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1
Sometimes he gets sad.
Sometimes he gets numb.
Sometimes he gets angry.
Sometimes he gets isolated.
Sometimes he gets anxious.
All he knows is that it’s not a fun experience. Ever.
He gets empty and confused and lost and his mind becomes a thicket of thoughts that he can’t seem to grasp and none of the really make any sense to him anyway. He gets scared and lonely even if there are people all around him. He feels like he’s not good enough. Like nobody cares no matter how many times he’s asked if he’s okay. He always lies and says he is anyways.
Today’s a 7 on his scale of sadness. Normally, he wavers somewhere between a 4 and a 5. A 1 on his scale basically means that he has no bad thoughts lingering on his mind, enough so that he can smile and be happy without any mental repercussions. A 10 is basically seriously suicidal. A 7 is a little bit too high on his scale to pretend to be normal. It’s a little bit too high to just brush off as a regular day.
So, when he asks May if he can stay home while she goes to work, she stares at him for a few seconds with worry.
“Should I be worried? A 6?” she asks, checking over his body for potential worries in case it isn’t a mental thing.
“…7, but no. Not a worry thing. I’m okay, just don’t think I can go to school today. Sorry,” he says, forcing a small smile to grace his lips.
May frowns again, checking the younger boy over for any signs of danger or self-inflicted harm. There was a bad experience where Peter had purposefully gotten himself in trouble as Spider-Man and got stabbed because he was feeling closer to a 9 on the scale. He hadn’t tried to patch himself up or anything and cried when he woke up, perfectly fine.
“I’m okay, May. I promise. I’m just going to hang out in the living room. Watch movies, eat some snacks. I’ll even call Mister Stark and see if I can go over early if I’m feeling better later?” he suggests, trying to ease his aunt’s worry about her sad teenager.
“If you’re sure… I love you, sweetie. Don’t forget that. And if it gets anywhere above a 7, you call me, okay? Or Tony if that would make you feel better. Just don’t do this by yourself. You don’t have to,” she says, pulling her nephew into a tight hug.
Peter leans into his aunt’s warmth, inhaling the homey scent of perfume and laundry detergent from her wearing her nurse outfit. It’s not as though she’s really going to smell like homemade baked goods or anything with her cooking skills.
“I love you too, May. I’ll either see you when you get home or you can call me if I’m with Mister Stark. I know the drill,” he replies, feeling a bit of the heaviness lighten at joking around with his family.
She smiles tiredly and ruffles his curls. “Remind me to get your hair cut sooner or later. It’s getting long. Be safe, honey. I love you.”
“We already went through this. Go before you’re late,” he says, giving her a gentle push towards the door.
She nods, still looking a little bit flustered. She’s had nightmares about getting home and finding her nephew after a bad 10. Finding him cold and gone on the bathroom tiles. He doesn’t even know how she’d react to something like that, she’s lost enough.
“I love you,” Peter calls out one last time before the door shuts behind his aunt, and he instantly collapses onto the couch.
*
The day passes by uneventfully for the most part. He binge-watches all the Toy Story movies and now he’s flipping through the channels on the television.
He knows it’s not normal. Not right to have to feel this sort of sadness. This need to self-destruct. This desperation to escape himself.
He hates thinking when he’s feeling like this, so he tries to focus on whatever the tv is saying in the documentary that he can’t even remember the title of, but causes an odd sense of déjà vu.
He suddenly remembers why it looks familiar. He remembers seeing this documentary with Uncle Ben when he was 12 years old. He wanted to be smart after he couldn’t finish a crossword puzzle by himself so Ben showed him a documentary on how to memorize things to make himself seem smarter. He remembers it clearly very suddenly.
Sitting on the old, burgundy couch, knees drawn up to his chest with red, puffy eyes from crying. He had thought he was stupid for not knowing the answer to something he had never learned. He watched Jeopardy and he had wished he was as smart as those people. He had wished he was smart like his idol, Tony Stark. His Uncle had sat beside him on the couch, mug of coffee in hand with an easy-going smile. Ben had said that he was a genius for a 12-year old and had to stop comparing himself to adults. Peter had nodded, though didn’t quite take the thoughts to heart. The documentary had started and the smaller boy had curled up against his uncle, basking in the soft affection given to him.
It was a nice memory, but now, with the already heavy sadness weighing him down, it made everything feel worse. The tears were already falling down his pale cheeks before he could stop himself, and the moment he gave in to the crying, he knew it would be a constant downhill from there.
It’s your fault he’s dead.
It’s your fault.
If you weren’t stupid, you could’ve stopped it from happening.
If you hadn’t been stubborn and awful, he wouldn’t be dead.
May hates you for murdering her husband.
Your Fault.
It should’ve been you.
Why are you still alive?
Peter immediately curls himself up on the couch, bringing the old, obnoxiously pink throw pillow up to his chest, sobbing miserably into the fabric. He knows it’s his fault, that he should’ve done something, anything to stop it from happening.
He can feel the gun firing, echoing through his ears and reverberating through his ribcage. He can see the blood staining his fingers and getting underneath his nails, smearing on his old jeans and t-shirt. But there’s no pain. No physical pain because it wasn’t him. It wasn’t him that got hit. Wasn’t him who died.
And fuck it hurts so bad.
Because he knows it should’ve been him. Should’ve been his body who dropped to the concrete, heartbeat already slowing down as the bullet enters his chest, blood flowing. He knows it should’ve been him who fell and died and got mourned, not his uncle.
Before he knows it, he’s dialling the familiar number into the phone, refusing to look at his fingers in case he really sees the blood under his fingernails from that night.
He calls because he’s already let May down, time and time again, and if he can do anything, it's follow her rules.
Because he knows it’s not a 7 anymore. It’s an 8, maybe bordering on a 9, now because of the intrusive, painful thoughts.
You should be dead.
You shouldn’t be alive anymore
You know there’s knives in the kitchen.
You know you could get shot really easy out there as Spider-Man.
“Pete? Is this important? I’m in a meeting right now, kid. Aren’t you at school, anyway?” Tony’s soft voice cuts through his thoughts, pulling the crying teen from his agonizing pain.
“I can’t- I can’t- It’s an 8, Mister Stark. And I can’t see my hands and I’m scared and I can’t do the fucking crossword puzzle because I’m so stupid and the documentary is still going and I can’t think. And fuck, it’s an 8, Mister Stark,” Peter cries, feeling even worse when the guilt begins to set in for bothering the billionaire with his stupid problems.
“An 8? What’s that mean, Pete? You’ve gotta calm down, kid. Are you okay?” he responds, the sounds of shuffling papers coming through the speakers.
Peter whimpers quietly in response, curling tighter into himself, wanting nothing more than to simply cease to exist.
“Peter, listen to me, kid. Focus up for a second. Physically, are you okay? Are you home?” Tony asks very carefully.
The teenager nods, struggling to get a hold of his breathing for a moment or two before choking out his response, “Yes. Yes, ‘M home. ‘M not bleeding.” Wish I was.
“Okay… Okay. I’m coming over now, okay? I’m on my way over. What’s wrong?”
“I couldn’t do the fucking crosswords puzzle!” the kid sobs, gasping when he can’t seem to get the breaths into his lungs properly, shoulders trembling with his cries, the old couch springs digging into his spine uncomfortably. “I couldn’t do the crosswords puzzle and now his blood's under my nails and I can’t wash it out and I’m so fucking sad all the time.”
“Okay, kid. I’ll be there in 15 minutes, okay? I’m going as fast as I can. I’ll be there soon. It’s all going to be just fine,” Tony reassures, deep voice countering the gunshot still echoing through the kid’s head.
Peter squeaks in response, not even trying to push any words of understanding out of his dry mouth as he bawls silently into the throw pillow on his couch.
Tony finally shows up, as Peter’s tears begin to cease. Tony opens the door with his spare key that May gave him just in case of emergencies like this one, though it’s a bit useless when she doesn’t explain to him what an 8 is supposed to mean.
Peter lifts his tired head from the couch, big, puffy eyes searching Tony’s face for a moment before lifting a tired arm and making grabby hands at the billionaire. Peter doesn’t care that he might look like a toddler in desperate need of comfort. Doesn’t care about his messy bedhead curls or his rumpled Iron Man pyjama set or the tear stains left behind on the couch and pillow.
Tony doesn’t seem to mind either as he quickly sits next to the kid and gathers him up in his arms, pressing Peter’s head into his chest.
Peter gladly rests his ear against his father-figure’s arc reactor, listening to the quiet hum of the electricity as he cries into the fabric of Tony’s expensive suit, shaking like he was left in the snow for a couple too many hours.
“’M sorry. May says to call at an 8 and it felt like a 9 and I didn’t know what to do and I know you don’t know and you were busy, but I had to call someone because it just wouldn’t shut up and there was still blood under my fingernails and I couldn’t do the crossword puzzle and I just wanted to be smart,” Peter rambles in exhaustion once his tears begin to let up.
“That’s okay, Petey. I’m always here when you need me. I’ll always come when you call. It’s okay. Go to sleep, Underoos. I’m right here and you’re going to be just fine,” Tony murmurs, making the teen instantly feel safer and calmer. The voice always seems to quiet down whenever Tony’s around. It already feels like it’s dropping down to a 6.
Peter nods quickly and shifts down so his head rests comfortably in Tony’s lap, giving him perfect access to run his fingers through the kid’s hair. Thankfully not questioning any of the kid’s nonsense rambles.
“Sweet dreams, kiddo.”
2
From the moment Peter woke up, he knew it wasn’t going to be a good day. Heavy and lost and impossibly slow thoughts. Luckily, only felt like a 5 on the scale, but he’s just exhausted despite having slept fine the night before.
The day progressively just gets worse from the moment he gets out of bed.
He had ripped his last pair of good jeans the day before and now had to go to school in a pair of his old ones that were cut too high on the ankles and was a little baggy around his thin waist. He paired it with an MIT sweatshirt he has stolen from Tony, crossing his fingers that nobody would question him on this one.
He had stumbled out of his room to the kitchen to find a note from Aunt May saying she had already left for work and an apology for not having any change with her so he could buy his lunch. Guess that means making something before leaving.
Because he had to make his lunch, he no longer had time to eat breakfast and had to go to school on an empty stomach which is never a good thing in the first place.
And then he finds out that both of his friends are homesick for the day. Leaving him all by himself, hungry, and wearing jeans that don’t fit right. Already going fantastic.
To top it all off, Flash had decided to be more annoying than usual.
“Hey, Penis! Penis Parker! Hey!” Flash shouts, throwing ripped up paper at him. Peter turns around from his locker and rolls his eyes at Flash surrounded by his goonies.
“What do you want, Flash? Lay off,” Peter grumbles, hugging his book tight to his chest as his spidey-senses blare in his skull. He’s not going to do anything no matter how much his brain screams at him to fight back or protect himself.
The fist catches him off guard as he argues with himself to stay the kind-hearted, passive boy that he was before the spider bite.
He clutches his nose that’s started dripping blood on the floor and he can taste the metallic liquid in his mouth, at least he doesn’t think it’s broken.
“Nobody loves you, Parker! When are you going to get it through that thick skull of yours? Nobody loves you and nobody ever will!” Flash taunts, laughing as one of his bigger friends, Ethan, grabs Peter’s arms too tightly.
Peter shakes his head minutely, wishing it didn’t get to him, wishing it didn’t hurt as much as it does.
Ethan and his other big friend, Jason, laugh, sneering at the helpless kid. Jason takes another swing, catching Peter in the jaw and knocking his head to the side. He knows he’s had worse, but the hopelessness rooted deep inside him makes this worse than all the fights he’s gotten into on patrol.
“Your aunt hates you! She hates having to feed another mouth, doesn’t she? Especially when you eat so much, right? I’m right, aren’t I? She hates you, Parker!” Flash continues, laughing as Jason punches Peter in the face again.
The brunette’s head droops forward, small pants escaping him as his chest tightens. It’s all true. It’s all true and he knows that.
Ethan shoves the boy to the ground, cackling as Peter doesn’t even try to stop it from happening.
He’s got no one to protect him. No one who cares. No one who’s going to question the bruises.
The kicks are relentless at his stomach and back and ribs, but what hurts more is Flash’s words.
“You’re probably only with Stark because you fuck him, don’t you? You’re a little whore who lets Stark fuck you so you can work with him, right? You’re obviously not smart enough to work there so you must have to be offering him something,” he jeers, laughing endlessly as Peter curls himself into a little ball on the floor to try to protect himself from the shoes. “Nobody likes you, Penis Parker! Why are you even here?! Nobody likes you! You might as well just do everyone a favour and go kill yourself!”
Quiet sobs escape Peter’s burning lungs, and it’s a struggle to keep himself from totally breaking down.
This just edges Flash on to continue, “You’re going to cry?! What a fucking baby! No wonder nobody likes you! You just cry like a little baby! Grow the fuck up, Parker! Grow some balls or get rid of yourself! Go jump off a fucking bridge, you fucking bitch!”
Finally, the bell rings and the 3 of them race off to class, leaving Peter broken and bruised, alone in the hallway.
It takes a good 10 minutes before Peter can convince himself off the floor, limbs shaking with exertion and spidey-sense still ringing in the back of his head.
He immediately heads to a bathroom, deciding that skipping class is better than breaking down in class.
Cringing at his reflection, he tosses his bag on the floor and collapses in a stall.
He wants, more than anything, to call someone and have someone talk him down. To calm his panic, but after everything Flash had said, it seems impossible to do. How is he supposed to call for help when he was just told that nobody cares? That he’s just a burden. How is he expected to get help when he’s just going to hate himself more for causing worry when it wasn’t necessary.
The tears are instantaneous now that he’s alone and doesn’t have the worry about being judged for crying. Everything hurts, more than it should. He’s gotten shot and barely blinked an eye. He gets kicked a couple too many times and suddenly it’s the end of the world?
He sobs and covers his mouth with a trembling hand, leaning against the wall of the cramped stall. He hates himself for acting so weak, so pathetic, knowing everything Flash had said about him was true.
He curls in on himself, chest restricting any sort of breath from his lungs. He feels like he’s dying. Like he’s going to die. He heaves to get oxygen, head spinning as the tears cascade down his pale cheeks.
Suddenly his phone is ringing, cutting everything off.
It’s May.
He answers, pulling in another shaking breath to get himself under control enough to talk to his aunt without causing suspicions.
“The school just called me and said you weren’t in class. You better not be out patrolling,” May threatens, sounding only half paying attention. She’s probably on a break but needs to head back to work ASAP.
Peter hesitates for just a second too long to be considered normal before he answers, trying to sound as put together as he can. “I’m fine, May. Just… Just running late. I’ll go to the second period, okay?”
May’s shuffling on the other side stops. “Are you okay? You don’t sound well. If you’re sick I can come to get you or you can call Tony.”
“No!” Peter exclaims, just a bit too quickly. “No. I’m fine, May. Just a bit tired. I was up late last night doing homework.”
“If you’re sure, sweetheart… Just don’t overwork yourself, okay?”
“Okay, May. I love you,” the kid responds, wishing his voice didn’t tremble as much as it did.
“Love you too. Remember, tonight’s a lab night, so your curfew is at 10.”
Peter hangs up, leaning heavily against the wall, luckily feeling a bit better but it would be a miracle if he made it through the whole day without breaking down again.
*
Happy gives him weird looks in the car ride from school to the tower, probably because he’s sporting quite the look. Black eye, split lip, dried blood under his nose, bruises on his jaw and cheekbone and littering his arms. He doesn’t even know the half of it considering the constellations of purples under his shirt. Plus, he’s quiet. He knows it’s off for him to sit totally silent in the backseat of the vehicle, talking too quiet when spoken directly to. Answering the questions with only one or two words, and otherwise staring out the window with an empty look on his face.
Tony is pissed when he walks into the lab, unsurprisingly. Peter passes it off as a bad night of patrol and goes to his workbench to continue to work on his current projects. Tony stays quiet as well, turning back to his own work.
Peter figures it’s because obviously, Tony doesn’t care. Obviously, Tony wouldn’t actually care about where Peter got his bruises and his obvious bad mood.
As time passes, the kid just starts to feel worse and worse. The inner voices constantly repeating to him over and over again what Flash had said this morning. That tony didn’t care. That Tony never cared. That Tony’s just using him. Not for sex like Flash had implied, but as Spider-Man. Tony only cares about Spider-Man, not Peter Parker.
The tears are beginning to well up, and he can feel his heart start to race, pounding heavily against his tight ribcage.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Not here. Not now. Not while Tony’s here. Not like this. Not now.
But there’s nothing he can do as the tears begin to well over and his breathing stops functioning like it should and the walls start caving in on him.
He tucks his head into his arms on the table, deciding to have pretending to fall asleep or something, anything but Tony realizing that Peter’s having a panic attack in his lab. Peter doesn’t want, no can’t have, Tony abandoning him.
He’s going to kick you out. He’s going to get rid of you. He’s going to think you’re some fucking baby or something for crying, unprovoked in his lab. You’re such a fucking bitch. Pull yourself together. Come on.
But the words don’t help, and his shoulders wrack as he tries not to make any noise, desperate to just ride this one out and then leave without Tony ever knowing it happened.
But there’s a big, warm hand touching his shoulder, almost hesitantly.
“Pete? Kiddo? Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Tony asks softly, voice right near Peter’s head, but he blocks it out.
He can’t know. He can’t know. He can’t know. He’s going to take my suit. He’s going to take everything. He’s going to yell at you for being a pussy and how you should be stronger if you’re really a hero.
But Peter’s shaking his head, desperate for some form of comfort after going all day by himself.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t- I could’ve… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Peter cries, words muffled by his arms, but Tony gets the idea.
“Whatever you’re sorry for, I’m sure it’s not your fault, okay? Is it the same reason as why you got all those bruises?” Tony questions, already tearing down all of Peter’s barricades.
Peter sobs in response, shoulders trembling with his quieted cries, giving Tony the answer.
“Kid, let’s go to the couch, okay? We can fix it. You just gotta let me help you, okay?” Tony says, and the rush of relief that flows through Peter is instantaneous.
But there’s unfortunate inner turmoil that comes with accepting the help from his mentor.
He’s just pretending to care. You’re using him. He doesn’t actually care. You’re being a burden.
But the need to for physical attention wins out over the guilt of burdening Tony with his problems.
Peter lets himself be led over to the worn couch in the far corner of the lab, specifically put in there for reasons like this. It started that Pepper got it for Tony when he was having his really bad panic attacks, but now that he’s doing mentally better, it’s for Peter to use in situations just like this one.
Tony very carefully sits Peter down on the couch, pulling the kid’s hands away from his crying eyes to make it easier to calm his breathing.
“What happened, kid? Who did this?” Tony asks, voice softer than either could’ve imagined it could be.
“Flash,” Peter cries, making grabby hands at the billionaire, letting his heart win over his mind. His heart knew that he wouldn’t be able to do this without Tony’s help even if his brain was still screaming at him that nobody cared and nobody ever would.
“Flash? Like The Flash? Like Barry Allen?” Tony questions, sitting on the couch next to the kid. Peter’s response to his closeness is quick, pushing his head against his arc reactor and curling his small fists into Tony’s jacket.
“No. Flash Thompson,” Peter corrects, taking deep breaths to match his heartbeat to Tony’s. “A kid at school.”
“You got into a fight with a kid at school?”
“3 kids actually,” Peter says, refusing to pull away from Tony’s warmth. Tony doesn’t mind, keeping one hand wrapped tightly around the boy’s shoulders, the other untangling Peter’s curls softly to keep him grounded.
“I can imagine what the other kids look like,” Tony says with a short laugh.
Peter shakes his head, a few more tears escaping his eyes. “I don’t fight back. I didn’t touch them… They, um, they bully me. They make fun of me and push me around, but I’m just stupid fucking Penis Parker, right? I can’t fight back. I’m just a weak kid who cries when they hit me too hard, right? I’m just a scrawny loser, right?”
Tony’s body tenses up at that, freezing his movements in Peter’s curls.
“You just let them bully you like this?” Tony demands, pressing a chaste kiss to Peter’s temple when his body quivers at the ice in his mentor’s voice.
“I can’t fight them back. They can’t know that I’m actually tough. They can’t know that. It’s not as though they’re lying, though, right? I’m just stupid fucking Penis Parker who can’t fight back. Nobody fucking cares anyways,” Peter says, tugging himself away from the older man and rolling his dark, glassy eyes. “Nobody cares so why should they stop?”
“I care, kid. May cares. You can’t let what they say get to you like this,” Tony tries, reaching a hand out to comfort the trembling kid as more tears escape his eyes, but Peter pushes it away.
“May doesn’t care! She hates that she has to feed another mouth on her salary. She hates that I remind her of Uncle Ben every single day. She hates that she has to take care of a kid that’s not even hers. You only pretend to care because I’m Spider-Man. You only pretend to care because I could be a good asset to a future mission. Nobody fucking cares so stop pretending like you do,” Peter cries, burying his head back in his arms and wishing the floor could swallow him whole.
“I’m not pretending, Underoos,” Tony sighs, feeling like a shard of glass had been embedded into his caged-up heart. “I do care about you. About Peter Parker, you. Not just Spider-Man. May cares so so much about you too. You’re not alone in this. Trust me, you would know if I was only using you as a super.”
Peter lifts his flushed face up, enough to look up at his hero. “Really?”
Tony hates to see the kid looking so self-conscious. So unsure.
“Yes, really. Why would I let you come here all the time after school and on the weekends if I didn’t care? Come here, kid,” Tony murmurs, pulling the kid back into his chest as the kid continues to bawl.
“I’m sorry… They’re just so mean. They say all these things all the time and they never stop and it hurts more than anything physical. If something is said to you enough, it’s hard to deny it, you know? I just started thinking and then I never stopped thinking about all of it…” Peter explains, finally calming his tears enough to breathe through them.
“I know, kid. I know, but they’re lying, okay? Honestly… Honestly, I care about you more than I’ve cared about anyone, ever. And May loves you too. She would drop everything to make sure you were okay. She has dropped everything to make sure you’re okay. You can fight back, you know that. It’s self-defence. This?” Tony gestures to Peter’s bruises. “This isn’t okay. I like seeing your skin, not just bruises.”
They fall into a comfortable silence, allowing Peter the time to relax and take in the information.
Tony presses one more kiss to Peter’s temple before shifting him to be lying down so he can take a nap after the stressful day.
Tony’s sure to make some very professional calls to the school and to this Flash kid to make sure this never happens again. Nobody’s allowed to hurt his kid. Not on his watch.
3
The world was spinning around Peter who stumbled forward in desperation.
“Hello?” he calls out, voice hoarse and shaking like he had been screaming recently. “Hello? Anyone?”
There’s laughter filling his ears and he spins around quickly, eyes darting through the darkness to try to pinpoint the noise.
The clicking of heels followed by the swoosh of fabric on the floor is behind him and he turns again.
“Who’s there?” His voice is too high, sounding like he’s a child. “Show yourself!”
“My sweet, sweet rosebud boy.” Her voice echoes through the room and Peter can’t help but look up and wonder how high the ceiling is. The voice is unfamiliar, but strikes him as though he’s meant to know.
“Hello? Who are you?” Peter demands, throwing up a pretense veil of courage and bravery. Internally, he’s just a kid. Just a scared kid.
“My sweet rosebud boy,” the woman repeats, clicking heels echoing through the pitch-black room.
“Show yourself!” Peter repeats, voice beginning to sound desperate.
A sudden warmth hits his back and he spins to find the room alight by the fire, curling up the drapes. Dark oak flooring and a high ceiling with a hanging chandelier. The window is blackened from the smoke, no hope of seeing the outside world, just the fire and the barren room.
Peter turns again. “We have to go! We’re going to die if we stay in here!”
“My sweet rosebud boy… So brave. So kind,” the lady says, still hidden somewhere in the darkness.
“I can’t leave you here! We need to go!” Peter shouts, desperately clawing through the darkness to find the woman.
Suddenly the room is pulled back into darkness and he’s watching the scene unravel instead being in it.
There’s a little boy, young and innocent, staring up at a woman. Everything else is drenched in darkness.
“My sweet rosebud boy. Be strong while I’m away,” the woman says, kissing the boy on the forehead.
“Do you have to go, Momma?” the little boy whines, eyes reflecting his fear and worry despite the lack of understanding in the situation.
“We do. I’m sorry, but I’ll be back for you, okay? Your aunt and uncle will take really good care of you while me and Dad are away on vacation. We’ll be back before you know it,” the woman reassures, smiling sadly down at her son.
“Okay, Momma. I love you.”
“And I love you, my sweet rosebud boy.”
A scream pierces through the air and Peter spins to find a new scene playing in front of him as though he’s watching it through a movie.
The little boy from the scene before is older, but not by much. Still small. Still innocent.
The boy grapples at his sheets, screaming for his uncle, and everything jolts from peter when he sees his uncle racing into the scene with wide eyes.
The little boy is Peter.
Peter, the young Peter, sobs and clutches onto Ben’s old sweatshirt, begging for his parents.
Peter doesn’t remember this, not really. Subconsciously, he knows it happened, knows it’s real, but he can’t remember it.
Uncle Ben calms the little boy down, running his fingers through his hobbit curls and letting the boy clutch onto the fabric.
The scene fades and Peter finds himself stumbling towards the image, desperate to not have to let it go again. He knows it’s a dream, realized that this is all happening in his head, but he likes the sort of pain it brings him in some weird sadistic way. Likes the torture of seeing his uncle alive and well even though he knows he’s not anymore.
Peter’s suddenly pulled into the dream again, encased in the darkness as May beckons him over, pulling him into a tight hug. May’s crying and Peter is too though he can’t be sure why.
“Why would you do this, Peter? I love you. I love you and none of this is your fault, okay? I love you. I can’t lose you too,” May sobs, clutching onto Peter just like how Peter had clutched onto his uncle.
It was all a misunderstanding anyways. He had been walking around after school one afternoon, plagued by thoughts and memories and his bully’s words echoing through his throbbing skull.
He had found himself on the Brooklyn Bridge after hours of walking aimlessly. He had sat down on the edge, letting his legs dangle.
He didn’t think he was going to do it. He didn’t think he’d have the selfishness to jump, but his head was all static. Someone had pulled over and sat next to him with big, scared eyes. Later he’d realize it was Sam Wilson who had stopped. Sam had called Aunt May and brought him home to make sure he was okay, but Peter knew that even without Sam’s help, he wouldn’t have jumped.
May had freaked and was so torn about what had happened. She was so scared of losing one of her last living relatives. Ben was still alive, but soon Peter would be all she’d have.
It just made Peter feel worse knowing he’d caused his aunt even more pain.
Suddenly, May was being ripped away from Peter’s grasp and he was standing in the middle of the abandoned warehouse. The vulture sitting just outside his reach.
“You’d think I’d have a problem with killing some kid, but in truth, I couldn’t care less. You’ve already lost everything. Nobody cares about you. Nobody will even notice you’re missing. If Tony cared, wouldn’t he be here?”
Peter knows these words weren’t spoken on this night, but it hurts just as bad as if it were real, the echoes of his bully’s words tormenting him day in, day out.
The building shudders and then Peter’s stuck, squirming under the tons of rubble. His ribs are crushing him and he can’t breathe.
Oh god- he can’t breathe.
He can’t breathe.
Everything hurts.
And then nothing.
He shoots awake, wide eyes scanning the dark room for any sign of danger instantly.
He knows what he should do, and his fingers are dialing his best friend before he can even think twice about it.
It rings and it rings and it rings. Peter can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.
Finally, it goes to voicemail, Ned’s voice laughing on the other side.
“HI! Welcome to Chili’s! Leave a message!”
“Ned? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just… I can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry. Please. I can’t. I can’t breathe. Just- Just please… I’m sorry,” Peter fumbles, struggling to even get his thoughts in order as he tumbles out onto the fire escape, relaxing once he gets his breathing under control. “I shouldn’t have made it out. I’m sorry. I don’t deserve any of this… I just… I wonder if I made a mistake?”
Peter makes a sudden decision that he needs to let it all out so that he won’t try to nosedive off the fire escape. Ned already knows about Peter’s mentality.
“I never should’ve made it out of that warehouse. I never should’ve survived it. It would’ve been better if I had just given up and let it crush me. I shouldn’t be alive. I don’t know why I even bother anymore. I don’t know why I keep pretending that it’s all fine and fucking dandy. I don’t know why I still bother to save myself. I want it all to be over. My head never shuts up and you don’t deserve this. This isn’t fair to you. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry for everything,” Peter rants, breaking down again.
Tears waterfall down his cheeks and his breath hitches as he curls himself up on the cold metal overlooking an alleyway. He wouldn’t do it now. He couldn’t. Not when May was just a wall away from him expecting him to be up for school the next day. Not when Ned would get this in the morning and freak out if Peter wasn’t in school.
“Why can’t I just man up and do it? Why can’t I just let go? This isn’t fair to me. I just want to give up. Please. I can’t do this anymore. Please.”
*
It’s a coincidence that Ned wakes up in the middle of the night, bleary and confused. He opens his phone to find that it’s 3 in the morning and he’s got a voicemail from just minutes prior from Peter.
He plays it as he drinks some water from the bottle on his nightstand, but everything in him freezes when Peter’s shaky, struggling voice comes through with tears and hyperventilated breaths about wanting to die.
He calls back, but Peter doesn’t pick up so Ned does the only thing he knows how to do. Calls Tony Stark. Because if anyone can help, it’s the billionaire genius.
“Hello?” Tony sounds tired, but in a way that says he stayed up too late not that he just woke up.
“Mister Tony Stark, sir, it’s Peter. I’m scared he’s in trouble. He left me a voicemail and he isn’t picking up. I can’t drive yet and May works night shifts. I need you to make sure he’s okay,” Ned demands with no time to spare.
“Is he home? I’m on my way. He’s going to be just fine.” But Ned knows he’s probably comforting himself more than anything.
*
Tony finds Peter pretty quickly. Curled up on himself on the fire escape outside the kid’s bedroom window, shaking with his loud tears.
“Kid?” Tony calls out, landing and immediately letting the suit disappear.
Peter looks up with wide, glassy eyes. He sniffles, shaking his head before ducking his face back out of view.
Tony sits on the floor beside the kid, unsure how to comfort him. He doesn’t even know what’s wrong. Luckily the kid takes over for him, starting to speak as though Tony’s not even though.
“I miss my mom. I know it’s stupid, but I miss my mom. I was her rosebud boy. She promised me she’d come back… And then Ben… I just… I don’t get why I have to stick around when nobody else does. I don’t get why the one person who doesn’t want to be alive, has to stay, but everyone else is at liberty to leave whenever they please. I wish I had never made it out of the warehouse,” the kid explains, voice soft and faraway.
“What warehouse?” Tony asks, just as soft as the kid’s. The cold wind of the night is beginning to nip at Tony’s bare arms, but the older man ignores it in favor of making sure his kid is okay.
“The warehouse with the vulture. I went and met him there and he dropped the whole fucking thing on me. I wish I never made it out of there. I wish I had decided to give up instead of saving your plane. I wish… I wish I was dead, Mister Stark. I wish- I don’t- I can’t keep doing this. I don’t want to keep fighting. I want to give up,” the kid rambles, voice cutting off abruptly like this is a new realization for him too.
“What?” Tony gapes, eyes wide and scared. He knew Peter wasn’t the most mentally stable, but he never thought it would be this bad.
“I want to give up. I want to give up and just die. I want to die, Mister Stark, I want to die,” Peter sobs, curling tighter into himself in desperation.
“Hey, hey, hey, kiddie. You don’t mean that. You don’t… You don’t mean that. You don’t want to die… Do you?” Tony questions, terrified for the trembling kid beside him.
“I want to die,” the kid whines, “Please.”
“Kid… Please. I care about you so so much and I… I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost you. I can’t lose you. May can’t lose you. Please, kid. You have to trust me on this one. You’re too young to go. You’re too young to die. You can’t… You can’t,” Tony begs, heart seizing at the possibility that he might not get through to the kid, but somehow the short amount of words works to help pull the kid out of his thoughts enough.
Peter carelessly throws himself at his mentor, sobbing into his chest, but better now that Tony’s strong arms are wrapped around him, shushing his pain.
“You’re going to be okay, kid, I promise. You just can’t leave, okay? You’ve gotta promise me, kid. You can’t just go,” Tony pleads, scared of ever letting his kid go.
When Peter finally calms himself down from the nights events, Tony carries the kid back through the window and they somehow squish together on Peter’s bed. Both of them terrified of what the possibilities would be of Tony letting Peter go… Just in case.
And when May gets home from work, only a few hours later, she doesn’t question it, glad someone else is looking out for the kid. He needs as many people as he can get in his corner.
4
Things had started looking up for Peter. He felt a little bit better with everything.
Obviously bad days were still common and good days felt few and far between, but less nightmares, less panic attacks, less guilt.
Today started out good. Peter had woken up excited to find there was no heavy weight demanding to stay in bed. There was no sadness hanging onto his wrists and ankles, tying him to the bedposts like most days. It felt like a good day for him.
May’s in the kitchen, drinking tea when Peter races out of his room, a smile lighting up his face, and it’s contagious.
She smiles back as Peter skips around the kitchen getting his breakfast and lunch ready, eyes big and bright like they should always be.
Unfortunately, the universe always seems to be working against the kid as he makes it to first period early for the first time in a long time.
Ned slides into the seat beside Peter, smiling at his friend’s happiness that he doesn’t get to see as often as he wishes he could.
Peter smiles back, pushing his curls away from his sparkling eyes, joy bubbling through his chest.
The bubble is popped though when Peter’s spidey-senses start ringing at the back of his head. Danger.
Peter’s eyes dart back and forth, forcing his body to still and focus, smile dropping from his face.
And then cold.
Peter jolts to his feet, immediately scrambling to get the milkshake from his eyes as he spins to see Flash laughing loudly at Peter’s humiliation, empty milkshake cup still in hand.
Peter briefly wonders why he would even bother wasting his milkshake just to bully Peter, but then he’s choking on the drink as it cascades down his face and over the front of his t-shirt.
“Fuck you!” Peter coughs out, stumbling into his desk as he tries to escape.
Walls feel like their caving in, roof collapsing.
And then he’s tangled. Tangled in the parachute as he tumbles towards the icy waters.
“Let’s go,” Ned grumbles, grabbing Peter’s arm and jolting him as his mind tangles with memories.
Drowning. Drowning. Drowning.
Ned drags Peter off to the bathroom as Peter struggles to drag himself out of his thoughts.
But he’s drowning.
Drowning. Drowning. Drowning.
Metal claws digging into his chest.
The Vulture.
Glowing Green Eyes.
And then he’s free falling.
Drowning. Drowning. Drowning.
Tangled in the parachute as he tumbles beneath the waves.
Drowning.
“Peter! Peter! C’mon. You’re okay. You’re safe. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not happening, okay? You’re in the school bathrooms, okay? With me. With Ned. Remember? C’mon, Peter,” Ned begs, squeezing Peter’s elbows tightly to bring the kid back to reality.
Finally, it works and Peter snaps back to where he is, eyes dragging across the room for danger. But nothing. Just the small bathroom in the high school, strawberry milkshake in his hair and eyes and nose and mouth and all over his clothing. Fuck.
“You with me?” Ned asks, wide eyes scanning over Peter’s.
Peter nods quickly, rubbing the milkshake away from his eyes and shaking away all the other thoughts.
“Do you want to call May? Go home?” Ned asks, hurrying into a stall and grabbing a full roll of toilet paper to help Peter get the liquid off him.
“No… No, I don’t want to bother her or anything. It’s still first period. I’m fine… promise,” Peter replies, turning on the sink water and filling his palms to splash over his face.
Ned frowns, rolling his eyes a little bit. Of course, Peter would be refusing help as always.
“You’re just going to wear your stained clothing all day?” Ned questions, trying to find an excuse to send Peter home.
“Fuck off,” Peter mutters, hating himself for snapping at his friend, but not having the energy to take it back or apologize.
Finally, the milkshake has been washed from his face and hair, curlier than ever.
Ned passes the toilet paper over silently, letting Peter dry himself off.
“I’m sorry,” Peter finally mumbles, looking anywhere but Ned as he tries to get the rest of the milkshake off of his shirt and jeans.
“It’s fine, dude. I just don’t want to end up getting another phone call from you in the middle of the night, you know? Like if you need to go home, nobody cares, okay? Take care of yourself… Please,” Ned says, always sure of himself and his words.
But Peter isn’t as he struggles with his jeans. “I don’t want to go home and wallow in anxiety and self-pity, you know? I can’t do that. I want to stay and prove that Flash doesn’t bug me.”
*
Hours later, Peter’s still not doing great. Blocking off all the emotions seems to have just made things worse like he figured it would.
So, when he gets home and shrugs off the stains on his clothing, it escalates faster than he wished it would’ve.
“Nothing happened! Just leave it alone!” Peter exclaims, throwing his arms up in pent up anger.
“Nothing happened?” May echoes, sounding pissed as well. “Obviously something happened, Peter! Why won’t you just tell me?”
“Fuck off!”
“Excuse me? You’re not allowed to raise your voice and swear at me like that!” May says, voice beginning to rise to match Peter’s.
“You can’t tell me what to do! You’re not my mom! You made that pretty damn clear!” Peter shouts, almost whining like a child would.
“If I’m not then who is, huh?! Who is then?” May demands, rocking backwards on her heels as she rolls her eyes. She shouldn’t be as angry as she is, but she’s been stressed. Having a depressed superhero to look after isn’t easy.
Peter rolls his eyes right back, shaking his head to rid himself of the tears that fill his eyes. He’s not good at arguments. He always ends up crying.
“When I was little you hated being mom. Now you get to make a full 180 on that and act like you’re my mom? That’s not fair on me!”
“I didn’t hate being your mom, Peter. I just didn’t want to be a mom. At all,” May grumbles, sighing heavily.
“Great. Okay. I get it. You never wanted me, did you? I was a total fucking curveball in your life. Trust me, I know that. So don’t pretend like you care, okay? You’re just forced to take care of me. I know this isn’t what you wanted so just piss off. Leave me alone and make this easier for both of us,” Peter snaps.
“I don’t not want you, Peter. Sure, yeah, you were a surprise for me. I never thought you were going to be staying forever. But I love you, Peter. I do. I do care,” May says quickly, trying to fix what she had caused.
Peter rolls his glassy eyes again. “Just… I’m going on patrol early. Don’t bother waiting up for me, okay?”
Peter slams his door shut once he’s in the safety of his room, ignoring May’s knocks, swinging out the window and into the alley to change.
*
“Hey, Karen?” Peter asks, eyes lazily tracing the stars in the sky. It’s been hours since he left home and blocked May’s number after a quick text that he’s fine just needs to blow off some steam.
“Yes, Peter?” Karen replies, matching his soft volume.
“Can you do some research for me?”
There’s a few seconds pause before Karen replies, “Yes. I’m an A.I. Of course, I can do research. What do you need to know?”
“How much money does a person spend on food for one person for 10 years?”
“That’s an odd question… According to my calculations based upon the food guide, thirty thousand dollars.” (I have no idea if this is right. This is what google told me. Roll with it.)
“Thirty Thousand?!” Peter exclaims, jolting from his thoughts a little bit. “That’s insane! Karen… Do you think… Do you think I’d die if I just forgot to catch myself?”
“Depends on a lot of factors, Peter. Are you thinking about not catching yourself next time?” Karen asks, robotic voice almost sounding worried somehow.
“No! No, of course not, Karen,” Peter reassures, somehow hating to lie to a disembodied voice.
“Should I find some helplines to call? Are you in immediate danger?”
“No! I’m fine, Karen!” Peter repeats. The last thing he wants to do is talk to some stranger about all this. They wouldn’t understand. Nobody would. He knows he’s by himself for this one.
“Peter, I don’t have any protocols for suicidal ideation… How are you coping with what’s been going on in your life?”
“What? What sort of question is that?” Peter says. There’s a few beats of silence before he sighs. “Not well. I’m not sleeping and I’m not eating and I’m snapping at everyone around me. I feel like a failure. I’m failing English class! How can I be failing English class?! I just want it all to be over with.”
“Do you ever feel like just giving up? Do you think often about dying?”
“Why are you interrogating me, Karen? What is this? I thought you didn’t have a protocol to follow?” Peter questions, shifting anxiously in his lying down position on the rooftop.
“I don’t have a protocol. This isn’t interrogating. This is what you’re supposed to do for How to Help a Suicidal Friend: 5 steps (with Pictures)- Wikihow,” Karen informs.
“Wikihow?! Suicidal?” Peter echoes, rolling his eyes as he continues to lazily watch the stars twinkle over him. He wonders if he’ll be able to see the sky once more from the ground after he jumps but before he dies. He hopes so. “Karen… Can you promise you won’t tell Mister Stark?”
“Yes. I won’t tell Tony Stark, but Friday and Tony are capable of hacking into my system.”
“I wanna die, Karen… More than anything,” Peter admits, feeling at peace for once, formulating his plans in his head as he lets everything go to his AI, his second closest friend. “I shouldn’t be alive anymore. I don’t deserve to be alive. May’s had to pay 30 thousand dollars towards just my food. She doesn’t need or want to be held back by me anymore. She won’t admit it, but she’d prefer it if I were gone.
“And Ned? He doesn’t want to be around me anymore either. I snapped at him today. He’s just pretending because he pities me after that stupid voicemail I left him. I shouldn’t be alive anymore. I shouldn’t have survived the vulture. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry,” he explains, body relaxing in relief at finally letting the emotions go.
“It’s not your fault, Peter. None of it is your fault. You’re just a kid… What about Mister Stark? He’s going to care,” Karen suggests.
Peter staggers up to his feet, lightheaded and dizzy, but at peace. He’s okay with this.
“He’s not. I’m just some kid that got tangled up with him and now he feels bad because I don’t have anything more than what he’s giving me. He doesn’t care. He won’t,” Peter says.
The apartment building has 42 floors, more than necessary but Peter knows he’s gotta be careful if he’s really going through with this. He doesn’t want to jump and survive. That would be worse than not jumping at all.
“Peter, you seem to be in immediate danger of hurting yourself. You are not wearing your web shooters,” Karen says, voice louder than it was before.
“I’m sorry. I have to. I have to. I can’t do this anymore, Karen. I’m sorry.”
“Contacting Tony Stark,” Karen says, interrupting the kid.
Luckily, Tony picks up on the very first ring.
“Kid? Karen sent out a distress signal? Are you okay?” Tony asks, worry flooding through his voice.
Just hearing his voice makes Peter’s dam break.
He chokes out a sob as he stumbles back from the roof ledge, collapsing back to the rooftop as he begins to cry.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Peter cries.
“I’m on my way, kid. Hang in tight.”
What Tony doesn’t expect is to show up and find Peter physically fine. No blood. No bruises. No concussion. Nothing. Just Peter, curled up in a ball and crying his poor heart out to Karen.
“I wanna go home. Take me home. Please,” he begs, reaching up for his mentor.
Tony reacts immediately, bringing the teenager up into his arms and getting ready to take off again.
“Your apartment or the tower?”
“Tower. Please. May can’t know. Please,” he cries, hiding his face shamefully in the suit’s armor.
Tony doesn’t question anything, just shoots off back to the tower.
Peter falls asleep and Tony lets him. The kid’s physically fine so a talk about real stuff can wait till morning, but Tony tells Friday to put Peter on lockdown and close watch just in case.
And when morning comes, they do have the long conversation about how important Peter is and how much Tony wishes for Peter to be happy. And Peter nods along though he knows that he’s not going to accept the help. Because he doesn’t deserve it, right?
5
Tony knew it was a bad idea from the start, but he didn’t know what else to do. He didn’t know how to help Peter through whatever it was that he was going through. He wasn’t equipped to figure it out. So, he did the only thing he could think of, inviting the kid on an avengers’ mission.
Obviously, patrol is what’s keeping the kid on the sane side, so an actual mission will hopefully make the kid happy.
And he was the right. Peter was ecstatic when he swung onto the scene to take down another Hydra base with the other superheroes.
Peter was meant to keep a low profile, swinging around behind the scenes to make sure no civilians or hostages get hurt throughout the mission.
Fortunately, and unfortunately, Peter’s not good at obeying orders.
Peter was having a good time, finally leaving his thoughts and the suffocating sadness behind. Swinging and grinning and talking to Karen happily.
“That’s very nice to hear, Peter,” Karen says, lighting up a route to take to get to a civilian near the back of the building.
“Oh! And I aced my Chem midterm last week which was amazing! I didn’t study as much as I wish I did, but apparently it didn’t even matter because I got 98.7% on it!” Peter exclaims as he swings down to where the woman is crouched in a corner.
“Spider-Man!” she gasps, stumbling up to her feet.
“I’m here to help out, ma’am,” Peter informs, smiling at her despite not being able to see it through the mask.
The hero wraps his arm gently around the woman’s waist who clutches onto his shoulders as he begins to swing back towards a safe building nearby for her to stay.
When they land, the woman is quick to start her thanks.
“Thank you. Thank you. I have 2 kids at home… And I couldn’t even imagine just leaving them alone like that… I couldn’t- Thank you, Spider-Man,” the lady says, smiling through her tears.
“It’s my job, ma’am,” Peter replies, finally feeling like he’s done something right. “Stay safe. Call someone to come pick you up.”
Peter swings off again, back towards the building as the fight continues.
He hears it before he can pinpoint where it’s coming from.
A man across the street from the building, pulling a shotgun and firing.
Time slows down as Peter sees where it’s headed.
Right towards Captain America’s open back, shield protecting his chest, unaware of the bullet headed straight for his heart through the back.
Peter launches himself through the battle, flying through the air towards Captain America, but he knows that the momentum won’t be able to push Steve out of the way. Steve’s feet are planted strongly on the ground and Peter doesn’t have a lot of bodyweight to use.
So, he twists his body and he sees the bullet’s path. Right for him.
Everything in his body is screaming at him to move, but there’s no time left even if he wanted to.
He collapses backwards into Cap’s back, stumbling as his body goes numb, bullet lodging somewhere inside of him. Shock? He’s not sure. All he knows is that his fingers are staining red.
Steve turns around at the person leaning against his back, catching Peter and gently lowering him to the ground, out of harms way.
“Put pressure on that. Hold it,” Steve says, grabbing Peter’s hands and pressing them over the wound. There’s undeniable guilt behind Steve’s eyes. “We’re almost done and then I’m going to help you out, okay? Stay here. Stay awake. Understand?”
Peter nods, unable to convince himself to open his mouth. There’s still no pain and that worries him more than anything else.
Steve takes off and Tony’s voice replaces his.
“Kid? Kid, Steve told me what happened. I’ve just got a couple more guys here with Nat and then I’ll be right over, okay? Hang in there.”
Better me than you. Better me than anyone.
Time passes weirdly and all Peter can feel is that his blood is warm from where his hands are still pressed against his chest. Anywhere else and he’s sure he could’ve done fine to continue helping, but a bullet lodged in his chest is kind of hard to work around.
Tony’s suddenly kneeling beside him, pressing his hands over Peter’s.
“Mister Stark?” Peter slurs, lazily lifting his head up to his mentor’s.
There’s a sort of fearful panic across Tony’s face and Peter isn’t sure why anymore.
“Hey, kid. I’m right here, okay? You’re okay. We’re going to get you back to the tower and Bruce and Cho are going to fix you right up, okay?” Tony explains, lifting one blood-stained hand to tug off Peter’s mask. “You’re going to be just fine, okay?”
“I know,” Peter responds easily, smiling tiredly up at the older.
Tony sighs heavily and gestures for Cap to come over.
“You can get some rest, kid. We don’t have any anesthetic for you, but we’ve gotta get that bullet out before the healing closes over it. Let’s get him to the quinjet now so we can start before Bruce can do it for real,” Steve instructs and Peter doesn’t need anything more to let go, closing his eyes and letting the darkness take over.
*
When Peter comes to, he’s in the compound’s medwing. Steve’s sitting in a chair on one side of his bed, Tony on the other.
“Hey, kid. Glad you could finally join us,” Tony starts, smirking tiredly at Peter.
Peter goes to open his mouth, but Steve cuts him off.
“You could’ve died, Peter. Do you understand that? You could’ve died.”
“So, would you if I hadn’t stopped it. According to Karen, it would’ve been fatal to get shot like that,” Peter grumbles. Of course, they wouldn’t understand.
“You getting shot is somehow better than me getting shot? You’re a kid, Peter! Your heart stopped! Do you understand that? You could’ve died!” Steve exclaims, losing his grip on his stoic, impassive soldier demeanour.
“Better me than you,” Peter mumbles, shrugging and shying away from Steve’s anger.
“Excuse me?” Tony says, turning to glare at the kid. “You wanna repeat that for me?”
“Better me than you. It’s better if I were to die than if Steve were to die,” Peter says, looking down at his hands as he twists the sheets. There’s still some leftover pain in his chest but his healing’s mostly taken care of it already.
“It’s not… Peter, kid… I know we haven’t talked enough about it and I know you’re still hurting but you can’t go and throw yourself into danger like this. I was terrified I was going to lose you.”
But Tony’s words don’t make a difference to Peter. His mind’s been made up.
Nobody cares. Nobody will ever care. Better me than anyone.
Tony knows this just as much as Peter, no matter what he says, the kid will never believe that Peter Parker is a hero. A kind, smart, funny, courageous person that deserves the world.
+1 (I will say it again Trigger Warning. This part especially. Take care of yourselves)
Tony froze, the headlines dancing across his vision.
15-year-old, Peter Parker, from Midtown Tech Found Dead in Home After Apparent Suicide
Is High School Stress the Leading Cause of Teenage Suicide?
Midtown Tech Mourns Loss of Bright Student, Peter Parker
Tony’s body collapses to the floor, breaths coming few and far between. The tears are instant because as much as wants to call them lies, the signs were all there and he should’ve helped more than he did.
He had tried to help the kid. He had talked to him and let him open up. They had lab nights and every second weekend together. Tony took the kid on missions and answered every call.
He just never actually thought that maybe Peter wouldn’t call. Maybe Peter wouldn’t want to be saved.
Because to Tony, Peter was always still the bright, happy-go-lucky kid he always was, even with the baggage.
Tony doesn’t remember passing out, but when he wakes up, there’s a letter sitting on the floor a few feet from him.
In Peter’s messy scrawl.
Tony Stark.
I know I should’ve talked to you.
I know this is just a rash decision.
I know this is stupid and the coward’s way out.
I just can’t deal with this anymore.
Everything’s just becoming too much.
I can’t do this anymore.
Please take care of May, just in case she’s upset with this.
I don’t want her to have to go through more than she already is.
This isn’t your fault.
This is all on me for this one. I couldn’t just keep going. I couldn’t.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry.
Just know that I’ll be happier on the other side, alright?
I’ve got lots of people who will take care of me once I’m gone.
Just take care of yourself too.
I’m no longer there to tell you to sleep and eat and drink water and shower. So please continue to do that, to take care of yourself even without me pestering you to do it.
You were like a dad to me and for that I’ll always be grateful for what you wanted to provide for me. I was never truly happy anymore and I couldn’t continue living like I was.
I’m sorry.
I love you.
-Peter Parker (aka Spider-Man – you can let people know why their vigilante is missing too)
*
Before Tony knows it, it’s the funeral. The private one. For just Peter’s friends and family. Word will get out from here about Peter being Spider-Man and there will be a public funeral for all those that Peter saved during his time as Queen’s hero.
Tony knows most, if not all, the people that show up.
May, Ned, MJ, Liz, the avengers, his decathlon teacher, the principal, a few others of Peter’s classmates (luckily Flash doesn’t show), some SI employees who got to know Peter, Happy, and Pepper.
Almost everyone goes up and says some words. Almost everyone chokes up and can’t finish. Almost everyone is left with puffy, red-rimmed eyes and sniffling. Almost everyone goes back to whoever they’re closest with and cries into another’s shoulder. Almost everyone leaves the funeral in tears.
Tony doesn’t.
Too far in shock to register anything.
Too far gone.
Because he doesn’t even know how to live without his kid.
He doesn’t know how to exist without his kid.
How does one lose a child and continue on like it’s nothing?
How does one lose the most important thing in their life and still get out of bed in the morning?
How does one continue when their sole purpose is gone?
Pepper leads him back to their car.
Happy drives.
May follows in her vehicle driven by one of Peter’s friends from SI.
It’s bleak.
Grey.
Empty.
Because Peter was light.
He was light and now he’s gone, so light no longer exists anymore.
Tony spaces out again.
Next thing he knows, he’s sitting on a chair in the tower.
May and Pepper are heard crying on the couch nearby. It doesn’t register.
(Peter cried before making up his mind.)
A mug of hot chocolate is placed down in front of him. It doesn’t register.
(Peter had hot chocolate with May then disappeared off to his bedroom.)
His phone is ringing. It doesn’t register.
(Peter’s phone rang. He didn’t pick up.)
His heart is pounding. It doesn’t register.
(Peter’s heart was pounding.)
He’s hyperventilating. It doesn’t register.
(Peter hyperventilated before he passed out.)
A hand is placed on his shoulder. It doesn’t register.
(Peter was all alone.)
Rhodey is speaking to him in soft tones. It doesn’t register.
(Peter spoke to himself. Angrily. It had to be done.)
He’s pulling in a breath, steadying. It doesn’t register.
(Peter calms his nerves. He’s not scared to die.)
He’s pulled into May’s arms in a hug. It doesn’t register.
(Peter had hugged May a final time.)
He’s alive. It doesn’t register.
(Peter’s dead. It did register.)
*
4 months and 3 days later, Tony finds himself laughing.
Laughing for the first time since Peter had been around, making him laugh all the time.
He reads Peter’s note every single day.
Drinks a glass of water.
Smiles at the sun.
He knows it would make Peter proud.
Showers.
Smiles at the sun.
It would make Peter proud.
Eats a healthy breakfast with Pepper.
Smiles at the sun.
It would make Peter proud.
Takes breaks while working.
Smiles at the sun.
It would make Peter proud.
Has a suicide prevention center in the tower for anyone who needs it.
Smiles at the sun for every person he saves.
It would make Peter proud.
Goes to therapy.
Smiles at the sun.
It would make Peter proud.
Takes Pepper and May out for fun nights every couple days. They deserve it.
Smiles at the sun.
It would make Peter proud.
Goes to sleep early.
Smiles at the setting sun.
It would make Peter proud.
Wakes up during the night to wander outside.
Smiles to the moon.
Talks to the moon.
Recounts his adventures to the moon.
It would make Peter proud.
He knows Peter would want him to move on.
To do something more than to live his life for Peter.
But how does one lose a child and continue like it’s nothing?
How does one lose the most important thing in their life and still get out of bed in the morning?
How does one continue when their sole purpose is gone?