Kid, tell me what happened: The Sequel

Scars To Your Beautiful

Summary: Peter thinks he's ugly. He’s not. Says who? Says the Avengers. 

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 Peter hates himself. 

Not in a typical cliche, or angsty way, but he looks at himself and can’t help the feelings of hatred and disgust that his brain conjures. It’s like he’s trapped in his own world of self-hate, and he’s sinking and he can’t get up. 

His arms are too skinny. People call them “sticks”.

His nose is oddly shaped. People call it “weird and gross”, or even “get that checked out jeez”. 

He is abnormally thin. He weighs less than one hundred pounds, and the world world seems to make fun of him for it. They call him “a weakling”, merely because they can pick him up, and because he’ll never be like them, tall and able-bodied. 

Sometimes the kids joke, “You’re so skinny, what are you, anorexic? If that’s what you’re going for, then might as well fucking go and kill yourself dumbass.”

“Stupid skinny kid.”

He is shorter than the rest of the boys in his grade, and it’s not even by a lot of inches, but Peter longs to fit in with everyone else. 

“Shortstack.”

“Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?”

Whenever Peter raises his hand to offer an answer, he’s greeted with snickering as people call out, “Who has a stick in their sleeve? Oh wait, Peter’s a stick!”

Within two weeks, Peter has earned the nickname “Stickboy”. 

Peter stops raising his hand, afraid of the remarks people will say. 

Peter starts wearing oversized clothes instead of his favorite graphic tees, so people don’t see just how skinny his arms are, and slightly baggy pants so no one makes comments about his thighs. He’s never been seen as a problem before, why is he being seen as one now?

Day by day, Peter stops smiling. Peter’s heart feels hollows as the comments become more repetitive and more mean, to the point where he lingers to class, and wastes no time in getting out before someone can holler something along the lines of “Stickboy”. 

But he doesn’t let his Dads see it, they have enough to worry about. 

Today was no different than yesterday, and all the yesterdays before it. 

Peter’s eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he felt was the usual dread form in the pit of his stomach. He forced himself out of the warmth and safety his bed brought and quickly got dressed into oversized clothing and began to mentally prepare himself for the day that lay ahead of him. 

His first two classes, AP Bio and Spanish went relatively well. By well, meaning that it was no different than all the other days, where people would make a remark about how thin he was when he entered the door making a pun, “Oh hey Peter, didn’t see you there, literally, gain some weight slop.” 

Peter learned to merely stick his head down and say nothing, unless he wanted a beating after school. In the beginning of the torment, he’d retort back a few sarcastic comments that would have made Tony proud, but found himself blushing out of humiliation when his face was forced into the toilet bowl of the girl’s bathroom, or was tackled by the entire football team and had bruises that refused to fade for weeks, serving as a reminder of how much the world hated Peter.