Getting crushed by a building was not something one just gets over. The claustrophobia, the hopelessness, the fear, the acceptance that no one is coming to help you. That you are going to die alone and no one is going to notice, much less care. At times Peter still feels like he is under that building in his onesie: unable to move, breathe, feel. Sometimes something triggers it, other times it just happens. He had looked up the symptoms and decided it was a mix of anxiety, panic attacks, and sensory overloads due to a microscopic case of PTSD.

Because, really, what he had been through was nothing compared to a cop, kidnap victim, assault victim, soldier, avenger, Mr. Stark. It was a measly building and Peter was just overreacting. At least, that's what the voice in his head told him. That if he were to tell anyone they would just laugh and think he was weak.

Ned didn't

Ned had, of course, found out about the building and the wounds that have yet to heal a month after. Ned knew his best friend, and though he was still in awe of Peter's world (he was best friends with SPIDER-MAN!), his well-being came first. So when Peter suddenly couldn't breathe when they were watching Star Wars (the trash compactor scene), something they'd watched a thousand times before, he knew something was amiss.

"Peter?" Ned asked questioningly. The other boy had suddenly tensed up, his eyes going a bit glossy and his breathing a bit heavier.

"I- I'm fi-ine."

His knuckles were starting to turn white from the fists he was making, "Peter…" It didn't seem like he had heard him. Ned took a breath and moved closer, putting a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. Peter Jumped away and started hyperventilating, his eyes going wide, trying to find something to focus on before finally he shut them tight, balling up his fists even more if that was even possible.

"I can't- I can't breathe, I can't breathe," He panted, his voice breathy. His breaths were short and panicked as he clawed at the hem of his shirt, stretching the fabric away from his neck.

"What should I do Peter? Peter, what can I do?"

"I don't- I don't…"

"Peter!" Ned was freaking out now too and that would do no good. He focused on the hint of blood on Peter's palm from his nails. Breathe Ned, breathe. "Ok, Peter. Deep breaths,"

"I Can't I can't I can't I ca-"

"Yes, you can. Here," he cautiously grabbed his friend's hand and when he didn't pull away he put it on his chest, "Breathe with me. In, out. In, out. In, out. In,"

Peter started to copy him, air filling his starving lungs. He was not alone under a building. He was in his room with his best friend who was helping him. "In, out," Peter repeated like a mantra until he felt like he could breathe somewhat normally again.

Ned let out a breath, It was working, "Peter?" he quietly questioned.

"I'm sorry," Peter's voice broke, he was looking down, tears starting to fill his eyes. Now Ned would look at him like he was damaged, pathetic. He would laugh and he would leave. He should, Peter didn't deserve him. But Peter didn't want him to leave. He wanted him to stay. He was so selfish.

"What? Peter-" Ned went to move away from Peter to give him some space after seeing his shaking hands but the superpowered boy grabbed his hand.

"No! I mean, Please don't go. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I'll be better I promise. I'll be stronger. I won't let it happen again, just please, don't leave me," Peter sniffled. He sounded so pathetic. This wasn't helping, he couldn't force people not to be disgusted with him, "I'm sorry, you can go. You should go, I'm not worth your time. I'm not-"

"Peter Benjamin Parker you stop right there," Ned was taken aback. When did his best friend develop this self hatred and how had he not seen it sooner, "I am not going anywhere. You know why? Because you are my best friend. And I'd like it if you'd stop saying all those horrible things about the best person in my life," Peter looked up at him confused, "You, Peter. You're Not weak because you needed some help. You are strong for us all the time, let me pay you back now. Let me be strong for you now. You are not pathetic. You are awesome. And not because of your powers either. Because you are Peter Parker, because you build lego deathstars with me and watch dumb youtube videos and help me understand chemistry and you can secretly bake and you don't say anything about Flash because you don't want him to pick on someone else. And because when you got these powers you didn't change. You chose to help people and still be an amazing nephew, student, and best friend. You are my best friend, not spiderman, Peter Parker. And I'm not going anywhere."

Peter just looked at him for a long time before surging forward and pulling Ned into a hug, "Thank you."

"Always," Ned meant that, "Now, let's clean those hands up."

Ever since that day Ned made Peter promise not to hide his mental baggage from him (or May if Ned wasn't there). They had done research and Ned constantly reminded Peter that the voices telling him bad things in his head were not how he truly felt. Peter almost believed him. Almost. Every article they read said it would take time to heal, and that it may never really go away but he could get better at controlling it. That was his goal, but for now he had made peace with having someone to lean on.

Today was a monday and not a good day. Peter had just felt off when he woke up. Like the whole world was screaming. He got showered and dressed in the dark because the lights were too bright and he had worn noise canceling headphones and sunglasses on the walk to the subway. In the weeks following the bite, everyday had been like this. So, Peter would like to think he knew how to deal with it, but it was so much worse coupled with the anxiety he was feeling. It's almost as if his senses were responding to the anxiety he felt, adjusting to the level of danger he felt except there was no present danger so they were just overloading. He would keep his head down and wear his earbuds as much as he could, and try not to think about anything triggering. And definitely pretend he wasn't shaking.

"Hey Peter!" Ned shouted putting his arm around the other boy.

Peter groaned.

"You ok?"

"Bad day," That was all Peter had to say before Ned removed his arm and silently walked next to him, glancing at him every few seconds.

He was able to get through most of the day without incident, but then his Parker luck inevitably struck.

"Mr. Parker we do not wear hoodies indoors and would you please take off those sunglasses, I won't have you sleeping in my class while we watch the documentary," The lovely voice of his history teacher hit him like a ton of bricks, his anxiety spiking at getting singled out, something that would not normally phase him but it was a bad day.

"Yes Ma'am," He groaned as the fluorescent lights glared into his eyes, instantly making the throbbing in his head triple. No way he would be able to keep his headphones in with her watching him like a hawk. To make matters worse, Ned wasn't in this class.

"Hey Penis, what? The wittle baby can't hold his liquor?"

But Flash was. That had been the common assumption, that Peter was hungover. Which was understandable, he basically had all of the symptoms of a hangover and a drug withdrawal. Anxiety and sensory sensitivity, fun.

"Alright, you know the drill. No phones, no talking, keep your eyes on the screen, and pay attention," she turned on a rather loud documentary on war and 3 minutes in Peter was wincing from the volume and the lights that she refused to turn off because "if the lights go off, heads go down and I will not have children sleeping in my classroom".

"Mr. Parker, is the documentary bothering you?" She said in an unsympathetic tone.

"No, just the volume. Would you mind turning it down just a little bit," he instantly regretted speaking as she turned the volume up as loud as she could without getting complaints from the other teachers. Peter lasted a minute before covering his ears, it was just too much when the gunfire on the documentary started. He was there. The building had fallen and he was trapped. He couldn't hear, everything was muffled by the deafening ringing in his ears. He couldn't see, everything was white, or was it black? He couldn't breathe, his lungs simply rejecting the air he tried to give them.

helphelphelpmepleasesomeonesaveme

No one's coming you're going to die.

diediediddiediediediedie

Just like the rest of them, dead.

nobodycaresyourealone

All alone.

He was shaking, the building was shaking. An earthquake was now going to open the ground and swallow him and the building on top of him whole.

"Mr. Parker!" No. Someone was shaking him, "Mr. Parker I demand that you stop this nonsense!" He was in class. Everybody was watching him. He was having an anxiety attack and everyone was watching.

Gogogogo run. Get out go run now run right left run run run hide

He bolted right passed her and ran. He didn't know where, he couldn't think. He couldn't breathe.

Everyone saw everyone knows how pathetic you are. Everyone's laughing at you. Stupidstupidstupidstupid-

"Peter, I'm noticing your heart rate has risen and stayed above 110 for the past 5 minutes, shall I contact Ned, May, or Mr. Stark?" Karen. She was the best AI a guy could ask for. He didn't deserve her. Then he registered what she said. Mr stark. She was going to call his mentor down here to laugh at him. He would take the suit. He would see how pathetic Peter was, how weak, and he would want nothing to do with him.

"Not Mr. Stark. Not Mr. Stark. Not Mr. Stark," he said over and over.

That's how Ned found him, hyperventilating, curled in a ball, tears streaming down his face, saying not Mr. Stark. Ned has gotten an alert from Karen saying Peter was in a janitor's closet having a series of anxiety attacks and a sensory overload. Needless to say he had abruptly stood up, the teacher giving him an annoyed questioning look. "Uhhhh, I have to go to the bathroom." He said dumbly.

"Hold it."

"I… have… diarrhea," Ned said holding his breath. He was aware of how stupid he sounded but he just needed to throw her off guard for a second so she would let him go.

"I- well- I- just go! Go go go," she stuttered and then waved him out as laughter filled the classroom.

He had walked briskly down the maze of hallways until he heard the quiet sobbing behind the cracked door of the janitors closet.

"Peter?" he said so faintly he couldn't even hear it over the other boys chanting.

"She's going to tell him, he's going to take it away again. Maybe he should, I don't deserve it. I don't deserve him, or you, or May, or Queens, or air-" He clawed his fingers down his face and throat, probably trying to pull whatever was restricting his breathing off, leaving angry red marks.

"Peter. You more than deserve all of those things. Remember what we say about the voices? They aren't what you really think. You are loved, needed, and valued. Breath with me alright? In, out. In-"

"Nonononononono," Peter shook his head violently before clamping his hands over his ears.

A split second later the bell rung and Peter's face contorted in pain. Ned made a decision he hoped his friend would forgive him for. He called the number given to him for emergencies. Mr. Starks personal number.

Ring

Ring

Ri-

"Hello?"

"Hi, Mr. Stark?" Ned asked cautiously.

"Yes, and who is this? Better not be that pizza place from last week, I was serious when I said I could put you out of business you know,"

"No, It's Ned. Peter's friend. He's-"

"Is Peter alright?"

"He's having a panic attack and a sensory overload too. He's had them before, but this is the worst I've ever seen it; I can't get him to snap out of it and I'm afraid he'll hurt himself,"

"I'm on my way. How suicidal is he? I'm just trying to get an idea of who I need to cal-"

"Not like that, not on purpose. He just can't think right now- err, at least not rationally- and I'm afraid he will hurt himself accidentally, you know, superstrength and all."

The teenager heard a sigh of relief from the older man, as well as the sound of wind whipping by.

"I'm almost there, how's he doing?"

Ned looked at his best friend rocking back and forth clutching his head in his hands so fiercely as if it were the only thing keeping his brain from exploding, his eye glued shut, and his breathing inconsistent.

"Not good, I don't know what to do. He doesn't like to be touched when he's like this,"

"I'm parking the suit outside the back, hang on. Friday, give me directions to Pe-" The line went dead.A few seconds later Tony Stark was crouched on the ground next to Peter telling him to breathe and that everything was alright.

"Nonononononononono," Peter incoherently whispered. Mr. Stark then took out some over the head headphones and pitch black glasses and placed them gently on Peter's head, giving him a few moments to adjust before slowly removing Peters hands and holding his own. The boy grasped them, holding onto his mentor as he copied his breathing for several minutes.

"I-... I'm better, thank you. I'm sor-"

"Don't." Both Tony and Ned said at the same time.

"We will talk later, now I'm taking you back to the compound to rest and get those fingernail marks cleaned up." Mr. Stark said, helping Peter up. "Friday, let Midtown know I will be taking Peter. Thank you, Ned. You did the right thing calling me. I'll keep you updated and maybe in a few hours you can come over and check on him," Tony patted Ned's shoulder as he walked away supporting the teenager who was still clutching him. If Ned wasn't so worried, he would have been awe-struck.

Peter woke up in a pitch black eerily silent room on a very comfortable bed. Ever since the bite, he hadn't experienced true silence as the background noise of New York City was a lot to block out. His head was fuzzy and pounding. Just as he was contemplating snuggling back into the soft blanket, he remembered, well, sort of remembered the events that had brought him to this. He was mortified. Mr. Stark must think he was so pathetic now, he had blown the best opportunity he would ever get in his life.

"Peter?" FRIDAY said so softly he would not have been able to hear her had he not had super hearing.

"Yes FRIDAY?"

"Seeing as you are awake, might I suggest speaking with Boss before you have another panic attack," she said, a touch of concern in her voice.

"O-ok."

Peter walked to where he assumed the door would be and turned the knob. The hallway was dark, but not pitch black as his room had been. Just bright enough to see but not to overload his senses. "Mr. Stark?"

"In here kid," his idol said in a normal tone, as if he were standing right next to him despite being several rooms away.

Peter walked for what seemed like forever though in reality was probably a few seconds. He walked to his doom, each step another wave of dread. The pit in his stomach had grown so much he felt he might be sick.

When he finally reached the end of the hall where it let out to the living room and kitchen of what Peter assumed was the Stark's personal living quarters, he refused to look at anything besides his shoes.

"I'm sorry Mr. Stark. I-"

"Woah, there will be none of that,"

Of course Mr. Stark didn't want to hear his groveling, he probably just wanted him out of his tower and out of his life.

"Right. I'll leave the suit in the room on my way o-"

"Nope. You aren't going anywhere. You are going to come over here, sit down, and look at me," the older man said it in such a reassuring manner that Peter felt compelled to do what he said.

"Why didn't you tell me you were having mental health problems?"

Peter looked down again, "It's nothing. Lots of people have it way worse. I'm dealing with it."

"First off, don't compare your struggles to others. Every trauma is different and no less valid than another despite the varying severity. Second, you are not alone." This made Peter look up at him.

"Yeah, because there are so many superheros that can't keep it together," Peter spat with self loathing.

"I couldn't. After the wor- After New York I had- was suffering from PTSD that manifested in anxiety. I had panic attacks at the smallest of triggers. I still get them," Peter was looking shocked at the Iron Man, "Does that make me pathetic and unworthy?"

"Of course not," Peter said it on instinct without even thinking. After a moment he continued, "but that's different, you went through something huge."

"Ah ah," Peter stopped and waited for him to continue, "Like I said Pete, you're not alone. But not just because millions of people struggle with the same things you do, because you have a great support system if you would only use it. An aunt that loves you, a best friend that clearly cares enough about you to leave in the middle of class and put aside the fact he just met Iron Man because he was worried about you, and you have me. I've been through this, and I can do whatever I can to help you through it as well. I just need you to be open to me about what it is that you need. Alright?"

"Yeah," Peter said dazedly.

"I'm serious, I find out you're hiding anything from your aunt, friend, and or I, we are going to have to have another one of these talks and this time I'll have to bring reinforcements."

"Okay. I'll try to stop hiding it. I'll at least tell one of you if I can't cope,"

"Not just that, anything you need. Even if it's just to talk to 3 am when you can't sleep because you're analyzing your day with a microscope. If you need a ride, if you need help of any kind, I want you to call me."

Peter was not expecting any of this when he woke up that morning. There were no words he could use to describe his feelings just then, tears pooling in his eyes as he surged forward to hug the secretly compassionate man in front of him.

"Thank you."

And, though he would deny it any time Peter brought it up, Tony hugged him back.