Bruised But Not Broken - Irondad/spiderson

Cold

I stand in front of the bathroom mirror longer than I should.

In the months since becoming Spider-Man, my body has changed. I am stronger. Faster. But I am still cold. Always cold, no matter how many layers I wear. The bruises from last night's robbery attempt are already fading, yellow bleeding into purple, my healing factor doing what it always does.

It does not erase them fast enough for my brain.

They linger. Heavy with memory. With the past. With things I would rather forget.

I look thinner.

Ned noticed yesterday. Said my face looked different. His eyes lingered too long, scanning me like he was trying to solve a problem he did not want the answer to. I laughed it off and changed the subject.

Like I always do.

My phone alarm starts ringing from the bedroom across the hall. Time for school.

In the kitchen, Aunt May digs through the cupboards, pushing aside boxes and jars that scrape hollow against each other. She is looking for the cereal I promised we still had when I made her a bowl last night.

There is nothing left.

I watch her shoulders slump just a little before she straightens again, forcing a smile like it does not matter.

"I'll grab something on the way to school," I say quickly.

I will not.
But it keeps her from offering me her toast, and that matters more.

Teeth brushed. Hair shoved vaguely into place. Bag slung over my shoulder.

I step out into the morning air. The walk to school is long and quiet, my breath fogging faintly in front of me. My Spider-Man suit is folded tight in the back pocket of my bag, pressed up against my science homework.

The bag is light.

Too light.

The noise hits me before the building does. Lockers slamming. Voices overlapping. The sharp scream of the bell echoing down the street. The first few weeks after the bite were hell. Every bell made my vision swim, and my heart stuttered as if it might give out completely.

I thought I would pass out more than once.

I did not.
I survived.

Head down, shoulders curled inward, I slip onto campus. I do not look up until I reach my locker, and there is Ned.

"Dude, did you do the science homework?" he blurts, then snorts.
"What am I saying? You're Peter Parker. Of course you did. Am I insane?"

I manage a small laugh and pull the paper from my bag.
"Yeah. Pretty basic."

The bell screams through the halls.

"I'll see you in homeroom," Ned calls as we split off.

By lunch, the burning in my stomach is unbearable.

It is a hollow, acidic ache that twists in on itself, sharp enough to make me dizzy if I stand too fast. It feels like something is clawing upward, like my body is angry with me for existing this way.

I am used to it.
That does not make it easier.

Homeroom comes too quickly.

It is my only class with Flash Thompson.

Most days, I can take it. The muttered pathetic orphan. The not-so-subtle shoulder checks. The laughter when I flinch. But some days, Flash wants blood.