TW : physical abuse, suicidal thoughts, mention of self harm and eating disorder, shooting

His eyes are burning, but he keeps going, turning left to take little pathway, making it easier for him not to be found. He doesn’t know where he wants to go, nor what he wants to do . He just wants to put as much distance as he can between his home and himself. He could have went to Ned’s, but his friend is away for the weekend, letting him all alone in their city. He doesn’t have any other friend. So he keeps going, until he reaches the park near to his school. He looks around him, searching for any familiar faces before sitting on a bench. The argument won’t stop playing in front of his eyes, making him tremble and sob harder. 

He hopes Ben would have been there, because he knows it wouldn’t have happened. And a part of him regrets running away like because his uncle is going to be worried sick and he doesn’t deserves this. He deserves the best and Peter wishes he could have give it to him.

He wishes he would have been the perfect nephew, in the right body, without all of his flaws and insecurities or problems. He wishes he would have make him as happy as he was with him. It’s probably the biggest reason why he hates himself, he can’t stand being the cause of any problem to the man, he knows he just caused once more. Because there is no way on earth Ben will agree with May on this, there is no way they will not fight over him again, and he hopes he would be able to disappear just to free them. If only he could take care of himself, make enough money to own his own flat and live, if only he could let them go back to their real life. Even if he heard them telling him they were happy to raise him, and he was like their own son, he can’t help himself but feel guilty.

Guilt. He knows this emotion way too much. he feels the same when he can’t protect Ned at school, he feels the same when he can’t stop men to insult aunt May in the street, he feels the same when uncle Ben fights with her because she implied he wasn’t good enough. This was the same every time, and every time it was because of his weakness. If he wasn’t thi insecure and afraid, he would be the best nephew of the world and aunt wouldn’t be angry against him, if he was strong enough she wouldn’t be insulted and neither would Ned. If he wasn’t weak, everything would be okay. But no, no he had to be like that and to be a burden. He couldn’t help it. He just wasn’t good enough.

He cries silently, watching the families starting to leave the park at the time as the sun starts going down. He is cold, trembling under the bite of the fresh air, his belly growling. He bites his bottom lip, trying to ignore everything he feels. If only he could shut down all of his emotions, his life would be so much easier, and so would the one of his loved ones. Even though it would be easier for them if he didn’t exist. 

The thought already passed through his head a few times, but he always shut him down, well aware that it could also lead to pain - for him if he fails, and possibly the other if he doesn’t. But he can’t help it. He can’t help the feeling that is squeezing his heart, he can’t help the way his hands tremble. He can’t help it. Maybe he is a hopeless case after all. From the beginning of his life everything was wrong, from his body to his mind. He should have known when his parents died that he would not only have to overcome this grief. Later, when he couldn’t bear the sensation of being in this body, he should have realised that he would never be truly happy. And now… Maybe now is the moment where he realizes that he isn’t supposed to be here. That he doesn’t have to keep going. Why would he ? He always feels so alone in this mess, he always feels like a stranger, an outsider. It always seems that he is carrying the weight of the world on his tiny shoulders, without forgetting the shadow and the cold that always surround his heart. 

He has stopped crying now, looking right at the stars above him. He doesn’t know when they came out, when it got so dark around him. In his jacket’s pocket, his phone won’t stop vibrating, and he knows he should pick up, but in another hand, why would he ? They would probably forget him, just like he forgot the voice of his parents, just like you forget a bad memory or a useless thing. He is pretty they wouldn’t even struggle. They would not find him, or his body, as if he just evaporated, as if he never existed.

Without realizing it, he gets up and starts walking again. He has a weird feeling, a heavy emptiness inside him. He’s cold, hungry, and tired, but it doesn’t bother him that much. Normally, he would push on his belly so hard he would hurt himself just to forget the hunger, but now would he ? Why wouldn’t he allowed himself to eat if he was going to disappear ? It wouldn’t change anything if he took a pound or two. And he is so cold all the time, always wearing hoodies, maybe now he is just used to it. Or maybe it’s just the realisation that makes him feel his way. He will probably never know anyway.

He walks in the city as if he just went here for this, when he obviously didn’t. But no one knows it, no one sees him. As usual.

As he passes in front of a grocery opened 24h/7, he stops and enters. He doesn’t even think about it, he just goes. He naviguates himself down the aisles, not caring about the glare the cashier gives him. He has nowhere else to be, not anymore. He takes a chocolate bar, not even happy at the thought of eating even though it’s been months since he last allowed himself to eat some, and goes to his next stop. He doesn’t give any attention to the next customer that enters, simply furrowing his brows as he feels like he knows their voice. He can hear them talk to the cashier, but he is too far to know about why, and this isn’t what he went in for.

Concentrating himself again of the blades in front of him, he hesitates to take a pack. Maybe something else would be better ? He nervously bit his lip as he takes off one. It will not hurt anyone if he buys one and doesn’t use it, so why bother ?

He starts his way back to reach the cashier, but a loud voice makes him freeze where he is.

“Give me all the money !” someone orders in a harsh tone, and from the gasps of fear Peter hears, he isn’t disarmed.

Silently, the teen walks again, careful not to be seen by anyone else. As he approach the beginning of the aisle, the voices and the sobs become clearer and doesn’t need to see what happens to know. It’s a robbery, and a shivers goes all the way down to his spine as he sees the scene. The cashier is putting money in the bag the thief obviously gave him, under the menace of a gun. Peter swallows with difficulty before taking another step closer, reaching his pocket and taking his phone out. He knows what he has to do, uncle Ben told him at least a hundred times since the teen knows how to use a phone, but he wishes he could do more. He wishes he could knock the robber out, save the cashier, he wishes he would as brave as all of those heroes there are in New York city. He isn’t, he knows it, but he can at least make a call.

He takes another step, enough to be in the cashier eyesight. Slowly, he unlocks his phone and looks up, freezing as he sees the cashier glaring at him and shaking his head. What did he do ? Almost automatically, the thief follows the direction where the employee is looking, laying his eyes on Peter, who can’t do anything else than put his hands in the air, still holding his items.

“What are you doing ?” growls the intruder back at him, starting to move his arm in order to point his gun right on him.

“Peter !” a voice yells, and the boy jumps as he sees someone moves, recognizing uncle Ben. 

The time seems to freeze, still everything seems to go to fast for him. As he goes to answers his uncle, a shoot noise invades the place and Peter can see Ben’s face turn into a mix of happiness, pain and shock. A scream escapes the boy’s mouth as he sees him fall to the ground, his shirt turning red where he has been shot. Instantly, the teen drops to his knees near his uncle, not caring about anything else. He lets his stuff fall on the ground, catching in the corner of his eye the image of the thief as he quits the shuop in a rush.

“No, no, no, no,” Peter keeps muttering, his hands covered in blood as he hesitantly touches his uncle chest, not knowing what to do, not knowing how to save him, “no, no, uncle, no…”. he rubs his trembling fingers against the man’s cheek, trying to catch his attention.

He can see it, he can see his uncle’s eyes having difficulty to focus on something, he can hear how hard it is for him to breath and he doesn’t like it. He absolutely hates it.

“Uncle Ben, look at me, please, please,” he pleads him over and over again before turning to the cashier, “Do something ! Call 911 !”. 

His heart is pounding into his torso as he sees the employee running to get to the phone and composing the emergency number in a hurry. Peter doesn’t bother listening to him, he turns his head right back at his father figure, still laying on the floor, and happily still alive. In a quick move, he wipes his tears off his cheeks, trying to find his uncle injury. The teen doesn’t even know why he does, he just remembers all those times people would keep pressure on wounds in the movies, and it can’t do anything bad, can it ?

“Pe...ter…” he raises his dead back up at the sound of the man’s voice.

“Uncle ?” he asks, cupping his jaw with a bloody hands and managing to make Ben stare at him, “‘m right here uncle, I’m staying here okay ? Just… Just keep your eyes open for me okay ? I love you, just please…. please don’t- No no no no no !” His voice goes higher as he sees the man smiling fondly and closing his eyes but not opening them.

With his two hands, he holds his hands, calling his name again and again, crying so hard it’s hard to understand what he says. 

He can hear noises in the back and in the streets, sirens coming closer and closer, but he doesn’t care. The only important thing is the sound of his uncle breath, weak but still noticeable. Peter prays, he prays even though he stopped praying a while when all this mess his life is really started. He prays and he calls Ben again and again. He has his thumb positioned a little bit under the man’s nose, permitting him to feel the air being blown out, and he is afraid, he is so afraid because he can feel less and less wind on his finger and he doesn’t want it to stop. 

He turns his head in a quick movement, only for a few seconds, surprised by way too much noise appearing in the shop, but fear makes his eyes widened as he looks back a his uncle, hearing what seems to be the biggest breath he took those last minutes, feeling it against his own skin. For a second, a smile almost takes place on his face, as he almost persuades himself this breath was a good sign, but realisation is quick to kick. He starts to scream incoherently, not wanting to believe that his uncle’s breath stopped, but all the signs are here. The man’s chest doesn’t lift up anymore, his head is heavy in his nephew’s hands and his nose doesn’t blow anything out anymore. 

Peter screams, and screams, and screams, throwing hands and feets everywhere when he feels himself being pulled away from Ben’s body. Tears are covering his face, and he feels like he can’t breath, like he shouldn’t be able to breath right now. Everything seems to be too much and he is overwhelmed with events, guilt making its way to his hurt. He is barely aware that someone tries to talk to him, putting something over him.

At the corner of his eyes he sees his phone and can’t help but grab it, his instinct telling him to call aunt May, to ask her if it’s real, to tell her to wake him up. He cries even more when he finds himself unable to reach it, unable to reach what could be the end of all of this. He feels his chest tightening as he tries to move, a reminder that he still has his binder on, a binder he wore for way too long - he doesn’t even want to know how many hours - and that is keeping him from breathing freely. But doesn’t care.

How come he is able to breath and not uncle Ben ? How come he is the one with a blanket on top of him and not the one being reanimated ? How come he is still there, living this nightmare? 

Before he understands how, he finds himself sobbing silently, bouncing without being able to control it. He can’t hear anything, and he stares at his bloody hands without blanking. He doesn’t want to see the rest, he doesn’t want to hear what they are going to say. He knows, he knows what is happening, of course he does, but he doesn’t believe it.

It wasn’t supposed to happen, it wasn’t supposed to go this way when he entered the grocery store. Guilt surrounds him, it’s everywhere in him, every single one of his cells are made of it, and gasps in silence. He blinks multiple times as someone hands him his the phone, catching his attention. His vision is blurry, and he can’t really see the face in front of him but the man also gives him a piece of chocolate that Peter doesn’t have the heart to refuse. He eats it under the gaze of the succorer, repressing a gagging as he feels the sweet taste on his tongue. He doesn’t even know where the chocolate comes from, but now the package is in his hands, such his phone and the blades he picked up before.

The moment he lays his eyes on the shining little object, his throat tightened and he find himself unable to find his breath again. If only he hadn’t enter this shop, if only he had been faster, if only h had stayed in the aisle and didn’t try to call the cops. If only he disappeared sooner. If only he never left their flat.

He doesn’t realize his breath almost stopped. He really doesn’t, until he gasps, desperately looking for hair, his head hurting and his lungs seeming to be in fire. He doesn’t realize he lost control over his body, until he feels people forcing to lay day down after putting his backpack and his stuff away from him. He really doesn’t realize how much he wants this nightmare to stop and to just disappear until all his senses go numb and he finds himself surrounded by darkness.

I hope you liked it, feel free to let a comment to tell me all about it.

Stay safe and hydrate,
H.