Chapter Text
Peter was gifted, in all the right ways, or at least that's what everyone around him assumes. Good grades, good spirits–but they don’t see the cracks in the mirror. The mirror image of Peter who just wants to be free. Free from responsibility and free from his own mind. People are inherently selfish, so of course Peter himself will be too. But wanting and needing are two different things. Peter knew how to want, he knew it in his own bone structure, his fried nerves, his fingers.
The difference between Peter and other people is that his wants can’t be touched, they aren't as materialistic as others. He wants and wants and nothing will ever change–because his parents are dead, that is final. There is no fixing that. Uncle Ben is dead–and Peter had watched. He had his powers, but that wasn’t enough.
Love is conditional, it is offered until it can no longer be offered. May is working every waking hour and barely making ends meet whilst smiling and offering Peter the comfort he needs. He feels sick for letting her. She gives and gives and all he knows to do is take.
“Peter?”
Her eyes gleamed with a knowing smile, she saw through him. Always. Peter has dreams of her growing sick of his constant wants.
“Baby? Are you okay?” Peter realizes he never answered her, he was stuck in his own thoughts. A thought loop. Her eyes crinkled at the corners with worry. He felt like he was rotting on the inside.
Peter's eyes watered but he blinked them away and smiled. He picked up his toast and took a big bite.
“Yeah sorry, I was practicing for debate club,” It was a lame excuse, but it was all Peter could offer up. Nonetheless May had pushed a stray hair away from his eyes and tucked it behind his ears. Her fingers were soft and she smelled of the lavender soap she adored.
“Of course, my busy busy boy. You’re gonna knock them out of the park. I wish I could come see you baby–you know that. You could ask Tony to go in my place?” she whispered out the last part. May seemed remorseful, like she couldn’t imagine not being there. It broke her heart and in turn broke Peter’s.
“No no.. Tony’s.. Well he's probably too busy anyways. And it’s okay May, I have my classmates to cheer me on,” again Peter had prompted himself an out, he chose to comfort May again. The truth was ugly, he wanted her to show up–but he didn’t want to become a burden. Peter had already felt himself become a burden.
May put her hand on his lower back and pressed a kiss to the crown of Peter's head before running her hand through his hair. Peter never fought her, this affection is what he was constantly craving–it never felt like enough. He was a burden, always wanting and taking while May gave her everything.
“You’re going to be late baby. Here-” May shoved a 20 dollar bill in his hand “This is for lunch today, remember after debate you are going to the tower. I love you,” Peter wanted to decline the 20 but May had disappeared fast into the ladies room to get ready for her work day. Peter yearned for one more hug, but he would never ask.
He grabbed his empty plate and placed it in the sink, when he got home later he would clean it before May had the chance. Heaven knows she wouldn’t be back until crazy hours, that woman never sleeps.
Peter shoved his backpack over his arms and grabbed his keys before opening the front door. He smiled at his neighbor while she stepped aside for him. She was using a cane and hadn’t wanted to hold him up from going to school.
He walked slowly to the subway, his headphones playing some background noise he wasn’t paying much mind to. The music helped calm his senses on the subway. People brushed by him as they got off and on the stops. Nothing ever slowed down.
He finally reached Midtown High but he was tripped promptly before he even got in the door. Flash snickered behind him and a group of his friends began dumbly squabbling. Peter ignored Flash’s antics and kept walking. It looked like Ned was sick today–but he found MJ staring at him from the class. She was always early. He admired her for her aloof exterior but he knew she was too strict with herself for her own good. MJ was a character in herself, she spoke the truth–it was refreshing but often she hurt herself by not thinking before she spoke. Luckily Peter didn’t mind her accidental rudeness, he almost encouraged it.
Her hair was up in a ponytail but small baby-haired curls swayed as classmates walked by her. Her eyes were brown but he always noticed the tiny amount of green ribboning the center parts of her iris.
“Idiot–stop gawking. Sit down jeez,” and there it was, trademark MJ.
“You know for someone as hyperactive as you, you can overthink for hours. It's exhausting even watching you. I’ll pull out my sketchbook again, don't test me,” she playfully teased. MJ was an amazing artist, the way she sculpted everyone's face, she mirrored emotions so well. He only saw the drawings of himself but he didn’t even notice half the expressions he made during class alone. MJ saw everything, she was observant, you have to be careful around her. But she also had a kindness, like he knew she would never throw his feelings back in his face or mock his distress–well maybe a little. Then again she would do it, to make him feel better and that's the difference between her and someone cruel.
He wondered what her parents were like, to have raised such a character. His thoughts stopped again at the thought. How would he have been shaped had his parents not died. Everything happened for a reason–that’s what everyone says. But he doesn’t believe his parents had any divine reason for dying on that plane. Wrong place, wrong time. That was all it was to him, Peter luck. Everyone around him either left or died.
He was left at his desk thinking about this while his teacher taught something he already knew. What were his parents like during school? Did they like learning like him? Did he even look remotely like them? All these questions swimming in his brain while his heart thudded hard. He wanted his parents, he didn’t care if they were evil villains. A selfish, foul want to be angry at everyone for having what he couldn’t. It hurts.
But they hadn’t left him, there were traces of his parents in everything he did, he just couldn’t see them. His uncle had been the next person to leave after them. Peter's thoughts trailed off again as his professor droned on about physics. His parents had left him with a gaping wound but he didn’t feel personally responsible for their death, not as he did for Ben.
Suddenly he was nauseous. He raised a shaky hand, asking for a restroom break.
He stared in the mirror at his dark circles, little moons he couldn’t escape. His stomach was in knots. He retched softly before turning towards the toilet and sitting on the cold floor in front of it. He took out his phone–an automatic response to call May. But he couldn’t do it to her, he was selfish. A monstrous feeling living in his veins, before he knew it he was breathing erratically. On instinct alone he dialed Tony’s number.
It only rang once. "Aren't you in school? Don’t think I condone skipping,” he chided. Peter barely heard him at all but a wet gasp left his lips at the response.
“Peter, are you injured?”
A stifling silence went around–what was he thinking? He hung up on Tony and leaned his head in his hands. Tony wasn’t Peter's dad, he couldn’t help Peter, no one could. His phone vibrated but he put it on silent and walked back to class. He sat and before he knew it, it was the end of the day.
The nausea never left but he found control in gripping his fingers between each other until they turned a whitish purple. The small amount of pain relieves him.
Tony is the one waiting in the vehicle instead of Happy. Peter knows why–he had been rude earlier, called Tony in a crisis before thinking and then left without a peep. No explanations, he himself would have been pissed too. But Peter found he didn’t care, an exhaustion clung to his body and thoughts. He had reached a point where even his hero couldn’t really help. He again yearned for someone to just know what he needed, a parental instinct, one he didn't need to speak up about.
Tony had gone silent but he was thinking hard. “Peter you know- if you ever need to speak to someone. I can get you resources. I am not very good at this but kid.. You look exhausted,”
And Tony just knew. He knew what Peter was feeling and all Peter could feel was intense anger, anger that the only person who understood him barely regarded him outside of lab days. He should have felt relief, he knows he should have. But he was just angry.
“I don't need to speak to anyone, there was no problem. I'm fine,” he realized how worked up he was when he left crescent marks in his hands from clenching.
“Don’t lie to yourself Peter. Especially not to me, not after you gave me a heart attack. You owe me for that, by the way,” Tony was stern but he was more sarcastic than anything. That made the anger more real, like his feelings had become a joke.
“Why do you care, you’re not my dad!” and before his brain caught up Peter had yelled in the small space. His breath huffed wetly. He was so rude, Tony took time out of his day to not only pick Peter up but to try and comfort him in a Tony way. Peter had just repaid him by yelling in his expensive car. But he couldn't help it. He was still angry.
Tony’s hands gripped the steering wheel hard.
“Hey! Watch it, you do not speak to me that way” he took a deep breath “I am dropping you off at home.” and that was final. But at this Peter got even angrier.
“What so every time- I become too difficult to handle you’ll just- what leave me. If it inconveniences you, of course you wouldn’t-” but Peter never got to finish.
Tony pulled the car over, unclicked his seatbelt and pulled Peter out of the car himself. But he wasn’t too rough, more stern than anything. Anger had pooled into Peter and he could only feel the hot rage boiling under his skin.
“Sit! Right-Now. What is wrong with you today?” Oh Tony was livid. His hands had gripped Peter's shirt as he shook him a small bit.
Peter sat but not before he snarled under his breath. But before he could respond Tony had shushed him.
But Peter interrupted him. “Oh so because it became even harder, you'll have me sit here, walk home. Leave me?”
“No Peter, I am not going to leave a teenager on the side of the road for being lippy. I am figuring out what exactly is going on with you, because you have just shown me that whatever is happening–you cannot handle,” – when Peter just glared he continued “I am not going to ‘get rid of you’, I am going to make you explain yourself!” Tony huffed out.
But suddenly as fast as the anger came, it fizzled into something else. Peter’s chest tightened and his breaths came out in short bursts. His hands shook violently and a ringing sound soon clued in Tony’s voice.
“Deep breaths, in… and out,” Tony instructed and Peter followed to the best of his abilities. Before he finally got a whisper of a real breath, it stuttered in his chest and his vision cleared for a second. He tried again and again until he was breathing the same rhythm as Tony.
But Tony didn’t separate them, not until Peter had lowered his grip on his shirt. Peter looked anywhere but at Tony.
“Get in the car, bud, we are going to the tower.” and all Peter could do was numbly be led into the car. But Tony didn’t leave him. Tony turned on the air and slowly backed out back on the road. Peter was lulled into a small slumber. His last thought was that he was sorry, for everything.