As they walked into the tower, Peter could feel the security cameras' menacing glare.
"Those are there to keep track of you," a voice told him. At this point Peter was aware that the voice that spoke to him would not have a host body.
"why would mr. stark be watching me," he whispered to himself as the man he just named was ushering him into the elevator.
Although he was nearly as tall as him, Peter felt very small in that elevator with Mr. Stark. He knew he was taking him to his aunt on an upper floor, and that his aunt would be prepared to strike the fear of god into him. But he was already afraid of everything.
It wasn't that he couldn't bear it. Peter was becoming exceptionally good at facing his fears. He knew how to handle them for the most part. Like the last night, when he was reading that sign. He knew it wasn't possible for it to be physically saying those things, so he opted to reread it. And wouldn't you know, it wasn't actually reading that.
Of course he still knew that he was meant to read it like that, as that was what some greater being was trying to tell him.
The elevator bell dinged, snapping Peter out of his thoughts. Back on guard.
Aunt May was standing just outside the doors and immediately hugged Peter as he was escorted out of the elevator.
"That's not your real aunt," said a voice. This sent a chill down his spine.
He pushed her away.
While this didn't really offend her (he was a teenage boy after all), it did raise Tony's eyebrow.
"Don't do that, kid," he angrily ordered. There was almost a menacing chuckle to his tone. "You have been missing all night and now you get to hug your aunt, who has been staying up all night, reaching out to whoever she could possibly think might have you."
It was true. May had dark circles under her eyes and her hair was pulled back into a frizzy ponytail. She was wearing the same clothes from last night, and if Peter cared to look, there was a notebook full of crossed out names and phone numbers on the couch.
"That's not my aunt," Peter turned to Tony.
May was taken aback by this claim.
"Shut up, you brat," Tony spoke uncharacteristically sharp towards him. "Now is when you get to explain where you've been all night."
He really didn't want to say it.
"I don't remember," Peter answered honestly.
"Bullshit," Tony glared.
"Hey," May put up her hand. "My nephew is sixteen. Watch your mouth."
"Really, I don't remember," he continued. "I left the apartment because..." Peter remembered his theory about Tony and May working together and trailed off. "Anyway, I just kept walking and I caught my reflection. It just didn't look like me. And... I'm not making any sense, am I," he looked up at the two.
"I'm kind of lost," May had her eyebrows furrowed.
"No no," Tony waved, "keep going. You were looking at a reflection of yourself then what?"
"I don't know," he stared at the floor. "I just got this unsettling feeling and I don't think I was looking at myself. But then I got out of it and all I did was go to the subway and that's all I can remember."
He decided to leave the part about The Bronx out of it.
"What were you using," Tony bit at his thumb nail.
"What– Oh no, I wasn't high on anything, I swear," he shook his head aggressively.
Tony took a good look at him. He had done enough drugs in his time to know that he was telling the truth. He could even get him tested if he wanted to.
"I believe you," Tony said, a short pause between each word.
There's no way in hell Tony could believe Peter. After the story that he just told, Peter had to have been sounding like a total head case at that point.
"You do," Peter asked in shock.
"Yes," he folded his hands.
Peter didn't know what to make of it. There was no way that Mr. Stark would take his night as fact. Could he? He didn't have the energy to get through all of these tough questions anyway. All he really wanted to do was go home.
'He's watching me,' Peter thought to himself. 'He wants to see what my next move is. No, that's ridiculous. But on the off chance that I'm right...'
"C– Can we go home now," he turned to his Aunt May.
She noticed his nervous body language and gave him a look of pity.
"Of course we can, sweetie," she wrapped her arm around his shoulders.
"You're just going to let her do that," one of the voices spoke. "Be careful of the lights."
"What's wrong with the lights," Peter accidentally asked out loud, immediately turning red.
Tony looked him up and down, wearing a suspicious face. That was completely unprompted in Tony's perspective.
"Nothing is wrong with the lights," he spoke slowly.
Even May was confused by the question. She was looking for the logical explanation as to why he would ask that question, but if never came across her mind to question his state of mind. Not after the night that they all had.
"I think you just need some rest," she said, satisfied with that answer.
"You know what," Tony put his hand on Peter's back, pushing him a little to walk, "why don't you take a nice nap in this room right here. Your Aunt and I will be right outside if you need anything."
This wasn't a suggestion, it was an executive decision. Peter was going to stay in there, whether he slept or not. For now, Tony just needed to get in a confidential word with May.
He patted Peter's back as he got the kid all the way inside, closing the door behind him.
"What was that about," May was in the same spot, her arms crossed and hanging.
"Oh, I was just getting him a bed to sleep in. Look," he rushed to his point, lowering his voice, "I don't think Peter is right in the head right now."
"So he had a night of teenage rebellion, hasn't he earned it after his years of being a rule follower," she fixed her glasses.
"You don't get to do that," he shook his head. "You don't get to play that game with me. Remember, you called me last night, saying that you thought you had a defective kid. All I'm doing is confirming your theory."
"Well now I know he was just stressed out and that can be remedied," she had an overprotective maternal instinct arise in her.
If there was one thing Tony Stark knew, it was not to mess with powerful women. But this was about Peter. This was about the mental health of the kid who comes in for his non-mandatory internship every day. This was about Spider-Man.
Of course, May didn't know about that last one. He couldn't use that defense.
"Look, May," Tony tried reasoning. "I'm sorry for overstepping like that. We both just want to help your kid."
"Maybe he can take a few days off school," she looked him in the eyes, a desperate plea for an answer.
He let out a breath. "I don't think that would solve the issue."
The room fell silent. All that could be heard was Peter's snores from the next room. There was a gaseous feeling of sadness occupying the space between the two. Neither got teary eyed, but they shared the weight in their stomach of what they knew would come next.
~~~~~~
Before Peter knew it, he was sitting on a chair in front of a man with a doctorates in psychology. May said she wanted to drive him, but Susan broke her ankle, so she picked up her shift. Tony was in Brazil, and Happy drove him in utter silence.
He was sitting on an off white lounge chair with a man staring him down.
"Just tell him the truth and we can go from there," Mr. Stark spoke over the phone before Peter left. "You'll do great. I believe in you."
He was sitting in front of a window while a man on the larger side with a mustache was trying to read his soul.
But Mr. Stark believed in him. If Mr. Stark trusted this man, so could Peter. After all, he believed him from the start.
About fifteen minutes had passed in the hour that May booked. Peter already told him about what happened that night. Did he accidentally let something slip?
'This is your life,' Peter heard his own voice in his head. It wasn't a jest, more of an abrupt reminder.
He was suddenly so aware of his surroundings, but nothing felt real. The suede on the chair felt unreal, programmed, fake. It was as if his person hadn't been in his body for a long time, but it didn't feel real.
"Peter," the man's voice echoed in his mind until the realization fell upon him.
'You're Peter! Answer before he thinks you're crazy!'
"Yes," he said, convincingly.
At least he thought so. He didn't feel the shake in his voice or notice the way that he responded four seconds after his name was called.
"Can you tell me what just happened," he asked. This man had a calming presence about him. It was probably a trap. "It looked like you went somewhere in your mind."
Peter tried to look at him like he was real, but he couldn't shake the artificial feeling off everything.
Delayed again, Peter responded with a lively, "I'm right here."
He wanted to smile but this stupid construct of a body was incapable. He couldn't even manage a half smile, or even any expression for that matter. His body was being controlled by someone else.
"Peter," the man scooted foreword in his seat. "Do you see that pen next to you?"
Peter slowly turned his head to the wooden table to his left. Sure enough, there was a pen sitting on it. It was probably misplaced by the man in front of him and that man wants to expose all of his darkest secrets to the world.
Right, he had to respond.
"Yes," he spoke with a sharpness to the s.
"Good," the man spoke gently. "Now can you pick it up for me."
Oh god. He had to move his arm. Moving seemed like such a great task to approach. How do limbs move again? Peter could almost hear a whine in his breath as he lifted his arm over the arm of the chair. He touched the pen.
It was easier to move once he got started. Eventually, he managed to lift it in his grasp, it was much cooler and lighter than he'd imagined.
"What color is it," he asked Peter.
What kind of imbecile doesn't know the color blue? It's a trap.
"Blue," Peter said with little delay.
"What about the detailing on it? The clicker? What color would you say that is," he pushed on.
"It's silver," the words seemed to be coming from his own mouth at that point. He felt very present at that moment. "It kind of matches your stapler," Peter pointed behind the man at a desk.
The man smiled without looking back.
'He knows something.'
"I'd say you're right," he scribbled something on a notepad.
Peter wanted to ask what had just happened, but he didn't want to seem insane. It was probably nothing anyway.
"Have you ever heard of dissociation, Peter?"
The words struck him like a hammer. His heart rate picked up and he looked up at the man. "In relation to dissociative identity disorder, yeah," Peter looked at him with wide eyes. He was definitely present now. "But I can guarantee you that I do not have multiple personalities."
'Yeah, why don't you just ask Spider-Man,' his head taunted.
"I'm not saying that you have that disorder," he put up a hand, but remained collected.
'But you probably have a disorder,' his brain filled in the blanks.
"But," the man continued, "I believe you may have been experiencing a form of psychosis."
Those words instantly caught his attention. Well, the one word at least. All of the spit in his mouth dried up and a buzzing in his head that seemed to have been present the whole day suddenly grew loud.
He couldn't focus on anything the man was saying. He didn't hear what was written down on a sheet of paper. It was a medication he was expected to try. He didn't hear of the words from the receptionist at the front of the building. He could hear the words but not the meaning behind them.
Just the buzzing like an outdoor freezer. Like a swarm of bees had made his brain their new home. Just the buzzing and that word.
"Psychosis"