Wrong number :/~~Spider-Man

I have a feeling not everyone will be happy with me

"No— don't. Don't.. not that" Peter tried getting his point across, but it just wouldn't come out, "it's my fault. I.."

The line remained silent while Tony hoped Peter would keep talking. That he'd give something to go off of.

"I don't know—I don't know what to do Mr Stark. He said.. I can't— if-if he.. if I say anything.." his elbows pressed into his sides as he curled up tightly over the phone.

Again, there was nothing but shuffling around in response.

Nope. He couldn't do it. Peter couldn't do it.

He'd said enough. He'd gone too far. Peter screwed up. He screwed up big time. Again. He'd fucked it up and now everyone was going to suffer from it.

Why was it always him?? What was it about Peter that just.. begged for him to screw everyone over?

He shouldn't have done this. He shouldn't have tried. He should've just left it and hoped it'd been over soon. Just.. shut his damn mouth for once. When had something like this ever gone well?? At what point did he think this was a good idea??

He fumbled to find the end call button, the phone slipping from his lap and clattering onto the floor. The loud echoing struck his head, the sensation rippling like acid across his body.

Too loud.

Too loud.

Tony's concerned calling out didn't help. With the audio bouncing off of every corner of the room, it just got worse and worse.

An ear-shattering ring blasted the room, signing the end of the period. How long had he sat in a shitty pity party, he thought. That wasn't good. That wasn't good at all.

He whimpered out a quiet 'shut up' as he tried to drone it all out. Instead of reaching for the phone, he found his hands clamped around his ears.

The door swung open then.

Great. Have everything happen at once, why don't you. You're a real one for that, author.

"Peter, are you alright?".

Peter rushed to the ground, slamming his finger on the end call button as fast as humanly possible before Tony managed out another word. From the floor, he could see Skip's large boots peering beneath the stall door.

Why the fuck was he there.

Peter found himself hyperventilating quite silently as the clomping of the boots neared his stall.

"You've been in here for quite some time. I'm sure your friend is worried about you" Skip's smile could be heard as he spoke, tapping on the stall door.

It was wrong. It was all wrong.

Loud, gross, too fast, and so wrong. Peter was the epitome of lies and this was hell's punishment. He did this to himself. That's the only explanation.

"Peter, be a dear and open the stall door for me" Mr Westcott'a voice came sweetly, like honey set out for flies.

What the hell was happening?? It was going too fast for him to collect himself before the next wave of insanity tossed him around.

Peter didn't say a damn word. His phone started ringing, Tony's picture showing up. He quickly hung up.

There came another knock—closer to a warning—as Mr Westcott paced outside of the door.

Another call.

He hung up.

This repeated twice more. Mr Westcott seemed to lose his patience by then.