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Peter was used to sensory overload. It kind of came with the territory. Not the Spider-Man territory (though that didn’t help) - the autism territory. He’d been diagnosed at 8, when the doctors could no longer write off his oddities as trauma from losing his parents and over the years, he’d learned to accommodate himself when he could and make his own way in the world. May and Ben had been instrumental in that - they’d never implied he was any less capable or that his quirks were something bad. He was different, not less, and they reminded him of it every day.
Ben’s death was hard, for all the expected reasons, but also because it marked a big change in Peter’s life. Well, the bite was the first big change, but losing Ben so close to that and it was a lot. Understandably, he struggled for a while, but he got through it. Him and May, together. There were still bad days, for both of them, but things were otherwise ok. They’d learned to navigate life without Ben, Peter had learned how to navigate being Spider-Man, and then May had learned how to be ok with her nephew being Spider-Man.
Peter was used to his senses constantly being dialed up to eleven, so adjusting to them constantly being dialed up to twenty wasn’t as big of a process as it might have been for a neurotypical. May was used to Peter occasionally getting overwhelmed by his senses, so the increased frequency was the only thing that really worried her. But Tony had given Peter special noise-canceling headphones and customized sunglasses for his birthday last year that they helped tremendously, so the frequency of sensory overload had gone back down to pre-bite levels - not ideal, but manageable, and so everyone was happy.
But sometimes, despite his best efforts, the world was still too much. Too loud, too bright, too much. After all, completely avoiding sensory overload as an enhanced autistic human-spider hybrid was impossible.
The day started normally. The alarm clock going off, the smell of May’s burnt cooking wafting through the walls. The busy streets, the crowded subway. The chaos of high school. Flash.
“HEY PARKER!” Flash shouted and Peter flinched, the sound grating his ears. He rubbed them, then wrapped his arms around his body. “Whatcha got after school today? Is it your fake internship?”
“It’s not fake,” Peter mumbled, tired of the argument. He wished he could tell the truth - well part of it - just to get people off his back, but it wasn’t worth it. Tony had given him permission and the other Avengers were in agreement, but Peter knew it would just lead to even more attention. If he ever went public with his and Tony’s relationship - one that frequently blurred the line between mentorship and pseudo-fatherhood - he knew people would be clamoring to be his friend in hopes of scoring an invite to the Tower.
“Like hell it’s not,” Flash snorted. He bumped Peter’s shoulder, sending shivers shooting down his arm. “Stark Industries doesn’t even take high school interns, I looked it up.”
Luckily for Peter, the warning bell rang before he could come up with a reply and since even Flash wasn’t immune to the wrath brought on by late students, the two set off in opposite directions. Peter slid into his usual seat and began to take out his belongings, leg bouncing. Overhead, the lights flickered and Peter hummed under his breath - he didn’t want attention, just to feel the vibration of his vocal cords - wishing Ned would arrive soon. He could feel the start of a sensory overload coming on and Ned’s presence was always helpful.
The tick of the clock’s second hand pounded in his skull and he shut his eyes, attempting to control his breathing. It worked enough that he was able to maintain an outward appearance of mostly Normal until Ned slipped into the desk next to Peter just as the bell rang. Peter hummed lowly.
First period was ok - not great, but not terrible - but the walk to second period, even with Ned there, was highly uncomfortable. Peter was acutely aware of the way his jeans rubbed against his legs with every step he took and each accidental bump against another student in the crowded hallway shot bolts of pain through his arm. When he started humming again, Ned shifted so that he was in front of Peter and could clear a path through the students.
Second period they shared with MJ who took one look at Peter and snorted before returning to her sketchbook. Ned glanced at her, but ultimately decided against saying anything, judging Peter’s discomfort to be of greater importance. Peter appeared to be on autopilot - physically present, but mentally somewhere else - as he pulled out his supplies, still humming silently, so Ned reached over and pulled out the special headphones. Peter signed “thank you” and slid them over his ears, visibly relaxing. He turned and quirked a smile at Ned.
Their teacher glanced at him once, but given his accommodations allowed him access to noise reduction headphones in class, couldn’t say anything. Had he been more aware of his surroundings, Peter would have noticed and perhaps taken the headphones off, but he was too caught up in the smell of graphite penetrating his nostrils.
Third period was phys ed and even though he was allowed to wear headphones, it wasn’t practical. And sitting out wasn’t an option, so Peter was forced to brave the gym defenseless. The one part of his brain that wasn’t completely taken over by impending sensory overwhelm noted the irony of a superhero being bested by a high school gymnasium. Still, though, he kept them on as long as possible, staying in the locker room until the last possible second.
“Penis Parker!” Flash called as he entered. Peter glanced at him and all at once, the ability to speak left his body. His breath caught in his chest as realized what that meant. “Hey, I’m talking to you.” Peter stared at him. “Come on Penis, answer me.”
But Peter just stood and started to make his way over to the coach. Peter was about to hit his boiling point and if he didn’t get out of there soon, he’d be having a full blown meltdown in front of his entire class.
“Two laps!” the coach called, and everyone started running. “You too, Parker!” he added when Peter didn’t immediately join his classmates. Unable to speak, Peter sniffled (there were not tears in his eyes) and began jogging, putting in the absolute bare minimum effort required.
“God, Parker, what’s wrong with you?” Flash mocked, slowing to match Peter’s pace. “Are you gonna cry? Oh my God, you’re gonna cry. HA! Penis Parker is going to cry about running laps.”
By this time, they’d finished the first lap and Peter’s brain had slammed back into full awareness. There was no longer a part of him mentally detached, he was fully there and fully panicking. He needed to leave but he couldn’t speak and if he couldn’t speak he couldn’t leave but if he couldn’t leave then he’d have a meltdown and he couldn’t have a meltdown in the middle of the gym but if he couldn’t leave then he would have a meltdown in the middle of gym and -
“Parker! With Thompson!” the coach shouted, and Peter grunted, twisting his hands as he pressed them against his chest. He stood next to Flash and began rocking ever so slightly.
“Are you crying because I have proof your fake internship isn’t real?” Flash asked. Peter didn’t respond, too focused on not melting down. “Jesus, Parker, answer me!” But Peter shook his head, humming deeply. “What’s wrong with you?” Flash spat, and pushed him. Peter hummed again, this time flapping his hands a bit in an attempt to regulate. It was only when nothing immediately followed that he realized his mistake. His eyes glanced up of their own accord and met Flash’s, who immediately began guffawing loudly. “Oh my God. It all makes sense now,” he laughed. “You’re retarded! Puny Penis Parker is a retard!”
Peter would have rolled his eyes. He knew he wasn’t stupid, which was what the term technically meant. His IQ was well above average. Words didn’t bother him, especially when they were nonsensical and doubly so when they came from Flash. But the coach chose that moment to blow his whistle and the squeak of shoes on the vinyl flooring followed.
Peter’s hands shot to his ears, but it was too late, too little too late, and oh God, he was crying, he was actually crying in gym and Flash was laughing but no one else was seeing and the coach wasn’t doing anything and Peter was crying, he was actually crying in gym and he couldn’t stay but he couldn’t leave because he didn’t have permission but he couldn’t get permission because he couldn’t talk and the coach wasn’t looking and now he was rocking, fingers pressed firmly in his ears, eyes shut tight and his shirt shifted and he winced and someone was touching his arm and -
Peter stumbled backwards, arm tingling. He opened his eyes, then slammed them shut at the too-bright light, then opened them in slits again. Coach was in front of him, presumably saying something, but Peter couldn’t hear him over the ringing in his ears. He shut his eyes again, still rocking, fingers still jammed in his ears, tears still slipping down his cheeks.
He didn’t know how long it was before his headphones were pressed against his hand. He removed his fingers just long enough to cover his ears with the headphones and it helped, but it was still too bright and he still couldn’t talk, but at least he wasn’t crying anymore. Without realizing it, he had set the headphones to be completely silent. Which was great, truly, except he couldn’t lip read at the best of times and if he wanted to know what the coach was saying he needed to hear. Hands shaking, Peter changed the noise-canceling level by one.
“-nurse,” Coach was saying. “Ok? You with me Parker?” Peter nodded. “Ok. Go get your things and go to the nurse.” Peter nodded again and left, barely pausing to grab his belongings from his locker room on the way out.
For better or worse, the nurse was unsurprised to see him. “Sensory overload?” she asked, nodding to his headphones. It wasn’t the first time he’d come to her because of his sensory sensitivity. Peter nodded. “All right sweetie. Your usual room is empty. Do you want to rest for a few minutes or do you want me to call someone to come get you?”
He shrugged. May was in Providence for the day at a conference (she’d left just after he’d emerged from his room, still bleary-eyed and stumbling) and even if she could leave, she wouldn’t be able to get back to him until an hour before school ended at that point he may as well have just gone to class. But he really wasn’t ready for class and probably wouldn’t be for another couple of hours. So calling May wasn’t really an option, but neither was staying in the nurse’s office all day. Unless they called Tony, because he was Peter’s second emergency contact, but Peter knew the man was busy, and asking him to come sign Peter out of school because he couldn’t be Normal like everyone else seemed ridiculous. Peter’s eyes filled with tears and he shrugged again.
“Is May out of town?” the nurse guessed. Peter nodded tearily. “Ok Peter. I’m going to call Tony, then ok?” Peter shook his head, despite the relief that flowed through him at her words. “It’s ok,” she assured him. “I’ll just tell him what’s going on and then you can talk to him if you’d like. Or you can text him if you don’t feel like speaking. Ok?”
Peter nodded. He was drained, suddenly, almost like knowing Tony was coming flipped a switch that allowed him to relax. He shot the nurse a thumbs up, and she smiled at him sympathetically, turning to look up the number as Peter blocked out sound completely and moved into his room. He sat down on the cot and leaned against the wall.
He was grateful the nurse didn’t push him to speak, even if she seemed to misunderstand the reason. Peter wasn’t speaking because he couldn’t, not because he didn’t want to. In fact, he wanted desperately to be able to speak. It would make life so much easier if he didn’t periodically lose access to the one method of communication the neurotypical world prioritized above everything else, but his brain just wouldn’t allow it. The words were there, practically begging to be let out of his brain, but his mouth was stuck. He could open it, but then his tongue would tangle and all that would come out would be some garbled version of toddler babble, a mash of syllables that didn’t make sense to himself, let alone anyone else.
Before Peter could spiral too far, as he was wont to do post-meltdown, his phone buzzed. A text, from Tony: You ok? Nurse said it was sensory overload, but if she’s calling that means it was bad enough to trigger a meltdown.
Peter sniffled again, feeling new tears well in his eyes. He sent back: I’m ok. Had a meltdown in gym.
From Tony: Want me to come get you? Emphasis on “want.”
Peter didn’t reply right away. He did want Tony to come get him, but he didn’t want the man to think he was weak, that he couldn’t handle high school. If he really needed to, he could go back to class - definitely not phys ed, and probably not fourth period, but maybe fifth. But he wouldn’t get much out of it - his brain would be fuzzy and he’d be processing at half speed, at best, and he’d still be nonverbal by the end of the day. But he could do it. He just didn’t want to.
Apparently, Tony must have decided that Peter’s lack of answer was one in and of itself because his phone buzzed with a new message: I’m coming. See you in 20.
Peter sighed, relieved, and closed his eyes as he tipped his head back against the wall.
Sure enough, Tony was there twenty minutes later. Peter couldn’t hear him, but he could feel the familiar vibrations of his mentor’s footsteps as he approached the clinic, stopped to talk with the nurse, and then approached his room. He said something and Peter just tapped his headphones. Tony gave him a thumbs up, then twisted a bent index finger at his neck, eyebrows raised.
Peter nodded, confirming he was nonverbal. A small smile settled across his face as Tony crossed the room in two large strides and pulled him into a hug. Tight, just the way he liked it. Eventually, Peter pulled back and signed “ready,” prompting Tony to swing the boy’s backpack over his shoulder before laying a protective arm across his shoulders as they walked out. Peter waved to the nurse, not quite looking at her.
Tony kept his arm around Peter’s shoulders as they walked through the hallways and Peter kept his eyes on the floor. The headphones were still blocking out all sound, so Peter didn’t know if Tony was talking to him, but he didn't have enough brain capacity to worry about being rude by not responding. The pair was almost out of the school when Peter felt the rumble that could only mean class had just let out. Panicked, he tugged on Tony’s arm.
But it was too late, and kids were spilling out of classrooms and bodies were bumping against Peter but then they weren’t and instead they were staring at him, staring at the orphan who was somehow close enough with Tony Stark to be picked up from school by him which meant he hadn’t been lying about his internship after all, and oh shit they were regretting their words now, so that was kind of funny but also Peter was being led out of the school because he had a meltdown and Flash was definitely telling people about it and now they probably all thought he was retarded - he wasn’t - and here he was with headphones unable to speak staring at the floor like a baby and they were stopping why were they stopping and Tony’s arm was moving and someone was tapping his shoulder and -
Peter changed the setting on his headphones.
“He’s as good as,” Tony bit out. Peter lifted his eyes just enough to recognize Flash’s shoes. He winced, returning his eyes to the ground. His left hand wound around Tony’s fingers. “This kid is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Hiring him as my personal intern was one of the best decisions of my life. Ok? Now let us through.”
Wordlessly, the crowd parted, and Peter flipped his headphones back to completely noise cancelling as he allowed Tony to lead him out of the school. His mind was buzzing in the way it always did when he tried to think too much after a meltdown. He suspected that there had been some important exchange he’d missed while blocking out all sound, but the part he did hear was nice. Familiar. Comforting.
The ride to the Tower was blissfully silent.
When they arrived, Peter led the way up to his room and immediately stripped down to his boxers. On another day, he might have been embarrassed to have Captain America’s shield protecting his balls and Tony might have made a sarcastic remark about it, but today, Tony just handed Peter his softest clothes. Ironically, sweatpants with Ironman running down one leg and a long sleeved shirt with a spider on the front. Peter hesitated for a moment, then took his earphones off completely.
“You wanna talk about it?” Tony asked softly. Peter shook his head, wrapping himself in the weighted blanket. “Do you want me to stay with you?” Peter began rocking. He nodded. “Ok. We’ll just sit here for a bit and you let me know when you’re ready for something else.”
Peter nodded again, but then decided he wanted to be in his swing. Soundlessly, he switched locations, and Tony took it all in stride, even moving to sit closer to the boy. He watched him swing, long limbs trapped under the blanket. Tony began humming one of Peter’s favorite tunes, a Taylor Swift song he could never remember the name of but that he knew the boy adored. Sure enough, a smile crossed Peter’s face and he began to hum along with Tony. They went through the song another three times before Peter tilted his head, smiling at Tony.
“Hi Mr. Stark,” he whispered.
“Hi buddy,” Tony whispered back. “You doing ok?”
Peter shrugged. “I can talk now,” he said, which wasn’t really an answer, but Tony still appreciated it. They were silent for a few moments, Peter still swinging. “I had a meltdown.”
“Yeah,” Tony said. “Did that Flash kid have something to do with it?” It was always a risk, asking Peter about his triggers this close to the incident, but the sooner he talked about it, the less likely it was to affect him the rest of the day.
“Uh oh,” Peter said. His mouth twitched. His ability to speak was back, but he wasn’t yet at the form of forming new sentences. Everything he said was either going to be scripted or echolalia. It was fine. He could talk at least.
Tony smiled, recognizing Peter’s speech pattern. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.” Peter just kept looking at him, head tilted, still swinging. He blinked. “Was it something he said or did?” Tony asked.
“Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me,” Peter told Tony seriously. He squinted at the ceiling. “Uh oh. It’s too loud! I can be Normal.”
Tony’s eyes crinkled, practically able to see the capitalized “N” from Peter’s sentence. “You don’t need to be normal. I love you just like you are.”
“I love you,” Peter echoed. “It’s all good. Flash is mean. It’s too loud! Shh. No talking in the library. Gotta take a break.”
Tony nodded. “So you started out ok, but then Flash started his shit. And that lowered your sensory tolerance, but you couldn’t ask for a break,” he translated, and Peter nodded, smiling happily.
“Ten points to Gryffindor!” the boy exclaimed, and Tony let out a low chuckle.
“All right, kiddo,” Tony said, rising into a crouch. “What do you say we go get a snack and then head down to the lab?”
Peter grinned, and jumped up, readily following Tony into the kitchen.