Chapter Text
"How you feeling?"
The question echoed in the almost silent room, interrupted only by the clinking of May's fork against her plate. The atmosphere was tense, like a tight rope that was one thread away from splitting. Peter hadn't said much since he'd gotten back home, and he hadn't planned to until May popped the question.
How you feeling. What a fucking stupid question.
"I'm great, May. You know, Tony Stark is dead because of me, the world's strongest avenger and our best protector, and I'm officially a mass murderer. Half of the people from my class aren't even there anymore because I blipped and they didn't, everyone at school is a mess. I'm not even hungry and I can't remember the last time I was, I can't remember the last time I really felt anything except overwhelming guilt because it's my fault that Tony and Natasha died, and you asking me how I'm feeling every day is not going to change that fact."
Peter's voice was cold, emotionless. He wasn't angry, he didn't feel angry. Not at May, not at Thanos, not at the stupid fucking aliens that decided to ruin the planet and for what? Power?
No, Peter wasn't angry. The only emotion he felt was nothing. Like his ability to feel anything at all had been ripped away from him along with Tony, along with his classmates and along with his own morals.
Ever since the last battle where Tony gave his life, Peter had been exhausted both physically and mentally; at first, he brushed it off as just being tired. Tired and grieving. People understood, and they gave him time. At first. Now, five months down the line, it was different. Those closest to him stopped caring; it had been five months, he should've gotten over it by now. May tried taking him to a therapist, but what good was that when you can't even explain the problem because of an identity issue? Talking to her was no good, because she just told him that 'Tony gave his life for the rest of the world', 'Morgan lost her father', 'You're not the only one that’s suffering' and after that Peter just stopped listening. Ned didn't have a clue, and Happy wasn't the listening type. Plus, he was always busy managing Stark Industries now that Tony was gone. So that just left Peter alone with his thoughts for five months, his insecurities growing and doubts swelling in his mind to the point where he couldn't hear anything past them. Yes, he was a mass murderer (even if it was for the greater good), and yes, Tony was gone, along with Natasha and Vision and even Cap popped his clogs a month ago and he still felt as though it was all his fault. The voice in the back of his mind constantly attacked his own train of thought, pushing down any reasoning that Peter tried to install. Cap chose to go back and live out his life himself. It's not my fault that he died of old age once he'd returned. But if you hadn't blipped, he wouldn't have gone back. Tony gave his life for over three billion people to live theirs. But if you hadn't blipped, he wouldn't have even tried. Peter was always arguing with himself, to the point where he'd just take himself off to his bed and fall asleep. Often, his dreams were plagued with images of Tony's last moments; of Thanos and his army; of the sight of those around him turning to dust. But other times, sleep was the only way of contacting Tony. Peter had struggled to get the hang of lucid dreaming, but occasionally there were times where Tony would visit him in his dreams and Peter would try to apologise for letting him die; but Tony would just shake his head, not understanding what Peter meant, before he would wake up in a cold sweat, face drenched in freezing cold tears.
It was unbearable.
He was in his room again, barely able to manage a few mouthfuls of the pasta May had coaxed him into eating. It wasn't that it didn't taste good- it was just his appetite had diminished entirely since Bruce had snapped him back, despite his ridiculous metabolism. The only way to distract himself for more than a few seconds was to put everything he had left into his school work- doing extra studying, finishing his assignments weeks ahead of time and asking for extra work. It was the only way to keep himself sane, as even being with Ned reminded him of the events five months ago. There was just no real escape from it.
Even his room felt foreign to him; after being blipped for five years, all of Peter's stuff had been thrown away by the apartment owners, and now he had no sentimental items left of value. All of uncle Ben's stuff had been chucked, along with any photos Peter had left of his mom and dad. After returning from the Snap, Peter just felt as though everything had been taken from him. His personal belongings, Tony, his sanity. Fucking everything.
There was a small knock at the door, and Peter scowled lightly. He knew he was being harsh on May, but he couldn't help it; it was just so exhausting even existing anymore, let alone pretending to be okay. "Yeah." He answered, not taking his eyes off his hands.
"Peter…" May approached him slowly, before sitting on the bed beside him. His room was a mess, clothes scattered along the floor and drink cans littering his sides. His bin was overflowing again (May had only emptied it a few days ago when she deep-cleaned his bedroom for the twelfth time) and there was just no order like there was before. She let out a small sigh, and her eyes tried to search Peter's for any life, any part of him left. He glanced up at her, expressionless. That was all she really needed.
"Can you do something for me?" She asked softly. Her hand had moved to rest on one of his slumping shoulders.
"Depends."
"Go see the guidance counsellor at school. Please, please talk to him. I can't stand seeing you so broken, Peter, I promised your parents I'd take care of you and I feel like right now, I'm doing exactly the opposite of what I promised them; I don't want to lose you too, Pete."
Peter wanted to feel bad for her, wanted to apologise but he couldn't bring himself to do so; he simply nodded, accepting her tight embrace but not giving anything in return as she held him close to her.
"Thank you. I just… Want you to be okay."
Was she crying?
"I'm sorry…" Peter mumbled, not much empathy in his tone. The grip on him tightened for a moment, and he exhaled weakly.
"It's not you that should be sorry. But please, Peter. For you. Talk to him."
"I will, May." Peter told her. And he meant it. Reluctantly, he gave her a smile.
"That's the fakest smile if I ever saw one." May chuckled through her tears, wiping her eyes and ruffling Peter's hair.
"My bad." Peter smiled again, this time slightly more believable.
"Try to get some sleep. I'll call the school and see if I can get you an appointment."
"Thanks, May."
She nodded, giving him a warm smile before getting up and leaving his room again. She closed the door, and Peter exhaled shakily.
He knew it would be a waste of time going. Guidance counsellors were never any good. But he was doing it for her, and her only. If it made her worry a little less, Peter was okay with doing it. None of this was May's fault, and Peter did feel a little guilty taking out all his anger and despair on her all of the time.
All he wanted was some peace. To be okay for just a few moments.
Just relief from being him.