Peter Parker wasn't sure of what he was, or what he was supposed to do.
Not in the sense that he currently didn't know what decision to make, but rather, his being in itself. He knew he was Spider-Man, he knew he was May's nephew, he knew that he was a student at Midtown High.
But what he didn't know was what he was.
Peter couldn't quite put it into words, but if he had to say anything, it was that. Or, was it who he was? He sure as hell didn't know, and didn't think he ever would.
Yes, he was Peter Parker, yes, he was Spider-Man. But, for some reason, neither title seemed to fit. Peter Parker was weak, a nerd, and not exactly likeable. Peter Parker was bullied day in day out, and dealt with anxiety and depression and ADHD. Spider-Man was a hero who has lived and died and lived again, a quirky guy to joked to villains faces and knew the Avengers. Spider-Man was powerful, was amazing, was spectacular. He helped save the universe, fought face-to-face against Thanos himself, and lived. Well, technically, but the technicalities didn't matter.
What did matter, is that neither title seemed to fit.
Peter Parker was too small, too tight, it hurt to think of.
Spider-Man was too great, too big, a mold he could never fit into despite creating it himself.
So, Peter never quite accepted either title, but never denied them either.
But, either way, he loathed both personalities.
Peter loathed himself.
Peter was weak, he couldn't stop Ben from getting shot, couldn't stop Mysterio from tricking him and manipulating him, couldn't stop himself from being hurt over and over again.
Spider-Man went to space and died there, got crushed by a building, crashed a plane, and nearly got killed by a train.
Spider-Man reminded him of so much that had hurt him, reminded him of pain and hurt and manipulation and death.
Peter Parker reminded him of even more pain and death and guilt and self-hate and worthlessness and weakness.
But, for whatever reason, people seemed to love both.
Ned and MJ and May And even Tony loved him as Peter Parker. They loved the nerdiness, the goofiness, the pop-culture references and the genius.
They, and the world, loved Spider-Man. They loved the heroism, the quirkiness, the jokes, the strength, and the positivity.
They all loved both facades, and Peter didn't know what to do about it.
Neither were him; he was broken-still breaking, actually-and anxious and a total wreck and a half. They never saw him as it were, and Peter didn't know if he liked that or wanted them to know the truth.
He wondered if they just tolerated him.
If they just tolerated his sensory issues, his anxiety attacks, his ADHD. Peter wondered if they just pitied him, and if Flash was right, if Mysterio was right.
He was just a scared little kid in a sweatsuit.
That's all he was.
He could have done better, could have done everything better. Ben, Tony, fuck, half the universe. He could have done far much better than now, but he never did. Because he was nothing but a little kid who didn't understand consequences.
That's all he was.
But, they all stayed by him anyways.
Through the pain, the hurt, the death, all of it.
Why?
Why did they do that?
Did they... really care that much about him?
...
Maybe... maybe, just this once, he could let them in.
Maybe, this could mean that he could get better.
Maybe he could be Spider-Man.
And maybe, just maybe...
He could really just be Peter Parker.