Spiderson Oneshots

Good Intentions--Tony and Peter

Warnings: Evidence of self-harm and eating disorders, mentions of death.

Peter's P.O.V.

They always have good intentions, but the result that is given is, unfortunately, not what they hope. To tell me to sleep is to invite it back in as I lie awake. To tell me to eat is asking me to feel sick. To tell me to breathe is just making me out of breath. They're just trying to help me.

Sometimes, I try to remember what I used to be. Before the scars on my arm existed and before the tear stains were a constant edition. But that was a long time ago. Happiness was a long time ago, and so was okay.

I can't run away from the constant rogue thoughts. They constantly follow me. They've been through my hardest times and not bothered to step up. There's a battle raging in my heart, and those thoughts are the enemy that keeps coming.

I've been falling apart for so long, I've forgotten what it's like to be okay. I don't know how I've made it this far through everything that I've been through.

Sometimes, I forget my own feelings. I can laugh, but as soon as I'm alone, nothing is okay. It makes me wonder how I'm even fooling myself. I've become so good at it, and I wish the only thing I was good at wasn't hiding about not being good.

My life feels like a movie without a happy ending. I'm the character that's the one they like to endow with all their problems. I wish through everything, I'd still be able to have a happy ending.

---~---~---

With good intentions, Ned made a Spider-Man fan club. I don't know what he's playing at; why would Spider-Man have fans when he's me? Nothing I have done is noteworthy.

It makes me frustrated after one night on patrol. It had gone badly; there had been multiple causalities. A baby is now an orphan, a grandmother is no longer so, a father is dead, and a son is no longer here. Many people are left like me, and that's all I've tried to prevent.

"Hey, guys, Peter hates Spider-Man!" I hear Ned say. I sigh. Suddenly I'm surrounded by people passionately telling me how great I am. But what excuse is there to believe it? How could I be as good as they say?

"Sorry, guys, I just don't think he's great." I push my way through the crowds, going to my next class. I can't do this right now. I just walk away.

---~---~---

MJ's words are kind as they never are. "Peter, what's going on? I know something's wrong. Please let me help you. I'm just trying to help." I shake my head, blinking away the tears. She'd run if she knew how I felt. I won't burden her with that. She grabs my hand, even surprising herself. "Peter, please, let me help. I won't run, I promise."

"Of course you will. They always do." I took her hand off mine and turned away, leaving to go to my next class.

---~---~---

"I'll be home late again. I'm so sorry, Peter. I tried to get the day off, I really did."

"It's fine, May. Do what you need to do."

"Okay, honey. Love you."

"Love you too. Bye." I hung up, shutting off the phone and tossing it on my bed. She'd had good intentions, but her boss did not. Not that it made much difference to me anyway. I was just as alone as always. Who cared if it was my birthday; I didn't feel any different. I was just as happy as yesterday, meaning not at all.

May liked to be with me on my birthday. This was the day Mom and Dad had crashed. We always watched videos and told stories about them. But this time, I thought it was better that I be alone. I go to the couch and can't be bothered to turn on the TV. Today is just another day of mourning the life I'll never have.

---~---~---

Mister Stark says he enjoys having me over at his lab. He says I'm the brightest kid he's met, but I can't find it in me to believe him.

"Why aren't you eating, kiddo?" he asks on one of the nights I stay at his place. I pick at the pizza he's ordered, but my stomach is churning.

"I'm not that hungry."

"Come on, you've got to eat." When I force myself to, it isn't long before I'm running for the toilet. He's rubbing my back and stroking my hair. As expected, it tastes disgusting. I'm sobbing in the bathroom, my face a mixture of disgusting things.

"I'm sorry, Mister Stark."

"That's okay, kiddo. Are you done, you think?" I moan a yes. "I'm going to go turn on the shower." He kisses my head and turns to the shower. "Warm or cold?"

"Cool, please," I whisper. I hear the squeak of the knobs, and soon, he's ushering me in. He sets out a towel.

"Take as long as you need. If you need me, just tell Friday." He shuts the door and locks it, and I strip, discarding my disgusting clothes and getting in. The water is cold but refreshing.

I find myself sitting at the bottom of the shower, sobbing. Why can't I just be normal? I want to scream. Why do I have to be so broken?

My throat is burning, and a horrible taste rests on my tongue. My sobs are ugly, the kind with snot corrugating on your face and constant sniffing. The water is running across my shoulder blades and down the curves of my back. It runs across the bumps of my rib cage and across my now-flat stomach.

It's then I realize just exactly how broken I am. How bad this all is for me. It's true, I knew it was bad, but it was in a haze that I did it. I stare at my scars, taste the saltiness on my lips, and the tears fall harder. It's so obvious how broken I am. I need help.

I stand up and wash my body. I turn off the water and wrap myself in the towel. It's so soft, and I just stand there for a second, thinking. I flush the toilet and go to pick up my clothes when I see that Mister Stark must have come and taken them while I was showering. On the counter rests some sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and underwear. I pull them on, drying off my hair.

I put the towel in the laundry as I walk out. I walk slowly and find my way to the couch, sitting on it. Faintly, I hear Friday instructing Mister Stark on what to do when your kid is sick, and I laugh softly. But then, I remember what I have to tell him, and that sobers me up.

I feel so broken up into pieces. It's overwhelming, and I just want to cry. I'm mentally exhausted. There are so many things I want, but right now, I just want to be okay.

Mister Stark comes in, and I want to sink into the couch. I bury my head in my hands, not wanting to meet his eyes. I feel his hand on my back as the couch dips, and he sits. My throat burns with tears I try and hold back. One single tear escapes, tracing its way down my cheek.

"Mister Stark," I say, my breath shuddering and cracking.

"What is it, kiddo?" he asks, pulling me into his lap, his chin resting on my head. His arms are warm.

Tears are slipping down my cheeks, and I don't bother trying to stop them. "I need help." I feel weight resting on my shoulders, and I lean back against his chest.

"Okay," he breathes, ruffling my hair. "How can I help?" He has good intentions, and this time, I hope it wields a good result. It's one small step, to ask for help, but no one can run a mile without taking that first step.

Thanks again for reading. Honestly, I'm proud you made it through my ramblings. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and have a great day!