Status: Suicide. Trigger warning. Read with caution
Cough Syrup
1:1
Peter sat down at his desk, holding his head and groaning. It was the five month anniersary of Gwen's death. His girlfriend was dead, his best friend was in prison and Aunt May had lost her job recently. Peter groaned again, rubbing his face. He didn't know what to do anymore. His last stint as Spider-Man had left him with a broken arm which Aunt May had to pay for, setting them back $700. May knew Peter was lying about how it happened; he'd claimed he fell skateboarding and landed funny on his arm. It wouldn't be long until she figured out he was Spider-Man. Then she would be in more danger than Peter could protect her from. He slammed his fists on the desk with a frustrated yell, throwing everything off his desk before collapsing onto his bed, finally breaking down. Red hot tears slid down his face and he sobbed. He howled. He threw whatever he could at the wall in pure anger, screaming at the top of his voice.
Slowly, Peter calmed down, curling up in a tight ball and staring at the wall. Why was the world so cruel and unfair? Why was it, no matter how many people he helped, the more bad things seemed to happen. Why couldn't he have saved Gwen? Why couldn't he have helped Harry? Why didn't he tell Harry he was going to run tests on his blood, just to make sure it would work alongside Harry's? He could have prevented all of this with one simple lie. Everything. Harry would be working at Oscorp. Gwen would probably be in his arms right now. Aunt May probably wouldn't have lost her job. Everything was his fault. Why was he even on this planet anymore? No one needed Spider-Man. The last guy that needed Spider-Man had turned on the whole city and stolen the power grid. Maybe it was time to end it all.
The door swung open and Peter looked at Aunt May. Her expression said it all. 'Get this mess tidied up, for God's Sake, Peter.' He nodded and kept staring at the wall. Once the door clicked shut, a web shot out, hitting the lock. He scrambled up and started clearing up, sighing as he did. He scraped the broken glass into the bin, piled the recycling up to take down later. Dirty clothes got thrown into a pile to be added into the washing pile and pictures were straightened and rehung up on the walls. His laptop was put back on the desk; his Father's breifcase returned to it's rightful place in his closet. Peter collapsed back onto his bed with a groan, rubbing his face hard. A faint calling came up the stairs, Aunt May calling him for dinner. He got up and grabbed the pile of dirty washing, chucking it into the laundry basket before grabbing the pile of recycling and heading downstairs, chucking it all in the bin.
Peter lay there after dinner, staring at the dark ceiling. There had been calls for Spider-Man but Peter couldn't go. Something was telling him not to. Something was telling him to end it. End Spider-Man. Forget that it had ever happened. To forget about everything and anything. To be with the love of his life. Gwen. Gwen Maxine Stacy. And he wanted to. Damn, did he want to. He wanted to curl and let everything go dark. He wanted to lay there in blackness and never wake up. He had no reason to be here, hell, if he wasn't there, things would probably get better for Aunt May. She wouldn't have to break her back to fend for two people. Just her. Her and her alone. And that's what clicked into place for him. Peter stood and headed into the bathroom, running a bath. Heading back to his own room, he made sure everything was in the right place. He lay his Spider-Man down on the bed and sat writing a note.
Aunt May,
I am so sorry but, it's over for me. It was over for me when Gwen died. I don't know how I managed to stay alive for so long. This will make things so much easier for you, even minus the tiny salary I bring into the house. You won't have to look after two people. It'll be so much easier. So much easier. Please don't waste your precious money trying to save me. I'll only hate you for it. Will only try again and again until I succeed. It'll only be a waste of money and the time of professionals who could be working to save someone's life who is worth saving.
I'm sure you're wondering why there is a Spider-Man suit on the bed. I am Spider-Man. No. I was Spider-Man. I was at Oscorp one day and a spider bit me and it happened. I thought I might as well use the powers I had for good. I just wanted to help people but it ended up with four out of the five people I love and care about getting hurt. Uncle Ben. George Stacy. Gwen Stacy. Harry Osborn. It's all my fault. I have to end this now while you're still safe, Aunt May.
I love you. You were so much to me. A Mother. A Father. An Aunt. Everything I needed in my life. Absolutely everything. I can never thank you enough and I know this seems like such a bad way to thank you for what you've done but I need to keep you safe. You were going to find out about Spider-Man sooner or later and then you would be in more danger than I could ever hope to keep you safe from.
The truth is, I don't want to be here anymore. I've hurt so many people. Even someone I helped turned evil, nearly destroyed the whole city. I can't live with the knowledge that, I'm the reason so many people got hurt. I can't live with the knowledge that, no matter what I do, people are always going to be in danger because of me.
I'm so sorry, Aunt May, and please remember that I love you.
Peter.
Peter signed the note, leaving it on top of the Spider-Man suit. He got up, heading back to the bathroom, leaving the door unlocked as he slipped into the warm water. He leant back, staring at the ceiling, at the smoke curling and coiling upwards. It seemed so peaceful. He sat up, washed his hair, washed his body before leaning back. As he waited for the bubbles to disappear, Peter thought about everything in his mind. Harry would want revenge on Spider-Man. The Stacy's blamed Spider-Man for Gwen's death. Even Aunt May didn't like Spider-Man. Everyone he had ever loved hated him. And that was his cue. He silently got up and headed to the box with Uncle Ben's belongings in; Aunt May had been moving it all up into the attic for a while now; and got his straight razor out. He slipped back into the water and held it against his skin. A quick flick of his wrist and pain exploded. He closed his eyes tight and dug the blade in, trying to ignore the tears rolling down his face, the voice in his head screaming not to do it. But it was too late. He had done it. His hand dropped into the water, deep red clouds creeping across the water. He changed hands and jaggedly did the same to his other wrist before closing his eyes. He already felt weak. It felt like a relief. He was weak and now he actually felt like it. He psychically felt how he actuallty was. His eyes fluttered close and a small smile crept across his face. Blackness was everywhere. Then a small call.
"PETER NO! NOT MY BABY!"
Then. Nothing.
Slowly, Peter calmed down, curling up in a tight ball and staring at the wall. Why was the world so cruel and unfair? Why was it, no matter how many people he helped, the more bad things seemed to happen. Why couldn't he have saved Gwen? Why couldn't he have helped Harry? Why didn't he tell Harry he was going to run tests on his blood, just to make sure it would work alongside Harry's? He could have prevented all of this with one simple lie. Everything. Harry would be working at Oscorp. Gwen would probably be in his arms right now. Aunt May probably wouldn't have lost her job. Everything was his fault. Why was he even on this planet anymore? No one needed Spider-Man. The last guy that needed Spider-Man had turned on the whole city and stolen the power grid. Maybe it was time to end it all.
The door swung open and Peter looked at Aunt May. Her expression said it all. 'Get this mess tidied up, for God's Sake, Peter.' He nodded and kept staring at the wall. Once the door clicked shut, a web shot out, hitting the lock. He scrambled up and started clearing up, sighing as he did. He scraped the broken glass into the bin, piled the recycling up to take down later. Dirty clothes got thrown into a pile to be added into the washing pile and pictures were straightened and rehung up on the walls. His laptop was put back on the desk; his Father's breifcase returned to it's rightful place in his closet. Peter collapsed back onto his bed with a groan, rubbing his face hard. A faint calling came up the stairs, Aunt May calling him for dinner. He got up and grabbed the pile of dirty washing, chucking it into the laundry basket before grabbing the pile of recycling and heading downstairs, chucking it all in the bin.
Peter lay there after dinner, staring at the dark ceiling. There had been calls for Spider-Man but Peter couldn't go. Something was telling him not to. Something was telling him to end it. End Spider-Man. Forget that it had ever happened. To forget about everything and anything. To be with the love of his life. Gwen. Gwen Maxine Stacy. And he wanted to. Damn, did he want to. He wanted to curl and let everything go dark. He wanted to lay there in blackness and never wake up. He had no reason to be here, hell, if he wasn't there, things would probably get better for Aunt May. She wouldn't have to break her back to fend for two people. Just her. Her and her alone. And that's what clicked into place for him. Peter stood and headed into the bathroom, running a bath. Heading back to his own room, he made sure everything was in the right place. He lay his Spider-Man down on the bed and sat writing a note.
Aunt May,
I am so sorry but, it's over for me. It was over for me when Gwen died. I don't know how I managed to stay alive for so long. This will make things so much easier for you, even minus the tiny salary I bring into the house. You won't have to look after two people. It'll be so much easier. So much easier. Please don't waste your precious money trying to save me. I'll only hate you for it. Will only try again and again until I succeed. It'll only be a waste of money and the time of professionals who could be working to save someone's life who is worth saving.
I'm sure you're wondering why there is a Spider-Man suit on the bed. I am Spider-Man. No. I was Spider-Man. I was at Oscorp one day and a spider bit me and it happened. I thought I might as well use the powers I had for good. I just wanted to help people but it ended up with four out of the five people I love and care about getting hurt. Uncle Ben. George Stacy. Gwen Stacy. Harry Osborn. It's all my fault. I have to end this now while you're still safe, Aunt May.
I love you. You were so much to me. A Mother. A Father. An Aunt. Everything I needed in my life. Absolutely everything. I can never thank you enough and I know this seems like such a bad way to thank you for what you've done but I need to keep you safe. You were going to find out about Spider-Man sooner or later and then you would be in more danger than I could ever hope to keep you safe from.
The truth is, I don't want to be here anymore. I've hurt so many people. Even someone I helped turned evil, nearly destroyed the whole city. I can't live with the knowledge that, I'm the reason so many people got hurt. I can't live with the knowledge that, no matter what I do, people are always going to be in danger because of me.
I'm so sorry, Aunt May, and please remember that I love you.
Peter.
Peter signed the note, leaving it on top of the Spider-Man suit. He got up, heading back to the bathroom, leaving the door unlocked as he slipped into the warm water. He leant back, staring at the ceiling, at the smoke curling and coiling upwards. It seemed so peaceful. He sat up, washed his hair, washed his body before leaning back. As he waited for the bubbles to disappear, Peter thought about everything in his mind. Harry would want revenge on Spider-Man. The Stacy's blamed Spider-Man for Gwen's death. Even Aunt May didn't like Spider-Man. Everyone he had ever loved hated him. And that was his cue. He silently got up and headed to the box with Uncle Ben's belongings in; Aunt May had been moving it all up into the attic for a while now; and got his straight razor out. He slipped back into the water and held it against his skin. A quick flick of his wrist and pain exploded. He closed his eyes tight and dug the blade in, trying to ignore the tears rolling down his face, the voice in his head screaming not to do it. But it was too late. He had done it. His hand dropped into the water, deep red clouds creeping across the water. He changed hands and jaggedly did the same to his other wrist before closing his eyes. He already felt weak. It felt like a relief. He was weak and now he actually felt like it. He psychically felt how he actuallty was. His eyes fluttered close and a small smile crept across his face. Blackness was everywhere. Then a small call.
"PETER NO! NOT MY BABY!"
Then. Nothing.