Chapter Text
The city never slept, and neither did Peter.
New York’s vibrant chaos hummed outside his bedroom window, but inside, the silence was deafening. His textbooks lay open on the desk, untouched, their neat pages glaring at him under the flickering glow of his desk lamp. Peter sat slumped in his chair, staring blankly at his phone screen. A text from Ned flashed, something about the new Star Wars marathon they had planned for the weekend. He should’ve answered, but his fingers felt heavy, and his mind replayed a different scene.
Last night’s patrol had been brutal. A mugging turned hostage situation had spiraled out of control. Spider-Man had stopped it, of course, but not before the victim’s blood painted his hands and the screaming filled his ears.
Peter shook his head, trying to shove the memories away. His mask had hidden the tears that stung his eyes as he swung home, but now the weight of it all pressed down on his chest.
“Peter?” Aunt May’s voice drifted through the door. “Dinner’s ready!”
“I’m coming!” he called back, forcing a brightness into his tone that didn’t match the sad ache inside.
The bathroom mirror revealed his tired eyes and his pale face. Pulling his hoodie sleeves down to cover the faint red marks on his wrists, he splashed cold water on his face.
By the time he sat at the table, May was already halfway through a story about her day at work. Peter nodded and smiled at the right moments, pushing food around his plate. She didn’t notice the untouched bites or the way his gaze seemed to drift far beyond the kitchen walls.
Later that night, Peter found himself perched on the edge of the tallest building in Queens. The wind tugged at his suit as he stared down at the glittering streets below. Spider-Man is strong, brave. Peter Parker isn’t.
The city needed Spider-Man. Not Peter Parker, his mind told him. The Avengers trusted him. May loved him.
So why does he feel so sad? Hollow? Tired? Bad? Happy? He didn’t know how he felt.