PTR Arachnid 24601

Ch 25 - First day

WARNINGS: Slight mentions of rape (not much), slight mentions of self-harm and blood (also not much)

3rd POV

Tony figured out what had happened. He'd pulled up the security footage.

He saw everything.

And he was mad. Mad at Skip. Mad at FRIDAY. Mad at himself.

If he had just agreed when Peter asked him to come down to the lab instead of insisting he needed to work on his Mark79, then this never would've happened.

"They happen because of you."

In a blind rage, he threw a hammer at his suit, furious that it––and himself––was the reason this had even happened.

The others knew he knew what happened, but he refused to speak, his tongue molten with the poison of guilt and self-loathing. Tony would never tell them, especially not Bucky (who had his disturbing suspicions). It was Peter's choice.

So he holed himself up in his lab the following day, refusing to speak to anyone, even his best friend.

Peter was doing the same thing.

The only difference was that he had Tanya beside him, along with probably the worst sensory overload he had ever experienced in his entire life.

He sat criss-cross on his bed, naked except for boxers, the curtains shut and no noise in the room. It was quiet, dark, and for the most part, non-physical. Still, every intake of breath, every rub against the two fabrics beneath him, every meow from Tanya, sent battalions of pain crashing through his senses.

So he sat, still as stone, in the middle of the bed. All his tears and screams had been spent the night before, leaving his throat parched and eyes dry. His usual sparkly, enthusiastic irises had gone dull once more, reduced to mere glassy orbs above dark eye-shadows. Curly hair was greasy and messier than normal, obscuring part of his vision.

He was disheveled and broken.

Peter had vomited twice that day. And also cut his wrists a few times, hardly managing to patch himself back up. Both things were from sheer self-hate and disgust. He didn't throw up any food. Just whatever his stomach could manage to discard the wrong way. His stomach rumbled greedily, but at the same time, it ached and twisted with both pain and illness.

It was nearly eight o'clock at night and Spider hadn't consumed a single thing all day. He managed to get up and feed Tanya, but that was it. This wasn't healthy, especially for his metabolism.

Ten o'clock rolled around, slow as a slug, and Peter gave up with an emotionless sigh.

FRIDAY graciously opened the door for him and he tip-toed into the hallway, making sure as little of his skin was touching things as possible. He cringed when his bandages rustled against his sensitive flesh, and when the loud gunshots of an action film could be heard in the common room. Gritting his teeth, Peter crept down the stairs with his eyes squinted to avoid the bright, blaring blue light of the TV.

Parker saw some people sitting on the couches, some asleep, some not, and he tried to avoid being seen by them. Very carefully, the teen spun around the glass corner of the staircase and towards the kitchen, thanking God that their backs were to him now.

Though it was short-lived.

"Peter?" Natasha called, voice soft as silk and smooth as honey.

Bucky, Steve, and Vision's heads lifted up, quickly zeroing in on his hunched, sad, half-naked figure. Their eyes flitted over his many scars, but dutifully didn't linger.