Patrol was always more tiring after a shift at the bar. Not that they weren't tiring anyway. But after his shift, when he was bordering on a massive headache from the loud atmosphere of the bar and his wrists hurt from mixing and serving drinks for hours, his whole body was ready for a break. Not that he would give himself one. He loved Spider-Man. No amount of tiredness would stop him going out to help people.
Besides, once he got out there into the cool air of the night he was fine. Dragging himself home and into his suit sucked when his bed was a few steps away, calling to him with a soft voice promising a peaceful sleep. But once he was out in the night, wind flying past his face and he felt like he was soaring through the buildings, the little slice of happiness it gave him always beat his tiredness. No matter his previous mood.
Besides, Peter couldn't stomach the thought of giving into his overworked body's demands and getting into bed when he could hear the people of the city crying out for help. When he laid in his bed, not quite awake but not yet asleep, his ears would subconsciously listen in on the voices of those streets away. His advanced hearing was a gift, he knew that, but sometimes it felt like a curse. Especially at those moments when they picked up the voices of the people who he didn't help. Those he couldn't save in time.
The people he failed.
He had grown used to the noises long ago. But that didn't mean he would prefer helplessly lying in bed when he could be helping people out in the world. Which was why he found himself dragging his exhausted body around the city in search of people who needed his help. Or even just his ear.
Peter had found in the last few days, more than a few people didn't need his fists to save them. They didn't need to be saved at all. They just needed someone who would listen to them. Truly listen. Lend their ear to their problems when it all became too much. He had listened to the stories of a few homeless people as he helped them find a safer spot to sleep or even just so they felt less alone in the last few days. Though one person he had talked to stuck out to him. It was a memory he wasn't likely to forget.
He had helped a crying university student home one late night when he found them sitting in a dark alleyway, on the verge of a breakdown. He had asked if she needed anything. Even when she responded that she was fine, Peter stayed. Sitting down on the ground next to her, after asking if it was ok, he wrapped his arm around the girl and let her cry.
Peter knew that in moments like this, when people finally broke under whatever stress society, families, friends, or even they had put on themselves, it was better to let them cry. To let them break and cry and crumble. It was better than the alternative. Letting them bottle it up.
When the tears had started to slow, and her shaking body turned still, Peter asked what had happened.
To which the girl spilled to him all the stress she was under.
Apparently she had recently moved to the city from a small town to go to university in New York. Her family has saved up a lot of money to send her to the fancy school and they had been so excited for her to go and be the first successful person in their family. Though what she had not told her parents was that she was not interested in taking the course her family had pushed her into. It was their dream for her to be a doctor, not hers. Though she couldn't find it in her heart to tell them. So she sucked it up, put on a smile and pretended to be happy when she was accepted into the university. Though inside she longed to be a writer, she was trapped living her parents dream. Unable to escape their expectations.
Now she was alone in a big city, struggling to keep up at school and wondering if she should drop out. She told Peter she had been lying to her parents about her grades and how she was doing because she was afraid of breaking their heart if she told them the truth. She didn't want to turn from the family's pride to their disappointment if she let them know what was really going on in her life.
Peter's heart broke.
Turning to her he said, "I'm sorry, that's awful. I'm also sorry that I can't fix it for you, I wish I could. But the only person who could do that is you. Do you parents love you?"
"Yeah," the girl said, her voice coming out as nothing more than a whisper.
"Then they will support you in whatever you choose to do. In the end it's your life, so it's your choice. Don't let others try to force you to live the life they want, they aren't the ones who have to live it. That's you. Do what makes you happy, even if it is hard for others to swallow. If they love you, they will support you. True love is loving you even when you pick a different road to them."
"What if they don't support me?"
"Then find the people who will. Not all families are blood. Families can be chosen if you find the people who truly care about you."
With a small nod the girl looked up at the sky. Dark grey clouds covered the moon and stars from their view—blanketing the city with a dark shadow.
"It looks like it's going to rain, I should go," she stood up as she spoke. Brushing dust from her clothes and tears from her cheek as she did so. Suddenly embarrassed of her situation.
Standing up with her Peter asked "Do you want me to walk home with you? It's pretty late, lots of weirdos are walking around at this time of night."
With a small nod the pair started to make their way to the girl's nearby apartment. She kept apologising for crying on him, but Peter didn't mind. As long as she wasn't crying alone, tears on his suit was nothing. It wasn't too long till the pair found themselves standing at her door. She turned to look at Peter, smiling.
"Thank you," she said, her voice soft.
"Just doing my friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man duty. Besides, no one should cry alone. You better get inside before it starts to rain. Looks like a big storm is coming," Peter replied.
The girl turned away, before stopping and looking Peter in the eyes.
"Hannah."
"What?" Peter questioned.
"My name's Hannah. Seemed weird that I had a name for you but you didn't know mine, Spider-Man."
Peter smiled, "Stay safe Hannah," he said before swinging away. He didn't need to fight to be a hero to someone. It was a nice change. But one that didn't last long as he heard someone scream a few streets away. With a moment's thought, he began to swing in that direction, ready to help.
As he swung over, Peter saw that two thugs were mugging some teen who seemed like they were walking home alone. The teen in question had been kicked to the floor, his backpacked was being rifled through by one for he thugs while the other stood over him menacingly. The boy cowered, his hair was messed up and bruises were forming on his cheek. He looked scared out of his mind.
"Dickheads," Peter thought to himself, they would go after anyone they could get money from. No matter how helpless they were.
Dropping down from the building, Peter confidently said "We'll I might be wrong but I don't think that's your bag guys. Why don't you hand it over and move along now."
If it was possible, the one standing over the boy growled. Could people even growl? Apparently so.
"Leave," the other barked out.
Fixing his posture, Peter replied "No, I don't think I will."
How was it that Peter's big mouth always got him in trouble? It seemed like he couldn't talk his way out of this problem. Fists it was.
Peter was ready for either of the thugs to make their move, which was how he found himself able to doge the first fist that came flying towards his face. His spider sense was sounding all the alarms, he couldn't focus on anything in particular other than there being danger around. Picking up the backpack and the boy, Peter passed the bag to him and pushed him out of the alleyway.
"Go, get out of here. Quick"
The boy didn't need to be told twice, gripping his bag with all his might he turned to bolted out of the situation. Good. That was once less thing he had to worry about.
Though, as he was distracted by helping the boy get away, he didn't notice the fist that was flying towards his face. It hit him straight in the left eye and sent him hurling back a few steps before he was able to get back his balance.
His face stung, that was going to leave a bruise in the morning. Dammit. That was a problem for later.
Cracking his knuckles, Peter turned towards the two thugs.
"That wasn't nice. And your technique was completely off. Why don't I show you how to throw a real punch."
Peter didn't let any thugs get away that night. When he left, they were webbed to the wall, awaiting police.
Now he could finally go back home to sleep. Finally.
——
Peter was numb.
That was the only way to describe how he was feeling. It wasn't all the time, but every now and then it hit him. He couldn't control it. He was either on top of the world or he felt like shit. Or even worse, feeling numb like he was right now. Even feeling like shit was better than being stuck with this feeling of nothingness. Because at least then he felt something. Anything at all.
His bones ached. His soul felt empty. Like he was rotting from the inside out. He looked fine. He could fake a smile if needed, but he couldn't deny what he was feeling inside. He could fool everyone but himself. He sometimes wished he could trick himself too. That he could deny the way he was feeling. Or that he could fake being fine so many times that he would eventually feel it too.
But it didn't work out that way.
In all honesty, he felt like he was on the edge of a breakdown. He was using all his strength to hold it in, to avoid it. Though, Peter knew he was only avoiding the inevitable. But he didn't have time to let himself break, he had a job to do. Even if he did let it out, there was no one around to hold him together. Having a breakdown would just be proof to how alone he truly was.
It was coming, but he would avoid it for as long as he could. He had too. Besides, he had an internship to get to.
Throwing on his hoodies, he persuaded his body to walk to SI. Though forced was likely a better word. Peter stared at the floor as he walked. He didn't have the energy to play his life guessing game today. Or the energy to plan the rest of his week while he walked. It was taking most of his mental energy right now just to force himself to keep walking.
His mind was fuzzy. Like static from an old radio was filling his head instead of his thoughts. It wasn't painful, but it wasn't pleasant. Just another feeling of numbness. For a moment, Peter couldn't remember what it was like to have normal thoughts. To feel. To just be.
He was floating. Not really, Peter knew that. But his mind had convinced him that he wasn't real. He didn't feel like he was walking down the cold New York street. It felt like he was watching someone else, over their shoulder, doing all the things he knew logically he was the one doing. Yet he couldn't truly convince himself it was him doing it.
Even as he made his way up to the intern's floor, his mind didn't register he had even left his home. Maybe going to the internship was a bad choice today. It was too late to turn back now.
Peter faked a smile as he walked into the lab. It felt foreign to him, and plastic. Peter just hoped that it would be enough to fool the rest of the interns, just for today.
"Hey Peter," Roy called out as he entered the lab.
The others waved at his entrance. Peter hollowly waved back, his smile not extending fully to his eyes. Though the others guessed that he was just tired. Except for Gwen, who looked like she was trying to hide her concern. Though her eyes gave it away.
Peter tried to avoid her eyes as he looked around the room. All the interns were here, but Peter couldn't see Dr. Williamson anywhere. The others seemed to notice his confusion.
"He had to go take care of something, he said he would be back in a minute," Rachel explained, gesturing for him to come sit with them at the desk.
In that moment, as Peter turned to fully face the group, they gasped.
"Peter how did you… what happened?" Oliver questioned, pointing to his face. Peter brought his hand up to his face, unaware of what they were talking about. But self-conscious nonetheless.
"That bruise, what happened?" Gwen continued to question.
Shit.
He had forgotten about that.