Archive of Our Own

Things are good.

The sun is shining, birds are screeching. It's 2010, Obama is president and My Chemical Romance is still together, Alex Gaskarth still has a greasy fringe, and Peter is too young to have a conscious.

Except, it's not a sunny summer day in 2010, it's a cold and cloudy day in 2020. Which, okay, Peter does prefer rainy and cold days, but nevertheless, he's old enough to wake up to his alarm in absolute dread.

But things are good. Things are okay. It's been a year, or less. Fuck, he can't count. But long enough that he's better- he's not the same kid sitting too close to the edges of roofs and letting muggers get in an extra punch just to feel something.

Recovery isn't linear. If he had a dollar for every time someone told him that he'd be Tony Stark's competitor. But eventually, it reaches a flat point. At least, that's what he tells himself; and everyone else. That he's at the flat point. There's no use telling his aunt he's fan-freaking-tastic when he can't deal with the idea of sitting through another fishbowl discussion about Romeo & Juliet, but she'll settle for an "okay", because it's honest.

Everything is okay.

He's happy, he'll settle for it. He can't expect the world to be 2012 "Warped Tour is in NY and it's $40!", but it isn't the dreariness that 2018 and 2019 brought him. Some days were really, really good, and some were bad, but he manages.

Everything is just okay nowadays, and that should be good, except it's not.

Because most days are just okay. It isn't- it isn't horrible, so he shouldn't be upset, but he is. It's like it isn't sad, it's just empty. He's just a passerby to someone else's video game. You see him on the bus gossiping about the Phantom Thieves in Persona 5, but you don't even look at the character because why bother? Just get to the school for fucks sake. Or a sim whose moodlet is "Fine." He isn't a toddler throwing a tantrum but no matter what activity you put him through he won't get some boost of energy, or inspiration, or jackshit.

But the meds work. Thank Helen for that. Truly, god bless her soul. It keeps everything at bay until he's asleep. The nightmares aren't often, they never were, but they're there sometimes.

And now he calls Tony. Or, he did, but telling him got so awkward, so he decides, of all people, to talk to MJ about it. She understands, she's a woman, she deals with the bullshit of being sexualized every day. She'll sit and listen, and most times she can't give advice because what can you say? They grow less often, in fact he went four months without one. That was a nice period.

And the therapist- well Peter never liked her. She wasn't bad, she was just kind of.. bland. Like, your basic Christian mom. And sure she never said anything when he briefly mentioned MJ having a girlfriend, but the whole pitying look when he mentioned Ben turned him off.

"Oh, that must be so hard for you."

Yes, in fact, it was. He almost killed himself, but he didn't come here to be looked at like that by a soccer mom, and self proclaimed "mental health advocate."

Not that he needs her much anymore. They meet once a month, just to check in. And it's good. Things are a constant line, little bumps, yeah, but those are easy to get over. He almost feels, stable. It's funny, really, he never thought in his life he'd use the adjective "stable" to describe himself.

The biggest problem, minus his "just okay" dilemma (that he'll deny happening until it breaks him- because why complain when things are better?), is Tony.

And may, he supposes. It's reasonable, technically. They're just worried, even if it's been eight months and he's down to monthly sessions and he's taking his meds and being honest and things are okay. Yet they're still there, constantly.

May just started letting Peter cook again, with real knives. God bless, too, because Peter can't handle another burnt omelet for breakfast. He has to eat it, too, or else May gets worried he's losing his apatite again and the meds aren't working and-

He notices it the moment he starts cutting the onion. He pauses, and bites his lip and tries not to cry. May is unpacking her stuff and she can't see it, but she does.

"Pete? What's wrong baby?" She's quick to drop her things and walk over to her nephew, instinctively trying to grab the knife.

"No- no it isn't bad it's- it-" He laughs, and wipes the tear with his thumb. "Back when I, you know, yeah. Every time I saw a bridge, or a knife or- I just, my immediate thought was, 'I could kill myself with that.' Like that's all I ever saw it as, and after my first attempt with the Ibuprofen, I haven't taken that since. Sure like, I'm Spider-Man and all so it wouldn't work anyways, but even when it did. It just felt like I can only take those when I'm doing it to die."

He breathes, slowly, and looks up at his aunt. "And today, right now, I didn't even think of it. At all. I grabbed the knife and started cutting the onions and vegetables. I just went back to middle school, and remembered it, and oh my god. May, I can-"

He cuts himself off with a relieved laugh, and he doesn't say it, but they both know what he wanted to.

I can breathe.

May pulls him into a hug, and they cry, and she says she's proud, and Peter makes dinner. It's heaven compared to the shit he's been eating in the past eight months. Most nights they get Thai just to avoid burnt spaghetti. Seriously! How do you burn spaghetti?

Weeks pass, and as always, there's a bump in the line.

It's a dream- no, nightmare. He forgets to call them that, but MJ always corrects him.

"It wasn't pleasant. In fact, it was the opposite. That's a nightmare."

It wasn't long, but it was bad. He doesn't remember it the second he wakes up, but he feels unpleasant; dirty. And when he goes to brush his teeth, he remembers.

They're sitting on the kitchen counter. Of all places, why there? And where are his pants? Oh my god, it's right there. Please don't move closer, don't move closer-

He always knows who it is, in the dream. People in his life that would never do that to him, hell people never have done that to him at all. But he still throws on sweatpants and a baggy sweatshirt that day, and MJ knows the moment she sees him what happened.

"Wanna talk about it?" She asks, and he shrugs. They reach a secluded hallway, and he starts.

"We were on the kitchen counter, and we didn't have pants on, and his dick was right there- and I-" He clears his throat. "And he moved closer and it touched me right there and I can't-" He closes his legs together, as if it'll protect them from something that isn't even there.

"Is it alright if I hug you?" MJ asks, and opens up her arms. Peter nods and falls into them quickly. MJ is likely the only people he feels safe around, especially touching him. Ben was a close second, but there's always the was. Not anymore.

They get through the day. After MJ advises him, Peter cancels his plans with Tony that afternoon. The man is worried, but backs off when Peter says it's a "meh" day and he'll be fine. He also promises that he's talked to MJ, and he'll tell May (no he won't). He's sure Tony isn't happy, but the man doesn't argue further.

The bad day goes away. The next is okay, and within a week the dream (nightmare, Peter reminds himself) is an afterthought. The next two weeks are okay. Simply such. There's one good day, when Peter hangs out with Ned after school for the first time in awhile. After a bit, MJ joins and they go to Kowalski's. They end up getting so rowdy a customer leaves. It hurts a bit, although Peter won't admit, knowing that this is the closest to normal he's had in awhile. They used to do this often in the summers between their seventh, eighth and ninth years. They went months without it, when Peter started getting closed off and had that plan-

Yeah, he'd rather not remember.

And then there's another bump. It's expected, they always are, but this ones more frequent. And it's bad.

It doesn't stem from a nightmare, or Ben's anniversary, or anything that makes sense. He wakes up one day and he's exhausted, but he always is; it's seven in the morning. So he goes to school and has the caffeine they sell at the dock as always, and he's still tired.

He didn't recognize it, because it's been so long. It's the fatigue and exhaustion he felt so often before his meds and the therapy, so much he got used to it. And now he'd thought it was just a little less sleep than usual. It should be good, really, that he's used to feeling okay or better, but if anything he feels scared. Two years ago, this was a feeling he never wanted to get rid of.

He finds himself lifting the sleeve of his left arm and scratching the wrist area during fourth hour. He goes on auto pilot during jewelry, nearly cutting off his finger when he started cutting out the pendant. A part of him wonders what would happen if he stole a saw blade and used it against his forearm. He puts it back at the end of class.

Though, the scratching doesn't end. If anything, it gets worse by the time he enters patrol. On one of his breaks his head is too- quiet. It's not loud, and it's usually loud. He can handle the loud with some music or something but now it's just so empty. Everything lately has been empty and stale and the same repeat. They say routines are good for recovery and Peter says fuck it. If he goes through another routine school day he'll jump off a fucking bridge.

He'll- he'll what?

He pauses at the top of the roof. He hasn't had a though like that, passive, intrusive, deliberate, of even humorous, in weeks. Maybe even months. Is he spiraling again? Is he gonna be able to get out this time? Are the meds not working? Will they stop working permanently? How can Helen just make another one, that works for someone like him? It was hard enough with his current medication, and he feels bad every time he puts her through a patrol gone bad, or refilling the prescription.

He's always been a burden, and he hates the way his thoughts start to spiral to ways to solve that- Solutions that are not solutions. He knows that now, he always has, so why the hell is it coming to mind?

"Peter, your heart is elevated and-"

"Don't tell Stark, please," Peter interrupts. "I know, I know and I'm alright I swear. It's just a meh day, and I'll tell May."

Karen's been upgraded to understand and react to the "okay" "meh" "bad" and "good" days, and he's sure there's plenty more things Tony has added; things she has to do regardless of what Peter says. Most of the time, he's gotten better at allowing her to notify Tony or May. Except tonight. He's doing good and he can't have them worry again. He just started to get them to trust him with basic tasks. He never was a baby. Sure a little bit fragile, but the excessive protection always got under his skin, even if it came from a good place.

"Alright, Peter, would you like to talk about it?"

Peter hums a no. It's the only acknowledgement he can give; he can feel himself shutting down. Everything in him is tired and he doesn't know what to feel. Usually, when he's sad, there's some reason he can direct it at. If it's Ben, he's able to be angry at the man that killed him or himself, or at the very least cry that he wants him back.

But he's not sad for any reason. There's no plea he can make to make it better. If anything, he isn't even sad. He's just a numb, and the only thing he can do to make himself feel any bit better is dragging his nails down his forearm. The skin is red and it burns, so he switches to the other arm until the first feels alright enough.

It's fucked up, right? It's wrong. He could use any other coping mechanism but he's back to square one. But it's so hard, when he can't feel anything. This is the closest thing he has.

He shouldn't be any bit surprised when he hears the repulsors quiet down and metal feet hit the cement roof.

"What protocol was it that I didn't know about this time?"

"Self harm," Tony answers. "Anytime you deliberately hurt yourself. Can I see?"

Peter sits up and, reluctantly, shows Tony the red marks on his arms. The man doesn't say anything, but the frown is there. He prepares for a, "I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed," but it never comes.

"What's going on, kid?"

Tony's eyes make his chest fall with guilt. He knows he's disappointed him, and he'll get the same look from May, but even when he opens his mouth to speak nothing comes out. He wants to spit it out, really, he wants to tell Tony. But his mouth feels heavy, like it's being glued shut. He doesn't have the energy, or the words to tell him. He's just.. sad. He's just empty.

He can't even ask to go home, either; it seems like nothing will leave his mouth, so he opts for leaning against Tony's chest. Thankfully, the man wraps his arms around Peter and pulls him closer, so tight and Peter knows it's because the older man was scared. Karen's alert, just for Tony to find him on the edge of a roof? Yeah, he probably had the wrong idea. Though, had it really been the wrong one? He won't think about that.

They do go home, and May does find out. Tony frowns and ruffles Peter's hair before telling her. He has to sit through it, awkwardly shifting on his feet. May gives a sympathetic smile and tells him he can go take a nap in his room. He leaves, but listens in on the conversation in the other room.

"Is he.. relapsing? Spiraling again?" May asks frantically.

"No, May. I don't- I don't think so? It's too early to tell, it's just a bad day, is all. Let's just be there, alright?"

"I should call his therapist-"

"I don't think that'll work right now. We'll definitely talk with her, but give it a bit."

"Okay, yeah. I'm going to pull him from school tomorrow."

"Cool, if he's up for it, could he come down to the lab?"

"I'm sure he'd love that."

He is called from school the next day. And he does hang out with Tony, but they end up getting ice cream and binging the Karate Kid movies (the originals- you fiend). Peter tries to get Tony to watch Cobra Kai, but it's little use.

"Please! You're just like Johnny."

"You're comparing me to the first movies major villain?"

"Well! This is ten, twenty years later. You're like, a little more mature but- Come on, he likes 80s rock and he's bad ass and he's a dad-" Peter pauses, so does Tony.

"A dad?"

"I mean- hah, I guess you're right, you're not a dad."

The words between them are unspoken. Peter meant himself. Tony never says it, but he was never opposed to the idea.

Eventually, of course, he has to talk with Susan (apparently after seven months of sessions they're on first name basis now, but Peter is still uncomfortable with the idea. It isn't even his over politeness, he just doesn't like her). Their session was supposed to be on March second, but they moved it a week earlier.

"So how's the world of Mr. Parker been?" She asks as they start the call. He hides his discomfort at her tone, and the way she's got too-happy of a smile. He'd rather settle for a lecture from Tony.

"It's um, it's alright." Peter starts playing with the bracelets MJ had made him; something Susan had advised him to do instead of scratching.

"You've been taking your meds? Talking to May and Tony?" He wishes she'd just cut to the chase; he knows where she's going with this. After a week ago, they're all on edge that he's going to start writing suicide notes again.

"Yes, and yes," Peter sighs.

"Alright, well, Tony told me about what happened a week ago. What was all that about?" And there it is, the pitied look, yet with such a condescending tone. Like, 'Why are you still sad?'

"Nothing much, really," Peter starts, and notes her disbelieving look. "It was just a bad day."

She nods. "Recovery isn't linear."

He closes his fists and digs his nails into his palms. He knows that, pretty damn well too. "Yeah, I get you're all worried but this isn't anything big. I've been doing everything I'm supposed to do. I'm not- like- gonna shoot myself." He laughs, but Susan keeps a straight face.

"Alright, Peter, that's good. Is there anything else we should talk about? How are your nightmares?"

Peter tenses and remembers his dream from weeks ago. "They're.. there. But I haven't had one in awhile and I talked to MJ about it."

"MJ? Why not Tony?"

"I just didn't want to," Peter shrugs simply.

She frowns, purses her lips, and nods. "I see. Well, if that's all, I'll see you next month, Peter. Feel free to call or schedule one sooner if you need, though."

He nods and the call ends. Thank fuck. May had left to get groceries while Peter was in the session, she does that often just to give him privacy. Though he knows she wasn't happy about leaving him alone, and that if he goes into the kitchen he'll have to hunt to find anything close to a weapon.

May gets home soon after that, and they sit through another poorly cooked dinner, because apparently a minor relapse has that drawback. It'd be reasonable if this was four months ago, but it isn't and Peter bites back from snapping at every question May asks.

Instead, he packs his things for school the next day and sleeps.

~_~_~_~

He's dozing off in the car when he does it.

They must think he's asleep. May over the phone with Tony while he's driving him home from the tower. He could've swung home, in fact he'd really been wanting to get some patrolling in this week, but he was either busy with Tony or May was changing the subject every time he asked if he could start up again,

They're almost home when they start talking about it.

"Yeah, yeah, you'll be at the apartment right?"

"Yep. I'm five minutes away right now and I'll make sure he's alright."

"Great, great. He seemed alright at the tower too."

"Let's just hope it stays that way, yeah?"

Peter's nails dig into the leather seats. Tony doesn't notice, still whispering and glancing at Peter every few seconds to make sure he's "asleep".

"Hey, Pete, wake up bud," Tony whispers once they've pulled up to the apartment. He gently nudges the teenager, and gives a small smirk when Peter rubs at his eyes to keep the rouge he slept through the ride. If he could, he'd shove Tony away from him and walk into the apartment himself. He doesn't.

Tony follows him into the apartment, to Peter's dismay, and into the room. He stands in the doorway, awkwardly, clearly waiting for May.

That's when Peter snaps.

"You know, I'm not gonna kill myself right?"

"What?" Tony starts.

"Like, even if I wanted to, May is going to be here in five minutes, and there's literally nothing dangerous here except maybe the corners of the walls, and I don't want to bang my head against that and end up with brain damage!"

"Peter, what're you-"

"Oh shut up!" Peter laughs. "You know exactly what I'm talking about! The- the constant staring, and making sure I'm not alone like I'm a psych ward patient. It was bad enough before the relapse, which was so minor by the way, but now I can't even breathe without scaring you! At this rate me dying would be easier for you!"

Tony's jaw falls slack. "Hey, absolutely not-"

"No, it's my turn," Peter spits back, using the same words he's heard far too many times from Tony. "I'm fucking sick of it, Tony! I'm taking my meds, I'm talking to you and May, I'm doing what I'm supposed to but it's not enough! Not for you or me. Can't it just be enough?" At Tony's lost gaze, and the loss of all the adrenaline Peter just had, all he wants is to lean into Tony's chest and make the older man hold him, but he stays feet from him in defiance.

"You're right," Tony starts softly. "Fuck, kid, you're absolutely right. I knew that but I did it anyways. I don't know how to do this, look after a kid and all, I'm new to it. That doesn't excuse it and I'm sorry. I'll talk to May and we'll work on it."

"If I'm such a burden then why don't you just leave?"

"Burden? Damn it, Pete" Tony takes a step forward, and another, until he's able to place his hands on Peter's tense shoulders. "Yeah, you're a major burden, and I'm glad. I want to take care of you, 'cause you're my- you're my kid. If you think I'm just some dry old man, then I'm sorry, but I'm staying."

Peter coughs once the tears fill his eyes and he tries to wipe them away, but his hands have to stop moving when he's pulled into a tight hug by Tony. He doesn't hug the man back, but not because he doesn't want to, it's just, he'd rather be held, honestly. He leans into it, sighs softly, and closes his eyes.

It only lasts seconds, though, because May finally gets home and Tony sits them all down to "talk". May is silent as Tony relays everything Peter just yelled at him, and when he's finished she lets out a quiet sob and hugs Peter, muttering apologies. He only feels more guilty, but he doesn't say anything.

They don't stop, but they do ease up. After Tony and May force him to be honest when he thinks they're doing something wrong, they start working on what they are doing wrong. Once a week, Peter makes dinner. He starts patrol again, although it's only twice a week. Only two days less than before, but whatever. MJ and him walk home on the days he doesn't have patrol or the internship. There's less concerned looks and hovering over him, hell he's able to close the door to his room without May's heartrate spiking.

Things are.. good.

They aren't, really; there's still bad days and he's sick of taking the medication and Susan get on his nerves but it all works, right? That's all that matters, he supposes. He's got space, and it's been ten months since Tony found him on the bathroom floor bleeding out and if he's honest he's scared shitless for the anniversary but that isn't for another two months. Everything is okay. The okay is a little less stale.

He'll make it.

~_~_~_~

Except, it isn't that easy; it never is, is it?

It's slow. Just in one week, things fall apart.

It isn't a bad day, or even meh, he just wakes up and things are fine. Flash is a piece of shit, and Peter tells him off, and things are normal. He does okay on the math test. Nothing compared to how he did in his freshman year, but he's a junior now and if he's honest he's just glad to be alive (wow, younger him never expected to say that).

And then MJ cancels on him, which shouldn't tick him off but it does. He isn't angry at her, he just doesn't want to be alone.

But he is, because May has a late shift and Tony and him don't have anything scheduled. He's a billionaire, he doesn't have time to make last minute plans with a depressed teenager. Can he even call himself that, anyways? He's on meds and in therapy and everything is okay.

So he spends the night alone. He can't sneak out on patrol because he's still on a strict two day plan, and Tony is notified every time he goes into his suit, so he paces the kitchen for an hour and then actually makes dinner. It's microwaved broccoli and cheese with a sandwich, neither of which appease his large apatite, but May already works enough to pay bills, so he doesn't bother.

On Tuesday, he sees Tony at the internship. They have their usual bickering, and there's still minor helicoptering from Tony (when is there not?) but it takes the stress of the day away. When he gets home, he's alone again. May has been working double shift again, and Peter wonders if it's him. He doesn't have a big dinner again.

Wednesday is patrol. It's fine, really, it starts off as usual. Tony nearly freaks out when Peter gets a small mark on his shoulder, but all he has to do is wash it out and it heals in less than an hour. Peter promptly reminds the older man that he was supposed to take out the protocol of reporting every injury, including minor, because Peter was going to get injuries on every patrol, just minor ones like bruises that would heal in a matter of minutes. Hours, at most.

It's only the end of the night, when he's swinging home and his sense flares up. He turns a corner and what he sees stops him.

It sends him back to every nightmare; the way he's got her pinned, and his jeans have fallen down below his knees-

Thankfully, he's only frozen for seconds. He swings down and doesn't give the piece of shit any sarcastic remark or greeting; he promptly decks them. The women screeches, and once Peter has the man stuck in his own spider fluid, he turns to her.

"Hey," he says softly. She whimpers and covers the parts of her upper body that had the clothes ripped off of. He stares directly at her eyes. "You're alright. Do you want me to swing you home? I get it if you don't want to be touched, but I don't have any spare clothes and I think you just want to get back right now."

She nods, slowly, and lets Peter wrap his arm around her waist. He's careful, and makes sure she isn't too uncomfortable (she will be no matter what- she was assaulted), before starting to swing to the directions she gives him.

"Thank you, so much," she says when they land. Her voice starts to choke up and she wipes away the tears. "I couldn't- I couldn't stop him-"

"Hey, you're okay now. Just, get changed and get to bed, alright? And try and walk home with someone with you, a group or a guy you trust. And talk to someone about what happened tonight. 'Kay?"

"Yeah, thank you, again."

She leaves, and Peter makes sure he sees her get into her house safely and lock the door. She waves to him from the upstairs window, now in a clean tee shirt, and gives him a thumbs up. He nods and swings home.

Falling asleep is easy. He's beyond exhausted when he gets home. That doesn't stop the nightmare though, and this one was bad.

Thursday was meant to be an internship day, but they have an extra Decathlon practice because of the nationals coming up. It's fine, though Peter wishes it were a normal week because he is not having a good week, and Tony telling him the same stupid stories from when he and Rhodey were in college is just what he needs. Oh, and also a full dinner. He ended up winded after patrol the night before, because the school lunches were already inedible as is, but he still feels guilty for eating so much at home. May was home the night prior, but Peter had been out and he wasn't up for talking after the girl he saved, so they didn't speak, and tonight she works double again.

The date is looming in his head, too, and he barely focuses during practice. MJ gives him a look; she knows. Not just that he's out of it, but about the dream. He told her that morning he doesn't want to talk about it, and she respected that, but it's still there. He wore sweatpants and a hoodie again, but it doesn't help the images.

Ned comes over, because bless him, and all they do is make really bad cookies for May and watch movies, but it's nice. The couch is too small for the both of them to lay on, but they're both tired, so Ned ends up laying on Peter's chest and the two fall asleep. Despite the dream, he's okay with it. It's Ned; he could never be uncomfortable with his best friend.

Friday is another patrol. But it's after three fucking tests and the day is right there and Peter really doesn't want to go out, but after Wednesday he has to make sure no one gets hurt like that again.

He doesn't bother finishing his homework at home first like he usually does just to get it over with, or even stopping home to say hi to May. He should really eat dinner, especially after having a little amount of lunch earlier (hear him out- high school lunch is worse than prison), but his head is a mess of fog and fire.

It's fine for the first few hours, but when he tries to stop a mugging and it goes wrong, Tony calls him.

"Alright kid, I know this wasn't just for minor injuries. Get over here."

"Yeah, yeah," he breathes. "On my way."

"You okay over there?" The rise in his voice makes Peter tense.

"Yep, yeah, just catching my breath. Must be out of shape," he forces a chuckle and starts swinging.

"You're literally like, a twig. Don't you have that freaky fast metabolism? Yeah, no way you're overweight."

"Yes, Mr. Stark, I've got a Jimmy Johns metabolism."

Tony scoffs, gives a final remark, and hangs up. Peter is halfway through swinging to the tower, but he stutters when his vision gets blurry, like when you rub your eyes too hard or you stand up after sitting too long. He barely manages to shoot a new web onto the nearest building, but in the process he hits the wall.

"Fuck," he groans, though he's happy to stick to the cement and stay there for a moment, catching his breath. Once his head is clear, he starts swinging again, but his movements are sluggish.

"Peter, your blood sugar appears to be low, and you have mild injuries. I advise that you take a break somewhere while I contact Tony."

"No, I'm twenty minutes from the tower. I swear it'll be fine and I'll eat when I get there."

"Alright, Peter." The AI goes silent, and Peter continues.

By the time he's there, he's barely able to stand, and his hands are shaking. Yeah, okay, that isn't good. Tony is waiting and is quick to direct him, mouthing on about how he should be more safe and how it doesn't matter anyways because his meeting was ridiculously boring anyways. He only shuts up when Peter's feet falter and he's leaning into the older mans side.

"Peter?"

"It's fine," he squeaks and tries to steady himself. "Just really tired."

"FRIDAY?"

"Peter's blood sugar is moderately low."

"What the hell, Pete?" Tony barks. The teenager flinches, but doesn't respond. He grits his teeth in attempt to stay awake, and lets the older man carry him into the medbay(???).

The injuries aren't bad, just a few gashes and bruises. They're quickly treated, and followed by soup and pizza. Peter grimaces at the mix, but at Tony's glare he starts swallowing down the meal. It isn't bad, anyways. He had been really hungry.

"So do I get an explanation?"

"Alright, listen, the school lunches aren't even edible-"

"We gave you protein bars."

"I'm not finished! And, I may have eaten them all."

"So? You could've called me, we have more."

Peter shrugs and shrinks in on himself. Tony eyes him and he knows he has to answer. "I just- hate- telling you guys. I'm constantly hungry and like, you guys don't need to take care of me."

"We do, though. You're a teenager with enhanced- well, everything, really. You're my kid, I don't care what time of day it is."

Peter shrugs again.

"Okay, what else was there."

"Well, you know. I've just been busy. Or May has. I hate eating all the groceries, so I lowered how much dinner I have, and today I didn't have it at all because I wanted to patrol-"

"What?" Tony interrupts again. "You know you can't go out without some kind of food in you, and after the way you've been eating all week?"

"I know that now!" Peter argues. "I just- I needed to get out, okay? I needed to breathe."

Tony ignores the desperateness in Peter's last sentence. He stands and runs a hand through his hair. "Finish eating. I'll take you home in an hour."

"But I-"

"This isn't up for debate."

Peter bites his lip. He just wanted to ask if he could stay.

~_~_~_~

May works Saturday.

Ned is out of town.

MJ is at a charity program.

Tony isn't talking to him.

And a year ago on this day Peter tried to kill himself.

It's shaping up to be the worst week in a long time. He still feels dirty, and showers are quick because he can't stand being naked. It's like a thousand eyes are on him and it doesn't make sense because no one has done anything to provoke these nightmares or fears. It's just there.

He hates it. And for the first time in a long while, he wonders whether he should've died a year ago.

He's scared.

But no one will answer him, so he shoves down one of the bars Tony stocked into his backpack last night (even if it tastes like ash in his mouth and he really wants to skip the rest of his meals) and throws on his suit. He knows Tony will get the notification; he doesn't care.

He goes on auto pilot. There's a couple muggings, and then he gets bored and helps a tourist find directions, and then he's sitting on the edge of a roof. It's always there, it seems. It's not that he's there to die, at least he doesn't want to be. He's never wanted to die, but he doesn't want to want to die. He doesn't want to be suicidal again, and trying different pills and sitting through shitty weekly sessions with Susan. But it's been a horrible week and honestly, Peter wonders if it's just been the week, or if it's been the whole past six months. Because things are stable, Peter is okay, but he it's like it's too okay.

That staleness is back, it never really left, it was just gone while Tony and May got better at not helicoptering. But a year ago he could've died, and now he's on the edge of the roof and asking himself if that's what he wants. And he's alone, and everyone knows, they just didn't care to show up.

Will they show up to his funeral?

He's been to plenty of funerals. But he remembers Ben's. The way he was fine. Completely composed until just before the service started. May led him up to Ben's body, one last time. "We get to see him one last time."

Everyone cried, and Peter stayed composed until he saw Ben one last time.

Except it wasn't Ben; there was too much makeup, and the head seemed a size larger than it had been when he saw his uncle less than two weeks ago. Less than two weeks ago. He couldn't really be dead, not when he'd seen him-

Would May cry? Would Tony show up, after their fight?

Notes, he needs notes- Why the hell does he need notes? He isn't- he won't actually, right?

"Karen, can you-" Peter clears his throat, "Can you call Tony?"

"Of course." She almost seems relieved.

It rings, multiple times, and it breaks Peter's heart when it turns up empty.

Yeah, he's really alone. A year's worth of recovery for this. He should've died, and he should try again until it works, because clearly God never fucking wanted him in the first place. He's just a-

Tony calls him back. It catches him off guard, and he flinches back. He answers it, reluctantly, and is quickly startled.

"Why are you on a roof?" Tony asks immediately. "Why are you on patrol? After last night? What's going on-"

"Tony," Peter whimpers. Tears blur his vision and he pulls his mask up to wipe the snot off his nose. "I don't want to be alone. Can you please.. come here?"

"Yeah. Yeah, bud, I'm on my way."

It doesn't take him long, why would it? He's there and sitting by Peter on the edge. He pulls the teenager against him, and Peter knows it's just to comfort himself. That Peter won't be pulling a fast one anytime soon.

"What's going on, kid?"

"I can't- It was a year ago."

Tony is silent for a moment, but when he catches on, the tension is obvious. "Right. Do you.. do you want to do it again?"

Peter chokes. "I don't- I don't know."

"It's alright, Pete. We'll figure this out."

"I'm taking my meds, I'm trying, I swear. Everything is okay and that's fine it's just, it's just okay. It can't be good. I was fine settling for just fine but that's all it ever is!" Peter pulls away. "Everything is just, 'Get through today. Hour one through six, then Decathlon, or patrol, or May, or you'. There's nothing that changes. And I wish I'd just died because at least I knew what I wanted, back then! I want to feel okay but I want to go back to the familiarity of feeling like shit. It sounds ridiculous, right? But at least I wasn't lying to myself that you care."

"That we care? Of course we do!"

"Then where were you?" Peter accuses. "All week, I just didn't want to be alone, and I was. I saved a girl from getting raped but he still got to her, he still ripped off her clothes and she's probably having nightmares too and I feel disgusting. Nothing happened but I remember every detail from every dream. And a year ago you found me half dead but you didn't even answer my call. You didn't get me until you saw I'm on a roof. I'm just a funeral payment to you, one you want to avoid."

"What I want to avoid is getting dressed for my son's funeral."

It hangs heavy in the air. Tony doesn't regret it, not at all, because it's true, but he doesn't know if it was too soon to say, if-

"Why couldn't it have been me, and not Ben?"

"Pete-"

"And no! It isn't because I knew, or I could've stopped it. It's because-" He lets out a laugh, but it has no humor in it. "I was gonna do it, right? Like, it was all planned out, down to the bone. And then the police show up at the door and he's dead. He knew what he was doing with his life! At least, he was figuring it out, and I'm some suicidal kid that can't even feel happy again after a year."

"He'd rather it be himself than you," Tony states, and notes the way Peter's eyes tear up impossibly more. "I'd rather it be me than you. Whether you deserved it or not, Ben is glad you're still here, and one year ago, I was thanking every God known to man that you made it through. I know how hard it is to trust that, but it's true."

Peter nods, even if he doesn't believe it. Maybe he will, eventually. "What do I do?"

"We can try altering your meds, or changing things up. Talk to Susan-"

"God, please, no. I can't stand her."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Tony frowns.

"She's just- She isn't bad. I just can't stand sitting through another one of her sad apologies because of Ben. She looks and acts like a religious soccer mom and I can't stand it. I use the coping mechanisms and some of them work but that's it. She knows about the dreams and she just, doesn't say anything that helps. Just to talk to you or May."

"We'll change, then. Or we can quit completely, but I don't recommend it. If we can find someone that does help you with the nightmares, too. But you've got to be completely honest when you don't like them, so we can find the right one. Right?"

Peter nods. "Okay."

"And hey, I'm so proud of you for calling me. I'm sorry I was so out of it this week, and the past year, and especially today. I'm here now, I promise."

Peter sniffles and leans into Tony's embrace. "I love you, Dad."

Tony pauses, but he doesn't tense or move away. "I love you too, kid."

Things are okay. Things are bad. They can be good, too.