USM 2021 Bingo

Grey-Tinted Glasses

What you need to know: This is just a scenario in which Wolf Spider is in Peter's world and is watching him and his family from the sidelines. Just a glimpse into Wolf's psyche and mind.

For Jesse! Thank you for giving me the concept and letting me run with it! This is for you!

This also fills up my USM Bingo Square 02 – Without

Is it possible for rain to wash out blood?

Maybe if he stood there long enough with his arms open and his head pointed to the clouds, the downpour would exfoliate his clothes and soak into his skin, clean him from the inside out, and get rid of the stench of death that clung to him like fleas on a street dog. If he lay on the ground, spread eagle wide, the rain can pummel all the blood, violence, and anger straight out of his body. Let it all slide down the gutter and disappear into the storm drain to reunite with the city's sewage, where it belonged.

He wanted to be a husk. He liked being a husk more than a dripping, gaping wound. It was emptier, sure, and the silence was like an echoing void that outlined the pocket of space inside him. Yawning and aching and so so lonely.

But it was better than this. A slash across his neck, dripping down his skin and filling his throat with sour emotions that cling to the back of his tongue, lingering like a bad taste. A hole in his chest, cold and stinging, and raw, pinching the tips of his flesh and open bone with a cold funnel of wind. A knife in his heart, gushing and seeping, finding the empty spaces between his fingers and running down his hand in rivers despite the way he clung to it, trying to get it to stop stop stop stop stop.

There was too much. Too much to hold onto, too much to hold back, too much to have spilling out of his hands and making a mess for everyone to see.

An angry, gaping, seeping, festering wound, green with infection and red with heat. That's what he was. And no matter how many bandaids he tried slapping over it, the bleeding wouldn't stop.

It didn't help that he was driving the knife into his own body.

Every time he saw them, it was a fresh stab in the chest. A wound of his own making. The wet sound of steel meeting flesh, blood, and bone.

Squelch.

MJ walking down the street, headphones on, gait leisure. Her red hair up in a ponytail, wearing a jacket a little too big and he has a feeling it's borrowed. She looks like she can take on the world. Maybe she can.

She doesn't look up.

Squelch.

Harry on the couch in his penthouse, smiling and brushing red curls out of his face, whooping when he beats a level and laughing as he takes a sip from his soda can. He looks happy. Healthy. His skin not so pale, his eyes bright, his smile radiant.

He doesn't look out the balcony.

Squelch.

Aunt May. In her garden, pulling up weeds and trimming the plants. Her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a pair of gloves dirtied with mud and soil, a line of plants in need of potting. Her white hair is short, but it's just long enough that it has to be in a tiny ponytail to stay out of her face. She wipes the back of her hand on her forehead, sighing from the heat and hard work, but she's smiling brighter than he's seen in a long time.

She never looks behind her.

Squelch.

Every single one of them. So close. Close enough to touch if he just reached his hand out. But he can't.