A/N: This was written for the Febuwhump prompt Taken, and yeah, a 'stolen' stress ball is a stretch, but this story was the third one I wrote and it's still one of my faves! Hope you enjoy!

The first time it happened Peter was in gym class.

Figured. This was where his anxiety was at its worst. Before the spider bite it stemmed from him being a clumsy, unathletic mess, and after it came from being to suppress his strength and reflexes, so his entire high school didn't figure out he had super powers. It was stressful, it was agonizing, and that day, when Peter held on tight to the rough, splintery rope, right when he got to the top, the world spun for the first time.

It whirled around and it tilted and it sent spikes of panic up and down his spine until he couldn't breathe, until he couldn't hang on to the rope. He let go, he fell through the air and he hit the blue mat under him with a thud and concerned gasps from his classmates.

"Parker, you alright, son?"

Peter blinked, sat up and looked around. The gym wasn't moving anymore, but that didn't do anything to ease the dread settling in his stomach. It meant something worse. That something was wrong with and suddenly he pictured himself sitting in a doctor's office getting diagnosed with some horrible disease.

He had to play it cool, though. All his classmates were watching.

"Can you move? Do you need me to get the nurse?"

"No – no, I'm fine," said Peter, out of breath. "I'm good."

His gym teacher looked unsure but took his word for it.

Ned gave him a hand up. "Are you sure you're okay, dude?"

"Yeah."

A lie, because he spent the rest of the school day ignoring his teachers and putting in symptoms into WebMD's search engine. That hadn't been the best idea. By the time he was climbing in the backseat of Mr. Stark's car, he was a mess. A ball of panic and fear and convinced he had every illness in the history of the world.

"Mr. Stark," said Peter, somehow, even hours later, still out of breathe. "We need to go to the compound. I need to see a doctor, or could FRIDAY scan me? Would she be able to see brain tumors? Or if there was something wrong with my heart?"

Mr. Stark was silent for a couple of seconds before he had, "Anxiety."

"But I- "

"Couldn't breathe? Felt like your chest was going to explode? Felt a whirl cloud of doom and dread crushing you into the ground?"

"…yeah."

"Anxiety."

"Maybe we could have FRIDAY check," he said. He gripped the straps of the bookbag that sat in his lap, slightly ashamed that this time Mr. Stark's assurance wasn't enough. "Just to be sure."

Mr. Stark nodded, and thirty minutes later he was stepping inside an Iron Man suit for the very first time, being diagnosed with the anxiety, just like Mr. Stark had told him. It was a breath of fresh air to know he wasn't actually dying, that chemicals in his brain were playing tricks on him, but also, after it sunk in, sort of terrible. He didn't want to be like this… forever.

"It's no big deal, Pete," said Mr. Stark. "I'm gonna find a therapist and we can get it treated, okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

"Until then," said Mr. Stark. He pulled out one of the metal drawers in his office and reveal its contents. Thirty, forty, probably fifty stress balls. Who knew Tony Stark had a secret stash of stress balls in his workshop?

"Seriously?"

"It helps," he said. "Take one. Or two."

He walked away, retreated to one of the workshops corners to work while Peter rummaged through the drawer looking for a winner. It didn't take him long to find it. His hand clasped around a bright red one, with his face, or rather, Spider-Man's face printed on it. He put it in his pocket, shut the drawer, and joined Mr. Stark at the worked station.

The next day in gym class Peter stared at the rope. It swung side to side as Flash climbed up, rang the bell, and climbed back down. He jumped to the floor when he got close enough, and when he stuck the landing, he looked at Peter as if he'd done something impressive. Sometimes, in gym class, he wished he could out himself as Spider-Man, but then again, maybe that was part of the stress just as much as trying to keep it a secret.

"Try not to wuss out and fall this time, Penis," he said, and shoulder bumped him on the way to the back of the line.

With a sigh, Peter walked back on the blue mat and looked up. It wasn't so high. Not for Spider-Man, but he didn't know what he'd do if he got up then only to freak out again. He thought about his stress ball he stored in his locker. It was no use to him here. He put his hand on the rope, ready to suck it up and go for it, only to take it back off again.

"Parker?" called the gym teacher. "Uh, I can't believe I'm saying this, but Tony Stark is the hall waiting to see you."

Whispering broke out, and staring, and Peter had to get a look of Flash's baffled expression on his way out the door. When he got out the door, Mr. Stark was standing in the hall, looking out of place in a high school with his sunglasses and his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket.

"Mr. Stark?" asked Peter. "What are you doing here?"

"You took my Spider-Man stress ball."

"What? But you said – "

"I said to take one," he said. "But you took my favorite one. And don't you know it's tacky to go around hoarding your own merch?"

Peter shifted on his feet. "Umm okay. Do you want it back? It's in my locker."

He could hardly believe it when Mr. Stark actually nodded, and the two of them set off through the halls of Midtown in search for his locker. That set off a whole other panic. When was the last time he cleaned his locker? Who even knew? He didn't. It had obviously been too long, because when he opened it, a few papers slide out onto the floor and by Mr. Stark's designer shoes.

"Uh," he quickly bent down, picked them up, shoved them back inside and retreated the treasure stress ball before Mr. Stark could lecture him on cleanliness. He held out the toy with Spider-Man's face on it for him to take. "Here."

Mr. Stark took something out of his suit jacket. It was a stress ball that was red and gold and had an Iron Man emblem.

"Let's trade," said Mr. Stark, and they swapped. "Doing okay today? Any more attacks?"

"No more attacks," said Peter. He was starting to get suspicious that this wasn't at all about Mr. Stark's favorite stress ball, and more about checking up on him. "And yeah, I'm okay."

"Good. I got you an appointment. Four o'clock sharp. I'll pick you up after school."

"Thanks Mr. Stark," said Peter. He looked down at the red and gold toy in his hand. "For everything."

"No problem, kid." He turned, and walked away, but only got half way down the hall before he yelled, "And clean out that damn locker."

Peter cringed but took it as permission to skip the rest of the gym in flavor of cleaning, a much better use of his time. He threw out the trash, lined up his books, folders and notebooks, and placed the new, old stress front and center, easy to grab when he was released from hell (gym) and sent on to normal classes.

It didn't seem so bad now, though. He could make it. Mr. Stark would be waiting for him at the end of the day.