Peter Parker One Shots

Words Hurt

Warning: bullying, verbal and physical as well as emotional scarring. Depression. Attempted suicide, cutting, blood.

Do NOT read if easily triggered!!

Peter stood up shaking, his left hand holding his bruised ribs, his mouth spewing blood. His face was covered in blotches of black and blue, his usually wide and innocent eyes now hooded, dull and empty.

The taunts off his enemies, the laughter of his peers surrounded him. It's always the same.

Being degraded and mentally assaulted, being beaten to near death in front of his schoolmates by his tormentor, Eugene 'Flash' Thompson. The teachers turning a blind eye, because his parent were huge Investors in the school.

"Your useless, Penis." Flash grounds out mockingly, his eyes darkened with a anger. "Everyone hates you. Your mother and father died in order to escape living with you. Your uncle died because you were to useless to save him. Your aunt works everyday just to stay away from you. What does that say, Parker? Your alone. Your hated. No one cares. Do us a favor and just end it all."

Every word hit like a tonne of bricks. Bombarding him, pulling him down under the rubble and weighing down heavier on his ever present depression.

He fully agreed. He was worthless, not worth the care and love of his aunt, the attention of his mentor. He was pathetic, selfish. Maybe he should end it all.

Dull, brown eyes that told the stories of a lost innocence, looked Flash directly in his eyes. And Flash, flinched.

They were so broken, done. He looked like was done, and for the first time in his life.... Flash felt horrified.

He felt concern, he felt completely awful because he knew that what he was seeing was his fault.

Not saying a word, Peter limped away. The hall had quieted with Flash's last words. Even they new he went a little too far. But still, they remained silent and watched as Peter disappeared around the corridor.

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Peter was sitting in the boy's bathroom, back to the wall, his right knee to his chest, the left lax and straight.

In his hands, he held a razor as he looked at his painted wrists, with eyes glazed from blood loss. His wrist a canvas, the blade, his brush.

Earlier, he was afraid to die. Now, he just smiled. He had finally accepted it, decided to end it all.

Now, he sat there, blood pooling around him, a small smile on his face as his eyes began to close. He finally felt at peace.

He was so out of it, he never heard the door open, he never heard the loud gasps, the shriek of surprise, the sob of desperation as someone called his name. But he did feel some one moving him.

"Please, hold on. I'm so sorry."

That was the last thing he heard before his entire world went dark.

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Flash knew something was wrong, he knew that something was going to happen. So he followed the urge he felt and went searching for Peter.

He was going to apologize, what he said was out of line and uncalled for. He knew that he had little to  no chance of gaining forgiveness, but he had to try.

His footsteps came to a halt at the boys' bathroom, as he saw sticky, red liquid pooling from underneath the door.

Nonononono. No!!