Spiderson Oneshots

Smile--Tony and Peter

Warnings: Ideas of self-harm and suicide, mentions of death

Peter's P.O.V.

Smiles on other people's faces has always made me really happy. To see the joy they cannot contain in such a simple gesture is amazing. And they can tell you a lot about a person. I've made a business of reading people's smiles. To know how they feel after I save them. To know what they want to do.

But I know no one has ever tried to read my smile. No one cares as I do. I'm unique, and while that word usually means good, now it means only that I'm not like the other ones. God, how I wish I was.

You see, normal people know themselves. They know how they feel. They know how to heal. They know what's dangerous. They know emotions that are good.

I am not a normal person. I live in a whirl of confusion, not really knowing how I feel and therefore not knowing how to fix it. And I know what's dangerous, but I've lost the care of what it'll do. A kitchen knife isn't for food anymore, it's a way to leave. I don't know emotions besides the ones that take control of me. I don't know happy. I know lies, deceit, and sad.

It's when I'm unloading the dishwasher at May's that I realize how bad it's getting. I pull out the sharp knife she'd used to cut lettuce and stare at it. One long and deep cut wrist to elbow would make me bleed out. One slice to hard on my neck, and I'll be gone. I shake my head just the tiniest bit and put it away as quickly as I can.

Being Spider-Man used to make me so happy. The thrill of getting to save people was one I coveted. I loved to see their smiles when they thought I was a hero.

I used to enjoy drawing as well. Doodles on the margins of my homework here and there, and enjoying the looks on the teachers' faces when they saw them.

I used to enjoy creating things. Making mixtures for my web fluid or working with Mister Stark on our suits. I loved the way he'd smile at me when I helped him fix something. To watch something come to life underneath my fingers amazed me.

But now, I can't find joy in anything. Everything feels like a chore. And I keep telling myself to do those things, and when I don't, it just makes everything worse. I don't want to do those things anymore. Feeling bad is consuming my thoughts.

It's for a reason I don't know why that I don't want to get better. Maybe it's that I think I deserve it. Oh wait, that's exactly it. All the people I couldn't save haunt me.

Their smiles don't mean anything to me anymore. The peoples' smiles that were most important are gone now. I try to stop reading smiles because I know I won't find anything good there. I try to stop because I'll always remember those people I couldn't save.

I've always been a dreamer. I loved to dream of the future. Who I would be. What I would do. Who I would love. Who I would die as. I promised myself that when I couldn't see myself in the future, I'd get help.

It's been two years.

I have yet to ask for help.

I only go through the motions. Wake up. See how long I can make it before they tell me I need to eat. And distractions. Distraction after distraction after distraction. Music. Reading. Drawing. Things that I try to care for but only am reminded how bad it is.

I don't ever feel healthy anymore. Too much food and my stomach hurt. Too little food and my stomach hurt. Headaches. Dizziness. I can't move without colors dancing across my vision and the world swimming around me.

I go back to school in less than a month. I wonder who'll they'll see when I walk through the doors. I've changed this summer. I've become worse. Will they even notice? I feel like I don't know them anymore. I'm not the same Peter Parker they knew.