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He’d always known that what he was doing was wrong. School had taught him that from a very young age, always trying to promote healthy coping mechanisms whenever they talked about dealing with grief or difficult emotions. But at thirteen, struggling with the loss of his uncle while simultaneously trying to help his grieving aunt, the only thing Peter remembered was that it was a coping mechanism.
He was hooked on it for months, guilt eating up at him every time he pressed the blade against his arms. It was Spider-Man of all things that eventually managed to drag him out of it. Not necessarily because Peter felt better, but because he'd found a new way to burn off his energy, something that was at least slightly healthier and gave him something else to focus on.
But now that distraction wasn’t enough.
Not with Spider-Man becoming more and more intense lately, nor the exam season approaching at school and certainly not with May picking up so many extra shifts at the hospital that Peter was lucky if he saw her twice a week. And Peter always knew that meant money was running low, and May was trying to hide just how bad things were from him.
Which is exactly why he needed more relief. Specifically the relief of a blade slicing his skin. Except it still wasn’t enough.
The cutting used to give him a spark of energy to help him push through the day or the week. But now, he barely got that rush anymore. He was tired all the time and he could barely muster the energy to feign interest in things he used to love, Spider-Man included. As soon as he got home, all he wanted to do was crawl into his bed and sleep until the next day. But he still had a responsibility to the city, so he forced himself back out every night and pushed through the exhaustion.
However he couldn’t say the same for the rest of his life. He used to see Mr Stark twice a week and sometimes even stayed over on the weekends, but lately, Peter couldn't even bring himself to send a proper text, let alone actually go and see him. Instead, he sent half-hearted excuses about school or May. But with his grades dropping, even those excuses were becoming harder to maintain. All he did nowadays was sleep, go to school and patrol.
Like right now. At two in the morning, where he was sitting on an edge of a building, his feet swinging mindlessly over the side as he waited for any sign of crime to tackle. But it was as if every criminal in the city had decided to sleep tonight.
Probably like he should be. His curfew ended at ten, but it wasn't like Aunt May was home to scold him or even notice that he was gone. She hadn't for the past two weeks.
"Don’t you have a bedtime?” A voice echoed from behind him.
Peter cringed, his shoulders pulling up at the sound of Tony’s voice. It seemed as if there was still one person around to notice he wasn’t it bed. He finally turned around, finding the Iron Man suit hovering a few feet away from him, its mask retracted to reveal Tony's face as he looked at Peter expectantly, one eyebrow raised.
”May’s working,” Peter mumbled.
”Well, aren’t you still suppose to have one, especially on a school night?” Tony pressed, before adding lightly. “Gotta be responsible and all that.”
All Peter could do was shrug, his eyes drifting back towards the city skyline. He was hoping Tony would drop it and just leave him alone, but when he spared another glance in Tony's direction, his eyes were narrowed.
“What’s up?” Tony asked, faking casualness.
”Nothing,” Peter rushed out, already shifting to stand on his feet. “I’ll head home now.”
Before Peter could even attempt to swing away, Tony’s metal gauntlet closed around his arm and Peter had to suppress the wince as it brushed against his scars.
”I mean in general kid. You’ve been acting off lately,” Tony said, and Peter couldn’t help but hate the look of concern. “You keep dodging our lab visits and don’t think I haven’t noticed your grades slipping.”
All Peter could do was duck his head in shame. “I’m fine,” he muttered.
Tony frowned at him for a moment before sighing. “Let’s head back to the tower."
Peter’s head snapped back up. “What?!” He exclaimed incredulously, “It’s late and May—“
”I’ll text her. I'll tell her you spent the night,” Tony cut in.
Peter wanted nothing more than to not go to the tower and be subjected to Tony’s worrying gaze for the rest of the night. But he didn't have the energy in himself to argue, so after a split second, he gave a hesitant nod.
The lack of verbal argument seemed to concern Tony, his eyes narrowing even more but thankfully he didn't push Peter further. Instead, shifting his attention to the suit as it powered up around him, his face plate clicking down. A moment later, Tony was hovering a few feet above the ground and Peter silently webbed onto him as they began flying towards the tower.
They flew in complete silence, even on Tony’s end, making the small journey feel strangely awkward and making Peter grateful when they finally landed on the penthouse balcony. Tony let the suit retract as they touched down, while Peter followed slowly behind him, still dressed in his own suit as they entered the living room.
Peter finally had enough of the silence, speaking up. “Why are you up so late?”
"Just finished up in the lab and noticed you were miles away from your bed,” Tony said, eyebrows raised.
"Sorry,” Peter muttered, immediately feeling guilty about keeping Tony awake.
"None of that,” Tony said, with a dismissive wave, “Hot chocolate?”
"It’s fine. You were going to go to sleep,” Peter muttered, “I don’t want to keep you up.”
"Hot chocolate it is,” Tony decided, already making his way towards the kitchen.
For a moment, Peter hovered awkwardly before realising he was still wearing his suit. He pressed the spider emblem, letting it retract before his eyes caught on an MIT sweatshirt thrown over the couch. He was pretty sure it was Tony's but he snatched it up and pulled it over himself before he could think too much about it.
Then he wandered over to the couch, sitting down and pressing himself into the corner, his knees drawn up to his chest. Eventually, Tony wandered back in with two steaming mugs in his hands, pressing one into Peter’s as he passed before settling down on the other end of the couch.
Peter stared down into the mug, not wanting to be the first to speak up.
“So…” Tony said, “Wanna talk?”
”Not really,” Peter mumbled, taking a small sip of the hot chocolate, welcoming the way the heat burned against his tongue.
“Star Wars?” Tony asked.
And all Peter could do was shrug, still not looking at Tony as he heard the television click on and he watched mutely as Tony scrolled to Star Wars collection, choosing a random movie. Normally, Peter would have made a comment about the order, but right now, he couldn’t be bothered.
As the movie continued, Peter's eyelids gradually began to droop and eventually he abandoned his hot chocolate, leaving the mug half-empty on the side table before shifting onto his side.
He barely processed any of the movie, his eyes fixed blankly on the screen until exhaustion finally won out and his eyelids fell shut. He vaguely heard Tony shuffle beside him, followed by the television clicking off. Peter didn't think much of it, assuming Tony was heading to bed. Then he heard him approach.
A moment later, Tony crouched down beside the couch and Peter felt a hand gently run through his hair. His heart softened at the gesture, though the warmth was quickly tinged with guilt. He knew he'd been making Tony worry lately and he hated that he was.
Tony's hand eventually moved away, and Peter found himself missing the warmth almost immediately.
Then he felt it again, this time around his wrist.
Tony's fingers curled gently around it and then his touch drifted further up—to his sleeve. Then he pushed upwards.
Peter’s eyes shot open jerking upright as he yanked his arm out of Tony’s hand, cradling it close to his chest. “What are you doing?” he demanded, unable to stop the anger trickling into his voice.
Tony’s eyes widened, clearly surprised that he was awake, but then his expression softened into something that looked far too much like sympathy. “I know your hurting yourself Pete,” he said softly and Peter’s heart dropped. “I can see your vitals in your suit.”
Peter felt his chest tighten uncomfortably. Nobody was supposed to know.
His eyes flickered towards the window, already imagining himself climbing out and swinging away before Tony could say anything else.
”Just talk to me,” Tony said softly, still crouched beside the couch, his eyes pleading.
Peter couldn’t stop the anger from bubbling up and spilling out of him. “If I wanted to talk to you, I would’ve already,” Peter spat, “You didn’t have any right to look at my vitals or try and pull up my sleeves.”
”I’m trying to make sure you're okay,” Tony insisted.
Peter scoffed, pushing away from the sofa and brushing past Tony. “You don’t care about me,” he muttered.
”What,” Tony said his voice low and when Peter turned back to look at him, he immediately froze, the hurt in Tony's eyes made his stomach twist.
Tony stood up quickly, reaching out to take Peter’s hands firmly in his own. “You think I’d be sitting here right now at two in the morning trying to talk to you if I didn’t care? You think your suit wouldn’t have so many protections? That I’d give you a bedroom in my own penthouse?”
Peter desperately wanted to believe him. But he couldn’t.
”I’m just convenient for you because I’m Spider-Man,” Peter said coldly, pulling his hands away. “Why else would you take me to Germany?”
Tony's expression faltered, guilt flickering across his face. “Okay. I’ll admit it. I took you to Germany because you were Spider-Man. But now I know you. Peter Parker. I know you're so much more than Spider-Man,” Tony said and Peter felt his throat tighten. He doesn’t think anyone has ever said that to him before. “You’re a smart kid. Kind. Caring. And you've got a heart way too big for all this superhero crap. And it was Peter Parker that made it impossible for me to not give a shit.”
All Peter could do was look at him speechless, as his eyes watered, a stray tear slipping down his cheek. “I can’t stand here knowing you're hurting yourself and do nothing about it,” Tony said, once again reaching out. This time, Peter didn't pull away as Tony cupped his cheek and gently wiped the tear away with his thumb.
That was all it took for Peter to broke. A sob escaped his chest, followed by another as the tears began falling relentlessly. “I—It’s so much Mr Stark,” Peter sobbed, “School, Spider-Man, everything. And everyone wants me to be the best at all of it.”
Tony moved forward, wrapping his arm tightly around him. Peter practically collapsed into his grip, catching Tony off guard enough that he stumbled backwards slightly before managing to guide them both back onto the couch.
”None of us care if you’re the best, Roo,” Tony murmured into his hair. "Just that you're trying."
”I don’t know if I can try anymore, Mr Stark,” Peter whispered, his voice cracking and he felt Tony’s arms tighten around him in response. “I don’t know what to do.”
”You talk to someone—me, May, your friends,” Tony said gently, “And I’ll find you someone. A specialist. Someone you can talk to about Spider-Man, too.”
Peter hugged him closer, trying to convey all the gratitude he couldn't quite put into words. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”
”It’s not your fault,” Tony murmured, running a soothing hand through Peter's hair.
Peter simply stayed there, letting himself sink into the warmth encircling him as sleep began pulling at him again. His eyelids fluttered shut and he didn't even open them when he felt himself be lifted from the couch and gathered into someone's arms.
The next time his eyes opened, sunlight was spilling through the curtains.
Peter shifted beneath the heaps of blankets, blinking sleepily as he turned onto his side and it took him a moment to realise there was someone sitting beside him. Tony.
He was sitting upright against the headboard, his head tipped backwards and his eyes firmly shut, snoring quietly.
And for the first time in weeks, he didn't feel quite so alone.