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“Are you sure you passed third grade?” asked MJ.
Peter sighed as he rubbed his forehead. The pole that stood between the two doors was a lot more apparent now that he had run face-first into it. He had been planning his route for the afternoon patrol in his head—should he try starting in northern Queens and working his way south?—when he slammed into the pole.
“Yes, and I’m okay, thanks for asking,” he huffed, only partially kidding.
Ned, MJ, and Peter walked out the entrance to the school, the bright sun hitting their eyes. The lobby of the front entrance was crowded with people trying to find their bus or their friends, getting a last word in before they left school for the day. Peter got lost in his thoughts again, wondering if he had time to stop by Delmar’s before he patrolled. He should’ve eaten something for lunch....
“—I’m just saying, Rey and Ben Solo would make a great couple, I mean, their relationship dynamic in The Last Jedi is totally—“
“Ned, for the last time, I do not care,” MJ snapped.
“Fangirl with Peter when I’m not here. I got to go. Later, losers.” She walked off in the direction of her apartment without a look back. They watched her swagger off with her head buried in a book, somehow avoiding the obstacles in her course.
“Ok, bye!” Ned called out, ever the enthusiast. He waved in her direction. He got no response.
“So anyway, I think the directors were totally trying to hint at their relationship, the tension between them was obvious—“
“Yeah, yeah, I agree Ned, listen, I gotta go, okay?” Peter replied. He felt bad for not listening to Ned, but all the talking was getting to be too much. He loved Ned to death, but Jesus he talked a lot. It was overload for his spidey senses. He didn’t know how much longer he could take it.
Ned went on his way and Peter walked towards his apartment. He stopped in an alleyway three blocks away, his normal spot for storing his backpack. Taking out his suit, he started stripping down to his underwear, making sure no one was walking down his alleyway.
Pale skin. His arms were starting to get muscular, but were still skinny. Scars colored white and pink and red; some new, some older than he could remember. They were littered across his arms, thighs, stomach, anywhere he could hide easily. He’s tired of hiding. He finished getting dressed, shoved his thoughts aside, and started climbing.
——
“Maaay, I’m hoomee,” yelled Peter.
“I’m in the kitchen!” She replied. He set his things down in his room and walked into the kitchen to the smell of smoke and burnt meat.
“Well, I tried making chicken breasts for dinner but I think I left them in the oven for too long. You feeling up for Chinese? Or maybe pizza tonight, we haven’t had that in a while,” May said. Her cooking skills were below average at best, but she tried her hardest.
“Chinese sounds great, thanks May.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed Peter on the forehead.
“Why are you so sweaty?”
“Oh, I got hot walking back from Ned’s,” he lied. He thought for a moment. “I’m actually not feeling too good, I’m gonna go ahead to bed if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, if you’re sure Pete. Come get me if you need anything.”
“Thanks, May.”
He disappeared to his room. Eating meals got harder and harder every day; he was hungry, he just couldn’t get food into his mouth. He laid down on his bed with a sigh of relief, not even taking his clothes off. His eyes drooped, his head felt heavier with every passing minute.
You can’t do this now. Get your shit together, Peter.
He had homework to finish, and if he didn’t finish his homework he would fall behind in class, and if he fell behind in class he wouldn’t pass, if he didn’t pass he wouldn’t graduate, if he didn’t graduate he would lose his friends like Ned and MJ and Mr. Stark would be disappointed and he’d never get a job and—
Fuck.
Peter took a couple deep breaths, letting the air fill his stomach like a balloon, like Karen suggested once when Peter got stressed. But his breathing became faster and faster; he felt light headed and couldn’t seem to calm down.
Thinking became too hard. He went into autopilot, reaching behind the headboard on his bed. He found the small piece of metal tapped to the side easily.
Just one today. Just one.
——
“What happened to your arm?”
Peter froze.
He was in Mr. Stark’s lab, testing a new pair of web shooters on for size. Peter had stopped stealing May’s makeup to cover the scars on his wrist weeks ago, deciding that if anyone ever noticed, he would open up. Maybe someone would care enough to ask, maybe someone would notice he was falling apart if they saw what he did to himself. Maybe he could finally get help. However, he didn’t anticipate that person he would finally talk to being Tony.
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
Tony grabbed his wrist and pulled back Peter’s sleeve. Peter yanked his arm back to his chest, but the damage was already done.
“Cut the bullshit, kid.“ Tony had a look of determination on his face. Peter knew he wouldn’t be giving this up. Fear flooded his mind; his breathing became shallow and his face lit up bright red from embarrassment. He fought back the lump in his throat as he tried to force words out of his mouth. It wasn’t supposed to be Mr. Stark to find out....
“It’s an accident Mr. Stark, don’t worry about it.”
“Peter—“
“I don’t wanna talk right now.”
“Listen—“
“No!” Peter finally broke.
“I—I can’t. I can’t. Please.” He tried to take a deep breath but his lungs wouldn’t cooperate, it felt like someone was squeezing his airway, he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t think he couldn’t do this—
Bite the bullet. Get it over with.
He took off his shirt completely. In plain view for the world to see, Peter let the scars covering his wrists, shoulders, stomach, and sides show. Most were white with age, but a number of them had just begun to scab over. He looked Tony in the eyes and refused to look away. All he was was Tony staring down at Peter’s torso.
“There. Happy?” His voice was quiet.
Peter waited for a reply. A few seconds passed before Mr. Stark gave him one.
“No, kid. No,” Tony sighed with a shake of his head.
Mr. Stark sat down and ran a hand along his face. His face was pale as he propped his forehead up against his palm, staring at the table in front of him.
“You could’ve talked to me,” he finally said.
Peter hesitated. “What would I have said? ‘Hey Mr. Stark, I’ve been trying for months now not to drown myself in a bathtub, how’s Pepper by the way?’”
“Kid, this is serious. I get it if maybe you didn’t want to talk to me, but please tell me you’ve been talking to someone.”
“Not exactly,” Peter mumbled, staring at his shoes.
“Who all knows?”
“Right now? Just you.”
Out of no where, Tony slammed his hand down on the table.
“Damn it Peter, you were supposed to be better than me,” he almost shouted. “I’m not mad at you for cutting, that’s not the issue, but you should’ve talked to someone. You’re supposed to be smarter than me, not letting this consume you like drugs or alcohol,” he said as he walked over to Peter. He put his hands on the sides of his shoulders, careful not to touch any fresh cuts.
“You’re like a son to me, Pete. It’s okay to be depressed, it’s okay to want to die, I’ve been there myself,” he confessed, “but look where it got me. I was weak and dumb and couldn’t talk about my problems. I don’t want you to end up like me. Please Peter.”
Tears welled up in both of their eyes at this point. Without a word, Peter wrapped his arms around Tony and let out a sob against the man’s shoulder. Tony wrapped his arms around the boy and let him cry.
“It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay. Whatever you’re going through, we can fix it. I promise you.”
They didn’t move. Peter kept crying while Tony rubbed his back, almost like a dad would, and for the first time in a while, Peter thought maybe he could be okay.