spiderman angst/sickfic oneshots

"the room is spinning while I'm just trying to fill in all the gaps"

(alt/additional: safety net, swooning, how many fingers am I holding up?)

TW: suicide, self harm, sexual assault, overdose.

post blip, Ned and MJ didn't blip, Stark didn't die

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Peter had been barley surviving for months.

He was drowning, and absolutely nobody noticed or seemed to care. Not Ned. Not. MJ. Not even May.

He had ignored the calls from Mr. Stark.

He had ignored the rare calls from Happy.

Ever since he had come back from the "blip," as everyone had been calling it, he couldn't find where he fit anymore.

Ned and MJ were older. 5 years older. His aunt was married to Happy. For fucks sake Tony had a child. All his things had been donated.

Tony had kept his suites, but even Spiderman had lost his place in the world. He thought that the one thing that couldn't change was patrols, but around every corner was the reminder that he had been dead to his family and friends for five years. That life had completely moved on without him.

It hurt more than anyone understood or even imagined.

Anytime something hurtful was said, he tried to brush it off. On the outside the light jokes seemed to bounce right off him, like rain on a windshield, they wiped away.

But in reality, it was all collecting, welling up, ready to spill out. That's when he began cutting his wrists up.

What did it matter if he hurt himself on the outside to manage the pain on the inside? He healed quick anyways. He couldn't figure out why it mattered at all. He was forced to find a way to take care of himself because no one else would. All awkward welcome backs aside, he knew deep down, no one had planned for him to come back, no one had planned to remember him the way he so desperately clung to the memory of his Uncle Ben and parents.

What hurt worse was how vulnerable he became all over again. It's like as more of the world got back on its post-blip feet, the more of his problems began to resurge.

A perfect example: Skip Wescott being released from prison.

That was a hard and scary night. A night he spent alone, locked in his bathroom, sorting through painful memories all alone. For everyone else it was five and a half years ago, for him, it was just 6 months. No one came to his aid whenever he began to panic so badly he couldn't breathe. No one came to his aid when he had his finger hovered over the numbers 911 on his (barely functioning anymore) iPhone. No one came to his aid when he stuck the pencil sharpener blade so far into his wrist he nearly passed out from the gore of it.

In school he was alone, Ned and MJ well moved on into college, interning, using their amazing talents to make a life for themselves. He didn't fit with them anymore, despite their offers to hang out, do homework with him, etc. The maturity difference was huge. He was so behind.

Now he was the lame kid with no one to defend him from Flash, who also got blipped. Just his luck.

The tower was gone. No more lab days with Mr. Stark, only hearing on calls about Morgan and Pepper and how amazing life was now.

Without him.

It didn't matter how many times he was told that they missed him. That he should come visit soon. It didn't matter how many times his aunt and happy tried to recustomize the guest bedroom of their new apartment. It didn't change her baby bump. It didn't change Ned and MJ's incoming college degrees. It didn't change that Skip was back on the streets. It didn't change that the world didn't want Spiderman anymore.