"Are you hurt? Kid?" Tony demanded, confused beyond belief.

Peter shook his head, hand still clawing at his chest. He couldn't breath and his heart was beating a million miles and minute. The small puffs of breath that escaped his mouth were raspy and too short for it to be enough. The lack of oxygen was making his head go all fuzzy and his vision blurred a bit. He barely registered how he swayed dangerously where he was hunched over.

"Peter?" Someone was asking frantically, but it was muted and echoed dully through Peter's skull.

He scrunched up his eyes, expanding his chest, but still no air came in. he was beyond terrified now, the fear that he was about to die overwhelming him. He drew in another weak breath – a high-pitched whine escaping his mouth – then his knees buckled.

He couldn't remember his head cracking against the floor – and he couldn't remember feeling it hit. He only felt the throb course through his neck, making him whimper, as he clutched to his own chest. He didn't know if his eyes were open or not, he didn't know where he was-

Why was everything so bright? He could faintly hear screams-

As if from far away-

He had to help them-

He had to-

Who was screaming? Was someone hurt?

Tony-

As soon as Peter had dropped, Tony was leaping into action.

The kid hit the back of his head hard on the concrete. He was barely breathing, hands weakly scrabbling at his chest. He had his eyes screwed up and was making a pitiful squeaking noise as he tried to pull in air. His chest was heaving, but he didn't seem to be able to get any oxygen and for a moment, Tony had no idea what to do. What the hell was happening? Then it clicked.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y, dim the lights!" He yelled, and almost immediately, the light in the room decreased considerably. It took a moment for Tony's eyes to adjust, but once they did, he noticed no difference in Peter's state.

He dropped down to his knees next to the kid, one hand dragging Peter's own away from his chest – of which was bleeding from his scrapes – and the other putting a hand to the boy's forehead. It was hot and sweating profusely. Even in the dim light, he could see how blue Peter's lips were. God, he had to breathe. If he didn't breathe...

"Hey, Peter!" Tony shouted, cupping Peter's face in his hand and turning it so Peter's half-closed eyes looked up at him in terror, "Can you hear me? Peter!" Tony pressed down on the boy's chest when Peter didn't answer. He was still gasping, like a fish out of water.

Now, tears began streaming from Peter's eyes. How he'd gone so long without enough oxygen confused Tony – and worried him, too. The Stark removed his hand from Peter's chest, instead moving it to the other side of Peter's face. He held Peter's head still as the teen struggled to stay conscious.

"Peter! You gotta breathe, kiddo," Tony warned, looking desperately into Peter's slitted eyes, "it's okay. Everything's okay, you don't need to worry. Just breathe." He begged, shaking Peter's head slightly when nothing changed.

But then Peter was heaving, weakly pushing himself away from Tony and emptying his stomach on the floor. Tony reeled away slightly, feeling slightly...disgusted-?

But then he shook himself, now feeling disgusted at himself. He leant over and grabbed for Peter's arm as the boy lay on his side, shivering and still not breathing. Once he'd got a good enough grip, Tony pulled the boy to him. He held the kid's back to his chest, arm secured tightly around Peter's stomach (silently hoping he wasn't going to throw again). He breathed in deeply, as Peter sagged in his hold, body jack-knifing around Tony's arm. His curls flopped over his face.

"Breathe with me, kid," Tony took in another deep breath, hoping Peter would understand, "you feel that? Copy me, Peter." Tony continued, listening to the way the kid rasped for air, making Tony himself freak out a bit-

But he couldn't. He had to control himself, for the kid. The kid, who was letting out breathless whines, instead of actually breathing, and who probably had no idea what was going. Tony could now here tiny, quiet sobs as Peter surely felt like he was dying. Tony felt an ache in his heart.

"C'mon, kiddo, please..." Tony begged, his other hand holding Peter's chin into the air, two try and open his air-ways a bit, "ready? In...one...two...three...four," He counted, hating how Peter's attempts at breathing were weakening, until the teen was almost silent.

"And out...two...three...four." Nothing was working, and Tony was panicking.

But Peter head all of a sudden felt incredibly heavy, and he stopped struggling in Tony' arms. His body sagged, going limp and-

And-

He started breathing.

Tony let out a sigh of relief and pity.

The kid must've passed out. The kid must've felt like he'd died. Tony clutched the child to his chest, burying his head into the back of Peter's neck. The boy was all floppy, so Tony moved one arm to the crease of his legs. He then lifted Peter up, bridal-style, and began to carry him to his quarters – it was only a few doors down.

Tony knew exactly how Peter felt. He'd had anxiety attacks often, especially after New York. But being that young and having to go through that kind of trauma and pure terror...it hit Tony hard. This kid was fifteen years old, and he had just fallen unconscious because he was hyperventilating because he'd just had a severe panic attack because he fricking died in space and can't tell anyone because he has a secret identity that no one can know, that he uses to risk his life everyday for people he doesn't even know-

It wasn't right.

Peter shouldn't have to have those responsibilities.

It was just Parker Luck.

--

another super short one!

so this is basically where Peter somehow came back to life (of which we're all hoping) and has severe PTSD from dying in space.

i do love him, i swear. it's just also fun to hurt him (that sounds rlly bad and probs is but oh well). that's all for now, tho.

thanks and byeeee

LuvForStydia xx