Chapter Text
Peter’s standing in the ile of a dollar tree. It was almost halloween, so obviously it was filled to the brim with christmas items. After meeting with Nightwing and agreeing to come another time, he felt strangely hollow.
Empty.
(‘It’s because you're a traitor, Peter.’ His face twists at the reminder.)
So, why not fill that void in his soul with capitalism?
Anyways, he wanted something at least to decorate with, for himself. It’s almost all hallow’s eve, for god’s sake. He spots a cute hanging ghost, and look it’s his brethren. Get it? Because he might as well be dead.
Okay, thoughts not the time.
Looking around for something else, he finds some fake spider webs.
They come in white, neon green, black, and red.
Heh. (He wants to cry.) (It’s like the world’s taunting him.)
It’s really not that funny. He doesn't even really want them, they hurt .
___
He ends up getting both.
___
On the bright side the firehouse already looks haunted, so there wasn’t really that much to do. (Yeah, Peter, your life’s a real life horror story. That’s greeeat.)
He’ll probably go out on patrol if he didn’t feel so sick. Nauseous to his bones. It’s a familiar feeling.
Peter’s going to go out regardless, of course. But sometimes it’d just be nice. To fall asleep wanting to wake up. To feel that quiet comfort instead of dread when he’s tired. But he needs to check out that place on the side of the docks.
And there’s word that the Rouges are planning something. And, like, why? It’s so pointless.
Why is there always so goddamn much to do? Another scream, an injustice, some stupid fucking assignment. It may be a responsibility he chose, but it still suffocates.
Sometimes, only occasionally, it scares him that he’s so apathetic, that he drowns in the horror so much that he’s so rarely affected.
Except for those nights. Those mornings. The ones where it all crashes down. Just strikes him in the mundane. He breathes and breaths and breathes and they’re a little fast but he’s never lost because he can’t be lost if he’s lost then what can he do, he’ll die, then it’s a problem and then all his control is gone, and he’s still so awake -
But, that’s only every once and a while. Or every week, time doesn’t mean that much anymore.
He decides to forgo any Halloween decorations, no one even cares anyway.
___
What’d he even do today?
He thinks about it but everything’s far to foggy to remember.
Damn, has he just been wasting away? Wow, he can’t help but break out into giggles. (They’re so hollow , he doesn’t even know why he’s laughing, he can barely seem to stop.)
He’s laughing and laughing and laughing. He can’t help but remember those he left to die, how many people he failed .
It’s so distasteful to just laugh, but it’s all he can do to stay. To just smile and laugh until his cheeks hurt. Peter knows that deep down this is wrong.
Of course it is. But he can’t hold onto that fear for long, it slips, just like how he’s slipping.
It was slow but now it’s fast. Sinking but now drowning, soft now hard, white to red.
He really wants Nightwing.
Oh and there he is, it’s like magic. Oh no, Nightwing looks worried. For who? he wonders, before seeing him frantically turn towards him. And well dammit.
Doesn’t he know he really shouldn’t worry about little old him? All he brings is death and rot. He knows it’s the hero in Nightwing, but he should really warn the guy.
He’s so nice, he doesn’t deserve to get hurt by Peter.
Peter is still laughing, but he can barely feel a thing. He’s just so disconnected, which is bad. Yeah that’s bad. That’s not good. (The fact just seems funny to him.)
And Nightwing was apparently trying to say something to him. Well, gosh darn it. He didn’t even here a word.
What a shame, it was probably important too.
But everything’s really foggy. And his vision is turning gray and he can see spots. All the colors floating in his head are so annoying.
The last thing Peter sees are a bright green smile and Nightwing’s horrified face.
“Have you ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight?”
For a matter of fact Peter has. He likes green martini’s and dark red wine.
He always laughed too.