Tony thought he knew pain - he knew he knew pain, and every exquisite form it came in.

But this was brand new.

He knew the pain he felt at four years old, tearing around after his Dad, fighting to make sense of all the wires and metal and numbers he could get his hands on because surely that was the way Howard would see him. The way anyone would see him.

He knew the pain he felt at fifteen, when the endless challenges and jeers and neglect from his Dad culminated in Boy Genius Tony Stark Enrolled At MIT. Ha. He'd read the headlines alone in his dorm room, fuming that he'd been ignored again. Wanting to be anywhere but here, where he was forced into isolation. Kids assumed he was stuck up, that he was only here because of his father's money. He gave up trying to prove them wrong.

He knew the pain he felt at 17, just weeks from graduation and stuck in Cambridge. Still. An angry riot of burns and scars claiming every inch of skin he could hide, his shoulders, thighs, feet, anywhere… There was no one to notice or question his lighters.

He knew the pain he felt at 21, sick and ashamed and furious, walking past a limp hospital Christmas tree on his way to identify the bodies of his parents. The ugly raised bruises on his Mom's neck. Howard barely recognisable, beaten so violently…

He knew the pain a year later of waking up in his own puke, head screaming, unable to do anything but stare in silent agony. When he could stand, he cleaned up the mess (some of pills he'd swallowed still whole) and tore up the note meant for… someone to find. If anyone cared enough to come looking ('Jesus Christ, Tony, you can't just piss off with some blonde every time you get bored of work' Stane has said when Tony finally showed back up at Stark Industries. He supposed he looked hungover and he ran with it. No one had ever known the truth).

He knew the indescribable pain of his chest being ripped to shreds. Rebuilding himself. Year after year of broken bones, poisoned blood, panic attacks, aliens, falling and chasing and screaming and drinking, plummeting through the sky, losing anyone he dared to care about…

He'd been there and got every fucking t-shirt on the way, thank you and goodnight all – but nothing could prepare him for this.

The stupid thing was, 'this' was nothing. Absolutely, unequivocally nothing. At least not something he could pinpoint. Excruciating, terrifying nothing. He was just… done. The thought of carrying on, existing, breathing, for a second more was unbearable. Had been for so long he couldn't remember anything different. That was all. Nothing more to be said.

Just one thing to be done.

He knew in his bones he was right. This was his time, and the world would be better off. The best part was, he didn't even have to try hard at all. A quick scribbled note, an empty place for a few hours, Pepper gone just long enough for him to be sure, and a 'fault' with the arc reactor. Voila. Nothing simpler.

And he'd delayed enough. Done enough damage. Time to get on with things.

Tony allowed himself a single breath, three seconds in which to build his courage.

Three.

Two.

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECHHHHHHHHHHH.

His phone screaming next to him. Queens area code.

Huh.

'Hello?' A kid's voice on the other end. Scared. Tony didn't even remember answering the phone. 'Mr Stark?'

Peter. Of course. Who else?

'Mr Stark? Mr Stark are you there?'

'Yeah, kid. I'm here.' Though not for lack of trying. A bitter laugh bubbled in his throat, strangling him.

'Ok. Good. Um… I thought. Nothing. Well –' a shaky breath. Peter was fighting the words.

'You okay Parker?'

'Are you?'

'What?'

'Okay, Mr Stark. Are you okay?'

Tony heard a noise like a choked sob in response, possibly from him.

'Mr Stark, would you talk to me? Please? You're scaring me.'

'I'm sorry kid. I'm so sorry.' And then there were hot, silent tears in his eyes, and the world was even more out of focus.

'Mr Stark, I'm going to call Happy now, but stay where you are okay, I'll call you right back.'

Tony had to hand it to him, the kid kept his promises. Less than 20 seconds later, that small voice was back.

'You know what I was thinking Mr Stark?'

'Never do.' Tony tried to laugh.

'I was thinking how cool it would be if Karen had an Instant Chill Mode. Like, that whole kill-bot thing is great, but can you just imagine? Music, a collapsible freak-shake bar –'

'Kid. Stop.'

'Why?'

'What the hell is a freak-shake, Gen-Z?'

And they did laugh then, albeit shakily. Maybe a bit on the manic side. But they laughed. And Peter talked and talked a million miles an hour until suddenly Pepper was there, calling his name, her footsteps rushing towards him, shaking hands smoothing back his hair and pulling him in for a hug. Tucking his note in her pocket, mumbling 'dramatic asshole' in between chants of 'it's okay it's okay it's okay'.

And maybe it was.

Or maybe it wasn't.

But Tony thought it might be. Eventually.

He would have to wait and see.