Chapter Text
Peter Parker didn’t know how to live. Of course, physically he knew how to live. He knew how to breathe, eat, and all the other stuff that makes him somewhat human. But he also knew how to listen to his breathing and count how long he held each breath for. How long his exhales and inhales were. He knew how to count very well too. Tony Stark wasn’t the only genius.
And his counting was very similar to Tony Stark’s. Tony had panic attacks the same as Peter so he’d count, the same as Peter, to calm himself down. Peter counted his steps and matched the rhythm to the beating in his head. When his head pounded, his feet pounded the road beneath him. His head pounded a lot and in return, so did his feet. They pounded the sidewalk on the way to the subway, to school, to Happy’s ridiculously expensive car, to the lab, to patrol.
Counting calmed Peter. When he lost control of his breathing it was 1..2..3..4..5. Inhale. 1..2..3..4..5. Exhale. He’d do that until he was left with enough clarity to start to overthink again. He didn’t always have a reason for his panicking. Sometimes it was because he misspoke during a presentation.
Sometimes it was more serious like when Ben died or when he had to lift a building off of him. Sometimes it was for no reason at all. Or maybe it was for all the reasons combined and his brain couldn’t process all of it so he wouldn’t know why he clutched his chest and slid down the wall. He didn’t know why he brought his knees up as his heart pounded hard enough to drown out sound. Peter didn’t know why he ended with his figure curled on the bathroom floor, heavily breathing, sweating, and overall a mess.
Peter Parker was a mess.
This particular night was no exception. Usually, when Peter had these panic attacks, he’d hurt himself. Not during. But after, when that moment of clarity hit and he started to overthink. His ears ring, his palms sweat, his brain pounds. It was pounding and pounding and pounding and it just wouldn’t stop. ‘God,’ Peter thought, ‘when will it stop?’
He hated himself much more than any 15 year old should hate themselves. Much more than anyone should hate themselves. He hated himself because he was a superhero and super heroes don’t mess up. But Peter messed up a lot. Sometimes he couldn’t stop someone from getting hurt. He hated himself for that. He hated himself because no one else hated him and he deserved to be hated.
He hated himself for not being smart enough. But Peter was super smart. He wasn’t good enough, fast enough, strong enough, funny enough. He was whiny and pathetic and people loved him but he didn’t deserve love. He failed. His suit was taken. He hated himself. All those people could’ve died. If it hadn’t have been for Mr. Stark—
God, he hated how he failed Mr. Stark. The anger and disappointment in his mentors face encourage his hatred towards himself. He didn’t deserve love, however, he didn’t deserve anger either. Because anger meant that someone cared. He brushed it off as if he hadn’t cared for Peter in that moment, only those who Peter put in danger.
“What if somebody had died tonight? Different story, right? 'Cause that's on you.” His mentors words echoed through his head. “And if you died, I feel like that's on me.” He sounded like he.. cared? No, he didn’t care about Peter. He cared about the guilt. “I don't need that on my conscience.” Tony ended. Tony didn’t care about Peter, he concluded.
He didn’t care about Peter and he was fine with that. He deserved that. He knew other people loved him but it was different than Tony loving him because he saw Tony like a father. He needed his approval most of all. He’d want it but even when he didn’t receive it, he wouldn’t push. He didn’t deserve his love or his forgiveness.
Peter hated himself. He hated being alone and how everyone he loved died around him. He couldn’t handle another death. ‘I could handle my own,’ a dark voice whispered in Peter’s ear. It sounded eerily like his own. Still shaking, he didn’t question his next move.
He crawled over to the cabinet below the sink and reached for the handle. When he opened the cabinet, the air smelled stale and untouched. Except it wasn’t untouched. He opened that cabinet everyday. He started moving around rolls of toilet paper, cleaning supplies, and towels until he found what he needed.
He found the little blue box. It was a jewelry box once but it was painted by an amateur Peter Parker. It used to be his mother’s jewelry box that she gifted him to do arts and crafts with. He painted it blue with a black heart lopsidedly placed in the center. Around the heart was painted red dots, what Peter meant to be roses.
He hollowed the inside out when he got older. It was somewhat symbolic. He didn’t know how. Maybe it was because he now felt hollow with the absence of his mother, father, and Uncle Ben. Later, this is where he put his blades.
He opened up the box to reveal half rusted single edge razors that he bought at the local drugstore on patrol one day. They needed to be replaced because they were dull and no longer shiny. Toying with the razors, Peter inspected it closer and wondered if he should clean it. He figured even if he got an infection, he deserved it. It would add to the pain and he thought that pain was what he deserved. He almost wished he’d get an infection.
On the bathroom floor, his head begun to fill with unwelcome thoughts. ‘No one wants you. If they did, where are they now? When you need them?’ He shook his head. He knew it wasn’t their fault there was no one there to stop him. No superhero to swoop in to save the day. Not when he was so good at hiding and not when he refused to reach out for help. To even acknowledge he needed help. There was no one coming to save Peter Parker.Still, he wished for a miracle. He wished someone would open the door and see the crying boy. He hoped they’d bend down and cup his face or hold his hands and take away the pain. He knew this wouldn’t happen. But like a little kid, he wished for someone to take away the pain.
He brought the blade to his skin but hesitated. He’d been trying to stop. He didn’t think he could keep the secret for much longer so he didn’t want to have a secret to keep. But it was so addicting. Even when he wasn’t sad, he’d cut himself. He loved the feeling but it was so much more. It was the blood. It was the adrenaline of going just a little too deep and the blood running out of him like he was running a faucet of warm water over his arm. Even his shallow cuts. He loved the beads of blood growing until the blood ran down his arm and to his fingertips dripping on the tile floor.
He loved the cleanup. He didn’t always wipe the blood off. He’d let it crust up over the already healing wounds so he could pick at it again later, cringing as sometimes an arm hair or two would be stuck in the dried blood. He loved cleaning the blood off the tile, though it proved challenging to remove it from the grout.
He loved the sting of showers and the long sleeves in summer and the secrecy. But they were getting too suspicious and he’d have to sacrifice something. He didn’t want to run the chance of being sent away so he had to give it up.
He was about to drag the blade across his skin when he looked over at his new phone. He needed to talk to someone. Let someone in on the secret. It was like a more logical part of his brain understood that he needed help. His old phone was somewhere in an alley looking more like a pile of glass than a phone. He didn’t save his phone information so he had to start over. He remembered all of the important numbers, he thought. But he didn’t know that he didn’t remember the name associated with each number. He just thought he did. So when Peter Parker texted his best friend Ned, he had no idea that it was Tony Stark.
UNKNOWN
are you awake
GUY IN THE CHAIR
Who is this?
Peter wasn’t paying attention to the texts he was receiving. Tears clouded his vision and his razor was laying on his thigh as he typed. He typed rapidly, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. He needed to get it out before he changed his mind.
UNKNOWN
I know it’s late but I need you to talk about something
talk about your Lego set
or homework
just something
GUY IN THE CHAIR
Listen, I don’t want your Girl Scout cookies or premium WIFI plan. Delete my number.
Tony was about to exit out of the messages when another one came in that caught his eye. His breath caught in his throat as he read it.
UNKNOWN
youre such a good friend you know. sometimes im scared of what I could do to myself. I think I need help. I don’t know what to do.
what do I do
scatch that
It’s not fair to ask you
GUY IN THE CHAIR
What do you mean?
Great, Tony was talking to a suicidal kid at 3am. He was almost finished with working in the lab but to be fair, he’d most likely head back upstairs and start another pot of coffee. Might as well talk a kid off a ledge.
Peter’s thoughts were beyond his control. He could either keep texting or pick back up the razor. Whichever would bring the fastest relief. However, he felt the secret spilling out of him against his wishes. He kept texting frantically. It was too late to go back. His best friend knows. ‘He’s gonna hate me. I’m gonna scare him away,’ Peter thought. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the messages from the other end so he kept typing.
UNKNOWN
Im gonna tell you a secret before I can take it back
sometimes I hurt myself
but dont freak out
let me explain
the thoughts are just too much
it calms me down I think
gives me something to do
GUY IN THE CHAIR
How old are you? You’re worrying me and I don’t even know you, kid. Do I need to send someone to you? Call your mom?
UNKNOWN
and sometimes I just think
what if I could stop the thoughts all together
because hurting myself
it only last for a second
but what if there was something more permanent
GUY IN THE CHAIR
Like therapy? Because whatever you’re thinking kid, I feel like therapy is a much better option.
UNKNOWN
sometimes I dont wanna be alive
Tony didn’t realize he stopped breathing. He had to find this kid. He didn’t know why, but he felt like this was personal. Like by saving this kid, he was doing much more. What if this was his kid? He’d sure as hell want someone to save him. Tony started looking for the person behind these concerning messages. Problem is, it was buried in layers of firewalls and shit. Tony was impressed. Maybe this wasn’t a kid? Tony wasn’t even sure if he could crack it. He chuckled to himself. Of course he could. He was Tony fucking Stark.
Peter realized what he’d sent to his best friend. He rushed to type the rest before he’d call Aunt May on him.
UNKNOWN
not to say that im about to kill myself
because im not
that would be pretty shitty
Peter hoped that that would bring comfort to his friend because truth is, killing himself would be pretty shitty
But Peter Parker felt shitty enough to do a really shitty thing.
Peter turned off his phone and sobbed into his knees. He needed to look back at the messages to see what his friend said, to see if he really hated him or called May or Mr. Stark. He thought that by stalling, somehow the outcome would be different. However, he knew that he needed someone. If he called Mr. Stark, of course he would be scared. But maybe the secret being out would also bring hope. Peter Parker needed a superhero.
Peter’s phone buzzed. He had to pick it up, he knew. Reading the messages would be a hard thing to do but it wouldn’t get easier if he waited and he didn’t want to worry Ned. He picked up his phone and turned it over, the screen lighting up with the notification.
GUY IN THE CHAIR
Who are you, kid?
Better question, where are you?
Peter froze. Who was this if it wasn’t Ned? ‘Oh, God,’ he thought. His breath started to pick up again as he scrolled through the messages. Who was this? Maybe he typed in Ned’s number wrong. He looked at the contact information and read the number. ‘Oh, God.” 1…2…3…4…5. Inhale. ‘Oh my fucking God.’ 1…2…3…4…5. Exhale.
Peter texted Tony fucking Stark.