Hello Marvel fandom! This is my first Spiderman story, so go easy on me! I just saw Spiderman: Homecoming, so this takes place in that universe. I've never read the comics, and I really don't remember the older movies (I'm in high school). I'm venturing out into some of my other fandoms, so expect more stuff like this!

Half of this medical stuff isn't gonna be right, I'm making this up as I go. Sorry guys.

Please vote on my poll (in my profile), I need your feedback!

Warning! Depressing as hell! May contain triggers!

Again, this takes place in the Spiderman: Homecoming universe.

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel.

Peter's P.O.V.

I climb in through the window, shaking the rain out of my hair and checking to make sure the door is locked. Aunt May isn't home, but I'm not taking that chance.

I'm not good enough.

I pick up the small pocket knife that had been resting in my dresser drawer. Slowly, I flick open the small knife, bringing it to my left thigh.

It's all my fault.

I bring the blade down, slowly dragging it into the flesh of my leg.

Everybody hates me.

I make 3 more cuts on that leg, pausing after each slow swipe to watch the blood ooze out.

I'm not strong enough.

I move on to my right thigh, making four cuts on that leg as well.

I'm a disappointment.

I sigh, before pressing an old shirt against the cuts. The sudden pain brings me back to reality, and I'm left gasping for breath.

I'm not worth it.

I remove the shirt, now covered in blood, and close my eyes. I steady my breathing before applying pressure to the other leg.

I don't deserve to be loved.

Once the blood is off my legs, I wipe the pocket knife on the shirt as well, cleaning off the crimson stains. I toss the blade back into the drawer, and put my head in my hands.

I'm weak.

My eyes are watering like I'm about to cry. My limbs feel like deadweight, and my head is pounding with an oncoming migraine. I fall back, dropping my head on the pillow. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to stop the tears that are flowing steadily now.

Time passes as usual, and I wait for Aunt May to come home. By 8:30, she still isn't back. She should've been home over an hour ago. I see my hands start to shake. My heartbeat pounds in time with my head, and I can feel my chest tightening as I struggle to breathe. A panic attack. Great.

I take small breaths, on the verge of hyperventilating. I focus on my breathing, and my heart rate slows to its usual thumping rhythm. Ok. Better. But now I notice how truly exhausted I am. I close my eyes, and I am enveloped in unconsciousness.

I wake up to see the sunrise in my window. I roll over, and only when I feel the pain travel up my legs do I remember what happened. I quickly flip so that I can see the cuts on my thigh. They're mostly scarred over, but the deeper cuts are still bleeding a bit. And, even better, some of the blood is on my clothes. I head to the bathroom to put a bandage around my thighs, then I go back to bed. Everything hurts, but at the same time, I feel numb. Maybe more sleep would help.

"Peter? Wake up! Time for school!" Aunt May knocks softly on the door, waiting for an answer. When I don't respond, she opens the door a crack to peek in. "Peter?"

"Aunt May?" I ask horsely. I can't see very well, my vision is blurred with sleep. She frowns, walking toward the bed and placing a hand on my forehead. I blink slowly, waiting for what was surely to come next.

"Wait here." She leaves, heading for the bathroom. May returns with a thermometer and sticks it in my mouth. "Keep it under your tongue," she instructs. It beeps a minute later, and she frowns again at the reading.

"'M sick?" I mumble. May shakes her head.

"I think so. It says 99.8°F." She looks back at me, then back at the thermometer. "You're staying home, though. Don't want you getting any sicker."

She sweeps her gaze over me one last time, before turning to walk out.

"Wait," I call. May looks at me questionably. "Where were you last night?"

"Late shift," she states. "Now get some sleep." I don't need to be told twice. I'm still exhausted, and as the door shuts, I pass out.

I awake in a daze, hazy with fever. I actually feel worse than I did earlier. I listen in on the conversation going on at the door.

"Is Peter home? I would like to check on him." That was Mister Stark. Why was he here?

"He's sleeping right now..." Aunt May hesitated. "I guess. He's sick."

"Thanks." I heard footsteps approaching my door, then the doorknob turns and he's standing there. "Hey, kid, you awake?" I look up at him, blinking slowly. "I heard you were sick."

"Not sick," I mumbled. Tony scoffed, crossing his arms and giving me a pointed look.

"Kid, you look like you went to hell. Your eyes are glazed over with fever, and you're sweating, your face is flushed, and you can't even speak clearly. You're sick."

"No," I groan. "No sick."

"Yes sick. You know what, I think I might even take you to the Avengers tower. You do not look good," Mister Stark replied. "I'll go talk to your aunt. Get ready to go."

"M'ster Stark," I complained.

"Get ready, kid." I slowly sat up, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and putting them on. I put my phone in the pocket, and while watching the door, sneak the pocket knife in the other. "Let's go."

I stand up, using Mister Stark as an anchor. He puts his arm around me, helping me up. I close my eyes, disoriented from a sudden dizzy spell. Mister Stark looks at me worriedly, but doesn't say anything. He just continues to help me get to the limo waiting outside.

"Avengers tower, please." He tells the driver. "And be quick about it." He puts up the partition, before getting me settled. I'm lying down on one of the seats, Mister Stark across from me. "Peter, what happened?"

"Dunno," I slur.

"Were you out last night? In the rain?" I nod slowly. He puts his head in his hands. "Idiot. It was cold and rainy, and you decided to patrol anyway?" He exclaimed. "No wonder you're sick."

"Kid? Pete? Wake up!"

"Wha?" I ask sleepily.

"We're at Avengers tower, and I'm taking you to the infirmary. C'mon, get up." It's Mister Stark again, helping me stand up and walk inside. We pass Bruce Banner, who follows us to the elevator.

"How is he?" Bruce questions.

"Not good. Infirmary set up?"

"Yep." The elevator finally stops, and Mister Stark half walks, half drags me into the infirmary. The bed is already set up, and I'm helped into it. I sigh, glad to be lying down. Bruce quickly gets to work, putting a thermometer in my mouth. It beeps, and his eyes widen at what it says. He tries a different thermometer, but it gets the same reaction.

"What is 't?" I ask hazily.

"102.3° F. That's dangerously high." Bruce bites his lip. "Peter, I have to put in an IV line, just stay still." He swabs my arm, then pierces the skin with the IV needle. I feel a wave of tiredness wash over me, and I'm about to pass out again. "Peter, stay awake, don't fall asleep, ok? You can sleep in a few minutes." I nod. Bruce places a wet washcloth on my head, and I close my eyes from the small form of relief. "Peter! Still with me?"

"Need any hel- woah." Mister Stark freezes in the doorway.

"Tony! Keep him awake, do not let him close his eyes." Bruce orders. He draws blood, sending it to testing.

"How bad is it?" He asks.

"Fever is 102.3°F, and I need to hook up more IVs and such. It's easier to do it now, then let him sleep." Bruce swabs my arm again, inserting another IV. "Tony! Peter!"

"Ok, ok." He turns to me. "Hey Underoos, you can't sleep yet buddy, stay awake, just a little longer…" Whatever was in those IVs is making me even more drowsy, and all I can do is sit there. Bruce puts a clip on my finger, starting the steady beeping of a heart monitor.

"Peter, can you hear me?" I nod. "Good. In a minute, your blood test results will come back, then we'll determine whether or not you can sleep. Most likely, it's just a fever, but I need to make sure it's not something else." Bruce and Mister Stark exchange worried looks. Bruce bits his lips, and heads out to get the testing results.

"Wh't could 't be?" I ask, slurring the words a little.

"I don't want to scare you, kid, but it could be some kind of infection, or poisoning. There are some really bad ones that are similar to fevers, but-"

"Peter! I have your test results," Bruce pauses to look at the piece of paper in his hand. "Good news. Just a fever. A bad one, granted, but still just a fever. You can sleep if you want." I close my eyes, and am out in seconds.

Ok I literally made most of that medical stuff up, whoops lol.

So we know that Peter self-harms, and he's really sick right now. Well the Avengers will have to find out eventually!

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