Chapter Text
“No. Absolutely not.” Tony says in his no further questions voice.
“But- Mr. Stark! That’s not fair! I feel fine. Totally normal. I’ve been fine all day, it’s just some light patrolling, nothing will happen, I promise.”
“You can’t possibly promise that, kid, you know that.”
“But there’s nothing wrong with me!”
“There was something wrong with you just this morning if you recall.” Tony gives him a look that says don’t tell me you already forgot all about taking your pants off in front of Bruce Banner. “It’s still a no, bud.”
“But I stayed home all day today like you asked, the rash has been gone for hours and I’m fine, all good, why do I have to stay home tomorrow, too!?”
“Kid,” Tony sighed “you heard Bruce. The first shot kicked that spider-butt of yours pretty badly, more than we were anticipating. And then this one made you develop some sort of allergic reaction over night, literally kicking your spider-butt until it was red and sore.” Peter cringed at the memory “We can’t be sure you won’t have another delayed reaction. You were lucky you passed out at school and not some dark, grimey alley after that first shot.”
“Yeah, suuuper lucky” Peter huffs and mumbles something about being carried like a girl in front of everyone.
“Yeah, well” Tony answers, running his hand across his face, tired of bringing up yet another argument that Peter’s going to shoot down anyways. Gosh this feels too much like being the lame kind of dad. “I know it sucks buddy and I know it doesn’t feel fair but Bruce thinks it’s for the best. No spider-manning for 48 hours after each shot.”
And that was final. Even Peter could tell there was to be no more arguing about this so he just groans and stomps off. He knows he is being childish and he knows Tony is right. That doesn't change the fact that it absolutely drove him wild to be sitting out on his spider activities for two days in a row. Three actually, if you counted the day of the poke because Tony picks him up straight from school on those days, too. “Arrrrggh this sucks” he mutters as he shuts his bedroom door behind himself.
The next morning Peter finds Tony surrounded by the typical array of newspaper articles on several holo-screens. Pre-selected by FRIDAY of course. No one knew better which articles he’d want to read and in what order. Maybe not even Tony himself.
“Sooo…, yesterday you said no spider-manning today, right?” Peter asks casually as he drops two pop-tarts in the toaster. His words make Tony look up from the holo-screens. He looks at the kid quizzically. Not even a good morning, huh? He wonders where this would be going.
“Good morning to you too.” He says, equally as casually, turning back to his screens. “And yes, that’s what I said.”
“Ok, so that means I can do other non-spider-manning stuff?”
“If by non-spider manning stuff you mean hanging out at the tower, sure.” Tony says, still keeping the "I have no idea where you're going with this"-front up without taking his eyes off the screen.
“No, like, I thought I could head downtown to, uhm, there’s this protest going on today, against uhm- animal cruelty and I thought I would go and uh-.”
“Protest huh?” Tony smirks and swipes through the air, making the holo-screen morning papers disappear. Now this was getting interesting. ”And there wouldn’t happen to be a certain friend of yours there as well?”
“Yeah, uh, yeah Ned and uhm, and MJ are going too.”
His kid was so very predictable sometimes, Tony thinks and chuckles briefly before sighing, remembering he’d still have to be the bad cop here. “Kid, I love that you wanna be politically active and stand up for those who obviously can’t do so themselves, but Bruce and I don’t want you out and about after your shot. I’m sorry.”
“So basically I’m being grounded.” Peter concludes as he crosses his arms defensively.
“Of course you’re not grounded.”
“Well, then that means I can come and go as I please?”
“You can come and go to anywhere within the tower that pleases you, sure.”
“See, that sounds very much like being grounded to me!”
“Kid, come on, you’re not grounded, you know that. We just don’t need any replay of last time. Of you passing out wherever. I’m not sure you truly understand this, how hardcore these shots are. They’re hitting you with 5 or 6 times the amount of stuff any normal shot would and they’re obviously putting a bigger strain on your body than we thought – first that God-awful fever, then an allergic reaction and- kid, we just need you to take it easy and stay safe for a while.”
“But I would be safe. It’s just a protest. I won’t even be alone. Ned will be there, and MJ. And MJ is, like, the most responsible person on this entire planet. Please, Mr. Stark! I promise I’ll call as soon as I feel weird, or- I don’t know, I can wear the watch again and FRIDAY can track everything and make sure I’m fine, and-”
Tony actually had to laugh at this. He could tell how much going there meant to Peter. Oh to be young and in love again. He couldn’t help but smile a bit stupidly.
“Wh- why are you laughing at me?” Peter asks, so absolutely unsure of himself.
“Nothing bud, just admiring your enthusiasm.” Tony gets up and walks towards the teen. “The fact that you’re offering to wear the watch just tells me you’re actually trying to be responsible about this, I know you don’t like being tracked and monitored all the time. So here-“ he takes the watch off his own hand and puts it on Peter’s.
"Just like that?" Peter asks, watching incredulously as Tony fastens the strap.
“FRIDAY will monitor you closely but I don’t want to hear it from her if you’re not feeling well, ok? I want to hear it from you. I want you to be the one to take action and call me, understand?”
“Yes, yes! I understand! Thanks Mr. Stark! I swear I’ll let you know if something’s up!” Peter says, beaming.
Two hours later Peter finds himself flinching as soon as the automatic doors of the subway open at his stop. The cheers, whistling and shouts of thousands of protesters are already filtering down all the way to the subway. At least to his ears they are.
He feels his pulse pick up as he makes his way up the final flight of stairs and to the coffee shop they’d all agreed to meet at and wonders if it’s because of the overwhelming noise or in anticipation of seeing MJ outside of a school or decathlon setting.
When he finally spots MJ and Ned in the crowd, he’s already working hard to block out the noise around him.
“Are protests always this loud?” he grins and shouts as a way of greeting his two friends.
MJ leans in closer to him and Ned and shouts back “Not always, today is an important day though, trying to make sure they don’t pass that new legislation! Drew a bigger crowd than usual!”
Both Ned and Peter nod in response. Peter then turns around to take in the entire thing for the first time. There are banners and flags, balloons and soap bubbles floating above a sea of thousands of heads. Cheers and chants, someone with a megaphone, hundreds of whistles, at least 6 different songs playing from sources spread out across the square, and drums, someone apparently brought drums. He steals a glance at MJ, who seems to bathe in the spectacle of it all, smiling a proud and determined smile, knowing exactly what she’s here for. This is really her element, Peter thinks in admiration.
A short while later, the crowd starts to set in motion, finally starting their protest march at the end of which they would be arriving at the main stage where speeches would be held, including by some awe-inspiring animal rights activist MJ can’t wait to see live as she said, and apparently some band was going to play. MJ drags them towards the center of it all, to where a group of people she knows from her regular protesting are pulling a small wagon with speakers on it, blaring music at full volume, distorting the music to where it couldn’t be described as sounding anything but “shitty”.
Peter tries his best to not let the plethora of sounds and sights and smells overwhelm him. He glances down at the StarkWatch, confirming what he already knows, his pulse was speeding up a notch. He tries to breathe, telling himself it’ll be fine, he’s with his friends, he’s safe, it’s just loud and crowded, there’s no threat in it.
MJ has joined into a chant some random person in the crowd started, Ned is trying to chat with one of MJ’s friends, shouting in his ear to make sure he’s heard over the noise of the masses. Peter is fighting hard to keep in control. Each somewhat slow breath now a small victory.
Suddenly someone bumps into him from behind and Peter falls to his knees.
“Dude, don’t stop walking in the middle of it, man!” the guy says, clearly annoyed, but holds his hand out to him anyways. Peter hadn’t even noticed he had stopped. He stares at the guy’s hand, and at his moving mouth. His mind unable to comprehend what the proper action to take in this situation is. He can’t think. His mind is fighting the whirlwind of input, it feels like he’s stuck in the eye of a hurricane, it’s calm and quiet here, like everything’s on mute, but along the walls of the storm, sounds and noises are swooshing past him, a jumble he can’t untangle, and they’re closing in on him as the eye is growing smaller. The other guy’s lips are still moving, hand still outstretched, he’s saying something, when Peter feels two sets of hands gripping his arms and pulling him up, just now comprehending that he had still been on his knees. He can see MJ’s worried frown right in front of him. Her lips are moving too and Peter focuses on them, his mind trying to make sense of the word they are forming over and over again.
Peter.
As soon as his mind comprehends, it’s as if someone hit the unmute button. And all of a sudden the walls of the hurricane’s eye come crashing down on him and he can hear everything. His knees buckle. Two sets of hands quickly gripping tighter to not let him fall.
He squeezes his eyes shut, his silent whimper drowned out by the droning sounds around him and he can feel he’s being dragged away. He can tell they’re moving against the flow of the protest, countless people bump into him or he bumps into countless people, he can’t tell, one familiar voice on his left stuck in a steady stream of apologies while another on his right alternates between demands to be let through and swearing. The bumping into people becomes less frequent as the crowd thins out.
Finally, the hands turn him around 180° and softly push him backwards, he can feel a wall right behind him and he allows the hands to maneuver him down to the ground. His head falls between his knees, his hands coming up to cover his ears.
He’s trying to breathe. Trying to get back in control. “Can you, c-can you-” he quietly rasps out after a few minutes. He feels soft curls brush across his arms when a head full of those curls lowers down, closer to him.
“Peter? Can you say that again? I couldn’t hear.” The voice is merely a whisper. So soft. So soothing. Almost making him feel safe.
“C-Call-“ he tries again “Call Mr.- Mr. Stark, please.” Without lifting his head, Peter fumbles his phone out of his pocket, allows his thumbprint to unlock it and blindly holds it out to whoever wants to take it.
He’s counting his breaths, trying to remember how to ground himself in these situations, trying once more to drown out everything else.
He doesn’t hear MJ on the phone with Mr. Stark. He doesn’t hear Mr. Stark asking them to move him away from the protest to somewhere he could get access with a car. But he eventually feels the hands pull him up again. Peter keeps his eyes shut, lets the hands guide him, only blinks a few times, eyes trained on his feet, scared looking up at the roaring crowd will throw him back into the eye of the hurricane.
He can hear two car doors open and close in quick succession, two sets of feet hurriedly shuffling across the asphalt, and then a third door opens. He feels the grip of the now familiar hands on him loosen as two new hands take over. He’s again turned around before a hand on his shoulder gently pushes him back and down onto a soft car seat, another hand safely cradling his head. Someone’s fumbling with something to his right before a seat belt is strapped across his body. And then, sweet sweet mercy, something is pushed into each of his ears and as soon as his mind realizes there’s no more sound, no more chaos, no more hurricane, he feels all tension leave his body and slips away.
“Underoos?” So soft. “Hey, Underoos?” soft and familiar. Mmh, don’t stop, he thinks, realizing that something is carefully brushing through his hair. His head is leaning against a chest, a chest that slowly rises and falls. “You up?”
Peter blinks and the first thing he sees is Happy, who’s turned around in the driver’s seat of the parked car to get a better look at the two people occupying the back seat. Peter moves his head and looks up at Mr. Stark’s face. Huh, interesting angle from down here. He thinks he could probably count each hair in Mr. Stark’s goatee individually.
“We’re here, buddy. Are you ok or should I start up the noise cancelling again?” Tony asks carefully, in as quiet a voice as he can muster.
Peter slowly sits up and just then realizes he can hear. Mr. Stark must’ve already tapped his headphones to stop the noise cancelling function. He tilts his head the tiniest bit from side to side and takes them out. Once they’re out, he takes a deep relieving breath – he’s ok.
“I’m ok” he says with a tired smile.
“I’m glad, Underoos.” Tony returns his smile and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get you up to bed then, you look exhausted.”
And Peter was exhausted. A sensory overload takes so much out of you, he can’t even begin to describe how heavy he feels, how it’s like his mind is still catching up on processing everything it’s seen and heard and smelled and it’s utterly draining and takes up every ounce of energy left.
Peter thinks he must weigh at least 500 pounds with how heavy his arms and legs feel as he plops down on his bed.
“Thank you for calling today, Pete.” Tony says, as he slowly pushes Peter to lie down on his bed, moving to the closet and grabbing the weighted blanket they’d gotten for him for these specific days, because it helps him with the grounding.
Peter looks up wearily and watches Tony tuck the blanket around him. “You’re not mad I didn’t call earlier?”
“No, Pete. I think by the time you, or Friday for that matter, picked up on how bad it was you weren’t really in a place to be able to call anymore. It’s not your fault, Underoos.”
“But you were right in the end. I shouldn’t have gone out today.”
“Kid, you couldn’t have known. Your sensory overloads are unpredictable, it’s not like you can plan them. I asked Bruce, he says it’s unclear wether the vaccine accelerated it, maybe it did, maybe it didn’t. But the thing is kid, you were being safe. You asked your friends to call me rather than insisting you’re fine, trying to get home on you own or, hell, even trying to get back into the protest.”
“Hmh-kay.” Peter can barely keep his eyes open, let alone find the strength to open his mouth to form more coherent words anymore.
“We’ll talk tomorrow, Underoos.” Tony says, and adds, after a featherlight kiss on the brown curls hiding halfway under the blanket, a “Sweet dreams“ that only spider-kids with spider-hearing would be able to hear.