Chapter 8
The car screeched to a spot at the front of Avengers Tower. Tony and Steve rushed into the building. “JARVIS get Banner, Now!” He tried to keep the panic from his voice but he couldn’t. The elevator sounded and told them that they had reached the medical wing. Banner had been informed of the situation by JARVIS, he was shocked, and scared for the kid. Mr. Green almost came out from the sudden news and rush of emotion. Clint, Natasha, and Thor were waiting outside the elevator. When the doors opened they all lost their breath. They were looking at a bloody, skinny, sick Peter, a lost and panicked Tony, and somewhat stone-faced Cap, he was trying to keep his composure. Steve ran into the medical room. Banner got to work on Peter, stitching up sixteen of the twenty cuts on Pete’s arms. Peter was hooked up to an IV with blood and painkillers going into his bloodstream. He finished and stood up. Folding his arms and pinching the bridge of his nose.
“He should rest.” With that Banner walked out of the room, leaving the couple to think. Tony walked over to Steve and looked him right in the eyes. Steve knew that face, it was Tony’s I don’t know what to do and I’m scared face. Steve pulled the genius into a tight hug, resting his chin on Tony’s head. Tony’s head rested in the crook of Steve’s neck, he felt him rub consoling circles on his back. Steve felt Tony relax and just stood there, remembering the moment. He knew that Tony wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, not like he did most nights anyway.
[ Time jump- 2 days later]
[ Peter’s POV]
I woke up scared shitless, I shot up, gasping for air. I ripped the breathing mask off of my face. Everything hit me at once, I remembered. May is dead, she was the only person left. I realized that I was in the medical room at the tower soon after I woke up. Wait! I’m still here, “no”, “No”, “NO!” I screamed. I clenched my fists and slammed them down on the hard bed. I tried to get out of the damn bed, I needed to get out of here. I heard someone come running in, it was Natasha. She jumped up onto my bed, her legs straddling my body. She pushed my shoulders down slamming me back into the bed. I fought at her trying to get to the door. “Peter stop, I swear to god don’t make me knock you out.” She screamed at me. “Let go! Let go of me! I need to leave I don’t deserve this, please.” I choked out, out of breath and tears brimming my eyes. She looked at me in pity. “Peter” she tried to find the right words, “I need you to trust me, things will be okay, I promise.” I thought about her words then spit out sharply, “Things don’t get better for people like me. I don’t deserve it. I. Am. Worthless.” She looked at me dead in the eyes, mask on. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She spoke soft but sharp, “If we didn’t care, we would have let you die.” With that she got off on me and walked out of the room.
It had been a few hours until Peter had ventured out of his medical room. He walked slow with his head down. He had been thinking of Aunt May. He was supposed to go out on patrol that night but he decided not to because he was tired. He was being selfish he thought. He walked past everyone in the living room, he did not want to make eye contact. “Hey, are you hungry?” Cap asked cheerfully. Peter just kept walking right past everyone. He walked into the hallway wit the dark oak floors and into his room. He shut and locked to door, then striped off his clothes to just his boxers. He looked at himself in the mirror. He looked terrible, dark bags under his red puffy eyes. He had several cuts and scars on his torso and legs. He looked at his arms, covered in the bandages. He reached down and unwrapped the white cloth. What laid under those wraps made him tear up from guilt. Twenty cuts were going to be forever there. He thought about how disgusted his Aunt and Uncle would be. God, he was disgusted with himself. He tried not to think about it, he already had a raging headache. He didn’t want to make it worse. Walking slowly over to his bed he practically fell into it. He was exhausted and fell asleep instantly.
Back in the living room a very concerned Steve watched a very lost little Spider walk away. “He really shouldn’t just go to his room. We should do something.” Cap said. Tony looked up sympathetically, “I don’t know if we should. When I found out that my parents died I didn’t come out of my lab for like two weeks. Then again, I don’t really remember much of it. For most of that time I was piss-ass drunk.” Bruce’s eyebrows raised, “So you want Peter to drink his problems away?” He said questioning Tony’s logic. “No!” Tony countered. “Maybe we should just give him some time to let it sink in.” Clint suggested. “I agree, the Man of Spiders needs time to grieve.” Thor yelled, well that was just how he talked. Natasha had been quiet throughout the entire conversation. “What do you think Natasha?” Clint asked. She looked at each of them before speaking. “I think that Peter is has major depression, anxiety, and a possible eating disorder.” Her words was sharp, and cold. "I think that he has lost all hope and may never get it back." She looked at everyone again, they all had hunched shoulders, and looks of concern forming across their faces. “What are we supposed to do, we can’t just let this situation get worse.” It was Steve that spoke, he ran out of breath when saying the last part. “We need to be observant, for now let him be alone. But we should make sure that he is eating and functioning,” said Natasha. Everyone nodded in agreement and slowly started to walk to their rooms.
I woke up in the same position I had fallen asleep in. None of my stitches had broken during the night. I sat up. Bad idea. My head felt like someone had been punching me continuously. I went to the bathroom and popped some pills into my mouth. I started to walk back out, but a small orange bottle caught my eye. It was painkillers from when I had first arrived here, they gave me them to help me sleep the first week. I eyed the bottle then grabbed it and poured out three, I swallowed them down. That should be enough to make me sleep for at least eight or nine hours. So I’ll just skip food for today, I’m not even hungry, no big deal. I walked back to my bed,but before I closed my eyes I pulled out the pictures I had brought with me. Peter had fallen asleep, pictures in hand, hand laying on his chest.