I See You
(I didn’t steal the gif I made it myself which is why it’s crappy lmao)
Pairing: Peter Parker x reader
Summary: you would think fighting crime on a daily basis would give Peter Parker the ability to recognise when someone needs help. It turns out, that might be a skill employed by Spider-Man alone.
Warnings: depression, gets a bit sad, suicide attempt, one tiny swear
A/N: I listened to Almost Over by Aquilo while I wrote this, and while it’s a song about breaking up, I think it really fits <3 Also @thekillingquill basically gave me this idea so she’s going down as co-writer (I hope I didn’t ruin it)
Disclaimer: I know this is quite a sensitive issue and I hope I did it justice. Mental health is so important but it’s also unique to every individual, and depression can manifest itself differently in different people. I did research for this and also drew on my own experiences, but please remember that this is fiction <3
(Y/N)’s hair was tied back messily, strands falling out around her face and neck. A too-big, red hoodie hung from her shoulders. She stared down at her scuffed Converse as the other students trickled out of the classroom, avoiding Peter’s nervous gaze.
Peter hadn’t stood this close to (Y/N) in months. Ever since his Spider-Sense started acting up around her, he couldn’t bring himself to be near her. It would usually only go off when he sensed a threat, so he couldn’t understand why it went so crazy around her—(Y/N) wasn’t a threat to anyone. Any time he was around her, the base of his neck would tingle, all of his senses would be on high-alert, and it was draining for him. He was almost glad when she stopped showing up to the academic decathlon team meetings.
He did miss her. However, the (Y/N) that he missed was not the girl standing beside him. (Y/N) had been one of the smartest kids in school; she was on the fast track to the Ivy League college of her choice. And on top of that, she was hilarious. Before scholastic competitions, she would prank all of her teammates. Harmless pranks, like random silly-string attacks and serving mayonnaise-filled donuts for lunch. And she would calm them down on stage by whispering jokes and innuendos in their ears. She was their relief when they felt the pressure of the competition bearing down on them.
That was before she stopped attending the meetings. Before she stopped caring altogether.
He played with the strap of his backpack as they stood at the teacher’s desk, waiting for the door to close behind the last student to leave the room. Scratching the back of his neck did nothing to relieve the tingling sensation he felt there.
“(Y/N),” the teacher began, “I know we’ve spoken about this before, and I trusted that you would take care of it, but I haven’t seen any improvement in your grades since the last time we spoke.”
Peter masked his shock as he glanced at (Y/N) cautiously, expecting her cheeks to be tinged pink and her shame to be written all over her face. She merely looked bored. She licked her lip, staring down at the desk. If the teacher was waiting for a reply from her, she would be waiting a long time.
Peter felt the second-hand embarrassment flood through him, flushing his cheeks a bright red. He fiddled with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, waiting for one of the women to break the heavy silence.
The teacher sighed in concession. “I don’t know what you have going on after school that’s taking up so much of your time, but your grades are suffering for it. Which is why I think Peter should help you study.”
(Y/N) scoffed, and Peter could see the muscles in her jaw working as she ground her teeth together. She rolled her eyes and shrugged. “Fine. Sure.”
The teacher blinked slowly at her, inhaling deeply to keep from losing her temper. Plastering a false smile on her face, she turned to Peter. “Peter? Would you mind helping (Y/N) with the next few homework assignments? It’ll count as extra credit.”
He looked, wide-eyed, between his classmate and the teacher. He had to prioritise his duties as Spider-Man—he didn’t have time to tutor someone who was clearly smarter than him. She just wasn’t trying. Then again, the teacher must have known this, too. Was she embarrassing (Y/N) in front of him in the hopes it would inspire her to work harder?
“Um, sure. Yeah, no problem,” he stuttered eventually.
“Great,” the teacher said, beaming at him. Her expression soured as it turned towards the girl. “I expect an improvement, (Y/N). You are the last person I expected to be failing this class.”
(Y/N) managed to refrain from rolling her eyes as she left the classroom, Peter close at her heels. She stalked down the corridor, her strides long so Peter almost had to jog to keep up with her.
“Hey, so do you wanna study today?” he asked as she stopped at her locker.
“No.”
Peter frowned and scratched the back of his head. “Okay, tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Um… what about—”
“No, Peter,” (Y/N) said firmly as she shoved the books from her locker into her backpack.
“Well, when?” Peter asked slowly.
She released a slow breath, eyes shut and jaw clenched, as if talking to him was an immense effort. “Never.”
Peter’s brow furrowed, his fingers working at the sleeves of his hoodie. “But, Miss s—”
“I know what she said, Peter,” she sighed. “Look, tell her you helped me. Tell her we spent all day at the library and you taught me an entire text book and get your extra credit. But I don’t need help with chemistry.”
“But… she said you’re failing,” he said quietly.
“So?”
Peter’s mouth dropped open and his lips worked as he tried to find a response. “I thought you would… you would want to… not do that. Fail.”
(Y/N) shook her head. “I don’t care, Peter. I really don’t.”
“So, you don’t want my help?”
“Nope,” she replied, tearing the posters and photographs from the door of her locker and stuffing them into her bag.
He nodded, hands gripping the straps of his backpack tightly as he stared into the empty locker, searching the abyss for any idea of what to say next. “Will, um… will I see you at the decathlon team meeting?”
“I quit, remember?” she answered, and slammed the locker shut. It was an action with such finality that Peter didn’t even try to stop her as she stormed out of the school, into the bright afternoon.
It had been a slow day. Spider-Man hadn’t so much as rescued a kitten from a tree. He supposed it was a good thing: a boring day for him meant a safe day for everyone else. Still, he couldn’t help but be disappointed that he had nothing to report back to Happy.
To cheer himself up, he perched himself on a balcony overlooking the 59th Street Bridge—one of his favourite places in the city—to finally eat the sandwich he bought at the deli. He enjoyed watching the cars trickle over the bridge as the water glistened underneath it. It was especially beautiful in the evening, when the sun was just beginning to set behind the skyscrapers across the river, the sky a watercolour painting of soft oranges bleeding into pastel yellows.
He was one bite into his sandwich when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention. The instinct was so strong he had already tossed his sandwich away and jumped so that he was crouching on the barrier before he was aware of what he was doing. He scanned the horizon, and his gaze landed on a swath of red. It appeared to be a person on the bridge, but they were far too close to the edge. It looked as though they were on the wrong side of the barrier—
Peter launched himself from the balcony and shot a web to a neighbouring building. He swung with his whole body, kicking his legs out and pulling on the webs to propel himself from one building to the next until he reached the bridge, where he could see the red figure still standing on the ledge. They were leaning out over the water. Peter didn’t have time to think. He shot a web towards the bridge midway between himself and the jumper, and then he threw himself off the edge, just as a flash of red launched itself into the air.
He swung towards them at an alarming rate. The collision almost knocked the air from his lungs as he wrapped his arm around the jumper and ordered them to hang on—he needed both web shooters to get them back to safety, or they would be swinging like a pendulum all night.
The person wrapped their arms around his neck, and with both hands free, he could swing back to the shore. They landed with a slight jolt, and Peter was finally able to get a good look at the jumper. His heart sank.
(Y/N) stood in front of him, the wind whipping her hair into her tear-stained face. She stared out at the water and wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her red hoodie. “You weren’t supposed to do that,” she said quietly.
Peter stared at her, grateful his dumbstruck expression was hidden behind his mask. “I-I… what?”
“You should’ve let me fall,” she muttered.
“But you- you would’ve died!”
She looked up at him tiredly. “That’s the point.”
Peter took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He was not equipped for this. “Why would you want that?” he asked softly.
(Y/N) stared out at the water again. Her lower lip trembled, and tears glistened in her eyes, but they didn’t fall. “I can’t do it anymore.”
“Do what?”
“This. Everything. All of it.”
Peter stayed silent, partially because he didn’t think she was finished, but mostly because he really didn’t know what to say. He watched her pull the sleeves of her hoodie down over her shaking hands, and scrunch the fabric in her fists as she struggled for words.
“I’m tired,” she continued eventually. Her voice was barely a whisper as she tried to hold back the tears. “I’m so, so tired. It’s like everything is just… dark. And I’ve been waiting for the light”—she sniffed—“but it’s not coming.”
“Why is it dark?” he asked carefully.
“Does there have to be a reason?”
Peter bit his lip behind the mask. How could he have missed it? All the signs were there: (Y/N)’s change in attitude, quitting her extra-curricular activities, failing classes. All these months, he was so busy being Spider-Man, he hadn’t even noticed that she needed help. What kind of friend was he?
“We should sit down,” he said, gesturing towards a park bench which overlooked the river. The wooden bench was cold, and he could feel it even through the suit. He shivered as he turned towards her. “Talk me through it.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Don’t do that,” he said. “Don’t pretend this is nothing. You just tried to take your own life, don’t act like this isn’t important.”
She met his gaze, and for an instant, Peter forgot he was wearing the mask. (Y/N) didn’t need Spider-Man; she needed a friend. She needed Peter. So he listened to her, like he should’ve been listening to her all along.
“It’s just… it’s not easy to explain,” she told him. “I should be fine, right? I have a family that loves me, that I love. And I had friends, did well in school… I had a life that any other person would’ve been content with. I should be fine. But I’m not.”
“How do you feel?”
The last glimpse of the sun cast a soft orange glow over her face as she looked up to the sky, her lips curved into a deeply set frown. She looked so small, with her knees tucked up to her chest, her hoodie falling off one shoulder. He could almost see her mind working, finding the words to express what she had been feeling for months but had never said aloud. Her brow creased, and a tear finally slipped down her cheek as she bit her lip. “Like I’m sinking,” she said unevenly. “Like I can’t even see the surface anymore. Like I’m drowning, and no one knows. No one’s even noticed that I’m gone.”
Peter inhaled sharply. His heart clenched, curling itself up into a tight ball, either in sympathy with her words, or to protect itself from them. He made a conscious effort to keep his voice even, and impartial, even though he wanted desperately to pull her into his arms and apologise for not seeing it before. “What do you mean, ‘no one knows’?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, again wiping her face with her sleeve. “It’s like I’m slipping away, and everyone in my life is too busy with their own shit. They don’t see me.”
“I saw you,” he said quietly. “I see you.”
She looked up at him, eyes filled with tears preparing to take the leap. “You don’t even know me.”
“Maybe not, but I see you. I care.” Peter paused, thinking. “Maybe you should make a list,” he offered. “A list of things to live for.”
“I tried.”
“Maybe you missed something,” he replied. “Let’s see, you’ve got family, so that’s one. Friends, that’s two. Hmm, the new Star Wars film is coming out soon. You can’t miss it. So that’s three.”
(Y/N) giggled, rolling her eyes.
“That laugh,” Peter said, grinning (even though she couldn’t see it) as he pointed at her. “That’s four.”
“A laugh is not a reason to live.”
“Yes, it is. The world needs that laugh. I bet you make other people laugh, too,” he said, thinking of all the times (Y/N) would have the entire decathlon team gasping for breath, keeled over laughing in their hotel room at competitions. (Once Mr Harrington stormed into their room to reprimand them for being too loud, and (Y/N) offered him a mayonnaise filled donut.) (She got detention.)
She didn’t answer, just stared down at her hands as they fiddled with her sleeves. At least she wasn’t crying anymore.
“Look,” Peter said softly, “I don’t know much about this stuff. Honestly, I’m just a kid. I guess we have that in common. I can’t imagine what you’re going through, but I don’t think the solution to your problems lies at the bottom of that river. I know you’re hurting, but you don’t know how you’ll feel tomorrow, or the next day. Maybe next week, you’re gonna be laughing with a bunch of your friends, planning on going to see Star Wars. Maybe in five years, you’ll be in your dream college, working towards getting your dream job. Who knows where you’ll be in ten years? The thing about it is, you can change your life right now, and take steps towards feeling happier. Or, you can end it. But once you end it, there’s no going back.”
(Y/N) didn’t speak. She looked out across the river, and although she didn’t smile, she didn’t frown either. Perhaps it was Peter’s wishful thinking, but there might have been a light in her eyes that wasn’t there before.
Peter looked for (Y/N) the next day in school, worry bubbling in his stomach with each hour that he didn’t find her. He was just considering ditching school to check on her when she appeared beside his locker.
“Ready for chemistry?” she asked uncertainly.
Peter broke into a grin, which seemed to baffle her, but she smiled nonetheless. “Yeah. Yeah. We can- we can go… together? Like walk there together. If you want.”
She licked her lip, trying (and failing) to hide the smile sneaking its way across her features. “Sure. Let’s do that.”
They walked in silence through the crowd, Peter nervously running his hand through his hair. He racked his brain for a way to phrase the one question that mattered—are you going to be okay? He was thinking so hard, in fact, that he almost missed her speaking to him.
“About yesterday,” she began, “I’m really sorry. I’ve just- I’ve just been having a rough time, and chemistry was kinda the last thing on my mind.”
“That’s okay,” he rushed to tell her. “It’s totally fine. I- actually, I was um… I was worried. About you. I was trying to find you earlier, because I- I just got the feeling yesterday that you might… I don’t know. I was gonna ask if you’re okay.”
She looked at him with wide eyes, as if she was surprised by his question. As if he was the first person in months to ask her how she was doing. The thought that he might be made his heart deflate. “I’m… okay,” she answered slowly. “I- yeah. I’m okay. Actually, I wanted to ask you for a favour.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Mmhmm. Would it be okay if I borrowed your chemistry notes? I’ve been totally spacing out in class for like, six months, and I need to catch up. I’d really appreciate it—”
“You know, we could study together,” he offered.
“You don’t have to do that. I mean, you can tell the teacher that we are, and get the extra credit—”
“It’s not about the extra credit,” he blurted. He made sure to look her directly in the eyes when he continued, despite how his cheeks burned in protest. “I’ve missed hanging out with you, (Y/N). After you quit the decathlon team, and debate club, I hardly ever see you. And I um… I miss you.”
“You’re just saying that because you feel sorry for me,” she said quietly.
The words almost stopped Peter in his tracks. She couldn’t know. Could she? “Why would I feel sorry for you?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Because I’m failing chemistry,” she laughed.
His mouth dropped open, eyebrows shot up. “Ohhh,” he said. “No. I don’t feel sorry for you. Are you kidding? You’re my only competition in chemistry class. And beating you is no fun when you aren’t even trying.”
“Peter Parker,” she gasped. “Is that fight talk?”
“I’m just saying, even with my help, you’ll be coming in second place.”
“Oh, we will see about that, Parker,” she chuckled as they walked into the classroom. “Five bucks says I’ll have first place by the end of this year.”
“You are so on.”
It started small.
Later that day, Peter saw (Y/N) leave the guidance counsellor’s office, a pamphlet clutched tightly in her hand. The first life preserver for her to cling to—hope that things would change. The second came in the form of commitments. She joined the academic decathlon team, and eventually the debate club, once again.
Peter didn’t know it, but he provided her with the most valuable support of all—friendship. When she had reached the end of her rope on that bridge, Spider-Man gave her a reason to hold on. But Peter Parker gave her the strength to pull herself back up.
They met weekly to study, help each other with homework, and have the occasional debate about trivial things, like whether the Lord of the Rings books were superior to the films. (“Who has time to read all those books?” “There are three books, Peter. You don’t have time to read three books?”)
Eventually, weekly study sessions became biweekly, and then almost daily. (Y/N) grew to trust Peter. It was at one of their sessions, months later, that she told him about her depression.
She was sitting on the floor, leaning against Peter’s bed, when he casually asked her why she had quit the decathlon team all those months ago. He hadn’t expected her to tell the truth, much less burst into tears in front of him. He rushed to her side, pulling her into his chest and she sobbed the story into his neck as he stroked her hair, his other arm wrapped firmly around her shoulders. Her fist closed tightly over the collar of his shirt when she came to tell him about the bridge.
“He saved me, you know?” she whimpered, retreating from his embrace to wipe at her tears with her sleeve. “He saved me, and I didn’t want it to be for nothing.”
“It definitely wasn’t for nothing,” Peter whispered as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Peter spent so much time with (Y/N) that he stopped noticing his Spider-Sense acting up around her. After a few months, he caught himself admiring her as she worked on her calculus homework, and he realised he hadn’t felt that tingling sensation in the back of his neck in weeks. However, it was soon replaced by butterflies in his stomach and a skip of his heart any time she returned his gaze. He knew the weeks he had spent becoming comfortable around her were wasted the day he found himself staring at her lips and wondering what they would feel like against his.
“Peter?”
“Huh?” he asked, flinching as she jolted him from his daydream.
“Are you alright?” she asked carefully. “You were um… you were staring into space.”
He had been staring at her and they both knew it.
Peter became (or rather, regressed to) a stuttering mess after that day, but he was sure (Y/N) had no idea why. (She knew exactly why.)
(Y/N) always noticed when he was staring at her. She enjoyed it, even. And she gazed at him, too, though she was wise enough to do it when he wasn’t looking.
She was grateful to have a friend like Peter. She could share everything with him, and she never feared how he would react. Mostly, however, she felt like he could see her, and just knowing that was enough to make her feel like she mattered.
(Y/N)’s depression was not cured the day she met Spider-Man. It took months of therapy and determination on her part to feel even remotely close to the person she used to be. She would still have days when she felt the tide coming in to sweep her away again, but she knew she wasn’t alone. She had her choice of friends and family that she trusted, and she could tell them anything and everything.
She also developed a habit of listing all the things she had to live for. They ranged from simple things, like watching a film or eating a leftover slice of pizza from the fridge, to things she considered to be monumental, like graduating college and having an apartment of her own. Two items featured on every one of her lists: the possibility of meeting Spider-Man once again, to thank him for saving her life; and the feeling of satisfaction she would have when she stole the top spot in chemistry class from Peter Parker.
tags: @jvghead-jones-iii