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Peter slipped in through his window, shaking a bit after the fight with Scorpion, or rather, the person who had been controlling Scorpion. He was reeling from the whole chaotic day. It felt like he was going a bit crazy with everything happening —the mind jumper, the spider stuff, and the momentary loss of control over himself.
His hand pushed the window back down behind him, rain starting to patter against the glass. Peter walked to his desk, checking in with E.V. to see his DNA currently. The arachnid bar was still too high.
Peter grabbed the edge his mask from the back of his neck, pulling it upward to get it off. He stared down at it, eyes tracing over the white lenses before sliding to his hand, still trembling. He tossed the mask aside.
The rain was coming down harder now, the city lights illuminating the hundreds of droplets on the window despite it being near dark out. It's the City that Never Sleeps, after all. But Peter didn't care enough at the moment to pull the curtains shut.
Tugging the rest of his sullied spider suit off, he put it in the washing machine, followed by his mask and a dye-free detergent pod. He slammed it shut as, if he didn't, it wouldn't properly latch and as a result wouldn't turn on. He may have also been taking his emotions out a little bit…
His finger jammed against the button on top until it turned green, signaling that the rinse stage was beginning. The washer started to vibrate, water flushing against the circular door window, the blue and red fabric turning round and round inside.
Lightning flashed outside, followed by thunder 10 seconds later. 2 miles away, Peter thought intuitively before dismissing it. He went up to the window now, pulling the curtains closed. He didn't like the lighting much anymore. Not after Electro and the others he'd fought with Peter 2 and Peter 3. The battle that had permanently altered his life.
Peter went back to the washing machine, grabbing a hoodie and shorts from the hamper beside it. He'd neglected to fold for a few days, so they were wrinkled, not that it mattered all that much. No one would see it anyway. It didn't matter what Peter Parker wore when no one really knew him anymore.
Peter slid to the ground on the other side of the washing machine where it was barren on the floor, leaning back against it, legs curling up against his chest. He wrapped an arm around his knees, his free hand pulling out his phone. He didn't turn it on; he didn't need to. In the reflection, he could see his eyes, no camera needed.
Still engulfed in black, like shiny voids in the dim light of the apartment. His mind wandered to black holes, a terrifying astronomical phenomenon—nothing could escape it, not even light. He wondered, with a dull ache in his chest, if the spider inside him would swallow him whole too, leaving no more Peter Parker.
But what was truly left of Peter anymore?
He didn't have MJ—she had a boyfriend now anyway, as he'd seen at the party. It was for the best anyway, wasn't it? And Ned… he couldn't remember him either. Ned liked Spider-Man, sure, but since they weren't friends anymore, that left zero of the intrinsic emotional tie they used to have together, right?
Then there was Frank. He hadn't told the man his identity, but they were kind of close, almost friends. But if something happened, if Peter turned into something that had to be put down because he was dangerous… would Frank do that?
If Peter changed, if Spider-Man became more spider than man, if he mutated into a monster…? Well, Peter had already seen the public turn against him once. With no connection anymore, there'd be no difference with MJ and Ned… They'd come to hate Spider-Man too.
Peter put his phone down, not wanting to look into those abyssal eyes anymore. The thought of the three of them hating him or thinking him monster made his stomach hurt. He took an shaky breath, feeling too warm, a bit of a clammy sweat starting on his neck and back. He pressed his hands against his knees to keep them still, fingers digging in, leaving faint red indents.
Even now though, his senses were on edge. The rain patter too loud, like it was inside his ears instead of against the glass, and the hoodie too much, able to feel every thread against his skin, the sweat dampening it just enough to make it cling to his shoulders. Usually, the rain was calming—minus the thunder—and this was also one of his most comfortable hoodies.
Would every little comfort he had left be stripped away from him?
Peter pressed his head back against the washing machine, trying to focus on the rhythmic shudder of the metal, the feeling providing a surprisingly steady pulse for his mind to latch onto. Peter let his eyes fall shut, taking slow breaths in, holding for a moment, and then letting them out.
Gradually, Peter's body eased, the tension ebbing away. Behind his eye lids, the black creeped back from his pupils and irises, the white being bared again as the ink seeped away, hidden once more.
Peter was asleep, unaware of the mild improvement, body slumped back against the side of the machine. His chest rose and fell softly, face smoothed of the furrows and frowns Peter had been making so often these past few years…
It would be back though. The arachnid. Lurking until the next moment Peter's stress increased too much for him to handle, and the spider would surge forward once again, instinctual and undeniable.
But for now, the young man could rest, floating in whatever haze of dreams his mind conjured for him until morning.
He'd figure it out, somehow, someway, but that could wait.
It could wait for now.
Couldn't it?