Ultimate Spider-Man One-shots

He can't speak

This is a request from qwertyuiop1234abc : Peter is unable to talk but no one notices. I hope that you all like it.

Peter woke up with plenty of time to spare before having to drag himself to training. He knew that he would have to go, despite how much pain he was in, to avoid facing Fury's and Ava's wrath. He was unable to even use his communicator to ask if he could skip a session and he didn't have any of the team's phone numbers to send a text.

If this was the universe's idea of a joke, he was unamused. He thought that he should think himself lucky that Aunt May had left earlier, because it meant that he wouldn't have to make up some improbable lie to explain his current communication issues. He left a note on the kitchen table for his loving aunt, saying that he had gone out.

Just before 10 o'clock, Spider-Man arrived at the Helicarrier. He wasn't late for training, thankfully.

The training session was mostly uneventful; he opted not to try speaking before the program started. Fury, by some stroke of incredible luck on Spider-Man's part, had ordered the teens to practice fighting together without talking, meaning that he wouldn't need to try and speak to his team.

Silently, Spider-Man fought dozens of robots with his team. When the training session finally ended he collapsed against a wall with a silent sigh. His team were across the room, they were happily talking, laughing and complaining.

He never thought that he could miss his voice so much. In school he didn't talk much (except to MJ and Harry) because  people usually laughed at him when he did: he was used to being quiet. He often avoided social interactions with most people he didn't know but there had always been an option to communicate before.

He didn't even bother trying to talk. He knew it wouldn't work. He knew it would hurt too much 

As he was listening to his team's conversation, completely unnoticed, he heard something that he felt his shouldn't have. He heard his team talking about him. His team, his 'friends', were talking about how much better the training session went without his pathetic attempts at humour, how annoying he was, and how glad they were that he wasn't around after training to try and make conversation. They either didn't see him or they didn't care that he was within hearing range.

Feeling melancholy, he remembered why he wasn't making jokes and quips.

The previous night, he had been out on patrol, exploring his city and marvelling at the pretty lights of the city that never sleeps. The car horns blared trough the streets and light danced around the streets. It was late so he was considering going home soon when he saw a gang of street thugs (all in their late teens and early twenties) attacking and innocent couple.

He had swooped down to save them and helped them get away but, in doing so, he had left himself vulnerable to the attacks of the gang. One of them had held him in a choke hold, painfully crushing his trachea, with all but one of the rest of the gang holding onto his limbs, effectively preventing him from escaping, while the final gang member had delivered blow after to his abdomen. It had hurt. A lot. He had eventually fought his way out and tied up the gang for the police to find and make his way home to bed but the damage was already done. One look in the bathroom mirror had confirmed that.

There was deep purple bruising decorating his neck, stomach, arms and legs but, luckily, not his face (which would have been a lot more difficult to hide). To add to the damage that could easily seen, his neck was rather swollen as well. To add to the pain, it slightly hurt to breathe and he couldn't talk at all. He had crawled into bed, hoping that the pain would be reduced by the morning, however, he knew that it wouldn't be much better.

He forced himself out of his memories and crept out of the room, not even his footsteps made a sound. No one stopped him. No one noticed.

He swung down from the helicarrier, into the sprawling city.

The city that hated him.

No one wanted Spider-Man and only a select couple of people wanted Peter Parker. The only reason he still fought was for the dwindling number of people who cared about his well being and existence. He thought that his team were his friends but, clearly, he was wrong. He wondered if it was his fault for wanting to be loved and cared for. Somewhere in his heart, he agreed with the little voice in his head telling him that he was the one at fault for all of his problems.

At some point while swinging around the city he landed on a roof. He curled up in a small ball and mutely cried.

He lost all perception of time as he sat on that lonely roof and, before he knew it, night had fallen. When he looked up and saw darkness he realised that no one had seen fit to find him and ask if he was okay. He checked his communicator and saw no missed calls. No one cared. 

At some point during the night Dr Octopus came and began taunting the spider, trying to elicit a reaction from the the young hero. Spider-Man was physically and emotionally exhausted; he glanced up and stared at the villain, barely registering the potential danger he was in. His spidey sense was buzzing quietly in the back of his brain but he ignored it as if it were simply a mild irritation. His voice was silenced, and, now, so were his survival instincts.

The taunting continued for some time. Dr Octopus' face morphed into a twisted grin as he asked the arachnid if he could speak, which was met with a shake of the teenager's head. Using one of his mechanical limbs, he grabbed the young spider by the neck and dangled him a few feet above the floor. Spider-Man did not react to the obvious threat to his life, even as the grip of the  claw around his neck steadily tightened. Spider-Man always fought back, except in this instance. He smiled beneath his mask and closed his eyes as the black spots danced in his vision. He was happy that his death was going to be quick and relatively painless, it was more than he deserved.

Before he could fully embrace unconsciousness he heard a grunt and fell to the floor in a pained heap. He didn't know what had happened, however, he didn't have much time to question it as he slipped silently into unconsciousness, questioning whether or not he would ever wake up.

As usual, I hope that you liked this. If there are any errors, please tell me. If you have any requests, feel free to comment/ pm me.