Wings || Peter Parker

46: Fight

tw: self harm, aggresive relationship behavior, blood

I ignored him and slammed the door behind me.

I turned down the hall, watching a door click open. Four metal fingers wrapped around the door and Bucky pushed it open, glaring at me.

"You two need to quiet down! We can hear you from in here!"

"No," I muttered, shoving his metal shoulder as I passed by.

"Harley!" Peter shouted from where I'd left.

I ignored it. Again.

"Woah, kid what happened to you?" Bucky asked.

"I need to talk to you Harley!" He shouted frantically.

"Fuck off!" I rubbed my now aching shoulder where I'd hit Bucky's arm and stepped into the open elevator.

I turned around, pressing the right button and watching as Peter ran down the hall, just a little too late to reach the doors before they closed.

The doors slid open on the top floor, the penthouse. Tony and Pepper lived up here, along with my room. They had their own kitchen, living room, movie theater, and four bedrooms, each with its own bathroom.

I had my room on the second floor, which was just bedrooms, leaving the living room with an insanely tall ceiling.

I stomped up the stairs, entered my room, and stood in the middle. 

"FUUUUCK!"

My fingernails stabbed deep into my palms, blood dripping onto the floor. I stabbed my nails into the back of my hand, pulling back the skin slowly. I continued screaming until my lungs gave out, then kept drawing blood just to look at it.

Soon enough, I'd fallen asleep, leaving my bloody hands on my white sheet, staining them both forever.

I woke up to my hands scabbed over. They were both lying palm down on my bed, where the scabs had adhered to the sheets. I grimaced as I ripped my hands off my bed, re-opening the wounds.

I wrapped the wounds with tape and gauze from the bathroom, then tore the dirty sheets off the mattress and put them in a bag to throw away. 

I pulled on a zip-up hoodie and socks, heading right to the lab to tinker with a new project.

Peter was sitting outside my door when I stepped out. I glanced at him and continued walking. I emptied the sheets into the garbage chute, ignoring Peter the best I could.

I waited for the elevator, Peter standing next to me.

"Harley-"

I stepped into the elevator as soon as the doors opened. Peter took a step forwards, staring with big eyes at me.

"No," I said sternly, closing the doors with the button.

I ignored anyone else talking to me as I headed down the hall. I threw open the door, rushing to the locker shelves on one side, digging out the blueprints for my new suit.

A new Iron Man suit, but one specifically tailored to me. A new Iron Man. Not a replacement. Not a sidekick. Just me. The first one was still being cleaned of all Peter's blood.

I had planned a lot of it. The arc reactor power source. The charging station in the tower. The AI, even the fucking color combinations. 

I had a whole spreadsheet out in front of me, the newest mechanics I needed to perfect. But I didn't know what to do. I just stared at the page, trying to build up the energy to actually do something. 

And then it was five. I stayed there the entire day, sitting there, doing nothing. It was FRIDAY who informed me everyone was looking for me. Like they even cared. She was probably programmed to say that, just to make us feel better. 

I listened anyway, shaking my legs to wake them back up. The pins and needles hit me in the elevator, so I just sat on the floor, trying not to move. Even the slightest bit of movement was frustrating, and everytime I clenched my fists, I felt the scabs rip themselves open. I couldn't even make fists anymore, after the amount of gauze I'd put on the wounds.

Finally, I crawled to my feet and walked out of the elevator. I walked into the kitchen in the commons area, where Bucky, Peter, Nat, and Sam sat. Steve was standing at the stove on the island, before bringing a steaming pot of pasta to the table. There was a place set at the table Nat nodded to when she saw me, directly next to Peter. 

I reluctantly pulled out the chair and sat down, scorching forward awkwardly as Steve served the pasta to everyone's plates. 

"So," Nat said. "We were waiting for you." She smiled, offering a bowl of spaghetti sauce to me.

"Thanks," I muttered, spooning a bit of it on my plate, then passing it to Peter without looking at him.

"Heard about you two lovebirds." Sam chuckled. He glanced between Peter and me. "You don't have to talk about it. But you should know, it's going around like hot gossip with everyone."

"Jesus, Wilson." Nat frowned. "Give 'em a break."

"Is there something we should know about Max?" Bucky asked sternly, without a warning.

"No," I replied.

I could practically feel the anxiety radiating from Peter's seat next to me.

Bucky nodded. "What happened."

"Nothing," I replied. "Nothing happened, she's just gone again."

And it's all my fault.

If I didn't yell at her for outing us. If I didn't yell at her for leaving. If I didn't yell at her for fucking getting Peter shot. If I didn't fucking yell at her, and fucking push her off the fucking roof.

I felt Peter's hand on mine under the table. He did that a lot, to tell me whenever I looked like I was about to snap.

"It's not a good dinner topic," Peter mumbled.

I felt his thumb brush over all my bandages. I was eating with my left hand. No one commented on the gauze. 

I couldn't even clench my fists anymore. Peter would know. I stabbed the pasta on my plate, scraping the fork with a loud screech against the porcelain.

Fuck.

Peter, Steve, and Bucky all quickly covered their ears, while Sam and Nat cringed.

"Sorry."

I dropped my fork, putting my arms both under the tale. Peter's hand was off mine, so I took the chance to scratch my arm. But it wasn't a scratch. It was a fucking gash, the length of my entire forearm. I had a hoodie on. I just covered the wound with the sleeve.

I glanced down. The gray material was already darkening with blood, and the cut was sure to get infected from that. I hadn't washed this sweater in weeks. 

I rolled my eyes, glancing at Peter's face. He'd seen it all. 

I left without saying another word, leaving my chair in the way of Peter, who tried to rush after me. 

"You saw his hands, right?" Steve asked the others at the table as I left. I flipped them off as I left, hitting the elevator button until the doors opened.