Trigger warning: Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Derealization, and Intrusive thoughts
Waking up is a slow process. Groggy and slow, a cold weight settling into his stomach and Peter knows it's going to be one of those days. Unfortunately, today being a Saturday, means that it's a Stark Towers day.
Not that seeing Mr. Stark wasn't something he could avoid. Hell, Peter could shoot the man a text about not feeling well and how he was going to skip out today. But, that would cause the older man to worry and Peter didn't need to put anymore stress of Tony then he already did.
He blinked, not wanting to move from the security of his bed. The clock read 11 o'clock, not that late and Peter had another couple hours until he had to leave so, he allowed himself to rest a while longer. Time passed in blurs, slipping through his hands like sand and the time to leave came all to soon. A quick shower, a bite to eat and a quick hug from May before he was out the door and on his way to Stark Tower.
Happy was busy today so he opted to walk, which in hindsight wasn't his best idea. The bustle of busy street, cars and people passing by without a care, chatting and honking and laughing and noise and more and too much. Heavy weight made a home for itself in Peter's lungs, cold and sharp and unwelcome.
A shoulder bumped his and he muttered out a quiet apology. His clothes felt wrong, scratchy and weird, and his shoulder burned, the brief contact setting his skin ablaze. And Peter fell back into himself.
Time slipped further, and when he snapped back he was in the lab with Tony, sitting quietly and tinkering with who knows what. His memory is fuzzy and he feels pressure growing in his head, a steady weight in his mind that he can't seem to shake. There's a taste in his mouth akin to iron and his tongue rests like lead, he can't bring himself to speak up, the energy to do so seeping out of him. Peter needs to snap out of this, needs to not make a scene in front of Mr. Stark. He can't deal with those repercussions, not today.
He catches a glimpse of his hands, steady and still and definitely not his. There not his but they are, indiscernible and blurry and Peter can no longer focus. He doesn't feel safe, doesn't feel like he's in his body, like the body he has isn't him and safety is no longer a choice as the environment around him hits, and it hits hard.
Mr. Starks occasional glances at him, unreadable and scarce; the buzzing of machinery around, steadily increasing the pounding in his head; the bright fluorescent, too white, too bright. Heavy breathing and the sound of silence falls on his chest with the distinct feeling of being trampled to death.
Peters skin burns and the urge to tear it off arises. The fire runs through his veins and the urge grows, his hands are trembling now and the yearning to feel some sort of pain, any kind of hurt is too much. He tries to push the thoughts down, but they are armed to the teeth and ready for blood.
His heart beats and beats and it doesn't seem to stop, doesn't seem to slow. He can feel his breathing, a staccato of building panic. And he falls further into himself, falls further from everything. His vision blurs and he can't tell if it's from tears or his inability to focus.
His eyes sting and his chest aches, subdued, a backdrop to his agony. He needs to scream, needs to yell, needs to hurt, needs that surface level pain to ground him again. He distantly recognizes that Mr. Stark has moved, hands flirting around and mouth moving, eyes frantic at Peters lack of response.
He tries to focus, tries to grasp into the soothing sound of his mentors voice, but he can't find it in the whir of sounds around him, buzzing, beeping, ringing and it's all so much, too much. His hands clamp over his ears and and sharp whine escapes him. Peter feels like he's melting, feels like he could turn to ash at the drop of a hat and everything is too much.
He can't focus, can't breath, can't think and his heart hurts, full of fire and want and Peter really wishes he could breath. Mr. Stark leaves his vision and something in his chests seizes, a pitiful sound pushing its way out. Suddenly, hands are on his, gently prying them away from his ears and the tight grip they had on his hair and Peter feels anger burn it's way through him. He barely manages to restrain himself form lashing out.
Soon enough something else is placed on his ears and the world goes quiet around him, the lab goes dark and Peter barely registers the fact that he is being moved onto the ground and off of the hard stool that he was previously siting on.
Hands are on him again, and he pulls away not liking the confined feeling, not liking the way they burned. They didn't leave, they stuck to him like glue and Peter let out a strangled sob; he needed them to stop. Needed the pressure gone before the rage that swelled inside him burst.
He was still standing, legs numb and shaky and the pressure behind the hands increased, leading him into a siting position. The hands finally left and where quickly replaced by a soft presence beside him, not quite touching, but close enough that Peter new it was there.
His nails dig into his palms, hands pressed to his heaving chest, head resting on his knees. Broken sobs ripped their way through him, escaping him in a testimony of his pain. He needed this to stop, the pain, the whirlwind of emotions that he couldn't control, everything need to stop.
Time slipped, and Peter lost track of how long he was there, huddled on the floor on Tony's lab, chest throbbing and heart beating and utterly miserable. It was a slow descent, heart falling into its normal rhythm and faltered breathing growing steadier and exhaustion creeping its way into Peters mind, settling nicely beside the constant weight.
Peter stretches his legs out in front of him, joints full of pins and needles and he leans on the presence next to him, welcoming the comforting warmth. A hand is in his hair now, softly running through the curls and Peter relaxes further, not bothering to open his eyes, . He takes another shuttering breath, it's deep and fills his lungs with much needed oxygen. The world is still and steady and quiet.
More time passes and Peter finally opens his eyes, he sees Tony beside him, eyes soft and filled with worry, but he doesn't say anything, just keeps his presence unwavering and Peter feels himself drift off, eyes lids collapsing under the exhaustion.