an: TW for mention of panic attacks. This was a hard one for me to write, as sometimes talking about panic attacks triggers a panic attack, so I did my best to give y'all a glimpse of what I think it would feel like for Peter—and for those of you that already know what it feels like, I love you.
2. / The Hayden Planetarium
"Within the last few hundred years, we humans, inhabitants of a small planet orbiting this unexceptional star, have learned where the galaxies are, what they're made of, and how they got to be that way," the voice of Neil deGrasse Tyson filled the theater, as students stretched their necks to the ceiling, eyes-wide, the universe spinning around them.
Peter's class was on a trip to the Hayden Planetarium Space Theater, a trip that, last year, Peter would have been over the moon about, bad pun aside.
It was his thing, planets and stars and all the nerdy science to go along with it.
So why was it taking everything in him not to hurl all over the kid one row ahead?
His hands were sweating, running themselves up and down the plastic armrests before scratching across his chest involuntarily. He took a look at the kids around him again, still staring at the universe in wonder, but then the world was literally spinning around him, and it would only be a matter of seconds before he actually vomited.
Peter quickly excused himself, brushing off a slightly worried look from Ned with a half-smile and a motion that said he had to pee. He gave the same look to his teacher and got a silent nod of approval before he nearly ran out of the auditorium.
He only made it a few steps out of the double doors before he was on the ground, hands clutched to his now-heaving chest.
"Hey, love, are you alright?" A uniformed employee strode over to him, placing her hand on his back. The alarmingly empty look that Peter gave her instead of a reply was answer enough.
"N-no... ma'am... I don't—I don't feel so good."
And those words, those words, were enough to send him spinning again. His sweaty fingers gripped at his shirt, threatening to rip it to shreds, because he just needed to feel it, to know that it was still there, that he was still there.
"Is there someone I can call for you?"
Aunt May was out of town, he remembered, which only made the horrible palpitations in his heart surge again.
"Here, honey, let's get your over into the bathroom," she said, as Peter lifted a hand to cover his mouth, his body shivering and convulsions sending him forward every couple of seconds.
He was barely conscious of her lifting him to his feet and basically carrying him to a family restroom off to the side of the building.
"What's your name, hon?" She gently asked, arms still wrapped around his shoulder's.
"P-Peter," he managed, his voice a broken whisper.
"Okay Peter, we're going to get you feeling better, okay? Are your mom or dad at work, should I get one of them to come down here—breathe, love, just breathe for me—can I have your cell phone?"
Peter clumsily fished the phone out of his pocket, typing his password incorrectly several times because his fingers were trembling.
"Okay, who should I call?" She opened up the contacts list, holding the phone out in front of Peter. The name was right there, second from the top. He pressed the screen quickly and went back to dry-heaving.
Tony Stark picked up on the second ring.
"Pete, aren't you supposed to be in school?" Tony's voice rang out from the other end of the phone, easily audible with Peter's heightened senses. The woman had the phone pressed to her ear with one hand, the other rubbing gently on Peter's back.
"Hello, this is Angie at the Hayden Planetarium. Is this Peter's father?"
"N-.. no—h- he's," Peter started, but Tony was already talking.
"Something like that," Tony replied without skipping a beat, "what's going on?"
"Sir, Peter isn't feeling very well. I think it would be best if you could come down here and take him home."
"Is he okay?" Tony asked, fear creeping into his voice.
"Yes, he's in one piece, but sometimes the exhibit can leave people feeling nauseous. I've got him here in the bathroom, but if you could come down here I think that would really help him."
"Okay, stay there with him, I'll be there in ten minutes."
Angie called back four minutes later.
"Sir, Peter's breathing is really erratic and he says he's having chest pains. I called an ambulance to be safe, it should be here—" Tony didn't hear the rest, because he was already sprinting through the doors of the planetarium.
He could vaguely hear sirens down the street as he spotted Peter and Angie. She'd lifted him toward the front doors, preparing for the EMTs.
"You must be Tony," she said to the frantic looking man standing in front of her, "the ambulance should be pulling up any second."
He wasn't listening to her, because his eyes were trained on Peter, whose face was drained to a ghastly white, chest rising and falling at a rate that was way too fast.
"I don't wanna go, Tony, I don't wanna go... please, please I don't wanna go."
It took everything in Tony to not drop to his knees at the sounds of the Peter's cries, but he needed to be here, fully present, if he was going to make sure the kid was going to be okay.
Peter could feel the blood pumping from his heart, could feel it in his ears and head and toes. His forehead was slick with sweat, brown hair matted down, as damp patches were beginning to show through his gray NASA T-shirt.
The EMTs arrived thirty seconds later, carefully placing Peter on a stretcher and hooking him up to a heart monitor.
One of the paramedics stepped aside to speak with Tony.
"Sir, are you this child's father?"
"Yes," he said, unblinking, knowing it was the only way to get into the back of that ambulance with Peter, and the boy was too dazed to object.
"Okay, we'll have you ride along with us then."
They got the young boy situated and then in a little under two minutes they were racing toward the nearest hospital.
Several nurses pulled the stretcher away as soon as they entered the building, and Tony tried to follow but was held back by a scrubs-clad man who calmly explained, "We're just going to run a few tests, sir, and then you'll be able to see him again."
Peter was only partially conscious as the doctors ran an CT scan to check for internal bleeding and then an EKG to monitor his heart.
About thirty minutes later, Peter's breathing had returned to a normal rate, and the pain in his chest had mostly subsided. He was no longer painfully aware of the pounding of his heart and for the most part, he felt normal again.
He glanced around the room, finally aware of his surroundings.
"Mr. Parker, how are you feeling?" He asked, placing a reassuring hand on the boy's arm.
"Better, I think," he paused, "what happened?"
The nurse sat down next to the bed Peter was lying in and explained, "we believe you suffered a panic attack Peter. Do you know if you have any history of panic disorder or anxiety?"
Peter shook his head.
"Well, the causes for a panic attack can range from nothing specific at all to a particular trigger, as in the case of some forms of post-traumatic stress disorder. And while they are harmless in and of themselves, if you've never experienced one before, it can easily be mistaken for symptoms of a heart attack or a clot in the lungs. We ran all of the routine diagnostic tests, and everything seems to be working properly."
The man seemed to pick up on the embarrassment in Peter's eyes, because he continued, "panic attacks are very traumatic, Peter. And we're always happy to err on the side of safety, so it's really good you came in. We'd like to monitor you for another hour or so, just as a precaution, and then we'll set up an appointment with a psychiatrist before you leave to determine the best course of action from here on out. Does that sound okay?"
Peter just nodded, still a bit overwhelmed at the blood pressure machine attached to his arm and the oxygen monitor on his finger and the bright white walls surrounding him.
"Do you feel up to having your father come in here?"
He looked confused for a moment before he realized the man meant Tony.
"Oh, he's not... he's not my dad." The nurse looked a bit surprised but quickly masked it.
"But um, yea, he can come in. He's probably freaking out out there."
When the doctors explained that Peter had had a panic attack, all Tony could think was, God, not the kid.
After three years of nightmares and near constant anxiety, the last thing Tony wanted was one more thing standing between Peter Parker being a stress-free teenager.
He had just gotten off the phone with May when one of the nurses gave him the green light to visit Peter.
"Hey kid," he said, stepping into the doorframe, closing the door gently behind himself.
"Hi, Mr. Stark," Peter replied sheepishly. "I'm sorry for getting everyone so worked up over nothing."
"No, Pete," he shook his head, "not nothing."
Peter looked nervously to the ceiling.
"It really felt like I was dying," his said, his voice so incredibly small, and Tony moved to sit on the end of the bed.
"I know. They're a tricky beast."
It took a second, but then a look of understanding flashed across Peter's face.
"I'm not going to lie to you and tell you they'll make them go away, but we can get you in to see some people, and it will help you cope. I can work with you, show you some of the things that help me," he says, and his voice is so gentle and so reassuring that it almost feels foreign, and Peter swallows thickly.
"But for right now, let's get you home, okay? If you're alright with it, you can stay with me. I already talked to your terrifying Aunt and told her that the situation is under control, but we can call her back if you'd rather have her come home early."
Peter shook his head vigorously.
"No, she's been looking forward to this trip for months. Besides, I heard you lied and told the doctors you're my dad now."
Tony rolls his eyes and says, "Yea, well, desperate times kid."
Peter laughs a genuine laugh—a far cry from the ghost of Peter that Tony had seen at the museum—and says, "Oh, God, can you even imagine?"
Tony snorts. "Yea, not really my type. I'd like to thank my old man for that. I think I'll stick with being like the aloof, distantly related rich-uncle."
Tony sets Peter up with one of the best psychiatrists in the state—the same one he visits himself—before they leave the hospital, and they spend the rest of the night watching Peter's practically vintage Star Wars VHS tapes and tinkering with the collection of Legos he keeps at Tony's.
And as he sits and helps Peter learn to cope, Tony doesn't mention the fact that he can imagine it. That the thought of being a father figure for Peter doesn't make him break out in hives like he thought it would. Because it certainly should be making him break out in hives.
When he looks over, Peter's head is resting in his hands at the table, and Tony gently nudges him awake.
"Alright, kid, bed time. I'll see you in the morning."
No, definitely not the father type.
Note: If you have any ideas/prompts for future chapters and/or other fics, PM me or mention it in the reviews. I have some ideas, but I'd love to know what y'all think!