Invisible Scars

by Onlyagerman

Summary:

Peter struggles, he is a mess, but is anyone going to notice?

Notes:

Hey, this is the first fan fiction I’m writing. I’ve never written anything before, so yeah, it’s definitely possible that it’s not going to be good, but I’ll try my best. I hope I can manage this somehow and post new chapters regularly. I’ve got school and other stuff, but I’ll try. :)

I’m really sorry if there are any spelling mistakes because English is not my first language—I just learn it at school. Actually, my first language is German, but that doesn’t really matter now. So yeah, have fun reading it!

Chapter 1

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.

Chapter 2

Notes:

I know this chapter is a short one again, and I’m really sorry, but I still hope you like it. Today’s Christmas Eve, and I wish everyone who celebrates Christmas a merry Christmas. If you don’t celebrate Christmas, I still wish you a wonderful day. I’m not sure if it’s just me, but I don’t feel very Christmassy, and I don’t know why. Please tell me if any of you feel the same. Now, have fun reading the chapter!

The apartment was cloaked in stillness, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional groan of the old pipes. Peter sat on the floor of his bedroom, his knees pulled to his chest. His Spider-Man mask lay crumpled at his feet, staring back at him.

His chest felt tight, like something heavy was pressing down on it, making it hard to breathe.

You’re useless.

The thought came unbidden, sharp and cruel, like a blade twisting in his mind.

You couldn’t save the people. You can’t even save yourself.

Peter clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “Shut up,” he whispered under his breath, but the voice didn’t stop.

Flash is right. Everyone knows it. You’re a joke. They only tolerate you because they feel sorry for you.

The words looped in his head, growing louder, more insistent.

MJ thinks you’re pathetic. Ned’s just too nice to leave you. Even Mr. Stark he only cares about Spider-Man not Peter Parker, you’re just annoying him.

Peter’s breathing quickened. He stood abruptly, pacing the room, but the thoughts followed him like shadows he couldn’t shake. His gaze fell on the desk, on the small drawer where he kept his supplies.

“No,” he muttered, his voice trembling. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

You’re not fine. You’ll never be fine. You’re weak. You’re broken. You’ll ruin everything.

His hands shook as he opened the drawer and pulled out the razor blade. The cold metal felt heavier than it should, as if it carried the weight of every failure he couldn’t let go of. He sat back down on the floor, staring at the blade as the voice continued its relentless assault.

You’re nothing without the mask. Nobody likes you. Nobody cares. If you disappeared, no one would notice.

Tears streamed down his face, hot and bitter. He pressed the blade against his skin, his breath hitching as the sharp sting broke through the numbness. The pain was immediate and real, grounding him in a way nothing else could. A faint red line appeared, followed by another, the sting deepening as he pressed harder.

His chest heaved with silent sobs. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, though he didn’t know who he was apologizing to May, Ben, Tony, or maybe himself.

For a moment, the voice quieted, drowned out by the physical sensation. But it didn’t stay silent for long.

This won’t help. You’re still a failure. You’ll never be enough.

Peter curled into himself, clutching his arm as if to hide the marks. He wiped the blade clean with a tissue, his hands trembling, and placed it back in the drawer, closing it softly.

The mirror across the room caught his reflection pale, tear-streaked, hollow. He looked away quickly, pulling his hoodie sleeves down to cover the fresh cuts.

“Tomorrow will be better,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

But even as the words left his mouth, he didn’t believe them.

He climbed into bed, curling up beneath the blankets, his body trembling. The tears didn’t stop, soaking into the pillow as he cried himself to sleep.

 

Notes:

I hope you liked it! If you have any tips for writing, I’d be very happy if you shared them with me because this is the first fanfic I’m writing, and tips would help me improve. I’ll try to post the next chapter as soon as possible.

Chapter 3

Notes:

Sorry for the late update. School started again sadly…and I had a lot to do, but anyways I’ll try to post regularly again. Hope you like the chapter.

The following day passed in a blur, each moment feeling more disconnected than the last. Peter sat at his desk in Midtown High, his head resting heavily in his hands. The buzz of the classroom swirled around him but the words of his teacher faded into static.

“Parker!” Flash’s voice cut through the noise like a knife.

Peter didn’t look up, keeping his gaze fixed on the scribbles in his notebook.

“Hey, I’m talking to you loser,” Flash said, smacking the back of Peter’s head as he passed by. The class erupted in laughter and Peter’s cheeks burned though he kept his face down.

“Leave him alone,” MJ’s sharp voice broke through the laughter.

Flash rolled his eyes, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. Didn’t know Parker had a bodyguard.”

Peter glanced at MJ, offering a weak smile of thanks but she frowned, clearly unimpressed.

At lunch, Peter sat with Ned and MJ, pushing the food around on his tray. Ned was rambling about his latest video game achievement and MJ occasionally chimed in with sarcastic comments. But Peter’s thoughts were elsewhere.

The inner voice from the night before hadn’t left him.

You’re annoying them. They’re only sitting with you out of pity.

“Earth to Peter,” Ned said, waving a hand in front of his face.

Peter blinked. “Huh?”

“You’ve been zoning out all day,” Ned said, concern creeping into his voice.

“I’m fine,” Peter muttered, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

MJ narrowed her eyes at him. “You’ve been ‘tired’ a lot lately. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I’m fine,” Peter repeated, his voice firmer this time. He stood abruptly, grabbing his tray. “I’ll see you guys later.”

 

 

That evening Peter found himself back on patrol, swinging through the city in an attempt to escape his thoughts. The air was crisp, the wind biting at his skin through the suit. He landed on a rooftop overlooking Times Square, the flashing lights below doing little to brighten his mood.

He checked his phone. A few texts from Ned, a meme from MJ. Aunt May had sent a picture of dinner with the caption, Made your favorite! Where are you?

Peter stared at the messages, his chest tightening. He wanted to reply but his fingers wouldn’t move. Instead he shoved the phone back into his pocket and stared out at the city.

“You’re not doing enough,” the voice whispered.

“You missed a robbery last night. Someone could’ve gotten hurt.”

“You’re failing them.”

Peter shook his head, trying to drown out the thoughts. He leapt off the rooftop, swinging blindly through the streets but no matter how fast he moved, he couldn’t escape.

 

When he returned home, the apartment was dark except for the soft glow of the living room lamp. May was asleep on the couch, a blanket pulled over her shoulders. Peter hesitated, watching her for a moment.

“You don’t deserve her,” the voice said.

He crept past her, slipping into his room. The mask came off first, tossed onto the desk, followed by the rest of his suit. He changed into sweats and a hoodie, sitting down heavily on the bed.

The drawer where he kept the blade seemed to call to him, the weight of the day pressing down harder.

Just a little more, the voice urged.

Peter buried his face in his hands, tears slipping through his fingers. He didn’t want to give in but the pressure felt unbearable. He reached for the drawer, hesitating.

A soft knock at the door startled him.

“Peter?” May’s voice was groggy but concerned.

Peter froze, quickly shoving the drawer shut. “Yeah, May?”

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he called back, his voice cracking slightly.

There was a pause. “Alright. Goodnight sweetheart.”

“Goodnight,” he replied, waiting until her footsteps faded.

He let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the wall. The blade stayed in the drawer this night.

“I’m fine,” he whispered to himself, though he didn’t believe it.

Chapter 4

Notes:

Sorry, I know this chapter is a bit late again but I somehow completely forgot to continue writing. However I now have a short school break and can use the time to write a bit more. I hope you like the chapter and I’d love to hear your feedback! :)

The next morning felt like every other morning exhausting before it even began. Peter barely remembered falling asleep, but now the alarm on his phone blared in his ears. He groaned, forcing himself to sit up. His limbs felt heavy like his body was rejecting the idea of movement.

May had already left for work. A sticky note on the fridge read:

 

Made pancakes! Eat something before school. Love you.

 

Peter stared at it for a moment before crumpling it up and tossing it in the trash. He wasn’t hungry. He barely even felt present.

You’re ungrateful. She does everything for you and you can’t even pretend to care.

He grabbed his backpack and left without eating, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself as he stepped into the crowded hallways of Midtown High.

 

By third period, he could already tell it was going to be a bad day.

It started with Flash tripping him in the hallway. Peter barely caught himself before hitting the floor, but his books scattered across the tiles.

“Watch your step, Parker” Flash sneered as students laughed around them.

 

Peter clenched his jaw, quickly grabbing his things. He wanted to fight back to say something, but his chest felt too tight. What was the point?

As he stood, a crumpled piece of paper slipped from his notebook and landed on the floor. His stomach twisted when he saw what it was his chemistry test from yesterday.

D+

The red ink burned into his vision mocking him. Mr. Harrington had scribbled a half-hearted See me after class at the bottom, but Peter already knew what he’d say. You’re a smart kid, Peter. What’s going on?

 

He stuffed the test deep into his bag, his throat dry. Another failure. Another reason why Flash was right.

The rest of the day dragged on, the weight in his chest growing heavier with every passing period. He avoided MJ and Ned at lunch, ignored his teachers, and barely registered the voices around him. By the time the final bell rang, his head was pounding.

 

As he stepped outside, a familiar black Audi was waiting by the curb.

Happy Hogan leaned against the car, arms crossed, looking as grumpy as ever. “Let’s go, Parker. Mr. Stark’s expecting you.”

Peter hesitated before slipping into the passenger seat, staring out the window as the city blurred past.

“You look like hell,” Happy muttered. “And don’t say I’m just tired .”

Peter forced a smirk. “Gee, thanks. Love our pep talks.”

Happy huffed but didn’t push further. Peter was grateful.

Because if he did… Peter wasn’t sure he could keep pretending.

 

The ride to the Tower was mostly silent, except for the occasional honk from impatient New York drivers. Peter kept his eyes on the window watching the city lights flicker by. His fingers absentmindedly fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie. His mind was still stuck on the red D+ burned into his test paper, on Flash’s words, on the voice in his head that never shut up.

 

Happy glanced at him a couple of times but didn’t say anything. He must have figured it wasn’t worth the effort.

 

When they pulled up to the Tower, Peter took a deep breath, forcing himself to sit up straighter. He was Spider-Man here, not some pathetic kid who couldn’t even pass a chemistry test. He could pretend for a few hours.

“Alright,” Happy said as they stepped into the elevator. “The Boss is waiting for you.”

Peter gave a weak smile. “Thanks Happy.”

Happy raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, yeah now go.”

Peter forced a smile.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the sleek, modern workspace of Tony. Tony stood at a workbench, tinkering with some new piece of tech, his sunglasses perched on his nose despite being indoors.

“Underoos,” Tony greeted without looking up. “Took you long enough. Thought maybe you got lost in a high school existential crisis or something.”

Peter swallowed. If only he knew.

“Sorry, traffic,” he mumbled, stepping inside.

Tony finally turned to face him, scanning him up and down. His expression shifted—just for a second but it was enough. That calculating Stark look, the one that always made Peter feel like he was an open book.

“You good, kid?”

The question hit harder than it should have. Peter forced a grin, hoping it reached his eyes. “Yeah, just tired. School’s, you know… school.”

Tony didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he gestured toward the workbench. “Alright, well, put that genius brain to use. Got some upgrades I need a second opinion on.”

Peter nodded, stepping forward. He could do this. He could push everything down, just for a little while.

He had to.

Chapter 5

Notes:

Hope you like it! TW Panic Attack

Peter spent the next hour pretending everything was fine.

He listened to Tony talk about new suit upgrades, nodded at the right moments, made a few jokes to keep the conversation light. It was easy he had years of practice hiding behind quick wit and forced smiles.

But the weight in his chest never let up.

His mind kept drifting back to his failed test, to Flash’s words, to the exhaustion pressing down on him like a suffocating fog. His limbs felt heavy, his head ached, and no matter how hard he tried to focus, the words on the screen in front of him blurred together.

“Alright, what’s the deal?” Tony’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Peter blinked, looking up. “Huh?”

Tony gave him that look again, the one that made Peter feel like he was under a microscope. “You’re zoning out. And not in the ‘daydreaming about science’ way more like the ‘I haven’t slept in a week and might pass out’ way.”

Peter forced a smirk. “I’ve totally slept. At least… some hours. Maybe.”

Tony crossed his arms. “Kid.”

Peter’s stomach twisted he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t talk about it. If he did, everything would fall apart.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, see, the thing is… I’ve used that exact excuse before and spoiler alert it was never true.”

Peter swallowed, his fingers tightening around the edge of the desk. He needed to change the subject. Fast.

“I, uh, I kinda bombed a chemistry test,” he blurted out. It wasn’t a lie, technically. Just… not the full truth.

Tony didn’t react right away. Then he just shrugged. “Okay…So? You’re Spider-Man, not Breaking Bad. One bad grade isn’t the end of the world.”

Peter’s chest tightened.

Maybe not for you.

“Yeah, I guess,” he mumbled, dropping his gaze.

Tony studied him for a long moment, then sighed. “Alright, here’s the deal. You’re clearly running on fumes. Go home, get some sleep, and come back when you’re actually functioning like a human.”

Peter opened his mouth to argue, but Tony cut him off.

“Nope. No excuses. Go.”

Peter hesitated. A part of him wanted to stay, wanted to keep pretending he was okay. But he knew Tony wasn’t going to let this go.

So he nodded, grabbing his backpack. “Okay. Thanks Mr. Stark.”

Tony just gave him a look. “Yeah, yeah. Get outta here Underoos.”

 

…………………………………………………………….

 

Happy drove him home the car ride silent except for the occasional honk of traffic. Peter stared out the window his reflection barely visible against the city lights.

He felt empty.

Not sad. Not angry. Just… numb.

By the time he got to the apartment, May was already asleep. The only light came from the dim glow of the streetlamp outside his window. He stood in the doorway of his room for a long time staring at his bed, his desk, the half-open drawer where the blade sat waiting.

His heartbeat picked up.

No. Not tonight. Just sleep.

But the voice in his head was already whispering.

You’re a failure. You’re a disappointment. You ruin everything.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the fabric of his hoodie so tightly his knuckles turned white. He needed to breathe. He needed to—

His phone buzzed.

He pulled it out with shaking hands. A message from MJ.

"Ned and I were gonna watch a movie this weekend. You in?"

Peter stared at the screen. For a moment, the noise in his head quieted.

He exhaled slowly, typing back.

"Yeah. Sounds good."

Then he turned off his phone, crawled into bed and pulled the blanket over his head.

Hopefully tomorrow would be better.

 

 

…………………………………………..

 

Peter barely remembered getting through the school day.

Classes blurred together, the voices of teachers droning in the background like white noise. He wasn't sure if he took notes, if he answered any questions, if anyone even noticed how absent he felt. Probably not.

Flash got a few words in, as usual something about his test, something about how even Stark couldn’t fix how much of a loser he was. It barely registered. It didn’t matter.

Nothing at school really mattered anymore.

 

By the time he got into Happy’s car the exhaustion was bone-deep.

Happy glanced at him as he pulled into traffic. “Stark’s gonna notice if you walk in looking like that.”

Peter forced a smirk. “I’ll make sure to dazzle him with my charm.”

Happy snorted, but didn’t look convinced.

Neither was Peter.

 

The Tower was quiet when Peter arrived.

Tony wasn’t in the lab yet, which meant he had time to kill. He wandered through the halls without thinking feet carrying him somewhere new. Eventually he stepped into the common room.

Floor to ceiling windows stretched across the room, the city glowing beyond them. The space felt too big, too open. And sitting on one of the couches, flipping through a book was Bucky Barnes.

Peter hesitated.

Bucky barely acknowledged him, eyes scanning the pages. But after a beat he said, “You just gona  stand there, kid?”

Peter blinked. “Uh…No?” He shuffled forward, rubbing the back of his neck.

Bucky didn’t look up. “Then sit down.”

Peter wasn’t sure why he listened, but he dropped onto the couch across from him.

Silence settled between them. Bucky turned a page his expression unreadable. The book in his hands looked old, the spine cracked, pages slightly yellowed.

Peter glanced at the cover. The Count of Monte Cristo.

He raised an eyebrow and asked nervously“You into… revenge stories?”

Bucky smirked slightly. “Something like that.”

Peter huffed. “Kinda messed up when you think about it. He spends years digging his way out of prison, finds his enemies, gets his revenge, and…what? It still doesn’t fix anything.” Peter noticed his rambling and quickly went silent. “I…sorry…”

Bucky hummed, flipping another page. “Why are ya sorry kid? Everything is fine and maybe it’s not about fixing things.”

Peter frowned, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. He wasn’t sure what that meant.

Bucky didn’t elaborate. He just kept reading.

Minutes passed.

For once, Peter didn’t feel like he had to fill the silence.

Then FRIDAY’s voice echoed through the room. “Mr. Stark is ready for you in the lab, Peter.”

Peter exhaled, pushing himself up. “Uh—yeah. Thanks.” He hesitated before turning to Bucky. “See you around?”

Bucky didn’t look up, but there was something almost amused in his tone when he said, “Yeah kid. See you around.”

Peter left feeling lighter.

Just a little.

 

Peter didn’t feel hungry.

It had been days maybe weeks since food had seemed anything other than a burden. The thought of eating made his stomach twist, but when he stepped into the lab, Tony was already there one sandwich in hand.

“You need to eat kid,” Tony said, tossing the sandwich onto the counter. “You’re looking even worse than yesterday and trust me, that’s saying something.”

Peter barely glanced at the sandwich, feeling the weight of Tony’s gaze on him. His chest tightened again that familiar pressure.

“I’m fine,” Peter said quickly, trying to sound convincing. His voice cracked slightly.

Tony narrowed his eyes, clearly unconvinced. “You’re not fine, Peter. You’re way overdue for a break. And I’m not just talking about the internship.”

Peter didn’t answer. He grabbed the sandwich anyway, but his hands were shaking, and it felt like he had to force the bite into his mouth.

Tony didn’t look away, and Peter could feel his presence like a weight on his shoulders. He took another bite, his stomach revolting with each chew. He wasn’t even sure he could swallow.

"You're not fooling anyone," Tony said quietly, watching him. “Come on, just take a break. Go grab a drink or—”

Peter stood up abruptly, the tightness in his chest rising. He didn’t have time to explain. Not now.

“I—I’m gonna use the bathroom,” he mumbled practically stumbling toward the door.

Tony frowned, his voice laced with concern. “Peter? You okay?”

Peter didn’t answer. He just walked out, practically running to the nearest bathroom.

 

The second the door clicked behind him, Peter’s body went into full panic mode. His hands were trembling uncontrollably, his breathing short and uneven. He leaned over the sink trying to steady himself, but his chest felt like it was being crushed from all sides.

Just breathe. Just breathe.

But it didn’t help. He felt like he was suffocating. The walls of the small room were closing in and his throat felt tight. He didn’t know what was happening to him this wasn’t something he could fix.

His vision blurred. His knees gave out, and he barely caught himself on the counter before he collapsed.

That was when the door suddenly opened.

“Peter?”

Tony stepped into the bathroom, eyes wide with worry. He was already reaching for Peter before he could stop him. “Hey—hey, kid, what’s going on?”

Peter didn’t want him here. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this.

“I—I’m fine, Mr. Stark,” Peter gasped, trying to steady his breathing, but it felt impossible.

Tony didn’t buy it for a second. He moved closer, gently placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “You’re clearly not fine. I’ve seen panic attacks before—this is not something you can just power through, alright?”

Peter shook his head, pulling away. “I’m fine. I just need a minute.” His voice was shaking.

Tony took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Peter, you don’t have to go through this alone. You can talk to me. Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out.”

Peter’s chest tightened even more. He wanted to yell, to tell Tony to leave him alone, but instead, he found himself standing there, frozen, unable to speak.

“I’m fine,” Peter repeated, his voice a little too loud. He was starting to break, and the last thing he wanted was for Tony to see it.

Tony hesitated, then sighed. “I’m not leaving you like this, kid.”

Peter clenched his jaw, eyes burning. “You don’t get it. I don’t need anyone!”

Tony took a step back, his hands raised in an almost defensive gesture. “Peter, don’t say that. I’m trying to help you, but you have to let me.”

Peter shook his head quickly, wiping his eyes. “No! I don’t want your help, alright? I’m not a kid who needs fixing. Just leave me alone!”

The words felt like they stung both of them, hanging heavily in the air. Tony stood there, watching Peter, his expression shifting from worry to something almost like frustration.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” Tony said, his voice firm, though there was an edge to it now. “You can push me away all you want, but you’re not doing this alone, kid.”

Peter’s face flushed with anger, mixed with shame. His heart was pounding, and he felt his hands start to tremble again. He wanted to punch something anything to make the tightness in his chest go away.

“I said, I’m fine!” Peter snapped, his voice rising.

Tony didn’t flinch. He just stared at Peter, his jaw clenched. “You’re not fine. I can see it. You’re barely holding it together. I won’t just stand by and watch you destroy yourself.”

Peter backed away, his chest tightening with each word. “You don’t get it ! I can’t be fixed. I don’t want to be fixed!”

Tony ran a hand through his hair, frustration clearly mounting. “I don’t want to fix you, Peter. I want to help you keep from falling apart.”

Peter was shaking now. His chest hurt. “Well, stop trying to help! I don’t want your help!”

There was a long silence.

Tony exhaled sharply. “Fine. You want to do this alone? Fine.”

Peter felt his heart drop. The words stung more than he expected.

Tony turned on his heel, heading for the door, but he stopped right before he left. “You know where to find me if you change your mind, Peter.”

Peter didn’t answer.

Tony left, and Peter felt the panic and the anger begin to settle into a cold, empty space inside him.

 

Peter didn’t feel like staying at the Tower. He grabbed his things quickly and slipped out the side door, avoiding anyone who might ask how he was doing.

Happy was on the other side of the building, so Peter didn’t even bother texting him. He just needed to leave.

The bus ride back felt like a blur, a long stretch of time with his mind racing, his heart still pounding. His hands shook in his lap as the bus bumped over the road.

By the time he got home, it was late and he didn’t want to face May. He just wanted to go to his room hideand try to forget about the argument.

But as he stepped off the bus and started walking home, he realized something.

It didn’t matter how far he ran. He couldn’t escape the weight in his chest.

Chapter 6

Notes:

I have to be honest I completely forgot to continue writing…yeahhhh…I’m very sorry but now after some months here’s the next chapter. Hope you enjoy it.

The bus rattled as it carried Peter back to Queens. He sat slumped against the window, watching the blur of headlights streak past. His chest still ached from the argument with Tony. The words replayed in his head, sharp and ugly. He hadn’t meant to snap. He hadn’t meant to shove him away.

But he did.

And now Tony probably hated him.

The thought dug into his chest like claws, tightening until it was hard to breathe. He wanted to text him, to say I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, but his fingers felt too heavy. What if Tony didn’t even care? What if Tony was already done with him?

By the time Peter got home, the apartment was quiet. May was still working late. He let his bag drop to the floor and stumbled into his room, shutting the door behind him. The silence was deafening.

"You ruined it," the voice inside sneered.
"Tony saw the real you. Weak, broken, annoying. He doesn’t want you anymore. No one does."

Peter shook his head, hands pressed to his ears, but the words dug in deeper. His chest tightened, breaths coming too fast. He opened his drawer, staring at the blade hidden beneath loose papers. His reflection wavered in the metal, his own wide eyes looking back at him.

“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered, voice cracking, though no one was there to hear. “I didn’t mean it, Mr. Stark.”

The blade kissed his skin. The sting came fast, sharp, almost grounding. For a second, it drowned out the noise. But the relief vanished just as quickly, replaced by another wave of panic crashing through him. His chest heaved, air refusing to fill his lungs. He slid down the wall to the floor, arms wrapped around himself as tears spilled down his cheeks.

His body shook uncontrollably. His heart hammered against his ribs, too fast, too hard.

“Breathe,” he gasped. “Please—just breathe.”

But the voice answered, cruel and cold:
"He’ll never forgive you. You’re too much. You’re nothing."

Peter curled tighter, rocking back and forth as the panic swallowed him whole. And still, through the storm, one thought kept echoing in his mind—
I didn’t mean it, Mr. Stark.

 

Peter woke to the faint clatter of dishes in the kitchen and the muffled voice of the morning news playing on the TV. For a moment he lay still, staring at the ceiling. His whole body felt heavy, his chest still raw from the night before. He knew school was waiting, Flash’s sneers were waiting, tests he couldn’t focus on were waiting. And Tony… Tony was waiting too.

The thought of facing any of them made his stomach churn.

A soft knock on his bedroom door broke the silence. “Pete? You awake?” May’s voice floated in, gentle but edged with concern.

He forced a cough, curling into his blanket. “Yeah, May… I don’t feel good. Think I caught something.” His voice came out rough, and he leaned into it, hoping she’d buy it.

The door creaked open a sliver. May peeked in, her eyes scanning his pale face and tired eyes. She frowned but gave a small, sympathetic smile. “You look exhausted, honey. Alright… no school today. I’ll call you in sick.”

Peter’s chest tightened. He hated lying to her, hated the way she always believed him. “Thanks, May,” he whispered, trying to sound grateful instead of guilty.

She opened the door a little wider. “I’ll make you some soup later. Just… rest, okay? No sneaking out to swing around.”

He forced a chuckle that felt hollow. “Yeah, sure. Promise.”

When she closed the door, the apartment fell silent again. The lie pressed down on him like a weight, suffocating. He buried his face in the pillow, wishing he could just disappear. Maybe May deserved a better nephew. Maybe Tony deserved a better protégé.

Hours crawled by. He stared at the walls until the air in his room felt too thick, too tight. Lying still was unbearable. He needed to move, to breathe, to escape the gnawing voice in his head.

By noon, he was sliding the suit from its hiding place under the bed. His hands shook as he tugged the fabric on, piece by piece, like putting on a second skin. The moment the mask covered his face, Peter Parker disappeared. The broken boy vanished. What was left was Spider-Man.

And Spider-Man didn’t get sick. Spider-Man didn’t break down.

He pushed the window open, the cool rush of city air filling his lungs. Then he leapt.

The skyline rose around him as he swung into the open air. The wind roared past his ears, pulling the tension from his body with every arc. For a moment—just a fleeting moment—he felt free. The rhythm of the webs snapping onto steel, the blur of cars far below, the sun glinting off glass windows—it drowned out the voice in his head.

But only for a moment.

His phone buzzed against his leg. He landed on a rooftop, chest heaving, pulling it from his pocket.

Incoming call: Tony Stark.

Peter froze. His thumb hovered over the screen. For a heartbeat, he almost answered. Almost let Tony’s voice cut through the haze.

But then the whisper crept back in, sharp and merciless. Why would he care? He’s wasting his time on you. You’ll only disappoint him again. Just like last night. Just like always.

The phone buzzed again. And again.

Jaw clenched, Peter shoved the phone deep into his suit and launched himself back into the sky.

Chapter 7

Summary:

Yay! I managed the next chapter early, I should be studying right now, but I don’t understand it anyway sooo hope you enjoy the chapter

Peter barely made it through the rest of the day. After hours of ignoring calls, he finally returned home, hoping the world would just leave him alone. But when he climbed in through his bedroom window, pulling the mask from his face his heart sank.
Tony Stark was sitting at his desk chair.

Peter froze, one foot still on the window ledge. “…Mr. Stark?”
Tony raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “You know, kid, for a genius you’re terrible at dodging people. FRIDAY’s been tracking your phone all day. You’ve been ignoring me.”

Peter’s stomach dropped. He pulled the mask fully off, shoving it into his backpack. “I—uh—I was busy.”
Tony tilted his head. “Busy swinging around the city while ditching school? And dodging twenty-six missed calls? Yeah, you’ve been real busy.”
Peter swallowed hard, his throat tight. He wanted to tell him the truth—about the panic, the cutting, the suffocating voice in his head. He wanted to admit he wasn’t okay. The words hovered on his tongue… but fear strangled them before they could leave.
If he said it out loud, Tony would look at him differently. Maybe pity him. Maybe think he wasn’t strong enough to be Spider-Man. Maybe regret ever taking him in.

So instead he blurted, “It’s—it’s just heartbreak, okay?”
Tony blinked. “Heartbreak.”
“Yeah.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor. “Like… teenage stuff. A crush. It…it didn’t work out.” His voice cracked just enough to sound convincing. “So I’ve been, you know, down. Didn’t feel like talking.”
For a moment, silence filled the room.

Tony studied him, eyes sharp. He didn’t buy it not completely. “Kid… if that’s all it is, why didn’t you just say so?”
Peter forced a shrug, forcing the corners of his mouth upward like a joke. “Didn’t wanna seem pathetic.”

Tony sighed, leaning forward. “Look, heartbreak sucks. I get it. But the way you’ve been acting? That’s not just about some girl.”

Peter’s chest squeezed. “It is,” he insisted quickly, his voice sharper than he meant. “That’s all it is. Just… heartbreak.”

Tony held his gaze, clearly unconvinced. “If you say so, kid.”
Peter bit the inside of his cheek wishing he could make the truth come out, but fear won again.

The week crawled by in a blur. Nothing special happened, but nothing felt right either. Peter dragged himself through each day with the same tired smile and excuses. May still thought he was under the weather. At school, he avoided Flash as much as possible. At night, he swung through Queens like a ghost, ignoring Tony’s calls more often than not.

When Happy finally pulled up outside his building that Friday, Peter felt the dread settle heavy in his chest.
“Come on, kid,” Happy said as Peter slid into the car. “Stark’s waiting. And don’t make me tell him you’ve been dodging again.”
Peter forced a grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The Tower gleamed as always, glass and steel catching the sun. Tony was already in the lab, sleeves rolled up, holograms flickering.
“About time,” Tony said without looking up. “I was starting to think Happy kidnapped you.”
Peter dropped his bag, pretending his grin was real. “Nope. Still here.”

They worked together for a while, tweaking his web-shooters. It felt almost normal—almost—but Tony’s eyes lingered on him more than usual.
“So,” Tony started casually, tightening a bolt, “how’s the whole… heartbreak thing? You done writing sad poetry yet?”

Peter’s stomach flipped. He laughed nervously. “Yeah—it’s, uh, it’s fine. Totally fine. Just, y’know… teenager stuff. Dumb.”

Tony hummed, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t push.

After an hour, Peter stood quickly. “I’m gonna grab snacks. Be right back.”
“Don’t bring back anything thats too healthy,” Tony called.
Peter nodded too fast. “Right. Got it.”
The kitchen was quiet. Rhodey was there smiling warmly. „Hey Pete! Long time no see, how’re you doing? Tony told me—oh sorry I have to take this.“ He smiles warmly before picking up and stepping into the hall.

That’s when Peter saw Bucky, sitting at the table with a mug of coffee, flipping through a paperback.

Peter froze mid-step. “Uh… hey.”
Bucky glanced up. “Hey, kid.” He went back to his book.

Peter hurried to the fridge, pulling out random snacks just to keep his hands busy. The silence pressed in on him until he blurted, “So, uh… what are you reading?”
Bucky turned the book slightly. “Just some old crime novel. Easier than history books.”
“Oh. Cool. Yeah, I… I don’t really read much. Except textbooks, I guess. Which… doesn’t count.” Peter’s laugh was awkward, a little too loud.

Bucky’s lips twitched, almost a smile. “Doesn’t sound like fun.”

Peter shrugged, fumbling a soda can. It slipped, and he barely caught it. His face went hot. “I, uh, should get back to Mr. Stark.”

Bucky’s voice was calm, not pushing. “You seem nervous, kid. Don’t have to be. Not with me.”

Peter froze for half a second, then forced another shaky laugh. “I’m fine. Totally fine. Just… snacks, you know?”

Bucky didn’t argue. He just nodded and went back to his book.
Peter bolted for the door, snacks clutched tight, his chest tight with something he couldn’t name.