I Want To Be Well

Peter wasn’t going to lie, his day had been absolute shit.

It’d been about a month since the.. thing, on the couch with Skip, and Peter was starting to have a hard time convincing himself this was all worth it. Things had just been steadily getting worse since then- god knows he wasn’t gonna tell anyone, and Skip knew it too. He was getting braver, apologizing less, everything always hurt, Peter just needed a break. Just for a minute.

He had always loved school, but now it was more like a gaping need, a sanctuary. Like he was floating further and further out to sea, and the time he spent at school served as a life jacket keeping him from letting go and sinking to the bottom of the ocean. From giving up. That’d be so nice, wouldn’t it? To just let the darkness hold him for a moment? Even someone with a life jacket would starve eventually, the sea wasn’t the only thing trying to take him. Maybe if he just-

Peter blinked, alarmed and feeling nauseous for a second as he controlled his thoughts. He was fine. Skip loved him, and he had Ned and MJ- even if the guilt of not telling them was eating him alive- and they had his back, his life was great.

Still, he found it a little hard to convince himself that as he fought off the blinding headache that’d taken over his senses. He’d back-talked to Skip a little too much the other day and now was nursing a concussion for it and a few too many cracked ribs.

He was smart too, Ben’s girlfriend- and god did he miss May, Ben was planning on proposing to her- before, well, she had been a nurse, he was fully aware he should be at home right now, taking care of his injuries. He was literally throwing up blood last night for god’s sake- but the thought of staying home alone with Skip all day when he was so weak was making his hands shake. It was almost lunch anyways, this was nothing.

He scowled a little as the words popped into his head. It really would be nothing if he didn’t need to wear this stupid power-suppressing bracelet. He’d have healed overnight without it.

I mean really, did Skip genuinely think that Peter would hurt him if given that freedom? Really? After everything the man had done to help him? Peter felt guilt well up in his chest at that, he really had to stop thinking about Skip like that, framing him in a bad light wasn’t fair, he was the reason Peter could still go to Midtown. Still see his friends. Anything that Skip did to him well worth it, there wasn’t a problem. And maybe-

Maybe if Peter could just prove to Skip that he was trustworthy, Skip would take the power dampener off his wrist. He could do that, he could earn the older man’s trust, he would earn his trust. Skip didn’t deserve to have to live with someone he didn’t feel safe around.

The irony of that sentence wasn’t lost to Peter.

He really was regretting not just staying home now, his head pounded and his stomach was lurching in a way that made him uneasy. His mouth tasted like metal as he did his best to at least look like he was paying attention. He could see MJ staring at him in his peripheral, and silently thanked whatever force was out there that they didn’t sit next to each other in this class. He couldn’t deal with an interrogation right now.

Right as he was beginning to seriously consider just walking out, the bell finally rung for lunch. As relieving as the sound was, it made his migraine just that much worse, god- he could feel the sensory overload coming.

Barely even taking the time to haphazardly shove his belongings into his backpack, he shot out the door like a bullet. Desperately trying to dodge MJ and even more so to get to the bathroom before throwing his guts up onto the floor. Maybe even literally, with how much blood there was in it last night..

Parker luck strikes again though, he curses to himself as he feels MJ grab his arm, unable to suppress the flinch at the sudden contact paired with the oncoming sensory overload.

Her eyes soften immediately though, loosening her grip to his relief. “What’s up with you, you’re acting even more like a kicked puppy than usual,” she jibes, but even through her normally monotone voice Peter could detect the concern behind it.

“What, me?! I’m all good! Now if you’d excuse me-“ he chirped, grimacing at how enthusiastic he sounded. He overdid it for sure. MJ’s eyes narrowed, still not letting go of his wrist.

“Okay, fine, are you hurt?” She asked, saying it less like a question and more like a demand. As much as he wished he could tell them everything sometimes, it was times like this that he wished they didn’t know anything about Skip’s treatment.

They just, cared. It was surreal, Peter didn’t deserve that concern.

Unable to come up with a suitable lie, he winced, ready to bite the bullet if it meant he could escape before the climbing nausea got it’s way.

“Yes-“ he started, scrambling to elaborate as he saw her gaze harden. “Barely! Skip barely touched me, I’m fine but I was throwing up blood last night and I’m about to do it again all over this hallway if you don’t let go of me and let me run to a bathroom-“ he started, his nervous rambling getting cut off by her shocked expression.

“I’m sorry- you were throwing up blood?” She blanched, “What the hell Parker, why aren’t you at, I dunno, a hospital?!” She hissed, her expression unable to decide between angry and concerned.

He winced as his headache worsened, swaying for a moment as his vision doubled and narrowly avoiding falling into MJ. Her eyes flashed with some indiscernible emotion before she grabbed his arm, dragging him down the hall. “Okay, I’m taking you to a bathroom and then I’m taking your scrawny ass home,” she scolded, her tone leaving no room for argument. Not that Peter even had the energy to argue with her.

He would later though, Skip would actually kill him if he ditched class. He had enough absences on his record from when Skip would hit him somewhere too obvious. He couldn’t quite afford any more. He wasn’t gonna risk losing his scholarship either. It wasn’t worth it, his concussion wasn’t even that bad-

“Considering you’re mumbling all this out loud to yourself instead of thinking it quietly I’m gonna assume your concussion is that bad, Parker. And we’re not gonna ignore everything else you just said either.” MJ started, staring him down warily.

Peter blinked, coming back to himself and realizing belatedly that they’d arrived at the bathroom.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, now do I need to go in there and make sure you don’t pass out and die or should I wait for Ned?”

Peter blinked, his brain taking a second to process the question. He shook his head, trying not to wince at how that just made the pain worse. “I’m fine, I won’t be long.” He reassured her, heading into the bathroom unsteadily.

It was only a moment before he’d found himself on the floor of a stall, puking his breakfast up. And god, that was a lot more blood than there was yesterday night. Maybe MJ had a point.

Still, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t skip class, it wasn’t worth it.

Trying to repress the shudders that wracked him, he rested his forehead down against the cool toilet rim, his brain only vaguely processing how unsanitary that was.

He took a deep breath and steeled himself, ready to get up and argue with his friends about how important school was. He wasn’t skipping.

It felt like only a second had gone by as he got lost in thought, his concussed brain struggling to stay on track. What was he doing?

“Peter?!”

He flinched at the loud voice at the entrance of the bathroom, Ned must’ve arrived sooner than he expected. He really had to get his shit together.

Letting out a low groan, he began to pull himself up when the door to the stall burst open, Ned’s worried gaze looking down at him, and MJ just behind him staring at him with a discernible expression.

Barely suppressing a whine, he scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry, sorry. I’m coming,” he slurred, wincing at how pathetic his voice sounded.

“Holy shit, you weren’t lying about the blood,” MJ exclaimed, looking disturbed.

“It wasn’t- it wasn’t this bad last night,” he reassured, voice only barely slurring this time. He’ll take his wins where he gets them.

“Oh okay- so it’s getting worse? You’re going home.” She stated, voice steely.

Ned finally decided to pitch in, just to agree with her, “yeah Peter this is bad. Skip should’ve taken you to the hospital-“ he started, voice strained. Peter huffed. “Ah yeah, that’d go down great with the authorities.” He grumbled, “hey doctors, I just gave this teenager internal bleeding, could you patch him up real quick so I can take him home and do it again?”

MJ huffed, but the corner of her mouth pulled up into the hint of a smile. He took it as a win.

Ned however, still looked horrified. “Skip did that?? And you still don’t want to tell someone and get out of there?” He whispered, eyes blown wide.

Peter’s face fell guiltily at his friend’s hurt expression. “Trust me, this is the better of my two choices,” he murmured, finally struggling up into a standing position and flushing the toilet, any possible evidence of his pain gone.

He stumbled for a second as his center of gravity shifted, MJ and Ned both shooting out a hand to steady him. He pulled back quickly, not sure if it was from embarrassment or fear. God he hated being touched.

MJ didn’t waver though, grabbing onto his hand tightly. “Okay, we’re taking you home now.” She told him, no room for argument. Ned’s eyes widened, “you’re taking him back after just seeing what happened?”

MJ rolled her eyes, “I’m not an idiot Ned, we’re taking him to my place. My mom’s on a business trip anyways, she’ll be gone for a few days.”

Peter found himself zoning out as the headed towards the exit of the building, lost in thoughts and trying not to worry too hard about what Skip would say to his skipping. Maybe if he got home in time Skip wouldn’t even know he went to MJs, he would just think he went straight home. That’s better, right? If Skip knew he was that hurt he wouldn’t touch him again, surely? The statement felt more like a question than a reassurance.

•••

“Peter!”

He blinked, realizing with a start that MJ had been talking to him. Shaking his thoughts clear, he winced. “Sorry, sorry, what?” He asked, grimacing slightly at how bad he sounded.

Her eyes softened slightly though, so it wasn’t a total failure. “We’re here, I was asking what time you had to be home by.”

Peter blinked, they were already at her house? He must’ve been more out of it than he thought.

Realizing he hadn’t responded, he rushed to answer. “Oh! Yeah, sorry, I gotta be back by 5- or he’ll actually kill me,” he supplied, using the same joke he’d told himself earlier. He wasn’t actually sure if it was a joke anymore.

Ned looked upset at the statement and opened his mouth to say something but MJ beat him to it. “Cool, what do you want to eat?” She asked, opening the door into her house.

Peter paused for a beat at the sudden topic change. “I’m- what?” He asked, mind still struggling to grab onto anything.

MJ just rolled her eyes, making exasperated eye contact with Ned. “I asked what you wanted to eat. We left before lunch.” She supplied, saying it like it was obvious.

“Oh, um, anything’s fine. I don’t care,” she stammered, head reeling a little at the idea of food.

MJ took a moment to really stare him down. “How concussed did you say you were?” She asked, eyes scrutinizing him.

He paused. “I’m fine, concussions aren’t even bad.”

She looked unimpressed, but accepted his word anyways. “Okay. Sure. Sit down so I can look at your ribs, I’m gonna make sure you aren’t downplaying those either.” She stated, moving to the kitchen to start some food.

He groaned, sitting down. Ned let out a small laugh and sat down beside him, not noticing the way Peter tensed. “Damn, you really can’t get anything past her, can you?”

Peter let out another groan, playing into the dramatics this time.

“Shes magic, I swear to you,” he stressed, “she makes it sound like it was obvious.”

Ned took a moment to stare at him, eyebrows drawn together. “I hate to break it to you Peter but look like you just died and crawled out of your own grave. It is that obvious.” He stated, giving him a small smile.

Peter let out a small laugh at that, “damn, I really look that bad, huh?”

“Oh absolutely, if you fall asleep in class looking like this they’re gonna think you just straight up died,” he teased, the atmosphere in the room finally settling into something warmer.

The two continued talking for a bit before MJ returned, carrying microwaved leftovers and a sweater.

“Alright Parker, ribs.” She demanded, sitting down beside him, Peter sucked in a breath, trying to dodge the order.

“What’s the sweater for?”

“The front of your shirt had blood on it. Now, show me your ribs or you’re not getting food.”

And oh, his shirt did have blood on it. Has that been there the whole time?

“Peter.”

He swears he didn’t jump at that.

“Sorry, sorry. Yeah, sure.” He conceded, praying his ribs looked better than they did this morning. Pulling his shirt over his head, he head the two gasp.

“What the fuck.”

“Holy shit you said it wasn’t bad!” Ned whispered, voice raising in pitch.

Peter grimaced, feeling himself turn red under their stares. “It looks worse than it is,” he tried weakly, not looking at their faces.

Instead he looked down at himself, and could barely suppress wincing himself. It really was bad. His whole torso was mottled with red and purple bruises, ribs being almost black in the places where it was worst. They were probably cracked realistically, but he wasn’t about to admit that to his two best friends. He was being enough of a problem as it was.

“How long ago did this happen?” MJ asked, still not taking her eyes off him.

Peter winced, he hated it when they saw him like this. He was supposed to be stronger.

“Last night, it was my fault,” he answered, voice wobbling slightly to his horror.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ned spoke without hesitation, voice serious. Him and MJ spoke at the same time.

“You can’t- I- you should really be at a hospital,” MJ stressed, looking more distraught than he’s seen her in a long time.

“That’s not an option. Besides, it’ll heal,” he murmured, willing his voice not to break.

MJ looked close to murder.

“The only reason I’m not dialing 911 right now is because I trust you. But if it gets worse you’re getting help, I’m not gonna let you die of internal bleeding just cause you don’t want your asshole foster parent to get in trouble.” She lectured, refusing to break eye contact.

Peter sucked in a breath and nodded meekly, not trusting himself to speak without breaking down into tears.

Ned reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it. “You know you can always come stay at my place, right? My mom loves you.” He offered, tone sad.

Peter nodded again, despite knowing Skip would never allow that. He gave his friend a weak smile, grabbing the oversized sweater MJ had supplied him, eager to escape their concerned gazes. If they knew what he was really letting Skip do to him on the daily they wouldn’t look at him like that. He didn’t deserve their care.

Maybe sensing his mood, MJ pulled back and stopped pushing, sliding the plate of food over to him.

“You could run away,” she spoke, the idea coming out of nowhere. “You really could stay with me and Ned. Your foster dad wouldn’t report you if it meant he was still getting paid by CPS.”

Peter breathed in for a moment, allowing himself to image that future. It could be so nice.

He didn’t let himself dwell on it for long though, he knew Skip wanted him for something far darker than the paycheck. If he ever ran away Skip would report him in a second, he couldn’t let his friends get in trouble for that.

Or worse, if Skip thought Peter had abandoned him, it could be the man’s blood on his hands.

‘If you leave me, I’ll kill myself.’

Peter sucked in a breath, resolve hardening.

“I couldn’t do that. I’ll be okay though, only three years til I’m 18 and can get out of there,” he reasoned, hating that his friends were worrying about him. He didn’t deserve that love.

That’s how he found himself on their couch, engulfed in a mountain of blankets and holding an icepack to his aching ribs. He could feel the warmth radiating from his friend’s bodies, and his heart didn’t race at the close contact for once. One of the Star Wars movies was playing distantly on the TV in front of him, but he couldn’t find himself paying attention as he felt himself truly relax for the first time in months. His thoughts gradually faded into the nothingness of sleep, feeling warm and content, surrounded by his friends.

•••

Peter jolted awake, his breath stolen by a nightmare that faded almost immediately from his memory.

He grasped onto the ground, trying to steady himself but only spiraling more as they sank into blankets that weren’t his own. Was he in Skip’s room?

Scrambling away from the body he felt beside him, he fell off the elevated surface with a bang, tailbone slamming painfully into the ground. A pained sound forced its way out of his throat, and he slammed his hand over his mouth, nails digging into his cheeks.

The person on the bed shifted, beginning to sit up. Crap, he woke him up. He was so dead. Skip was gonna kill him and-

“Peter?”

He jolted. That wasn’t Skip’s voice. That was MJs. Why was MJ in Skip’s bed-

Oh

He wasn’t at Skip’s. That wasn’t even a bed. He was at MJ’s.

Oh.

“Shoot-“ he breathed out, the word coming out scarily close to a sob. “I- I fell asleep. Skip’s gonna kill me, crap I gotta go-“ he whimpered, his panic growing steadily as he realized how much trouble he was in.

Both MJ’s and Ned’s eyes widened as the realization hit them too. He hadn’t even realized that he’d woken Ned up too, god he was such a fuckup.

Shooting up, he inhaled shakily and shot off towards the door, pulling it open without giving them a chance to respond.

“Crap, I’m sorry- I gotta-“ he panted, stepping out of the house hurriedly before he could hear their response. The door shutting behind him felt like a death sentence as he stared down the darkened streets. He hadn’t even grabbed his book bag in his rush, but he had bigger things to worry about.

Going as fast as he could manage, he sprinted off towards Skip’s house, leaving two horrified friends in his wake.

Peter made it back to the house in record time, but it didn’t stop the pounding in his chest. He forgot to grab his phone and had no idea how late it was, the moon wasn’t visible so he couldn’t even guess, just crossed his fingers and prayed Skip wasn’t home or that he was already asleep.

Stepping into the quiet house, his chest hammered as the door squeaked open, the sound feeling deafening in the stillness of the house. Shutting it behind him as quietly as he could, he creeped deeper into the house, terror building in his chest. He didn’t hear anything though- maybe he was clear.

Just as the thought entered his head he turned a corner and slammed directly into Skip’s chest.

His mains barely caught up to what had happened before he was being shoved to the ground, the air knocked from his lungs. Looking up with wide eyes he took in Skip’s expression, fury pooling in his freezing blue eyes.

He opened his mouth, desperate to form a defense before it was too late, but Skip beat him to it.

“Are you fucking serious Peter?!”

Peter winced, stammering out a few nonsensical syllables before Skip reared his foot back and kicked him squarely in the face.

He gasped as he felt his nose crunch under the blow, blood flowing down his face. Despite the pain, he couldn’t think of anything else other than the fact that he’d just ruined MJ’s sweater.

Skip was still talking.

“Are you even fucking listening to me Einstein?! First I get a call saying you’re skipping school and then you go out and don’t came home til 3 fucking am?!”

Skip pulled his foot back again, the blows raining down mercilessly upon whatever body part happened to be available. Peter choked, unable to breathe as Skip continued kicking him. He screamed as he felt his ankle snap.

“That’s not even the shirt you left in! What, are you off whoring yourself out to other people now? You fucking slut.” He snarled, leaning down and grabbing Peter’s wrist, grin digging into the skin painfully.

Peter gasped, trying to force out a response around his panicked breathing. “That’s not- I swear I wasn’t-“ he choked out, unable to finish his statement as Skip’s fist slammed into his cheek.

“Don’t fucking lie to me Peter! I give you everything and this is how your ungrateful ass treats me? Running off to go have sex somewhere when you’re supposed to be at school?!”

Peter felt anger well up in his chest at that, the hypocrite.

“Really? Then what about all the times you’ve made me stay home cause you wanted to have sex, huh?” He growled, tears still streaming down his face. Something in him felt shattered as he said it though, this wasn’t fair. He wasn’t even doing that and if Skip would just listen-

He realized his mistake as Skip’s expression contorted into something even darker than it already was, an impressive feat.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

Peter didn’t even have time to flinch before Skip was on him, dealing heavy blows indiscriminately. Peter sobbed out, trying to scramble away from him.

“If you like whoring yourself out so damn much, why don’t you come pleasure me then?” The man sneered, hands clawing hungrily at his belt. Peter’s chest spasmed, more sobs choking their way from his throat as he tried to pull out of his grasp, body shuddering at the harsh touches.

•••

Peter pulled himself off the ground, silent sobs still heaving from his chest as he struggled to stand up, nearly blacking out from the pain of it.

He tried to avoid looking down at himself or the mess on the floor, trying fruitlessly to calm his breathing.

Limping to his room and nearly breaking down at the pain it caused, he shut the door behind him and clicked the lock silently, stumbling to his closer and throwing on the warmest clothes he had. He pulled an Oscorp hoodie over his head, having gotten it from that field trip a year ago. His hands were nearly shaking too much to do what he wanted, but he painstakingly packed as many clothes and necessities as he could into a bag, then grabbed his guitar case and turned to the window.

Ned and MJ were right. He wasn’t staying here, Skip be dammed.

His hands fumbled with the latches, praying he wasn’t being too loud as he slipped out the window onto the grass below.

He couldn’t go to his friends- he wouldn’t risk getting them in trouble like that.

He didn’t really know what he was doing, didn’t even have half a plan. He just knew he had to leave before he could talk himself out of it.

Pain spiked horribly through his ankle as he wobbled out into the frosty air, and every part of his body stung.

It didn’t matter though, he was leaving. This would never happen again.