Wilted (Peter Parker x Reader)

66

Narrator

It had been a week.

Bruce was doing his best to balance caring for you and whatever work he and the others were doing. The door to the entire room was a barrier between you and the vast and dying world, yet you had no idea how bad it really was.

All you had seen was a very stressed, exhausted, and overworked Bruce, as well as Natasha Romanoff a handful of times. In the beginning, Bruce took some extra time to ask you how you were. Of course, you were mostly silent. When you did talk, you were bitter and plotting vengeance.

Now, he barely had time or motivation to bring you meals. The glass surface that surrounded you was driving you insane. The walls didn't need to be soft, you felt crazy anyways.

You got tired of sitting and had been spending most of the days pacing the glass, doing circles on repeat until you got too dizzy. You were building quite the stamina for motion sickness, having puked dozens of times already.

If your legs felt stiff, your pacing turned into a jog. The laps were endless but it was the only thing you could do. Your body ached but not from the dissolving stitches. The floor was your only resting spot and left your body in knots.

They weren't abusing you. You knew Bruce was dealing with a catastrophic emergency and you were a back burner issue. It was just jail. It was empty and it was crippling both physically and mentally.

You were pacing as usual, back to the door as it swung open. You stopped in your tracks and looked to the door, expecting to see Bruce. Your brows furrowed as the familiar blonde woman walked in, bowl of food in hand. You turned to face Natasha slowly as she walked up to the glass.

Her eyebrows were knitted similarly to yours as she took in your raggedy appearance. You looked much worse than when she was in charge of feeding you two days ago. You didn't know what to say and clearly neither did she. After a few more moments, she stepped over to the small slot and opened it up with ease.

"Bruce made you some (soup of choice)." Her voice was melodic and comforting but it didn't affect you. "Are you doing okay?" You watched her closely as she placed the bowl inside.

"I want out," you spoke just above a whisper. "Please, let me out."

"I can't do that." She sighed and looked back at you.

"Why not?!" You were quick to get loud.

"I think that's why." She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head. "You're too angry."

"And why shouldn't I be?" You scoffed and clenched your fists. "My family is dead. My boyfriend is dead. I'm locked in a hamster cage where the only thing to do is run in circles. I'm fucking losing it. The only reason any of this was bearable in the first place was because Peter was right here with me but now..." You looked at your bruised knuckles. "Now I have nothing and nobody. I don't know why I'm still alive. Why am I even here?"

She watched sympathetically as your angry ranting became a cry of grief.

"What am I supposed to do now? Keep sitting around? Why!?" You wailed and grabbed the incredibly hot bowl of soup. Natasha didn't even flinch as you threw it at the glass in front of her, the just below boiling water scalding your hands in the process. "Why?" You repeated and fell to your knees.

"Y/n..." She sighed again and couched down to your level.

"Just leave me alone." You grumbled and shook your head. "Go away."

Natasha stood back up and watched you for another few seconds before sealing the slot back up and walking out of the room. As the door shut behind her, the silence enveloped the room like a thick rain.