Peter had helped Tony to sit on a bench just so that he could get the door open-the moment he had the very sudden overwhemling scent of lavender assaulted his senses-making it harder to breath and difficult to see. However, he knows that Tony would say to forget the wheelchair if he knew about the Lavender scent so he takes what's a subtle deep breath in and slips inside, immediately trying to race to the other side and trying to rely on his spideysense to keep him from running into walls.

"S-Sorry!" Peter lets out as he bumps into-oh it's just the mirror. And his eyes back to being on fire and his throat and nose are burning as well. He coughs harshly and looks towards his goal. The wheelchair isn't too much further. He can make it, it's just beyond that door. He takes a few more steps. He can do this.

Except...

Breathing is getting more and more difficult and he can feel his chest restrict and tighten-like his lungs just won't inflate. It feels like someone stuck a bowling ball on his chest and if he didn't know any better he'd say he's having an asthma attack. That though spurs him to start patting himself down in the hopes that maybe by some miracle he has his inhaler.

He doesn't.

Of course he doesn't. He'd curse but he's far too busy trying to cough up his lungs and get in a good breath of air all at the same time.

He feels something hard and metal wrap around him and vaguely makes out the familiar sound of Iron Man's repulsers and just lets himself be pulled out of the room of death.

"Sorry, Mr Stark." He barely manages, sounding like there's no air in his lungs. "I couldn't get the chair."