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Today, this dreaded Thursday, Peter jolted awake from a deep sleep at the sound of his alarm clock. Waking up was not the terrible thing that made this morning dreaded, as someone might think he was talking about if they didn’t know the context.
No. The terrible thing was, was that Peter could just feel that today was going to be a bad day.
He could always tell when he was going to have a bad mental health day.
Whether that be from his spidey-sense or not, he wasn’t sure.
Peter turned his head and stared at his alarm clock, which was blaring the song “Jealousy, Jealousy” from the radio. It wasn’t like he didn’t like the song, but this morning he really didn’t like the reminder of it all.
Today would not be a good day for Peter.
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Most of the day passed by in a blur. He remembered that he had walked to the bus stop, got to school and managed to get to his first period class, but anything after that was lost to him.
He knows he took a test that he probably failed. He knows he talked to Ned in third period and during lunch.
But other than that, he had nothing.
He couldn’t even remember what he and his best friend talked about. Nothing felt really... real.
Right now, he was in his 6th period class, Spanish, trying to listen to the teacher lecture about… something.
But all Peter could focus on was the ringing in his left ear and the repeating thought in his mind that kept saying “How many how many how many how many letters are there in the spanish alphabet? Spanish alphabet?“ He was sure it was a phrase his teacher had said without him even realizing she had said it. Too bad some part of his brain had caught it.
The more times the thought repeated, the louder the ringing became, the more stressed he was becoming. So much so, he was about to ask to excuse himself to the nurse.
That was, until he felt someone - he knew it was most likely Flash, as he was the only one sitting behind him - pull on the hood of his jacket. His favorite jacket. One of the last gifts his uncle Ben had given him before he-
“Hey, hey Parker! Wake up, give me your notes!“ Flash wasn’t talking very loud, Peter knew that. But still with his heightened senses and his already irritated mood, it all was too much.
Peter, trying to remain calm but feeling that he was about to fall into a frenzy, grabbed everything on top of his desk and shoved it unceremoniously into his bookbag. He zipped it half way, not of his mind enough to complete the action, and picked the bag up hurriedly. He stood and practically ran for the door, not bothering to give an explanation to his teacher, who was calling after him.
Once in the hallway, Peter’s mind was once again in a blur. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he was only getting around by muscle memory at this point.
Eventually he stopped. He didn’t bother looking around to see where he was or who was around him. All he cared about right now was getting home.
Kneeling on the ground, Peter ripped through his school bag, frantically searching for his phone. When he finally felt the smooth yet scratched surface of his phone case, he pulled it out and quickly tried to unlock it. Unlocking the phone was a struggle, what with all the tears spilling from his eyes, distorting his view. (When had he started crying?) Finally he got it open.
He pulled up his recently called in his contacts, and dialed the first number on the top. He knew the last call he made was to his Aunt May.
He listened intently for the dial sound until the line connected, hearing the pick up sound.
He didn’t even give his Aunt May the time to say hello before he was choking on his words, trying to get out at least one coherent sentence.
Through the struggle to talk, he managed to get out a quiet “Please come get me- May, please- I- I’m at school and I…” Peter knew that she would be able to hear his crying through the phone, but he didn’t care right now. May had heard worse from him. Right now all he cared about was leaving, and getting to a safe space for him to have his breakdown. “ Please? ”
Peter wasn’t sure if there was any sort of reply, he couldn’t hear it, if there was.
All he knew as he sat on the front steps of the school entrance (how did he get here?), was that he was clutching his phone to his chest, trying not to crush it with his super strength while also wanting to hold on tight for dear life.
Peter didn’t know how much time was passing. All he knew was the cold surface of the concrete below him and the sounds of his own ragged breaths.
When he had these episodes, his senses were heightened even more than usual, leaving him writhing in pain. He barely knew what was going on around him, but could still hear and feel everything all at once.
He had sat here for so long he wasn’t sure anymore what was real and what wasn’t. He could feel the sensation of small pin pricks all over his body, and the feeling of bugs crawling under his skin…
All he could manage to do was to sit there. Sit and dig his hands into his hair, pulling and tugging at his wet curls (when did his hair become wet?).
Eventually he was pulled from his semi-breakdown by the feeling of someone kneeling in front of him. The pin pricks stopped.
He could hear a voice, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Their words sounded jumbled and unintelligible.
But he recognized the voice.
A voice he could not put to a face. But still a voice that brought comfort.
He felt a gentle hand rest on his knee. He had half the mind to jerk away from the touch, but instead his head shot up, exposing his red blotchy face and tear stained cheeks.
He could just barely see the shape of a person beyond the tears in his eyes. He brought up a hand to wipe away his tears, but the person in front of him beat him to it.
The motion was familiar. May and Ben would always wipe his tears out of his eyes. But this wasn’t May, the hand was too large and too calloused to belong to his aunt.
The thought crossed his mind that- hey- this might be Ben!
But he quickly rid of the notion, he knew his uncle was gone.
He wasn’t going to let his condition make him believe otherwise. It always hurt much more when he did.
He felt the hand lightly brush his lashes, pushing away his tears.
Even the man's hand felt familiar against his skin, but who could it be? The only adult male in his life that it could be was-
“... Mr. Stark?”
Still Peter couldn’t hear very well past the ringing, but he did make out “-Underoos, it’s me.”
Now with most of his tears out of his eyes - excluding the few tears that still slip by - he could see his mentor in front of him.
His first reaction was to feel shame. He had made Mr. Stark come all the way out here to his school just to pick him up, even though he was trying to call his aunt May.-
“I thought I called May…?”
“It’s an essay mistake. I miss call Pepper and Rhodey all the time.”
“Mr.- Mr. Stark,” Peter kept having to clear his throat to get his words out, “I’m sorry you- had to come out here for me…”
Peter felt another teardrop slip down his face. He felt pathetic.
“Hey, don’t go apologizing for things that aren’t your fault.” Mr. Stark ruffled Peter's hair, more than it already was, anyway. “Come on, let's get outta here before the rain gets any worse.”
It was raining? Looking up, Peter saw that his mentor was holding a red and black spotted umbrella, shielding them from the downpour.
Oh. That was what the prickings were…
Mr. Stark helped him up, and guided Peter to the sports car Tony had arrived in.
Peter wiped his face off on the sleeve of his jacket, trying to rid of the tear tracks on his cheeks. Getting in the car, he felt the soft cushion of the seat, giving him positive sensory input.
He was so caught up in the texture of the seat he hadn’t realized Mr. Stark had climbed into the driver's seat until he heard the man say, “You better be in the mood for ice cream, Underoos. Aw, who am I kidding, you’re always in the mood for ice cream.
Peter smiled.
Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad anymore.