Chapter 1
Peter didn't even know why Flash had pissed him off so badly. It was quite a regular occurrence, Flash teased him and pissed him off on the daily. But Flash mashing a cafeteria cookie into Peter's head pissed him off more than it should. Neither MJ nor Ned had come to school that day, and he was sitting alone, quietly in the back of the cafeteria with his nose buried in his phone. He hadn't even noticed Flash and his buddies until he had been smacked in the face with a lunch bag. The “oooohs”s of the bystanders in the cafeteria made his heart fall into his stomach, and red splash across his cheeks. He turned around to ask Flash to quit, but the still-warm chocolate cookie from the sweet lunch ladies was being ground into his hair before he could even process the situation. Peter stormed out of the school before thinking.
It was just a fucking cookie Peter thought to himself bitterly as he walked back home, ditching the rest of his classes for the day. He could shower and get the bits of food out of his hair, and it really wasn't that big of a deal, why was he so mad? Flash could've done worse, he had done worse. There was no reason to be so mad but he could practically feel the emotion rolling off his skin.
Finally reaching his apartment, he stomped up the stairwell and yanked his lanyard from his pocket to unlock the door. He slammed it so harshly behind him that the pictures and paintings on his walls shook and clattered. Thank god May isn't home
There's no need to be so mad. There's no need to be so mad. Peter repeated the phrase in his head, desperately trying to calm down. Maybe it was the embarrassment. The embarrassment of being looked at by every other student in the room in pity. The embarrassment of not reacting to Flash and simply walking out. Or maybe that his embarrassment was Flash’s entertainment. But he was so mad.
…
Peter wasn't 100% certain how he ended up soaked on the floor of the bathroom, razor in his hands, and blood pooling on the tile beneath him. The shower was still going, the room was hot and his brain was hazy, but Peter noticed the distinct lack of anger he felt earlier. He wasn't angry, but something was wrong. He didn't feel anything, except for the feeling of hot fire on his thighs. Finally coming to, properly conscious, he took in the state of the bathroom. Blood was dripping on the floor, scabbing on his legs, and water falling from his hair into his eyes. Shit. he yanked a towel down off the walls, and pressed it against his thighs, trying to desolately contain the mess. Another towel was torn off the wall when he realized he was bleeding through the first one, a third towel, and a fourth were used in a desperate attempt to mop up the floor. Realizing that the towels were not going to solve the problem, he stood on wobbling legs to stumble back into the shower. If Peter thought the burning of the cuts was bad, the heat of water running into his wounds was nearly intolerable.
Peter had stood unmoving in the shower, accepting the burn of the shower until his thighs were completely numb and the bleeding had stopped. He now sat, cold and shivering on the toilet lid, only dressed in boxers, but one of Tony's hoodies he had stolen still sat folded on the counter. He was wracking his brain trying to figure out how to fix the mess of his legs.
Peter used to cut himself a lot when Ben first passed away, trying to make himself feel the pain he made his Uncle suffer, but promised to quit when May found out. Thinking back, he realized he had never cut himself like this before. Never this deep, never in a haze of anger and emotion. He used to be able to just wipe and bandage his wrists, and his healing from the spider bite would take care of the rest. But now, he realized, he had fucked up too badly for his healing to work. His skin was thick and swollen and purple around his wounds, and if he looked into them he could see the white layer of his dermis underneath. Peter felt nauseous simply just looking at it, but he really didn't want an infection. A bottle of peroxide was pulled from under the sink, and he got to work.
Peter was hardly finished cleaning himself up when he heard the front door unlock. “Peter?” May called. The hoodie was pulled from the counter and over his head as he shouted back “Just a sec!”. Fuck. his hair was still dripping water, he had no pants, and… and the towels. The massacred pile of fabric on the floor was violently and unceremoniously stained. He couldn't get them past May.
“Why did I get a call from the school today Pete?” May’s footsteps were approaching the bathroom door, and he didn't have time to think. He picked up the pile and tossed them into the tub, closed the shower curtain, praying May really didn't feel the need to take a shower. Yanking the ends of his boxers low, and the seams of Tony's hoodie lower, he opened the bathroom door to face his aunt.
“Sorry May, I should've called you. I just didn't feel good so I walked home.” Peter put on his most dramatic ‘please pity me’ face, although the emotion wasn't too hard to fake.
She bought the excuse quickly, pressing her hand against his forehead. “Oh baby, do you feel better now? You don't have a fever”
Peter almost sighed an audible breath of relief, thankful she believed his weak excuse. “Yea I feel a bit better” He assured “I probably just need to lie down”
May pulled her hand away from his face, and planted a kiss in his wet hair instead. “Alright then you go lay down then, let me know if u start to feel worse again. I'll make soup for dinner” May pulled away from him and sauntered around the corner into the kitchen, leaving Peter alone outside the bathroom door. He paused for a moment before returning to the bathroom to haul the towels out of the tub and into the washing machine.