The Eventful Fieldtrip To Stark Industries [And Other Amusing Stories]

An Angel's Dysphoria

Tw: Confusion of Identity

Peter's back hurt.
His day wasn't going well; it truly wasn't. His back was itchy, and it felt like he was carrying two versions of himself on it. And his head hurt like it was stuffed with feathers.

"Welcome back, sweetie! How was school?" His Aunt May asked, her honey-like, calming voice settled in his head. He felt a warmth pool in his chest, despite the pain he was feeling, he couldn't help but feel slightly relieved at her presence.

"W's 'kay.." was all he could muster up; his voice and body were betraying him and he could feel his pain getting worse.
"Hm..it'll be okay, Peter. Don't worry, just let 'them' out free, take a quick nap and you'll wake up feeling great." May reassured, a sweet, toothy smile spreading across her face.

Peter could only hope she was right.
He made his way over to the staircase that led up to his room. Before, it took barely a few seconds to make it up. Now, he glared at it as if it was the most perilous path in the world.

He held on to the railing for dear life and braced himself. And carefully, he managed to climb his way up each step, one by one.
And after what felt like hours but was probably minutes, he reached the door to his room.

He sighed roughly as he opened the door, both with relief and anxiousness.
He sat down at the foot of his bed, and took a deep, preparing breath before unbuttoning his shirt.

His shaky, tired hands made their way to each button, fiddling until they all came loose, and the shirt slid below his shoulders.

He hummed contently, a cool feeling washed over him.

At last, he thought, they're free.

The pure, white fabric of his shirt hid something even more pure underneath.

Peter shuddered as his ethereal white wings unfolded. The pain that comes with hiding them was just another consequence of his decision, he reminded himself, he couldn't waver now.

He wanted to live among humans, and this was the price to pay.

Peter moved his delicate wings towards himself, deciding to ruffle the feathers in order to unstiffen them.

His fingers brushed across each feather, the feeling gave him deep satisfaction, yet he occasionally let out groans of pain. It hurts to move the wings after they've been still for so very long.

He continued carefully on the other side, before standing up right once again.
His room wasn't big enough to harbor his large wings, he couldn't completely unfold them, he hadn't done that in a year.

He shifted them up and down, closing his eyes and delighting in the freedom.
After a few minutes, Peter gave in to the voice in his head, that had been nagging at him since the very day he decided to put aside his wings.

His eyes trailed up to the window, mindlessly, he walked towards it.

If he flew high enough, nobody would see him, and the view was so mesmerizing, and the cool, crisp autumn air just seemed to be calling to him.

He inhaled shakely, before he put on a shirt and mask. He wasn't going to fly naked, and if he was going to fly, he needed to cover his face, lest he wanted to get caught.

He threw his legs, vibrating in excitement over the window-sill, held on to the railing tight.

And then he let go.

He let himself fall, the smile that had made its way onto his face when he finally freed his wings just kept getting bigger, until he fell into a large fit of laughter.