Chapter Text
Miles was tired.
Of course, he was; that shouldn’t be a surprise, especially not to him. He was out more on the streets of Brooklyn fighting crime than he was in his classes (that and some criminals loved to throw him around like he was a goddamn Cabbage Patch doll) so it only made sense his legs felt heavy with each step and all his limbs tingle with pain by the time he made it back to his dorm.
What didn’t make sense was why his mind was so tired too. It probably was all the overthinking; it felt like his mind was chanting words at him to fuel his self-doubt and no matter how hard he tried to keep things positive, he couldn’t shut them up.
Being tired physically he could deal with, but mentally? It was more exhausting than his duties as Spiderman and it bothered him that he couldn't pinpoint what brought him to such a point of mental anguish.
Miles didn't know the specific moment he got tired.
Maybe it was when he joined Vision Academy. Or the 3 days that sent him into the spiral of learning how to be Spiderman. Hell, maybe it even started the moment he stepped foot into Miguel’s lair the first time he went to the Spider Society.
All he knew was he was tired. So tired that he couldn’t stop himself from drowning in the pool of darkness he called his mind and sickeningly — he didn’t want to be free.
His thoughts were dark, sure. He couldn’t look at the knives in his family’s kitchen without thinking of stabbing himself or swing around the city without thinking of just letting go of his webs and plunging down onto the cold concrete dozens of feet below him.
Sometimes he wishes he was dead. He hopes on the bad nights that he’ll die peacefully in his sleep only to wake up the next morning with sore bones, dark circles under his eyes, and those darker thoughts rushing back into his head like it was the sunlight from his bedroom window blinding his eyesight.
He knew the way he felt wasn’t healthy in the slightest. He saw the posters about mental health plastered all over school, the presentations they would host about suicide prevention each semester yet every time he walked past the counselor's office, he would shrink a little more into himself and hurry off to whenever he was supposed to be as if just standing too close to the door would make him pour his heart out.
He should speak up about it and get help, but he doesn’t. He keeps it to himself no matter the pitch in his stomach and the ache in his heart, he keeps quiet.
He knows it's wrong to refuse help. The last thing he wanted to be was a statistic, seen as a lost soul who was gone too soon after losing their mental health battle. But the very last thing he wanted to be seen as was weak. He was Spiderman, one of the coolest and strongest beings in the multiverse, and if he couldn’t handle a couple of suicidal dark thoughts then was he really meant to be Spiderman?
Miles shook his head. No, he is meant to be Spiderman. Spiderman can handle himself and he likes to think he’s handling himself pretty well…right?
It didn’t matter, who cared about his well-being anyway? Not him that was for sure as he lets a villain slam him to the ground in hopes the impacted would just smash his skull in so he could get it over with — but sadly it doesn't play out that way and all Miles is left with is a pounding headache, an ice pack pressed to a bruise on his head, and a tinge of bitterness that he wasn’t dead.
Miles was drowning, it was obvious but the feeling was too good for him to let go of. At least he knew if it got too hard one day, there was an out.
Even if that out was death, there was still an option for him to hold onto when the days seemed bleaker than usual.
Because man, was he tired.