Sing to the Sky {31 Days Of Peter Parker Whump}

30-Bloodstains and Black Holes

December 15th

The black hole grows in his chest, weight settling on his lungs heavily, denying him a proper full breath in. It's not going to be a good day. His mind is loud. 

It was a dreary morning. Sun very slowly rising in the horizon beyond the tall buildings, hazy and barely colored a dull orange. Clouds float across the grey sky, dulling out the soft glow from the sun. Drizzling rain catching on windows. Not enough for people to carry an umbrella, but enough for people to speed walk down the streets and seek shelter in small shops and buildings down the street.

Peter lays in his bed, blankets tucked up to his chin. The heat radiates off his body from his fuzzy pajama bottoms and piles of blankets over him, letting him bask in the peace that every soft breath gives him.

Despite everything, the date held more importance than any other day. It didn't hold sadness per se, just held a somber tone that made the teenager unable to move from his bed.

He snuggled farther down in his blankets, quiet sigh escaping his mouth as the warmth shifts through his body. His brain is barely working, leaving him in a peaceful sort of tired where he can barely move his limbs.

The bed feels like a magnet, sticking him to the mattress, unable to move from there.

Peter knows a lot of things. But more than anything, he knows that if he moves, the black hole will begin, sucking him into a spiral of darkness and nothingness and pain and confusion and anger and sadness and loneliness and grief and guilt and every other adjective that could describe how it feels to be passing an anniversary of the day someone close to you had died.

3 years ago today, Uncle Ben had died.

3 years ago today, Peter had lost yet another family member.

For now, he's at peace, curled up beneath his blankets, watching the drizzling rain hit the window, letting the warmth overtake his heavy eyelids.

*

It had been a dreary morning when Ben had died, all those years earlier. Just like it is today. Peter remembered that much. Most of everything else was tucked in locked boxes somewhere in the back of his mind, untouchable, forgotten.

He knows exactly what he's doing. He's repressing his feelings and trying to pretend to be okay. He knows how bad that is. He's heard the stories from Tony about what that did to him. He's seen May do it a few times before when he was younger. He even saw Ben do it when he was really little, he just hadn't realized it for a long time. 

But despite all that, it doesn't stop him from pushing the bubbling emotions into their cases and tucking them away, hopefully never to be seen again. Unfortunately, he knows that won't be the case. 

It's sometime around noon when he finally moves and grabs his phone off his nightstand. He's got a dozen messages in his notifications from that morning. He doesn't bother reading any of them, most of them being from Ned anyways. Probably just school things. He doesn't have the energy to care. 

He sighs heavily, letting the phone fall to his chest. He doesn't know what he's doing anymore. He's tired. Tired in his bones, settling heavily inside him like weights tying him to the ground. 

A scream echoes from the streets. A happy scream coming from children playing in the mist outside. It pierces into Peter's head like daggers. 

He remembers when he was a carefree child. Way back when he was a two-year-old kid with a big heart and exploding with innocent and joy. When he hadn't lost anything yet. When he hadn't known what loss felt like. When he didn't know grief or guilt or sadness like he does now. When he didn't have to drag these weights of emotions behind him, throwing on the happy faces like they weren't a lie.