"Won't you tell me my brother

'Cause there are stars up above

We can start moving forward

Lost in my mind

Lost in my mind

Oh I get lost in my mind

Lost, I get lost, I get lost in my mind

-The Head and the Heart

Tap. Tap. Tap.

BOOM!

Peter jolted nearly falling out of his desk chair, as the thunder slammed to the ground. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes to center himself. The light flashed through his window, signifying to him as a definite that it was just the storm – not an explosion or building collapse or any type of world destruction.

It's okay; it's okay. You're Spider-man, remember? Spider-man doesn't get afraid of little bit thunder. Totally normal, totally average. Just focus on this Pre-Calc.

He sighed, beginning to fiddle with his pencil – his eyes feeling heavier just looking at the logarithms before him. His body screamed at him to sleep, but if Peter was honest with himself, he didn't want too. He wished he could go out in his suit, but at three in the morning, Peter knew for certain Mr. Stark would haul his butt back to bed – especially since he had that stupid tracker and Baby Monitor Protocol.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly when every night became a challenge against himself to sleep, but it seemed his heart had to race at least once or twice a night, if not more. Instead of the welcoming black abyss he yearned for in his sleep, pictures of horrors filled his mind. Things that had happened. Things that could happen: a mixture of the two.

The boat cracking in half, as people screamed in horror. The building falling on top of him. His cries for help with nobody coming to his rescue. The fire burning around him, as he struggled and coughed fighting his date's father. A man firing a gun towards him – the bullet slightly grazing his leg. His inability to save all the hostages.

Uncle Ben's dying breaths, as Peter held onto him.

Mr. Stark abandoning him in the middle of a field - his voice echoing thoughts of distain, disappointment, and shame at Peter's bloody body sprawled across the ground. Aunt May's body lying in front of their complex building, many bullet wounds filling her body. Ned screaming trapped in a ball of fire, as Peter rushed into the building too late. Happy flying through the windshield, crashing into another car as Peter watched helplessly in the backseat.

Just a few of the many images, as much as he wished them away, seemed ingrained into his sleep.

His lungs would forget the most essential thing to keep themselves alive, but Peter had no way to gain the air back. His heart felt like it ran a marathon, but nothing could slow it down. A tenseness filled his neck, but there was nothing to stop the muscles strain. His hand shook, but he had no outlet to control them. Occasionally, tears would mercilessly flow into his eyes – upset and unable to control himself.

In the end, all of this could be avoided. Peter knew how to do this: just not sleep.

Shaking his head, Peter returned himself to his math. Distractions always brought forth a nice escape of the weariness he felt.

After what seemed like many hours, a small knock rattled on his door, only slightly startling him.

"Peter?" Aunt May's gentle voice sounded from behind his door. Peter picked up his phone on instinct, the time glaring up at him in mockery. 6:00am. "You decent?"

"Yeah, come in Aunt May." He mumbled out, plopping himself into his bed and quickly throwing his blanket onto his body. No need to worry, May.

The moment his head hit the pillow, his body screamed at him to sleep. But sleep wasn't even a choice anymore. Aunt May peered her head in, her hair ruffled everywhere and her eyes speaking volumes that she'd rather be asleep right now too. Maybe if he closed his eyes just for a moment…

"I'm making breakfast. Whatcha feel like, eggs or waffles?" Peter body jolted, as he blinked several times, trying to keep himself awake. She frowned. "Sweetie, Are you alright? You look like you got hit by a bus. You weren't hit by a bus last night? You'd tell me about that, right?"

Peter sat himself upright, dangling his legs from the bed and allowing his blue comforter to fall to the floor.

"No, no bus hitting. Just tired, stayed up late doin' some math." He yawned sleepily, stretching his arms. "I'm gettin' up. Eggs sound absolutely amazing by the way."

"Okay, sleepy-head," she smiled. "Be down soon." She closed the door gently, allowing Peter to get ready to start his day.

Peter groaned, staring out the window to the sun rising. The rain drizzled slightly outside his window, seemingly calmer than the wee hours of the morning. The roars of thunder at least had stopped.

He wished he didn't have to go today. Stupid Wednesdays. Nobody could even say a good thing about them.

School started way too early for Peter's taste. The bustling of students yelling greetings to friends, as if they hadn't seen them in years. The squeaking shoes echoing through the halls. The burned-out teachers demanding for students to behave by procedures. Students racing to finish an assignment at their lockers due first period.

All at seven in the morning.

Everything felt significantly brighter and louder at this time of the day. Well, slightly blurry too. Should he get his eyes checked? He hadn't bothered since the spider bite that gave him his powers - which gratefully made his sight way better than it was before - but maybe an influx of puberty was hitting him hard.

Could puberty make your vision worse? He swore he saw something on YouTube that backed that up. Or was it the spider bite being like you're old now, Parker, time to regress back to your old, bad vision where the doctor was all: 'wow I'm surprised you can see at all?'

I guess this is what happens when you become an old man, Peter thought grumpily. He had hit his peak at sixteen. Or it's my dumb Parker luck.

People always use to tell him about the Parker luck he had. If he thought about it long enough, yeah, he definitely had some good luck – with ending up with super powers and all. But, at the same time, he still didn't feel that lucky.

Woah, woah, woah I'm not goin' down that road this early. Peter reprimanded himself, pinching his arm.

Entering his first class, he looked at the chalkboard – logarithms spilled out everywhere. Who does math this early anyway? Whatever higher up thought that was a good idea, clearly never stepped in a higher-level math course. Nobody sat in the classroom yet, except for his best friend.

"Pete! What's up, man? You look like you got hit by a bus!" Ned spoke, as Peter sat at the desk beside him in their empty first period class. "You didn't get hit by a bus, right?"

"No, Ned, I wasn't hit by a bus," Peter grumbled, rubbing his hands over his face. "Just tired."

"Too much…" Ned dropped his voice to a whisper. "…Spider-Maning?"

"No, Ned."

"What about hanging with the Avengers?"

"No, Ned. No Avengers."

"Oh, oh! Were you hanging with Tony Stark and doing all this cool tech stuff all night and makin' stuff blow up like pew- pew!" Ned made the iconic Spider-Man gesture with his hands. Peter huffed, rolling his eyes irritably.

"I just said no Avengers stuff."

"Yeah, but Iron Man's different for you."

"Sure, when he tries to acknowledge I exist." Peter picked up a pencil, beginning to furiously doodle scribbles in his notebook.

He adored the man – practically idolized the ground he walked on – but today, an unwarranted bitterness rose toward Mr. Stark. Ever since homecoming, Mr. Stark attempted to show a deeper presence in Peter's life. Sometimes they worked in the lab on the suit brainstorming new ideas. Other times Mr. Stark did domestic things with him like watching a movie or playing a video game. Hell, Peter even had his own room at the tower now.

Even with the changes, Peter still felt unprecedented anger rise at the man at times.

"Dude, you sure you're alright?" Ned stared, concern pressing on his features, glancing down at the drawing of a face that lied between the scattered scribbles. "You seem really out of it. More than you normally do."

"I'm fine, okay?! Would you just cut it out?" Peter snapped, his pencil breaking in two. "You're really getting on my last nerve." Ned stared, startled at his outburst.

"Oh, ok sorry" Ned paused sheepishly. "I'll stay out of it. But, I'm, uh, here for you if you need it. Ya know, uh, guy in the chair."

Seeing this, Peter felt his anger disappear - guilt washing over him. Ned, in his own way, was trying to check if he was okay. In turn, he was being an asshole.

Ned had been there for him through thick and thin. Everything from Ben's death to Aunt May finding out he was Spider-Man to just sending him pictures of the homework that Peter knew he'd never have time to complete; Ned had been there though it all.

Plus, Ned knew how to help build a really freakin' cool Lego Starship.

He may be slightly excitable and slightly insensitive at times, but he was the best friend Peter could ever ask for.

Peter put down the broken pencil, taking a small glace at his friend – who avoided his gaze.

"Ned I – I didn't mean that. Sorry, man." Ned shrugged.

"It's fine, dude. I know you've got a lot going on right now."

"No, really, Ned, I shouldn't have snapped at you. You don't deserve that."

"No, I don't. But I was being too pushy to." Ned stated seriously, staring at him at an intensity Peter didn't even know possible for Ned. "Look, I've known you since forever, dude, and I know when you're really not okay, and right now you seem really not okay. You don't have to tell me anything that you don't want too, but I'm here for you if you need it."

Peter ducked his head, feeling himself starting to get teary-eyed. Man, he loved his friend. The urge to just spill everything at once rose. He bit his lip. He knew for a fact if he didn't say anything, Ned would just get more worried about him. But nothing made sense and just made him feel slightly sick. He could just bottle up all his feelings for the rest of his life and nobody needed to know about it. He'd never sleep again and let these feelings consume him for the rest of his life.

Who was he kidding? He really needed someone to vent to.

"I. I really don't know right now. How I'm feeling that is." Ned gave a nod for him to continue. Peter rubbed his temples. "Man, I can't sleep."

"Like 'I'm up too late Spider-Maning and stressed out' can't sleep?" Peter shook his head.

"No, Ned, like I really can't sleep." Peter sighed. "I really really want to, but I don't at the same time."

"Dude, that doesn't make sense."

"I know that! Just every time I go to bed it's just," Peter paused, embarrassed, "just a lot of bad stuff."

"Bad stuff?" Ned eyes shined in concern. Peter hid his face.

"Yeah." Ned's eyes searched him up and down, as if he were analyzing him, his expression remaining deadly serious. Peter squirmed under his gaze.

"What kind of bad things?"

"Just," Peter ducked his head. "At night bad things appear and I can't get away from them."

"Pete, I need you to answer me honestly," Ned stated gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. Peter dared not to look at him. "Are you and May okay at home?"

"Huh?" Peter sputtered, truly baffled at the question. "Why wouldn't we be?" Ned's gaze didn't waver.

"Please, just answer me Pete."

"Um, yeah, I'm okay at home." Peter's expression darkened. "Where's this coming from? Are you okay at home?" Ned gave a huff of relief, waving his question away.

"Yeah, I'm fine; don't worry about it," Ned fiddled with his phone, as to show Peter what he meant, but thought better of it. He locked the phone, placing it face down. "I'll tell you later." Peter sat baffled in confusion.

"Um, okay?"

"Let's think back to you." Ned quickly continued. "Bad stuff at night?"

"Uh, yeah, just, every time I fall asleep, I keep thinking about just – I don't know – bad things."

"So, you're having like nightmares?"

"Yeah, I guess. It's like the um, that building f-falling on me. Or, ya know, just other stuff. Kind of dumb; I know. But I'll wake up and my heart will be all fast, and I can't breathe and," Peter's face flushed in embarrassment, ducking his head. He waved his hand in dismissal. "Just, just forget it. It's dumb."

Ned's gaze stared intently at Peter, who kept his eyes firmly staring at his hands.

"Pete, that's not dumb. That's actually really concerning." The first warning bell rang, signaling students to begin heading toward their classes. A few students filed in laughing, but Ned didn't bother to look at them. "How long's this been going on?"

"I don't know. A few weeks? Almost a month?"

"You haven't been sleeping for that long? Dude, no wonder you look like garbage." Peter stared.

"Wow, thanks man." Ned gave a playful smile, giving Peter a shove.

"You know what I mean." Peter shoved him back lightly, the smile not quite meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, I do." Ned paused, allowing the light mood to remain. He sighed, bringing back up the topic that he knew Peter needed to speak about.

"So, you've basically been waking up at night in panic attacks since a few weeks ago."

"I guess so, yeah?" Peter shrugged. "It really started a few days after the whole thing with Liz's dad." Ned's eyes flashed with understanding.

"Have you told May about it?"

"No, she's got enough to worry about – especially since she found out about - my hobby?" Peter glanced around the classroom, trying to assure himself nobody listened to their conversation. "She doesn't need anything else on her plate."

"I really think you need to tell her or Mr. Stark or something."

"What? Why? I can handle it by myself. I'm practically an adult!" Ned rolled his eyes.

"We're still kids."

"Yeah, for only like three more years!" Peter whined. "Plus, I'm – you know. I can stop a bus with my bare hands." Ned rolled his eyes again.

"Pete, being Spider-Man doesn't make you a grown-up."

"I can handle it myself."

"Never said you couldn't." Ned stated sincerely. "But honestly if you told someone they'd be able to help you even more."

"I just told you."

"Yeah and I'm here for you and your awesome life for good and bad, but I'm not an adult." Ned twiddled with a pencil, as if unsure whether to proceed. He sighed, dropping the pencil and looking at Peter bluntly. "I really think you need something like – don't be offended by this – like professional help." Peter's head shot up, the embarrassment fading.

"What?"

"Well, remember that psych class I took in ninth grade."

"Yeah, the one with Ms. Buttons, what about it?"

"Dude, it sounds like to me that you might be having like flashbacks or something."

"That can't be it." Peter stared flabbergasted. "There's no way."

"I mean, I'm not a psychologist or anything. But from what I do remember from that class, that seems to be what this is."

The bell rang, as the last group of students stumbled into the classroom. The teacher groaned getting up to begin the class, clapping their hands. Peter winced at the sound, glancing around the room. No danger spotted. Ned mouthed that they could talk at lunch. Peter gave a thumbs up and stared at the board.

It couldn't be true. If Ned was saying what Peter thought he was saying, it meant that he had that thing soldiers get.

PTSD.

He was only fifteen and a half. Kids his age didn't get PTSD. Soldiers got PTSD. People in war got PTSD. Regular people who've been kidnapped got PTSD. Not a superhero. Superheroes were super strong and super brave. They went into battle, took down the bad guy, and helped anybody they could. Then, they went home after a long day, went to bed, and did it all again the next day.

Superheroes didn't get nightmares.

Maybe he wasn't as good at this superhero thing as he thought. If Mr. Stark heard he had nightmares over this, would he take the suit again? He'd laugh at him on how childish he was being. Then, he'd take the suit saying that once he stopped acting like a baby – he could have it back.

That doesn't sound right, a voice suspiciously sounding like May itched into his brain. He didn't want to listen to that voice. That voice would say that Ned knew something - that he could potentially be right.

That Peter had the soldier disease.

"Mr. Parker?" The teacher's calm voice shook Peter from his daze. "Can you tell me what belongs in the parenthesis if we have a base of two and the log equals six." Peter stared at the blurry numbers. Oh, wait he saw this problem last night.

"Um, sixty-four?"

"Right! Now, if everyone can get out the homework from last night." The teacher continued to lecture.

Okay, okay, now all he had to do is focus on the logarithms. Not on some stupid theory Ned had – just logarithms. Mechanically, he reached for the homework he completed last night.

The numbers scrambled all over the chalkboard. What? The exponent being a fraction in a log? That didn't even make sense. Focus, Parker. If we had log sixty-four of two-

The door creaked open, slamming closed suddenly, as a late punk girl stubbled in uncaringly.

Peter flinched at the sound.

Breathe, Parker. Just the door. Nothing's wrong. Man, some days he really hated having super hearing.

As the girl walked by, Peter smelled a strong perfume, something lavender. The smell made him freeze; he knew that smell.

A bullet headed toward him.

Peter jumped in his seat, moving his head to the side instinctively.

Thu-ump. Thu-ump. Thu-ump.

He needed to stop the perfume covered woman before she did any more damage. A man lay in his own blood, but the two kids - around twelve and six - sat bound but uninjured. The woman had gone ballistic after she discovered raunchy text message exchanges between her husband and another woman. After some of her own investigating, the woman learned that her truck-driver husband had an entire other secret family. The man had been leading a double life.

If Spider-Man could maneuver himself on the ceiling, he could possibly climb to the ceiling and sneak up on the woman, who held two pistols. One foot out of place, one misstep, and the kids would be dead.

Thu-ump. Thu-ump. Thu-ump.

The woman continued a large rant – as if the two children destroyed the marriage themselves. The children cried hysterically, the oldest begging for her and her brother's life. The woman laughed hysterically, taunting the children with the two guns.

Spider-Man slowly maneuvered himself on the ceiling, trying to place himself directly above the woman to grab the guns. Almost there. The woman looked above her and smiled, firing a shot. She had spotted Spider-Man. Spider-Man froze.

"Look, how about we let these two go, and we can talk this out," Spider-Man stated, dropping from the ceiling and onto his feet, holding his hands up in a non-threatening gesture. The woman shook her head furiously.

"They ruined my marriage, these bastard children ruined my Disney dream," the woman yelled. Spider-Man felt his spider-sense tingle. He needed to get the two kids to safety. Spider-Man fired two webs at the two children, trying to pull them out of the way. He pulled the youngest toward him. The other web stayed empty. Spider-Man had missed her. She had moved, running toward the woman in an act of heroism.

The woman fired.

The oldest fell to the ground, laying still.

Thu-ump. Thu-ump. Thu-ump.

He wanted to shout to stop, but his voice remained locked. He couldn't move. He couldn't stop the bullet. He couldn't save the kid. He couldn't move. He couldn't be fast enough. He had failed. He was Spider-Man but let someone die at his hands.

Thu-ump. Thu-ump. Thu-ump.

"Woah, what's wrong with Penis?" A male voice spoke quizzically. "He's like breathing weird."

"Shut up, Flash." A familiar female voice rang. This voice was a friend. A good friend. MJ. "Could you be any more of an ass?"

His vision suddenly came back to his classroom – unit circle and logarithms still displayed sloppily on the whiteboard. Eyes from around the room lingered on him. He wanted to hide. He didn't want to be looked at.

"Mr. Parker?" His teacher said gently, her face bent down to meet his. When had she gotten there? "Do you need to see the nurse?"

Peter couldn't respond. He couldn't talk. Why couldn't he talk? He needed to talk. Talk, Spider-Man!

He choked on a breath.

"I'll take him, Ms. K," Ned spoke for him. Ned stood, motioning for Peter to follow. Peter followed blindly, not really able to think, and bumping slightly on the doorframe on his way out. He needed out of the math class. Out. Out. Out. He looked around into the empty hall.

Unsafe. School was unsafe. Toomes could find him at school. Liz's dad could have a man attack him at school.

Toomes could have the school collapse on him.

Help! He's down here! He needs help! He can't breathe! He needed out! Out, out, out! Let him out, let him out! The building – it wasn't safe! He needed to get out before it fell – before Liz's dad tried to murder him in cold blood again.

Wait, no. He stared down the hallway. This was school. School didn't fall on him. Only a warehouse could fall on him.

No, no Toomes could have the school fall on him too. No building was safe.

Locker. Spider-Man outfit. He needed to go somewhere. He needed Spider-Man. He needed air. Swinging could help. Swinging was safe. Spider-Man was safe.

"Peter! Pete! Slow down!" Ned's voice distorted in Peter's ears. Peter stopped. Ned could help.

"I need o-out!" Peter cried like a child, looking at Ned like a lifeline. His harbored breaths quickening with every second. "I don't wanna be here! I don't wanna be here!"

"Peter, it's okay, I've got you," Ned placed his arm on Peter's shoulder to try to comfort him. Peter stumbled back.

"Don't – don't touch me!" He shouted hysterically, pushing Ned furiously away from him. Ned stumbled back but caught himself before he could fall.

"Sorry, sorry! No touching, see?" Ned raised his hands in front of his chest. "See? Pete, Pete, please just look at me." Peter's wild eyes met Ned's, desperate for an escape or an answer. He wanted out. He just wanted out. He wanted to be safe. Here wasn't safe. "Just breathe with me, Pete, okay? That's it, buddy, in and out. Through the nose and out through the mouth. Like we did on yoga day in gym."

Peter breathed. In and out. In and out. In and out.

No, no, no, he couldn't breathe. The water filled his lungs as he struggled in the parachute for air.

"Pete, please just focus on me, look at me man, alright? Just look at me and breathe with me. In with me, out with me. In with me, out with me. There you go. Here let's sit over here." Ned continued breathing, trying to get Peter to sit with him in the empty space between a set of lockers. Peter followed wordlessly, realizing his legs shook furiously.

The tightness in his throat slowly diminished, as his lungs gained the air they needed. The blurriness that filled his vision slowly diminished. The urgency that plagued him slowly faded, as he came to reality. Shame rose within him, staring at the lockers ahead of him.

"I – I'm sorry." Peter apologized, rubbing at his eyes furiously. "God, I'm losing it. I'm officially losing my mind. Insane Parker. That's what Flash should be calling me next." Reality struck with Peter that he had just freaked out in front of his class. Flash had saw. MJ had saw. His teacher had saw. Peter's heart began to beat rapidly within his chest. "Oh my god, oh my god I just freaked out in front of everyone. Oh my god they're gonna think I'm crazy holy shit, I'm crazy. I'm insane I-," Peter quickly stood, yet again on his feet. Ned following suit, uncertainty shining in his eyes.

"Pete, you're not crazy, you're just going through some stuff. This is normal for someone who's been through what you have, dude," Ned reassured, but Peter continued to shake your head.

"You don't – you don't get it! L – Lisa was wearing a perfume and it freaked me out! Who get's freaked out over freakin' perfume!" Peter's eyes began to brim with tears, feeling his breath begin to quicken again. Not again. Not again. He needed out. He needed safe, and all school couldn't be safe because Liz's dad and perfume and people laughing at him for freaking out. He wanted May. He wanted his bed.

He wanted Spider-Man. Spider-Man brought safety. He couldn't freak out like this as Spider-Man. Spider-Man was fast, strong, smart, brave - a superhero. When he had the suit, he could be stronger. Nobody could see his face, and he could not look like a fool.

He was Spider-Man, but Spider-Man wasn't anything like Peter Parker.

His heart skipped a beat. Safety, he wanted safe. Nowhere was safe. He wasn't safe.

"Woah, woah, woah, Pete you're just working yourself up again-!"

"I'm – I'm gonna go. I – I gotta – I gotta leave. I'm – I'm going home," Peter said, zipping open and taking out all of his books to get to his Spider-Man suit. Ned's eyes went wide.

"Peter, I don't think that's a good idea." Ned held out his arm, to attempt to stop Peter from bolting. "You're gonna get hurt tryin' to swing while your like this."

"I'll – I'll be fine, Ned. I'll be fine. I got – I gotta go. I gotta get out of here." Peter clumsily grabbed the suit, being the most inconspicuous Ned had ever seen. He balled it up in his hands.

Peter searched the hall for anyone coming. Nobody. Good.

He bolted toward the nearest exit.

"Wait! Peter!" Ned attempted to call after him. "You left your phone! You can't be swinging while you're like this!" Ned's voice began to fade. "You can get hurt!"

Peter didn't care. All he wanted was out.