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Peter is fine, he has been all day. Today is boring, sickeningly so. Surprisingly, nothing has gone wrong at all, he’s actually looking forward to the rest of the day. That is, until someone brushes against him in the hallway, it's completely innocuous, nothing threatening, his Spidey senses don't ping at all. Peter bumps against a lot of people while he's making his way between classes, it's no big deal. But this time when the other person brushes him he can feel the fabric of his jacket move against the bare arm beneath it. He feels it drag across his skin, slow and dry and rough
Peter’s mood comes crashing down immediately, he feels his stomach drop, his lunch churning in the now bottomless pit. He becomes hyper aware of everything in contact with his body, he can feel his jacket rubbing his arms, the stiffness of his jeans, restricting his legs, the pressure of his bookbag against his back. A terrible icy feeling seizes Peter’s heart, he can feel it becoming hard to breathe. The icy feeling crawls its way from the center of his chest, traveling down into his gut and back upward again, spreading across his shoulders like a some kind of fucked up armor. Peter pushes through it, he ignores the terrible feeling and settles into his seat.
Despite his stubbornness the feeling persists, Peter can feel everything that touches him, his clothes, his pencil, the desk his arm rests on. God, the paper he’s writing on feels like it’s sucking the life away from him. The longer everything touches him, the worse the feeling becomes. He isn’t physically in pain, but there is no other way to describe the sensation. He aches all over, his bones feel like they've been electrified, and his muscles feel heavy and jittery at the same time. He can't focus on anything the teacher says, doesn't really register the notes he was taking down so mindlessly. His entire being is focused on breathing through the exhausted, slimy feeling that has enveloped every inch of him.
He manages to make it through that class and moves onto the next. As he shuffles out of the room he almost whimpers, the hallway is a sea of bodies. He braces himself as he steps into the fray. He can’t help it, he twitches away violently every time someone slides past him, every slight pressure is like a slap to his face. He’s shuddering when he sits down this time, he can’t bring himself to pay any attention to this teacher. His skin is pulled taught over his electrified nerves, and he can only stare into the tiled floor and think of nothing, his hands are spasming, open, close, open, close. Fingers pumping sporadically, as if typing violently on an invisible keyboard; subconsciously trying to shake away the slimy cold feeling. The only thing that brings him back is the sudden appearance of a quiz on his desk.
Peter is good at this class, it's normally one of his favorites, he enjoys the concepts, the teacher is always so engaging. He KNOWS that he's good at this subject. But as he stares down at the paper he despairs, he can see words on the page, but no matter how hard he tries he can’t bring meaning to the words when he tries to string them together. His brain is completely focused on trying to survive whatever is happening to him. The despair sinks in even deeper as the time ticks away and his quiz remains blank, his eyes staring uncomprehendingly at the words. Peter feels a silent sob well up in his chest, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. The teacher gathers up the class’s tests, Peter’s paper looks pathetic and he can't help but feel ashamed. The questions had been nothing more than a jumble in his brain and he had rapidly scribbled in as many bullshit answers as he could when he realized it was a lost cause.
Peter’s day continues as such, his entire body screaming at him, every step filled with phantom agony, hands jerking and flexing robotically trying to shake the ache out of him. His chest isn’t expanding as easily as it should be, exhaling feels like lifting a ton of bricks. He’s hiding it well, he thinks, well, he hopes…he certainly isn’t screaming his anguish from the rooftops. Ned and MJ have definitely caught onto his uncharacteristic silence, they’ve been exchanging concerned glances when they think he's not looking, they seem to realize that talking isn't something that’s going to help. They learn that touch off limits when Ned slings an arm around him and Peter tenses like a live wire. Any attempt to lean into his space has the arachnid leaning away with a grimace as subtlety as he can manage in his frazzled state. Peter spends the rest of the day shrunken into himself trying not to cry, pretending nothings wrong as the agony shoots through him. His friends flutter around him, their body language broadcasts worry and helplessness towards their friend’s predicament. Peter truly appreciates them, he would tell them so if he could muster up the energy to speak out loud.
The end of the day can't come soon enough, it seems that even Flash has picked up on his distress, shooting wary glances at Peter from his seat, seemingly deciding he should take pity on the other boy today. Peter is tense as he waits for the final bell to ring, he practically books it outside as the harsh sound beats against his eardrums. His skin feels raw and his muscles are shaky, he hadn’t noticed until that moment how loud everything is. The flurry of movement from the other students makes his vision swim and suddenly he notices just how fucking bright the lights are were. His head is starting to throb and the relief he feels when he spots Happy waiting for him in the parking lot is a short respite from his suffering. He stumbles toward the car as fast as he can, slamming the door shut behind him, gunting out a half-assed greeting to Happy.
Peter practically flings his bookbag away from him, ripping his jacket from himself, his breathing is heavy and his mind is clouded with both panic and relief, he has to make it stop right now. He would've liked to save the breakdown until he was alone but this will have to do. Happy throws him an unsettled, worried look. Peter could honestly care less how insane he looks right now, Happy is safe enough for him to lose it around without being judged, the gruff man does have to babysit Tony for a living, he's definitely seen weirder.
So Peter ignores the look, throwing the jacket away from him. He breathes out, his skin is still crawling, the intensity has lowered but he can still feel acid running through his veins. His breath stutters and a loud sob claws its way out of his throat, hot tears pour down his face, he hugs himself tightly, rocking his body back and forth, trying to sooth himself. His eyes are squeezed shut tightly, a feeble attempt at blocking out the sunlight that filtered in through the windows. Luckily sounds seem to be a bit muffled, or maybe it's a combination of his raspy, wet breaths and loud sobs that are making Happy’s panicked worry filled questions seem so distant.
When the car pulls into Stark Tower’s parking garage Mr. Stark is waiting for them, anxiety clear in his stance, his brows furrowed and hands fidgeting, at least, that's the observation Peter would have made if he wasn’t so out of it. Tony pulls open Peter's door as soon as the car stops. Happy probably informed him of Peter’s concerning behavior during the drive.
“Peter, hey, kid, what’s wrong, you’ve gotta tell me so I can help you.”
Peter doesn’t respond to him and several more tries at coaxing him out of the gently rocking ball he had folded himself into also prove to be unsuccessful. Not knowing what else to do Tony reaches out and tries to take the kid’s hand, only to be rewarded with the kid flinching away from the touch, and is instead rewarded with a soft keen that's clearly meant to be an apology. Tony backs off immediately, there’s no way this kid is coming out of this car on his own anytime soon. He purses his lips and puffs out some air as he considers his next steps.
Tony sends Happy inside and crawls into the seat next to Peter, being sure to leave a decent amount of space between the two of them. Peter doesn’t want to be touched right now, so he’ll respect that. He sits in the near silence for a moment, listening to Peter's loud choking sobs, he can see the kid’s entire body trembling, his limbs jerk mechanically every so often, he looks absolutely miserable. Tony is careful to keep his voice gentle as he tries to prod Peter again.
“I need to know if you're injured Peter, I can’t help if I don't know what’s going on.”
Peter shakes his head, the movement is almost imperceptible. The words that follow are a mere whisper,
“Hurts.” Tony hates how terrified the kid sounds
“You’re not injured, but it hurts?” Tony asks softly, Peter confirms with a short nod of his head, his sobbing gets louder and messier, “It’s okay kid, I'm right here, I’ve got you.” Tears continue to roll down the young hero’s face, his body still aches, he can feel the agony lacing his muscles and the unpleasant sandpapery feeling of his clothes against his skin, but his mind has settled, he can feel the exhaustion melting into his mind, his rocking slowly ceases and his breathing slows and he drift into a slightly fitful sleep. Tony waits a long moment to make sure Peter is out cold before he wraps his arms around his kid and lifts him, intent on getting him somewhere where he can rest comfortably.
Tony does his damndest not to jostle Peter too much as he makes his way toward the room Peter usually stays in when their time in the lab runs over time. He’s scared that holding the kid like this is doing more harm than good. He doesn't want to risk having him wake up in his embrace. He doesn't like the thought of causing the kid to hurt. Tony lays him gently on thr soft bed, removing his shoes and pulling plush covers around his shoulders. He presses a gentle kiss to Peter's forehead before he leaves with one last affectionate look at his kid.
Peter wakes up the next morning, he feels surprisingly well rested, it's like the hours of sensory hell never happened. It's the usual routine for these episodes, though he’s never had one that was so public, never had to drag other people into helping him deal with his issues. He can’t bring himself to be regretful of the assistance though, he feels warmth wrap around him as he thinks of his pseudo-father figure and hopes that maybe Mr. Stark will be willing to just sit and be there for him if this happens in front of him again. Peter slides out of the warm bed and makes his way towards Mr.Stark’s workshop, fond thoughts of the man spinning through his mine. He hopes there aren't too many questions but he honestly can't bring himself to feel guilty about causing such concern if he gets to feel the warmth of such care directed at him.