Hello Lovelies! Am I starting a new fic whilst not finishing any of my other ones…yes. Enjoy!
Trigger Warning: This story deals intimately with suicidal thoughts and actions so please read at your own risk! It is okay to take a break and come back or decide this story isn't for you. The phone number for the suicide and crisis hotline (in the USA!) is 988 if you ever need it. Be safe and well, reader :)
A/N: This story in not set in any specific time/storyline. Just a classic Peter/Tony Whump!
What A Strange Place To Be
This was never something Peter thought he would actually do. He had considered it – vaguely – in terms of alternative realities and made of scenarios that got him out of taking drivers tests and into relationships with people that chose not to notice him. He had considered it in the 'I-would-never-actually' sense where it was a permanent solution to a slight inconvenience. An unhealthy way to sooth himself to sleep at night. Like every other human. Like an average person with a wandering mind. Like an intrusive thought. Suicide, to him, had always been an intrusive thought. Except for today, and last week, and every week of every month for the past year. The intrusive thought had metamorphized into the best conceivable option for his future. And he was going to take that option, in whatever way necessary.
It was going to be on a Thursday evening, slightly after school but slightly before May came home from her shift. He would put clean sheets on the bed. Take a long shower where every inch of him was scrubbed to smooth perfection. He would slip into his favorite – soft and oversized – pajamas and slide into the crispness of his covers. There, the cup of water on his nightstand he called friend would be new. It would be fresh and cold, condensation licking his fingers from the outside of the glass. He would sit up in bed and take his drink and swallow as many pills as he could possibly muster. The sky outside would be a white blue, the color created just before the sun decides to set and Peter's stomach sinks into anxiety for the nighttime. He'd lay on his side, the way he always did, and slowly fall asleep with the comfort of his pillow and his room and the house he loved surrounding him softly. His sheets would be pulled up just enough to cover his ear, but not enough to stop the cool air from finding his face. It would be peaceful. It would simply be like meeting an old friend and ending up where you are meant to be. And no one would miss him. And no one would interrupt him. And no one would look for him until it was done. This was the plan. However, he had never expected Tony Stark to stumble into his plan and rip it to pieces.
Tony POV
Tony leaned on the edge of his desk; elbows stiff with concentration. The heaviness from his day and his work had left his shoulders sore. His eyes ached in his skull. He needed to be somewhere with comfort and warmth and potentially ice cream. That is what led him to Peter's rundown apartment at approximately 5pm with two loaded strawberry frozen yogurts in his hand. He figured the kid would be home from extra curriculars and ready to build a LEGO set with Ned. Tony knocked three short times on the front door. The hallway he stood in was empty. The air hung thick with the smell of cooking cabbage and trash that needed to be taken out. He could hear potholes being driven over in the street but no movement inside the apartment. Tony knocked again.
"Pete."
Another knock was met with silence. Fingers digging into his pocket, Tony found his spare key and let himself into the tidy living room.
"Hey kid. You decent?"
His question was met with neighbors laughing on the left side of the thin walls. But no sound from Peter. Tony wondered if the boy was out on a mission – one that he hadn't cleared with Tony, as per frickin usual. His dress shoes clicked slightly as he walked to Peter's bedroom. Surprisingly, light trickled under the kid's door.
"Peter. It's Tony." His knuckles rapped on the wooden frame. "I needed to get out of the office. I brought a treat."
Nothing. "Are you asleep?"
Tony pushed the door slightly. It whined in response. He pushed the door further and further slowly, giving Peter a chance to notice even if he had headphones on or was deep in a textbook. Even as spiderman, the kid had surprisingly slow senses. Tony stuck his neck inside. Clothes littered the floor. The window was cracked with a breeze. The laptop sat open on the desk. Everything was as it should be. Except for Peter's form under the covers. Tony could only see the top of his head and the whiteness of where his hair met his neck. He appeared to be napping. But Peter never napped. He was actually almost incapable of napping because of his hyperactivity. Tony's stomach pinched itself in an odd way. His skin felt too tight for his bones. He bit his lip as he walked towards the bed.
"Hey. Pete."
A body of vodka sat on the nightstand. The cap tottered on its side as if recently being dropped. On the floor was a pill bottle. Missing its contents.
"Oh god. No."
Tony reached Peter, gripping his shoulder. Yanking the sheets to Peter's waist, the young boy's body only lolled in response.
"Buddy?"
Tony grasped Peter by the face, his hands on either side of his head. The kid's lips were pale like peaches before spring and parched dry. They hung slightly parted in a wide "o" shape. Sweat shone over his eyebrows. His eyes rolled uncontrollably under their own lids.
"Hey!" Tony smacked Peter's cheek. "Wake up!"
A small gurgle worked its way up Peter's throat and to the roof of his mouth. It was a wet, awful sound that shouldn't be made by an unconscious person. The more Tony moved Peter's body, the moister noises bubbled from his mouth.
"Fuck. Oh fuck."
Tony scooped his arm underneath the boy and sat his up. Peter's head pitched forward, and clear wetness dripped out.
"No. Don't do that." Tony grabbed Peter's jaw and forced his head upwards. Tony got a better look at his face. Pink splotches were popping up on his cheeks. His mouth hung even wider.
"Peter. Look at me!" Tony had a strange feeling of weightlessness as he held his son in his arms. Peter was heavy against him and warmer than expected. Tony attempted to untangle the sheets from around Peter's ankles but cursed again as Peter hung limp as a rag doll in his arms.
"Up you get. Come on." Tony heaved the kid into his arms, Peter's left-hand dangling dangerously slack around Tony's waist. He wore a classic pair of blue plaid pajama pants and a nerdy t-shirt about space. His curls were neat and perky, as usual. The kid looked like the innocent and chipper boy he always was, like a boy ready for bedtime. That was not the case, however, as Tony lugged him down the hallway to the cramped bathroom.
Kicking the door open, Tony squatted with Peter in the shower. His knees hissed as they touched the cold linoleum. His wrist flicked the water on, and it spurted out in sharp bursts. The pair were soaked in seconds.
"Kid! You gotta wake up!" He stuck two fingers downed the boy's throat and it constricted in response.
Peter POV
He felt funny. And fuzzy. His brain was fuzzy, and his skin was…nonexistent? Peter felt like he was floating in a black emptiness, looking from right to left and not seeing a thing. It was nice until it was creepy. There was no air here. No texture. No taste in his mouth. Just. Nothing. If Peter concentrated hard enough, the fuzziness in his brain would bubble into an ache at the back of his skull. Like his head was suddenly too heavy for the rest of his existence. He'd roll his eyes around if he had any. Muffled noises floated around him in this space. They were ghoulie in nature. Moans and shrieks. Hisses and, perhaps, a howl? Werewolves weren't out this time of year; it was only spring. At least, Peter thought it was spring. He tried to recall what the trees had looked like on his walk home today, except he couldn't picture it. He couldn't picture the shoes he was wearing or where he was walking home to. A vague recollection of holding a crumbled brown bag with heavy contents in it soon passed out of his mind.
He still felt funny. The longer Peter felt this way, the less he liked it. The blackness was suffocating and…wet suddenly? It appeared to be raining in his subliminal space. Peter didn't know how the fuck that was possible. He licked the wetness off his lips. Strange. It tasted like a drink from the sink at midnight.
"-eter."
That was new.
"Op'n your—"
Peter didn't know there could be sounds here. He opened his mouth to make one of his own, but nothing came out. Correction. No words came out. But water cascading from his unmoving tongue did. Again, strange.
"Please." That word was clear. What was that? God? Peter had never been much of a religious man. But the blank space wants what the blank space wants, he guessed. The effort of forming words tasted funny in his mouth. Like sour and lukewarm oatmeal.
This may seem like an odd place to end but I am curious what you all think of it so far! Please review!