Work Text:
Peter stared at the ashes and they flickered and curled, fingers reaching towards the sky. The crackling of the wood. Sparks flying up and logs shift. The fiery grip of flame taking over. Burning everything. The ashes flicking and flying through the sky. Like lightning bugs. Ashes. Ashes like the ones floating around Tony and him. The ones that came from him. The ones that were him.
In the background he heard voices. He could hear them all, but not really. He knew they were there. All of them, Dick and Wally, Jason and Roy, Tim and Kon, Cass and Steph, Damian and Jon. Bruce, Clark, Duke, Babs, Alfred, they were all there. But he wasn't. He was alone. They didn’t leave him, he left them. He didn’t want to be alone.
Gods, he is tired.
That's his only thought, though it's heavy. It's pulling him down, deep deep into the earth. No, not the earth, it's pulling him into the deepest depths of the ocean. Pulling deep, past where submarines go. He was alone.
He knows that they would refuse it, say that he was always welcome here. That he was loved and cared for. That people were there for him. No. No one is there for him anymore.
He doesn't belong
That's the thought that hurt the most. Though it was true. It's not like he's from this family. From this city. From this universe. Gods, he wasn't even from this universe. He would never fit in. He would never belong.
He would never belong anywhere anymore.
He staggers at that thought. There had always been hope of getting back home. To his home. As much as he loved the Waynes, they weren't his. This universe isn't even his. But he can't go back. There's nothing for him there. His aunt is dead, Tony is dead, and his friends don't remember him. No one does. He doesn't have a universe anymore, nothing to tie him to anywhere anymore. He was a floater.
He doesn't remember when he sat down. When someone gently pushed him into one of the folding chairs surrounding the fire. When the voices quieted down. When the people moved back, making him feel more alone. Further from everyone. Alone.
“Breathe in. Two. Three. Four.” He heard the voice, though he couldn't tell who. A voice. Proof he wasn't alone. Though he was alone. He always was. And always will be.
“Out. Two. Three. Four.” Out all alone. That's what he was. After leaving his universe. After leaving everyone behind.
“In. Two. Three. Four.” After leaving Mj. After leaving Ned. After Morgan. After Peper. After all the students and teachers of Midtown High. His neighbors who helped after they lost Ben. Mr. Delmar who fed him while he and May were struggling with money. Everyone who encouraged him as Spider-Man. Everyone who needed Spider-Man when he wasn't there.
Oh my gods, he left the city without Spider-Man. He left them all.
“Out. Two. Three. Four.” All the people who died because of him. His Mom. His Dad. Ben. May. Tony. Nat. Steve. All the civilians he couldn't save.
“In. Two. Three. Four.” He needs to leave. He can’t let anyone else get hurt because of him. Or worse, killed. He wouldn't be able to stand it. He would die if someone else got killed because of him. He can’t let anyone else get hurt.
“Out. Two. Three. Four.” He can’t stay here. He can’t. He loves them too much to hurt them. Dick, who's a father to him. Jason, an amazing uncle, the one who first took care of him. The one who first helped him. Tim, who helped him integrate into this universe, though not that he belongs. Damian, who’s been an amazing younger brother, treating him like he's a person, not breakable. Cass and Steph and Duke and Babs for being amazing siblings/uncles and aunts/friends. They've helped him adapt. Alfred who's like a grandfather to him. Bruce's who's like a grandfather. Wally and Roy and Kon and Jon and Clark who treated him like a person, not some weird anomaly. Not even with the fact that he just showed up and took over their family one day. He loves all these people, he can’t hurt them.
“In. Two. Three. Four.” He can’t hurt them. Not the people he loves.
Gods. He loves them.
He told himself he wouldn’t get attached to anyone again. That he wouldn’t hurt anyone. He can’t hurt anyone else.
“Out. Two. Three. Four.” The voice, still trying to help, still trying to get him to breathe. He can’t. He can’t. He doesn’t deserve to.
“In. Two. Three. Four.” He starts sobbing. He can’t control it. He can’t let anyone else get hurt. He can’t.
“Out. Two. Three. Four.”
“In. Two. Three. Four.”
“Out. Two. Three. Four.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Peter is still sobbing. He can’t breathe. He can’t be here. He can’t get anyone else hurt.
“Peter, I need you to follow my breathing. In. Two. Three. Four. Out. Two. Three. Four.”
So Peter does. He follows the voice. The voice that is helping him. Helping him even when he doesn't deserve it.
“In. Two. Three. Four. Out. Two. Three. Four.”
He breathes, following the voice, the lifeline. The only thing keeping him from going. He feels 2 arms surrounding him, pulling him into a hug. It’s nice. Maybe he's not alone. Maybe he can stay. Maybe.
“In. Two. Three. Four. Out. Two. Three. Four.”
He hugs back, holding this person like a lifeline. Finally someone isn't leaving him. Isn't flocking away or dying. They're not dying because of him. They're not getting hurt because of him.
“In. Two. Three. Four. Out. Two. Three. Four.”
“In. Two. Three. Four. Out. Two. Three. Four.”
“I’m sorry. So sorry.” He whispers when he finally is back enough. Enough to consciously breathe.
“No Peter, no need to be sorry. You're ok. We're here.” The person promises. They won’t leave him. He's not alone anymore.