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Peter feels tired. He feels like his knees are made of jelly and his head is filled with static, an overwhelming, continuous buzzing in his skull. Exhaustion is threatening to overcome his senses, but he can’t quite place the reason for it. Why is he so tired? Why does he feel so awful, so miserable? It’s like he’s been pulled in a thousand directions and fragmented into a million little pieces of himself and they’re screaming for help in his ear.
I’m sorry
It’s been a hot second since his earlier thoughts and he can’t even remember what he was thinking about. Had he fallen asleep? He knew he hadn’t. Peter knew that if he had slept, his body wouldn’t feel like concrete. Whatever the thought before was, it left his mind disheartened, a sensation of freezing in his head. His eyes are open and he sees only white. The light in the room (?) hurts his eyes, even though it’s only one lightbulb and it makes him remember his special senses. That’s why his head is pounding, right? That’s the reason his eyes are burning and tears are gathering at the corners of his eyes in pain and he wants to scream for everything to stop, to wait for a second so he can catch up. The whiteness is so intense now and he thinks he’s looking at the sun for a moment.
Suddenly, a wave of calmness washes over his mind and, for the first time, he’s tempted to close his eyes. Peter really wants to, because if he was tired then, now he is barely thinking about anything else besides rest. His eyelids close, little by little, millimeter by millimeter and it seems like an eternity of time and space and whiteness has passed before they’re almost closed—
His body shots up in pain and he is wide awake; he can’t fall asleep, he doesn’t want to fall asleep, not with threat peering over his shoulder. What is he even scared of? What’s got Spider-Man so tense, so on edge?
Spider-Man.
That’s it. That’s the source of the problems, the root of his fear, and it’s something to do with his crime-fighting alter-ego.
But what?
What happened that won’t let him rest his eyes, even for a second?
Peter is still pondering when he feels a torn, familiar pain, a sensation in his whole body that means something is going to happen and it’s bad, but he’s felt it before, he’s sure of that, and then realizes his heart is racing and his lungs are closing in and he can’t draw in breaths because he died. That was the reason. It finally came to him, after it hung right in front of him, he finally caught it and it should have stopped. But it’s not stopping and Peter can—or rather can’t—feel his body turning to dust and ash, lacking strength to stop it until the only thing remained is his face, everything else blown away with the wind. Peter doesn’t even breathe anymore and he’s stuck now. He tries to speak but the only thing coming out of his nonexistent throat is groans and moans, words garbled together and sentences without meaning. This time, he’s full-on crying because he actually knows what’s happening; he’s dying all over again, experiencing the same horrifying feeling that it seems only he can understand.
This time, though, something is different.
This time, he’s facing the world alone, on his own, no one to cradle him close and whisper that it’s gonna be fine, he’s gonna be alright.
Except that he’s not gonna be alright, not this time.
‘Kid.’
Peter feels nausea creeping on his insides when he hears a voice. It’s not just a regular voice, though. It’s Tony Stark’s voice and the fact that he’s there makes Peter feel calmer. He tries to draw in a breath but immediately the memory of ashes, dirt, death comes back to his mind and he chokes on the air. Coughs make their way out of his throat.
He feels a hand on his shoulder (is it still there?) and it takes everything in his power not to scream. Involuntary, he shakes it off but it comes back on, like it’s glued to him. His panic level rise over the limits and he’s trying to breathe but it feels like his throat is closed. He clumsily moves his hands to remove the hand again but it grips his own and that’s when Peter can’t take it anymore. The other hand’s grip is too strong and he’s too weak, he’ll break, he’ll die again—
A distorted shout makes its way to Peter’s ears, like he’s underwater and someone’s screaming at him from above. Suddenly, his shoulder feels sore and now hands are grasping his shoulders, shaking him.
Despite the panic in his brain, he finds it in himself to scream ‘Get away!’ at his attacker.
‘Peter!’
His name reaches his ears and Peter finally comes to. He blinks a few times, washing away the blur, taking in his surroundings.
He’s in Mr. Stark’s private jet. He’s sitting on the cold floor. His shoulder hurts. Peter turns his head and notices Mr. Stark looking at him, a look of worry plastered over his features. He’s kneeling down and his hand is resting on Peter’s shoulder. Peter shrugs it off and stands up. His hands are trembling and he leans back against the wall of the jet. He breathes, once, twice, and tries to calm down his racing heart. He licks his chapped lips and notices they are salty; Peter frowns and touches his cold cheeks and finds them wet. A flaming feeling of shame burns inside him and he looks down because, oh god, he cried in front of Mr. Stark because of a small bad dream.
‘Kid,’ he hears Mr. Stark say, ‘are you okay?’
Peter lifts his head and looks behind Mr. Stark instead of at him. He tries to speak, but words won’t come out so he reserves to nodding slowly.
Obviously, Mr. Stark isn’t convinced. ‘Peter, I’ve had my share of panic attacks and nightmares.’ Tony moves to sit next to Peter. ‘You feel like talking?’
Peter swallows the shame in his throat. He croaks out a small ‘I’m sorry—’ and starts explaining but Tony just cuts him off with a hand. ‘No no no, no apologies here. That shit happens, especially after what you went through.’
Tony didn’t mention it, but Peter knows exactly what he’s talking about.
Dying
Ashes
‘I died,’ Peter says.
All Tony does is nod. ‘Thanos is a little bitch.’
Peter looks at his hands, like he’s expecting them to turn to ash again. ‘I died and turned to ash. I was dead.’ Peter finally meets Mr. Stark’s eyes and it makes him want to cry again, seeing him so worried.
‘I know, kid. You didn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve this.’
Peter just nods. All this trauma is tiring after a while and he can’t help but agree to everything Tony after some point. He’s too exhausted to be attentive.
Tony knows Peter’s fallen asleep again because his head is resting against his shoulder and he hasn’t heard a sound in 20 minutes, but he doesn’t want to wake him up, even if they are close to his home, because he knows Peter needs his rest. He’s not going to get much of that from now on and Tony knows exactly how it feels. Even with his own pain, he’d take the kid’s too, only if it meant Peter being happy again. Tony gives the top of Peter’s head a small smile and he can’t help but think how much of a dad he’s becoming, even if the event that brings him and Peter closer together is the kid’s death because of a big, purple alien.
Carefully, he stands up, trying his best not to disturb Peter from his slumber. Tony makes his way to the cockpit. ‘Friday, change destination.’
‘Where are you going?’
Tony bites his lip. ‘Do a tour of New York. It should take longer.’
‘Of course.’
With that, Tony returns to Peter. He sits down next to him, leans his head back and falls asleep as they pass through Queens.