spiderman angst/sickfic oneshots

going through the motions (irondad)

In honor of author feeling burnt out, about to start their period, and the multiple panic attacks I've had this week. Is it ptsd? The world may never know. I don't reccomend being in a shooting btw wasn't cute or fun really was scary and not nice tbh

Enjoy

--mostly timeline noncompliant
I just like using the tower bc it's easier to imagine even tho its gone

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Peter was going through the motions. Every class felt the same, every emotion was washed over in gray. He had no energy left to give.

He felt himself dragging even in the places he used to enjoy.

Chemistry? He couldn't remember a thing they had learned, and it was his favorite class.

It all started with an accidental lockdown. Someone hit the button on accident, sending the entire school hiding under desks and then barricading doors and hiding in the corner, texting parents with worried eyes and uncomposed faces.

Peter didn't know what to do or how to feel. In the moment, he didn't really feel anything. When he heard the alarm, there was a swell of panic, and then nothing. His body went into autopilot, successfully keeping him calm and functional through the adrenaline, enough to even joke under the table they hid under before they knew it wasn't just a drill.

After the lockdown had been called off, he sat back in his seat, mindlessly doing his work. His heart was racing wildly now, despite being safe. He kept scribbling away at an equilibrium equation.

It was weird the way he could hear Ned calling his name, but he couldn't hear him. His head did nothing to tell him how to respond, barely even process that words were said.

"Peter."

He was stuck, staring at something that he couldn't tell what. He wasn't present and he couldn't get back in touch with his body.

"Peter?"

"I think he's ignoring us."

"I think he's traumatized."

"Hey, Peter?"

Finally he could look over. His eyes were tired, "hm?"

After that he didn't remember the rest of the class period. Or most of the next.

Later that week was the panic attack. Some stupid kid came banging at the door, kicking it heavily and laughing outside. He was at school late, participating in a self defense class. He felt his entire body seize and stall as the director told them to practice individually while he went to yell at the mischievous teens.

He was frozen. He felt sick. He couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe he couldn't breathe.

He was stuck staring at the wall, his face paling and tugging anxiously at his fingers. He needed to be alone. He needed to be by himself. He couldn't breathe.

"I'm going to the bathroom." He told an acquaintance, his voice catching just slightly at the end as he left the block without permission and jogged to the bathroom.

There was nobody inside. He began to pace and when the dizziness got too bad to stand he locked himself in the handicap stall and slid down against the wall, still squatted over his toes, clinging to the wall with all his might as black crowded his vision and unpromising tears tugged far in the back of his throat.

His vision was blurry, all he could focus on was how hard it was to get any good air in, despite the amount of breaths he was taking.

He tried to remember how to breathe deep, but it was hard. So hard. He didn't know how to take deep breaths.