Chapter 12
A week passed. Mr. Stark had gotten Oliver a phone, much to his guilt and dismay. Peter had told him to and they had both had to deal with Oliver’s attempt at rejecting the gift, much to their own dismay. Eventually, he did accept it, along with Peter's phone number. He downloaded the apps he used to have but didn’t try to open any of them, he doubted he remembered any of his login information. He still downloaded them though, just to fill up space.
Bruce took Oliver through the results he had saved from the fMRI machine. It had caught when things had started going bad. It showed he really was in pain. It showed that the pain and the fear he was experiencing were showing much more activity than is usually possible. Bruce said that he thinks that the fear, the pain, that’s what triggers the powers. They’re Intertwined. He hates that. He can only have power if it causes his own suffering. Poetic almost. Still a pain in the ass. Bruce wanted to do more testing and they did. Nothing went wrong and the tests seemed to confirm more and more the same thing. He had to learn to control his pain, control his fear to control this power. The week went on.
Oliver woke up sweating, his heart the only sound beating like a drum in the silent dark. He had the constant knowledge that someone was in the room, hiding in the dark corners or just behind a door. He tried to calm down his breathing. It was a nightmare. Just a nightmare. No one was there. He tried to remember what he was dreaming but only came away with a mind sticky with blood and grief. His breathing wasn’t calming down. He wished he had his cat, Someone to blame every creak of the building on. Someone to guard him from the fear. Someone to touch, to hold, to hold him.
Fuck. He wanted his mom.
He pulled the duvet up around his knees and pressed his back against the backboard of the bed. He used to come to wake her when he was little. She always sounded annoyed, but opened her covers and let him crawl in any way. He longed for that. For the warmth of cuddling up next to her, for the warmth of feeling safe. He just wanted to hear her voice. To just hear her say something, to prove that she was there. Even if she wasn’t with him, she was there.
He had a phone. He had long ago memorized her number and it was late, though Oliver didn’t know the time difference between here and there. What were the chances she had her ringtone on, that she was awake? He probably would be sent straight to voicemail. Right? He would be sent straight to voicemail and her voice would calm him down and he wouldn’t panic and make a mistake with whatever these fucking powers were.
It was harder typing in her phone number than he thought it would be with his hands shaking. He had to count himself down to pressing call.
The phone rang twice.
She picked up.
Fuck she picked up.
“Hello?” She sounded tired, but not like she had just woken up, like she had been up. Maybe she was working late?
“Mom. Hi. It’s me-” The line clicked
She had hung up. She hadn’t even let him finish his sentence, hadn’t even told him to fuck off she had just. Hung up. Her voice had not helped, in fact, Oliver felt very suddenly that the air in the room was very thick and very heavy and if he did not get outside he was almost certain it would suffocate him.
He stumbled out of the room. How could he just have stopped loving him? Just cut her child completely out like that? Maybe he really was terrible.
“Ms. AI lady?” Oliver called out to the buttonless elevator. “Can you take me to the roof please?”
“Alright, Oliver. You seem to be having a panic attack. I must advise you to let Mr. Stark know.”
A panic attack? No. He’s had panic attacks before. This wasn’t that bad. Not yet. Plus if he had a panic attack he would destroy something with this power. He didn’t want anyone to be around if that happened. “No. I’m fine. Please just take me to the roof.”
“Are you sure?” Couldn't the AI see that he was suffocating in here?
“Certain.” The elevator finally started whirring up and opened. The air outside felt cool. Felt breathable. He still couldn’t breathe in all the way though. As much as he inhaled it felt like his body wasn’t taking in anything.
Maybe he deserved to be cut out of his parent's life. He gave up everything for them. He gave up his friends and his freedom for them and then they just left him. He gave everything to stay with them and he just ended up alone. Maybe he deserved that. Maybe he deserved this and the torture. This was all just some sort of complex punishment the universe had given him for thinking he deserved more than this. For thinking he deserved to be loved and cared for as a man. Maybe he deserved more. Maybe he deserved to die.
Oliver looked at the fence his back was resting on. The only thing stopping him from falling back into his own death. The panic was starting to make everything feel like it was buzzing again. That was bad. He was going to fuck everything up and be in pain again. Was this what life would be like? Constant punishment for a man he barely fucking knew? Maybe he should jump. The fence was too tall to climb over. But, he had this power. This great destructive power is fueled by panic and pain. What if he could just pry open the bars? He turned to face the bars. They weren’t even terribly close together and he sure was panicking. He bit the inside of his cheek until it bled and wrapped his hands around the bars. They were vibrating. No. Their particles were vibrating. He could feel them. He could feel everything. He bit his cheek harder and tried, willed the bars to pull apart for him to get through. They moved.
Excruciating pain shot through Oliver’s body in a familiar way and he cried out, his feet crumpling underneath him for a moment.
He breathed, feeling the particles of the air fill his lungs and go into his body. His cheek hurt. His body hurt. But the panic had subsided a bit. Especially since the bars were open. He could leave all of this. End the punishment and not ever have to worry about the destruction of his pain ever again.
He slipped between the bars, hanging on and letting himself dangle over the edge. It was thrilling. Being this close to death. The thrill was making things buzz more again. He could feel the entire building's electricity. It was overwhelming.
Oliver used to think about killing himself when he was younger. He never really succeeded in trying and he always beat himself up over that. Couldn’t even kill himself right. But eventually, life had gotten better again. He decided that life was worth living and although it was still a struggle to remember that, he had committed.
Oliver thought of that as he hung himself over death. This would certainly kill him. The panic returned in waves. What if it didn’t kill him and he was just in pain for the rest of his life? He would hurt so many people. They would bury him under the wrong name too. It didn’t matter who got his body, they wouldn’t give him the right name. He had tried so hard to get better. To stop self-harming and to stop wanting to kill himself. What was it all for if he let go now? All that effort for nothing? No. He had given so much effort to be perfect for his parents and they gave him nothing. He wouldn’t do the same to himself. He needed help, to call someone. Mr. Stark, he wouldn’t get it. Or he wouldn’t do the right thing. Oliver didn’t even know what the right thing was. Suicide hotlines suck too, and they might send someone. Then everyone would know. Maybe Peter? He has his number now and they only really ever sent each other memes but, he would be nice wouldn’t he? If he was awake. If he picked up. He clicked the button before he could regret it.
It rang once.
“Oliver, hey are you okay?” Peter's voice sounded winded. What was he doing winded this late?
“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m fine.” A pause thickened the air. He had never called Peter before. “Actually um. I called my mom.” His voice tightened as soon as he actually said it.
“I can be over there in five minutes.” Where the hell did Peter live? He didn’t think five minutes away. Something made a sound in the background. “I’ll be there okay?” The phone clicked. Somehow, even knowing Peter was coming, he felt the same sense of abandonment as the line went silent.
It was weird sitting there. Next to a way so easy to leave this all behind. Like sitting next to a gun, or a large bottle of pills. He kept getting that feeling in his chest, just a heavy feeling. He just wanted to rest. He had been so exhausted for so long and things just kept getting worse and he kept getting more tired. Oliver wrapped his arms around his knees and pulled himself closer. His head leant to rest on his knees and he closed his eyes. If he just pretended it was his mom, His mommy, that was holding him. If he just pretended he felt a little okay again.
Oliver’s phone screen lit up. “I’m here. Where r u?” shined through the dark of the night. He texted a reply before dropping his head again.
Soon, the sound of elevator doors opening signalled Peter’s entrance. Oliver felt him sit down next to him. Neither of them said anything for a while. Sitting next to him was enough.
Finally, Oliver broke the silence. “I don’t know how she can just stop loving me.” he closed his eyes for a second, breathing down tears. “She didn’t even-. As soon as she knew it was me she hung up. She used to love me, I know she used to love me. I used to feel loved. When did she stop, what was the moment? What did I do?”
Peter looked up to the sky and Oliver looked to the ground, feeling it buzzing. “Maybe, maybe it never really was loving you. Because, I’ve loved people and no matter how we fall apart, I still have this, this care for them. Maybe she just liked the way being a mother felt when it went well.”
“When I was younger, I had a really bad relationship with my brother. He was, he had bad anger issues and I don’t know, maybe I provoked him. I just remember that sometimes he made me cry so hard, and felt so terrible and I would go to my room and sob until someone came to comfort me. I remember the day my mom stopped coming. I don’t talk to my brother anymore.”
Peter looked at him. Oliver didn’t meet his eyes. “You know, you know that it wasn’t you right? You know that parents get tired sometimes but, when you hear someone you love suffering like that, it hurts, you want to help them, you want to get rid of their pain.” He moved to look properly at him. “I think that maybe, even if it hurts right now, she just might not ever have loved you, not properly.”
“No, but I felt loved. I felt loved. She had to have loved me at some point or I wouldn’t have felt it.”
“It's not hard to make someone feel loved. It's harder to allow yourself to love, and to be loved.” He wasn’t really sure Peter was right about his mom never loving him but, he was right about making someone feel loved. It isn’t hard, it's just putting care into it all.
“Just. What made it too hard? What did I do?”
“I don’t know. I can’t even begin to imagine Oliver, but, I also can’t imagine it was right. What reason could be enough to just stop.”
Thinking about this, thinking if he had a kid, someone he had raised and taken care of, what they could do for him to stop loving them, completely. Kill someone, maybe. But even then, self-defence, and even if it was of malice, he didn’t think his love would just be gone. It would hurt so much because of the love, not despite it. Maybe he was right or perhaps his mom just chose her hate over him. Maybe he would never know. Did he want to know? He could just move on, feeling the loss but not asking the question. He couldn’t not ask the question, why?
“You’re never going to have all the answers and there's always going to be things left unsaid.” He placed his hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Look, I know it’s not the same but, when my uncle died I, thought a lot of what you are saying right now.”
“How do you get over it?”
Peter sighed. “You don’t, you just have to figure out how to not let it happen to anyone else. Or help those it happens to anyway.”
Help it never happen again. Oliver hadn't thought of that, every other person who's gone through this. At least he had a billionaire supporting him for a bit. What about everyone else? Every kid whose parents made them homeless. Could you heal if you were struggling to stay alive? Maybe Peter was right about this. Maybe the way that he could hurt a little less, was to help everyone else hurt a little less.