His head pounds, his chest feels like it's ripping apart and then there's nothing, he's fading, falling apart, breaking, god, no, please, Peter doesn't want to die like this...
He rolls off the bed and into a ready fighting stance, fists up and legs bent even though he knows that it's useless (it was useless then and useless now, he faded into ash with a snap of Thanos' fingers, he was ash, nothing, disintegrating and god, he felt it...)
(You can't fight death.)
There's ash on his tongue and a scream on his lips even as he stumbles back onto his bed, buries his face in his hands and tries not to sob.
It doesn't change anything, the fingers on his face, the feel of the bed against his skin, not when he knows just how fragile this stability is, how fragile his life is. Not when he knows that he can disintegrate with the snap of someone's fingers, not when he remembers his back slamming and him screaming, I got you as he catches the falling Guardians in his webs (but what use was pointing them when they just turned to ash afterwards, ash and ash right before his eyes even as he clings to Mr. Stark and screams I don't want to go, begging even though he knows it's pointless, it's useless, he's dead, he's as good as dead, his arm ripping away before his eyes...)
May comes into the room and sits down next to it and Peter buries his face in her shoulder as he sobs and tries to remember how to breathe, but every breath feels like charcoal, like gravel through his throat and on his lips and it's everywhere...
Peter has always been afraid of dying.
When he stood in front of a bus and thought I have to stop it.
When a warehouse fell on him and he screamed, please, somebody, help.
When his chest tightened and his legs felt like jelly and he stumbled towards Mr. Stark and sobbed and...
Peter clings to May and hides his face in her neck, it aligns in the curve of his nose and he presses his hands against her back to remind him she's here, she's fine, she's solid flesh and bone and...
"It's okay, Peter," May whispers, rubbing his back, "You're here, I'm here, everyone's okay."
They're not, they're not, they're not okay and they'll never be and he watched everyone else fade and felt himself fade even as Mr. Stark said that he was fine, he said that it would be okay but it wasn't, Peter was dying and...
"I don't want to do that ever again," Peter's shoulders hitch and he knows how stupid he sounds, how childish and dumb, but it terrified him and what are you supposed to do when you've come back from the dead? Act normal? Peter doesn't even know what that is, anymore.
"I know, baby, it's okay, it's alright..." May presses a hand against the back of his head and he tightens his grip just a bit more, closing his eyes and letting her murmur soft reassurances.
After a long cry, he pulls away and wipes his eyes and offers May a rough apology. "Sorry," he wipes his eyes, digging the heels of his hands into them when he feels another sob wrack his chest, "I know that it scared you, too, and I shouldn't be reminding you..."
"No, Peter, sweetie, it's okay..." May wraps a hand around his and Peter shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the space on the bed just beyond May.
"Can I..." He breathes in, gulps down the air, however dusty and wrong it feels, "I need to go to school."
Trepidation crosses May's features before she asks hesitantly, "Peter... sweetie... are you sure that you want to?"
"Yes, I can't..." He closes his eyes for a second and then opens them again, "I can't stay away forever. I can't just... just shut down. I have to think about the future, me skipping school like this will look bad on University applications and..."
"Peter," Concern bleeds into May's voice, "You shouldn't be thinking about that, just think about getting better, you went through a traumatic experience and..."
"No, I'm..." Peter grits his teeth, "I have to go, May."
She looks so lost, but May is quick, has always been flexible, and she nods once before saying softly, "I'll go make some tea and you can bring ten dollars for lunch, okay?"
Peter picks at his wrists and tries not to twitch when he recalls that he doesn't have his web shooters on. "Yeah," he says, voice hoarse, "Thanks, May."
She kisses him on the forehead and then walks away, closing the door behind her to let him change from his pyjamas into actual clothes.
Peter waits for the door to click shut, and the attaches his web shooters to his wrists, the feeling of metal comforting despite him knowing that they can't help him in any way.
MJ gives him a cup of tea from a little cafe down the street, earl gray with two packs of sugar that probably has more cream than actual tea, just the way he likes it.
"You're back," she notes, quiet, slightly concerned. "You okay?"
"Thanks for the tea, MJ," he says instead of answering the question. From the look on her face, he supposes that it's answer enough.
"Just," she clears her throat, "Yeah. Whatever."
Throughout science, she shoots him looks of concern.
He (somehow) manages to avoid Ned for all of his first class before Ned corners him at his desk and puts down a single chocolate bar. Hershey's cookies and cream.
"I'm not making you talk, man," Ned says, fiddling with the edge of his sleeves, "But look, you've got us. If you want to watch a movie or build something with me or anything like that... I'm here for you."
"Yeah, uh," Peter clears his throat. Keeps his eyes on his desk. Very pointedly looks everywhere but at Ned. "Thanks, man."
His voice cracks a bit, and Ned seems to understand. "Yeah, well," Ned shrugs, "Don't self-destruct."
Peter stares at his hands, and the little bump of metal on his wrists, thinks, I don't need to, I already destructed, and says in a hoarse voice, "Yeah, thanks."
It's cheap, stupid little words that don't really do anything. But Ned is kind, so he just squeezes Peter's arm and says, "No problem."
It's easier to pretend that everything's okay when you're in science, talking about global warming.
It's easier to pretend that everything's okay when you're in math, and your hardest problem is trinomials.
It's harder to think about your future when you're in business class and your teacher says the most important thing is to keep a budget but all that you can think is a budget won't save my life. Accounting won't save my life. Nothing can, not when something as powerful as Thanos was here, not when something more powerful than Thanos could be out there, right now, and won't be so benevolent as to wipe out only half of the population...
He eats his pizza in the first ten minutes of lunch and spends the next ten minutes throwing it up, Ned on his knees next to him and rubbing Peter's back as Peter presses his shoulder against the bathroom wall and curls up into a ball.
Peter touches his web shooters and Ned looks at them with a trace of reverence, like he's reminded all over again that Peter's Spider-man, that he can stop moving buses and lift buildings, but what's the point of that?
It won't stop death.
It won't stop Peter from dying.
It doesn't stop nightmares.
Having superpowers, Peter thinks bitterly, isn't all that it's built up to be.
Stopping crime in the streets seems laughably easy now that Peter's died.
Stopping thefts, robberies, even taking down drug cartels, it all seems so pointless when any moment, he feels like the world could dissolve into ash.
He helps a little old man across the street and he pats Peter's arm. "Didn't think I'd still be alive right now," he sighs, "Not after being turned to dust. The whole world's gone downright crazy." The old man offers Peter a wane, kind smile, "It's good to know that there are still people like you in the world after that madman wiped out half the planet."
"Yeah, uh," Peter's breath feels tight in his throat, "Thank you."
The little old man beams and Peter spends the next half hour curled up on a rooftop, trying to convince himself that it's fine, he's safe, he just needs to go back out there and it'll all be okay.
Unfortunately, it seems like he took a bit too long because the next thing he knows, Mr. Stark is landing on the roof in front of him and Peter's still curled up on the roof.
"Kid," Mr. Stark sighs, voice torn and concerned, "What are you doing up here? FRIDAY says that you've been here for the last half hour."
Peter shakes his head and closes his eyes. "I'm fine, Mr. Stark."
The lie sounds flimsy, even to him.
"Yeah, well," Mr. Stark taps his chest twice and his armour fades away, leaving only Mr. Stark in sweats and a gray t-shirt. "Tell that to me when you're not having a panic attack on the roof of my building."
"Oh," Peter says, numbly, a bit surprised. "Sorry. I'll go somewhere else."
"No," Mr. Stark says sharply, and then sighs, shaking his head. "No, it's fine, kid. I'd rather you panic on my roof than some other random roof."
"Oh, okay," Peter buries his face in his knees. "Thanks. I'm good. You can go back to whatever you were doing, Mr. Stark."
Mr. Stark doesn't move. He seems very unimpressed. "Look, kid, if you want to talk..."
"I'm fine," Peter cuts him off. His shoulders hitch up. "I've got enough people volunteering to talk to me."
"Yeah, well," Mr. Stark clears his throat. Sticks his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and looks away, "I wasn't about to volunteer myself." He sounds almost offended that Peter would think such a thing. "I just mean, like, therapy or something. I heard that it, uh, helps." He clears his throat a few times and then squints at Peter. "So if you'd, you know, want that, I'm willing to pay and stuff."
He clears his throat again, and Peter almost smiles.
"Thank you, Mr. Stark." He says.
Stands up and when he passes Mr. Stark, he wraps his arms around him.
He feels Mr. Stark stiffen (and who is Peter to blame him, the last time that he hugged him, he crumbled right in his arms, ash and dust and then nothing) but after a pause, hugs him back.
"Thanks," Peter whispers, again, and then pulls away and swings off, not giving Mr. Stark any time to respond.
He doesn't whoop or laugh as he swings down the buildings, he's not quite there yet.
But the feeling of the wind rushing past his ears, arms jolting as he catches himself with a web, it helps, just a bit.
And maybe he feels better.
(He doesn't know yet.)
There's this little ice cream parlour on the corner of the streets owned by two girls that Peter once saved.
They both recently graduated from University and one, being a business major, decided to help the other, a music major, to start her own company.
Peter stopped them from being assaulted by a gang once, and ever since then, he's had the offer of free ice cream hanging over him.
"Spidey!" Maya beams as he swings in just as the store closes, "Haven't seen you in a while."
"Yeah, well," Peter rubs the back of his neck, "Do I still get free food?"
"Aw," Maya laughs, "Aren't you just adorable. Yeah, of course, just a sec, let me call Robin."
Robin comes out in a flash, wiping her hands and grinning crookedly at Peter. "Spidey," her voice is warm, and Peter hasn't realized just how much he missed their company since the last time he's been here. "Hey there, stranger."
Peter lifts his mask up to his nose and waves jauntily. "Can I get a blueberry super kid combo with marshmallows?"
"Yeah, of course," Robin watches fondly as Maya scoops the ice cream into a waffle cone. "How have you been doing?"
"Ah, great," The lie comes easily to Peter, "You know, helping old ladies, stopping robberies, saving the world. The usual."
"Right," Maya freezes halfway through scooping the ice cream, "Thanos was pretty scary, huh?"
Peter bites his tongue and shrugs, "Yeah, I mean, all the big bads are pretty intense."
It's strange, how easy it is to pretend that it was no big deal, to pretend that he can shrug off Thanos like nothing despite the fact that it's all that plagues his dreams.
Robin moves over to Maya and smooths her hair back. Kisses her on the forehead. "Pretty cool, having a real-life superhero in our little shop, hm?" She asks Maya, light, teasing. Peter's been here many times before, and they never seem to get over that little joke.
Maya presses a hand against Robin's cheek and whispers softly, "Yeah."
Peter watches with a bit of confusion until Maya gives Robin a quick peck on the lips and turns back to keep making Peter's magnificent ice cream, and then turns back to Peter. "I died during the whole half-the-world-disappears thing." Robin explains to Peter, "Maya got a real scare, there."
"Oh," Peter's throat tightens. "That sounds scary."
Robin shrugs, "Kind of hurt, but I didn't really feel anything."
Maya chews on her lower lip and shakes her head, forehead creasing and lips tightening.
"I, I get it," Peter stumbles over his words. They come out fast, chopped like he's scared that the moment he'll stop for breath, they'll laugh at him and call him stupid for his stupid fears and irrational concerns. "I died. When it happened, I mean. I was in space, with these other heroes and they were disappearing one by one and then my head hurt and I felt like passing out and I hugged Iron Man and then I just..." His voice catches, and Maya and Robin exchange glances.
"That sounds like it was terrifying," Maya says, softly, handing Peter his ice cream. "Are you getting therapy?"
Peter shakes his head, "No, I mean, it's fine, it's over, there's no threat anymore..."
"It's not about that," Robin makes a vague, aborted motion with her hand and then asks, "Can I touch you?"
"Huh? Uh, yeah. Go ahead."
Robin takes Peter's hand in her's, "PTSD is still a huge factor, Spidey. I know that I'm not in harm or anything anymore... so does Maya. Doesn't mean that it doesn't still affect us badly, though. She gets panic attacks, I don't, we all deal with it differently. And we're neither the worse for it."
Peter stares at her hand, and then says hesitantly, "I thought that therapy was for people with real problems. Not imagined, stupid stuff like this."
"Do you think that I'm stupid for worrying about Robin's safety even though Thanos is defeated?" Maya asked, voice sharp.
Peter shook his head quickly, "No, of course not, what you went through was real and terrifying. You have every right to be scared. But I'm different, I..."
"No buts," Maya's voice was like steel, "You're just as human as the rest of us, Spidey."
Peter licked his ice cream and closed his eyes. "Thank you," he whispered softly.
"Yeah, well," Maya grinned widely at him, "You did save our lives once, didn't you? We're returning the favour. Get help for your PTSD. Until then," she smirked at him, "no free ice cream."
May takes Peter to the beach for summer vacation and he freaks out the second that his feet hit the sand.
May, being perfect and understanding, leads him away with her hand in his and says softly, "It's okay, Peter, you're okay, you're here, I'm here, we're fine."
Peter grips the back of her shirt as hard as he can without ripping it and ignores the laughter nearby about him needing his mom. "Can we..." he buries his face in her shoulder, "Can we just not go to the beach? I'm sorry, May, I know that we drove all this way out here and we wanted to have a good time but I don't think..."
"No, of course," May says soothingly, "This is good. You, telling me when you have a problem, this is good. I like it." When he pulls away, she gives him an approving smile. "I'm proud of you for telling me."
Peter feels all of six but he doesn't care much anymore (what's the point when you could die any second, he thinks darkly) as he pulls May's hand into his and swings, humming an old song under his breath. "What should we do instead?" He asks.
May hums a few bars with him, and then they walk past a man with a guitar.
May crouches down and grins at him, "Hey," she beams, "Do you take requests?"
He does.
The guitarist starts playing a few Beatles songs, and May hums a bit before singing, and once they realize that more people are gathering now that there's singing, they go through a few more old songs.
Peter laughs as someone starts dancing to Singing in the Rain and in that moment, coins dropping into the guitarist's case, May in her summer dress and Peter singing ridiculously off-key beside her, he is content.
Of course, it's ruined by his stupid brain.
It always is.
"I don't want this to be the last good thing that we do together," Peter says to May on the ride home.
May shoots him a concerned glance, "It won't, Peter." She says softly, and Peter's shoulders hitch up.
"You don't know that," he mutters, and her forehead creases.
"Oh, sweetie, I know that you're still scared about what happened with Thanos, but..."
Peter buries his face in his hands, "How am I not supposed to be scared?" He demands. His hands are shaking. "I loved it. It was great. But what if I never do that again? What if I die before we do something like that again? What if I face another villain that I can't defeat and I can't fight it and I die before we can do something happy like that? What if..." his voice cracks and he thinks stupid, stupid, stupid.
May accelerates the car, "That's it," she says, voice firm. "You're getting some therapy."
Peter flinches, "We can't, therapy's expensive, my identity..."
"Tony agreed to cover the costs."
Peter shakes his head, "But you said..."
"We're not a charity," May echoes her previous sentiment, "But I'm not going to sit on the sidelines while you so obviously self-destruct."
Peter picks at his arms, pinching his wrists and rubbing his hands against each other to ground himself. He wants to argue. To say we can't do that or argue, but he's tired and he's sick of getting panic attacks over the stupidest things, so he says quietly, "Okay."
May nods. "Okay."
"So, how was therapy?" Mr. Stark asks over brunch. He picks at his bacon with a black plastic fork and seems infinitely amused by it even as he downs his glass of apple juice. "Wait, no, let me guess, you loved it."
Peter picks absentmindedly at his blueberry cheesecake, "It was cool," he says vaguely, and Mr. Stark leans back with a disappointed expression.
Peter very carefully avoids Mr. Stark's stare. He can't help it. He knows that Mr. Stark helped to save the world, save him, he has faith, but every time that he sees him, he just remembers desperation, I don't want to die, remembers being stranded on a planet so remotely far, his failure against Thanos making his death only a blip against trillions across the universe, and he knows that it isn't Mr. Stark's fault, but...
"You hated it," Mr. Stark sighs.
Peter shakes his head, "No, it's great, I'm very thankful for the opportunity that..."
"Save it, kid," Mr. Stark raises a hand. "Is it making it worse?"
Peter takes a sip of his smoothie and stares at Mr. Stark's bacon. "She wants to talk about it," Peter says quietly, "And that's okay, I think that we should, but I don't know, I just feel like she thinks that I'm stupid or something for not being able to cope and she makes these noises while I talk where it's like what teachers do? Like they try to sound like they're listening but they just sound like they're trying too hard and..." he cuts himself off and bites his lips. "I'm sorry, I know that therapists are expensive and..."
"No, no, it's fine," Mr. Stark frowns, "Most people go through five or six therapists before they find the right one. You not liking your first one is totally normal, statistically speaking. I was the same."
"Oh, well," Peter fidgets, "Thank you, Mr. Stark."
Mr. Stark grins, "Well, if you're so thankful..." he juts his fork forward to steal a bite of Peter's cheesecake, and Peter quickly counters with his own fork. "On Garde!" Mr. Stark shouts, and Peter bats away at the fork.
"I shall protect my cheesecake to the death!" Peter cries out dramatically, moving his fork up to defend his cheesecake.
Batting at Mr. Stark's fork, defending his cheesecake, Peter forgets about ash and dust. He forgets about fading from existence, he lives in the moment, and then, there, it's enough.
Ned shows up on Peter's doorstep with Treasure Planet and Moana in hand.
"So, I was thinking movie night?" Ned asks, brushing past Peter into the apartment. "I thought Treasure Planet since it's your favourite and all, but you also went through a super traumatic event in space, so I brought Moana as a backup. Totally up to you, I think you should do whatever you think is right, do you want snacks?"
Peter grins, "Why choose one when I can choose both?"
"I like the way you think," Ned pats Peter on the back, "Want me to set it up? You can make our movie fortress."
Peter nods and rushes to get some blankets and pillows. They set up a bunch of pillows on the couch and huddle together under the ugliest blankets that May could find at the flea market. (It's a thing with her, an odd little source of pride that Peter seems to have inherited because he loves them despite how ugly they look.)
They pile together, and Peter rests his head on Ned's shoulder and Ned grins at him and at that moment, Peter is alright.
He's not perfect.
But he's alright.