Wings || Peter Parker

25: Wounds

"Do you have any sharp objects in here?" He asked.

I didn't reply.

"Knives, daggers, swords, whatever?" He continued.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

I tapped his shoulder, allowing him to turn back around.

"How's your leg?"

"It's fine." I rolled my eyes.

"Okay."

We stood in silence.

"Do you want to stay here or go to the commons area?"

"I don't care."

"Well, you need food, so let's go." He followed me out the door, closing it behind him.

"I'm not hungry."

"I don't care, you're going to eat a full meal." He opened the elevator.

"Why do you care."

"I care about you, Max. You're my friend." He protested, slamming the elevator button. It broke off the wall. He glared at it. "I don't want you to die. No one wants you to die."

I stared at him.

"Stupid button." He kicked it on the floor. It clattered into the corner. "Stupid freaking buttons!" He punched the wall.

The elevator immediately screeched to a stop.

"Great." He grumbled. "This is wonderful. Do you have your phone?" 

I shook my head.

"Me neither." He stared at the doors for a minute. "Ugh, sorry Mr. Stark." He reached out and slipped a finger between the doors, prying them open. 

A loud scratching sound filled the small room. 

The doors opened all the way. 

Peter stepped back, and we took the moment together to stare at the metal wall in front of us.

"Ugh!" He made a strange face. "Freaking great." He looked around the rest of the elevator. "There's not even a vent! Mr. Stark!"

I sat on the floor.

"How are we supposed to get out?" Peter asked. "F.R.I.D.A.Y. are you there?"

"Hello, Peter." She said.

"Yeah, hi. Why is there no vent?"

"Boss designed this elevator to be the best. It is full of complete failsafe measures and would never require to be broken."

"I broke the elevator."

"I have alerted Boss about the elevator. He is currently running up the stairs."

"F.R.I.D.A.Y. how do we get out?"

"I have alerted Boss about the elevator. He is currently running up the stairs."

"You just said that."

"I am able to detect your emotion through your voice." She said. "Are you angry, Peter?"

"Yes!"

"Here are some coping mechanisms to deal with stress and anger. Take ten deep breaths. Count to ten-"

"F.R.I.D.A.Y. how do we get out?!" He shouted at the ceiling.

"There is no exit." She replied. "Boss designed this elevator to be the best. It is full of complete failsafe measures and would never require to be broken."

"You already said that!"

She didn't reply.

"Are we going to be stuck in this elevator forever?" Peter asked.

"Open the pannel under the buttons." F.R.I.D.A.Y. said. "There is emergency rations for ten people."

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.!" He shouted.

"Signing off." She spoke, then blipped out.

"What-" He threw up his hands.

I continued to sit in the corner.

"Are you okay?" He asked me, sliding down the wall next to me.

"Yes." I paused, moving a wing so he could sit by me. "Are you?"

"I'm fine." He replied, clenching his fists.

"No."

"Seriously Max, I'm okay." He replied.

"You're not." I picked up his hand where dark purple bruises were forming on his knuckles.

"It's just a bruise."

I flipped his hand over to reveal bloody scratches on his palms thanks to clenching his fists.

"It's just a scratch."

I stared at him.

"I'm sorry I punched the wall." He said. "Sorry for scaring you."

"It's fine."

"All the built up anger finally came out and I snapped."

I nodded.

"Usually I just go down to a training room and beat up a punching bag or something."

"It's okay." I said, patting his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I dragged you inside, but I really don't want to leave you by yourself." He continued. "I went through the same thing last year and I don't want it to happen to you."

"It was a nightmare." I said.

"Hmm?"

"A nightmare. Then and panic attack."

"Oh."

"I was covered in blood. Clumps of hair were all around me. There was a stabbing pain in my stomach."

"What-" Peter stared at me.

"I was screaming. Someone waa screaming."

"Who?"

"I don't know."

"Max do you know how you were born?" Peter asked.

I shook my head.

"I was doing some research." He started. "Alice Pierce. She was your mom. Police found her on the floor, dead, surrounded by blood and clumps of hair. It was her hair, that she ripped out of her head."

I stared at him.

"She was prone to psychotic behavior." He explained. "And then she got pregnant. The reports said she was covered in scratches from her nails, just like you."

"Are you saying you I dreamt I was my mom?"

"I don't know. She was dead when the police found her. They had to cut you out of her dead body in the hospital."

My eyes widened.

"Sorry, that was blunt." He pursed his lips. 

"It's fine." I whispered.

"I think your moms behavior might've been passed on to you." He said. "Not everything, but enough that when you felt really bad, it came out from wherever you were hiding it and you couldn't stop."

I paused.

"I'm sorry." He said. "I didn't mean for that to be accusing or anything."

"It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I never thought about it before."