I RECOMMEND READING THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER TO UNDERSTAND ANYTHING IN THIS ONE!

Wasn't there?

Wasn't there?

Wasn't there?

His mind was racing like crazy... flashbacks of Thanos and Titan... checking his hands if they weren't disintegrating... body shaking...

He gripped his head, trying to control the spinning, the visions, the alarming shouting coming from within his head repeating Fury's words like a broken record.

He gripped his hair tighter, trying to press pause, trying to hold onto something, something that would just assure him that he was still there, still human, still solid, in a world that was spinning in a mixture that had no constant, nothing that could possibly last an eternity, nothing that he could call his, without it being to fragile that could break under the weight of what was haunting him. Nothing that wouldn't turn dark under his touch.

Wasn't there? Wasn't there? Wasn't there something wrong? A pattern? A villain behind all of it? What the hell did Fury mean?

Thanos?

Dead... dead... dead...

"DEAD!" Peter yelled, trying to convince himself, his voice as strong as he could muster, though breaking, his mind repeating past memories... grabbing him, trying to drown him, his mind defying him, not obeying even his loudest screams for help.

He was sinking even lower. A dense liquid, disabling him to try and fight, swim back up, to get even a breath of calmness, a breath of air that would keep him alive and stable, that would maybe once help him forget his past.

"Dead... he's dead."

Why did he sound so weak? Why couldn't he fight back?

He didn't even try convincing himself more, he didn't even care if people were shouting: "SPIDER-MAN! SPIDER-MAN!"

Spider-Man?

Spider-Man...man...man...be a fucking MAN, for once in your stupid life Peter!

"PETER! WAKE UP!"

His eyes opened suddenly, people were looking at him, shouting out his name, looks of surprise, trying to figure out what the hell was going on with their local superhero who was on the verge of having a panic attack in the middle of a street.

He gazed around, so bright, so loud... so many people looking at him being so weak.

He wanted to take of his mask, breathe and forget, breathe and move on.

just. forget.

He couldn't focus. His senses were in overdrive, his body was shaking, he could hear his heart without even focusing on it beating above all this noise.

He looked at his hands, his solid hands, his web shooters. He raised his hand and shot up into the dark night, disappearing from the noise below, escaping as far as he could...

...away...away...away...because you were only good at running away, weren't you, Peter?

He dropped onto a roof, hands touching the cold ground, shaking...

Only he didn't realise he wasn't alone. That there was someone there, waiting with a knife right above him, waiting for the poor boy to raise his head.

And before he felt the knife dig into the flesh of his stomach, he just remembered two words:

wasn't there?

And just like that he saw black.

And no one came.

He was alone.

Alone.

With the night.

Alone.

Like he deserved.

All alone.

And Peter hurt. Like he always did. In a pool of blood. Unconscious. Trying to fight the impossible. Too stupid to realise that it was all useless. That he was nothing.

That he was simply dying.

Dying. But alive.

With shaking hands he took out his phone and pressed the number of the last person he called. He didn't know who it was, he couldn't see the caller ID through the pain.

"Peter? Peter? Why are you calling me at two in the morning? Peter? Hey, answer me! Is something happening?"

"MJ?"

"Yes, you called me!"

"I'm going to die."

He didn't even gulp this time, he didn't even care.

Who was he, avoiding the truth? He would never outrun it.

"What?! Peter, I'm actually trying to sleep here. Is something seriously happening?"

"There...there was this guy....AHHHH...he stabbed me....and blood...I'm going to die...call Dad...PLEASE....please..."

Please? Please? Why are you begging? Why do you want to burden Iron Man again? Why do you want to live?

He couldn't think through the pain. He just wanted to scream. Forget the reality his mind was introducing to him.

"Tell me where are you! Peter, put pressure on the wound, is there a lot of blood?"

"There's a lot. It hurts. It hurts like-like..."

Like what, Peter? Like what? Like Titan?

"Where are you?! Can Karen send your location?"

"No. No. MJ. I...I...switched her off. Dad...dad doesn't know I'm here. AHH. Help, please. I'm on a roof, I see the school...facing...the...the back entrance. AHHHH. Please!"

Because you always were so stupid Peter.

"PETER!"

Someone was calling his name. Someone was above him.

Through the blur in front of him, he could just quite picture MJ, who with shaking hands was pressing a gauze against the wound, blood soaking the material, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks, trying to smile at Peter.

"Tony is coming. Tony is coming, Peter."

"Thank you." Peter whispered silently.

*

The next thing he knew he was in a dark room. A completely dark room, with not even one source of light. Peter squinted his eyes, to at least catch a glimpse of whatever was in front of him. Nothing. He propped himself up, resting his head against the back of the bed, only to hiss in pain, as he remembered the events from last night, and with that memory he realised the two words that landed him in that situation.

Wasn't there? The question was now engraved in the back of his head, every move he made followed by those two words. It was a mantra, an obsession, and Peter was determined to get to the bottom of it, believing with his entire heart that the knife he was wounded with belonged to someone who knew perfectly well what he was doing.

"You, sir, have a lot of explaining to do." came a voice from the darkness.

Peter tensed, until he recognised who the voice belonged to. The natural defence for a totally furious Tony Stark was:

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, I kind of expected that." Tony replied, "should I turn the lights on?"

"No."

"What made you go?"

"You know."

There came no instant response.

"Yeah. I know. Fury told you something." Tony stopped for a second and sighed, "that someone was behind everything. And it's in your head now, isn't it? You're trying to see a pattern."

Peter gulped.

"You don't believe it."

"I didn't say that."

"Yeah, doesn't mean you don't think that, but don't say it just to protect me, like you always do."

The light suddenly flicked on, revealing a bruised Tony Stark, leaning forward in his chair, arms resting on his knees, hands together, and Peter couldn't feel more guilty.

"Something was there, Peter. And when you know that, you don't try to fight it alone." Tony said, his face stone cold. Peter lowered his head, hiding his face in his hands, trying hard to fight back the tears of guilt.

"I'm so, so, so sorry, dad." he muttered.

"It's not the end, yet. We're going to dig deeper, and find the source of whatever Fury predicted." Tony said, ignoring Peter. The boy slowly raised his head, his eyes blood red, trying to find forgiveness in Tony's eyes, only to be met with the same cold expression.

"I'm really sorry."

Tony only stood up and left towards the door.

"Deem yourself lucky."

"Dad! Please! I'm sorry!" Peter pleaded, tears streaking down his cheeks. The door closed and Peter could only cry himself to sleep.

That's the end, Peter Parker.

The very end.

Nobody wants you.

Nobody loves you.

Goodbye, Peter Parker.

(A/N:) It was a month since the last chapter, wasn't it? I don't even want to start apologising. I was away for the most part of last month, and haven't had the time to sit down and write. I had a few drafts of small pieces of dialogue that I couldn't put together for any chapter, and somehow I wrote this today without using any previous drafts. So sorry.

Anyways I hoped you liked this chapter. I love writing depressing chapters, the joy of writing poor Peter and his thoughts. And as you see, we've got a pretty traumatised Peter, and Tony isn't helping.