All Too Much

Chapter 1

It had been a few months since May had been in the fatal car accident and Peter was living in the avengers tower. He was joined by the rest of the team except for Clint and Thor who Peter assumed were back at their own homes. He didn't really care to ask. Although Peter kept to himself most of the time and often felt different from the rest of the group, the place was starting to feel like home. He knew everyone was making an effort to make him feel welcomed and he really appreciated it. This was technically his foster home with Tony being his foster parent which was awesome and weird at the same time to the kid. Things were going good for Peter. Except for the fact that his mind would never leave him alone.

It was three in the morning and Peter was still lying awake in his bed. Everyone else in the tower would be asleep, except Tony who was most likely working in his lab. Peter knew he could have gone down there if he wanted to but he didn't feel like bothering him more than he did already. Tony always gave the invitation to help him with his projects, knowing he was more than smart enough, but he didn't want his mentor to worry about him and coming down at three in the morning with tear filled eyes would definitely be worrisome for anyone who cared. Although Peter wasn't sure if anyone actually did care. 

His emotions consumed him as they often did. He didn't understand why he was feeling this way. Sure he had gone through some bad things in his life but he felt as though none of those things had caused his sadness and exhaustion. Peter had felt this way long before May had passed. He never told her about it. He had never told anyone really. That's the way he liked it. He wanted everyone to see his happy, bubbly personality and believe that nothing was wrong even though it was all an act. Well not all of it. He had some good days too. They just seemed to be coming less often nowadays. Peter just didn't want anyone to know. He knew that if people found out they wouldn't look at him the same. He didn't want the pity and he didn't want people to have to take care of him. It's not like he needed help or anything so there was no point in telling anyone anyway.

Peter looked at the clock and found that it had been an hour since he had last checked the time. He knew there was only one way he was going to be able to sleep at all that night. He slowly sat up in his bed. His limbs were stiff, they didn't want to move but Peter forced them too. He then opened his nightstand drawer and pulled out a very small cardboard box he had found a long time ago. He guessed it held jewelry at one point but he had no idea. The room was silent except for a few shaky breaths that were louder than Peter would have liked. He was starting to panic. Not because of what he was going to do, he had done it quite a few times now, but he was simply panicked by the amount of emotion he felt at that very moment. Not a single thing he felt was positive. There were voices in his head screaming at him that he deserved what he was about to do. He had no idea what he did to be deserving of this but he knew he did.

The teenager tried taking deep breaths, he wanted to see if he could calm himself down on his own before having to go to the extreme. Sometimes it worked and he was able to sleep peacefully after a little hard work to get himself calm. But not tonight. After a good fifteen minutes of just holding the box, he finally opened it to reveal a shiny razor. He had unscrewed pencil sharpeners and was hiding a few of these in different places. There was one in his bathroom drawer, one in his wallet and the one in his nightstand. He made sure he always had one just in case. He sometimes would have anxiety attacks, sensory overload or feel an emotional episode coming on while with others and would slip away only to come back a few moments later seemingly much happier thanks to one of his trusty tools. Peter slowly picked the piece of metal up and held it against his left wrist, letting the box fall onto his bed. He peered down at the dozens of lines scattered all along his arm. Most of them were old and faded for he had only about a month ago started doing this again. He was clean for five months before that and was actually just starting to feel comfortable wearing short sleeves in public again. The scars were faded enough to where no one even noticed without looking for them. He also wore a few rubber bracelets on that arm which helped to distract the eye away from things like that. He never told anyone about it and hoped he would never have to but now he is stuck keeping the secret once again.

Peter took a sharp breath in before dragging the blade across his arm. A sense of calm washed over him as he saw beads of blood slowly start to form and felt something other than the sadness that constantly overwhelmed him. He added three more lines to the collection and soon felt nothing. That's how he liked it. That way it was easier to act happy or go to sleep, whatever he needed to do in that moment. He soon became extremely tired to the point where he was struggling to keep his eyes open any longer. He put his tool away, layed back down and went straight to sleep, not even bothering to clean up the mess he had made. 

Authors note: Hey guys, I hope you enjoyed the start of this story! Please let me know what you think! Votes and Comments are very appreciated