Deadly Smiles And Bloody Tears

Chapter 1

(Author's Note: I'm very new to writing, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Let me know if there are any mistakes you notice and i'll fix them :)

Trigger Warnings: Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, SH. Some warnings may be added later on. 

Consider the TW's before reading please. Take care of yourselves)

Peter was drowning.

There was no other way to describe it. It was like the vulture again. The feeling of being dropped into that damned lake, tangled in the parachute, desperately trying to break the surface but being completely and utterly unable to do more than helplessly flail his limbs while the water pushed in on every side of him. Pulling him down, crushing him until he felt like his lungs would burst.

The only difference this time was that there was no water, no vulture, and no parachute to drag him down. Only the ache in his chest, the hopelessness, the misery. The way he hated himself with every fiber of his being, more powerful than anything he had ever felt towards anyone.

He supposed it had been a long time coming. Slowly building over time until he felt like he couldn't breathe through the ache in his chest. His nights turned from movie nights, laughing until he cried, and building new and exciting Lego figures with Ned, to tear stained pillows and empty eyes.

All he could think of these days were his failures. The way he burdened his Aunt, and his Uncle as well before he'd ultimately gotten him killed. If he had only stepped up and accepted his responsibility sooner, gotten over his childish mantra of 'notfairnotfairnotfair', it wouldn't have happened. Uncle Ben would have been alive if it hadn't been for him. He wouldn't have had to lay there on the ground, bleeding to death for doing the right thing. The thing Peter should have done from the start. He hated his Uncle's killer, yes, but it couldn't even come close to the way he hated himself. The way his chest was caving in, cracking from the weight of what he had caused.

He had become Spider-Man to make sure no one else had to feel that pain, determined to do some good. But if he was honest with himself, it was mostly so he could ease his guilt. To live up to his Uncle's legacy. To have the right to feel some pride again. To stop feeling like he wasn't even worthy of the very air he breathed. No matter how hard he tried though, he couldn't save everyone. Another failure. Every person he failed, every person whose lives were lost because he wasn't quick enough, good enough, left their own crack. Their own imprint on his spirit. The one slowly giving up.

He burdened Aunt May every day. She was working herself into the ground to pay their bills, something that wouldn't have happened if not for him. His metabolism was breaking her bank account and he didn't know what to do to fix it. She always put on a brave face, pretended that it wasn't as bad as it really was, but he could hear her crying at night. Stifling her sobs to keep from waking him up, so determined to make sure he never had to worry.

Too bad he couldn't seem to sleep anymore. He either laid awake with his darkening thoughts all night, or couldn't seem to stay awake. Just stuck in a daze every time he had the apartment for himself, which was too often these days, the fog he tried to keep at bay closing in on him.

That was his fault too. His Aunt was pulling double shifts left and right to keep food on the table and the power on, looking more and more tired every single day. He wondered when she would break, and what would happen when she did. Would they even have a home anymore? The very thought of what had to go through her head every single day was enough to make another crack in his chest.

The ferry disaster was another big failure, another big crack. He was stupid, reckless, arrogant. He had decided to take them down himself, somehow believing a 15-year old could stand against grown men while fully aware of the lethal weapons they carried. Weapons that could have killed hundreds on innocent civillians.