AN: Hey guys!
So… Peter dissociates in this. (Specifically, he depersonalizes). I actually self-learned the technique back in middle school as a way to handle my anxiety. It's not healthy. Don't do it.
A classic way to describe dissociation is that it's like floating really far above yourself, but I tend to feel more like I'm watching myself on a video screen? But I also feel like everything is happening in slow motion and there's a sheet of plastic between me and everyone else? And I feel trapped behind my own eyes? It's weird, y'all. If you've experienced it, you probably know what I'm on about.
WARNINGS: panic attacks, dissociation
"7% of the population may have suffered from a dissociative disorder at some time."
-Mental Health America
Mister Stark had invited Peter to a party.
Which, you know, sort of sucked.
He had tried to think of an excuse, but Tony had his entire schedule mapped out and probably hanging up on his freaking refrigerator so the man would know if Peter made up some previous engagement.
So the teenager had accepted.
Peter didn't sleep the night before. Everytime he closed his eyes, his lungs would seize. On nights like these, it felt like Peter lost sight of himself. He became anxiety. His entire identity dripped through his fingers until all he could be was a vessel for the fear.
By the time the sun rose, he felt strangely detached from his body. The panic was still there, nipping at his heels like an demonic puppy, but everything else felt distant. Peter leaned into the feeling, into the detached numbness. Anything was better than the paralyzing panic.
Happy arrived to pick him up at 4:00. The party started at 5:00. Peter felt like there was a countdown looming over him.
"So, kid," Happy said, glancing at the teenager with furrowed brows, "what's up?"
Oh, right. Peter hadn't said anything the entire car ride, and they were almost halfway to the Tower. "Oh, uh, nothing." The words felt strange. It was definitely his voice speaking, but Peter barely felt them form in his mouth. When he glanced down at his hand, it seemed too small. He flexed his fingers, and the movement looked alien. Was that really his hand?
"Yeah? You feeling okay? You're usually talking my ear off by now."
He knows. He knows you're weak. He hates you.
"Oh, yeah, I'm good."
"You nervous for tonight?"
I'm terrified. Help me. Help me. Please, help me.
"A little."
"You'll do fine. Don't worry about it."
Peter just nodded silently, and slid out of the car as soon as they pulled up in the Tower's garage.
"Good afternoon, Peter." F.R.I.D.A.Y. greeted as soon as he stepping into the elevator. "You're heart rate appears to be elevated. Shall I inform Mister Stark that you are in distress?"
He can't know. He'll think I'm weak. He'll hate me. I can't bear it if he hates me.
"I'm all good, F.R.I.D.A.Y.!" The smile felt strange. Distant. Like someone else was smiling for him. "Just excited for the party, y'know?"
The AI paused, and the numbness faded as the panic surged in. Then, she spoke. "I am taking you to Mister Stark's entertainment floor. Guests should start arriving soon." The relief was brief, and then he was slipping away again.
Away, away, away.
Peter's feet moved to walk as soon as the doors opened. He was functioning entirely on muscle memory. He was just a bystander. A passive observer to his own life.
"Hey, kiddo!" Tony smiled and waved. He was leaning against the bar with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He looked calm in a way Peter would never understand. "How was that Calculus test?"
Calculus test? Oh, yeah. He'd had a Calculus test yesterday, hadn't he?
"Oh. It was good. Fine. Yeah."
Tony's eyes narrowed. "C'mere for a second."
Before Peter could take another step, the elevator opened to reveal the party's first guests.
He let himself get swept away in the rush of people. Every introduction that should've made his breath catch instead left him feeling empty. He spoke, he moved, he laughed, but he wasn't him.
He didn't like it. He wanted to panic. He wanted to be afraid. He wanted to feel.
What if he could never find his way back? What if he spent the rest of his life watching himself live, locked behind his own eyes, without ever being able to make a sound?
Peter didn't know how long he'd floated before a strong arm caught his bicep and he was suddenly hauled into a sideroom. The noise from the party became muffled behind a closed door and Peter found himself staring into the worried eyes of Tony Stark.
"You okay, kid?"
No! Make it stop, Mister Stark. Please, make it stop. "Yeah."
"No, you're not." A hand grabbed his chin, but Peter didn't feel it. Tony's stared into his eyes intently. "Do you have anxiety, Peter?"
Yes! Help me. Help me. Help me. "No."
"You're lying again, aren't you?" The hand gripping his cheeks squeezed so hard that Peter felt a zing of pain and flinched back. It faded as quickly as it had come. "There you go. Peter, I've been holding you tight enough for it to hurt for this entire conversation."
Peter blinked.
"I think you're dissociating. I need you to focus. You're going to have to claw your way back to me, kiddo." Tony grabbed his right wrist, moving the teenager's arm so that his fingers were brushing his silk tie. "Think about your fingers. Feel my tie. It's soft, isn't it? Think about it being soft, Peter."
He remembered soft things. His favorite blanket. One of Aunt's May's nice dresses. Mister Delmar's cat.
He closed his eyes, and focused on his fingertips. He moved them. They brushed against the smooth fabric of Tony's tie, and he felt it.
His gripped it in his fist. Clung to it like it was a lifeline.
"Good, Peter. Now think about your feet. Feel the ground. It's solid, isn't it?"
It was. It was solid. Peter wiggled his toes. He felt the way they bumped against the top of his shoes.
Mister's Stark's hand was on his face. The callouses pressed against his cheeks. His mentor's grip was harsh enough to make his jaw ache. Peter flexed it, forehead creasing in discomfort, and the fingers softened but did not release.
"You're doing great, buddy. Move your left hand. Touch something."
Keeping his right hand wrapped firmly around his mentor's tie, he groped blindly with his left. His knuckles grazed against the wall. He dragged his fingers over the paint. He could feel the little bumps and creases.
He could feel Mister Stark's tie. It was soft. He could feel his feet in his shoes. His socks were too tight. He could feel the paint on the wall. It felt a little like chalk.
Peter snapped back to clarity with a gasp, and the panic crashed down on him just as quickly.
It didn't seem to surprise Mister Stark. Peter snapped his eyes open as he felt his mentor tug him to the floor.
"I-I-" Runrunrun, "I-"
"It's okay, Peter. Just breathe. I'm going to talk to you. I just want you to focus on listening, alright? Just listen to my voice."
Peter gave a wheeze in response.
"I think you dissociated because you were trying to avoid a panic attack. That's why you're having one now. I need to you keep focusing so you don't do it again. I know you're scared, and I know you want it to stop, but you can't phase out like that. We're just going to ride this out, okay? I need you to let me know that you understand me."
Somehow, he managed to nod.
"Good. Your name is Peter Parker. My name is Tony Stark. You're in the Tower. There's no one else in this room except you and me. Just Tony and Peter. You go to Midtown School of Science and Technology. You're from Queens. Your Aunt is named May, and your Uncle was named Ben."
Slowly, the panic started to subside. Tony had one hand on his shoulder and the other on his cheek. His mentor gave Peter a gentle smile when he saw the teenager's eyes focus on his face. Peter glanced around the room, and nearly sobbed from relief when he realized that Tony hadn't been lying. They were alone.
No people. Just Peter and Tony.
"Nice to have you back, kiddo." Peter dragged his gaze back to his mentor's worried face. "To think, I threw this nice party and you decided to be a zombie for all of it."
Peter felt his heart rate spike at the mention of the party. He sucked in a tight breath. "I-I'm s-sorry."
"Whoa, Peter. Nothing to be sorry about. I was just messing around. Is that what set you off? The party?"
Tears sprung up in Peter's eyes. The aftermath of the panic attack was seeping into his bones. He was too tired to evade his mentor's questions.
Besides, Tony Stark could fix anything. Maybe he could fix Peter, too.
He slammed the back of his head against the wall in frustration. "Y-yes." When he went to do it again, his head hit Tony's palm rather than hard plaster.
His mentor was gripping his chin again, much looser this time, but still enough to confine. "Don't do that. You'll hurt yourself." Tony was squinting at him. "Was it the noise?"
"No."
"Are you claustrophobic?"
"No."
Realization dawned on his mentor's face. "Was it the people?"
"Y-yes."
"Peter," Tony tilted Peter's face so that he had no choice but to look into the billionaire's eyes, "do you have social anxiety?"
"Yes."
He let go of Peter with a curse. "Why didn't May tell me that? Why isn't it in your medical records?"
Mister Stark had his medical records? "She doesn't know."
Tony blinked. "May doesn't know?"
"No. A-and it's not in my medical records because I-I've never been diagnosed." He didn't want to have this conversation. Not right now. Not when he just wanted to close his eyes and sleep.
Maybe not ever.
"Why not?"
"Can we… can we not do this?"
"This is serious, Peter. If you think I'm just going to ignore it, you're very, very wrong."
"If I tell you, can I sleep?"
Tony's eyes softened as the teenager blinked drowsily. "Absolutely."
Peter took a breath, and began.
"I-I figured it out when I was, like, thirteen. But I think I've had it for, well, for forever. A-and I know I need help, but Aunt May... therapists are expensive, y'know? And she worries so much a-already and, and she might take away Spider-Man, and I need him, Mister Stark. I need him."
He slumped back against the wall, exhausted. Tony sighed.
"I can pay for a therapist, Peter. And no one is taking Spider-Man away from you. I swear."
"I-I don't-I don't need ther-"
"Let me cut you off right there." His mentor looked about as tired as Peter felt. "Going to therapy does not make you weak. I go to therapy, Peter."
The teenager blinked. "You do?"
"Yeah, I do. I've got some pretty bad anxiety myself, buddy. Don't you know that?"
"N-no."
"Well, I do. And I see a therapist. And I think you should, too."
Peter searched Tony's eyes before answering. "Okay."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Tony patted his cheek gently. "Good. Now, c'mon. I need to tuck my little Spider-baby into bed. It's past his bedtime."
He let his mentor pull him to his feet and guide him towards the door before he blanched. "W-wait-"
"They're gone, kiddo. It's empty. Party's over."
"Oh." The teenager paused. "Is it that late?"
"Yeah, kiddo. Very late."
Peter would never know that it was only 7:00.
He would never know that Tony ordered Happy to get rid of everyone the moment he realized something was wrong with his kid.
He would never know that his mentor had brushed the hair out of his face the moment he'd fallen asleep.
He would never know that Tony only left his room once that entire night, to make a call to his therapist.
But what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.
AN: My best friend can always tell when I'm starting to dissociate. Sometimes, she catches it before I do. And because Tony Stark is a SuperDad, I bet he would totally notice if something was off with his Spider-son.
