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Looking back on everything, Peter wasn’t able to pin point how or why he ended up here. He wasn’t sure when his infectious happiness and loud laugh had sobered and every interaction began to feel fake. He wasn’t sure when he started to feel more like a nuisance and like he had no meaning in the world.
Peter guessed it just all the little things that eventually added up: like whenever MJ would snap at him or Ned would become more distant; when Mr Stark bailed their lab sessions for a meeting and Happy would ignore him for an entire car ride. At first Peter had just brushed over it, everyone had their off days and that was okay— it wasn’t a reflection of his presence.
And then the doubt kicked in, the nasty worm that seemed to crawl in his ear and whisper things to him all day and night.
‘They hate you, Peter.’
‘You’re such a waste of space.’
‘They don’t want to be your friend.’
‘You’re a horrible person, why would anyone want to hang out with you?’
Slowly, day by day, Peter began to believe it. Each step-back and problem would circle around in his head like vultures, picking and destroying at his mental health. He began to eat less, his stomach rumbling loudly far more often and he’d have spells of dizziness where he just simply couldn’t understand which way was up.
He slept more. And then he slept less. Hour long naps turned into staring at the clock at 1am, wondering why he was there and what was the point.
Peter’s life became a series of facades. Fake smiles here, a “everything is fine, Mr Stark” there, all of it covering up his need to cry and desire to sleep until the ache in his bones went away and the voice in his head shut up. He started to try too hard, making far more jokes to conceal his pain and filling every silence because it left room for his head to start spinning with self-hating words and Peter couldn’t fall to that in public.
Suddenly Peter had another mask: his Spider-Man one was always in his reach but his Happy Peter mask was permanently clued when around other people. He’d crank his music up until his ears rang when walking alone, just to block out his mind.
The afternoons were always the worst, the time between bed and after patrolling. When he would sit in his room, nothing to protect or help him escape from his mind. He sat and thought about everything that was wrong: how he’d annoyed people, how his nervous ticks of never shutting up ended up causing more harm and how pointless his existence was. Because seriously, Peter Parker had nothing to offer the world when compared to Spider-Man.
Spider-Man was a hero who protected the little guy. He saved the day and was a force of positivity and good will.
Peter Parker was just some random kid who got on everyones nerves and constantly made a fool of himself. Maybe he was just sensitive, he though. But it still hurt to think that his entire existence was the root for why everyone seemed to hate him.
‘You’re a failure Peter.’
‘No ones likes Peter Parker when compared to Spider-Man.’
‘You have no place in the world.’
‘All you do is annoy people.’
The sobs that broke out of his throat were just echos, the sound having been heard by his walls a million times and counting. Peter was just so exhausted. He just wanted one day where he didn’t feel so stretched out paper thin, plastering fake happiness over his face as he tried to hold onto the tearing seams of what seemed to be his declining mental health. Every day was a struggle, his brain repeating things that were branded into his mind and clouding all his judgement.
His stomach hurt, his belly rumbling and growling in violent shakes. But each time Peter brought his food to his mouth, his mouth would go dry and the physical movement of his jaw seemed to exhaust him.
At this point, Peter was desperate for the feelings of loneliness and desperation to drift away. He wondered if anyone would even care that he was gone. They’d cry, Peter was sure, but how long until they moved on? He would simply be a blip in their lives, someone they look back on ten years down the line and remember for a brief period before moving on.
Spider-Man would be missed.
Peter Parker would be forgotten.
‘You should just give up.’
‘No one wants you around.’
‘May would be happy to be rid of you.’
‘All you do is ruin everything.’
The weight on his chest, the one that seemed to crush him and make his lungs constrict, squeezed even tighter. It felt like he was being weighed down, someone’s invisibles hands always squishing and squishing at him until Peter struggled to breath and his head felt funny.
A memory resurfaced of tranquility; the blocked silence that had surrounded him when he’d held his head under the bath water one night. The way his brain had gone silent and the entire world seemed to have stilled. There, under the water, he didn’t think about Ned’s dismissiveness or how MJ rolled her eyes a million times or how Happy refused to talk to him or even his fears of Mr Stark growing to hate him.
It was like everything was paused. All his fears and agonising thoughts were pushed back as his body began to crave air, his mind shutting up for enough time to yell at him to breathe, dammit. And it was nice. That serenity.
He craved it again.
The several dozen painkillers that he held out in his hand looked like sweets as Peter stared at their chalky whiteness for several minutes. His phone was held in his other hand, the offending object silent and lifeless. Peter told himself that if Ned, MJ or anyone else called or texted, he would answer immediately and throw the tablets down the toilet.
But no one called.
No one texted.
In that moment, a hand full of pills laid out on his open palm, Peter really did feel alone. He felt so disconnected and isolated, like someone had erased him from everyone’s minds and thrown him away. He just wanted to be needed and not like some space-filler that caused more harm than good.
He was dialling Mr Stark’s number before he even knew what he was doing. It was like second nature now to call his (father figure) mentor whenever he needed help. He was sure it annoyed the hell out of the man but Peter knew he could always rely on Mr Stark.
His hand shook as he brought the phone to his ear, the sound of the ringing bringing his anxiety to sky rocket up in the air. His lips felt dry and there were tears threatening to spill as he listened to the droning sound of the phones rings. Ring ring. Ring ring. Ring ring.
“You’ve reached the voicemail of— well, you know who i am. Frankly, there’s no point leaving a voicemail i won’t listen to it. Call Pepper if it’s urgent otherwise leave me in peace. Iron Man out.”
Peter swallowed down the lump in his throat as the phone beeped and he was met with silence. His breath was heavy as he choked on his words, a sense of dread filling him. Mr Stark always answered his calls. Why did he not this time?
‘Because Mr Stark hates you.’
‘Everyone would be better off without you.’
‘You’re so pointless, Peter.’
“H-hey Mr Stark,” Peter tried to sound casual. He threw his mask back on but this time, there were cracks. His facade was falling and all he do was try and not break down over the phone.
“Umm, i’m really sorry to bother you.” Another shaky breath; his hands start to waver. “I was just wondering if you had a second to spare to talk to me? It’s totally fine if you don’t— p-please don’t think i’m trying to force you. N-no, i just wanna maybe talk. I think—“
Peter paused, the weight in his chest crushing down on him and his head felt numb. It was like a fog was covering his eyes, everything distorted and all he could see were the pills held out in his palm.
Another shaky breath. A pause. Exhale.
“I think s-something is wrong with me. It has been for a w-while now and i’m a little scared. I’m scared of myself. I’m scared of what i want to do.”
The pills tease him, teasing tranquility and a rest from his destructive brain.
“Because i really want to do it,” Peter admits. “And i know that’s wrong. I just t-thought that maybe you could help me. P-please.”
He swallows hard, the phone feeling like it weighed a million tonnes as the tears began to roll down his face and the crushing weight on his chest increased. God, he was just so tired.
“C-call me if you can. Thank you.”
Peter ends the call and places the mobile down on the kitchen table, watching it for a good several minutes. The pills in his hand get heavier with each passing second but Peter’s eyes are glued to the mobile phone. Please call me back, he begs.
When half an hour passes, Peter lets out a sob. Mr Stark wasn’t going to call. The pills in his hand are his only escape and he doesn’t think twice before throwing them down his throat, gagging slightly at their chalkiness. He lets out a cry, tears cascading down his face as his breath hitches and he waits for the inevitable.
His stomach was starting to hurt, a growing pain spreading around his midsection when his phone rang. Peter choked, his face red and sticky with tears as his fingers fumbled for the device.
“H-hello?”
“Peter— thank God you answered,” Mr Stark’s voice came through the speaker. “Kiddo i was so worried; i just got your voicemail. Of course i’m up for a chat— i’m always here to help you.”
Peter groaned, one hand wrapped around his stomach as he gagged slightly. “’S okay,” he grumbled.
“Peter, what’s wrong?” Mr Stark sounded frantic now, like he was living in his worst nightmare. “Are you hurt— tell me you’re okay Peter.”
“‘M okay.”
“Kiddo, tell me what you did.”
Mr Stark’s voice was low, fear lacing every word as he tried to convey his seriousness to the teenager.
“N-nothing,” Peter lied, his stomach feeling like it was on fire. He felt like he wanted to be sick.
“That’s not true though, is it Peter?” Mr Stark was getting more frantic now. “I heard your voicemail— i know what’s going on in your head. Please kiddo, tell me what you did. Tell me what’s going on. I’m 2 minutes out now Pete, i’m going to help you.”
Peter closed his eyes, his fingers twitching as he struggled to keep his phone held up to his ear. Something about Mr Stark’s panicked tone made him open up his mouth and whisper the truth.
“Pills,” he murmured before his hand went slack and the phone clattered to the ground, the sounds of Mr Stark’s worried yells echoing out of the device but never registering in Peter’s head. His knees start to go week as his stomach does rolls, the fire spreading as they burnt his insides.
Peter welcomed the darkness of his blank mind just as the sound of repulsers could be heard in the distance.
————————
Tony had been having the absolute worst few weeks. SI was demanding more than half his time and in turn, it was cutting into his lab days with the kid. All he wanted to do was go down to the workshop with Peter and design some new tech but instead he was being forced to sit through meetings and complete paperwork for weeks on end.
He never could’ve predicted the outcome that occurred, though.
It started when he was in (another) meeting. One of his co-workers was droning on about stock shares, the rest of the board members watching intently as Pepper routinely sent him glares to make sure he was keeping up.
“And that is why we need to start focusing on that department more or we are going to have issues in the future—“ the board member spoke in a monotonous voice, his expression slack and his grey hair thinning on the top of his head.
Tony’s phone pinged, giving him an excuse to stop paying attention to this boring meeting. He ignored Pepper’s glares as he noticed the call coming in was from Peter.
“—Thank you Andrew,” Pepper’s voice cut through Tony’s mind as the boring co-worker nodded his head, having finally finished his dull speech. “Tony, you paying attention?” Pepper glared at him, her eyebrows raised in the same patronising way he’d grown used to (and eventually fallen in love with) for years.
“I have to take this,” Tony picked up the phone, a feeling in his chest growing as something told him this was important. It spread like wildfire, only to be extinguished by Pepper’s eye roll.
“There’s only 35 minutes left of the meeting, Tony; Peter can wait.”
Something tells him he’ll regret it but he heeds her words. Tony waits anxiously for the meeting to end, the feeling in his chest doubling as each second passes. Eventually, when the meeting draws to a close, Tony shoots up and grabbles at his phone.
“You have one new voicemail from Peter Parker, Boss,” FRIDAY’s voice tells him as he throws on his sunglasses. He orders her to play it.
“H-hey Mr Stark,” Peter’s young voice starts the message off. Already Tony can feel chills go up his spine; something was wrong.
“Umm, i’m really sorry to bother you.”
You can’t bother me, Tony wants to tell him. You’re never a bother, Pete.
“I was just wondering if you had a second to spare to talk to me? It's totally fine if you don’t— p-please don’t think i’m trying to force you. N-no, i just wanna maybe talk. I think—“
Tony’s heart breaks at Peter’s heavy breathing and clearly uncertain attitude.
“I think s-something is wrong with me. It has been for a w-while now and i’m a little scared. I’m scared of myself. I’m scared of what i want to do. Because i really want to do it. And i know that’s wrong. I just t-thought that maybe you could help me. P-please. C-call me if you can. Thank you.”
Tony felt like his heart dropped out of his chest, already calling a suit as he ignored Pepper’s cries for him to stop for a second and think. He couldn’t stop because Peter was in trouble. Tony was meant to protect the kid; he’d promised May. But saving the kid from bad guys and aliens was one thing— Tony never thought that he’d have to protect Peter from himself too.
“FRIDAY,” Tony yelled as he shot through New York’s buildings with a burning wave of fear. “Call Peter now.”
Please pick up kid, please pick up.
“H-hello?”
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
“Peter— thank God you answered,” Tony spoke down the phone, his voice laced in worry. “Kiddo i was so worried; i just got your voicemail. Of course i’m up for a chat— i’m always here to help you.”
How could you think i wouldn’t do everything and anything to help you? Tony wanted to yell at the kid but held back.
“’S okay,” Peter grumbled over the other line. The relief that Tony had been feeling faded away, replaced by cold blooded fear. No, no, no, Peter what have you done?
“Peter, what’s wrong? Are you hurt— tell me you’re okay Peter.”
“‘M okay.”
Tony wants to yell at the kid. It wasn’t funny— he could feel his entire world be flipped over as he raced towards the one kid who managed to worm his way into Tony’s heart.
“Kiddo, tell me what you did.”
“N-nothing.”
“That’s not true though, is it Peter? I heard your voicemail— i know what’s going on in your head. Please kiddo, tell me what you did. Tell me what’s going on. I’m 2 minutes out now Pete, i’m going to help you.”
Please let me help you, kid.
Peter’s response was so quiet that Tony almost missed it. The single word managed to strike fear into him in a way that nothing else ever had.
“Pills.”
No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Tony wanted to puke at the thought as he neared the Parker’s residence. He heard a loud noise on Peter’s end of the call before the kid went silent.
“Pete— Peter!” Tony yelled but was met with no response. The fear was crawling up him now, eating away at his anxiety and making him hands shake. He felt like he could physically be sick as his own stomach rolled over, his heart hammering in his chest and making him feel like it would give out any second. It was like a carpet had been pulled out from under him, Tony’s entire world coming crashing down and bursting into flames as he finally made it to Peter’s apartment.
Tony spared no time to blast through one of the windows, sending glass scattering everywhere, as he looked around for his kid. He retracted the suit, knowing that his face was probably ashen white and his lips trembling.
“Peter?” He yelled out before he spotted the crumpled up figure of his kid laying on the floor. Tony was sure he’d never moved faster as he dashed to Peter’s side.
Peter was laying on the ground in a heap, vomit surrounding him and his skin a pale colour. His cheeks were clammy as Tony pressed a shaky hand to them and his eyes were closed.
Tony felt like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. Suddenly, it was 2008 again and Obadiah was standing over him, arc reactor in one hand. Except this hurt far more. This ventured past the physical pain and into the soul-crushing-will-never-recover pain.
“Peter, no, no, no,” Tony mumbled as he lifted the kid up gently, cradling Peter’s upper body half. “Come on kid no, please no.” Tears were rolling his face in a constant waterfall, his chest constricting as sobs racked his entire frame. Please no, why was this happening?
“Open your eyes, Peter,” Tony begged as one shaky finger tried to pry one of Peter’s eyelids open. His eye underneath was still and Tony gagged at the sight. “Don’t do this Pete, please kiddo wake up.”
“Boss,” FRIDAY called out to him from his suit. “You need to empty his stomach.”
Empty his stomach.
The words were something he never wanted to hear when cradling Peter’s still body but he pushed away all his dark thoughts that he knew would haunt him each night for years now and turned Peter’s small frame over so he couldn’t choke. Tony squeezed his eyes closed and let out a cry as he shoved two fingers into his kid’s mouth. The reaction was almost immediate, the kid started to convulse and gag until vomit littered the floor beside them. Tony didn’t let up into Peter had nothing left to give.
“FRIDAy, have you called an ambulance?” Tony swallowed hard as he cradled Peter’s body again. The kid had fallen back into unconsciousness but the rising panic that Tony had been feeling was slowly going down as he prayed that Peter would be alright now. He had to be because Tony didn’t know what he’d do if he wasn’t.
“Already called Boss,” his trusty AI sounded far stronger than him in that moment. “Estimated Arrival Time is in 3 minutes.”
“3 more minutes kid,” Tony whispered down at Peter in his arms. The boy looked the same as he always did when he fell asleep during a movie or when he crashed in the lab and Tony knew he would never be able to see this calm expression on Peter’s face again without his anxiety sky rocketing.
“Just hold on for 3 minutes. Hold on for me, okay? Hold on for May. And you’re little friends. We want you around Pete, please, so please just stay with me. Don’t go into the light or any or bullshit, you hear me? You aren’t allowed to— i forbid you. Please, kiddo.”
A terrifying thought strikes Tony as he raises one shaky hand to go under Peter’s nostrils, holding his breath and praying to every deity that he’d feel something.
The small puff of air that prickled the back of his hand felt like a godsend as Tony leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead out of pure happiness.
“Thank God— thank you Pete, keep breathing okay? God, i don’t know what i would do if i’d lost you Peter. You mean so much to me. Fucking screw it, you’re like my kid. No, you ARE my kid. You hear that Peter? You’re my kid— my child. My son. So please don’t make me lose my son.”
He started to rock Peter’s body, arms tightening as FRIDAY declared medics were on their way up.
“I don’t say it enough— or at all,” Tony mumbles into Peter’s hair, his head bent down low so he could breathe in the kid’s smell. “I have issues with emotions which i think everyone knows. But you have to know how much i love you, Peter. Because i do. I do, so, so much. I never thought that i could love someone more than anything— even more than Pepper and Rhodes— but then you came along and you were just this kid. Such a good kid. All you wanted to do was help people and i was in admiration of your courage and selflessness.”
He brushes strands away from Peter’s head, his lips trembling as he places another kiss to his head. Tears drop down from his nose and roll across Peter’s forehead. The smell of sick is overwhelming but all Tony has his mind on is the shampoo that radiates off his kid’s hair.
“And i ignored you for so long— i’m so sorry. I was scared of opening up; of letting someone else in. But then you just wormed yourself into my heart anyway and i thought ‘just let it happen, be what he needs: a mentor; you can do that’. I’m sorry that i failed you Peter.”
Medics came rushing in just then, prying Peter away from Tony’s warm and protective hold. He watched in a heap on the floor, legs bent at weird angle, as they yelled medical terms around and checked Peter’s airways. It was like Tony blinked and one second Peter was on the floor as a swarm of bodies checked over him and then the next second, Peter was on a gurney as being carried from the apartment.
“Sir?” One of the medics stayed behind with a small frown as they watched over him. Tony wondered how much horror they’d seen as first responders to be able to hide their shock at seeing Iron Man crumpled on the floor, face covered in tears and his hands shaking, so well.
“Are you going to ride with him to the hospital?”
The awful thing was that Tony wanted to say no. He didn’t want to spend another second with Peter’s vomit-stained and pale face. He didn’t want to see the kid— his kid— look so lifeless and broken. Tony just wanted to skip to the good part where Peter was awake and healthy.
A crackle came through the remaining medics radio, someone yelling something out at them but Tony couldn’t pick it up.
“Sir,” the medic tried again. “The boy has woken up, we think he’s crying out for you.”
Tony bolted to his feet, the idea of Peter having woken up surrounded by strangers giving him the ability to rush down the stairs of the Parker’s apartment and dive into the awaiting ambulance. Peter was laying there on the gurney, crying and trying to shy away from the medical people.
“M-Mr Stark!” Peter screams out when he spots Tony approaching, tears leaking down his face and wetting the sides of the pillow under his head.
Tony rushed forward, sitting at Peter’s side and taking one of the kid’s hands in his own. He normally wouldn’t know what to say to comfort Peter, his emotional constipation blocking him from saying the right thing. Normally, Tony wouldn’t say anything.
But Peter needed him so Tony trusted his instincts.
“I’m here Pete, i’m right here. I’m not leaving— i promise.”
Peter visibly calmed down, allowing for the medics to put a breathing mask over his mouth and nose. Tony and Peter never lost eye contact, two pairs of brown just meeting and saying all the words that needed to be said. Peter’s grip was slackened in Tony’s own hand but the man held on tight, feeling like Peter’s hand was the only thing keeping him from shattering into a million pieces.
They were halfway to the hospital when Peter tried to speak again, his mouth fogging up the breathing mask. A small hand lifted to push it to the side of his face as Peter’s chapped lips started to form the words again.
“I h-heard what you said,” his voice was low and broken but Tony was so enchanted by the kid that he could hear every syllable.
Tony swallowed hard, the need to cry rising up again as he felt the familiar tug around his eyes. He brushed a hand through Peter’s matted curls and tried to control his breathing.
“B-but i don’t want a mentor,” Peter’s voice broke on the last word, his eyes looking sad as they looked up at Tony. The elder man felt his heart break and was about to stutter out an apology when Peter carried on talking. “I j-just want a dad.”
Had this conversation taken place a day or a week before, Tony would’ve allowed his defences to rise up and brush off this comment. He wouldn’t have allowed himself to fall and reply, admitting to himself his true feelings for the kid.
But Peter had been pale and unconscious, covered in vomit, in his arms less than twenty minutes ago and Tony knew the time for trying to hide his emotions had passed. He owed it to Peter to be more transparent in how he feels now.
“I can be that,” Tony whispered, his hand shaking as it brushed the strands away from Peter’s face again.
“You already a-are,” Peter looked up at him with such admiration and trust that Tony felt his heart swell. “I l-love you too, dad.”
Tony moved his hand from Peter’s hair to push the breathing mask back into place. His kid continued to look up at him with such love and trust that it made Tony feel overwhelmed with both relief that Peter was conscious and pure love over what Peter had said.
A few tears slipped down his cheeks as he bent his head down to press another kiss to Peter’s forehead. Nothing was perfect and there was going to be a lot of recovery to be made but Tony was thankful for this moment. Even in the dark moments, Peter Parker never failed to give him unfaltering hope and happiness.
And he would never stop being Peter’s dad until the day he died— and maybe not even then.