Work Text:
Poor Peter Parker,
No family,
No friends,
No love.
He sat there, alone, in the dark. There being a place of sadness, loss, devastation. There being a place, of good memory and bad memory. There being a place he was getting tired of seeing. Yet he’s still there and will always go back there. Because for some god forsaken reason the cruel world around him just keeps pulling and pulling at his heartstrings, pulling and pulling until there is nothing left to pull. Because for some god forsaken reason just being burdened with his gift was not enough suffering for one teenager to take. So he sits, doesn’t fiddle with his jacket sleeves, he doesn’t kick his feet, he doesn’t make a sound. But boy does he cry, not the loud and agonising cry, but the silent and unforgiving cry. A cry he’s familiar with, a cry so ruthless that it doesn’t stop until he feels like his body is going to give up and convulse in itself. A cry no one can hear, no one can see, no one knows but him. That’s why it’s so ruthless, because he doesn’t share what is troubling him because if he did they might wind up like the others. Peter couldn’t risk that, because in front of him lie his memories of those who shared his heart, the one’s who weren’t afraid to risk their lives for such a cause.
No one was supposed to know, it was supposed to be him, just him. Why did they get involved? He doesn’t understand why. Why they were so willing, so persistent, so truly loyal. What he does know is that all good things come to and end and their ending came too soon. Their endings were like finishing a book, leaving a gaping hole in his heart, but instead of them doing the closing it was him. He felt like he was the one flicking over the last page and shutting the book for good, putting it away on the shelf never to be touched again. He felt responsible for the ending of their stories, while another chapter started in his, every time he put on that damned mask another chapter began and he isn’t sure how many more he can have in his story knowing that the one’s that he loved died helping his story continue on.
Back at home was the one person he had left, back at home safe and sound, back at home where nothing could get them. Back at home was also where his troubled resided. His mask, his identity, the other him, the version of him that he doesn’t have control over. The version of him that’s made his life a whirlwind of chaos. It’s not all it’s cracked out to be, there’s no crown over his head, there’s no throne for him to sit on. All he’s got is the neighbourhood of Queens, no royalty, much less a castle. So when he does get out of his twin bed in the morning, it’s because he would much rather use what he’s got to save the world than himself.
Poor Peter Parker,
No family,
No friends,
No love,
No hope.