#(also i took inspiration for one part from a certain fanart thats posting later today)

[sensesdialed-a]

                                          welcome to the panic room - drabble 

words: 3,113

(mentioning @realitite for giving me inspiration for that! i took a bunch of creative liberties but still)

What if the soul stone isn’t as peaceful as everyone may think? Instead, the dimension trillions of unfortunate souls have been transported to with the snap of Thanos’s fingers, is meant to emphasize a single component of one’s soul and emotions. Every person who fades to ash, it means they must face whatever they felt the moment they disintegrated. Peter Parker...he felt fear.

                                                                “I’m sorry.”

A sharp intake of breath, a desperate gasp of air, and Peter’s eyes FLY open. He blinks at a rapid pace- one, two, three, four, five, as black spots dance at the edges of his vision. His hands are shaking, he’s laying down somewhere, WHERE is he? The last thing he remembers is….the last thing he remembers is FADING AWAY. Disintegrating into nothing but ash, layer by layer disappearing and becoming nothing more but dust in the wind, as he stumbled and fell into Tony’s arms, a desperate hold BEGGING to be saved. But it’d been inevitable.

He JOLTS upwards, breathing heavily as his gaze takes in the unfamiliar setting. His eyes dart downwards, STARING at his own body, slowly holding his hands out in front of himself. He turns them slightly, looking over the skin, flesh and bone, whole. He’s...back together. Immediately, Peter is flooded with both CONFUSION and RELIEF. The latter doesn’t last very long. Once his mind is able to process that he isn’t dying anymore, he takes a look around his surroundings, attempting to ignore the ever-present feeling of his heightened senses BUZZING underneath his skin, shuddering with the memory of them being the most intense he’s ever felt.

Examining the area, his lips twitch downwards, unsure where he might be. He feels LOST and ALONE, in some strange dimension with no end in sight. He’s surrounded by black fog, embedded with orange flecks like small embers. His eyes narrow, trying to find...something, he doesn’t quite know what. Life? Something besides endless dark smoke? Peter doesn’t have much TIME to look, though, because the eerie, yet calm silence quickly comes to a HALT.

                            Maybe he should’ve taken advantage of the quiet.

He has NO IDEA what sets them off, but all of a sudden his senses SPIKE, to the exact intensity that they’d been during his disintegration, maybe even WORSE. His face immediately contorts with pain, chest heaving up and down, desperately trying to get air through. What air? Is he breathing in smoke? It’s clouding his lungs, what’s going on? He can feel the stabbing sensation spreading across his skin- it’s as if a weight is PRESSING down on his chest, refusing to leave no matter how hard Peter tries. He can hear something. He doesn’t know WHAT he hears, but he picks up on sound, and as the seconds pass, the noise grows LOUDER and LOUDER. His senses are practically SCREAMING at him, hands lifting upwards to PRESS against his ears. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop. Except it keeps on getting WORSE. He can’t make anything out amidst the noise, only that it’s LOUD.

A bright light suddenly floods his vision, eradicating the previous darkness, and forcing Peter to shut his eyes TIGHT. He wants to try fighting back, wants to be strong, but how can he when he can hardly even think? Ragged breaths enter through his nose, an uncontrollable, pained cry, escaping him. IT’S TOO MUCH. And just when he thinks it’s beginning to calm down, he starts hearing WORDS.

If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it. No, it can’t be him. “Mr. Stark?” Peter’s voice echoes through the EMPTINESS, his hands still clasped over his ears and eyes shut. But he heard...it CAN’T be him. He can feel a familiar hopelessness overtaking him. It’s...it’s JUST like how he’d felt that day. Broken, empty, WORTHLESS. But he has the suit now, he doesn’t need it to be a hero, he KNOWS this. And yet, the feeling overpowers ALL of that.

While his senses still BUZZ underneath his skin, another voice exits the cluster. I’m sorry, Peter...true, but then again it wasn’t really trying to. CRASH! He suddenly feels a BURST of pain. Not his senses, but something DIFFERENT, a crushing pain pressing down on him. He knows there’s nothing there, he can’t see anything, but he can feel it. It’d been the VULTURE’S voice, and the feeling was exactly like the building dropped on him on Homecoming night. His breathing grows even more panicked, the MEMORY of that night hitting him like a truck. “Please, please, make it STOP! I can’t-I can’t do this, aGH!” He cries out, hoping for anybody to come, his strength lost. But nobody comes. He’s reduced to desperate noises, yelling as he tries to push up against whatever’s holding him down. But how can he get rid of something that ISN’T THERE? It’s too much, too intense, horrible, terrible, frightening, awful, extreme.

                                                        Until...it’s all gone.

The weight suddenly disappears, and as silent seconds pass, no NOISE or LIGHT overloading his system, returning to the calm black fog  (something he’s RELIEVED to see now), he feels his senses begin to die down. Peter’s chest heaves up and down as he takes in heavy breaths- he doesn’t care if they’re ragged, as long as he’s BREATHING again. He sniffs, his entire body shaking vigorously. He wants nothing more than to hug his knees to his chest and forget. At least...it’s over now. Wherever he is may be unfamiliar and lonely, but he’s calming down now. Things are okay.

                                                    He thought too soon.

At that moment, Peter hates his senses. He’s decided then and there that he despises them. He knows it’s just a temporary though, knows how useful they really are, but when they perk up again, he’s filled with the same sense of DREAD. Again, incredibly similar to when he’d been on Titan...almost...eerily similar. What’s going on now? The noises don’t start up, the light doesn’t begin to shine. Instead, he glances down at his fingers, and watches as they slowly begin to CRUMBLE into ash. Dread is heightened by panic, brows furrowing with worry and fear. “No, no, no, no-no-no, not AGAIN.” The same exact FEAR he’d felt while dying, it returns at full force, his chest tight and heavy again. He has no choice but to stare as his body begins to DISAPPEAR. His hands, his arms, his legs. The ashes TRAVEL up his body, accompanied by stabbing pain. “Please, please, I can’t-I don’t wanna-I don’t wanna go. Not again, please not again!”

He doesn’t even know what might happen to him. He’s ALREADY faded, where would he even go? But it’s still TERRIFYING. All that he can manage are soft, quiet whimpers as he shuts his eyes TIGHT, the ashes spreading towards his head until he disappears completely.

Blink. Blink. Blink. His eyes open slowly, throat closed up. What’s happened to him now? He’s...right there? That doesn’t make ANY sense. He just faded into dust AGAIN. How is Peter right where he’d been before? He glances downwards, eyes frantic, and any ashes are NOWHERE to be seen. He can still feel his senses, practically NUMB to the harsh tingling at this point. “What’s-what’s going ON?” He knows he won’t get an answer, but he practically yells it, desperately looking for some sort of solace. Instead, not even seconds later, it happens again. And AGAIN, and AGAIN, and AGAIN. Peter Parker fades to ash OVER and OVER again.

It’s some sort of illusion; he figures it out quickly. Something meant to TWIST his perception, make him believe he’s constantly facing an inevitable end, unable to escape. But even though he knows it’s fake, it doesn’t change the HORRIFYING feeling. It doesn’t change his senses going off each and every time, doesn’t change the pain, doesn’t change the twisting feeling of his insides as he dissolves layer by layer. He loses count of how many times it happens, can hardly process his own fear, his entire body shaking violently as hot tears stream down his face. “Please, please, please, just stop, I can’t-I can’t do this anymore, STOP, please!” It’s all he can do, the words slipping out involuntarily. Ashes fly in front of his vision, fall from his fingertips, and ALL he can do is endure it.

Waiting after he’s back together again, sitting there with the same panicked breathing and frantic gaze, the seconds pass, and he’s...okay. His senses die down significantly, not completely gone, but similar to how they’d been BEFORE all of this. Is it over? Peter lifts his hands, turning them slightly, and once they don’t begin to fade, he’s FLOODED with relief. A deep breath and a sigh, he gets a BREAK. He doesn’t even consider what might come next, only appreciates the time he’s given.

Apparently, wherever he is doesn’t enjoy giving him a break for long. Even during the calm, the eye of the hurricane, he can’t help the lingering fear. His senses DON’T activate this time, staying at the same consistency, a numb buzzing. Instead, everything around him begins to change, the fog warping into a different scene, and all of a sudden there’s a BODY laying on the ground in front of him. His brows furrow with confusion; what’s going on? Pushing himself to his feet, Peter takes a few steps closer, trying to get a look at the body, before his stomach DROPS.

                                                             It’s Uncle Ben.

There’s BLOOD everywhere, a perfect recreation of the moment his uncle had died. Peter feels TRANSPORTED to his fourteen year-old-self, hands beginning to shake furiously, air stuck in his throat and not quite making it to his lungs. He FALLS to his knees, his eyes stinging with tears as they begin to track down his cheeks, a guttural sob escaping. His trembling hand finds Ben’s, lacing their fingers together, crimson liquid staining his palm as he cries. “Ben, Ben, I’m-I’m so sorry, I should’ve saved you, I should’ve DONE SOMETHING!” He chokes out between sobs. A part of him KNOWS this can’t be real, knows it has to be an illusion like the other ones, but he won’t listen to that. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“Peter…” He opens his eyes, blinking a few times as wet drops slide down his face. Did...did he....that was Ben’s voice. Peter watches in awe, absolutely speechless as Ben stirs, staring into the familiar eyes of his uncle. Something’s off, and he knows it. It isn’t quite right, as if he’s looking into a cracked mirror. “Why…” His uncle speaks again, and Peter TRIES to respond, but nothing comes out. Why? Why what? Why what? Please, tell me!

                                             “Why couldn’t you save me?”

The words HIT him like a truck. It’s everything he’d told himself over and over again, ever since Ben’s death. He’s LIVED with the guilt of never saving Ben for years now, but seeing him right there, hearing him ask Peter that question, it HURTS. Even more than any of the physical pain he’d endured before. This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real. Except the consistent reminder is DROWNED OUT by Ben’s voice replaying over and over again in Peter’s head.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, god, I’m SO sorry. It’s my fault, this was all my fault, I should’ve saved you, I should’ve listened. And you’re-you’re DEAD because of ME. I can’t-I should have-I should’ve done something, and-and I lost you, May lost you, and it’s ALL MY FAULT!” His voice is raspy and strained, crying even harder as he WATCHES the light leave Ben’s eyes for the second time. He lets out another broken sob, lifting Ben’s hand to press against his cheek, blood sticking to Peter’s skin. The rest of his body gives out and he falls against Ben’s, arms resting by his head as his uncle’s shirt becomes even more soaked. He stays like that for a while, shaking as GUILT overcomes him. It’s all he can feel.

Ben disappears eventually, the setting around him morphing into something different yet again. Peter is DONE. He’s done with ALL of this. Red eyes, wet cheeks, bloody hands, he CAN’T take any more of this. Hasn’t whatever this dimension is tortured him enough. His hands curl into fists, body tensing. “Why?! What’s the point?! Why is this HAPPENING? Is that all you’ve got? What else are you gonna THROW AT ME?! I’m not doing this anymore!” He yells, unsure who or what he’s yelling at, but screams all the same. He knows it’s hopeless, but he just wants it to STOP. Whatever it is that happens next...he isn’t going to let it break him again, not when he’s already broken enough.

At least, that’s what he thinks, until Ned appears in front of him.  

“Ned?” He blurts out, any ANGER on his face replaced with some strange mixture of worry and relief. It only amplifies his guilt as he realizes he left Ned on the bus, flying off to space and dying there. But this...he still holds onto the SHRED of determination he has to fight against whatever this is. He shakes his head, staring his best friend down. “You’re not real, you aren’t real, none of this-none of this real.”

He wants to keep repeating it, keep saying it until this all can’t get to him anymore, but it’s forgotten the moment Ned lifts his hands, and he can see them begin to fade, just like he had. All knowledge of this being some imaginary fabrication of reality goes OUT the window as Peter rushes forward, gripping Ned’s arms tightly. “Ned, Ned! Hey, buddy, come on, you’ve gotta-you have to stay, you can’t-” He feels tears prick at his eyes again, blurring his vision at the edges.

“Peter? Peter...what’s going on?” Ned’s words ring through his ears and he shakes his head, holding on tighter.

“No, no, Ned, please!” He CAN’T fix this, his heart shattering as his best friend fades to ash in his hands. His hands are covered in it, charred black pieces of...Ned mixing with the blood. He hardly even has TIME to react before he hears another voice behind him.

“Peter?”

He WHIPS around, immediately locking eyes with...May. “No, no, no, no, no, no-not you too!” He hasn’t learnt his lesson, he’s never going to learn. He just can’t process that none of this is real, having gone through too much in this place to be able to TELL what’s real and what isn’t. It messes with his mind, but all he can focus on is his aunt. He can see the disappointment in her eyes, practically feel the pain of her look. He’s failed her, he promised he’d keep safe, instead throwing himself into danger, breaking her heart in the process. And now, he can’t even save her too.

“May, May, please, I can’t-I can’t do this, you’ve gotta stay, c’mon, PLEASE stay.” He begs, tears streaming down his face. He remembers every single time they were there for each other. She was always there. When he was little, bouncing off the walls and wanting to play, taking him in when his parents died, there when he had a nightmare, there for each other when Ben died, she was always THERE. Which is exactly why he feels his heart shatter into a million pieces as her body does the same. He watches her eyes as she fades into nothing, feeling his insides twist with pain and guilt. “May, I’m sorry, I’m sorry May, I couldn’t-“ He couldn’t save her too, more dust decorating his dark red fingertips.

“Kid?”

No, no, no, no, NO. Peter’s entire body is quivering, face soaked with sweat, tears, and blood. He turns around again, and he’s met with exactly what he expected, but the last thing he wants to see. Tony. Seeing his mentor like this is...jarring. He looks exactly like he did on Titan; dirty jacket, cut on his face, a stab wound puncturing his side. But instead of Peter fading to ash, it’s the REVERSE. “Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark, please, don’t-don’t go, not like everybody else, you can’t! I lost them, I-I LOSE everybody, not you too.” But doesn’t he know how this works by now? Wherever he is, it enjoys TOYING with him.

“Please, please, you’re gonna stay-you can’t, you’re IRON MAN, you’re-“ My hero. The inevitable strikes again, and he’s forced to watch his mentor, no, his father figure, fade away right before his eyes. “Mr. Stark, no, no, no, dad,” The word comes out, broken and cracked, just too late- right when he’s nothing more than ashes crumbling to the ground. Peter lets out another fractured sob, dropping to his knees again, kneeling in the broken pieces of the people he loves. He can’t save them. Spider-Man can’t save them. Peter can’t save them.

                               PETER PARKER LOSES EVERYBODY HE LOVES.

                                                        And it terrifies him.

Blood, ashes, sweat, tears. Peter collapses completely, overcome by violent shaking and FEAR. It’s too much, it’s all TOO MUCH. He hugs his knees up to his chest, tucking his head close to them, laying in the dust. He can HARDLY breathe, only repeat the same words over and over again, breaking down right there on the ground. His heart feels crushed, his head pounding, guilt and grief and terror flooding through him. What’s real and what’s fake, he has no idea anymore. Is this all an illusion, or has he just lost EVERYBODY, including himself? He doesn’t know.

He’d give anything to be home. He’d give anything to be back in his apartment, hug his aunt with all his might and head off a school with the promise of a movie marathon later. He’d give anything to see Ned again, to walk through the hallways with him and build LEGOS. He’d give anything to swing around the city, stopping robbers and helping ladies cross the street. He’d give anything to visit the Compound, work with Mr. Stark in the lab and feel worthy when his mentor places a hand on his shoulder and tells him he’s done good.

                                             He wants to go home. But he can’t.

Peter wants to be a hero, but how can he, when he’s right there, sobbing on the ground in an unfamiliar, warped version of reality, every inch of him enduring the worst pain he’s ever experienced, a puppet on this dimension’s strings.

He’s afraid. Peter is afraid and alone. And as if everything is coming full circle, two words make their way out of his incoherent whimpering.

                                                               “I’m sorry.”