Save Me // SpiderMan and the Avengers

spiraling

sorry this story is so terrible now, ik no one really cares anymore whoopsies

Everything was fine for everyone but him. Peter didn't hear the boy behind him making some snide comment about what he was wearing on his walk to school. He didn't see MJ and Ned hopefully waving at him from the side of the school as he drudged through its doors. He didn't acknowledge the smiles and the pitiful looks from the students down the hallway as he pushed himself to his class. He didn't see the teachers eyes sadden when he slumped into his desk.

He didn't hear his phone buzz in his backpack. He didn't feel the taps on his shoulder from the shy girl who always sat behind him. He didn't hear the mutterings as the late bell rung for class to begin. He didn't have to to know that they were all about him. Everything was silent even though it's volume was deafening. He couldn't see even though his eyes were being overwhelmed by the constant movement and bustling of the world around him. He couldn't think even though his thoughts were screaming so loud that he assumed the whole world could hear them too.

"I like your shirt." Broke through the noise. He knew what it meant. It meant they could tell he was in pain, and angry with him for not dealing with it. The compliment was a failed veil of the disappointment and loathing of the voices' source. "Thanks." It wasn't enough. He should be more thankful that the world hated him. That the world even cared enough to have an opinion, that even though every person despised him he should be thankful. He should be overjoyed. It's what he deserved.

His phone shielded him from the agony of what to do with his useless body. Instead of being weird and disgusting now he was ignorant and anti social, no combination which he wanted but one he settled for. He didn't have to look at anything, just as long as he didn't have to look up. It was so stupid, he was so stupid, everyone in the room was staring him down, he could feel it. Eyes burning into the back of his head hotter than the memories of sleepless nights and agony all fighting for the spotlight.

The spotlight. Please, not again. Don't look. I know you'll look anyway, but as long as I don't know. As long as I don't know for sure that now you're looking, that now you have an excuse to examine my every feature, my every flaw, the bags under my eyes weighing down my feet rooted helplessly in the concrete. My arms hanging limp at my sides, for once the absence of something to do being the very thing stressing my mind. As long as nothing's in its place, as long as it doesn't have a place, neither do I. There's no point for me, just as there hasn't ever been. I just never knew before.

Every minute ticking by slower than the last, every minute a personal attack on his sanity, how much longer could he take it without screaming in pain. But he would never scream. He knew he never would. What was the point of making a fuss when no one really cared, what would that really accomplish? They only said they did to get him to shut up, so they wouldn't have to hear with his incessant jabbering a second longer than absolutely necessary. And he understood, he'd feel the same way if he ever had to be in the vicinity of someone loathsome as himself.

He felt crosseyed scrolling on his phone, he couldn't see anything that was happening but somehow he was painfully aware of his surroundings. He double clicked something to burn out there noise of the teacher taking role, blacking out when his pathetic feeble voice responded to its summoning. He could hear the thoughts of the boy next to him, he couldn't block out the hateful slurs and cusses being thrown his way, he could hear them in his own voice but being spoken by the boy. Hate. He deserved it. Disappointment. He didn't deserve to whine and moan. Disgust. His imagination was forming a reality stronger than the one he was trying to live in.

Strength. There is strength in weakness, for everyone but those who mattered. Strength in those who ask for help when they know there's no other way, strength in those who have been set back but continue to fight, strength in overcoming your fears and daring to fight back. But where strength leaves weakness alone leaves the host lonelier. Knowing you need help but never asking for it makes your need turn dire, with no one to rescue your brain as it drowns in sorrow. Being set back and complacently accepting your suffering exhausts those who previously found an excuse to help you, drags them down into the pits of pain where you were once suffering alone but your own selfishness gave you company. Letting your fears dominate your happiness so it becomes a distant memory, one which has lost its feeling and reality, leaving only the disbelief that someone as pathetic as yourself could ever be capable of something so uncharacteristic.

He knew of great power, power in those who pushed it down and helped others do the same, and the same power in those capable of bestowing their pain unto those who spread it so evilly. He'd seen great power, he knew men who pushed it down, who'd been through so much more and yet seemed so much less affected. Because they were strong, they didn't let it defeat them. Why couldn't he be strong? What made him to be so weak that he couldn't even protect himself from his own demons?

He came upon an answer. He didn't try hard enough. The demons screamed away any positivity left in his shriveled mind because he let them, because he was scared of them. Because demons are named to be scary, and as such anyone would be afraid. But not everyone is petrified, not everyone is destabilized and broken from one little thing, this was the only instance in which he was special. In no way was he noteworthy, not in school, not his personality, not his appearance, not his presence, nothing to leave a lasting impression, except the evil that lurked within him never to be physically manifested or fully witnessed by anyone but himself attempting sleep for the fourth time in one night. It was just him.

He stared at one spot on the desk, for so long and so hard that he began to see the things which he had pushed back into his mind. The reality melted away, the whispers forgotten in place of gruesome truths lurking in the shadows. For the first time he was able to see clearly as if it was happening all over again, his eyes so still that they served as a movie screen for torture and blood. He was transfixed as his mind eagerly rewatched the greatest hits of his recent suffering. The pain. He saw it. He felt it. He felt it everywhere.

He jerked up out of his desk oblivious to the cease of movement around him, fumbled quickly for his phone that had slipped onto the desk, and jerked his backpack with him as he bolted for the door. He had to get out. He had to leave. He would never hear the end of it, even if no one said anything this moment would always be how he was described. They could just add it to the list, another reason not to like the weird kid. They didn't know why, that made it weirder. They could never stop talking, and even with how fast he was bolting through the hallways his mind conjured up the conversations it assumed they were having. It made it sound as if they were right behind him, as if they were all talking about him and he could escape it. He couldn't say he didn't care. Every imaginary word from people he didn't know cut into his skin like the sharp knives blurring his vision.

Instinctually he dialed a safe number. A number he knew at least pretended to care. He pushed open the front doors and it started to ring. He was being annoying. He was overreacting. Maybe he wouldn't even pick up. Maybe he would just look at the caller ID and ignore it. He meant nothing. To anyone. His chest rose and fall as he slowed down on the sidewalk in front of the school and the phone was on its second ring.

What would he say? Nothing. He had nothing to say. Nothing mattered. He would mess it up like he messed up everything, his worthless mouth even more dysfunctional than his weak mind overwhelmed with fury and confusion. There was no point. He could make it if he just sat on the sidewalk for a couple hours trapped with his thoughts, he couldn't drag him down too. Not the one person he had left. He couldn't  bother him. He had to hang up. Hang up before he saw who was calling. Hang up—

"What's up?" He sounded happy. Not happy to hear me. Happy before he hears my voice. The second I open my mouth I'll drag him down with me. It'll be all my fault. Everything I did before, everything he went through, it was all me. Not again.

"I'm—sorry—" Peter choked out between sobs. He hadn't noticed he was crying, there was too much happening. He couldn't think straight, but he knew enough to know he'd opened his mouth. He couldn't go back now. Tony hated him. Despised him. Like everyone else did.

"Kid, what happened?" Nothing happened. Nothing happened and he was standing in front of the school sobbing on the phone, dragging his backpack behind him. Nothing happened, he had no excuse to be like this.

"I'm on my way." He paused. "Everything's gonna be okay. Stay on the phone with me." Peter hadn't said anything, he was just silently sobbing. He wanted someone so badly, someone who truly cared about him. He couldn't bear to feel lonely anymore. But he couldn't say any of that, not over the phone. Not in person either. Not ever. But he could stay on the phone. He didn't say anything. Neither did the voice in the back of his head, the one saying that Tony was faking it. Because he wasn't. And they both knew that.

hey y'all if you're ever wondering what social anxiety feels like. ^^^^^^. It's some real shit I'm telling ya. anyways this story's on its last limbs it's so boring at this point I think I'm only gonna do a couple more then kill it sorryyy but I do like writing so maybe I'll do something else??? no matter, thank you for the support it warms my heart I love every reader 💖💖💖