Work Text:
Peter couldn't see anything.
It was just black. He couldn't see anything, he wasn't touching anything, there was nothing. Except for the voices.
"You're useless," one hissed. "No one needs you,"
"Nobody even wants you," said another.
"Useless" "Worthless" "Unneeded" "Unwanted" "No one loves you" "You should just die!"
The last one was repeated, getting louder and louder. It was the only thing Peter could focus on. It was true, it was true, it was true-
Peter shot up in his bed, immediately shrugging off his too hot sheets. He curled his knees up to his chest, trying to breathe. He couldn't focus on anything around, he could only remember the voices and the truths they spoke.
"Mr. Parker, it seems you are having an anxiety attack. Would you like me to contact Mr.Stark?" Peter could hear FRIDAY's loud voice, too loud for it being this late. "No, FRIDAY, but thank you. What... what time is it?" A clock flashed to show him that it was 2:48, and probably too late for anyone to be awake. He stood from his bed and grabbed the dark blue sweatshirt that was lying in the corner of the room, trying to ignore the angry red lines stacked neatly on his arm, and the small blade sitting on his dresser.
He opened the door, wincing when it creaked. He stepped out into the hallway and made his way into the kitchen.
Still trying his best to be silent, Peter snuck over to the fridge, grabbing a can of cola and popping the top.
"Hey, Peter," said a familiar voice, but Peter jumped anyway, spilling some of his coke. Nat walked over with a paper towel, dabbing it on Peter's shirt in an attempt to dry it.
"Thanks, Nat," Peter said in a barely audible voice. She stood up and smiled softly, putting a hand on Peters' shoulder.
"Is everything alright?". Peter mumbled something along the lines of 'Yeah, great' while trying to cover the lingering tear tracks and still red eyes. Natasha frowned, stepping a little closer. "I know sometimes it seems like I might be a little cold, or rude, but you know you can always talk to me, right Peter? You can always talk to any of us,"
"Um, yeah, I just... I'm just not feeling well," he stuttered out, and Nat let her hand fall.
"We could watch a movie for a while, in your room," she suggested. "Maybe it will help you fall asleep." Before Peter could protest, Natasha had grabbed his wrist, either not hearing or ignoring his hiss of pain, and led the way to his room.
While Natasha flipped through channels, Peter nervously looked around his room. He had never gotten to know her too well, but he knew that she was a former Russian spy, and she could figure something out in moments, especially since he hadn't tried too hard to conceal it. After all, he was just planning on grabbing a soda and leaving, not any of this. But, in her white fuzzy socks, plaid pajama pants, and large (slightly stained) T-shirt, she looked more like an older sister than anything.
"How about Help?" Nat asked, effectively bringing Peter out of his thoughts. Peter scanned over the summary, with Natasha reading it aloud along with him. "Wynter Simmons hadn't had a good life. After going through her parent's death, a harsh breakup, and an even harsher Junior year, she just wants to fade away..."
Peter quickly zoned out. Why did she have to choose this movie, out of all of them? Did she know? Was this her harsh way of torturing him? Why, why, why, why-
"Peter!" it was only now that Peter realized he had been shaking and crying. Natasha looked worried, afraid, sad... Peter felt terrible for making her feel bad. But Nat wasn't looking at him, she was looking... past him? That's when he remembered. The blade. "Pete..." Natasha whispered, so different from the almost demanding tone she had used much of the time. He just shook his head, tears still making their way down his cheeks.
"Please... please don't tell anyone," Peter could only remember the pleasure he had felt when he cut, happiness at the searing pain, joy at the blood dripping into the sink. He didn't feel so pleased now.
"Wow, Parker!" the voice in his head mocked, and he whimpered at the intrusive sound. "You can't even hurt yourself right, you useless bastard,". Sure, it wasn't really there, but Peter could feel it grinning, taunting him with the pain that he caused others.
Nat held Peter in her arms, and he burrowed his head closer into the crook of her neck. She slowly rocked them back and forth, allowing Peter to fall apart in her arms. She whispered into his ear.
"Your perfect, Pete... so, so perfect... we all love you, so, so much,"
She planted little kisses to the top of his head, listening to the sobs and the small 'I'm sorry's," that fell from his mouth.
Finally, Peter broke away, wiping his eyes harshly.
"Just... could you not tell Tony and the others?" he asked, and Nat sighed.
"You know none of them mind, right? Especially Tony, when he's been in that situation so many times before."
Peter nodded, eyes cast down. "It's just that, well... it's like the logical part of my brain, it- it knows that you guys wouldn't mind, but the, uh... the other part of my brain says that I'd just... I'd just be a disturbance, more than I already am." Nat nodded, the same reasoning smile gracing her features. "Sometimes I'm sad but sometimes... sometimes I just feel, well, empty!"
With that Peter was falling apart again, breaking down in the comfort of Natasha's arms. Nat sang softly to him, singing Russian lullaby after lullaby, until she heard his sobs subside, his shaking stop, and his breathing slow. She tucked him into the covers tightly and stood up to leave. But Peter, even in his sleep, could not stand to be alone, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. Resigned, Natasha lied next to him, thinking about how to handle this.
Whoever had hurt their sweet Peter Parker had to pay, even if it was themselves. But, they could deal with this as a team later, once Pete was ready. Right now, Peter just needed a friend, an older sister, someone to protect him, and Nat was willing to be that. Because she knew, maybe more than anyone, that you had to fall apart before you could be put back together.