Triggers Warnings for Whole Story:

Substance Use/Abuse

Depressive and/or Suicidal Thoughts/Mentions

Rape Threats/Mentions

Descriptive Blood/Minimal Gore

Some Self-Harm

Coarse Language

Mental Illness (various)

Part One: Cracks

"It is approaching the 2 month anniversary since Spider-Man desecrated our national monument. Yet, he has yet to be held accountable for the insurmountable damage he caused! Maybe it's about time our Web-headed criminal digs into his pockets, because you know who has to pay for all that damage?! That's right: YOU. And ME. WE have to be the ones to pay for that menace's CARELESSNESS! WAKE UP PEOPLE: Spider-Man is a menace!"

Peter sighed, trying to ignore the tv blaring overhead. The world was really starting to weigh on his shoulders. After… everything… and lately, it all just seemed so pointless. Everything he tried to do just ended up going wrong. Everytime he tried to help, he'd make things worse. Half the time, he couldn't even say a friendly hello to someone without apparently offending them. At this point, he wasn't actually helping anyone. And to top it all off, he was practically destitute, had next-to-no academic record, and hadn't had pizza in, like, a month. Which may not have seemed like that big of a deal, but it was just the cherry on top of it all.

"I'm sorry sir, but there's no record of your prescription. You're not even in our system." The pharmacist lady finished up on her computer and turned to look at Peter, eyes giving him a once-over. "What did you say it was for again?"

Peter sighed. But, he couldn't say he was surprised. Someone from the pharmacy must've remembered him, therefore triggering his record here to be erased. He was a regular afterall.

But now… well, this wasn't exactly the best time to lose his prescription.

Peter just shook his head, "nevermind, it's fine. Sorry to have wasted your time."

The woman's face softened slightly. She nodded, "have a good day."

"Yeah, yeah, you too." Another thing to add to the list, hurray.

Stepping out the door, Peter took a second to take in the fresh air, setting sunlight, and the distant chirping of birds. He had to slow down. His mind was running. He just needed to take a time-out and reset. He just had to take it one step at time. Stay positive and keep breathing. Things would come around. That's what… that's what May would tell him if she was…

But, god, was it hard to do that. Especially when he felt like he was drowning. It was just one thing after another. And he couldn't help but wonder if he was finally cracking under the weight of it all.

. . .

"Hey," She greeted him with a small smile. Pete couldn't help the tug at the corners of his lips in return. She remembered him. "Peter Parker, right?"

Peter felt his face lift in a mixture of surprise and happiness, "y-yeah, yeah."

She shrugged and dipped her eyes to the counter, "you were memorable, being all weird and stuff." She paused. "Uh, no offence."

Peter exhaled in amusement and ran a hand through his hair, "yeah, no, uh, no worries. I am a little weird."

A heartbeat. "So…" She stared expectantly at him.

He tilted his head, "hmm?"

"Your order?"

"Oh, right, yeah! Uh, order, right, cause this is a café, right!"

They stood in silence for a few moments as Peter tried - and failed - to literally remember the name of any drink. She cleared her throat, "so… coffee again?"

Peter blinked. "Uh…. you know what," he cast a glance around the place. It was just as cozy as he'd remembered it, "I think I'll stay here and have lunch."

She smiled a little again and nodded at the tables, "you can choose whichever one and i'll bring a menu in a minute."

Peter nodded, "thanks."

"MJ." Peter stopped and turned around, eyebrows raised in question. She tucked a hair behind her ear, "my name. It's MJ."

"Oh." Peter breathed then smiled, "that's a pretty name."

She nodded. They stared at each other kinda awkwardly for a few moments, but Peter couldn't look away. She was so perfect. Her hair was fizzy and gorgeous chocolate brown. Her eyes sparkled even though she looked tired. He loved her so much. Everything about her. He felt eyes start to sting.

A ding made him jump.

"Uh, that's a customer's grilled cheese. I, uh, I better get that."

Peter just nodded and watched her hurry to the sandwich. Peter shook his head, realizing he was probably being a little creepy, and chose a table. His eyes gazed out the window to the street. It was always funny how the hustle and bustle of the city was so peaceful. It was a reminder that the world was always moving forward. That no matter how bad it got, everything would be alright. Hopefully. Maybe. Or maybe it was just a reminder that the world would just keep moving on without him.

Because it would. Like he never even existed.

MJ would keep living, keep moving forward.

And that was good.

He'd tried to come back to this café so many times. He would walk up to the door, put his hand on the handle, and then walk away like a coward. He'd gotten a couple of looks, so you had to know he looked weird, cause no one cast a second glance at anything in New York. He wasn't sure what had helped him call up his bravery today, but he was so glad he did. The moment he stepped through the door to see her, it was like the whole world melted away, leaving just her.

He missed her so much.

A menu plopped down in front of him, making him jump.

"Sorry, didn't realize you were spaced out that much."

Peter's eyes rose to see her. It was like he was looking at an angel. "Oh, uh, sorry, no I'm- it's fine. I just have a short attention span."

She smiled in subtle amusement, "so, you've got plans or anything tonight?"

"Oh, uh, no not really, no. Uh, you?"

"Hanging out with a friend tonight. We're, uh, planning a trip to Boston this weekend."

"Boston?"

"To check out the MIT campus."

"Oh. Right, yeah, I can't believe I forgot about that. That's- that's great. What, uh, what're you gonna study there?"

She half-chuckled, haf-sighed, "my parents have been interrogating me about that one for weeks." She shrugged, "I'm not sure. I'm hoping to see the labs when we go there, maybe something'll spark some interest."

Peter smiled. He was so happy for her. It hurt. He wished he could be there to watch her achieve her dreams. Because she was going to. She was so incredibly smart, funny, brave, and talented. She deserved the world.

But she could only achieve that without him.

"I'm sure you're gonna rock whatever you choose."

She looked at him in momentary surprise before a small, shy smile overtook her face. She tucked that same pesky strand of hair behind her ear. "Thanks. I'm sure you're going great places too."

He wasn't so sure about that.

He just nodded, a feeling in his throat telling him he couldn't trust himself to speak right now.

"So. What're you getting?"

Clearing his throat, he quickly scanned the menu that he'd yet to look at. "Uh, I'll have… the, uh… the…"

"I can come back."

"No. no it's fine." He handed her the menu, "I'll have a medium london fog and a pesto panini please."

She nodded.

He nodded.

She smiled.

He smiled.

"That'll be a couple minutes."

"No rush. Thanks MJ."

"No problem. Peter."

. . .

After taking nearly five minutes to walk up eight sets of stairs, Peter reached his floor. With a groan, he trudged over to his door. About to insert his key, he heard a door open behind him. Turning, he saw his neighbour, a dude in his mid-twenties-ish who he'd only caught a glance of, like, twice so far.

Seeing Peter, the dude froze, his green eyes widened then awkwardly looked away. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his baggy khakis, he nodded. "Hey."

Peter nodded back, "hey."

"... you ok, man? You look tired."

"Oh, uh, yeah no I'm fine."

"... ok, whatever you say man…"

"Uh," Peter scratched the back of his neck, "thanks for, uh, for the concern, tho."

"Yeah no problem, man."

With a nod goodbye, Peter went to open his door only to find it stuck. Again. "Crap," he muttered under his breath and jiggled the knob, sure enough, it didn't budge.

"Door stuck again?"

"Hmm?" Peter turned around, trying to act casual, like he wasn't just losing a battle with a freaking senior-citizen wooden door. "Oh ha ha, 'ts fine, just gotta. Use. a little. Force!" Peter shoved the door, but it didn't budge. Now, if neighbour dude hadn't been standing right there, Peter could've opened it (that is if he didn't straight up destroy the thing trying), but alas. He would just have to give it some time to de-stick.

"You wanna, like, hang at my place until management shows up?"

"I don't need to call management. Just give it a little time, it usually unsticks by itself." Peter blinked, thinking. "I don't wanna intrude…"

Neighbour dude waved a hand in front of his face, dismissing Peter's comment, "nah man, it's all good. I got cheetos if you want some."

Peter shrugged, "I like cheetos, thanks man."

With a small grateful smile, he followed the dude inside. Just like his own, the apartment was small and shitty. It opened into a living room with the back of a couch facing the door and an armchair adjacent to the couch. An old cracked coffee table sat in front, sitting on a dingy rug that looked like it hadn't been cleaned, well, ever. Various stains of all colours were seeped into its unruly fabric. To the right, behind the chair and a little back, a nook worked as a small kitchen, a weathered table with two kitchen chairs stuffed against the wall under a window.

But what stood out to Peter the most was the bag of cheetos sitting on the coffee table.

"Make yourself at home, man," Neighbour dude said, plopping himself into his chair. "Here," seeing Peter eying the cheetos, he tossed the bag closer to the couch.

"Thanks," Peter hopped over the back and landed in the middle of the couch, greedily shoving his hand into the bag and pulling out a handful of orangy fake-cheese-probably-radioactive-puffs of deliciousness.

"So, you got a name, or?"

"Hm? Oh yeah," Peter mumbled through a mouthful, ''m Peter."

"Peter? Hey, I'm Skeeter, my friends call me Skeety."

"Skeeter," Peter swallowed his food and grabbed another handful, stuffing it in his mouth, "that's a different name, I like it tho. Lot cooler than Peter."

"Nah man, your name is dope. It's a part of you and shit, ya know? And you gotta love yourself."

Peter blinked and tilted his head, "I like you Skeeter, you seem nice."

"Thanks, man, so do you. You mind?" he asked, fishing a joint out of a bag sitting next to his chair.

Peter shook his head, "'s that weed?"

"Yeah, you ever try any?" he asked, lighting it and taking a puff. Blowing out a long trial of smoke, the earthy smell filled the air.

So that was one of the various smells Peter had noticed when he walked in.

"No, never have."

"You wanna?" he held out the joint.

Peter looked at it. He would be lying if he said he'd never thought about trying it. There was a kid at school who'd offered to sell him some last year, but he'd said no. And now - when he would've liked to try it - he didn't have the money. But he didn't have to pay to try it right now.

He shrugged and took it, "sure."

"Dope, just like, inhale and then, like exhale ya know? You'll probably, like, cough the first few drags, but it gets real nice real fast, man."

Hesitating for a brief second, Peter took a drag and sure enough started coughing like someone with the plague. "Oh god, is it supposed to burn my lungs like that?!"

"Yeah, man, how do ya feel tho?"

About to answer that he didn't feel any different, Peter suddenly felt his muscles start to relax, the world became just the tiniest bit hazy, but in a good way. "Huh," he blinked, "I feel kinda good." Despite the fact that it tasted like ash, Peter was kinda liking the stuff.

"There you go, see once you get past the coughing, it gets good. This shit-" he fished out another and lit it, keeping it for himself. "Will relax ya real nice, only thing better is snorting other shit."

"You snort stuff?"

"Yeah, man, don't you got tellin' anyone, but I sell drugs 'n shit."

Peter coughed, this time both from taking another drag and from shock. "You're a drug dealer?!"

"Yeah man, but, like, don't yell that shit out loud, someone could hear, ya know?"

"Oh, sorry! I just- I didn't expect that…." he looked around the room awkwardly then remembered that he had a way to relax right between his fingers tips. He took another puff, but this time tolerated it a lot better.

"You're gettin' the hang of it, man." Skeeter said.

"Ha ha, yeah I guess I am." Peter smiled and relaxed more into the couch, eating a few more cheetos. "So, how'd you get into drug dealing? Was it your childhood dream?"

"Well, sorta, I guess. It was my grandma's business, she, like, fell into a coma, so now here I am."

"Oh." Peter didn't know what to say, probably because there wasn't anything to say. No words ever helped that kind of pain. "I'm sorry about your grandma."

"Yeah, thanks."

They sat in silence for a few moments.

Peter cleared his throat. "Do you… have any xanax by any chance," Peter asked, awkwardly, feeling his head tuck into his neck like he was trying to fold in on himself.

"Yeah man, of course, but, like, you sure you wanna get involved with this shit? It's expensive and if you're not careful, drugs and shit is, like, dangerous."

"I'm not an addict," Peter exasperated, "and xanax isn't even very addictive anyway. I just need… something to help me with my anxiety, you know?"

Skeety nodded, "yeah, man, I get it. How bout I give you this?" he reached into his bag and pulled out a small plastic bag with a handful of white rectangles.

"Awesome!" Peter snatched the bag and hungrily analyzed its contents. How perfect was that? He'd literally just lost his prescription for this stuff this morning and now he was staring down a whole bag of it. "How much do I owe you?"

Skeety waved a hand in front of his face, "'ts on the house, man, as a welcome to the building present, ya know?"

"Aww thanks! That's so nice," Peter couldn't help the wide smile spread across his face. God it felt like it had been ages since he'd actually had someone… well, had someone be nice to him.

"Sure, man, no problem," he rubbed the back of his neck. "Be careful with that stuff, only take, like, a max of two pills, start with one if you've never taken that shit before."

"Cool, thanks. I used to take it, but my prescription was, uh, lost, so guess I'm gonna have to settle for getting it from you every so often." he dropped two rectangles into his palm. "Is there… uh, ok this is gonna sound, like, really stupid, but is there, like, any tricks to, uh, like, snorting?"

Skeety didn't react at all, "yeah man, I was gonna snort some coke once you left, but, like, I'll just do it now and you can snort that. I'll show you the tricks, ya know?"

"Coke?! Like, cocaine?"

"Yeah man," he got up and walked over to the kitchen. When he opened a cupboard, Peter saw an array of pills and powders lining the shelves. Peter also noticed a few lumps of what looked like black clay.

"Oh shit that's a lot of drugs," Peter breathed.

"Yeah, man," Skeeter agreed, grabbing a small bag of white powder and closing the cupboard. "Gotta keep stocked up, cause, like, I'm a drug dealer, 'member?"

"Right yeah, no I know, I just… I've never seen so much…" he tilted his head, "what was the lump of black clay?"

"Clay?" Skeeter frowned, plopping himself back into his chair and emptying the contents of his bag onto the coffee table. "Oh you mean the black tar?"

"Tar?"

"Yeah, like, heroin, ya know?"

Oh god.

"OH! Heroin. Ok, that's, uh, that's… cool… I thought heroin was a liquid? Am I an idiot?"

Skeeter chuckled, busying himself with separating the powder into three lines. "Nah man, you're not dumb, but it is pretty clear you don't know shit about drugs and shit."

"That obvious, huh?" Peter chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah, but like, that's prolly a good thing, ya know? Here, crush those with this," he handed Peter a credit card, who took it with a nod of thanks and got to work. "You gotta melt the tar to make it into a liquid. Like, with a spoon over a candle. If you add citric acid, it helps it, like, break down and stuff."

"Oh that makes sense, yeah. Not all heroin - and usually not the darker kinds - are purified into hydrochloric salt, so they have a harder time breaking down. So citric acid helps out with that. Huh," Peter muttered, enthralled in the chemistry of it.

"Huh? The fuck are you saying?"

"Hm? Oh sorry! Talking to myself, ha ha," Peter shrugged, "I like chemistry."

"Damn, man, you're like, smart and shit?"

"Uh, well, I wouldn't say that-"

"Nah, if you know words like hydro-whatever-the-fuck and shit, then you fuckin' smart."

The corners of Peter's lips tugged up slightly. "Thanks."

"Yeah man, it's the fucking truth, ya know? Separate it into lines like I did with mine."

"Ok got it, what, uh, what now?"

"Here," Skeeter handed Peter a straw. "Snort it through that. You gotta plug your other nostril while you do it. And here," he slid a plate with a small pool of water on it to the middle of the table, "snort a few drops of this after. It'll, like, make sure you get all of the drug and shit."

With a nod, Peter gently placed the straw at the end on one line. With a deep inhale, he ran the straw down the length of the powder. Water pricked his eyes at the stinging in his nostrils as the powder flurried down his throat. Blinking away the tears, Peter continued with the next line and then the one after until they had all been inhaled, lining his lunges with little flecks of white. Running a finger under his nose to keep any loose power from falling out, Peter dipped the straw into the water. Chalky and bitter taste landed on the back of Peter's tongue as any powder hiding in his nose was dislodged and carried to his throat. With a satisfied breath, Peter slumped back, already feeling his mind slow.

"God it's nice to have this stuff again."

"Yeah it's fuckin' dope," Skeeter said, tossing away his straw. "You did good man, for your first time."

Peter smiled, "thanks, Skeeter."

"No problem, man. And you can call me Skeety. I like you, man."

"You think of me as a friend? Oh my god!" a big dopey smile spread across Peter's face. "I will totally be your friend, Skeety!"

"Ha ha, how'd you like snorting, man?"

"I really liked it! Feels a lot better than taking them orally."

"Yeah, man, it hits you a lot faster and stronger."

Peter breathed in, relishing in the moment of peace. "It's a good feeling."

It had been so long since he'd felt something like that.

He missed it.