Spiderson Oneshots

Words--Natasha and Peter

Warnings: Self-harm, suicidal and anorexic characters.

As far as I know, everyone that I know doesn't understand that they all possess a power inside them. They look up to us heroes, but they don't realize that they have power too. Ours is simply more visible. Everyone possesses power with the words they say. With words, you can convey feelings. With words, you can break someone, or heal. But no one really understands them until they go through things. Until they hit the low point in their lives, they don't realize how much their words can hurt. It's sad really.

Most people didn't learn the power that words hold until they are older. And they shouldn't. That would mean they'd hit the low point. I just wish that they'd realize without having to hit that point.

Then, there are those of us who learn it too young. Who learn the craft of words before we learn what happiness is. I know this because...well, that's me. I can't remember the last time I was happy. Sure, there were the small feelings that almost were joy or something else, but then I'd be dragged back down. Dragged down to the depths.

---~---~---

One day, I was desperate. The blood was on my fingers, and my head was spinning. Why do people have to be so ignorant? Why can't they understand their own power? I didn't understand why they were that way.

The blood was flowing from cuts, and the sight of it made my head spin. I hated the sight of my own blood. But I couldn't stop. I wanted to feel good, to feel anything really. Wanted to feel something but the aches of hunger. I'd stopped eating a while back after a comment Mister Stark had made about me eating so much. The thoughts had been festering in the back of my head before that and that tipped me over. I was always lying, saying I'd eaten at May's or--when I was with her--at Mister Stark's. I'd taken to watching Ned eat, bring a small snack of a single fruit so he wouldn't question it. I covered my tracks well.

Don't get me wrong--I didn't want this. I just wanted to be good enough. I was a bundle of broken parts that I was trying to rebuild. I was hollow, and my voice rang out in pain when I was hurt. The yell reverberated through me, dulled away. They didn't care. They didn't need to know. Comfort was not something I could afford, just like enough food.

Every day, I wished that the spider had never bitten me. I could've gone on without having to eat so much. I wouldn't have gotten too big. Wouldn't have gotten cocky. But then I realized that I wouldn't have these blessings that I couldn't seem to appreciate. I was defective. Why couldn't I just take what I had? Why did I have to be so needy? Why couldn't I be enough?

---~---~---

I wanted so badly to be good enough. Wanted it more than words could describe. I wanted to be able to laugh with the other Avengers and not compare myself to them. Wanted to walk into May's apartment without feeling guilty. Wanted to eat without hating myself for it. I just wanted to be enough, but I never would be. I was just the kid who shouldn't be hanging out with the big kids because I'd get hurt. I was the kid everyone felt like they needed to protect because I wasn't strong enough. I was weak and useless. I didn't know how anyone put up with me.

If I got lost right now, would anyone come looking for me? If I got hurt, would anyone offer a bandage? If I fell, would anyone catch me or help me? If I died right now, would they mourn me?

I couldn't stop the torrent of thoughts from hitting me and steadily knocking down every single one of my walls. The only thing I could do was take it.

I walked through the park, ignoring words and skirting around people. My hands were in my pockets, my head hung low. Despite the obvious signs, no one stopped me to see if I was okay. I was secretly glad of it; Spider-Man didn't take help.