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Peter taps his feet on the floor of the classroom, only to immediately stop when the noise started bothering him even more.
Everything. Peter could seehearfeel- everything. Everything was too much. Earlier this morning they'd had a surprise fire alarm drill, completely disrupting his routine. Not to mention his senses.
Peter thinks it's been around two hours since the drill, but he's not sure since the clock doesn't work properly anymore.
Immediately after the drill his class had to go back to whatever they were doing, leading Peter into his current predicament.
All the too bright and saturated colors hurt his eyes, together with his eyes stinging from all the artificial light coming from the humming led lights above him. Except it wasn't a low, pleasant humming, it was a high pitched, deafening one.
He subtly tried to close off his ears without his teacher noticing, but at the slightest movement his hands made toward his face his teacher looked over.
His clothes felt like they were scratching his skin off. Peter flexed his toes in his shoes, and wanted to scream at the feeling of pure confinement that filled him.
"Everything alright, Mr. Parker?"
Peter froze as all his classmates' eyes turned to him. His lips pinched together, and stress started to simmer more aggressively below his skin. His face became warm, and knew with zero doubts his cheeks were as red as his spiderman suit.
He just barely croaked out a "Yes, ma'am."
His teacher raised her brow at him, and after Peter shot her a small nod and a grimace that was supposed to look like like a smile she turned away again. Her shoes squeaked over the floor.
Peter closed his eyes and took deep breaths, trying the calming techniques he'd found on a site dedicated to autism symptoms. The air smelled like hundreds and hundreds of people, but something about it helped ground him a little bit. He'd noticed some similarities between himself post spider bite and traits of autism, and decided to do some research.
He thought back to what he read.
"Overstimulation is different for everyone. For some it's extremely intense, for some it's only mild. An often used technique is to close yourself off whatever it is that's overstimulating you. For example: if it's sound; put on some headphones to muffle the noise. If it's colors, or lights; close your eyes or cover them with your hands."
Peter rummaged through his school bag for his earbuds while his nails dug into the wooden school desk at the feeling of the rough texture of his backpack. When the wood gave underneath his nails he quickly pulled them back and dug them into his palm instead.
After some digging through various pockets he pulled them out, only to have tears nearly brought to his eyes when he noticed they were completely tangled up. He'd never be able to get them untangled before completely breaking down.
He hadn't even noticed his teacher coming over to him until he was tapped on his forearm. He bit back a hiss.
"Perhaps it would be a good idea to give your gardian a call to come pick you up."
Peter looked at his teacher, and only silently nodded before he quickly shot out of his seat. He only just made it to the nearest bathroom while taking deep breaths, noting he was starting to shake. Bad sign. He felt pressure and tingling in his head.
He ran into the nearest stall as fast as he could and threw himself down on the ground. He put his head between his knees, and tries not to scream when someone turns on the tap on one of the sinks. He blacks out.
He's awake, he's there, but he isn't. He can feel himself run, then jump, then the wind rushing past him. But he isn't conscious. Not fully.
He feels his web shooters firing from his wrists. He's not the one controlling them, or where they take him to. Now he's crawling somewhere, up, and around. More firing of his web shooters.
He loses himself again.
The next time Peter wakes up he's back in his body. Fully this time, back to having complete control. He doesn't feel any of the stress or overwhelming sensations anymore. He doesn't what time or day it is.
He lays on something soft. As he wakes up more, he realizes the softness completely surrounds him, and is almost tempted to go back into unconsciousness.
Even though he's tempted, he forces himself to open his eyes, his surroundings may be dangerous, even with his spidersense not alerting him. At first he can only squint, taking in tiny flashes of off-white strings all around him. Then the rest of his senses start to wake up too.
He stirs slightly, and tries to sit up, only to feel whatever he's in shake and wobble like he's laying in a hammock. At first he flails around a bit, then makes himself stay still.
His eyes open fully from his surprise, and he looks around properly. He's in some sort of cocoon, or tunnel, made out of his own webs.
Peter feels a small pang of pride before confusion takes its place.
"What the hell?"
He pokes a finger against one of the "walls" next to him, and keeps adding pressure until he can see outside through a tiny hole. The hole ends up being too small to really see anything, so he pulls the wall apart with both his hands.
Eventually it's big enough for him to crawl through. He clambers out, and notes he's underneath a bridge. Underneath what Peter can now see is a mix between a cocoon and a regar web lays his backpack.
He quickly reaches for it and pulls out his phone, immediately bombarded with texts from his friends and aunt May, asking him where he is and if he's okay.
He quickly checks the rest of his backpack, making sure everything is still there.
Peter shuts off his phone and closes his bag, sprays enough web dissolvend on the cocoon-web to empty all 4 of his bottles, then starts his trek home to a surely frantic aunt May.