usm . story dump

Fear [ ]

Reticent Monsters is a beautiful masterpiece, I repeat that 'cause this next idea came to me when I read the chapter Try Not To Panic. And just so you know, this is still based on Reticent Monsters (I just can't get over this absolute masterpiece), maybe taking place a little after the previous chapter...?

I don't know; just roll with it,, (:
By the way, chapter warning for... well, it'll spoil a surprise, so... Just be warned...?

Editing self: OMN... I literally just reskined the previous chapters with the Web Warriors instead. I'm really running out of ideas... ;w; But I need to post at least once a day...

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Fear.

Seems like I'll be starting most chapters with one word now. And this one is fear. Perhaps it really was a bad memory that triggered Peter to want to just stay away from the colour (or lack thereof), but it felt like something more than just a measly little scare.

No, it invited more painful memories of being driven absolutely crazy. He was sure this fear wasn't as irrational as he would think, but he genuinely thinks that being in another white room (even if it were just the walls) would end up crushing him from the inside.

Yeah... Not a pleasant experience whatsoever. Especially armed with the knowledge that it was just a colour. One that had been used as a method of torture.

It was one of those sleepless nights again, and Peter had woken up for the same reason he normally would have. He'd be trapped in that White Room again, without any means of communication or way of keeping his sanity. It was like walking in an almost empty void, but he knew that he was completely alone and isolated.

Sitting up on the bunk, he leaned against the bed head, using a counting technique his aunt May had taught him quite a long time ago.

It would be nice to turn back to those old days, where his stresses were just trying to help Harry ace the next science quiz. Or... Well... Flash.

Peter nearly scowled at himself with the thought; Flash wasn't like that anymore, but it definitely did bring some unwanted memories back to light.

He brushed them away, but only remembered the White Room. He sighed again, and rolled off the bunk, unceremoniously falling onto the ground on his side. He picked himself up, brushed himself off and walked out.

This had become a familiar route, where he goes up to the roof to clear his head. He only picked up a little treat for himself a few days ago, thinking it may help with his condition. Maybe give him something else to worry about.

Making the long trek up to the roof, Peter walked along the edge and over to the side. It wasn't the ideal place to go: the ground was slanted, and there wasn't any means to hide anything from anyone up there.

Going over to a side of the roof, he felt around for a paper box. Webbed to the outside of the wall, he felt the box. Still full of its contents. He lifted a part of the mask, almost clumsily emptying out one of the cigarettes from the box and letting it dangle from his mouth and hold itself with his teeth. He sat on the roof, his feet dangling off the edge.

Peter found a lighter taped (or in this case, webbed) to the other side of the box. He pulled it away and, after several struggled attempts, lit the butt of the cigarette, holding back a few coughs when he inhaled the smoke.

He could feel the contents of the cigarette take effect, the nicotine immediately making Peter crave for more with what euphoria it had gave him.

It almost felt good to know that he wouldn't die because he ended up rotting to death in the White Room, but that the way he would make it to his death would be a gradual burning of the inside of his body; where everything would rot from the inside and eventually consume him to make him succumb to the sweet release of death.

All right, that was admittedly graphic, even for my liking.

A hand took the cigarette out of Peter's second cigarette (after the first one had fallen off during his coughing fit). Peter looked up, over his shoulder to see Amadeus holding the unlit cigarette. He sighed and sat next to the leader, who guiltily set the box aside.

He heard a few sets of footsteps follow up behind him, a familiarly comforting presence surrounding him.

There was a short, comfortable silence before Amadeus broke it. "You know that this is bad for you," he spoke, holding the cigarette up.

"I don't need the talk from you," Peter mumbled, turning away from the younger boy. He raised his knees up to his chest and leaned against his legs, wrapping his arms over them and laying his head on his knees.

"Well, it won't help if you keep hurting yourself like this, Spidey," Flash commented from behind, planting an arm over his shoulder. He wanted to brush it off, but something about the gesture made him feel a little safer.

"You'll end up fading away if you do this," Miles added, calling Peter's attention. The latter bit the inside of his cheek, remaining unresponsive and pulling his mask over his mouth.

It didn't seem like Peter would like to talk about this. At all. He muttered something under his breath, but even he didn't know what he said. Nor did he care. They seemed to get the message, and picked themselves up. Peter stood up and they all backed off, watching him look over them, the mask easily betrayed no feelings.

But the way his body had slumped informed them that he wasn't quite all right. It didn't seem like they were willing to move, but a previously silent Ben had slid himself in front of Peter, and hesitantly just wrapped him in a hug (one that this writer really wished she saw). The rest of the Web Warriors had piled on, holding onto their leader in a tight knit embrace.

With that, Peter really broke down. Mask pulled away, he hid his head on one of their shoulders, tears leaking out of his eyes as he started to sob. He wanted to wipe his tears away, but his arms were a little held up. The others attempted to wipe his tears for him, which only made Peter's heart warm a little more.

It made him feel better this way, more than any cigarette would.

In a way, this was way better. Because he knew for sure that he was going to be safe.

There was always the reassurance that his family would always be there for him.

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Inspired by OfficialUSMWriter