It was hard to think of anything other than the word. It was repeated in his thoughts every other second.
Psychosis
He really didn't want to, but he hopped in the back seat of the Audi, not processing whatever it was Happy was saying. He tried to answer when he stopped talking. He wanted to say something brief like "yeah," or just an "mmm," but that word was still caught in his head.
Psychosis
It was defining. It was deafening.
Psychosis
A few more things seemed to add up in his mind. He didn't think it had been that bad. Unless the doctor was lying to him. That had to be it. He wanted Peter to get a placebo affect from some sugar pills and prove that he was faking it.
He wasn't crazy, like that word would suggest. He was just panicked. Maybe he was just getting some anxiety from his school work and patrols. He was under a lot of stress, and this is just a lesson on how anxiety is a normal feeling and he should calm down.
He bet to himself that even Mr. Stark was in on it. Maybe he was the one trying to teach him the lesson.
Psychosis
He was over exaggerating. Once he got the sugar pills from the pharmacy by his house, he would go back to feeling normal. Until then, he would ignore the feeling of eminent doom and the voice in the back of his head thats saying that there is a demon following him everywhere.
That was just the anxiety talking.
Psychosis
~~~~~~
By the time Happy got him home, he was feeling much more confident. Of course the buzzing in his mind was much louder, but he could probably ignore that.
"Thanks for the ride, Happy," Peter gave him a smile and hopped out the back door.
"Are you sure you don't want me to come in with you, I don't think your aunt is home yet," Happy called out to him.
'He doesn't trust you alone.'
"No, I'll be fine," Peter closed the door and made his way to the entrance of his building.
He knew Happy was still watching. It's not like he was gonna go kill himself or anything.
'You could,' someone suggested to him.
"Nope," he muttered out loud, "I'm okay."
Deep breaths.
He unlocked the door and found all the lights to be off. His half drunken glass of water was still sitting on the coffee table, a puddle of condensation runoff at its base.
"May," he closed the door behind him. "I'm back."
'She's probably dead,' someone said.
"What, no," he shook his hands. "That's insane."
'So are you,' a voice said, way too clearly in his left ear.
"I am not crazy," Peter raised his voice.
As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how they sounded. He knew he wasn't crazy. He just had to prove that to everyone else.
What would a sane person do after yelling at nobody?
'They wouldn't have done that in the first place,' he thought to himself.
He picked up his lukewarm glass of water, absentmindedly to take a drink, when it hit him.
If he cleaned the apartment while May was gone, she might finally take his word that he was fine. Only a sane person would be willing to clean the apartment while she was away. Like she always says, "a clean area is a clear mind."
Of course, this quote was more directed to the pile of dirty clothes he never did seem to find the time to wash. Still, he found a way to apply it to the kitchen and living room.
In just an hour, he managed to dust, vacuum, organize the loose papers, and clean up the bathroom. Typically, he would do his cleaning while listening to music (and do so under duress), but this time, he didn't feel he needed it. Somehow, his mind was empty, the only thing within it was the buzzing. He only focused on the sound of his breathing and the sound of his cleaning, as every thought he had would just echo within his mind.
His thoughts would bounce around the sides of his skull and answers from the great abyss would whisper back at him. It was quite eerie, to the point that he had to take a few breaks so he could sit down and try to find the now calming buzz in his mind.
By the time that his work was completed, he was feeling about ready for a nap. But sleeping on command had become more of a challenge in recent months.
He drew his blinds and slipped under his covers, only to find his mind's level of exhaustion didn't quite match the level that his body was presenting. He tried to ignore the buzzing and fall asleep, when that word popped into his mind again.
Psychosis
Not ten minutes of trying to fall asleep later, Peter couldn't do it anymore. There had to be a better use for his time, anyway. He's such a stupid slob that he needed more constructive things to do.
May wasn't supposed to get home for another forty five minutes, according to his bedroom clock, so he had just enough time to run to the pharmacy and pick up his new... medication.
That word didn't sit right with him. "Medication." It made him sound like he was sick, and Peter Parker was very much not sick.
When he left the apartment, it was already dark out. It was evening, though, so there was still some blue left in the sky, but the sun had already vanished over the buildings.
Walking, he couldn't stop a memory from running through his head. When he was young, much younger than he was then, he and his parents would take camping trips. They slept in a cabin and got a good look at the stars.
Stars were basically non-existent in the city. When he looked up it was just a dark sky; like it was patiently waiting for the sun. Peter could relate to that.
For the longest time, Peter had felt like he had never known true contentment. There was no calm and no lull in his vocabulary of emotions, just empty; like he was always waiting for the next extreme emotion.
He was able to get his sugar pills from the pharmacy, despite being a minor. He was pretty sure that was illegal, but hey, never look a gift horse in the mouth.
He read the label on the little orange bottle. "Take one tablet by mouth twice per day"
He shrugged and tossed one of them into his mouth. All he had to do now was wait for the placebo to take affect and he would be better in no time. This aripiprazol would fix him right up. He winced at the chalky taste of the pill. It sure didn't taste like sugar.
As he approached his building, his spider senses began tingling. They were gentle, but make no mistake, they were present. He almost laughed at the notion that he nearly forgot that he was Spider-Man. He took a quick survey of his surroundings and noticed that a woman walking into the bodega across the street seemed to be what was triggering him.
He had to get his suit. Something was about to happen.
He raced up the stairs in his complex and reached for the doorknob. Even though he was certain that he had locked the door, but when he turned the knob and the door opened, he had to brush off any panic that came with leaving the door unlocked. He almost ran through the living room as well, if he hadn't seen May standing there.
"Oh my god, Peter, there you are," she lowered the phone in her hand and pulled him into a hug. "I though you had run off again, you scared me."
Peter took note of her phone. "Were you going to call Mr. Stark again?"
She sighed, guiltily. "Yes. I thought you ran away again and he helped last time."
Peter scrunched his eyebrows. He wasn't quite sure if he should have felt betrayed or endeared by her worry. "I thought you were still working," he pointed out.
"And I thought you would be home," she put a hand on her hip. Peter averted her gaze. "You can't just leave without telling anyone. Where were you anyway?"
His face went bright red. It was stupid, but he was ashamed of picking up his meds. Crazy people need medication, and Peter was definitely not crazy. Unfortunately, his excuses had been lacking recently, so he couldn't think of anything to tell her but the truth.
He took the pill bottle that had been stashed away in his jacket pocket, and her eyes grew a little. Carefully, she reached out and seized it from him. She read the label and looked at him.
Hoarsely, he added, "It's my new prescription." He wanted to give her some sarcastic jazz hands, but he already felt the heat of the spotlight on him.
She realigned her composure and cleared her throat. She knew that it was important to be supportive of this. "Right," she handed the bottle back to him. "I just wish you would tell me next time you leave. Just shoot me a text or leave a note, please."
'That's still not your aunt,' he heard someone call. He tried to ignore it, more because he was afraid that it was true than because he had the evidence to refute it.
"Yeah, I will," he sheepishly looked her in the eyes again.
The melancholy was sucked from the room when he remembered what his spider senses were telling him not minutes ago. He shuffled past her, into his room, only to find that his suit was no longer in his closet. The panic that came with opening his unlocked front door arose once more.
"Hey, May," he called, trying to act nonchalant about the situation. "Have you seen a, um, briefcase around here?"
"Tell me you did not lose your uncle's briefcase," she looked into his room.
"No, no, it was one that I got for my internship, it's got some important... things in it."
"Oh, that thing," she nodded her head. "Yeah, To- Mr. Stark, um, took it with him."
Peter looked up at her, a boiling rage filling inside of him. "He did what?"
"He said that since you were taking a break from the internship, you wouldn't be needing the stuff in there. That it was Stark Industries property."
Peter stood up and paced his small room. "I can't believe he would do that, he knows how important that part of my work is to me!"
"Well, what was in there," May's curiosity clouded her awareness of her nephew's emotions.
"It was- I can't tell you, it was classified," he began pounding his fists against his head. If only he hadn't made that stupid mistake of leaving for the night. Now Mr. Stark thought he was crazy and unfit to be a superhero.
"Maybe if you told me, I could figure something out with him," she offered.
"I just told you that I'm not allowed to tell," he smiled sarcastically, more with exasperation. He was now cradling his head against his arm on the wall.
"Well, I can't help you if you don't calm down."
"Shut the fuck up, May!"
Without thinking, Peter had hit the wall, the side of his fist going directly through the plaster.
May was shocked. He never acted like this. He never yelled at her or used that kind of language. She was confused and hurt, but she knew that the most important thing to do as the adult was to take control of the situation.
She approached the panting teen and touched his shoulder, "Pet-"
He swiftly turned to her and clasped onto her wrist. "No," he simply stated. That one word was enough to send a ping of fear down May's spine.
He let go of her wrist and watched her slowly back out of his room and disappear from his doorway.
~~~~~~
By the next afternoon, Peter and May still hadn't spoken about what happened. They hadn't even spoken in passing. May had the day off work, so she was at home and Peter went straight to his room when he came back from school.
To Peter's credit, he wasn't just avoiding his aunt. After skipping as many days as he did, he was playing some serious catchup in his classes. He had piles of homework and assignments to sift through, and apologizing was not on his agenda. He did feel a little bad about what he did, but every time he saw May he could feel that anger rising back up in him.
"You know she never loved you, right," someone spoke on his right.
He elected to ignore that.
It was strange, actually. Since he took the first two placebo pills, those voices had been much more few and far between. Only occurring every other hour at most. It was almost as if they were working... but he would never admit that. There was no way that even a placebo effect could happen so quickly, right?
This must have been some shady doctor to be giving out scripts so quickly to people who are so clearly just faking it. He didn't even have a diagnosis for his made up struggles. He had to have been faking it.
What was the name of that quack anyway? Alex something? Maybe his name was Andrew?
Peter got his laptop out and tried searching for psychologists, but before Google even launched, there was a knock at his bedroom door.
He sighed, hoping he wouldn't forget what he was about to do and went for his door.
Immediately making eye contact was Mr. Stark himself. His intrinsic charismatically conceited smile was replaced by a glare. His eyebrows hung low on his face and his eyes were red, as if he hadn't slept that night before.
He let himself into Peter's room, no need for an invitation, and pushed the kid a little out of his way, closing the door upon his arrival. Mr. Stark glanced at the hole in Peter's wall and sighed.
In a hushed manner, he pointed to the hole and asked, "was that you?"
Peter grabbed the back of his neck.
'Oh,' he thought, 'May told him.'
"Ye- Yeah," he admitted. He wasn't proud of what had happened that night before, but it did happen.
"You wanna tell me why you punched a hole in your wall and grabbed your aunt," he crossed his arms.
Peter paused. This did not appear to be rhetorical. "I was on my way home when I sensed danger — it was coming from the bodega. So I ran back up the building and I..." he almost smacked himself. He didn't remember that his anger was engaged by something so insignificant. "I didn't have my suit."
"Yeah, dummy, I took it," Mr. Stark sneered. "Not only is it my suit, but you are in no way fit to go around being Spider-Man right now." He whispered that last part a little more. "I can't believe you would try to use it. Then act like that after the matter. It's inexcusable."
Peter agreed with all of the words Mr. Stark was saying, but he couldn't speak for some reason. He tried to move his lips, but they appeared to have been sealed closed. He tried to move his arms, but they were too heavy. He should have been worried, but he felt kind of calm. The static that had faded earlier in the day overwhelmed his hearing and he was gone.
"I know this isn't you, right? I just need you to promise me that you never do this kind of thing again, okay," Mr. Stark swung a hand on Peter's shoulder.
No response.
"Kid? You listening?"
'Oh no, Mr. Stark is trying to talk to you. Say something.'
He tried to at the very least, grunt, but it came out as a nearly inaudible whine.
"Hello, are you there," Mr. Stark waved his hand in front of Peter's face. "You're starting to scare me. Are you having a transient ischemic attack, or something?"
'Okay, okay, what did that quack make you do? Grab a pen right? Ugh, but all of your pens are on your desk all the way over there. Okay, skip that step, what's next?' He ran the situation in his head. 'What are you feeling? Weight of his hand. My arms are kind of hurting, and so are my feet. I feel the cotton fibers from my shirt and the sharpness of the keys in my pocket. I feel the heat emanating from his hand."
"Pete, are you okay? I'm genuinely worried now."
"...Don't worry, Mr. Stark, I'm okay," Peter said a little slowly, without looking at him.
"What the hell was that? You completely checked out, are you getting enough sleep?"
Those were bold words coming from the man who didn't sleep at all the night before.
"It's okay," he finally moved his head. "It happens."
Mr. Stark chewed on those words for a moment. "No, it's not okay," he was solving the equation of Peter's brain in his mind, "that is not a normal thing. How often does that happen?"
Peter was embarrassed. He didn't want to say that it happens multiple times a day. He would looks stupid and end up getting pity from Mr. Stark, which was the opposite of what he wanted from him.
"I don't think I feel comfortable talking with you about it," he looked at him. Those words made him sound so broken, but they were kind of true.
Mr. Stark looked like he was debating on forcing the kid to tell, but he put his hands up. "Hey, no one is making you say anything. Just let me know when you're ready to talk."
"Okay, I can do that," Peter tried to give a smile, but ended up only twitching the corners of his mouth.
"Okay," Mr. Stark opened his door and left his room.
Just outside in the living room was May.
"How did it go," she asked him.
"I'm not gonna lie, I really worry about him."