AN: Hello! Before you continue, you should be aware that this fic contains:
-Bullying via text
-Bullying/trolling via Twitter/the Internet
-Depression
-A hanging
-Tony deliberately destroying the arc reactor
-An overdose
Please do not read this fic if it will be detrimental for your mental health!
Peter stared ahead of him, not really seeing his cheering teammates. Flash caught sight of Peter watching as the group hugged MJ, screaming with excitement. It had been her answer that had won the tournament for them.
Flash sidled over, an innocently bemused expression on his face.
"Wow," he sighed. "All that training, and you nearly blew it for us."
Did I? Peter wondered. Yes, he'd answered a few questions wrong- three, right? He'd nearly cost them the tournament?
Well. He'd certainly gotten more questions wrong than MJ- she had performed flawlessly, as usual.
He was glad Tony and Stephen had both been unable to attend- Tony had been forced into some meeting by Pepper long beforehand, unable to wriggle out of it despite his many attempts, and Stephen had been called on a last minute mission by Wong.
"It's almost like the team doesn't even need you," Flash said casually.
That's true, Peter thought to himself. There's no doubt about that. I'm fairly disposable when it comes to the team.
He chewed the inside of his cheek, but didn't say a word.
Smirking, Flash got to his feet and went to clap MJ on the back, making sure to loudly say, "Shame about Stark not knowing the answer to-"
Peter didn't want to listen, so he hurriedly got to his feet, slinging his bag over his shoulder and striding from the room.
~(*)~
Tony huffed to himself. As he'd suspected, the meeting he'd missed his son's tournament over had been stupid. Pepper had insisted he come (or maybe "demanded" was more accurate) and Tony regretted giving in now.
He sighed, frustrated. Stephen hadn't been able to go either; Wong had needed him to help assist with an issue in some other reality. Tony understood, of course, but he still felt terrible.
Nationals.
He missed fucking Nationals.
For nothing.
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath. Then he looked up, reached into his pocket, and took out his cellphone to text Peter. There was a message from Stephen already waiting for him.
To: Tony
From: My Love
Tony, Wong and I have completed the mission and we're both safe. I hope your meeting is going well. I'll see you tonight. I love you.
To: Spiderling
From: Tony
Hey, kid. How was the tournament? Should be over by now, right? Or was it a late start?
Then, after a moment of thought, he decided to send Stephen a message too.
To: My Love
From: Tony
Stephen, I'm glad everything went well. The meeting was stupid and not worth missing Peter's tournament over. I definitely need to make up for this one. Love you too.
He hit send, and started up the car. Maybe he could make Peter something cool to make up for missing his tournament. It was the least he could do; his son was too understanding, and put up with too much from him.
~(*)~
Stephen sat in an armchair in the New York Sanctum, sipping at some tea he had brewed for himself and Wong. It wasn't quite as good as the tea the Ancient One had offered him so long ago, but it wasn't bad.
The sorcerer felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and took it out to check it. It was from his husband.
To: Stephen
From: Soul Mate
Stephen, I'm glad everything went well. The meeting was stupid and not worth missing Peter's tournament over. I definitely need to make up for this one. Love you too.
Stephen smiled a bit sadly at the message, and set his cup aside, typing out a response with ever so slightly trembling fingers.
To: Soul Mate
From: Stephen
I'll offer to take Peter and some of his friends to Japan to get ramen for dinner. Don't beat yourself up over this. It wasn't your fault, my love.
He sent the message, and flicked to Peter's contact instead of Tony's. He smiled at the picture, an adorable one of Peter at about twelve or thirteen, grinning at the camera.
To: Little Genius
From: Stephen
Peter, I'm sorry again that I wasn't able to attend your tournament. I sincerely hope you'll be able to forgive me. If you like, I can bring you and your friends somewhere for dinner to celebrate. We can go to Japan for ramen if you like. I remember you were particularly fond of that shop's tonkotsu.
Just as he sent the message, Tony sent another.
To: Stephen
From: Soul Mate
You're right. As usual. Thanks, love.
Stephen smiled at the message, and turned off his phone, setting it aside and picking up his teacup again. He sipped at it, closing his eyes contentedly.
~(*)~
Peter stood in the hallway, staring at the texts on his phone.
To: Peter
From: Dad
Hey, kid. How was the tournament? Should be over by now, right? Or was it a late start?
To: Peter
From: Papa
Peter, I'm sorry again that I wasn't able to attend your tournament. I sincerely hope you'll be able to forgive me. If you like, I can bring you and your friends somewhere for dinner to celebrate. We can go to Japan for ramen if you like. I remember you were particularly fond of that shop's tonkotsu.
What should he say? "We barely managed to scrap a win, no thanks to me, the kid who fucked it all up"?
No. No, there was a better way. He didn't want to come off as bratty.
To: Dad
From: Peter
Tournament was good. We won. I'm gonna go back to the hotel and take a nap, though; I think I'm getting a migraine.
To: Papa
From: Peter
It's okay, Papa, I understand. Thanks for the offer but I think I'm just gonna have a nap tonight; I think I might be starting to get a migraine.
He clicked his phone off, then walked back to the group. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and quickly took it out, glancing at the message.
It was from Tony.
To: Peter
From: Dad
Are you alright? Do you want me to come get you?
Peter tapped at the screen of his phone, thinking. But what would Flash and the others say if his dads came and picked him up over a headache?
To: Dad
From: Peter
No, I'll be okay. I'll just take some Excedrin and sleep it off. Do you mind if I use the credit card you gave me to get a taxi back to the hotel?
Tony's response was lightning quick.
To: Peter
From: Dad
Not at all. You have Excedrin with you, right?
To: Dad
From: Peter
Yes, Dad. I made sure to pack some.
To: Peter
From: Dad
Good. Let me know when you get to the hotel. I love you.
To: Dad
From: Peter
Love you too.
Peter showed Mr. Harrington the messages, and to his enormous relief, the coach agreed to let him go back to the hotel, thanks to Tony's messages giving his permission.
He hailed a taxi just outside the building, and once he was safely on his way back to the hotel, he felt his phone buzz again.
To: Peter
From: Papa
Your father told me you're on your way to the hotel. Try a warm washcloth on the back of your neck when you get back to your room, and make sure you let your father and I know when you're safely at the hotel.
To: Papa
From: Peter
Yes, Papa. Love you.
To: Peter
From: Papa
I love you too.
Peter rested his head against the window and stared through the glass, watching trees, cars, buildings, and people flick by.
He slowly let his eyes drift closed and breathed deeply, trying to calm down.
Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.
Another buzz on his phone.
He brushed his forefinger under his nose and checked his phone, expecting another text from Tony or Stephen, except-
To: Peter
From: Do Not Answer (Flash)
You're going back to the hotel? Seriously?
Peter frowned. He clicked the phone off, but almost immediately it buzzed again, flashing the new message.
To: Peter
From: Do Not Answer (Flash)
Someone calls you out and you have to run away? Pathetic.
Peter's jaw was working; he wasn't sure if he wanted to scream or bite down hard on his tongue to prevent such an outburst.
Flash's texts began to pour in one by one.
To: Peter
From: Do Not Answer (Flash)
Why don't you just go home to your precious daddies?
To: Peter
From: Do Not Answer (Flash)
Or do they not tolerate failure in their house?
To: Peter
From: Do Not Answer (Flash)
Maybe you're going back to the hotel because that was the best you've slept in months without them fucking next door.
To: Peter
From: Do Not Answer (Flash)
Why the hell do you stick around when you can't do anything right, Penis Peter?
Peter had read enough. He clicked the phone off and looked out the window again, though he quickly found his eyes closing again as he thought about what Flash had said.
Not just today, but every day.
And it wasn't like Flash was the only one.
Flash was just one of many.
It wasn't like he didn't see the comments people made- they were all over. People loved to send him Twitter threads where people complained about the adopted son of Iron Man and Doctor Strange- of course none of them knew he was really Spider Man, but somehow he didn't think they would care if they knew.
Even if he was super, he couldn't compare.
Billions of dollars and the best kid Stark and Strange could adopt was that idiot?
Someone should put that rich brat in his place.
He knows his dad will pay for everything; he's got no reason to be intelligent of his own merit.
If he turns out to be a fag, I'm blaming it on him being raised by a pair of them.
Surprised he hasn't been brought in on a drug charge yet. Or has he, and Stark swept it under the rug?
He knew he shouldn't let such comments get under his skin, but he couldn't help it. He was sure Tony and Stephen saw them. He was certain that there were nights when he'd come home and they'd been bundled up together on the couch, snuggling under a blanket and murmuring to each other, only for their faces to fall ever so slightly at the sight of him.
He was sure they hadn't noticed he spent so much time in his room lately- or, if they did, they didn't care.
Would anyone care?
The taxi pulled to a stop in front of the hotel and Peter paid the driver, giving him a quick "thanks" before hurrying into his hotel room.
He took out his phone again, and noticed the abundance of messages, though the ones that weren't from Flash barely registered with him.
To: Peter
From: Do Not Answer (Flash)
Too bad you're not here. I expect the press would want a story on the win if you were.
To: Peter
From: Do Not Answer (Flash)
Aw, are you ignoring me?
To: Peter
From: Ned
Hey, I heard you're not feeling too good. Want me to bring you back some dinner?
To: Peter
From: Do Not Answer (Flash)
God, I hope you're back home with your dads when we get back to the hotel.
To: Peter
From: Do Not Answer (Flash)
I don't want to see your face while we're celebrating.
To: Peter
From: MJ
Hey, nice job today
To: Peter
From: Do Not Answer (Flash)
No one wants you around, Stark. Get lost.
To: Peter
From: Ned
I'm gonna bring you something back
To Peter
From: Do Not Answer (Flash)
I'm serious. I hope I never have to see your face again.
To: Peter
From: Ned
I hope you don't mind soup? I dunno what you'd want right now
To: Peter
From: Do Not Answer (Flash)
The sooner you're gone, the better.
To: Peter
From: MJ
Hope you feel better when we get back
To: Peter
From: MJ
I heard some of the team suggesting a pool party to celebrate
To: Peter
From: Ned
You like chicken noodle, right?
To: Peter
From: MJ
You in?
To: Peter
From: Do Not Answer (Flash)
Why not go for a swim without a life jacket, Stark?
Oh.
Oh.
Peter hadn't realized that MJ wanted him gone that badly too. What other explanation was there for her to suggest he join in on a "pool party" just before Flash suggested he drown himself?
Ned, well… he was nicer than people like Flash and MJ. He didn't say outright cold or harsh things often.
That didn't mean he wasn't thinking it.
He felt tears pricking at his eyes.
He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand, unlocking his phone and heading to his messages app.
To: Supreme Family
From: Peter
Hey guys, I'm at the hotel. I'm gonna go to bed now, so if I don't text for a while don't worry about me. I love you, Dad. I love you, Papa.
To: Supreme Family
From: Dad
Love you, kid. I hope you feel better soon.
To: Supreme Family
From: Papa
I love you too, Peter. I hope giving your body a chance to rest will help you recover.
Peter stared at the messages.
He hadn't expected such quick replies.
Was it possible that-
No.
No, that was foolish. He shouldn't entertain such thoughts.
He'd seen the exasperation, the tired looks, the downright annoyance at his presence.
No, they….they didn't really care.
And if they did…. Well, they'd get over it.
After all, Stark and Strange could do so much better than him.
~(*)~
Peter chewed the inside of his cheek, looking down at the envelope on the bathroom counter, one corner tucked under the soap dish.
Dad & Papa
He took a deep breath, and wiped a few tears off his face.
He'd been planning this for a while now, but this hadn't been the whole plan.
Originally, he planned to hang himself at home. This was better, though- this way Tony and Stephen wouldn't be subjected to cleaning up after him one final time.
He flinched as he tightened the noose made of modified webbing around his throat.
He was really going to do this.
He hoped Tony and Stephen wouldn't be too angry. They had been good parents. It wasn't their fault he was such a terrible son. He hoped they wouldn't blame themselves.
They shouldn't blame themselves.
Peter felt his phone buzz in his pocket one last time.
He ignored it, instead slipping off the bathroom counter so the web, hanging off the door frame, took his full weight and tightened around his neck.
He choked and gasped for air that did not and would not come, and slowly went limp as the last of the life drained out of him.
~(*)~
Tony Stark didn't know what he expected when he saw he was getting a call from Peter's best friend, Ned. Ned never called him- except for one occasion when Peter had forgotten his phone and lunch. Ned had quickly called Tony up during a class he and Peter didn't share so Tony could bring Peter what he'd needed. Tony had always liked Ned, but he'd become particularly fond of him after that.
He answered the call, smiling as he said, "If it isn't Peter's guy in the chair. What's-"
"M-Mr. Stark?" Ned was sobbing.
Tony's amusement evaporated instantly. "Ned?"
"Mr. Stark, you… You need to come," Ned whimpered. "I…Peter...He…."
"Is he okay?" Tony demanded, seizing his coat and heading for the door, making it halfway across the room.
Ned let out a broken sob.
"He...he's dead," he half whispered, half choked.
Tony froze.
"Wh-what?"
Surely he had misheard...Peter couldn't possibly….Peter couldn't possibly-
"H-he k-killed himself," Ned cried, and Tony nearly dropped his phone. "What?"
"He...he h-hanged himself i-in the bathroom. W-with his w-web."
Tony sank to the ground. It felt like his heart has stopped. Like time was standing still. Like nothing would ever be alright again.
Peter, dead?
Peter, take his own life, with the web he and Tony developed?
Tony's head was spinning.
Peter was a newborn, shifting in his blankets and giving Tony unamused glares as the billionaire fondly ran his thumb over the child's fat cheek.
Peter was five, bursting with pride as he pedaled towards Tony on a bicycle, no training wheels, for the first time. His little face was wearing the biggest grin Tony had yet seen on it, and he was nearly cheering himself hoarse as his son pedaled around in circles.
Peter was eight, showing Tony the adjustments he had made to his gaming console to improve the memory. Tony was reminded forcefully of the circuit board he built when he was a mere four years old, but he wrapped Peter in a tight hug, telling him, "What an amazing job! I'm so proud of you!"
Peter was ten, blowing out the candles on his Avengers themed birthday cake with Iron Man at the center, at his insistence. Stephen clapped and Peter, giving him a sly look, tried to swipe his finger through the icing, only for Stephen to place a spell around the cake at the last second that protected it. Peter pouted at him in fake disappointment while Stephen gave him an amused smirk, but Peter's false annoyance disappeared immediately as Stephen produced a wrapped gift for him to open- his favorite series, all first editions, and all personally signed to Peter by the author. Tony had never seen his son so speechless before.
Peter was twelve, looking shocked but pleased to be standing at his father's shoulder as his best man at his wedding to Stephen. His speech was a bit clunky and unsure, but he was determined to see it through- he said Tony deserved the best speech Peter could give him, when Tony tried to tell him they could just skip the whole mess. Tony had been in tears by the end, and so had Stephen, though he had been rubbing Tony's back comfortingly as Tony tried to hide the tears by burying his face in his cloth napkin.
Peter was sixteen, proudly showing Tony a perfect parallel park while he sat in the passenger seat for once. Tony gave Stephen a falsely annoyed look through the windshield as Peter finished, turning to Tony with a smirk, who ruffled his hair affectionately in response, smiling down at his son with immense pride.
That…. That was all he got? Sixteen measly years?
What did I do wrong?
~(*)~
Stephen stepped through the portal into the compound, catching sight of Tony on the floor, clutching his phone to his head and rocking on the ground as he sobbed.
"Tony!"
Stephen closed the portal and threw himself to his husband's side, wrapping his arms around him in an attempt to comfort him. Tony gasped and turned, throwing his arms around Stephen's neck, crying his heart out.
"Tony, what's wrong?" Stephen asked, rubbing his back and trying to comfort him. "What is it, love?"
"P-Peter," Tony wailed. "H-he's… h-he's d-dead." Tony made a noise like he was choking, and hugged Stephen tighter, burying his face in Stephen's chest.
"Wh-what?"
Stephen stared down at his husband, not really comprehending what he was saying. "He….no," the sorcerer shook his head dazedly. "He can't be dead. He was just texting us a few hours ago, he got to the hotel safely…." He trailed off, but Tony continued to cry.
"He….he killed himself," Tony whimpered. "N-Ned said he h-hanged h-himself with h-his w-web…."
"What?" Stephen gripped Tony more tightly in his arms. "No. That can't be right. He wouldn't, he would never…."
"What did I do wrong?" Tony sobbed. "I tried so hard to protect him and love him- I wanted him to know I was proud of him, I wanted…. I wanted…." His voice trailed away, and his body shook as he tried to hiccup himself into some form of calm.
"Tony?" Stephen asked, his voice gentle. He cupped his husband's face with one of his scarred hands. "Tony, what is it?"
Tony's eyes flicked away. "I wanted him to trust me," Tony whimpered in a broken-hearted voice. "I wanted him to always feel safe with me. I wanted him to know I would always protect him no…. no matter what."
He fell silent, and Stephen was unable to think of anything he could say to comfort his grieving husband.
Instead he sat holding the scientist, feeling numb, not truly comprehending the news that Peter had committed suicide.
~(*)~
Tony and Stephen had taken a portal to the morgue where Peter's body had been taken to identify him. At the sight of his son, deathly pale on the table, with bruises around his throat, Tony had burst into broken-hearted sobs and nearly collapsed, clinging to Stephen for support. The sorcerer had held Tony up, trying to comfort him as he wailed, and doing his best not to break down as he confirmed Peter's identity.
After that, they were whisked away by a police officer to discuss the circumstances surrounding Peter's death.
"Has Peter been acting strangely lately?"
"Did Peter seem depressed?"
"Had Peter talked about death a lot lately?"
"Did Peter ever mention he was bullied?"
Tony struggled to choke out his answers, and Stephen was wracking his mind for any signs that Peter had shown. Suddenly patterns were bubbling to the front of his mind: Peter sleeping more often, Peter refusing meals, Peter shutting himself up in his room more often, rather than watching movies with Tony and Stephen…. Stephen had assumed that he was just being a teenager, but…. no.
No, now it seemed quite clear he should have been more concerned.
After the questioning, the officers had allowed Tony and Stephen to see Peter's suicide note, assuring them that they would receive the original copy once the investigation was complete.
~(*)~
Dear Dad and Papa,
I'm sorry. I should have done better. I tried to do a good job. I feel like I did my best, like I did as well as I could, but I know it wasn't enough. I really tried to make you proud of me. I really tried to be a good son.
You deserve a lot better than me.
I'll always love you.
I'm sorry I wasn't better.
I'm sorry I wasn't stronger.
~Peter
~(*)~
Tony felt like he had been set to autopilot. Ever since Peter's funeral, he went through the motions. Morning coffee, meetings, a mission here and there, dinner when he felt like he might pass out.
He didn't feel like inventing or tinkering. The lab still had Peter's personal section set up. Somehow working in the lab felt like betraying the little five year old Peter who had first sat outside the lab with his nose and palms pressed against the glass.
Tony felt like he could see the scene playing in front of him.
Tony looked up at the sound of a small gasp. Peter was sitting on the other side of the lab's glass, his eyes wide with wonder. Tony smiled, got up, and walked over, opening the door and crouching beside his son.
"What are you doing, silly boy?"
"Watching," Peter breathed in an awed voice.
"Watching Daddy do science."
"Really?" Tony asked, amused. "Do you like science, kiddo?"
"Yeah!"
Tony laughed. "Want to make a volcano?"
Tony shook his head dazedly.
Stephen was in the kitchen, making coffee. He offered Tony a cup, the leaned down to gently kiss Tony's cheek when he had taken it.
Tony hoped the old flutter would be there- but it was still gone.
Before Peter had died, the sight of Stephen had been enough to rile up a flurry of butterflies in Tony's stomach. Hugs and kisses had also made it flutter pleasantly. Now, however, he felt strangely numb. In fact, not even numb- it was like he didn't feel anything, except the familiar stabs of pain where his lost son was concerned.
It wasn't that he didn't love Stephen- he desperately loved Stephen, the only constant in the world now, and the only person who seemed to understand Tony's pain and was willing to accept it.
"How do you feel?"
Tony looked up at the sorcerer, and he was sure his eyes seemed dull and vacant.
"The same," he muttered.
Stephen pulled him into a hug. "I miss him too."
Tony rubbed at his eye with his free hand not holding the coffee cup.
"I know," Tony said guiltily.
"I'm not trying to upset you, my love," Stephen murmured, his voice kind. "But we don't have to grieve alone."
Tony's stomach writhed with guilt.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. Just….can you try and do something for me?"
Tony nodded.
"Tony, please….please, for me, try to talk to me. I know you're grieving in your own way, and I understand, but please, my love. I don't want to lose you too."
Tony paused.
"...You want me to talk to you...the same way I wished Peter talked to me…." he said slowly.
Stephen tensed. It was clear he was unsure of whether or not this was safe territory. "In….in a way," he allowed.
Tony smiled a bit, trying to reassure his husband. "That doesn't make me mad."
The tenseness in Stephen's body faded immediately. "Good."
Tony gripped Stephen's hand with his free one, and brought his hand to his lips so he could kiss his husband's scarred knuckles. "I love you," he muttered against the scars.
Stephen rested his chin gently on Tony's head. "And I love you."
~(*)~
Tony was beginning to understand why Peter hadn't been able to talk to him. His stomach clenched painfully and writhed with guilt at the thought of telling Stephen he was considering the same measures.
In fact, it almost felt like he had no reason to feel this way.
Peter's phone had been found to have been sent relentless bullying messages- mainly from someone named Flash, but from many people in his school. Emails containing links to hateful Twitter threads and bearing terrible photo edits of him clogged his inbox.
Peter must have felt so hated and alone.
Meanwhile, Tony just felt miserable, and as Peter had been gone for six months now, it felt like he should be coping by now.
He wasn't. Not by a long shot.
No one was bullying him. Not really. He didn't use social media much now that Peter was gone; any social media for the company was run past Pepper, not him. Any comments directed at him didn't reach his eyes- especially not the rude or hateful ones.
He miserable. That was the truth of it. He didn't see the point in getting up anymore. He didn't feel like he had the energy to get up to face the days. He didn't feel like eating, he didn't feel like inventing, he didn't feel like socializing.
He spent many evenings sitting on the couch, apart from Stephen rather than snuggled up beside him, watching his sorcerer husband reading thick volumes of spellbooks.
Every time he watched Stephen's intelligent green eyes flick across the pages, he felt a pang. He wanted to cuddle with him, watch movies, go out. But he didn't have the energy to do those things. He felt lethargic and weighed down, like the world was bearing down upon him, moments away from crushing him under its weight.
Tony was no stranger to depression- he'd battled it for a long, long time thanks to Howard mostly- but this was the worst depression he'd ever faced, and that, on top of the thoughts of death plaguing his mind, well…..
~(*)~
"Wong needs me to help him deal with an issue in another dimension," Stephen said, beckoning a reluctant Cloak of Levitation to his side. "I don't know when I'll be back- hopefully sometime tonight. You'll be alright on your own, right?"
"Yeah. Course."
Stephen nodded slowly to himself, then strode to Tony's side, gently tilting his face up. "I've been letting Wong call me away on many missions, trying to find Mordo and stop him," the sorcerer mused. "Missions that other Masters of the Mystic Arts could have handled. I'm sorry." He pressed his lips lovingly to Tony's for a few brief seconds, then drew back, smiling ever so slightly. "I'll find a way to make it up to you when I get back. How do you feel about going to a nice Parisian cafe for dinner?"
"Sounds nice," Tony mumbled.
"I'm glad you think so, my love," Stephen smiled, before turning to stride through a portal that connected the Compound to the New York Sanctum.
Tony stared at the portal, watching it silently, only looking away when the last sparks had disappeared after the portal had been closed by Stephen on the other side.
Tony looked around.
Not much to do, truth be told.
Pepper didn't ask him to do much lately (probably because he didn't do what she asked lately). He could make a bowl of cereal. He glanced at the pantry. Special K Red Berries, Frosted Mini Wheats, and Honey Nut Cheerios were sitting on the shelves.
I'm a billionaire and we're a team of superheroes but this is the best we can come up with, Tony thought to himself, turning his back on the pantry. Besides, he'd probably just sit there, lifting spoonfuls of cereal above the bowl, then tilting the spoon and watching his breakfast fall back into the milk.
Best not to waste the food that someone else would eat.
Tony trudged to the couch and let himself fall onto it, staring at the ceiling, feeling lost and dazed.
~(*)~
Why are you still here?
Do you really think he's going to come back?
You're just making him miserable.
All you do is lay around the house and mope.
You're a terrible husband.
No wonder Peter didn't think you could help him.
It had been three days now, and Stephen had not sent so much as a text message to Tony to let him know he was alright.
Usually Stephen was so good about goodnight texts at the very least….
Perhaps Tony's misery was becoming too much for Stephen. He wouldn't blame him. He was certainly a lot less affectionate and loving lately, and he had so little happiness to offer…. But Tony had hoped that Stephen would, at the very least, tell him that he was leaving.
Apparently not.
Rhodey had offered to go for a walk with Tony, and Natasha had suggested he go visit Peter's grave and bring him some flowers. Neither of these appealed to Tony, however- walks were boring exercises to get him moving and he hated visiting Peter's grave; he didn't like trying to pretend that talking to the block of stone was in any way comforting. His son was still lying cold in the earth below it; talking to the headstone wouldn't change that.
Tony alternated between lying on the bed and lying on the couch, feeling lonely, wishing his husband would talk to him, and curling up on a ball to cry silently into the pillows.
Slowly the days dragged on- three became four, four became five, five became six. After a week and a half had passed, with not a breath of reassurance from Stephen, Tony felt more broken than he ever had before.
Stephen had left him.
He'd found someone else, and he'd left him.
The worst part wasn't even that he had left. Tony could stomach that. He would have been able to handle that. He wanted Stephen to be happy, after all, even if it broke his heart.
No, the worst part was that Stephen had not just told Tony he was leaving.
Instead he'd lied, pretended he'd come back, that they'd go to Paris for dinner.
The Compound was mercifully empty today- Tony didn't want to deal with Steve or Bucky today. Instead, he stalked through the empty halls, past the doors of cold, unused rooms. He froze just outside Peter's door, staring at the spider decal on the door.
Spiderling.
No, no, he mustn't get sidetracked.
Tony shook his head slightly, and pushed on.
He reached the lab doors.
He could have sworn the ghost of five-year-old Peter was still crouched in front of the glass. He placed his hand on the door, intending to push it open, but froze, looking down.
Little Peter beamed up at him, a grin one might call toothy if not for the three or four missing teeth in the smile plastered across his face.
As soon as Tony put a fraction of pressure on the door, the ghost vanished, and Tony was alone- no Peter beaming at his side.
He forced the door open all the way and stepped inside.
It was time to tinker.
~(*)~
Tony stared down at the invention.
It was terrifying.
But it was what he deserved.
Peter died hanging himself with the web I helped him create, Tony thought. It's only fair that I remove myself as well.
He looked around the lab.
Should he write a note?
But then, he mused, who would he write a note to? Natasha? Clint? Certainly not Stephen- his husband clearly had no interest in talking to him anymore. Tony chewed cheek nervously. He didn't want Stephen to be guilty.
He could tell him as much in a note.
With shaking hands, Tony placed the invention down on the workbench, selected a pen and a nearby legal pad, and after tearing off the first sheets of notes and equations, taking a moment to shudder with guilt at the sight of Peter's tight yet neat handwriting, the scientist began to write.
After five minutes of carefully choosing the words, of being careful not to accuse his husband, Tony thought the note was done. He smiled a bit sadly, tucking it under a mug- #1 Science Dad was scrawled on it by Peter when he was younger, with a clumsy arc reactor drawn on the other side.
The arc reactor.
Tony closed his eyes, taking a few calming breaths, before picking up the invention and carrying it to the far wall, away from Peter's desk.
He looked at the invention he'd made. He supposed it was fitting that he should revert back to weapons in some form before his death, even if this was a weapon meant for Iron Man and Iron Man alone. No one else would ever face the effects of this- at least, he hoped not. It was designed to kill- to kill the one who held it in their hands, with one quick strike. It was designed to obliterate the arc reactor. Sure, it could definitely kill someone else, but hopefully no one would make another one, and this one would be destroyed by Bruce or someone once Tony had successfully taken his own life.
Had Peter been this scared? Tony felt like he was trying to find and excuse to put everything off. To live just a bit longer.
But that was foolish.
Maybe he could ask Peter about whether or not he felt such fear.
Probably not.
Even if he saw his son again….
Even if Peter wanted to see him again….
How would he ask his son to relive such a moment for him?
"Now," Tony murmured, holding the device so it was pointed at the very center of the arc reactor, "let's get this over with."
His heart was racing. Did it sense its final beats were near?
Tony heard a familiar crackling noise just as he pushed the button.
The sharp point shot forward, thrusting into the arc reactor and shattering it into pieces, breaking it beyond any conceivable form of repair.
"TONY!"
Tony's chest was on fire with the pain, but he looked dazedly up at the sound of the voice.
"S….Stephen….?"
~(*)~
Stephen sprinted to his husband's side, forgetting to close the portal to the New York Sanctum behind him.
"Tony, oh my god…. Tony, what were you testing? What the hell is this?"
"Not...test," Tony mumbled.
"What?" Stephen stared at him.
"Left," Tony mumbled. "Were gone."
"What are you…." Stephen was trailing off. Tony had shifted his wrist, and the screen had flashed with the date.
April 26th.
He had left to help Wong on this mission on the fifteenth….
"No," Stephen whispered.
Stephen hugged Tony close, tears forming in his eyes. "Tony," he whispered, "I'm so sorry….That dimension's time...it must be different. I thought I'd only been gone a few hours….Tony, I'm so sorry, my love, I'm sorry….Please forgive me…."
Tears were streaming down Stephen's face, and tears were also pricking at the corners of Tony's eyes; however, Tony's tears refused to fall.
He reached up with a shaky hand, gently brushing away a few teardrops from Stephen's cheek.
"Don't," Tony murmured, his voice a weak sigh. "Don't cry."
His hand fell away from Stephen's cheek, and the sorcerer seized it, pressing Tony's palm to his lips.
"I'm sorry, Tony," Stephen choked out. "I shouldn't have assumed….I'm so sorry….Tony, please, please, don't leave me. I can't lose you and Peter. I can't. Please."
Tony's lips parted slightly, and he smiled just a bit.
"Love...you.… Don't…follow…." the scientist whispered, his voice a hushed breath.
Stephen stared into his eyes, and felt his heart break as the remaining traces of light that used to make the beautiful brown eyes sparkle in a way that dazzled him faded away.
They were oddly...dark...now.
"Tony….Tony….Tony…."
Though he knew it was useless, he continued to whisper the name, cradling the corpse of the man he loved in his arms, as if saying his name would coax his spirit to return to the body slowly cooling to an icy temperature.
~(*)~
Eventually, Stephen let go of Tony, gently resting his husband against the wall. Tony's open, glassy eyes stared off past the sorcerer, making him shudder.
He missed the warmth he used to be able to find in those eyes.
It would never return.
He got shakily to his feet. He had work to do.
He strode towards the portal, intending to close it and open another, but just as he dismissed the portal to the New York Sanctum, the fluttering corner of a piece of paper caught his attention.
It was a sheet from a yellow legal pad, tucked under a mug Peter had made Tony when he was thirteen with Stephen's help.
Stephen saw the handwriting was Tony's, and with a funny jolt, he realized what this must be.
Stephen read the note over, then carefully tucked it back where it belonged, and opened a portal to the New York Hospital.
~(*)~
Dear Stephen,
You'll probably never see this, but if you do, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't a better husband and I'm sorry I wasn't stronger. You deserved better than me, Stephen- so much better. Just like Peter deserved so much better. I'm so sorry I caused you both pain. I understand why you left.
I don't know if you'll believe that, but I love you, okay? I hope you're happy now.
~Tony
~(*)~
Stephen returned to the lab, looking around. It was cold and unfriendly here. Stephen couldn't help thinking it was a fitting place.
He sighed.
He should have done better.
He should have done more.
He shouldn't have left Tony alone.
He walked to Tony's desk and found the legal pad, and after selecting a pen from Tony's ridiculous collection- why had he ever needed so many pens?- he began to write.
The Cloak of Levitation flapped nervously at his neck.
"Relax," Stephen murmured to it. "I won't make you stay."
The Cloak shifted nervously on his shoulders.
Stephen looked down at the note and nodded slowly.
Then he walked to the lab door, and carefully removed the Cloak of Levitation from his throat.
It flapped madly at him, but it forced it out the door, shaking his head slightly, before he turned his back on it.
He walked back to Tony's corpse and crouched beside it.
He opened the first of the three bottles he'd stolen from the hospital, shaking the pills into his hand.
He watched as his hand trembled, and then looked over at Tony. "I'm sorry, my love," he murmured. "I can't promise not to follow you."
He threw his head back and tossed the handful of pills down his throat.
He continued doing this until he was unsure of how many pills he'd taken and he could no longer take anymore.
He was starting to feel drowsy now- not that he was surprised.
He carefully gathered Tony's corpse into his arms, and rested his chin on his husband's head. He hugged the cold body close to his own, and closed his eyes, feeling tears slip down his cheek and into Tony's black hair.
"I'm sorry," Stephen whispered.
He was feeling very drowsy now- any moment he'd fall asleep and never wake up.
He imagined for a brief moment, waking up to see his son and husband again, smiling at him, welcoming him to the afterlife, despite being upset by his decision.
He sighed.
He could hear the Cloak outside the lab, occasionally fluttering against the glass separating them, but mostly throwing itself against it.
A loyal companion trying to save him.
He drifted off to sleep.
~(*)~
To Whom it May Concern,
I have stolen Earth's mightiest hero due to my irresponsibility. I knew Tony was struggling after the death of our son, Peter, and yet I left him repeatedly to complete missions other Masters of the Mystic Arts would have been perfectly capable of handling themselves.
In my most recent mission, I left to another dimension where time is much different. I was under the impression I was only gone for a few hours- eight at the most- but I left on the fifteenth of April and returned on the twenty-sixth. I left Tony alone with no explanation for eleven days. My husband was struggling with the death of our son, like me, and I left him alone for eleven days. He must have thought I had abandoned our marriage. That is my fault.
I cannot live with the guilt of not noticing the signs that my son was depressed and suicidal, nor can I live with the guilt of leaving my husband alone and driving him to follow Peter.
I am so sorry.
Please forgive me for my sins.
~Dr. Stephen Vincent Strange, M.D.