Chapter 2
Peter had lost track of how far he had fled from the scene.
He couldn’t stop replaying every second of the night over and over again in his head while he swung between buildings, losing himself somewhere between reality and the what if's. How badly it could have ended, how close he had gotten to failing thousands of people. how close he had been to getting them all killed. Eventually, Peter’s emergency canister of web fluid had run out and he had smashed into the roof of a building. He didn't even try to get back up.
He laid there choking on his tears, trying desperately to catch his breath. It felt like his chest was caving in on itself. He let out a keening sob as he roughly shoved his hands into his hair, pulling painfully on the strands. The air still smelled like smoke and fire. His arms still burned from where the fire had licked over his skin. He pulled harder on his hair, drawing in a shaky breath as he closed his eyes.
“No one died, No one died, no one died” He whispered to himself. Objectively speaking, the night had gone well. The bad guy was caught, he had brought the plane down before others could be hurt, and he stopped Mr. Stark’s equipment from falling into the wrong hands. But even as he tried desperately to soothe himself, Liz’ face swam through his mind. She probably knew by now that her father was a thief and a murderer. That the hero she looked up to, and even had a crush on, had handed him over to the cops. No matter how aware someone was of the line between right and wrong, that would still hurt her. He was her father after all.
He wondered what would happen to her now. Would she still stay in the city, or would she leave in shame?
The moment the thought ran through his mind, he let go of his hair and clawed at his burned forearms. The pain was immediate. His powers hadn't managed to heal the third degree burns fully yet. He let out a hiss as a tear ran down his cheek, and dug his nails in harder.
On days like this where his mind wouldn’t shut up, wouldn’t give him a damn moment of peace, he wanted to tear himself out of his skin. Just rip himself to pieces and leave his body where it was and float somewhere in the night sky. At peace. Free. The darkest parts of him wondered why he hadn’t just been on that plane with his parents. It would have been better than this. He wouldn’t have spent years suffering. just one moment, then.. nothing. A ghost of a smile pulled on his lips at the thought.
Peter spent more time thinking about death than we wanted to admit, even to himself. on his more bearable days, it would scare him how comfortable he had gotten with the thoughts. How the idea of just.. letting go was almost soothing to him now. He barely even noticed when he glanced over to the edge of the roof and turned towards it.
His breath hitched as the world cleared around him. his arms ached fiercely. Blood beaded up and rolled down his arms from where his nails had torn the skin. Every part of him ached or stung. But he breathed more freely than he had all day. the pain cleared his head, pushed away the weight from his chest, and for a moment everything went silent. Just for a moment.
He opened his eyes and looked straight at the edge of the roof again, slowly standing up. As if by themselves, his feet carried him closer. one step. two steps. three. He suddenly stopped as an image of May crying crossed his mind. Could he really leave her alone in this world?
He turned sharply around and found the door to the stairwell leading back into the building.
As he stepped through the door, he glanced back to where he had stood only seconds before. ‘Not yet’ he thought to himself as he closed the door.
‘but soon'