Chapter Text
Peter doesn't remember when he started feeling this way. All he knows is it keeps getting worse.
His state of mind after surviving Toomes burying him under a building wasn't great. That was when the nightmares started. The panic attacks. The erratic sleeping patterns. Peter doesn't remember if he bit his nails or left red crescents on the palms of his hands before Toomes or just after.
The Blip doesn't help. He's so disoriented and trying to get used to how life on Earth apparently kept going while he and half of the world's population was trapped in the soul stone.
Not to mention this summer's adventures with Mysterio. Peter just couldn't catch a break. He was literally hit by a frickin' TRAIN. If Peter hadn't already struggled with feelings of worthlessness and dissociative episodes, he sure as hell did now.
Which brings us to tonight. And the rooftop where Peter has sat, for an unknowable amount of hours. He's just stuck. Not able to convince himself to take the next step, but also not able to go home.
He'd been out on patrol, doing his best to Do Good and Be Normal. He'd foiled some muggings, avoided getting stabbed by one of the attackers. You know, the usual. But his heart wasn't in it. He couldn't come up with his usual snarky trashtalk, and was only putting half of his energy into the fights. One of the would-be muggers had almost gotten away, and Peter had almost not followed after him to track him down. Why was he trying so hard? Nothing really mattered. At least it felt like nothing did. He could spend 24/7/365 chasing after guys like this and the next day there would always be more. Or an alien race invading earth hell-bent on destruction and hostile takeovers. Or someone who was determined to seek revenge, not caring who they hurt or what they damaged in the process.
What's the point of anything?
Finally Peter just sat on one of the highest rooftops on his route and watched the world go by. The sky dimmed, giving way to night. But the city never slept. If anything, it got busier after dark. Peter let himself zone out while watching the traffic go by. Watched the streetlights come on and heard the hum as the city's nightlife got into full swing. After a while the noises of the night started to get to Peter and he realized he was still in the suit. Suddenly he couldn't stand to be anymore, and to hell with the consequences. He ripped off his mask, ignoring Karen's entreaties into his well-being. He'd stopped listening to her hours ago.
Peter took deep, gulping breaths of the cold air, but it wasn't enough. He couldn't get enough air. The suit clung to his skin, and he felt itchy all over. As quickly as humanly possible, Peter ripped the suit from his body, being forced to stand up as he did so to free himself from the constricting tech. He felt the icy wind bite into his exposed skin as he stood on the rooftop, shivering in his boxers.
He made his way to the edge of the building, still taking care that he wouldn't be drawing anyone's attention. Not yet, he told himself. And he knew the thought should scare him. Peter was never one to give up, he always tried his best to find the silver lining. But right now he just couldn't. He was teetering on the edge of numbness in his soul. He was tired to his very soul, deeper than bone-tired. Exhausted, really. And he didn't know how much longer he could fight the shadows in his mind. The whispers in the dark.
You're not good enough.
Why try?
You're a burden.
No one loves you. They're all just putting up with you.
You're an imposter. If they knew you who really are....they'd RUN.
They'd be better off without you.
Peter took his arms from where they were coiled tightly against his abdomen to make two fists and rub them against his eye sockets. Hard. His body gave another violent shudder, but Peter didn't even feel the cold anymore. Didn't feel much of anything, really.
Is this how it ends? Peter thought to himself, Not with a bang, but a whimper. Huh. Maybe that's what that writer was talking about. Interesting. Peter knew that if he disappeared he would be missed. He didn't want to hurt May. Or Ned. Oh, God, or Tony. Peter closed his eyes and sat on the roof. He brought his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on his knees, bringing his arms around his shins. There were so many people counting on him, and he'd be letting them all down if he--Peter couldn't bring himself to think the words, but the idea was there. He squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut and willed the tears behind his lids not to fall. He bit down on his bottom lip and tried to ignore the shudders racking his body. He knew not all of them were from the cold, but enough of them were. He didn't thermoregulate well after the Bite, but right now he couldn't bring himself to care. You don't deserve to be warm. That's a comfort, and failures don't deserve comfort. Honestly--
"Shut UP," Peter ground out between gritted teeth. Great, now I'm talking to myself. He let out a humorless chuckle. Just one more symptom to add to the rest of the crazy I've already got going on. Peter could feel the harsh grit of the pitch on the roof through the thin cotton of his briefs. There was gravel stuck to the soles of his feet. God, I'm a mess. Can't even do this properly.
Peter willed himself to stand. But his limbs were no longer listening to him. "Come on, Parker, get the fuck up. Surely you can manage that," the teen rasped out, but it was to no avail. He managed to stretch out his limbs, but remained in a seated position. Every joint from his shoulders through to his fingertips ached from being held in one place for so long, and the pressure exerted to be wrapped around his legs. Eventually Peter was in a starfish position, as if he was going to make a snow angel there on the roof. He dragged his heels across the harsh surface and grabbed at whatever he could with his hands. It was painful, scraping his skin against such a jagged and cold exterior of the building. But the pain meant he was feeling something, which both helped to ground him a bit as well as serve as enough of a punishment to shut the dark whispers up for a time.
Peter stared into the sky as he continued to move his hands and feet, further chafing the skin there. He wished he could see the stars, but he was too far into the city to see any major constellations. It would be nice, to see them one more time before I--go. Peter closed his eyes and tried to remember what the night sky looked like out at Tony and Pepper's cabin. Oh, God. Pepper. Morgan. At the thought of Tony's real family, Peter couldn't hold back the tears anymore. As he began to sob, he brought his grit-covered, bloody hands to his eyes and covered them. Salty blood mixed with the salt of his tears, and he didn't know which he could taste more.
They say that when you're close to the end, your life flashes before your eyes. Peter just saw all of the people he'd lost. His mom. His dad. Ben. And all of the people he'd failed. May. Ned. MJ. Nick Fury. The Avengers--Cap and Bucky and Nat and Sam and Rhodey and Clint--and so many more. Pepper and Morgan. Tony. TONY. At the thought of his mentor, Peter broke down even further. He'd failed Tony on so many levels. As a mentee, intern, and a son.
He was still thinking of Tony when Peter thought he heard the familiar sound of thrusters. Wait. It can't be. Even if he knew where I was, Tony has been benched since the Snap. Recovering and such. Peter couldn't bring himself to remove his hands from over his eyes and check to see if the mechanic was indeed with him on the roof. Because if he was, Peter was still a bloody, nearly naked MESS on the roof of a building at God-knows what hour of the night. Might even be early morning at this point.
Sure enough, Peter soon heard heavy, booted footsteps approach. Then the sound of the Iron Man nanotech disappearing back into the Arc Reactor and Tony hitting his knees beside the distraught teen. Peter hears a soft, "Oh, kid," and his hands are gently pulled away from his eyes. Which are still scrunched shut. Peter still isn't sure he believes Tony is here, with him, on the roof. And if he is, Peter isn't sure he wants to face him. So instead he sets his jaw stubbornly and keeps his eyes shut, ignoring the tears continuing to stream down his cheeks and the shudders still racking his body. He feels Tony's hand on his shoulder, and his eyes fly open, despite his best attempts to keep them closed. Peter bites his lip at the concern he sees in the billionaire's eyes.
"Hey, now, shhhhhh," Tony mutters soothingly. But the warmth and the kindness in his voice undoes Peter completely. He's openly sobbing now, and too weak to resist as Tony scoops him up into his arms. They rock back and forth, Peter contained within the strong arms of the mechanic, the latter whispering comforting words to the former until the kid's shudders subside a bit and his breathing slows.
Finally the boy turns his tear-stained face toward the former playboy, roughly swiping gritty, bloody hands across swollen eyes. He lets out a long sniffle and then his lips part to emit a phrase at a volume Tony struggles to hear. "What is it, SpiderBaby?"
Peter tries again, "I said, are you real?" At Tony's answering sigh, Peter begins to draw back into himself.
"Fucking Beck," Tony grounds out, Peter flinching at the anger in his voice, "Hits my kid with a damn TRAIN, among other things, and now he can't trust anything. FUCK." Once Tony notices the kid shrinking against him, he does his best to calm down. In a more subdued tone, he continues, "Yes, kid, I'm real. God, how can I prove it to you? What's something only I know? You think chocolate ice cream is the best way to counteract heartache, you've seen all of the Star Wars movies at least 200 times but you're not sure how you feel about the reboots, particularly Solo, you wanted to kiss Michelle at the top of the Eiffel Tower but were foiled, and plan to take her back someday to--" he's cut off by Peter's arms circling him in a crushing hug. "Ok, good, good," Tony murmurs, rubbing soothing circles into Peter's back. "Now, wanna tell me why you're in boxers on the roof of the tallest building in the city?"
Tony feels the teen stiffen beneath his ministrations. Peter draws back so he can see Tony's face once again. The philanthropist can see more unshed tears threatening to spill over his kid's cheeks. He sighs as the teen closes his eyes and takes one of the arms still flung around the mechanic to rub his eyes once more. Tony leans over and presses a soft kiss to the top of the kid's unkempt curls. "We don't have to get into it all now, but I definitely want to hear what's going on with you. What do you say to going back to the Tower, getting cleaned up and warmed up, maybe some hot chocolate?"
Peter nods and lets out a big sigh. "Alright, Underoos, let's get that suit and head home. Happy's waiting for us down in front of the building. Neither of us should be flying right now." Peter nods again and the mechanic scans the roof. "Did you bring a change of clothes with you? Your backpack? Otherwise this is gonna be real awkward." The pair each let out a wry chuckle. Peter nods once more and points. "Alright, good, good. You get changed and we'll head down."
While Peter changes and grabs his suit, Tony goes to the door to the lower floors of the building. To the billionaire's relief, the knob turned. He turns to find a gently swaying Peter behind him. Tony wraps an arm around the kid's shoulders. "I've got you, bimbo," Tony feels the boy sag in relief, and they make their way downstairs and into the waiting car.
Happy's concerned eyes meet Tony's in the rearview mirror. "Where to, boss? The Tower?" Tony nods in assent as Peter's head falls onto his shoulder. He squeezes the shoulders of the wiry teen in comfort as Happy drives them. He presses a kiss to the crown of the boy's head, amongst the curls.
Soon, but not as soon as either of the adults would have wished, they three arrive at the tower. Peter has fallen into a fitful sleep, so Tony scoops the boy into his arms bridal-style for the journey upstairs.
"Do you want me to call Cho?" Happy inquires softly as he holds open the elevator doors.
"No," murmurs the mechanic. "I've got him for now. But I'll let you know. Thank you."
"You got it, boss," Happy says as the doors close.
Tony looks down at the precious boy in his arms. In the harsh light in the elevator, taking in afresh the dirt and blood on the kid. "Oh, Peter," he murmurs. The boy doesn't stir as they reach their destination, and Tony is torn between letting him rest and getting him both cleaned and warmed up. Thankfully, the floor is empty at the moment, and Tony deposits his burden on the soft couch. He gently nudges Peter awake. "Hey, bimbo, what do you say we get you cleaned up and warmed with some food? Does that sound good?" Peter nods sleepily as he drags a hand across his swollen eyes. "Alright. I'll get some food and hot chocolate ready while you get cleaned up and some fresh clothes, yeah?"
The boy gets up and makes his way to the bathroom and his room here at the Tower to do just that while Tony bustles in the kitchen. Tony knows the teen is far from okay, but hopefully some carbs will help.