AN: Hey guys!
Thank you so much for being so awesome about the first installment of this! I'm so glad to see that people are as hype for it as I am!
WARNINGS: sensory overload, mentions of panic attacks
Sometimes, Peter had bad days.
Not your typical, teenager bad days. I mean, he had those too, obviously, but those were easy compared to his Spider-Man bad days.
Ever since the spider bite, Peter's senses had become, for lack of a better word, violent. He'd learned how to handle them, mostly, but every once in a while all the input was just too much. On those days, Peter could hear the drumming heartbeats of his classmates and the water dripping through the pipes overhead just as clearly as if the sounds were right next to him. He could smell the peanut butter sandwich a girl was eating four classrooms down and the pencil shavings in the garbage outside the closed window. He could barely even make out what his teacher was writing on the board through the way the fluorescent lighting warped and streaked and pierced his vision.
Those were what Peter called bad days, and today was a very bad day.
When he'd woken up to the sound of a car backfiring three blocks over, he'd known. The smell of Aunt May's perfume had almost made him wretch up the four bites of toast he'd managed to shove down at breakfast. His clothes felt too tight and too loose all at the same time. Every time his sweatshirt would brush against his bare skin, he'd have to concentrate all his willpower on not tearing it off in the middle of the subway.
By the time he'd made it to school, Peter was nearly in tears.
It was all just so frustrating.
Everything hurt. His head felt like it was splitting in two. Peter knew that it wouldn't go away until the episode quieted down. That be could as soon as tomorrow, or as far away as a week.
He just had to suck it up.
I'm Spider-Man, he told himself, and Spider-Man is stronger than this.
Ned could tell it was a bad day the moment he saw him.
"Hey, dude." His best friend was whispering. Thank god. Peter didn't think he could handle any speech that was even a decibel higher. As it was, his friend's words ricocheted in his ears as loud as any gunshot. Peter could practically taste the vibrations in the air. "How bad?"
"Bad. Really bad." God, even using his voice hurt.
"Can I help?"
The first few times this had happened, Ned had tried to make Peter go home. He'd given up that plan after one particular argument had escalated to the point where Ned yelled, loudly, and the harsh noise had made Peter pass out in the middle of the bathroom. Now, he just tried to help his stubborn friend limp through the day with as little pain as possible.
In all honesty, Peter had no idea how he made it through his first few periods. Ned kept shooting him worried glances as the hours ticked by and, honestly, Peter couldn't blame him. If he looked even half as bad as he felt, the teenager was sure he looked about a minute from death. His best friend had to practically carry him out of their last class before lunch. When they finally made it to the cafeteria, Ned gave his friend an apologetic frown before carefully sliding Peter's phone out of his pocket.
"Huh? What're you doing?"
"Sorry, dude, but you can't keep doing this to yourself."
Peter was still trying to process the words through the pain in his head when he heard Ned start talking.
"Hello? Mister Stark? Uh, yeah, this is Ned. Ned Leeds? I'm Peter's friend. No, no, he's fine. Well, okay, he isn't fine, but he also isn't bleeding out this time. No, Sir, it's just a bad day and he's being stubborn. You know, a bad day? He hasn't told you about those? Peter. Yeah, like, sensory overload, I guess? He gets them a lot. Uh, a couple times a month? This one's really bad though. Yeah, that'd be great. No, I don't think it's a good idea to give him a phone right now. He can barely see straight. Um, yeah, I think they hurt a lot. Thank you, Mister Stark. No problem. Yeah, I'll see you in a bit."
Peter nearly screamed when Ned pulled him to his feet. His eyes squeezed shut as he swallowed a mouthful of vomit. "I know. I'm sorry I'm touching you, dude. I know that's not good on bad days, but I gotta get you to the front office, and then Mister Stark'll fix it."
Peter just kept his eyes glued shut and tried to ignore how he could feel every abnormality and curve in Ned's fingerprints as his friend guided him to front of the school.
Peter looked awful.
His friend, his best friend, if Tony remembered correctly, was sitting nervously beside him, alternating between glancing at his watch and his companion as he waited for the billionaire to arrive. As soon as the kid noticed Tony's presence, he jumped up and rushed over to meet him.
"Mister Stark! I'm so glad you're here." Ned was whispering, and Tony glanced over in surprise at the way Peter flinched away at even the miniscule sound.
"Hey, Ned." Tony matched the teenager's tone. "So he's really overloaded, huh?"
"Yeah. Today's as bad as I think it's ever been. Can you do anything for him?"
"I have an idea." Tony quickly wrote his signature on the sign-out sheet the starstruck lady behind the desk offered him and made a beeline straight for Peter. He paused to address Ned again. "You should get back to class."
"Yeah, of course." Ned glanced at his best friend nervously. "Will you let me know if he's okay?"
"I'll text you as soon as he's through it."
"Thank you, Mister Stark." The kid grabbed his backpack and slid out without another word, being careful to close the door to the office as softly as possible.
Tony let himself have a brief moment of gratitude that Peter had such a good friend.
"Hey, Peter." Tony tried to make his voice sound as unjarring as possible, but the kid still winced in pain. "I think I've got an idea on how to help you, but we have to get to the car first. I'm going to have to touch you. Is that alright?"
He got a weak nod in return, and Tony made sure that his hands were solid but gentle as he guided the kid out of the school and over to where Happy was waiting in the car. The driver winced when he saw the kid's pinched expression, but wisely said nothing.
Tony slid one of the extra Spider-Man masks out of the seat pocket. "Alright, kiddo. I'm going to put this mask on, okay?"
Peter gave a little whimper, which Tony took as an affirmative.
He didn't waste any time once the mask was in place. "Karen? Initiate Lights Out Protocol. Everything except my voice, please."
It must have worked, because the kid's muscles relaxed all at once and he slumped forward like a marionette with its strings cut off.
Tony caught him, feeling more than a little unnerved as the kid's head lolled lifelessly against his shoulder. "F.R.I.D.A.Y.?"
"Mister Parker in entirely conscious. In fact, his vitals appear to be rapidly stabilizing."
The billionaire breathed a sigh of relief as he tenderly lowered the kid down to rest on his lap.
"Better?"
"Hmm. Wow." Even though Tony knew the protocol had shut off all visuals, the mask's eyes blinked slowly even as Peter did.
The Lights Out Protocol was something Tony had designed for a situation where Peter went into sensory overload and needed a quick fix. Of course, at the time, he'd imagined it might be necessary during a battle or on patrol, not during school. In essence, it blocked out all sight, smell, and sound. Peter could choose specific sounds that were filtered in, like Tony's voice, but everything else was blocked off.
"I'll take that as a yes." The billionaire murmured, rubbing comforting circles on the kid's arm.
"'S good." Peter's sleepy words sounded thick in the air. "'S quiet."
Tony couldn't imagine functioning with the level of sensory input Peter experienced on a daily basis. The isolation of the mask must be an actual breath of relief, especially in the middle of an overload.
"That's what we're looking for, buddy." He slid a hand up to knead at the spot where Peter's shoulder met his neck. Tony could feel the kid sinking into his lap. "Your head still hurt?"
"Little. Tired."
"I bet." Tony had experienced sensory overload a few times before, and each episode had left him exhausted. "You get some shut eye. I'll wake you up later."
The kid burrowed his face into Tony's stomach and was out within minutes.
"Karen," he whispered, hyper aware of the kid's sensitive ears, "block out my voice now, too. And have F.R.I.D.A.Y. alert me if he wakes up."
Once he was confident the kid wouldn't be disturbed, he dropped his head back against the headrest with a strangled groan.
"Are we headed to the Tower, Boss?" Tony noticed a little smugly that Happy had adjusted the rearview mirror so that he could glance periodically at the kid.
"Yes, please. Call May and let her know what happened, too. Just downplay it, will you? The last thing the kid needs right now is a panicking aunt."
"I'm on it."
Tony spent the rest of the car ride rubbing the pad of his thumb in smooth circles over Peter's pulse point and taking comfort in the steady beat of life that thrummed against his fingertips.
Later, when Peter had slept off the overload and was eating a bowl of oatmeal in Tony's kitchen, the billionaire addressed the elephant in the room.
"Why didn't you tell me you had those episodes a lot?" He sat on a barstool next to the kid's. "I could have helped you."
Peter shrugged. "I can handle them."
"That didn't look like handling it, kiddo."
Peter broke quickly. He always did. "It just… I'm supposed to be better."
Tony winced at the echo of the words he'd told the kid after the infamous Ferry Incident.
"This doesn't make you weak, kiddo. Hell, I can't believe you've handled this for as long as you have without help." When Peter didn't respond, Tony gave a little sigh. "Did you know that I have panic attacks?"
"No." The kid's voice was barely a whisper. He was staring at the bowl of oatmeal so dedicatedly that Tony wondered if it might shatter.
"Well, I do. They're pretty common, actually. Sometimes, especially when Rhodey or Pepper aren't around to talk me down, I pass out from hyperventilating. Do you think that makes me weak?"
"N-no! Of course not!"
"Then you're not allowed to think that this makes you weak, either. Are we clear?"
"Yeah." Peter shifted, poking at his oatmeal absently and wincing when the spoon made contact with the glass bowl.
Tony shifted straight into his overprotective mode. "Does your head still hurt? I can try to find some painkillers for you in the MedBay. Is the room too bright? F.R.I.D.A.Y., turn these damn lights down."
Peter was smiling amusedly as his mentor rambled, but Tony didn't miss the way his shoulders relaxed as F.R.I.D.A.Y. brought the room's lighting down to a more muted level. "I'm okay. I'm just always a little… sensitive after one of these episodes. It's getting better. I just need to do something quiet for a bit."
"What do you usually do?"
The kid looked away shyly. "Oh, I, uh, I sometimes, um, play with Legos?"
Of course he did. The world didn't deserve this kid's purity. "I've got a couple sets laying around," he may or may not have noticed Peter's little hobby and stocked up at the Lego store a couple months ago, "so we can build something, if you want."
Peter's face lit up, and that was how Tony Stark found himself sitting on the floor of his living room building a Lego airplane with a fifteen year old kid.
"I like the simplicity of it." Peter said suddenly. "Of the Legos, I mean. It gives me something else to focus on. Helps me block it all out."
Tony stopped working for a moment to study the kid's face. He seemed completely relaxed, all loose limbed and mellow. It was a little bizarre, if he was being honest, seeing the kid so soft and subdued. Tony was used to him being a hurricane of energy and excitement. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, though. Just different.
"That makes sense." It did, too. Tony liked to build robots when his anxiety was at its worst. Working with his hands helped redirect the negative energy into something productive. Or at least, that's what his therapist said.
Peter was so focused on assembling one of the wings that Tony managed to snap a covert picture and send it off, along with a quick text, to Ned without the kid even noticing.
Tony Stark: crisis averted. he's fine. thanks for the call.
Ned Leeds: Anytime, Mister Stark! Thank you for taking care of him. He's lucky to have you.
No, Tony thought, a fond smile curling around his lips as he watched Peter fiddle with a propeller piece, I'm the lucky one.
AN: I have social anxiety, and one of the most common aspects of my panic attacks is sensory overload. Obviously, Peter's is going to be VERY different, thanks to his enhanced senses and all, but the aftermath I describe is very similar to what I experience. I'm always super tired when it's over, and then I tend to feel weirdly detached and mellow once I finally feel safe again. I think it's just my body unwinding, really.
I hope you guys liked it! I know this one is a little short, but if it was any longer I think it would get a little repetitive and boring. The next chapter is a little different than the first two, so fingers crossed it turns out the way I hope it does. Thank you so much for reading! As always, I really appreciate all your reviews and suggestions! I love you guys!
