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It wasn't getting bad again. He wouldn't let himself get bad again now. Not when he had things to do.
But he was.
The heavy feeling in his stomach had settled a few weeks ago, growing stronger day by day. But somehow, the mundane predictability of everyday life helped keeping the anxious feeling grow too strong.
And so, Peter kept his head barely over water by doing everything he usually did; went to school, hung out with Ned and MJ, ate dinner with Aunt May, lab days and movie nights with Mr. Stark, patrolling until his curfew, then went to bed. Repeat, repeat, repeat.
He almost broke a few times. Almost told them. Almost screamed it in Aunt May's face during dinner.
“How was school?” She asked. And Peter felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. Flash had been on his neck the past couple of days, whispering vicious comments during classes. Sneering muttered profanities at him when he walked past him in the halls. Laughed at him when he zoned out.
Peter didn’t even know if he was meant to hear everything Flash said about him. But he did. Since the spider bite it felt like he was able to hear just about everything.
“Alright,” he mumbled between bites. His minds screamed at him TELL HER! IT´S GETTING BAD, YOU HAVE TO TELL HER!!
But then they finished eating, and she asked him if he could help her clean after them. She had just finished a twelve-hour shift – her fifth in a row – and had to come straight home to make him dinner, just so his stupid fast metabolism didn’t kill him. (But what if he wanted it to?) And he had the fucking audacity to complain about feeling a little under the weather? God, he was so selfish.
He dragged his legs over to the sink and began doing the dishes, telling Aunt May she could take a breather. She looked so relieved it almost looked as if she was on the verge of tears. The knot in his stomach grew.
No, he couldn’t tell her. She already had so much on her plate.
Ha almost whispered it to Ned a Wednesday afternoon. They were in Ned´s room, Peter on his bed with his head hanging over the side. It was a painful position. But not as painful as Ned´s, laying on the floor on his stomach, chin tucked in the top of a water glass, now empty, to hold his head up. The glass undoubtedly leaving a red mark.
The plan had been to go home after school. He wanted to bury himself underneath his duvet with all the lights turned off. But then Ned invited him to come over to watch the new season of Stranger Things, saying his dad was coming to pick him up.
Peter´s legs had felt so heavy, his thumb prickling angrily after hours of his index finger´s nail making crescent marks, and just the thought of the loud, loud, loud subway made his throat close up. So, he agreed.
Now, one and a half episode later, he still wasn’t sure if he regretted the decision or not. On one hand, he knew the knot in his stomach would grow bigger after another afternoon not spent patrolling or not doing homework, or even not helping May with chores. On the other hand, he couldn’t stop thinking about the bus ride home.
Instead of his intestines rolling in anxiety, it bloomed in his throat. Making the words he wanted to say stuck there. I don’t feel so good, Ned.
Ned laughed, “Dustin is like... my twin, dude!”
Peter let out a little snort. “I hope that makes me Lucas.”
He felt a little lighter on his way home.
MJ was looking at him so intensely, it felt like she was the one who could hear his heart beating rapidly beneath his ribcage. Maybe she saw the outline of it under his gray sweater, beating so hard it eventually left a heart shaped hole in it. For a second Peter thought about ripping it out of his chest, holding it in his hands and watch it as it made its final few straggled pushes. He wondered if he was strong enough to pull it off. Probably...?
But he had his physics book in his hands, the one he borrowed from Mr. Stark, and he didn’t want to ruin it. Didn’t want the cleaners that came after school to have to mop up a pool of his blood. It would probably be a little too dramatic to do it here anyways. Spider-Man could do it on the top of a building, somewhere no one would see. Somewhere the rain would clean it up, without his mess having to become somebody else´s mess.
“Are you planning to kill your book, or something, P?” Peter´s stomach dropped.
“Uh-”
“You have quite the grip there,” MJ´s voice was steady, worried. He looked down on the book in his hands, seeing he was holding on so tightly, it looked like the book was a lifeline keeping him from drifting away. Keeping him from the ocean screaming around him, wanting to pull him away from the shore. The heavy book in his arms the only thing connecting him to land.
“Oh,” he chuckled, easing his grip. He noticed angry red marks on the insides of his hands, MJ eyed him curiously. Concerned.
He could easily tell her about his heart trying to leave his chest. But it would sound crazy, he thought.
“Just a really interesting book,” he pressed out, “made me think of something.” He swallowed around the half lie, knot in his throat growing a few sizes. He pressed the nail of his index finger into his thumb.
MJ hummed in response, her intense glare not letting up, but the subject dropped. She began telling him of a book she had just finished reading. The knot eased a little.
Mr. Stark was the hardest one to lie to. Not only because he could keep tabs on when he went out patrolling, but because it seemed like he could read every little thought whirling around his head.
Peter had never been a good liar.
One time when he was younger, he had broken a glass after school. He had been scared Aunt May and Uncle Ben were going to be angry at him, he hid all the evidence of the glass ever hitting the floor. When they came home, he had worked himself up in such a state he could feel his hands shake with nerves.
When they finally asked him what was going on, after he barely touched his dinner, he just broke down crying on the spot. Apologizing over and over again. They had hugged him, telling him it was no big deal. Peter still felt awful about it, if it was mostly because of the glass breaking or trying to lie about it, he didn’t know.
The thing is, he wanted to tell the truth. But when he thought about opening his mouth and actually say it, it felt like his tongue grew eight sizes inside his mouth, and the words clogging together somewhere between his chest and Adam´s apple. His hands started shaking and his heart hammered violently. The words stopped before he could even try getting them out.
He would sometimes practice – whispering to himself in the dark of his room. Sometimes under the quiet comfort of his covers. It´s getting kinda bad again, I think. Sometimes after he had googled on his phone, easiest ways to-, and the only thing that came up was hotlines he could call.
Peter didn’t need a fucking suicide hotline.
The whispered words never made it out of his bedroom.
“So,” Tony said one Thursday, one day before Fall break. “Haven't seen Spider-Man much lately, is he feeling well?”
“He´s alright, I think,” Peter answered hesitantly. “Just you know... school... stuff?”
He tried sounding confident, he really did. But it came out more like a question than an answer.
“Are you asking me or telling me, Kid?” Tony was elbow deep in some engine.
Peter had been in his lab for 45 minutes and had yet to start on a project. He didn’t know if he should do his homework, or work on the Spider suit. He should be doing homework; they had been assigned several tasks over the break and he should have started them already. But there were just so many, and he didn’t know where to begin.
And then the suit had a few holes from his last patrolling, a few days ago, he needed to fix. He should also make more web fluid, and just general updates the suit needed.
Everything was suddenly too overwhelming. He ended up sitting on his chair staring at the cars below him. Thankfully, Tony seemed too concentrated on his own project to notice Peter sitting project-less for so long.
“Oh... uh, telling you? Yeah, telling you. Also, MJ got me to read this really interesting book she went on and on about. It´s actually really good!” he added the last one after seeing Mr. Stark´s doubtful look.
“You´ve been... reading?” he said, eyebrows high on his forehead, arms crossing over his blue T-shirt. “What´s the book called?”
Peter blanked. He hadn't actually read the book MJ had been telling him about on Monday. Now that he thinks about it, he didn’t even know why he said it. He just wanted to tell Tony something that could've been taking up his time instead of patrolling. Peter didn’t even like to read!
“It´s uhh... called-” he didn’t have the brain capacity to even conjure up a fake title. Just let his voice fade out while he looked down at his desk to continue what he had been doing instead. Only to notice he hadn't even pulled something onto his desk. Typical.
“You wanna try another lie, Pete? Maybe something like taking up fishing. In Central Park for example.”
Peter knew Tony was trying to lighted the mood. But between his index finger leaving crescents all over his thumb, and the familiar pressure building behind his Adam´s apple, Peter couldn’t make himself laugh.
Tony walked over to his work bench, laying his hand gently on Peter´s neck. Adding a little pressure.
“What´s going on, Kid?” he said softly. Peter kinda wanted to tell him. But the pressure in his throat grew at the thought.
“I´m really hungry, Mr. Stark,” he lied instead. An easy lie.
They made toast and ate on the couch. They didn’t go back to the lab.
______________
Then the school break came.
The thing is, Peter hadn't meant to get bad again now. In fact, he'd even looked forward to this break. He had made plans with Ned and MJ to watch the new horror movie on Sunday. They had been looking forward to it for weeks. At least Ned and Peter. To be frank, Peter didn't really know if MJ was excited at all. He guessed she liked horror movies – he hoped she did at least – as she had been quick to agree to go. But then again, he still struggled to read her on his best days. These days hadn't been his best.
He had also made plans with Tony to stay over a few days. Tony had been the one to initiate it, and Peter had been over the moon with excitement.
He was going to stay with him from Monday to Thursday. May had a few days off work to help her father who had been getting very weak lately. They didn't really have any sort of relationship after something had happened years ago. Peter didn't know a lot about it, he always sensed May’s frustration when he tried asking about it. So, he stopped asking about him years ago.
But then her father´s health suddenly grew worse.
«I'm so sorry, Honey, I really am! I know we were supposed to do something fun this weekend, I can't even remember the last time I got a whole week off during the Autumn,» she said as she ran around the apartment like a headless chicken.
She had to hurry to make her flight, Peter´s unsettling feeling grew with every new piece of clothing dumped into her suitcase. He was sat in the middle of her bed, knees tucked into his chest. Three hours into his fall break and he already felt himself growing heavy. He wasn't getting bad again.
«You texted Tony, right? To ask him if you could come early?»
«Yeah,» Peter lied, «he said he’d pick me up later. I didn't want to spend the last minutes with you here with us both running around, you know.»
He hadn't texted Tony. He was going to!
But then he didn't.
When May came hurrying into the bedroom again, the heavy knot in his stomach clenched painfully. They were supposed to make tacos. Now she was running around the apartment, checking she had everything she needed for a week away.
Peter pulled up Tony's contact, writing out a short message explaining the situation. Then the heavy lump in his stomach had clenched again. More painfully this time. The message hadn't sent yet. It sat there, in his phone, staring up at him.
Peter imagined a head peeking out of his phone screen, its mouth stretching unnaturally as it screamed at Peter.
He's going to be annoyed. You already have to stay there four whole days, he'll grow tired of you. He's going to realize how exhausting you are to be around. He will leave too he will leave too he will lea-
«-while longer. If that's ok with you? I can call Tony if that's better!» May rambled on. Peter had no idea what she was talking about.
«No!» He shouted a little louder than necessary. May stopped abruptly. «I – I mean... I can talk with him, yeah? When he – you know - picks me up and ... stuff.»
His voice faded out at the end of the sentence. He didn't like lying to her. The lump grew bigger.
Then she left in a whirlwind of kisses and I love yous, and Peter was alone.
Fuck.
He was laying in the bathroom floor, a pile of towels under his head to prevent his neck from hurting. The bathroom was pitch black, except from his phone casting a red-ish light over his face. Thanking the red filter for easing the headache a tiny bit.
The time showed 02:13am. He should go to bed. He knew he should. But the bathroom floor was a little cold and a lot hard, and Peter didn't think he could deal with the soft mattress against his restless skin, could feel his throat close up from the thought of the duvet wrapping around him and trapping him into the bed.
It felt like everything outside of the small bathroom would swallow him whole. Like the tiny head that had crept out of his phone screen earlier had grown a body and was standing outside the bathroom door, like it was laying under the duvet in his bed, was sitting inside the kitchen cupboard where the glasses were. Peter was thirsty.
But the thought of the little creature – or the big creature, Peter didn't know anymore – kept him lying on the bathroom floor. He wasn't getting bad again.
At some point he must have nodded off, because the next time he checked his phone it said the 05:34am. He got up from the bathroom floor, and got himself a glass of water in the kitchen.
He lay down in his bed with his Spider-Man mask clutched against his chest. The duvet hugged him warmly. The bathroom floor had been cold. The gray floor tiles pushing into his ribs, shoulders, hips. The cold air from the slightly opened window seeped deep into the tiles and up into his bones. The duvet was warm against the cold ache of his skin.
Peter wanted to go out patrolling. He had the apartment to himself, he could be out as long as he wanted! No May telling him off for breaking curfew.
He should pull the Spider-Man suit from his backpack and slip out his window. But his bones were lead, pulling him further down the mattress. The duvet sat heavily on top of him. His phone lit up. The knot in his stomach grew.
Around noon he got up and ate two bowls of cereal. He checked his phone. Ned and MJ were planning to go to the science museum they had talked about.
He considered answering. He wanted to go with them. But they had sent several messages, and he would have to read through them, and then answer. His hands started to shake. Swallowing the spoonful of cereal he had just began chewing, he almost gagged.
Feelings of frustration bubbled up into his chest and throat. Why couldn't he just go with them? The creature with the big mouth sat on the couch, laughing at him.
Peter didn't answer them. Waited to see if either of them would pick up on it and send him a message, asking if he was ok. Maybe even come by to cheer him up. Held his breath for hours while he waited for Ned to understand he wasn't himself.
Guilt settled heavy in his arms, his legs, his stomach. He shouldn't be testing them like this. Shouldn't expect them to understand what he felt when he didn't even understand it himself. Shouldn't expect them to drop everything in their own lives just because he didn't answer their messages about going to some stupid museum.
Fuck.
Saturday and Sunday passed in a blur of laying beneath his heavy duvet and on the icy bathroom floor. Thinking about his abandoned school work, still in his backpack in the hallway. He should do his assignments.
He let the window stay open.
They were supposed to go to the movies soon. Peter felt his stomach clench again. He opened his messages.
Sorry for going MIA, haven't been feeling too hot ): think im coming down with smth, don't wanna pass it on, but you have fun !! think abt me :p
They went, promising they'd go once more with him when he felt better, convinced it would be worth seeing it twice.
nd besides, Ned wrote, ur scared screams will make it worth a second time anyways.
/: i dont scream?
Dude, you screamed when we watched scooby doo
BRO, i thought we agreed not to talk abt that??
I already knew, loser
>:(
The heavy feeling didn't feel as bad when he walked to the kitchen again, pouring himself yet another bowl of cereal. It occurred to him he should probably eat something else. Eyeing the yellow banana on the counter, he felt his throat constrict uncomfortably again, his tongue growing a few sizes.
He took his bowl to the couch, the creature wasn't there now. Opening his phone, he read through the messages from Tony for the upteenth time. Heavy guilt settled in him again, the lightness from the conversation with Ned and MJ dissipating.
Tony asked when he came over tomorrow. He got the message five hours ago. His question from yesterday asking if Peter wanted to come over today left unanswered. Peter wrote a similar message he had sent to Ned and MJ and sent it, crossing his fingers and toes and everything else that Tony wouldn't call Aunt May. Wouldn't realize she was out of town, hours and hours away, and Peter had spent most of the past two days alone on the cold bathroom tiles, trying to swallow around his swollen tongue.
The only person he had texted regularly was May, and that was mainly to keep her from calling Tony. To keep her from worrying. He hadn't asked how her father was. And she hadn't told him. His fingers were shaking. Tony was disappointed. Or was he relieved? Latter probably.
Peter shouldn’t take up so much of his time anyways. He´ll be relieved now that he doesn’t have to take care of Peter and his childish acts. Doesn’t have to be bothered with his gloomy mood or shaky hands.
As he lay in bed, staring at the time on his phone nearing four am Sunday night – or Monday morning – he had the terrible, terrible thought that he could just stop. Stop the feeling from growing in his stomach and chest and throat, he could stop annoying the people around him, he could stop being a burden. Would a bottle of pills and alcohol work on his metabolism? Or was it easier to climb on top of a building?
Ripping out his headphones from his bedside drawer, he stuck them in his ears, turning the music so loud he felt like he could taste the words in the back of his throat.
He could just call Tony.
He wasn't supposed to get this bad.
Monday passed in a blur of Tony asking if he was ok, resisting the need to find the highest rooftop and dangle his feet over the edge, and call Tony. To ask for help? Or to hang out? He couldn’t call Aunt May, her father needed her right now. He couldn't be that selfish.
But wouldn't he be selfish if he called Tony in the middle of the night too? Maybe the man was awake in his lab, as he always seemed to be. Or maybe this was one of the night Pepper finally got him to sleep in their bed. What if he was sleeping soundly for the first time in god knows how long, only for Peter to wake him because he was feeling a little nervous about getting up from his bed to pee. No, Peter could never do that.
He also resisted putting on his mask, knowing Karen would just report back to Tony. He couldn't do that. Tony thought Aunt May was home, taking care of Peter. Cancelling her trip so she could keep an eye on him, not wanting Tony to have to deal with a sick teenager. Instead, he hugged the mask against his chest tightly.
It almost felt like a small part of Tony was in the room with him: sitting down beside him on the bed, stroking through his hair and whispering in his ear how it was going to be alright, making the creature smaller and smaller with every bit of weight he seemed to lift from Peter’s chest.
When he was once again unable to sleep as Monday crept into Tuesday, and the knot in Peter’s stomach had grown so big he was sure his intestines soon wouldn't have any space left, he pulled the mask over his head.
“Good evening, Peter, how are you feeling?”
“A-alright, Karen, thanks … How are you?”
“I am doing very well, Peter, thank you. I am detecting signals of distress from you; would you like me to alert Mr. Stark?”
“NO! Karen, please don't. He already knows I'm sick, you don't need to tell him,” Peter held his breath waiting for her reply. He really didn't want her to call Tony. When she softly confirmed she wouldn't, he tried getting his heart rate down again.
“You are not out on patrol,” she stated matter-of-factly, he almost felt annoyed. “Is there any particular reason I am here?”
Peter considered telling her how he felt. Maybe not all of it, too afraid she would alert Tony and he would have to drag himself all the way out to Queens just because Peter didn't know how to deal with his own emotions. No thank you. Maybe some of it.
But just like with Mr. Stark, with Aunt May and Ned and MJ, his throat closed up.
“Do you know any stories?” He asked her quietly. Scared if he said it louder the creature would jump out and make jabs at him. He could hear Flash's mocking voice, laughing at him being so weak he had to ask the AI Tony made for him to tell him a stupid story.
No, Tony made this for Spider-Man, not for Peter Parker to fuck around with. He pressed his thumb nails hard into the side of his index finger, surely leaving messy crescents. Breathe.
She told him story after story, continuing talking even after his limbs had gone limp and the knot that had settled everywhere in his body eased up a little. He couldn't sleep.
Peter put the mask on the following night too. He had eaten the last of the cereal earlier that day. He should go grocery shopping, but May had called him yesterday, telling him she would stay until next Friday. Then she promised she would come home.
Peter had promised it was ok, swearing up and down him and Tony were having a great time. That meant he didn't actually need to go grocery shopping until sometime next week. School was out for another week. He didn't know if that made him happy or terrified. Didn't even know if he would be able to have gone there if it began on Monday.
Tony tried calling him several times. He knew Peter hadn't been patrolling, could see the missing stats in his suit. But Peter couldn't stomach picking up the phone. The hole he began digging a few weeks ago suddenly seemed so deep and so narrow at the same time, he felt like he couldn't breathe.
A quick text had been sent, telling him he felt better but was busy with school work he had to finish over break, as well as hanging out with Ned and MJ. The following texts were left unanswered. The creature was laughing at him – or screaming at him, at this point it was hard to differentiate.
Peter’s limbs still felt heavier than lead as he crept out of his bedroom window Thursday night. He hadn't showered since last Sunday – in an attempt to make himself feel better so he could go to the movies – and in a couple hours it would be Friday. He felt disgusting, could smell himself in everything he did. Even felt like he could find the gross smell deep down in the cold gray tiles of the bathroom floor, the open window above the shower mocking him while it did nothing to air out the room. This autumn had been cold.
He climbed on top of the tallest building he could see nearest their apartment building, adorned only in his mask. The suit still in the bottom of his backpack in the hallway, now with the zipper ripped open.
His legs swung over the roof edge. It didn't feel quite as freeing as he thought it would.
It actually felt rather nauseating.
«Peter? I am sensing distress again, are you sure you don't want me to call Mr. Stark for you?» Came Karen’s soft voice. Somehow, she sounded softer than she usually did, and Peter wondered if that was actually the case or if he just craved to feel someone caring for him so badly he was imagining it.
«No, please don't. I am okay, really! Just needed some air.»
He didn't know if she believed him. Didn't know how many times he could put on the mask before some protocol said she had to contact Tony. Ned had sent him a message on Tuesday to ask if he was ok and if he wanted to hang out. Peter answered yes- and no. He was busy with Mr. Stark.
He hadn't messaged him after. Peter hadn't messaged either.
Why was it this bad now?
He hadn't answered Aunt May since their call on Tuesday. Hadn't answered anyone. Had just watched his phone lighting up and blacking out again. Under the duvet, on top of the mattress. Or falling through the mattress. Down through the floorboards, he would crawl inside the walls. Not calling out for help, not telling anyone it was bad. Just seep through the cracks in the floor, crawling inside the walls, drifting into the ceiling.
If night blended into morning, he didn't notice. Not when the sun came up and went down again, painting the sky red and yellow and pink. The mask he had pulled over his face blocked the lights out. Blocked out the noises of the city outside his bedroom window. Blocked out the banging on the front door when Saturday noon spilled into Saturday evening.
It was Karen who alerted him of the incessant banging, she interrupted her own storytelling of some prince somewhere a long time ago. Peter had liked the story.
«Make’m go’way,» he muffled into the pillow.
«I am afraid I can not do that,» she said carefully. Peter wanted to cry. Or scream. He kept lying completely still. Imagined himself crawling into the wall again.
«Peter? Can you please open the door?» It was Mr. Stark’s voice. «I know you're in there, Kid, come on.»
There was some more rattling before he said he'd just lock himself in with the spare key May got him.
Well, Peter thought, he won't be able to see me now that I'm inside the wall anyway.
Peter heard a click, and the hinges creaking as the door was opened. He didn't have the energy to feel embarrassed about the mess Mr. Stark would be met with as he stepped inside. He couldn't remember if he had remembered to do the dishes the last few days, he leaned towards no.
The bathroom door was open with his pillow of towels in the middle of the floor, a glass half full of orange juice he tried to drink on Thursday. The smell in the floorboards; disappointment, failure. Anxiety.
Peter wished he disappeared for real. Wished he hadn't been such a coward on top of the roof on Thursday night. Wished he was able to go grocery shopping without tasting bile at the back of his throat.
Had it been this bad before? No, he didn't think so. He didn't understand why it was like this now.
«Underoos...?»
Peter hadn't been able to cry all week, just lying in bed or on the floor like a zombie. But the second he heard Tony’s voice in the doorway he felt the well-known lump creeping up his throat, almost choking him.
A familiar hand crept under his mask and pulled it over his face.
«Ah. So he lives! Was starting to get worried we had to find a way to genetically mutate another weird smelling curly haired kid, as the first one seemed to have malfunctioned!» he said, beginning to drag his fingers through the very dirty mop of hair. Peter would feel awful about it, if he had any space left in his body for that feeling. But the crushing weight on his chest seemed to prevent that particular spiral, for now.
The soft attempt at humor made him almost homesick, and for the first time in what felt like forever he felt a small laugh bubble up from somewhere deep within him. But it was caught in the heavy knot still lodged in his throat and came out more as a pitiful whine than an actual giggle.
The hand in his hair pressed a little firmer against his skull.
«You wanna come to the tower, little one?» Peter couldn't answer.
There was nothing he wanted more, but. But.
He was a mess on two legs. Barely two legs. He didn't even know if he was able to walk at this point. Would he remember how? He shouldn't be a burden. The creature screamed at him. Maybe if he lay completely still, Tony would just leave.
«FRIDAY can draw you a bath, you know. And we can make some waffles while watching a movie. Harry Potter maybe?»
Peter was kind of aware he was testing Tony again. Making him work a little too hard just to prove to him he really cared. But the more his fingers scratched through his scalp, the more his soft voice pulled him out of the wall, out of the ceiling, out of the icy cold tiles of the bathroom floor, the more Peter wanted to collapse in Tony’s arms.
Peter wished he could leave his skin and his bones and settle deep within the older man´s chest. So he never had to face anything ever again.
Not his pile of school work waiting in the hallway. Not his friends, who surely by now would see how much better everything were without Peter there. Not his Aunt. Who worked and worked, only to have an ungrateful, stupid nephew who couldn’t even handle feeling a little nervous.
Peter let Tony’s ramble about his week fill his ears and every little corner of his brain. Allowed himself to focus on the feel of Tony's fingers carding through his hair while his other hand squeezes Peter's upper arm, working its way down. When Tony's hand found his fingers, Peter lifted his other hand and squeezed his fingers around his wrist.
He had to squeeze out everything he could from this interaction to make himself survive the next week without Aunt May. Now that Tony saw how irritating and difficult Peter could be, he would leave. He would leave too.
Just like Flash mumbled under his breath while passing him. Just like the creature screamed at him from the corner of his room.
Tony's heart stuttered at finally getting a reaction out of the boy, and felt it quiet down a little from the violent thumps it had been doing from the second he got that frantic call from May, almost an hour ago. A heart that some days felt like it was only beating for Peter Parker.
He gently got Peter to sit up in bed, asking him if he was ready to go to the tower. The teen didn't answer. Tony snaked his arms around him, willing him to stand up. Luckily, he was dressed.
Together they got to the elevator and down to the car. The kid had stayed over at the tower so many times, they didn't need to bring anything other than his phone.
Tony kept up a steady stream of encouragements and stories to keep Peter grounded, but the car ride was quiet. Anxiety choking Peter, pressing on his stomach, making it hard to breathe.
After Peter showered and got into clean clothes, he walked lethargically to the kitchen where Tony was making what looked like food for a whole football team. There were eggs, pancakes, toast, cut fruit, waffles, a steaming cup of hot chocolate and three different juices.
“You hosting a party or something?” Peter asked. Tony chuckled a little awkwardly.
“I didn’t really know what you wanted so I just-”
“Made everything?” Tony gave a half shrug and a little grimace, but he didn't look all that embarrassed.
Peter wasn’t really hungry at all, the heavy feeling in his stomach hadn't really disappeared in the shower, and the wish to run back to his room and hide under his covers almost made him turn around. But he didn’t have the heart to tell Tony this, after he made almost every breakfast food Peter could think of.
“I wanted a burrito actually,” he muttered lightly as he settled in a chair. Tony shot him a dark look, making Peter smile. The creature in the corner yelled at him. If he was able to joke enough with Tony, maybe they wouldn't need to talk about what he had been up to the past week. He was just about to crack up a new joke when-
“So. You wanna tell me what you´ve been up to the past week?”
Tony´s voice was kind and reassuring. Soft, almost like Peter was the glass that had shattered on the kitchen floor all those years ago. Like Tony had to use gentle hands so he wouldn’t break the glass any more than he already had. Or maybe so Tony wouldn’t cut himself on the sharp pieces.
Peter knew what he could say to draw Tony away from him. He tended to know other people's weaknesses, hiding them inside his hands, ready to use if he needed them gone.
If they needed to be freed from him.
But Peter was selfish. He didn’t dare use them. Didn’t dare giving them another reason – a final reason – to finally leave him be.
“Not really.” He couldn’t let Tony know. Couldn’t risk Tony seeing him the same way Peter saw himself.
Tony´s face fell slightly, momentarily. They ate in silence.
They were over halfway done with Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban when Tony asked again. Peter had almost made himself believe he would let the topic drop for the rest of the evening. Maybe even the rest of the weekend. Doesn’t everyone start their new and better life on Mondays? They would talk about it on Monday, he had decided.
He was a little shocked Tony didn’t agree with him, Monday was a perfectly acceptable day to face ones demons. But alas, he hadn´t really told Tony this. Maybe he should've.
“Underoos... did something happen with Ned and MJ?” Ah. A new ice breaker.
“Not really.”
“Ned sent me a message asking if you were ok.” Peter gulped. He hadn´t known Ned would be brave enough to actually use Tony´s number. Peter had given it to him in case of emergencies. Serious emergencies. “He told me you haven't talked to either of them the whole week. I thought you´d met up with them?”
Peter wondered if Tony could feel his heart beating against his ribcage from where he sat pressed into his side, his mouth dry.
“I-I told you, I was sick.” Tony hummed.
“Did something happen between us two?” he asked after a couple more minutes. Peter´s head moved so fast to look at Tony instead of the TV, he was afraid he´d get a whiplash. His brows furrowed, index fingers finding their spots on his thumbs. Why would he think that?
“You won't answer my messages or my calls, did something happen during our session last Thursday? Or did you do something with the suit you didn’t want me to know about?”
“Wha- No! What??” This conversation was not going the way he wanted it to. Not even in the right street! He wanted to go to bed.
“I´ve just been feeling tired´s all. Was really stressful with school before break, as you already know, and I think it just hit me all at once I suppose.” The creature in the corner grew a few inches as the lie slipped out. He had been feeling tired, though! Just not really because of school...
“Thats not really true, Pete,” Tony said. His voice was still soft, still gentle. But the words were firm. He had been caught in his lie. Again. “I can see you’ve been wearing your mask,” his stomach clenched again, “and Karen could tell me you’ve barely slept the past week.”
“She wasn’t supposed to tell on me,” he whined pitifully, index fingers pressing harder. Tony sighed.
“And she didn’t, I checked on my way over to your apartment. Please tell me what´s been going on, Kid.”
The silence stretched a few moments, Tony was patient.
“I haven't done any of assignments we have to do for school,” he didn't know where to begin, and now that he had begun it hit him how stupid this would sound. “And the more I wait, the more they yell at me, and I can´t even think about my backpack without my throat closing up, you know?”
Tony hummed, urging him to continue, while his hand stroked through his hair. Peter wanted to sleep. Maybe forever. Probably forever.
“And then I want to answer when Ned or MJ messages me but then I just think how relieved they must be now that they don’t have to deal with me anymore,” he managed a quick look up at Tony before averting his eyes back to Hermione giving Buckbeak another ferret. “And I meant to message you on Friday, when May went away, but I just-”
“Just what?” Tony prodded carefully, trying to bite his tongue about the fact Peter had been alone in the apartment for a whole week without telling him. Peter didn’t need a scolding right now.
“I don’t know. I just couldn’t, and the more days went by, the worse it got,” he was on the verge of tears now. “Everything just felt so bad, and I wanted to stop it, but I just couldn’t. And then I didn’t know how to say it. So I just. Didn’t.”
His throat was burning painfully now, a few tears already slipping out. Tony didn’t try to tell him everything would be better if he´d just ask, or reprimanding him for doing what he´d done. He just pulled Peter tighter against himself, and let him quietly cry while Harry´s Patronus stood tall on the screen.
The knot in his stomach didn’t go away, and he still bore his nails so deep into his thumb he felt dizzy. But the weight seemed a little easier to bare.
And after the movie, when it was still surely way too early for Tony to go to bed, he still crept under Peter´s covers, letting Peter wrap his sticky hand around his upper arm. Meanwhile Tony´s other arm continued stroking through his hair in a soothing rhythm, until he fell asleep.
Right then, it didn’t feel so bad. It didn’t have to keep being bad. Not when Tony was there.