Chapter Text
It was a quiet night. The view was amazing, but he could barely see his feet swinging below him through the tears blurring his vision and running down his cheeks. His phone in one hand, he held it like a bomb about to go off, arm’s length away balancing on the palm of his hand above the drop below.
Could he really do this? He knew the number. It was a number burned into every teenager’s brain throughout high school. Health classes, school assemblies, posters pinned to the notice boards and taped to the walls. And, of course, those few sombre school gatherings to inform everyone another student had been lost.
He knew the number. Everyone knew the number.
After another few minutes of deliberation, he slowly drew the phone to his chest, taking a moment to look down at the water below. Everyone always describes it as peaceful, but in that moment, it was anything but. The wind screamed past his ears, threatening to overwhelm his senses. The lights of New York city, blurred through the thick tears, looked so bright against the black backdrop of the sky. Then there were the cars honking and screeching across the bridge below him. Honestly it was a miracle some do-gooder hadn’t spotted him yet and called the police.
God he’d never hear the end of it. He thought of Mr. Stark finding out his mentee and now technically foster child was spending his Friday night on top of the Manhattan bridge, deciding whether or not to jump off it. He shuddered. At least May would never know.
May. God, he missed May.
He held the phone close for another second, looking down one last time before he dialled the number.
1-800-273-8255.
“You have reached the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, also servicing the Veterans service line. If you are in emotional distress or suicidal crisis or are concerned about someone who might be, we’re here to help. Please remain on the line while we route your call to the nearest crisis centre in our network”
He almost hung up.
But then he thought of May. How May would feel if she were still here. How May would feel if she knew that she was a big part of the reason he was sitting up here. And God, he couldn’t do that. He knew that one day when he went, it would be at his own hand. But he would not do this because of May. Because May wouldn’t want that, and he couldn’t deal with that guilt. And then of course there was Mr. Stark. He tried not to think about Mr. Stark right now.
He swung his legs perilously below him, the wind rushing past almost drowning out the atrocious elevator music playing through the phone as his call was redirected. He only had to wait about 30 seconds.
“You’ve reached the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, this is Sam speaking.”
Peter froze for a second. He almost hung up again.
“H-.” He couldn’t do it.
“It’s okay. Speak whenever you’re ready”, the voice, Sam, said. Peter guessed they were used to dealing with anxious callers.
“Hi.” Peter cursed himself. He sounded like an idiot.
“Hi. Would you like to share your name? You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“P- Peter. My name is Peter.” Surely there were enough Peters in New York City that that wouldn’t give anything away.
“Hello Peter. How are you feeling at the moment?” Sam spoke calmly, as if he’d called to have a chat about the weather tonight. It was oddly comforting. Peter took a deep breath before he responded. He was doing this for May. Because he couldn’t let May down like this. Because he couldn’t let May be the reason for this. He’d never forgive himself.
Not that he’d be around to forgive himself, but you know.
“Um. Not great actually. I mean not bad, you know like, I’m sure there are people doing… bad. Worse. But I mean, I’m not good I guess.” Peter closed his eyes in humiliation as he babbled uncontrollably. God, this probably thought he was an idiot. “Yeah,” he finished lamely.
Sam chuckled a little. Peter pouted almost indignantly.
“Just because some people may have it worse, doesn’t mean you can’t feel bad. Do you want to talk about what’s making you feel bad?” Sam’s voice was still calm and controlled over the line. Peter looked out over the water, and briefly considered just hanging up now and doing it. Ending it.
He couldn’t let himself think of that right now.
“Er, well I mean lots of stuff, you know. A lot of things. There’s just a lot of things going on.” God that was an understatement. His aunt just died, he moved in with his superhero mentor, which meant hiding from the press and lying to almost everyone he knew, except for Ned. Ned was his guy in the chair. Then there was Spider-Man. Spider-Man couldn’t just stop patrolling because he was feeling a little sad. But it’s not like he could talk to Sam about that.
“It sounds like you might be overwhelmed by all these things that are happening.”
Yeah, he supposed. That sounded right.
“Do you want to talk about any of the things going on? Maybe we could work a few things out, take some of the load off your shoulders.”
That sounded okay, he guessed. He couldn’t talk about Mr. Stark or Spider-Man, but he could talk about May and school at least. He didn’t even have to tell him too much. Sam seemed nice, and something about his voice and the reassuring way he talked, calm and understanding but not pitying or sad, made him feel safe talking to him.
“Well, my aunt die-” Peter had to close his eyes and gather himself for a second. “My aunt died recently.”
“Grief can be difficult. Were you close?” Sam asked. Peter was glad that he didn’t apologise. Everyone kept apologising. Everyone was “sorry for his loss”. Mr. Stark, Pepper, Happy, Ned and MJ, his classmates, his teachers. Even Flash had put aside his pride and given him a stilted, embarrassed apology after Decathlon last week. That had been weird. He was tired of people being sorry. It didn’t help.
“Yeah, we were really close. She and my uncle raised me, from when I was six. Then a couple years ago my uncle… she was all I had,” Peter whispered the last sentence. She was all he had. The last family he had left. The woman who had basically become his mother. Gone. One too many drinks and one stupid decision by a stranger and she was gone.
“That sounds hard. It sounds like she was amazing person, and very important to you.”
“Yeah, she was,” Peter laughed sadly. “The best.”
His eyes focused again on the horizon god it would be so easy to just jump-
“It’s difficult to deal with the death of a family member,” Sam’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Sometimes it just takes time. But if it’s not getting better, or it’s too difficult for you to deal with there are options to consider.”
Here we go, Peter thought. He waited for the infamous word-
“Therapy is one option.” There it was. Therapy. Mr. Stark had talked to him about it. And Pepper. And his teachers. His Principal. The school guidance counsellor. Mr. Stark assured him he could find him the best therapist in Manhattan. He could even bury them in so many NDA’s he could talk to them about Spider-Man.
“Grief counselling. There are a few options, you could either do one on one therapy or there are groups available, grief counselling groups, groups specifically for teenagers. Lots of options to think about there. Would you consider something like that?”
Peter hesitated.
“I don’t… I don’t know. I mean my foster- person…” Peter tried to think of the right title to describe Mr. Stark. He couldn’t exactly go with Superhero Mentor and the last time he’d told a teacher he was now living with his Boss they’d looked mildly concerned and about ready to call CPS. “My guardian has spoken to me about it.” Guardian was about right, he decided. It was the legal term.
“That’s good. Your guardian, they’re good to you? You’re in a good situation?” Another question he’d heard a million times since May had passed. His teachers were all aware that May was his last remaining family. He was touched his teachers cared so much, but he was tired of discussing it to be honest.
“Yeah. Yeah, he’s great, they’re great. He’s a… family friend, I guess.” It wasn’t entirely untrue. Mr. Stark had been invited over for burnt lasagne at May’s apartment a few times. “He’s great.”
“That’s good. Can you talk to him about any of this? Sometimes it can help to talk to the people close to us about what’s going on.”
Peter considered Sam’s words for a few seconds. He could talk to Mr. Stark. He knew the man would be understanding, he knew that he’d do whatever he could to help him. He’d made that very clear, numerous times. He knew he could trust him, of course. Maybe not with the whole, wanting to kill himself thing, but with the stuff about May, and Spider-Man. He’d never tell him about Flash, although he’d eased up a little since May’s death, out of pity he assumed. Mr. Stark would probably kill him.
He could talk to him. But he was busy, Peter didn’t want to bother him. Besides, he’d probably overreact and worry and cancel all his meetings to watch him 24/7 and make sure he’s not sad. He didn’t want to bother the man.
And maybe there was a tiny, tiny part of him that thought that Mr. Stark would realise he was too much work and too fucked up and kick him out.
“Um. I don’t know, I mean I guess, but… I don’t know,” Peter stammered.
“It can be difficult to open up to people, even people we trust and care about.”
Sam understood. That made Peter feel a little less guilty about being so unwilling to open up to the man who had gone out of his way to help him in every way he possibly could.
“Is your aunt what made you call tonight Peter?”
Ah. Back to the subject. Peter resisted the temptation to block his ears against the wind. He couldn’t talk to Sam if his ears were blocked, and he actually thought it might be helping, talking to Sam. He didn’t know Sam, but somehow, he trusted him. He was a kind, calm, reassuring voice on the end of the line. He made him feel a little less crazy. A little more understood.
“Partially I suppose.” Peter’s voice grew steadier as he became more confident. “Like I said, there’s a lot going on I suppose. School stuff and- and other stuff.”
“School can be difficult to deal with, especially when you’re going through a difficult time. How about your school, do you have a guidance counsellor?”
Peter thought of the uncomfortable squeaking of the leather couch and the young 20 something woman who looked down at him with pity. He kind of hated her. She was nice and all, he felt bad for hating her, but he was tired of being pitied. Her voice was too soft and sad when she spoke to him, leaning forward with her eyes wide and mouth downturned. It was like she was trying to stare into his soul and uncover all his childhood trauma.
“Er… yeah we do,” Peter mumbled reluctantly. Sam laughed on the other end of the line.
“I’m assuming you don’t want to talk to them,” Sam chuckled. Peter grinned a little despite himself.
“Not really, no,” Peter admitted.
“That’s fine. Different people click differently, even with therapy it can take a while to find someone who’s right.” Sam paused, his next words slightly hesitant. “I do just need to make sure… you know, since you called us tonight. Are you safe at the moment?”
Peter considered it. Objectively, the answer was no. The top of the Manhattan bridge was certainly not safe, by any definition. But was he going to do it? Was he going to jump? Because that’s what Sam really wanted to know.
“Um,” Peter faltered. How much to tell him? Could they call the Police? Had he given him enough information? I mean, Sam knew his first name and that his aunt died. That was about it. “I don’t… maybe? I don’t know, I haven’t really… I mean talking has helped.” Peter realised he wasn’t lying. It really had. He was feeling a lot better about everything, weirdly. They hadn’t even really talked about the situation, but knowing that there were options, that there were people out there he could talk to even if it was a stranger working at the Suicide Hotline, helped put things in perspective. Maybe they weren’t completely wrong when they said feeling suicidal was temporary. Maybe it would pass.
“Are you contemplating suicide tonight?” Sam’s voice grew a little more serious now, a slight but noticeable difference from his calm, easy manner so far.
“Yes. I mean, I was. I don’t… I don’t know. I think,” Peter paused for a minute, thinking hard. He thought of Mr. Stark waiting back at the Tower, probably pulling a late night in his lab unless Pepper had dragged him to bed already. He thought of Pepper, tired and stumbling down to the lab to grab his arm and drag him to their bedroom with an exasperated expression. He thought of Ned and MJ expecting to see him at school on Monday.
And he thought of May. Beautiful, amazing May who had given up her life when his parents died to take care of him, and to love him. Who had worked double shifts and weekends and holidays to keep a roof over their head and buy his school supplies that weren’t covered by his scholarship. And he smiled.
Sam waited, seeming to understand that he needed a second. “I think I’m okay for now,” Peter said honestly.
“That’s good, Peter. That’s really good,” Peter thought he heard a tinge of relief in Sam’s voice. “Right now, there are some things I could suggest until you decide what to do. Websites and apps that could help, coping mechanisms, even counselling programs in the area. How does that sound?”
Peter smiled. “Yeah that sounds good, thank you.”
He was okay for tonight. And maybe that was enough for right now.