Something was going on. Something was wrong. Peter was experiencing something.
When it started, he heard a voice speak to him while he was lying in bed. In a calm voice, it declared, "You shouldn't be here."
Typically, Peter would fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. After hours of school, homework, and patrol, he was exhausted at the end of every day. When he heard that voice speak to him, he didn't think much of it. He lived in Queens, it was probably someone outside. Easy to rationalize.
Later, Peter saw a man running with a gun in his hand, while he was on patrol. He chased him around a corner, where he disappeared. When he asked Karen to track the man with the gun, she said that there was no such man. That put chills down his spine.
It was probably nothing though.
This had gone on for a few months until May began to notice. He would look out his bedroom window at a dog that didn't exist. He got embarrassed when she finally pointed When he did things like show her a meme, he was shocked that the text read something different from what he remembered.
She made him take an eye test, but they said that his vision was fine. Above average, actually. He was probably just sleep deprived when that stuff happened though. Even she could see he was burning the midnight oil.
It wasn't a big deal though.
It wasn't until she came home to him trying to do his homework. It was six o'clock. He was usually out with Ned at that point in the day, his homework long past done.
"Big assignment," May offered as a reason.
"No," he sighed. His fingers were buried in his hair, tugging. "It's physics. I– how can you even THINK with all of that shouting!"
He banged his fist against the table, causing both the dirty dishes on it and May to jump.
She quickly composed herself. "Peter," she touched his shoulder, making him flinch, "no one is shouting."
He breathed in for a few moments as the yelling began to fade. "May," he spoke with a soft voice.
"I'm right here," she rubbed his shoulder.
"D–," he breathed out. "Do you believe in ghosts." He looked up at her with watery, lost eyes.
She wanted to give him the answer that he wanted to hear, but they both knew it wouldn't be true. "No," she shook her head."
He pushed back his chair and quickly stood up. "The apartment is haunted," he said with undoubtable certainty.
"Peter," she took a step at him. "There is no such thing as ghosts, okay?"
"Right," he said, "but what if there where."
This went on for a while. He would say the the apartment was haunted, she would tell him otherwise, and he would find a reason to believe that it wasn't true. An hour had passed with them doing this until Peter confesses something.
"You're making me feel like I'm crazy when I know I'm right! They told me to get out, and I'm starting to think that's good idea," he said, packing a bag.
May had to treat the situation gently. "You're right," she hesitated. "Maybe you need to leave for the night."
A glimmer caught in his eyes. He was right? "Really," he almost smiled.
"Yes," she reached for her phone. "I'm gonna call Mr. Stark and see if you can stay with him for the night."
"Oh," he paused. His initial thought was that he could stay with Ned, but he would never turn down an offer to stay with Tony Stark.
"Yeah," she started dialing the number, "so you finish packing, and I'll set it all up, okay?"
"Sounds... good," he turned away from her.
Mr. Stark would tell her the truth. He definitely believed that ghosts were real and he would help get rid of them. Peter was sure that he had some sort of connection that could help him out in his situation.
"Look, Tony," May spoke quietly into her cell, "he won't listen to me. Quite frankly, I'm scared."
"Scared of what," Tony frowned. "The kid is too young to go and lose his marbles."
"I just hope that a good night's sleep in a quiet place will help him," she sighed. "To be honest with you, we don't live in the best neighborhood and I think the crime nearby has him a little high strung."
"Yeah," Tony smiled and shook his head. "You have no idea how stressful crime rates can be on him."
"What is that supposed to mean," she asked, genuinely curious.
"I, uh, mean that Peter... worries... about me..." that sounded legit. "I find it sweet more than anything, but if he seems genuinely concerned to you, I can certainly have a talk with him."
"Thank you," she sighed once again, not noticing how she was holding her breath. "I think he's been panicked over crime since my husband... as well as the concerns that he's voiced to you. He's probably been worried about our safety at home since then."
"Oh, absolutely," Tony was uncharacteristically speaking with a softness in his voice. "I will talk with him about calming down and drop a couple of melatonin tablets in his cocoa." Naturally, he hid his care with sarcasm. Although, he was considering that as a real option.
Peter could hear her chuckle from his room. What did she know?
"She's laughing at you," Peter heard a girl call from beside him.
He shot his head towards the noise, but the space was only occupied by air. When he turned his head, he could have sworn he saw a face in the corner of his eye, but when he looked back to inspect, nothing was there.
Maybe she was right. Maybe Aunt May was laughing at him. Maybe that's what she and Mr. Stark do in secret: laugh about him.
Even he found his life to be quite laughable. He recognized that the universe had been speaking to him recently and so he began paying attention to anything that might be a sign. He saw a sour cream ad online and felt like it was directed toward him. He refused to use sour cream on that night's dinner.
He knew the way he was acting might look strange to the untrained eye, but he knew what he was doing was all logical.
He shoved a shirt into a duffle bag and zipped it closed. Then, he poked his head out his door to eavesdrop a little more on the conversation about him. Unfortunately all he could hear was "bye."
With that, Peter stepped out of his room, not realizing that it would be a long time before he would see that room again.
He caught May's eye just as she stood up. "Oh, Peter," she froze. "How much of that did you hear?"
"Nothing," he lied, but only a little. Lifting his duffle a bit he went on with, "I'm ready to go."
"Okay," she smiled at him. "Mr. Stark will be here to pick you up in just a couple of minutes."
He let the bag slip down. "I thought you were gonna drive me," he tried to keep the disappointment from his voice.
"Well, I was going to," she put the phone down and walked into the kitchen, "but then I remembered how far out that place is and I have a really early shift tomorrow. Not to mention," she exited the kitchen with a cheese stick, "Mr. Stark said that he was already near by. So, it's a win-win."
Peter forced a smile. "I guess so." He threw his bag on the couch and swung his legs over the back of it to sit. "I guess I'll just wait for him."
What are the chances that Tony Stark would just happen to be close to his apartment on the night he needed him? Too low for Peter.
A few minutes later May came from the kitchen, her hands still covered in soapy gloves. "Hey, Peter, I just got the text that he's here, so you can..." she was talking to nobody.
She figured that Tony had texted him as well, until five minutes later, when Tony was asking where he was.
~~~~~~
There he was. Peter had snuck through the front door fifteen minutes ago and began wandering around Queens with nothing but his duffel bag. He knew not to bring his phone or suit with him, in the case that Mr. Stark would try and find him. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing, but he knew that he didn't want to be found.
He dodged police vehicles and kept a distance between other people. There was no way of knowing who anyone was.
Then it occurred to him.
"Am I really me," he mumbled into his coat, catching the reflection of his face on a shop window.
He began to feel, not out of body, but wavy. As if he was flickering in and out of existence. The outside world felt unreal to him and the only thing he could really feel was the cold sleeping through his skin. Even that felt muted.
A homeless man tapped on his shoulder, and his body seized. He took a few deep breaths as he turned to face the man.
"Are you okay, son," the man asked him, looking him up and down. "You've been standing here for an awful long time."
Peter began to relax his hands, which were gripping the strap to his duffel bag. He hadn't even noticed. He tried to release his hands but all they did was shake.
The man gave him another glance. "Are you on something," he asked, bluntly.
Peter was trying to speak but could barely feel his voice in his throat. His face began hearing up as he realized what might have been happening to him.
"are– are you real," Peter squeaked, barely audible.
"Come again," the man held a hand to his ear. "My hearings not what it used to be."
Peter squeezed his eyes shut, only to find the man raising an eyebrow at him. He wanted to say something, but he physically couldn't.
Instead, he just began shuffling away at a speed that could barely be described as walking. He couldn't move very fast while his existence was still pulsating from his body. Although he hadn't so much as touched drugs in real life, he was really wishing he was high then.
His heart was hanging in his stomach as a familiar sense of dread filled his body. The only thought racing though his mind was "run".
The next thing he could remember was being on the subway. He had no recollection of getting on the train or even swiping his card. In fact, he wasn't quite sure where he was.
His wavy feelings had left his body and the only thing remaining was panic. His eyes went wide as he tried to remember the other parts of that night. For all he knew he was in Connecticut.
The doors opened up at the stop, and he was the only one getting off of the sparsely boarded train. He couldn't recognize this station. That was a significant problem, so he ran to the stairs and emerged into the city.
He tried to find a sign of where he was, which he knew he had seen in the subway that his fear was blocking out. His breath caught in his throat when he finally saw it.
He had gone all the way up to The Bronx.
It wasn't the distance that concerned him as much as the travel time. Not as much as the fact that he had left his phone at home. Not nearly as much as the fact that his duffel bag had mysteriously disappeared.
He hit his head a couple times. The sun was starting to come up and he couldn't remember any of the night. Had he fallen asleep? It was all a blank spot in his memory.
He guiltily went back down to the subway. The one that clearly marked The Bronx on the exits. The one with signs that seemed to be directed toward him.
'Always know who you're banking with,' one sign read.
Peter didn't have any money to make a call, so obviously that one was for him.
He marched past it, just trying to find the right train.
'Fly down to Vegas for a night you'll never forget,' another read.
He almost chuckled. He couldn't remember his night, so of course it was mocking him.
'I will find you, Peter,' a third one read.
He shook his head and looked back at that ad.
'Buy with us, and you'll always have more savings,' it truly read.
He tugged on his coat sleeve, insecurely. He felt so exposed. Like all of his shame and secrets were out there. He was just in time to catch the train home though, so this feeling was almost fleeting.
This train was a little more crowded than the last. He pulled the hood up on his coat. He needed to feel less seen. He wanted to be lost and unknown.
He sat down, as opposed to holding on to the handles, because his body was exhausted from being active for almost twenty four hours; a good chunk of that, he couldn't remember.
Even though he tried to fight it, he succumbed to his exhaustion and fell asleep on the train. Fortunately for him, he woke up well before he had to get off, but he still felt uncomfortable at the thought of strangers watching him sleep. They could have done something to him.
He wandered back to his complex in the morning sunshine. It was sickening. He knew he was in for it with his aunt.
He walked passed the window he had gazed into that night. It still made him feel a little wavy.
Before he could get even remotely close to his apartment, an Audi screeched to a halt next to him. From the back seat rose Mr. Stark, fuming.
"Kid you better get your ass in here before I make you," he pulled Peter by the wrist and led him in.
Peter weakly followed.
"Happy," Tony called to the front seat, "get us to the tower."
"Mr. Stark, I really think I should get home," Peter protested.
"Your aunt is waiting for you there," he crossed his arms as Happy merged back into traffic.
Yeah, he was in for it.
(A/N: In reality, Peter's symptoms probably wouldn't come to him this fast. Also, in case you couldn't tell, this is a bit of an au Where Tony is still alive and they're at the tower rather than the compound. I just like the idea of Tony being in the city. Tell me what you'd like to see in future chapters!)