Spiderson Oneshots

Beautiful Views--Pepper and Peter

Out here, it is me and my thoughts, and for so long, I've tried to distract myself from them. It just reminds me of how alone I feel, how poisoned I am. I'm broken, battered, bruised, and worthless. A hero I believed myself, but no more. I've tried to save worlds and be a hero, but I'm one person. Why not leave it to the big kids? How can I be a hero for anyone else, when I can't even save myself?

What am I even living for? I wonder to myself. I don't want to be alive, so why am I still here?

It'd be easy.

Just courage.

I stare up at the trees that clasp their hands over my head. I look out across the lakes spread out like tears frozen on a crying face. So beautiful, and I, so unworthy to live in it.

I bury my head in my hands; I shouldn't be here. Why am I here? What good have I done?

"Peter, honey, dinner's ready." I don't even jump, just stare out through my fingers. I hear footsteps breaking sticks and crunching leaves. Miss Potts comes and sits down beside me, looking out at the view.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she says. I hum a yes, not sure what she's getting at. "When I was a little girl, I used to come out here and look for fairies. I'd make up stories and pretend I was a princess. And when I got older, I would come out here and wonder why I'm here. I'd wonder what I'd done to deserve to still be here." She glances at me, bringing the hands down from my face and clasping them in her own. "I know that look, Peter. I know how bad it feels. I'm not going to promise you it'll get better because that's not how life works. There are bad parts, and good parts, and sometimes, in-between parts.

"You don't have to have hope for any of it. You can just live for it. Just live, and the beauty will come." She squeezed my hands. "Let me show you?"

"Okay," I mumble. She smiles and stands up, pulling me up with her. She leads me through the woods, an arm around my shoulder. Something about it is so homely, so like the family I've craved. I hug my notebook to my chest.

Miss Potts holds the door open for me, and the smell of spaghetti comes to greet me. Bile rises in my throat, and I tamp it down. I have to give it a chance, I think. It's not that I don't like spaghetti--I used to love it--but the very thoughts of eating now just hurts. In my conquest for being perfect and good enough, I've forgotten what it is to enjoy something. Everything exists to fix me now and judge me. My mind simply won't accept the idea that anyone would do anything for me.

She ushers me to the kitchen where her parents are serving. Missus Potts is putting spaghetti on plates, and Mister Potts is getting drinks. Missus Potts turns to me, a smile on her face and spoon in her hand. "How much would you like, dear?" she asks.

"Just a little bit, please," I say, and she hands me a plate with some noodles on it and sauce on top. She places a piece of garlic bread on it, and I thank her.

Mister Potts asks me what I want to drink, and I request milk. When I receive it, I take my stuff to the table. I wonder where to sit when Miss Potts pushes me gently to a seat beside her. I wait to eat until everyone comes to the table, and I wonder what made me so blest to be here at this table with people so much better than me.

Throughout dinner, Miss Potts talks to me, that is, until Missus Potts begins to tell a story about her to Mister Stark when he asks for embarrassing stories.

"I remember when Virginia was little that she was eating a donut with sprinkles on it. She was maybe three at the time, and one of the sprinkles fell off." Miss Potts buries her head in her hands. "'Son of a bitch' was what she said," Mister Stark roars with laughter as she continues. "Of course, we couldn't correct her because, I mean, that's one of the times you would say that."