above it)