WOW THIS IS THE LAST TIME I TRY TO WRITE FLUFF AFTER BEING OFF MY ANTIDEPRESSANTS A FEW DAYS GODDAMN.
I decided to stretch this into four or five parts instead of a one shot, which it was originally supposed to be, because I just have so much I wanna put in it ahh.
Originally posted on AO3.
This is going to be a slow-build up to spideypool, but trust me, it'll be there. And Peter will have his happy ending.
WARNING: Self-harm, suicidal thoughts, bullying, homophobia
Inhale. Exhale.
Peter didn't look up from his textbook as Flash tried to get his attention, his jock friends snickering and urging him on in loud jeers. The rest of the class sat on in silence, watching, waiting for something to happen, waiting to see who would move first. A quick look up confirmed that the teacher was still in the room, but was at his desk, engrossed in whatever was on his laptop.
"Oi, Parker."
The way his name sounded coming out of Flash's was like an insult, a million needles that pricked his skin and left his heart palpitating. His fist clenched on his thigh, blunt fingernails digging into his palm. He ignored the larger teen, flipping the page of his book.
He bit back a gasp of pain as Flash punched his shoulder, the blow landing next to one of the tender bruises that covered his back. His eyes watered, but Peter held it in, fearing what Flash and his buddies would do if they knew that they were actually getting to him.
"You deaf, fucktard?" one of the jocks yelled at him. The hood of his sweatshirt was yanked back, gagging him. "You in there, Puny Parker?" was yelled into his ear, followed by knocking on the side of his head. "Hello?"
Inhale. Exhale.
Peter pulled out of his grasp roughly while they laughed like hyenas, silently straightening his sweatshirt.
The ones who weren't taking part in his torment averted their gazes emotionlessly when he looked at them. None of them made a move to stick up for Peter, and he knew exactly why. No one wanted to try to stand up for Flash's punching bag, fearing that they would end up taking Parker's place. It was better if the nerd was the one who was beaten up on a daily basis, instead of a student who actually had friends and parents.
Peter watched dully as his textbook was snatched off his desk and practically ripped to pieces, knowing that he would have to come up with the money to pay for a new one.
Inhale. Exhale.
Peter was well aware that the other Avengers thought he was the weakest link on the team.
Whenever there was a mission, he was given the most detailed orders to go along with the simplest of tasks. He was always offered extra training with Steve, being told he needed to work on building up more muscle. Tony would tease and mock him in his merciless way about 'growing up' and 'being a teenager,' while Bruce would silently listen on, as everyone seemed to do in Peter's life if they weren't somehow hurting him.
Clint and Natasha had made it clear from Day 1 that they didn't approve of him being on the team. Clint stayed stony and silent whenever the teenager tried to make conversation, while Natasha would occasionally make snarky jabs at how terrible his fighting form was.
Peter had worked his hardest to prove them all wrong. He never complained about anything mission-related, only forcing the 'school totally sucks' complaints that were expected of him. He only went to the infirmary when his team noticed that he was injured, or when the pain was unbearable and he needed painkillers.
It was after a mission, and Peter was silently changing into his street clothes, so he could go back to his Aunt's house. Clint was leaning against the wall next to him, gaze narrowed and a scowl on his face.
"You were sloppier than usual today," he was saying bluntly. "Three targets got passed you, and nearly got shot."
"Sorry," Peter uttered, slowly pulling of his ripped, dirty shirt. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Clint's glare heat up when he saw the bruises and cuts that dotted his torso. Nervously, he hurriedly said, "They'll be gone in a few days. Y'know, cause of my super fast healing—"
"Just make sure it doesn't affect your work," Clint interrupted him. "I don't want anyone to die because of your mistakes." He pushed himself off the wall and left Peter to finish changing.
Inhale. Exhale.
Gwen was his only solace.
She was the first one since kindergarten to stick up for him. She had kicked Flash right in the balls with her high-heeled boys when Peter had been pinned to the lockers by him. A few of her friends had to drag her, fighting and screaming and insulting, away from the bully before the teachers came again.
Gwen had then approached him the next day and given him a stern talking to, telling him how he didn't need to deal with Flash's bullshit, that no one would blame him for just punching him and putting him in his place a bit. She'd encouraged Peter to stand up for himself, or just leave the classroom if he was being bullied. Peter had stood there silently, staring at the ground until she had finished talking. Much to his shock, she then grabbed his hand and ditched class with him to get a coffee.
They'd been best friends ever since.
Whenever Gwen was around, Flash would back off. He'd still sneer at Peter from across the room, mouthing threats and making strangling motions with his hands, but Peter was safe for a few minutes, and that was all that mattered.
Inhale. Exhale.
Last year had been the last school year Peter had had with Gwen, before she graduated and went off to college. Now, in his junior year, the torment was at its all time high. Flash and his cronies were 'making up for lost time,' since he no longer had Gwen to protect him.
They kept in close touch, since Gwen's college was only ten minutes away. They would hang out as much as possible, but between Gwen's internship and Peter's Spiderman duties, that was usually only once or twice a week. She would make sure to call at every opportunity, though, to keep him up to date with what was happing in her life and vice versa.
Her apartment was Peter's safe haven. Gwen gave him a key to the apartment, saying that he could use it anytime. Her roommate was sweet and funny, leaving him to his own devices and only jokingly asked him why he was there, never expecting an answer. There was always a change of clean clothes for him, in case he had to quickly change out of his costume, and a heavy-duty first aid kit.
Peter had had another horrible argument with his aunt, which was happening more and more lately. He wasn't allowed to tell Aunt May about his job as Spiderman, under SHIELD orders. It would put her at too much of a risk, and she would have to be moved to a secret location for her own safety. The elderly lady could tell her nephew was hiding something from her, and it made her angry and fearful for Peter's wellbeing.
Peter dragged his feet up the stairs, head down and bag slung over his shoulder. His body ached in protest, muscles stiff and sore from fight not an hour earlier. It took him four tries to successfully put the key into the lock and open the front door.
Cassy was sprawled out on the couch when he entered, hair mussed from sleep and watching cartoons. She didn't even look up when he walked in, just grunting out a greeting before focusing on the TV again.
Peter went straight to Gwen's room to grab the first aid kit and went into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Gwen's roommate had a terrible habit of just barging into a room if she knew you were decent.
He took off his sweatshirt and shirt and carefully started to clean the numerous cuts that littered his chest. Some of them were from Flash, some of them were from the mission, and some were from himself.
Inhale. Exhale.
Peter took his time, paying attention to every individual cut that littered his body. He put disinfectant on them, and pressed band-aids over the deeper ones. After he was done, he slowly pulled the sweatpants and a new T-shirt, changing into them. He pulled the sweatshirt back on, hiding his cut arms.
Throwing his bag into Gwen's room, he went back into the living room and sat next to Cassy, not complaining when she draped her legs and blanket over him.
"You spendin' the night?" she asked, her gaze lingering on his black eye.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "When's Gwen gonna be home?"
She shrugged. "She's at an 'I-Survived-Exams' party with some of the people form her study group. She should be back around midnight."
They sat in silence for a few minutes.
"Are you okay?" Cassy asked.
"I'm fine."
Inhale. Exhale.
I think I should explain the 'Inhale. Exhale.' thing. I'm kind of basing that off of personal experience: when I get into deep depressions, everything hurts and makes me exhausted, even breathing. So it's a challenge to just take one breath after another.
Also, I'm using it because whenever I cry or get upset, people just tell me to take 'deep breaths' and calm down-so, Peter's always trying to calm his down.
Thank you for reading! ((If you left a comment, I would be most happy u.u))
If you have anything you want me to write, spideypool or otherwise, send me a message on my tumblr! (link on my profile)
