A/N: hehe. peter kills someone. very sad i hated myself while writing this. might make this into a multi depending on how many people like it :)
Red dead shapes dancing around in the wet, cold grass. That's all they were. That's all they were ever going to be.
Shimmering crimson leaking out of a shapeless object, smashed again and again and again until the only thing left to see was the offensive red color.
Red red red red red red red.
Curses were cried out, terrified, stuttered words that tumbled with every second syllable as the boy didn't stop sobbing, didn't stop shaking as the bright crimson liquid continued to leak out from beneath him.
Silent, except the sobs and the screams of help and desperation coming from the teen, everything was silent. The loud bang from every hit of the metal pipe against the concrete ground echoed inside of the abandoned warehouse, making the boy's ears ring as he continued to fight for his life.
He finally stopped, his body shaking as he backed away from the horrific thing he had done. He stared at it, and the more he did, the more he hated himself, the more terrified of himself he was, and he gripped the metal pipe so hard that it had been bent in half. The boy choked, bile rising up to his throat as he just continued staring, horrified, before he bent over and retched all over the red concrete floor.
He sobbed, bloodstained tears streaming down his face as he clutched his stomach painfully, staining his own clothing. His breath hitched, horrified by what he had just done.
It was barely identifiable anymore, the striking, yet hideous crimson color continuing to pool out of it, the rest of it mangled and torn off, smashed again and again and again in fear and panic. The boy glared at his hands, his fingers shaking as he lifted them up, dark red clumps hidden underneath his fingernails. He glared at his hands, glared so long, so painful as he sobbed, his body reeking of the traumatizing red liquid that covered him.
Nothing but shapes, shapes and objects that spilled freely, and he couldn't think, didn't know what to do. The boy wiped his tears away, staining his cheek with a dark crimson color before he began limping away, coughing with each breath he took. He clutched his stomach painfully, finding it harder and harder to breathe properly.
His breath shook as he attempted to stand up straight, his facial expressions scrunching up as he hissed in pain. He hiccuped slightly, trying to get rid of his remaining tears.
Forget forget forget forget. Forget about the horrific red painted across an entire room. Forget forget forget forget forget.
Forget that it was him. That he had done it. He had held the pipe and began to pound, and he begged and begged for someone to save him, someone to help him. Forget, forget.
Forget forget forget forget forget.
Forget the red. Forget the lump of red. Forget forget forget.
He sniffled, no longer able to fight back his tears, and it all crashed down, as if he was holding up an entire building. He sobbed, sitting down on the cool concrete floor and he sobbed, a beautiful crimson color left behind like a five year old's art piece. He held his body protectively, trembling like a leaf as he squeezed his eyes to try and forget.
Forget forget forget forget. Forget about everything, forget, god why can't he breathe—
He sobbed, his cries echoing throughout the empty building as he fell to the ground, no longer able to take the pain that spread throughout his body. His back was covered in painful angry stripes of red, and his body shook, clutching at his chest as if to try and take the pain away. He couldn't breathe, god why couldn't he breathe— and his lungs were hurt with each shuddering breath he took.
The boy curled into a ball, tears streaming down his face as his body wracked in pain. It was him. All him. He deserved this.
No no no no no no no.
His senses screamed at him, his fading moments of his ears yelling, ears hearing people coming in, people seeing for what he was.
A murderer.
"Holy fucking shit..." A man's usually playful voice, the boy knew who he was, Tony Stark, had said, and the entire world felt like it had stopped. The teen quieted his sobs, knowing of his red hands and how disgustingly awful he was.
It was quiet. Quiet as the genius, Tony Stark, looked at the scene before him. Natasha and the rest of the group hurried in, before gasping and covering their mouths.
It was only them. Only three people. Three people, but they were all the avengers.
They were looking for him, they were trying to save him but he saved himself, and he cried out in pain of his heart pounding so hard that he could hear it in his eardrums.
Natasha had been the first to notice the boy shivering as he grew paler and paler, and she cursed, running over to him. The others also noticed, and Tony ran to the boy's side immediately.
"Oh god, Peter?" Tony's voice shook as he looked at the condition of the boy, his body roaming around before he choked, seeing his hands covered and stained with the same horrid red color. Bruce had sprung into action, tearing his shirt into a piece of cloth in an attempt to stop Peter from bleeding out.
He hadn't noticed, hadn't noticed the gaping cut on his chest and he cried out silently, his throat no longer having the strength to force his voice out. Peter sobbed, and Natasha's heart broke at the sight of him.
"Friday, what do you see?"
"There seems to be multiple cracked and bruised ribs, lacerations on his back—" Tony cursed as he gently turned the boy in order to see the now red shirt stuck on his back. "—a stab wound, several bruises, and—"
"That's enough, Friday..." Tony said quietly. "Get the med team in here."
The AI hummed quietly, and Bruce continued to wrap around loose shreds of cloth around the teen's chest. Tony watched as his neck slowly started turning green, and he put a hand on his shoulder.
"Are you cool?"
Bruce looked at him incredulously, before jerking his head. "Yeah..." he looked at Peter's ruined body. "Yeah, I'm cool."
Natasha had bit her lip to keep from crying, looking between Peter and the lump of red. The boy's eyes slowly began to close, the tears no longer falling, and she shot up, gently shaking him. "Hey, c'mon Pete, you have to stay awake."
Tony shot up at her words, looking at Peter desperately, "no, no no. keep your eyes open, kid, please, please please... stay awake for just a few more minutes, we're right here."
Peter opened his eyes slightly to look at Tony, tears coming back before looking away. The older man felt his heart shatter, before the med team arrived. Each of them at first looked horrified at the red pile of nothing before they took action.
"I'm losing his pulse!" Bruce cried, "we've gotta get him back to the tower now!"
The med team scrambled over, gently lifting Peter up and attaching all kinds of tubes and needles into him. Before long, they were hurrying out of the building, Peter's body inside of an ambulance.
Tony followed them, walking with Natasha who looked at him with a caring expression. He smiled weakly at her.
"Let's go." Natasha said quietly, trying to offer some sort of comfort to him. Tony nodded before slapped his mask back on and flew off to be alone with his thoughts.
Natasha waved to him, before looking back behind her.
Red red red red red.
It reminded her of her own memories, and her heart broke even more.
Nothing but the striking color of crimson, splashed around the room.
She got onto her motorcycle and left, no longer needing information as to who killed the now pile of nothing.
She knew, and her heart broke even more.