Putting on a strong face in the midst of panic
Peter felt the pain of his body trying to knit itself together even as it was torn apart. His spidey-sense screaming at him of the danger, danger that he couldn't escape. He begged anyway, begged Mr. Stark to save him. He knew it wasn't fair on the man... he did it anyway. Holding back tears, Peter apologized to his mentor as he fades away into dust.
Green, a bright fluorescent Green fills his vision, he's drowning in it. Drowning. He can't breathe, the green fills his nostrils, his mouth, his lungs. Until he isn't, he's not drowning and he breathes in desperately, coughing out the green liquid as he greedily gasps for air.
There's no one to tell Peter he's okay, not the warming presence of his Aunt, the scent of cinnamon to fill his nostrils, nor the motor oil he'd become so familiar with from his mentor. He was well and truly alone in this cold, dark world.
Would he find a way home? Or would he have to create a new one in the unfamiliar world?
(I've set this work as Mature for the heavy mentions and depictions of self-harm and suicidal thoughts)