Chapter Text
He was tired of this.
He was beyond tired.
Peter Benjamin Parker, also known as Spider-Man, was tired of waking up in the morning to an empty life. Being Spider-Man filled him with purpose, but it didn't give his life meaning. He was tired of looking at the red angry scars on his wrist, tired of aunt May looking at him when he leaves for school with a face that asked him if he was going to come home, and he was tired of coming home an empty shell of who he was.
Another thing he had grown tired of - the faces of teachers and friends, especially Ned, who knew that he died trying to save the rest of the universe.
He hated dying. It was easily one of the worst things he had ever been though, and he didn't even remember all of it. He remembered the migraine he got just before it happened, his spidey sense telling him something was wrong. He remembered the searing pain that flooded through his body, holding on to Tony like that would save him. And he remembered sitting in his subconscious until everything was okay, wondering if he was going to see everyone he loved ever again.
Lately, it seemed that everything got harder. Getting up in the mornings got hard, going to school got hard, going out and protecting the streets as Spider-Man got hard. Peter didn't want to socialize with people, he figured you usually don't when you'd much rather take a swan dive off a building.
One day he was feeling particularly horrible, and decided to tell Aunt May. Aunt May knew that he acted different since his return from space, he ate less, doubted almost everything he did, and was more isolated than usual. Knowing that, she took him to the doctors at Stark towers as soon as possible.
They diagnosed him with Major Depression Disorder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Insomnia. In other words, he was a bigger mess than he thought.
"Peter, you know that you're important and I love you, right?" Aunt May asked him when they got home.
"Of course." He answered dryly.
"You know that..dying isn't your only option, right?"
"Of course Aunt May."
With that, she kissed him on the cheek and left for work.
He took the night off that day, and sat in his room, he sat there, rethinking his life and his choices. His mind got the best of him, taking him to parts of his life he buried deep in smart quips and fake smiles.
The pressure was getting to him. He didn’t want to remember his mistakes or his pain. He needed a distraction from the war in his head.
He called the number, the one he’d memorized since his fight with Vulture.
1-800-273-8255
He didn’t even hear the phone ring before someone answered.
”Hello, this is the suicide lifeline.” The voice on the receiver said. It was soothing, yet confident. Whoever they were, they eased Peter’s nerves easily.
”H-hello? My name is Peter.” He tripped over his words. He often did when he had to talk about his feelings.
"Hi Peter, what can I help you with?"
"I.." He couldn't do this. If he could barely talk about the weather with Aunt May, what made him think he could tell a stranger that he was suicidal?
He hung up before he could embarrass himself even more, put his phone on s from worilent and laid on his bed. Sometimes, he just wanted to take a swan dive off a building. He thought about it more than any okay person should, but since when was he okay? It probably the prolonged time he spent on top of roof tops, but something told him that it was the best way to go. What was holding him back from dying anyway?
Maybe it was time for him to go anyway, maybe The Snap was just an omen. The streets were relatively clean with the mercenary known as Deadpool walking around, even if he was a bit dangerous himself. Mr. Stark could probably keep him in check in the worst possible scenario. He already has a note from when he got back to earth, Aunt may was gone he could sneak up on the roof and end the pain.
That's what he was going to do. He was going to end his madness for once and all - the voices in his head and the worthlessness he felt were all going to go away. The first thing he did was find the note, which was hidden underneath his pillow so it was kept close.
By the time you find this, I'm already gone. I'm sorry to leave you all like this, but I can't do this anymore, I can't live anymore. I want Ned to have all my things, Aunt May gets all my money. Please give my suit back to Mr. Stark or put it in a museum if you think I'm good enough for whatever reason.
I'm sorry.
Short and bittersweet: the less pain the better. He put the note on his desk, an easy place to find for Aunt May when she came back from work.
Now came the hard part. Sneaking out. He opened his window and quietly moved onto the roof, every step heavy with the knowledge that this would be his final venture up there. Usually, he would be more careful about his steps, but if they were his last then did it really matter? Once he got to the top of the roof, he looked out at Queens' night life. It was the only thing that always stayed beautiful to him, no matter what was happening in the streets. One of the reasons he wanted to jump with a direct view of his city was so he could see it one more time before he was gone, have the image of something beautiful in his mind whilst his body went through the air.
With a glance as his final goodbye, he got ready to jump. He climbed on top of the railing, took a deep breath and closed his eyes.