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“Mr. Stark? I don’t feel so good… I’m cold. Why’s it so cold?” Peter’s voice sounded far more panicked to his own ears than he would have preferred, especially in front of Mr. Stark, who appeared to be barely keeping it together on the surface.
"You’re all right,” Tony replied in an even tone, clearly trying to keep himself composed for the teen who was slowly becoming hysterical with each flake of ash detaching from his body and flying away.
"I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know… I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go, sir, please. I don’t wanna go!” Peter cried, first stumbling over to Tony and collapsing in his arms, then falling to the ground on his back and looking up at his hero.
More pieces of the young man’s body flaked away, and he saw the fear and horror in the older man’s eyes. He choked on his own tears and apologized just before the rest of his body disintegrated and the ashes that remained floated away.
Peter woke with a jolt, yelping aloud before slapping his hands over his mouth. He looked from side to side, breathing heavily behind his hands and trying to ignore the pounding of blood in his ears. The blood in his body felt cold, icy, and frozen, even though he could feel his heart race behind his ribs and in his pulse points. He closed his eyes and laid his head back, accidentally banging it a bit too forcefully on the headboard behind him. His hands fell away from his mouth and he finally allowed himself to take in small gasps of air that were just quiet enough to avoid waking his Aunt May. He may have played dumb, but he knew she was extremely worried about him, especially after all he’d been through that year.
Peter had tried to reassure her multiple times that he was fine, and even well-adjusted in spite of dying, being brought back to life, and watching his hero die, all within a span of what was actually five years, but what felt like only a few days. The look on her face told him she did not believe him for a second, but she did not press him any further, instead, allowing him to go back to the homework he’d been working on when she’d walked in. That had not been a fun conversation, and he was not looking forward to the follow-up if she had indeed heard his scream of terror. He dragged himself out of bed, stumbling down the hall and to the bathroom, where he turned on the light, then the water. He had not been paying any attention to which handle for the water he pulled, so when he leaned over the sink to splash his face, he got a face full of ice-cold liquid that made him sputter and cough. Despite his skin protesting against the freezing temperature, the rest of his body seemed to release some tension and, after a few moments of bending over and letting the rivulets of water roll down his face, he looked in the mirror.
A person would have to be blind in order to miss the dark circles under his eyes. His normal pale appearance only appeared more ghostly in the harsh, artificial light above him. His eyes reflected a sense of panic that was slowly dying away by the moment and was slowly being replaced by melancholy and frustration. How long had it been since that fateful day? Long enough, he thought. Long enough to stop being haunted by those memories. Long enough that he should not still be having dreams about his death! What the hell was wrong with him? He glowered at the image in the mirror for some time while the movie reel in his head started up again, against his will.
Tony Stark stumbled to safety after snapping Thanos out of existence. Peter, caught up in the rush of the final battle, ran over to his hero’s side as soon as he had the opportunity.
“Mr. Stark?” Peter called, coming closer and kneeling in front of Tony, “Mr. Stark, can you hear me?”
Tony stared right past Peter, not responding to his calls or questions, which caused Peter’s breathing to pick up as he continued to try to get his mentor’s attention, “Mr. Stark, it’s Peter. We won. We won, Mr. Stark. We won, sir. You did it. You did it, sir.”
He felt the tears sting in his eyes, and he could feel his nose clogging as they streaked down his face, “I’m sorry, Tony. Don’t…”
The word ‘leave’ was stuck in his throat, and instead of saying anything else, Peter nearly collapsed to the ground in tears, only pulled up by Pepper, Tony’s wife. She patted him on the shoulder and wrapped an arm around him briefly before stooping down to speak with her dying husband. He was overwhelmed by tears and covered his face, trying to hide his hysterical sobs from the other adults watching the scene. He composed himself long enough to turn and bolt from the scene, nearly falling over several chunks of rubble along the way. Several friends of the Avengers tried to stop him and get him to talk, but all he could do was cry and refuse their help.
When Peter finally arrived home, covered in dirt with chunks ripped out of his suit, Aunt May was initially both upset and furious with him. When she finally took in his emotional state and he tried to explain his feelings to her in fractured sentences punctuated with cries of grief and hiccups of pain, she brought him into the house and took him into her arms, uncaring if her pajamas were covered with dust and dirt. He fell asleep on the couch next to her that night, grateful for a familiar, comforting presence after such a devastating experience.
“-ter? Peter?” Aunt May’s groggy voice shattered the flashback and brought Peter crashing back into the present, “Peter, it’s 3 am. What are you doing up?”
Peter swallowed, continuing to stare down his reflection in the mirror, “I’m sorry, Aunt May. I didn’t mean to wake you. Please go back to sleep.”
“Peter,” her voice was stern and reprimanding now, “What’s going on?”
“I’m fine,” he lied, his voice shattering as he spoke, “Please, just go back to sleep.”
“Peter, you’re crying,” she commented, her voice softening as she stepped to his side, “You’re upset. This isn’t like you at all. Please tell me what’s wrong.”
Peter opened his mouth to form words, but his voice stubbornly refused to work, trapped in his throat by his emotions. Instead of any coherent words or phrases, he let out a choked hiccup and she, without hesitation, wrapped her arms around him, pulling his head into her shoulder. The dam he had been trying to keep together finally broke and tears rolled down his face as violent sobs wracked his lean form. Her warm hand rubbing up and down his back was his only tether to planet Earth. Otherwise, he was suspended somewhere between time and space, spinning his mental wheels uselessly in an effort to understand how the universe could be so cruel. How could the universe hate a person like Tony Stark, who gave up his very existence to save everyone else’s? It just wasn’t fair! Not to Pepper or Morgan or any of the other Avengers who had been close with Tony. Or me , he thought selfishly, clutching his aunt’s shirt in his fists, I need him now more than ever, and he’s gone…
“Peter, I think we need to find you a therapist,” Aunt May said, stepping back a bit to wipe the tears from her nephew’s face, “You’ve been through a lot this year, and I think you need to work it out.”
“I told you, I’m fine,” Peter insisted, plastering on a fake smile, “See? I’m all good. You don’t need to worry about me, promise.”
“I’m always going to worry about you, kiddo,” she replied, rubbing his upper arm, “Plus, I know you’re lying. But I don’t want to argue right now. I just want to help. What can I do?”
He chewed on the inside of his lip, glancing out the bathroom door and down the dark hallway. He could not go back to his room; not after all this. Hell, he was not sure he would be able to go back to sleep. He supposed he could try, but he certainly did not want to sleep alone.
“Can we sleep on the couch?” he asked, his voice small and tight.
She leaned over and placed a kiss on his temple, grabbing his hand and squeezing it in reassurance, “Of course. C’mon.”
Aunt May left Peter for a brief moment to turn on the light in the living room and came back to find him still standing in the bathroom, staring at the light switch. She lightly grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the bathroom, leaning back in briefly to turn the light off. She then led him to the living room, where he curled up on the couch and grabbed a blanket draped over it, wrapping himself tightly inside it. She sat next to him, allowing his head to fall onto her shoulder and running her fingers through his messy, brown hair. His eyes fluttered closed at the calming gesture, and, before she knew it, he had fallen asleep. She sighed softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.
Peter was a strong boy, and she tried to treat him like one, especially since she found out he was Spiderman. That did not mean he did not need comfort, though, especially because he was so young and experienced so many traumatic things for a short period of time. She knew she would have to talk to him again about therapy, but, for the moment, he was comfortable, safe, and sleeping soundly. And honestly, that was all she could ask for at the moment.