So there are a lot of different types of synthesis, but I'm gonna go with the one that people typically think of when the word comes up, which is voices being smells, tastes, feelings, and colours.
Peter is still SpiderMan in this cause I wanted him to be👍
It's not super edited, but there shouldn't be a whole lot of errors cause I skimmed it before posting.
Also, don't get too comfy, he still dies
Lots of love❤😁
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1.
Peter should have known better. Honestly. Well, he probably did think about the aftereffects of his late night studies and freaking out before the freaking out ensued, but his head hurt too much right now to try and remember.
He opened his eyes to look at the clock, which read out 9 a.m. in a blindingly bright red. Peter winced, making a small moaning noise, closing his eyes fast and burying his head into the pillow. There were short, popping footsteps followed by a hesitant knock at his door. A voice filled his ears just as lavender filled his nose, and he wrinkled it slightly.
“Peter? You made a noise. You okay?”
Peter made another noise, and the door creaked open softly. Peter winced at the cedar that laid on his tongue and made a mental note to oil the hinges later to attempt to make the taste not as strong.
“I’m fine, May. I'm good. It’s all fine.”
May looked rather hesitant to believe him, but she nodded anyway.
“Okay, if you say so. Remember, though, it is a lab day at noon. If you need me to text and let him know you won’t be there, let me know. Kay?”
Peter nodded, wincing at the headache that had settled when May had been talking. Peter loved her voice, soft pink and lavender, but sometimes it was rather overbearing. Lavender isn’t really a soft scent, a fact that Peter never really noticed until the first time that May yelled at him (when she found out about SpiderMan, she was rather freaked out).
There were very few times that Peter hated synthesia, but the days when he had to ask May to stop talking because her voice was too strong for his overloaded senses was one of them.
May closed the door, and Peter relaxed into his mattress. He wasn’t going to skip out on lab day, of course. He was considering it at the moment, but he knew he never would. Tony would ask questions, and any other day Peter would have been happy to answer them. Today, however, was not any other day. Any other day didn't supply you with a headache so bad that you were convinced going full on Zeus giving ‘birth’ to Athena would hurt less.
All comparisons aside Peter did genuinely feel like he was going to throw up, which was what eventually pulled him from his bed to the bathroom. It was a bit of a process as his floor was covered in clothes like a minefield, so his intended walking across his room was more of a stumbling and tripping. He didn’t turn the light on, falling to his knees and dry heaving over the putrid smelling toilet.
After a little while it became apparent that nothing was going to come up and the nausea was just from the overload and not anything actually in his stomach. He stood, thinking about trying to push through the awful taste of his toothpaste, but after a minute of thought he ended up opting to take a very long shower in the dark (the rain falling on the tiles made soft pattering noises that spelled like freshly mowed grass and floated up a mossy green). Peter closed his eyes, tipping his head back and letting the colors dance behind his eyelids.
He wished there was no such thing as having to pay for water so he could stay there all day.
“Peter? You’ve been in there for a while.”
He could tell that May was actively trying to talk quieter; the lavender wasn’t as harsh and almost blended in with the grassy smell. Peter took a deep breath, reaching over and turning the water off.
“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks.”
He listened as May stepped away from the door, saying something about lunch being ready whenever he wanted some. Honestly, the thought of any food made him feel a little sick at the moment.
He ventured out into his room again, shuffling through his drawers to try and find something that wouldn’t scratch his skin too much but also not be in the way with lab work. As usual, there were no clothes that fit both requirements, so Peter just threw on the most comfortable thing he had.
After trying (and failing) to make his hair semi-controlled looking, he gave up, let it be curly, and trudged out into the kitchen. The tv was on, but not to a station. Peter felt his eyes water a bit at the static on the tv, because that meant that May had remembered their conversation about what helped on bad days. Peter had no doubt that May cared about him like he was her own biological son, but it was still nice to know that he was validated regarding the changes with his…entire biology, really.
“Hey, I made you some broth and crackers. I didn’t know how bad your stomach might be hurting, so I just played it safe. I can make something more heavy if you’d prefer.”
Peter shook his head, walking behind the counter island and rummaging in a drawer for his super-powered tylenol.
“No, that’s fine. It’s perfect, actually. Thank you, May.”
May smiled and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge for him to drink with his tylenol before frowning and putting her wrist on Peter’s forehead.
“You sure you wanna go to the tower today? Not to be rude, but you really look like crap. Wouldn’t you rather just go back to bed for a bit?”
“It’s already eleven, there’s not really a point in going back to bed. And I'll be fine, I think. Hopefully the meds will kick in before I leave. It’ll be fine.”
~
Peter stared hesitantly at the elevator. He walked right past the lobby, as usual, except this time he could hear people fighting on the penthouse level. He wished he could just go downstairs and ignore everyone else for just a little while.
Actually, that wasn’t a bad idea.
“Hey, Fri? Can you just take me down to the lab today and let Mr. Stark know I’m there? I promise I won’t touch anything, I just don’t want to have the super loud things right now.”
“Of course, Peter. Would you like me to inform Boss that you are experiencing what seems to be a sensory overload?”
“No, no. I’ll be fine,” he said, kind of rushed in an attempt to get the electric-fire taste of Friday's voice out of his mouth. “Can I go to the lab?”
“Of course, Peter.”
~
Tony’s phone buzzed and he ignored it in favor of finishing the grilled cheese sandwiches for him and Peter to snack on while they worked. It buzzed once more, and he stuck his tongue out at it while getting plates.
“Boss, I would recommend looking at your phone.”
Tony sighed loudly and put the plate of sandwiches down, grabbing his phone and pulling up the notifications. His eyebrow furrowed in confusion.
“Why is Peter in the lab? He usually comes up and says hi.”
“I would check your other notification, Boss.”
Tony shook his head and opened the screen, reading all of his recent notifications.
“Sensory overload? How bad?”
“Not great, Boss.”
“Why is he here then? He could have texted and stayed home. God this kid keeps my brain whirling.”
“Boss, I believe that it might be better for an overload here than at his apartment considering your lab is soundproofed and Peter’s bedroom is not, according to Karen’s scans.”
Tony blinked before nodding. That made sense, he supposed. The lab was pretty quiet when no one was working, and Tony had just installed a new feature to make sure the noise from outside the lab couldn’t be heard inside (mainly because he got annoyed with Pepper yelling through the glass about how many meetings he was missing and how he needed to eat something). Tony started towards the elevator, the doors making a small noise when they closed.
“Fri? Lab, please. And activate No More Meetings Protocol down there as well.”
“Activated and sending you on your way, Boss.”
“Thanks much, hon. While you’re at it, can you order stuff for taco in a bag tonight? That’d be great.”
“Of course, Boss.”
~
Peter was currently laying on the labs’ couch, eyes closed and ignoring the constant footsteps. He couldn’t really focus on anything else past the never ending thudding and jumping. He supposed he could be a little grateful, as listening to conversations on top of the steps would have been…bad.
“No More Meetings Protocol has been activated. Boss is on his way down, Peter.”
Peter winced at the harsh taste in his mouth, swallowing a few times before answering.
“Thanks, Fri. Also can you like, make a reminder to screw with your voice later? Not like mess it up but like… you know what I mean.”
“Of course, I will set it for the next lab day.”
“Thanks. Not to be rude, but I think I’m done talking now. Sorry.”
Friday didn’t say anything, going silent as Peter closed his eyes and tried to relax into the cushions. He tensed a bit at the faint beeping noise of the elevator, but relaxed as he heard footsteps walking towards him before feeling a hand through his hair.
“Hey, Kiddo. Fri told me you were having a bad time. If you wanna go home, you can. Or even if you just want to go up to your room here, that’s cool too.”
Peter relaxed further, Tony carding his fingers through unruly curls, his voice filling Peter’s nose with cinnamon and rain, soft browns floating up behind his eyelids. Peter was silent for a minute, content to just lay there before he actually registered that he had to answer Tony before the man freaked out.
“No, here is fine. I told Fri not to tell you. About the overload.”
“I know, kid. That’s probably why she told me. Anything I can do to help?”
Peter hummed, obviously juggling a request in his head for a second before he shook it, stopping when Tony’s hand was loosened from his head.
“Kid, come on. There’s no stupid request as long as it makes you feel better. What’s up, what can I, marvelous and rich Tony Stark, do for you?”
Peter snorted and turned so his face was pushing into the couch before muttering out his request.
“A bit louder, Pete. I’m old, can't hear that well.”
“Can you just talk? For a bit. Please?”
Tony was a little surprised, but decided to roll with it.
“Sure, kiddo. Hey, did I ever tell you the story with beer bottles, the girl of my dreams, and how I blew almost $2 million in three hours?”
~
Tony talked for quite a while before he started to feel the effects of it. His throat was dry and every once in a while a word would come out a bit slurred or out of order.
“Hey, Peter? I’m just gonna grab a water from the fridge.”
Peter nodded, eyes closed and body lax. Tony had thought he had fallen asleep a while back and tried to stop talking, but Peter had made a small noise of complaint and Tony had just kept going. He was honestly a little surprised that Peter still wasn’t asleep at this point. He reached into the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water and turning back to the couch. He sat on the floor next to Peter’s head, taking a long drink before sighing.
“Your voice tastes really nice.”
Tony coughed, looking from his water up at Peter.
“Say that again?”
“Your voice. Oh, that probably sounds weird out of context. I have a thingie, synthesia, it affects my senses based off of the noise made. So certain noises could have a certain color, or a taste, smell, feeling. Your voice is really nice. Sorry I made you talk for so long.”
Tony nodded along with Peter’s words. Synthesia. A disorder that ‘affects senses based off of the noise made’. Tony didn’t quite understand, but "your voice tastes nice" infers that Peter could taste a lot more than just his voice.
“How many voices can you taste exactly?”
“Uh, the vast majority. There’s a few that only have a color and some that only have a feel and I think once I came across a voice that didn’t have anything. I’ve kinda noticed that voices match personalities so the plain voice makes sense since it was a presenter at our school who obviously didn’t want to be there.”
“Matches personality, huh?”
“Yeah. like, okay. May’s voice is like a soft pinkish color and smells like lavender. Ned’s voice is just a little insanely bright shade of yellow. Clint’s voice doesn’t really have a taste, but it feels like pop rocks are going off by your ears. It’s weird. It’s also like, bright red, so when he and Nat are fighting it’s just red pop rocks and velvet blankets and hardened honey going after each other and it’s not cool, hence just coming right down to the lab.”
“Ha! I can kind of see that though. Strange. My voice tastes good, huh? What does it taste like?”
Peter snorted, meeting Tony’s eyes for the first time the whole conversation before closing them again.
“Cinnamon sugar toast. It tastes like cinnamon sugar toast and smells like grass after it rains. It’s brown, not ugly brown, more of like a soft brown that teddy bears have. Colors usually float when people talk, but yours just goes right up to the ceiling. Makes sense, you typically like to demand people's attention, and your voice does just that. I don’t know, it’s just nice.”
Tony nodded. Cinnamon sugar toast and rainy days, that was significantly better than poprocks and velvet honey. He had just one question at the moment.
“How about Steve’s voice?”
Peter laughed loudly, a little surprised at the question.
“Popsicles. Specifically the red white and blue ones. And when he’s mad, a tang of metal.”
Tony fell over from laughing so hard.
2.
“Does anyone know where Bruce is? I texted him and he said he was out but wouldn’t tell me where.”
“He’s in the tower, somewhere down the hall I think,” Peter spoke up from his spot at the island counter (i’m babysitting and we’re watching wild kratts. Just fyi) where he was doing homework.
Bucky nodded, muttering to himself about how people never told him the truth before going down the hall.
~
“I swear to motherfucking god, Clint, wheRE ARE YOU?”
“I’ll never tell youuuuuuuu!”
“He’s in the vents in the living room,” Peter said as if he didn’t just start the end of a war. Natahs gaped before she heard a small “hey” from the vents and rushed off, yelling a thanks over her shoulder as she went.
Peter snorted and went back to his book.
~
“Peter, since you seem to know where everyone is all the time, where is my fiancé? He missed a meeting this morning and I need to yell at him, but he’s not in the lab or his room.”
“I wouldn’t yell at him. He’s in the music room. I’ve been checking on him, that’s where I got this quitar.” (peter parker plays the guitar, fight me i dare you (but first picture him sitting on his bed like half dresses up as spiderman and then got distracted because he wants to learn the chords for a new song and just *sequel of omfg he’s so cute and i have a friend crush*))
Pepper smiled as Peter held up the dark stained guitar, wincing as she saw his blistered fingers.
“Do you wanna take a break soon? Your fingers look like they hurt.”
“Oh, they’re fine. I just haven’t played in a while. But yeah, I followed his voice and he’s in the music room. He looks tired. Don’t murder him too badly.”
Pepper snorted, smiling as Peter went back to the guitar, plucking strings and letting a melody fill the air.
She wondered how the noise sounded to him.
~
“Okay for real. How the everloving fuck do you know where everytone is all the time? It’s a little creepy.”
“Their voice.”
Tony stared at him, Natsah snorted and said ‘of course’, and Clint glanced at her before he spoke up.
“Can you clarify please. Just for the people who didn’t understand.”
Peter nodded, laughing.
“Clint, your voice is red. When you talk, it kind of looks like smoke. It floats in the air and kinda stays there for a bit after you finish talking. When you walk and talk, it leaves a trail. When Nat asked me where you were that one day, I knew where you were because you left a trail.”
Clint stared and Natasha left, laughing too hard to hold a conversation. Tony just nodded.
“Wow. Add that to the list of your superpowers, I guess.”
Peter snorted and went off to add it to the list they kept downstairs in his medbay.
3.
Peter sighed rather annoyed as he slammed his book shut and stood fast from the couch. He dropped it on the floor, stalking past a shocked Steve who was sitting next to him. Peter stalked down the hall to his room, grabbing a nerf gun labeled “Clint Killer” and stalked back out to the couch. He stepped up on the edge of the back, reaching up to the ceiling and crawling in the vents.
Steve sat back, listening. Natasha walked into the room and looked at him, giving a questioning glance to the open vent. Steve made a shushing motion and looked back up, his body tense in anticipation. Natasha walked up beside him, leaning over his shoulder and looking up.
It was eerily silent, the kind of silent that makes you want to talk to yourself just to have something in your ears. Steve honestly didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t what he got.
There was a sudden yell before a loud scrambling noise was heard. They could hear Peter telling Clint to ‘get back here,’ and Clint obviously was not listening according to the clanging that was getting more frantic.
“Clint, get back here! I only want to talk!”
“No, you have the gun!”
“The gun only gets used if you don’t converse and surrender.”
“Surrender? Never!”
“Then prepare to be shot.”
“Wait, no can we compromise?”
There was a clang and a screech before Peter’s voice was heard again.”
“No! There is no compromise when you want to start a war! Suck it up and take the shot, Birdbrain!”
Steve gaped and Natasha laughed, both eagerly awaiting to hear what would happen next.
“You’re not dumping water on me! Not when I have my book!”
“How did you even know I was gonna do that?”
“Your voice tastes different when you’re plotting. It’s how I know when to pay attention and when to ignore you.”
“Wait, what? No no no don’t shoot me Peter please no!”
There was a pop and a yell of fury, followed by a clatter that got louder the closer it got to the couch. Peter dropped out, holding on to the edge of the vent with one hand so he could lower himself onto the cushions. He stuck the gun in the waistband of his dusty sweatpants, clapping his hands together as if he had just gotten them dirty.
“Well, that problem is taken care of now.”
Peter bent down, picked up his book, and flopped onto the couch, somehwo opening it back up to the page he had been on before murdering Clint. Steve blinked and nodded slowly, going back to his book while Nat crawled into the vent to make sure that Clint wasn’t actually hurt.
(I'm listening to a group of like 5 kids all under 12 sing a beautiful rendition of we don't Talk about Bruno. Word for word. Every word. Every single word. I am impressed with their dedication)(omg now they’re doing surface pressure)(this is the cutest thing ever)(istg it’s so cute imma die)
4.
https://andersen.sdu.dk/vaerk/hersholt/TheLittleMatchGirl_e.html (cause you always cite your sources)(my ela teacher better be proud of me)(cause i'm not proud of me and I need someone to be😁)
Peter pressed his face into the pillows on the couch, hoping that the pressure would help drown out the headache a bit. Footsteps smelled like gunpowder, which was making him rather anxious. He could tell that everyone was trying to whisper, but it wasn’t helpful at all, really. God, his head was spinning and his thoughts wouldn’t stay in a line.
“Can everyone please stop walking.”
There was a sudden silence, and Peter took a deep breath as everyone stilled at his words. They watched his body visibly relax and winced, deciding to sit down on the floor. Only Natasha moved. She took off her shoes, revealing fuzzy socks as she slid more then stepped across the tiles to the living room. She reached the couch and sat on her knees in front of where Peter’s face would be if he wasn’t suffocating himself. Natasha reached out and tilted his head slowly so he would at least breathe a bit more, and he sighed softly as Natasha started playing with his hair. She twisted it into small braids, and around the third one, her mouth opened.
“It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Evening came on, the last evening of the year. In the cold and gloom a poor little girl, barehanded and barefoot, was walking through the streets. Of course when she had left her house she'd had slippers on, but what good had they been?”
Her voice was soft velvet, and felt like honey sliding down Peter’s throat. He focused on the words, listening to the story being told. Oh, Peter loved the story of The Little Match Girl. He didn’t know quite why when he considered the tragic ending, but something about the story was just comforting to him.
He could feel himself drifting asleep as Natasha finished the story.
“But in the corner, leaning against the wall, sat the little girl with red cheeks and smiling mouth, frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. The New Year's sun rose upon a little pathetic figure. The child sat there, stiff and cold, holding the matches, of which one bundle was almost burned. "She wanted to warm herself," the people said. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, and how happily she had gone with her old grandmother into the bright New Year.”
Peter smiled softly, and Natasha finished the braid she was on, tucking it away and starting on another. The small motions were smooth and practiced, and Peter’s eyes slid closed as he fell asleep.
5.
Peter winced at the lineup of men against the mug shot wall. It was hard to belive that one of them was a murderer. None of them looked the part at all. They were all dressed in normal clothes, and they all had normal faces.
Peter guessed that was the reality of things, wasn’t it? Murderers didn’t have monsterous faces or twisted bones. They looked like any other person.
Yet in the line up was a person that had murdered a woman and tried to murder her child.
Peter honestly couldn’t tell you why he was here. He could have stayed in the car, honestly. He and Steve had gone out for ice cream of all things when he had gotten a call from a friend at the department asking if he could come in and maybe run an interrogation of two. Steve had agreed, of course, after asking Peter if that was okay with him. Peter had nodded, a little nervous to say no. he didn’t want a murderer to walk free.
But that might just be what happens, he thought after two hours of going over files and records without a single clue. It was almost devastating how Steve seemed to crumble in on himself after every dead end. Eventually the officer stood and spoke.
“This is getting us nowhere, obviously. We’ve gone over the records five times and looked up personal details, we know enough information on the individuals to ask questions.”
Steve nodded and Stood, Peter following the duo towards an interrogation room. It was kind of dark, but that was to be expected. What Peter didn’t expect was the soft chairs.
God, I needed to stop watching crime movies.
The first suspect was brought in, a short man of his late thirties who sat nervously on the edge of the chair. After a series of questions, they determined he was innocent. His alibi checked out, his alibis alibi checked out, and the man went off.
This happened so many times that Peter eventually lost count and sat in the dark corner to read his book while Steve asked the questions. He had gotten quite a bit further when a new suspect was brought in, a tall man dressed in a business suit. He seemed just as nervous as the rest of them, and sat in the chair. Peter’s eyebrows furrowed when he saw that his poster was almost too relaxed for his nervous face, but let it be. This man was in a suit, he more than likely had been trained in interrogations.
“What is your alibi on the night of February 23?”
“I was at home with my wife watching movies. We hadn't done anything date-wise in a while and I figured that since I had closed a deal that day, I could afford to buy some snacks and relax for a night.”
Peter stilled, looking at his book but not reading the words. Something about this man was…off. Something about his voice was just a bit too sweet, almost like it was trying to cover something up.
“An anniversary, huh? Would you mind giving me your wifes number? So i can confirm with her?”
“Sure, it’s 123-123-1234. I’m sure she’d be happy to confirm our plans.”
The officer smiled, and Peter put his book down, stepping up to Steve.
“I don’t like his voice,” he whispered, hoping the man couldn’t hear. His hopes were reasonable, because the man kept talking to the officer as if nothing had happened.
“His voice? Why?”
“It’s too sweet. He’s hiding something. Maybe not a murder, but something.”
Steve nodded as the officer excused himself to call the wife. The man was left in the room with them, and for a minute there was an awkward silence. The man chose to break it, smiling.
“So I know who the infamous Steve Rogers is, but I don’t know you. You must be important if you’re around an Avenger, huh?”
Peter ignored the nausea he was starting to get from the sickening sweet of the man's voice and shook his head.
“Not super important, sir. Just an intern.”
Steve smiled.
“A damn good one. Knows the best coffee places. I don’t know how Tony ever liked the horrid stuff before this kid started bringing ones from obscure cafés.”
The man smiled.
“Wow, good coffee huh? Well, what’s the name of the coffee finder? Maybe I’ll see you in a café sometime and ask what the best drink is.”
The man laughed slightly and Peter fought a cringe off his face.
“Brooks. Brooks Hemmingway. What’s your name in case I ever see you around?”
“Dan. Daniel Cook. so, Brooks, what’s your favorite coffee place?”
Peter laughed, breathey and weightless.
“Honestly? I prefer Wade’s Place up on 4th.”
Steve marveled at how good of an actor his kid was. Brooks Hemmingway? Coffee? Laughs that sounded like his only goal was to make men fall over for him?
“Wade’s Place? Like Wade Wilson? The merc?”
“Yeah, you’ve heard of it? No, Wade makes a killer coffee. One time I asked him to surprise me and he made this absolutely heavenly chocolate cinnamon disaster. It was delicious.”
Steve was trying to keep his jaw from dropping, but Daniel was not doing so well at the same task. He was practically drooling, and Peter was acting like he was completely oblivious, moving his head so his hair would fall right in line with his doe eyes, almost making you stare at them.
“Well, Hemmingway, maybe we’ll meet up at Wade’s sometime.”
“Cool. You’d love his Reality Check. Gets me up and going every morning.”
Daniel smiled and Steve snorted, glancing briefly at Peter before looking at the door as it opened. Peter looked up and smiled lazily, and the officer gave him a questioning look. Steve made a “don’t mention it” motion with his hands when Daniel turned. The officer changed his face as fast as he could, and Daniel took no notice, simply opening his mouth to ask if his wife had confirmed.
“Yes, sir. She did indeed.”
Daniel smiled and stood.
“So then I’m good to go, right?”
“Not quite. We still have a few questions, so if you would step right outside for a minute and I’ll call you back when we are ready. Sound good?”
Daniel nodded and stepped out, the door closing softly behind him.
“Okay, what was that about? As far as I’m aware, you’re not someone to go after older men."
Peter smirked and shook his head.
“I’m not. He just seemed like he needed to be screwed with.”
“Peter doesn’t like his voice. Says it’s too sweet, like he’s hiding something.”
The officer nodded, already filled in on the synthesia.
“Hiding something? Like what?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem so strong to infer a freaking murder, but enough to know he is for certain hiding something. I noticed it when you were interrogating him.”
He nodded again, frowning.
“Okay, maybe I can check his alibis credentials again? Trace the call, make sure it’s airtight.” The officer stepped out, leading Danile to a waiting room and leaving Steve and Peter alone.
“So, ever considered acting as a career choice?”
Peter laughed loudly and nodded.
“Yeah , actually. I was like five or some age around there. I put on plays for May in our living room back then. She said I was rather good.”
Steve smiled and looked at the time, eyes widening when he saw it was past seven.
“Oh! Do you wanna go get burgers or something? We’ve done our part, we can get going.”
Peter smiled widely and skipped to the door, opening it wide.
“I would kill for a good burger right now.”
Steve smiled and shook his head.
“Maybe not the right words for a police station, kiddo.”
~
Steve wandered into Peter’s room, waiting for him to take out his earbuds before talking.
“So the chief of police just called me back and want to know if you’re looking into an occupation in the police force.”
Peter blinked.
“Huh?”
“You were right. The guy was hiding something. His alabi? Not so airtight, considering it was just a guy with a high pitched voice answering the call in a drug den.”
Peter’s jaw dropped.
“Really? Like for real? Oh I KNEW IT! I told you!”
Peter jumped up on his bed and spun in a circle.
"Who is a genius? I am a genius. Oh, I’m gonna add that to my superpowers list. For real. Where’s my pencil? There’s my pencil. Okay, to the list!”
Peter flounced out his room, and Steve laughed, following the hyper spider-kid.
+1. (lol you thought you’d get away with no death. Never ever ever).
Sometimes, Peter wondered what his life would be like if he had never become SpiderMan. All of the parties he could have gone to, the meet ups with Ned and MJ, the Acadec get togethers. He could have met the Avengers through an actual internship, not a ruse made up to hide his identity. He wouldn't have to constantly worry about May and her safety, about hsio friends not becoming hostages for being friends with a menace. He wouldn’t have to look up youtube videos on how to do stitches and get blood out of shirts so that he wouldn’t run out of clothes after a single week.
Sometimes, Peter wondered what his life would be like if he had never been diagnosed with synthesia. If he didn’t have to tell people to be quiet on bad days or ask them to talk more on weird ones. He might never have had to avoid certain people based on the taste of their speech or the color of their anger.
Sometimes, Peter wondered why the world wasn't consistent. It would give you a constant factor and then suddenly change it up. Synthesia was like that, Peter guessed that day.
~
Peter's synthesia, he realized after the day with the police, worked kind of like a good/bad guy detector. He started to notice that the villains he would face always had something…off with their voices. The taste, a slight issue with the texture, things that no one would have noticed if they didn’t have the disorder. He became reliant on that fact, falling out of the habit of being suspicious no matter what a person's voice sounded like.
Which was how he ended up here, in his Spiderman suit, looking blearily up at the man standing above him with a knife and a sinister grin. His brain was moving sluggishly from all of the blood he had already lost, but it wasn’t slow enough to miss the man's next words.
“Pity you have to die, Peter. Stark’s already lost so much.”
Peter’s eyes widened and he gasped slightly through the blood in his throat as his brain spun. No, he couldn’t die, he couldn’t. He had May, Tony, Ned and MJ. He had to live.
But he had no chance. He tried to push himself away, sobbing as he attempted to block the man’s knife. The man was stronger, and Peter screamed as the knife twisted in his stomach. He cried for help, screamed and begged as the man brought the knife down again, smirking through the blood, Peter's blood, that spattered on his face.
His eyes grew heavy, and the last thing Peter ever saw was a nameless face licking his blood off of the blade.
Don’t trust anyone, right?
Don’t trust anyone.
_________________________________________
That final one was not as dramatic as I wanted it to be, but oh well ig.
I am working on like 3 different one shots at the same time, so I'll just post whatever I finish first.
Anywayssssss question of the post:
Coke or Pepsi and why?
Uhm fun story: I'm a new theater kid, yeah? And I'm technically an assistant stage manager. And the suddenly our director put me up in lights to work the spot and I was like
Okay chill I can do that
And now all of the sudden I'm on main lights
And I'm so very excited but also straight up terrified and we have practice today at 530 so we'll see how that goes lol?
Anyways, imma go now so
Peace out!
-person