Peter Parker and Avengers One Shots

A Salem Sometimes

bc i know several people who like these. :) guess who! not strange or loki since ive already done them. i think this one is fairly straightforward haha

I PROMISE THERES GONNA BE FLUFF SOON OK

***

I can't help but wonder what's left to live for. All that I had lived for is gone, taken from me as if my own existence is a crime. 

I suppose that I never even had much to live for in the first place, but maybe I lived simply because I was young, and ignorant, and still clung to what little had been dealt to me.

I was young?

I am young. 

I should, by all means, have lots to live for, but then again my life was never a normal one. I never was given the common decency of a chance, really, was I? I was just shunned, expected to run when I could barely stand, pulled along without help.

The timeline of my life is just crisis after crisis, with the short times between them filled with trying and failing to cope in my own unique ways.

Just failure after failure, being lifted up only to be hurtled down despite all that I try to do to break the cycle.

Ironic, isn't it?

I miss my old life, I really do, but I don't think that I could return there. However much I want what I used to have, I don't think that I could go back to my little house and face those that I've lost. Face my lost loves that maybe I never deserved. I don't think I could pretend to be normal again, don't think that I could look into the eyes that are now pale and cold and act like nothing ever happened.

I'm alone, then, I suppose.

They can look at me with all of the pity that they want to, they can tell me that they are sorry for my losses, but they will never be able to grasp what it feels like. They'll never be able to realize that when your soul is crushed, you don't just return from that. You don't just get up the next morning with a grin on your face like you hadn't just lost what you were fighting for.

You never recover.

You never feel quite the same. 

You never look at the sun with all of its shining glory and red-hot anger quite the same. You never listen to the birds that sing in happiness, you only hear the ones that mourn their solemn existence. You never smile fully, your eyes loose their sparkle and the grins never reach them.

But so is the life that I lead.

I've had my revenge, in some ways. Cold and raw power aimed at those who hurt me, but I never feel satisfied. I could destroy the world if I wanted, but it would just leave me empty. It would leave me wanting more, and I don't want to be the monster that parents tell their children about. 

Though, there wouldn't be any, I suppose.

It's almost funny, in some dark, twisted, messed up way. It'd be just me, alone, in rubble and dust, just me, alone, like I always have been, surrounded by a canvas painted red.

But I couldn't do that. No, I couldn't.

So instead, I'll just shut myself off from the world, maybe, forget that it ever existed and build a new world for myself where everything is right again. Maybe I'll get pulled in and stuck there, but maybe, just maybe (A/N: its mentol iwlness, innit) it's for the better that I turn my back and seek something better for myself rather than for those that are around me.

They might miss me, but then again it's not really going to my problem, is it? They can deal how they want to, with all of their tips and tricks that they tried to tell me, tried to convince me to test, tried to show me how well they worked. 

Or maybe they'll just be glad. Maybe they'll be relieved that I've finally left, that they don't have to deal with a burden on their mood constantly. 

Maybe they'll think its their fault, but it's not. I was tricking them, faking that I was better, sipping my drink and joking like I wasn't about to crumble. It's not their fault that they couldn't see past my carefully constructed façade, like everyone else but one that I've ever had the pleasure of knowing.

But they're all gone now, so with no one knowing me as well as I do, it's easier to compress it.

Because doesn't everything just crumble to the ground the minute that someone asks if I'm okay? I try to hide it, but can't they see that the second that they show concern, my mind acts like they might even care as much as I wish they did?

Well, they're all gone now. Either dead or taking their wanted ending, leaving me behind in the dust with both options. 

On one hand, I didn't want them to suffer, but on the other I didn't want them to go, so I guess they just took the decision into their own grasp. Fair enough, if you look through the right lens, but it doesn't dull the pain. It doesn't make the hurt more mild. 

It doesn't make all the damage from the past bearable.

All it was, was a bandage, to cover the mistakes and compress the emptiness that companionship had left.

A bandage that now is not a stark white, but is a dusty grey with the threat of blood seeping through it for all of the blood that has been given in the attempt of retrieving some form of companionship back.

In the end I suppose that this is all just a long digression to express how I feel, but nobody will ever see it so I don't know what possessed me to write it. Especially if I plan on losing myself, soon, to the daydreams that I've often longed for.

Not this week. Maybe not the next one, but soon. 

The court had met, the trial has been called, and I am perhaps the most guilty of all.