Spideychelle one-shots

A Series of Ups and Downs

Peter wasn't a stranger to pain.

Sometimes he felt as though his entire life could be made up of the moments in between: the happy ones, the relieved ones, the too far and few ones.

The fact that he was surprised more by the absence of pain than the presence of it was something that just seemed so unfair. His life, sometimes, seemed so unfair.

He wouldn't give up being Spiderman for anything, but sometimes (all of the time) he wished that he could have a life outside of superheroeing as well.

He knew that he had had opportunities that most people could never even dream of, had seen things that most people could never even imagine.

But honestly? Sometimes he just wanted to be most people.

Sometimes it was too hard to push back the pain, to push away the fear and loneliness and crushing anxiety that made it feel like his chest was about to burst from it all.

He'd sink to the ground, back against his bed, knees crushed to his chest and face crushed to his knees.

It was hard to not to bite his lip so hard that it bled, or pick at his skin or bang, bang, bang his head against the wall until the noise stopped.

All he wanted was for the noise to stop. Or the buzzing in his skin - the itching, vibrating wrongness that made him want to scream and rip it all off.

Showering was one of the only things he enjoyed, these days. The water sluicing over his neck and shoulders. The steam, filling up the bathroom. The feel of the water - hot, hot, hot  - drowning out everything else.

Anything else.

Also: coffee on rainy mornings, tucked in an oversize sweater on the couch. Waking up to sunlight and warm sheets. The night sky stretched out above him, feeling like the entire world was here for his taking.

These were the things he loved, these days.

He was beginning to realize that it was more and more important to count these small moments of happiness, to write them down on small pieces of scrap paper and chalkboards and in pen on his skin.

To count what he did have, to keep it close to his chest, precious memories carefully wrapped in cloth and pulled out on the darkest of days.

Aunt May dancing. Mr. Stark giving him his suit. MJ kissing him on the cheek and blushing. Ned finishing a Lego set.

Peter had learned that not all days would be good ones. He couldn't expect rainbows and sunshine all the time. (He couldn't really expect rainbows and sunshine any of the time, but never mind that.)

It was slow, but eventually the good things began to outweigh the bad.

It was slow, but eventually he could wake up and feel hope at the thought of the day ahead, instead of fear or dread or anxiety.

He smiled more than he cried. He slept and the nightmares were fewer and further apart than they'd ever been before.

It wasn't easy. Recovery never was, and anyone who told you so was probably, unfortunately, lying. It wasn't a straight path and he still had his ups and downs and he counted it as a victory if he could look outside and see the sun shining through the clouds, instead of dreading a storm. If he could pass someone on the street and smile at them instead of thinking about all the ways they could be hurt and all the ways they could hurt others.

It was only now that he was happier that he could see how sad he had been. But he didn't like to think about that time all that much - mostly because that wasn't the person he was anymore, not really. The clouds above him had lessened and he was finally, finally, feeling the sun warm his face.

He would walk from the apartment to the coffee shop down the street, sit by the window in the warmth and watch people walk by. Sometimes MJ would join him, and even though he didn't always talk they'd just sit there and watch the city go by.

She hugged him a lot - when they said hello, when they said goodbye, when he looked at her with his sad eyes - and he loved it. She made him feel safe and warm and loved. She made him feel happy, and happy was not a word he had used in a very long time.

She wasn't his salvation. He was the only one who could start to fix himself, but MJ was - MJ was something else, something more.

MJ was the light at the end of a long night. She was the first flower of spring, a pool of water in the desert. She helped him see the good things in life.

She helped him see the good in the world, the stars in the darkness of the night sky.

Peter's life wasn't perfect, but he was beginning to see the beauty in that: the joy that came from not only the good days, but the ending of the bad ones.

After all, what was life if not a series of ups and downs?

Okay, okay - I know this probably wasn't the update you were hoping for. But I want to make the next part of Dear Journal extra long and extra special, but I also wanted to give you guys an update!

Also, thank you so much for all the reads and votes! Over 200 votes? You guys are amazing, I swear.

-Viwrit3r