CHAPTER TRIGGER WARNING: SELF HARM, SELF LOATHING, GRAPHIC SUICIDE ATTEMPT, ETC

Chapter Three: Tony

It was a normal Wednesday afternoon for Tony Stark. He had been awake for 36 hours straight, working on a new suit idea. In those 36 hours, he had consumed exactly 1 slice of cold pizza. So close to his breakthrough with the suit, Tony had ordered F.R.I.D.A.Y to keep everyone out of his lab and to send all calls straight to voicemail, no questions asked. Except for Pepper, of course. Damn, that woman scared him.

"Boss, there's a call-" began F.R.I.D.A.Y.

"I don't care. You heard what I said, F.R.I.D.A.Y. All calls straight to voicemail. Don't bother me about it," Tony cut her off, very impatient.

About a minute later, she spoke again. "Boss, there's a fourth call from the same caller."

"Damn it, F.R.I.D.A.Y.! Who is it?"

"Peter Parker, sir.""

"Fine, I'll take it." He paused, grabbing his phone. "Hey, kid," he said, forcing the cheerfulness into his voice.

"H-hey, Mr. Stark." Tony could barely hear the response. That was so unlike ever, who was always full of energy and excitement, usually talking so fast that he was barely able to be understood.

"What's up, Peter?" This wasn't like Peter, and Tony was worried. When Peter didn't reply, which was even more unlike him, Tony sighed. "Look, kid, is this important? I'm really busy right now."

There was another pause. Tony could hear Peter's breath catch. "N-no, it's not important. I'm fine. I'm sorry I bothered you."

Peter was not fine, Tony could tell. But he didn't want to press the issue. "You sure, kiddo? You don't sound find."

"Really, Mr. Stark, I swear, I'm fine." That was a lie. Tony heard his voice move higher, a dead giveaway that he was lying. That was something Peter would never be good at.

Tony knew that pushing Peter to tell what was wrong would only result in the boy closing himself off even more. "Ok, Peter. I'll see you later, kiddo." There were several moments of silence. When he realized that Peter wasn't going to say anything, Tony ended the call.

He set his phone down on a nearby table. He tried to start working again, but he couldn't focus on his suit. His mind kept returning to Peter After 15 minutes of being unable to work, he dropped his pencil, crumpled up the stack of old blueprints he had been going through, threw them at the wall, turned and kicked his chair, then slumped down in it. Head in hands, he sighed deeply. "Damn it, F.R.I.D.A.Y.," he said. "Something was wrong with Peter. I know it. I can feel it. Something's not right. Why would he call me four times, then pretend everything's fine when it's obviously not, and hang up without saying anything. That's not like him."

He stood up and started pacing back and forth, back and forth, mind racing. Finally, he stopped. "Fuck, I'm an idiot," he said. "I'll just call him. He'll probably pick up in half a second."

Quickly, Tony grabbed his phone and called Peter. One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Four rings. Then, Peter's cheerful, happy voicemail message, so different from his phone call. "Shit," muttered Tony. "Shit, shit, shit. He never misses a call. Not from me, not from Happy. Oh, shit. Something's definitely wrong."

Tony called his suit to him. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., where did Peter's call come from?" As his suit came to him, he silently begged his phone to ring.

"He called from his apartment, Boss," F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied. "His phone and suit are still there."

Tony flew as fast as he possibly could, willing his suit to go faster every second of the way. The 10 minutes that it took him to reach the apartment were the longest minutes of his life. Upon arriving at Peter's apartment, he knocked on the door for a straight 30 seconds. "Peter, are you in there? Peter, please let me in," he called desperately. His voice was heartbreaking. He was so close to breaking down. And Tony Stark never cried. "Peter," he called one last time, "let me in or I'm going to break down the door."

When Peter didn't come to the door, Tony took a step backwards, raised his hand, and blasted the front door off of its hinges. He stepped out of his suit and rushed into the house. "Peter, he called. "Peter, please, where are you?" His chest was tight, his voice laced with fear and desperation.

He ran straight to Peter's bedroom. The door was closed and locked. Without hesitating, he slammed his shoulder into the door, sending it falling freely to the floor. He looked into the room, praying to see Peter. When he did, his heart stopped.

Peter lay on the floor, completely unmoving. Tony took everything in at once. Peter's still body, curled in a ball on the floor, face still contorted in agony. The open pill bottle on the floor, a few pills spilling out onto the floor. The pools of blood, coming from the massive, gaping wounds on his wrists. The pale, pale skin covered in a sickly sheen of sweat. The tear tracks still glistening on his cheeks.

Tony sank to his knees. "No, no, no" he whispered. "Why, Peter? Why, damn it? Why didn't you say something? Why didn't I notice something?" He was now sobbing. Slowly, he made his way over to Peter and cradled his body to his chest. "Fuck, Peter, why would you to this to me?" The tears were streaming down his face. "Damn it, Peter, I love you kiddo. Why would you do this?"

Looking down, Tony noticed the many cuts and scars covering Peter's left wrist. As gently as he could, he brushed his finger tips over them. He shook his head. "Why, Pete? Why would you hurt yourself like this?" It broke Tony's heart. What could possibly make his happy, cheerful, wonderful little Peter feel the need to hurt himself like this? A fresh wave of tears spilled over his face. Tony didn't even attempt to wipe them away. They fell to the floor, mixing with the pools of Peter's own blood and sweat and tears. "I love you, Peter," he whispered. "I love you so much, kiddo. Why didn't you come to me? How could I have failed you this badly?"

Tony slowly lifted himself to his feet, looking around for any sort of message from Peter. His gaze fell on the envelope on the desk, bearing his own name in Peter's neat print. Damn it, he knew that handwriting so well. How many times had Peter helped him with plans?

Barely able to walk properly, Tony stumbled over to the desk and picked up the envelope. Fingers trembling, he opened it and pulled out the letter from Peter. He slumped down in Peter's chair, unfolded the paper, and, bracing himself, began to read it aloud.

"Dear Mr. Stark, I don't really know what to say. How does someone go about writing a suicide note?" They don't, Peter. They get help. They tell someone. They talk to someone who cares. I care, Peter. Why didn't you come to me? "I don't know." You shouldn't have to. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough. Good enough. I'm sorry for being so fucked up. I'm sorry you had to del with me. I'm sorry for bothering you. I'm sorry for everything. It's all just apologies, isn't it? Sorry after sorry after sorry. I guess when you're a fuck-up, you have a lot of things to be sorry about." Peter, you have nothing to be sorry for. You shouldn't have had to deal with all this shit by yourself. You aren't fucked up. None of that is true.

"Thank you so much for everything. Honestly, you have no idea how much you meant to me." Then why didn't you come to me? "The only good memories I have of the past two years are being Spider-man and helping you." Oh, Peter. "I can explain about that later. But, seriously, thank you. I cannot express how fucking grateful I am." You wouldn't have to try if you weren't writing a suicide note, Pete.

"You're probably wondering why I finally decided to kill myself." Finally? Oh, Peter, why didn't you talk to someone? Oh, Peter. "I don't even know where to start on that." Because you shouldn't have to. "I guess it all started when my Uncle Ben was killed when I was 13, in 8th grade. That's when I first started feeling depressed. I brushed it off as nothing important." You're smarter than that, kiddo. "No one needed to know, so I didn't tell anyone." But that's not true. There are so many people who want to help you, Pete. So many people who care.

"My freshman year of high school was the worst. All of a sudden, my depression got 1000 times worse." That's why you should have told someone right away, kid. "I developed crippling social anxiety and panic disorder." Oh, Peter. I know how terrifying that is. And it's so much worse when you're alone. "I started cutting. At first, it was a small cut every now and then. Soon, it was slicing up my wrist multiple times a day." Shit, kid, why didn't you say something? No one should ever feel like they need physical pain to escape the emotional pain. "I started experiencing suicide thoughts for the first time. Not enough to act on them, but they were there. Mild suicidal ideation, they call it." And that's how you know it's serious. It feels like you're going fucking insane. "Freshman year is also when I started getting bullied relentlessly by Flash." As if you didn't already have enough shit to deal with. "He would make me feel like shit, then beat me up. Every. Single. Fucking. Day." Why didn't you report him? "And of course, when I got my powers inn about November of that year, and Flash realized that I didn't bruise (they actually just healed really quickly), it was so much worse." Fuck, Peter.

"And now this year. Every day, I slice my wrist up, trying to get rid of the pain. Trying to feel something other than this fucking numbness. I barely feel real anymore." Why, Peter? Why didn't you go to someone? How did I not notice? "Every day, I have panic attacks in the school bathroom. In my room at night." I'm so sorry, Peter. I know how terrifying that is. "Every day, I wake up wishing I didn't. I didn't ask for this, Mr. Stark. I didn't want this." Tears rolled down his cheeks. "Why can't I just be normal? Is that too much to ask?" No, it's not. It's the least you deserve, Peter.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark. I'm so sorry." You have nothing to be sorry for. It's my fault. I should have noticed. "I don't want to go, Mr. Stark. I just want to get better. But I know it can't get better." Maybe if you had come to someone, we could help you. "This is the only way." No it's not. "So don't mourn. Don't cry. Don't pity me." No can do, kiddo. I love you too much to do that. "I don't deserve it, Peter." Yes, you do. You deserve the world, Peter. Why can't you see that?

Tony was in shock. How could he have not noticed the hell that Peter was going through every day? How had he never noticed the cuts on his arm? How could he have failed to noticed that Peter had given up long ago? Fuck, Peter was 15. What 15-year-old should have to deal with all that, especially alone? He should have been sneaking out and going to parties at night, not having panic attacks alone in his room. There is not way in hell he should have felt the need to cause himself physical pain. Why Peter? Why his Peter?

"I'm sorry, Peter," murmured Tony. "I failed you. This is my fault. I should have noticed. You deserved the world, not this shit. I'm so fucking sorry."

Tony slid onto the floor next to Peter's body, completely and utterly heartbroken. For the first time in his life, Tony Stark had no clue what to do. This is what finally broke him.

A/N:

IMPORTANT TRIGGER WARNING NOTICE:

This fic will have potentially triggering content, dealing with self-harm, depression, anxiety, suicidal idealization, etc. PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS FIC IF IT MIGHT BE TRIGGERING FOR YOU. Seriously, your mental health and general well-being are so much more important than a stupid fic. Stay safe. Stay alive, frens.