Chapter Text
You could say they were the perfect family. Kind, goodhearted parents, smart, polite kid, regular family dinners. They had all the love and money anyone could ever ask for.
Peter was truly the luckiest kid alive. His parents loved him. God, they loved him so much they would give anything to see him happy. They spent a lot of time with him. Asked him about his day, how he felt, what his thoughts were on the world. They treasured him, like he was one of a kind and irreplaceable. They supported his dreams and made sure his whishes came true.
You could think Peter was spoiled. But that was far from the truth.
Deep inside something was broken in him. He felt it when he walked down the busy streets of New York (the few times his dad didn't insist on him going everywhere by car, driven by Happy, their personal driver) and saw all the pain and suffering: homeless people, living on the streets, having nothing to eat, without any money, resources or warm clothes. He couldn't just turn the other way and pretend life was beautiful and everything was fine. How could he be living his perfect life when people suffered all alone and got consumed by hopelessness? He tried talking to his parents about this issue a couple of times, but they just didn't understand. It was like he could become one with the hunger and helplessness of these people.
It was more than empathy. It was more than wanting to help.
It was him beginning to hate himself for having it this good in life when others had to suffer.
No person should go through what they had to endure.
Peter felt sick. Sick of all the wasted food, water, clothes and money. He slowly but steadily started to hate himself more and more with each day. With each meal he had, each time his parents took him shopping for new clothes.
The logical part of his brain knew of course, that his self-loathing wouldn't solve anything, and that the people on the streets would suffer even if he deprived himself of what was given to him. Still, soon this was the only way he could find some closure in his everyday life. The only way he could get rid of the dreading guilt which boiled inside him was repeating the silent mantra of
I hate myself
I hate myself
I hate myself
He didn't know if his parents had figured him out yet. Had they noticed he became wary around food, began to hate going shopping, and just started to distance himself from the world all together?
He didn't want to make them worry. They were such good people. They deserved someone better than him. Someone worthy of their love. He didn't feel like he was worthy at the moment. He at least mostly did good in school, and tried to volunteer in homeless shelters as much as he could, but still. It didn't feel enough. Nothing he ever did could be enough to save all the people who needed him.
He just turned sixteen, yet he already felt the weight of the whole world crushing him.
How was everyone unaware of his pain? How could they not notice that he was suffering, and every day became a struggle and a battle against his self deprecating thoughts and behaviours. Was he just that good in faking happiness?
---
As Happy drove him home, he stared out of the backseat window, feeling worthless. What's wrong with me - he asked himself, feeling as miserable as ever. Tears started flowing down his sunken face, leaving telltale signs of his pain inside.
''Hey, kid, you doin' alright back there? You know your dads would fire me in a heartbeat if I brought you back hurt.'' Happy's playful face contorted into a worried frown as he noticed Peter's tearstained face. Shit. Something's wrong - he thought and made a mental note to mention this to Tony or Steve. They couldn't let the golden boy be miserable like this. Happy wouldn't have it. Nuh-uh. Not under his watch.
''Something happen' in school? Come on bud, you can tell me.'' He tried, while keeping one eye on the road.
''Happ, do you ever feel like... All this is just too much? Like all of this. Look around us. This city, all this, this destruction, waste, trash. We're ruining everything. And it hurts.'' Peter's voice broke, and he couldn't keep the whimpers back anymore. He desperately tried to regain his composure, not wanting to have a full on breakdown infront of his driver.
Happy, taken aback was lost for words. What was he supposed to say to all that? What even was going on inside the kids head these days.
Peter gathered himself together quickly, knowing he couldn't enter their home in this state, he would make his parents worry. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't need their sympathy or pity. They couldn't help anyways. Noone could understand.
After parking at his usual spot nearest to the front door, Happy opened Peters door, frown still deep on his face.
''Here you go.''
''Thanks,'' Peter said, not looking into the older man's eye, just wanting to get into the house as soon as possible.
He mostly got rid of the tears, and luckily his eyes weren't puffy anymore. Telltale signs thankfully almost never showed on his face after crying.
It was a tuesday afternoon, so both of his dads were going to be home. At the beginning of the year they had agreed that they'll all clear tuesday afternoons and nights, so they could spend some quality time together as a family.
As soon as he entered the safety of his home, Peter felt a lot better. Lately everytime he had to leave the comfort of the house he became antsy and anxious. It started to get really noticeable and made his everyday life difficult. He kept it all inside though. Noone had to know what was going on inside him. It was all too ugly and unreasonable. Nothing made sense, not even to him. How could someone looking from the outside possibly understand?
He carefully took off his shoes and headed straight to the living room, in hopes of quickly saying hi and than excusing himself to his room. He had absolutely no energy to put on a happy face for their weekly family gathering. He appreciated the effort his dads put into their relationship, he really did. But he couldn't help feel himself drift away from them and all happiness more and more.
"Hey Pete," Steve greeted looking up from his book. "How was school?"
Peter hated that question. What was he supposed to say. School was the same everyday. Didn't they already know that? If it weren't for Ned he would not survive a day in there.
"Oh it was fine. Same old. How are you?" He reluctantly replied, not wanting to raise the suspicion of something being wrong.
"I'm alright. Work was surprisingly eventful today, I'll have an exhibition next week actually. It's been kinda busy organizing it." Steve always had a special aura around him when he talked about his job... More like passion really. Being an artist must be amazing. Peter often wished he had something similar, something he could be so passionate about.
"That's amazing dad, I'm so happy for you!" He went over and wrapped Steve in a hug. The physical contact felt good. Sometimes it could be too overwhelming and he found himself hating every minute of it. He would never tell his parents that though, too afraid of hurting them with his behaviour. Now though, it was okay.
Steve gently caressed his back, slowly tracing his protruding ribs. Peter loosened the hug, trying to get away. He couldn't let Steve get too close.
He can't notice.
Pulling away, Peter looked into his dads worried eyes. He knew... they knew something was wrong. Of course they did. They knew him better than anyone. Yet, they couldn't help. They could support the entirety of New York with all their donations, but they couldn't help their only son.
Peter didn't blame them. Not in the slightest. He only blamed himself. And whoever brought him into this world. God, living was exhausting. How much longer could he take this?
"Lets go the kitchen, Bud. I made some tzukkini lasagna, your favourite," Steve said smiling, looking at him adoringly.
"Okay, sounds great!" Peter tried to put all his currently nonexistent excitement into his voice, but apparently failed terribly as he caught Steve's concerned glance.
He really loved the lasagna. It was his dad's specialty, and was so, so delicious. He ate with a vigour he didn't know he still had in him.
Steve watched closely, looking pleased his boy was finally getting some food into his system.
"When is Tony coming home?"
They weren't strict with the "dad names". Peter usually called both of them dad or by their given name. He was grateful for this, being sick of the traditional family model.
"He should be home in a few minutes. I think he had an emergency meeting about some guy breaking into the company records. Seemed intense..." Steve trailed off, furrowing his brows but soon regained his usual happy composure and focused his attention back to Peter.
"Do you want seconds? You need to eat more!" His voice coddling, Steve pushed the bowl closer to the boy.
"No, I think I ate enough. We could feed a whole village with all the food we have in here" Peter added looking away from Steve's assessing gaze. He felt the all too familiar guilt slowly creep back in and suddenly he didn't think eating this much was a good idea. All of this was too much...
"Hm, I suppose you're right." Steve's smile faltered, and shot a pensive look towards his son. Sometimes it was hard to decide whether Peter was serious or understand what he was truly meaning behind his short remarks.
"I think I'll just stay in my room this afternoon, if that's okay... I'm not..." Peter stopped himself before finishing his sentence, knowing Steve would immediately worry if he said he wasn't feeling well. "I'm just a bit tired, and I have a lot of homework to do."
"Oh, that's okay darling." Steve said, not wanting to sound too disappointed, but still feeling quite hurt.
Was Peter avoiding them? Did he not feel comfortable enough around them anymore?
What happened? Alarms started to run off inside his head trying to think back to the first few times Peter started to actively withdraw from them.
"We'll have the movie night though, right? It's your turn to pick a movie, remember?" Steve gave one of his best, most compelling smiles, as he gently patted Peter's hand laying in front of him on the table.
"I hope I manage to finish all my work by then. If I do, I promise I'll come." Peter said as he gathered his now empty plate and put it into the dishwasher.
---
Back in the safety of his room, Peter flopped down onto his king size bed feeling exhausted and like all life has been suck out from him. He's been staying up real late, mostly because of headaches or just general intrusive thoughts, which always found him during the late night hours.
Not being able to tell anyone how he's been really feeling because of fear of rejection and judgment was quite numbing. It made him forget that there was help available.
That he was not a lost cause just because he struggled. His struggles didn't make him selfish or weird. They were just part of him.
He whished he could believe all that. But his self esteem was far from this accepting.
When he finally gathered himself enough to sit up he opened his bedside drawer, picked up his notebook and started writing into it all the calories he consumed today.
It didn't really mean anything to him. He wasn't obsessed about his weight or food. He couldn't even be passionate in an unhealthy way...
Writing down his daily intake everyday gave him some feeling of controll and closure though.
The control felt good.
The self-loathing was welcomed too after overstepping the allowed quantity of food. He told himself that every bite that he ate in addition, could have been given to someone in need. It shouldn't have been wasted on someone as insignificant and unlawfully lucky as him.
*
When he was done with the writing, he opened a little box he kept at the foot of his bed, containing all the letters he's ever received from friends, and his dads.
At the side it had a little opening, that was where he kept his razor. It was small and thin, Peter pulled it out carefully.
The damage it could do wasn't as insignificant as it's size though.
Peter knew better than to cut anywhere even remotely noticeable. He rolled up his jeans and placed the blade to his inner ankle.
It was fall, so the chances of anyone noticing the small cuts there were almost zero. Sure, Ned could maybe see them in the changing room at school, but Peter was good at hiding, even from his best friend.
Cutting didn't really ease his inner pain either. It gave him some sense of relief and justification for his obnoxious existence, but it could never truly make him forget even momentarily about the things he was unhappy about in the world.
The pain wasn't that bad, and the cuts closed quickly not making a mess.
He couldn't even explain to himself why he did these clearly unhealthy and destructive things. His dads would be absolutely furious with him if they found out.
The disappointment he would see in their eyes could maybe finally push him over the edge, and he could find the courage to runaway and either start a new life or just wander away.
Probably wander away. Starting a new life from scratch sounded way too exhausting. He didn't have that kind of dedication and fire inside him.
He wasn't strong like all the people who had to go through hell everyday on the streets.
He sloppily disinfected the cuts, than proceeded to put a plaster on them. How fortunate that Tony insisted he had an emergency kit in his room - he thought bitterly.
*
He tried concentrating on the textbook infront of him. He really did. The words just somehow kept swirling and swirling no matter how much he prayed them to stay in one place and grave themselves into his mind.
He usually had no problem memorizing things for school, it all came easy to him.
As his mood started to change for the worst permanently, he started to notice his memory and concentration skills get less and less sharp as well.
He found out he failed a test today. He, Peter Stark-Rogers, had failed a test.
What will they say? As if it weren't enough you live under their roof for free, now you can't even do the absolute bare minimum and at least be decent in school.
The logical part of his brain knew that his dads wouldn't actually be mad at him, and they would just want to help him be better. The bully side though, was set on making him believe that he was worthy and loved only because of his accomplishments and scores.
Peter heard the elevator starting to move in the building, indicating Tony finally came home. Lately he was gone quite often, busy with work and with who knows what projects he had going on besides the company. It made Peter sad and scared.
He had so much love for both of his parents, even if that was hard to show lately. Tony being gone this much just added to his insecurities and probably irrational fears.
"I'm home!" Tony cheerfully greeted, immediately filling all the apartment with his never outrunning energy. Peter faintly heard as Steve got up to greet his husband in return and probably told him where he was.
Sure enough hurried footsteps approached his room. First two gentle knocks and than three quicker ones: their secret little code, which always got a smile on Peter's face.
Today was no exception, he quickly opened his door and fell into his dad's welcoming embrace.
"Hey there buddy! I haven't seen you in a bit, glad I caught you home today. Dad told me you're busy studying?"
"Yeah, I just wanted to finish before movie night," Peter said smile faltering.
Shit, he didn't manage to finish any of his tasks.
"But I'm done now so it's okay," he lied.
Just thinking about spending one more minute stooping over his history book without any purpose whatsoever, made him want to throw up.
"That's good to hear Champ. Come on, let's get you a snack, you deserve a break. I'm famished too."
"Actually, dad made me eat three people's serving of lasagna earlier so I don't think I'll be hungry for another week," Peter explained, as he followed Tony out of the room.
"Yeah sure, sure. I'm not buying it. You need to eat more, or else the wind's just gonna blow you away from us one day," Tony joked but his tone held some seriousness and gentle worry in it.
Oh, how nice would it be. To just let the wind take me. - Peter thought and took a deep breath.
He had a long night of faking happiness to do.