It had been about five weeks since Peter had started seeing his therapist (or was it psychiatrist? He always got those confused). His placebo pills ran out and he was already prescribed a new drug. Not that it had been doing any good for him.
Those placebos were making him lose his appetite, and yet, he had gained eight pounds while on them. Losing his appetite wasn't really an option for someone with advanced hypoglycemia, but he still managed to eat about five of his normal six thousand daily calories. Hopefully, these new drugs would do him better.
After talking about it with Adrien, his therapist, he had finally come to accept that his placebo pills were not fake. Although he had gotten in the habit of calling them that, this fact was brought up at approximately week 2 of their sessions, when Peter gave Adrien a wink when mentioning them. Apparently that was the wrong thing to do in that situation.
He had a diagnosis, but for some reason he wasn't allowed to know. Peter was told that his diagnosis was psychosis, which didn't seem right. Firstly, he was the furthest thing from psychotic, and secondly, he was pretty certain that psychosis was simply a symptom. It couldn't be a real mental illness or disorder. He refused to believe that.
He knew he had a real diagnosis, because why give a kid pills after your first session if you didn't already have a diagnosis? Hiding it probably had something to do with his suddenly short temper, but the not knowing still (albeit ironically) angered him. He was pretty sure May knew, and possibly Mr. Stark, but he was left in the dark.
Not knowing was torture. He was sure that if he were able to access whatever digital files were available for him, his diagnosis would be on there, but that was one of the few skills he did not possess. Even if he knew what his real diagnosis was, would it really make him feel better?
He would often stop is day to cogitate if a diagnosis would finally make him happy. If it would fill the constant emptiness that plagued his life. Or, in the case that it would not fill that void, if it would just exaggerate his lack of deeper feelings further.
Aside from his crippling need for purpose, he was finally able to help out in the tower again. Every Wednesday he would go in and get to tinker in Mr. Stark's personal lab. Mr. Stark was usually down there with him, trying to keep Peter happy. Whenever he got angry or swore he would give Peter a side eye to see if he was getting scared or uncomfortable. When Peter also swore or got frustrated, he would be given the side eye to check if he was getting too angry.
Mr. Stark was doing more than watching him, though. He was gathering information. He would engage Peter into telling him about his day and one way or another, he would begin sharing his current mental status. Some would call this an extortion of information, but it was more of a naturalistic observation, in that it was all done with good intentions.
In psychology, a naturalistic observation is essentially a study that the participants aren't aware that they are in. To be precise, it entails observing one or more subjects in their natural state. What was more natural for Peter than being in a lab? Tony found this to be a useful tool in getting Peter to open up, because it was so much more calming tone than a scheduled conversation with a therapist.
Tony could tell that he was getting better, but he never pushed Peter into any kind of conversation that made him uncomfortable.
As for Peter, was honestly just waiting to come home and find his suit sitting on his bed. He was definitely ready to be Spider-Man again, and he was trying to demonstrate that in front of Mr. Stark. That he was equipped and ready to take on that responsibility again.
School had been going okay. His teachers were told that he had a cold when he was missing those first few days several weeks back, so there was no torment from his peers about his mental status. Even Ned had no idea what was going on with him.
If he was being honest which himself, Peter was too embarrassed to tell his best friend. How would he even do that?
"Hey, Ned, I've been hearing voices"?
Actually, he had stopped hearing voices. For about a week, he hadn't been hearing any voices from the great beyond. It wasn't that he was complaining, it just made him wonder.
It should have been calming that he hadn't heard any voices, but it was more suspicious to him. It made him think that he was faking it. He had already been telling himself that, but the lack of voices had confirmed his suspicions.
Still, when he hangs out with Ned, he will get a few strange looks, particularly during those moments where he would space out. But, usually, Ned would be really cool about it all.
It made Peter wonder if he secretly knew and wasn't telling him.
One Thursday afternoon, they were doing homework in the school library when he completely spaced out. He couldn't remember just what exactly had caught his eye, but there was something that just pulled him out of reality.
He was staring at his page of homework for about ten minutes until Ned had noticed that he hadn't moved in a while.
"Hey, Peter, you good," Ned asked, slightly concerned. He touched his shoulder and Peter recoiled, snapping him back into this world.
"Hmm, what," he turned to his friend, halfway pretending nothing had happened. After he's brought back into the real world, Peter can never really remember what was running through his head anyway.
"Do you wanna go to a vending machine and get some soda or something," Ned chuckled. "You seem like you could use a pick me up. You haven't moved in like an hour."
That's a lie. He's lying to you. "Uh, no, I'm okay," he turned his phone over on the table. When he saw the time his eyes went wide. "Oh crap." He began shoving all of his things into his backpack, unafraid of crinkling papers.
Ned followed along. Wrapping his earbuds around his fingers, he asked, "Why are we packing?"
"I told May that I'd be home by 4:30, and she's on a whole honesty kick, since..." he stopped talking, not wanting to reveal a dark secret. He probably couldn't even trust his best friend at all if he would blatantly lie to him.
Unfortunately, Ned wasn't stupid, so he had to ask. "Since..?"
He pulled on the sleeve of his jacket, contemplating a cover story. "Since I got mad about her getting home late. She said that honesty is a two way street, you know?"
His friend kind of nodded along, zipping his bag up. "Do you need a buffer?"
"I think I'll be okay, I'm just gonna text her from the station when I get there. You going home?"
"Yeah," Ned swung his backpack over his shoulder. "I've still got a ton of homework to knockout before tomorrow. I wanted to grab some food before I get there, though. You should go, I'll text you," he waved him off.
"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow," Peter ran out the door, waving to the librarian on his way out.
What was tomorrow? Ned had to get a bunch of work done by tomorrow, and that seemed important. He racked his brain.
He made it to the subway just in time to catch his train. He ended up standing in front of a woman wearing her pet ferret around her neck. It was still alive, but it made Peter involuntarily wring his neck. It felt tight.
'Imagine that feeling, but with a rope,' he thought to himself.
He couldn't tell what was more disturbing: the fact that he was thinking about that kind of thing, or the fact that it was undoubtedly his thought. That kind of crap normally came from one of the voices, not from his own brain. Maybe it was the fact that he could kind of feel a tightness around his throat with that thought. He would have to try not to say that stuff out loud when he would have his sleepover with Ned.
Right! He and Ned were having a sleepover tomorrow because it was a teacher work day. Good thing he was still able to subconsciously retain information.
The doors opened and he pushed past the impatient people flooding in.
He broke free from the crowed and made his way to ground level. If he was much later than he already was, he just knew he would be dead.
"Would that be all that bad," he heard a voice.
This made him slow his pace. He had gone seven consecutive days without hearing anything. Now was not the time to relapse into the voices.
He checked his immediate surroundings to be sure, and no one was there. It's not as if anyone else could hear his thoughts. But what if they could?
"Yes, that would be bad," he muttered aloud.
He entered his building like a normal person for once, using the elevator rather than the fire escape to get to his apartment. It wasn't a long ride but it felt like hours.
"Well there you are," he heard as soon as he came in the door.
"I know, I'm late. I'm sorry," he began pleading his case. "It's just that Ned and I were studying, and we never even left the school, but I kind of lost track of time and I missed my bus, so I had to take the subway."
"First thing," she patted the seat next to her, essentially telling him to sit there. "Why weren't you answering my calls?"
"Your calls," he tilted his head just before his stomach dropped. "Shoot," he flung his backpack off of his shoulder and began pillaging through it. "I didn't leave my–" he sighed in relief when he pulled out his phone.
The screen read May: four missed calls
"Now, I'm not mad. I just don't understand why we went through all the trouble of making these rules if you're just going to ignore them."
"I'm not- I wasn't- I was not trying to ignore your calls. Okay, this was completely unintentional and I am so sorry."
"So you knew you would be late, but you didn't think to text me," she gave him a hurtful look.
A beat of pure guilt.
"I am so so sorry. It was a lapse in judgment, it won't happen again," he clawed at their relationship, trying to salvage the trust that he felt he had broken.
She gave a long sigh. Her disappointment was painfully obvious. "I try to be cool with you, you know that. Every time you sneak out at night, I don't ask any questions, but this has gone a little far."
"May, I swear to god, I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm not trying to get away with anything, I just can't remember some things and I am so sorry. I spaced out while I was studying with Ned, and it will never happen again."
She pondered this for a few seconds. May's eyes did the back and forth thing as if she were reading, making it seem like she was analyzing every aspect of the situation. Her expression changed from an exasperated one, to something softer.
"Okay," she settled on the word. "I'm giving you a chance to prove yourself here. I want you to call or text me anytime you leave or you know you're going to be late. Think you can handle that?"
"Yes." He finally released the muscles that he had tightened. Why was this conversation so exhausting for him? "Yes, I'm- I can do that."
"Okay, good." She waved to him as he began backing up from his spot on the couch into his room. "I just hope you know that I'm not doing this to help ruin your life or anything, I just love you too much to let anything happen to you."
"Thank you so much, May, I love you too," he closed his door behind him and literally threw himself onto his bed. He sighed, releasing more tension from his aching muscles.
After a minute of just laying on his bed, he looked through the contents of his backpack, ensuring that he had no more homework to do that evening. That was when he noticed his meds. The bottle was just sitting at the bottom of the bag, minding its own business, but under Peter's inquisitive gaze, he realized something.
He forgot to take his pill today.
He forgot to take his pill, and yet, nothing seemed to change. It's not as if much had changed in the weeks that passed. He got in trouble with May a couple of times, he exploded in anger a couple of times, his memory may have gotten worse, and he still had wavy days.
In fact, he started thinking that he was better before taking these meds. All they did was exaggerate his symptoms, not make him better. He couldn't be fixed.
May thought this would fix him and so did Mr. Stark. They didn't actually care about him, they just wanted to be done with his issues. If he would just shut up and take his meds, they wouldn't have to worry about him at all. As much as he wanted to make their lives easier, this mindset was hurtful to him.
He could feel an anger stirring inside of him, but he had no where to put his anger. It just sat in, making his face go red and causing him to literally shake with anger.
With force, he stood to his feet to look for an outlet for his anger when he made eye contact with the hole in his wall. His tense muscles relaxed a bit with the memory of that night, but he was still angry. He knew that if he didn't do something quick he would explode again.
'Go for a walk,' some breathy voice told him. 'It'll help you cool down.'
He whipped his head to the left to find the owner of this voice, but no one was there. If no one was there, then...
"May," he called, just to check.
"Did you call me," she shouted back from the kitchen.
Oh shit. They're back. "No," he was wincing. "Y- Yes, but never mind."
Fuck. They're back.
What was he supposed to do with that. He hated to admit it, but going for a walk seemed like a reasonable thing to do. What could the harm be in listening to a voice, just this once?
He opened up his closet to get his jacket, when a shiny figure on the floor of his closet caught his eye, immediately abating all of his other problems of the night.
"Oh my god," he gaped under his breath.
The suit was back. Mr. Stark left the suit for him again. He almost cried.
Instead, he told May that he was going for the walk he had planned to go on, and tucked the suit into his backpack. Fortunately, May did not ask why he was bringing his backpack. She probably assumed that he was bringing spray paint or something, like she used to when she was his age.
They agreed that he had to be back well before she left for work at seven. She had night shift all this week, so he's had to keep quiet during the day as not to wake her up.
When he snuck to the top of their building, he changed into the suit. As he pushed the button for the fabric to contour to his body, he couldn't help but feel at piece with the world.
He slipped on the mask and he was a different person. Spider-Man didn't care about people's opinions of him. Spider-Man doesn't hear voices or believe in conspiracy theories. Spider-Man also doesn't have to worry about A.P. classes. His only concern was helping people and stopping bad guys. It was that simple. Life as Spider-Man was so much easier than life as Peter Parker. Sometimes, that was why he never wanted to take off the suit.
"Good evening, Peter. It's been a while," a certain A.I. greeted him.
He smiled. For once he recognized a disembodied voice. "Hi, Karen. It sure has."
"Is there something I can do for you," she suggested.
"No," he relaxed his muscles for the last time that night. "I'm just enjoying this moment."