AN: TRIGGER WARNINGS: Suicidal/depressing thoughts and self harm. Anon prompt: "ok so i was wondering if u could write a fic where steve and tony's son peter is self harming and tony finds him (run with it!)"
Well, first up, I have some slight first hand experience with this so this was a little difficult to write. Secondly I had to put myself into a dark mindset to be able to write this so once it is done I'm going to eat chocolate and watch Parks and Recreation because Ben and Leslie are fucking adorable. Also, if parts of this seem like an unorganized word mess, that's what I was aiming for.
Blonde hair spread out around her, the light shining down on her body at the bottom of the shaft; she looked like an angel, her arms spread out from her body. She was an angel. She looked so peaceful lying there, almost as though she were sleeping.
Because she was sleeping. She had to be sleeping, or unconscious, because why would she be asleep right now, that's ridiculous. She was unconscious, he had got to her in time, he had caught her, he had felt the tug of the webbing when it attached to her body, he saw her grab it. She couldn't be dead, she couldn't be, she was not dead.
She looked beautiful even in death. He knew she would. She was always beautiful. God, she was beautiful.
He didn't know what to do anymore. He didn't know who to be anymore. He felt as though a part of his soul had been ripped from his body, and he didn't know how to be human anymore. He didn't know how to be Spider-Man. He didn't know how to be Peter Parker. He didn't know how to be without her.
Watching them lower her into the ground today, surrounded by her family, their friends, and the Avengers, it was the worst thing he'd ever had to endure in his nineteen years of life. Even standing with his Aunt May and his fathers, he couldn't help but feel inadequate. The only ones there who knew the truth were the Avengers. It was his fault, it was all his fault. He had caused this. He was the reason she was dead.
When he went to hug Mrs. Stacey, he tried his hardest not to flinch away from her touch. He was so disgusted with himself. Look at everything he had cost this family, and they didn't even know it. They continued to treat him like loving people, showing they cared about him, when they shouldn't. He was the reason their father and husband was dead. And now he was the reason their sister and daughter was dead. And they didn't know that, they didn't know any of it. They didn't know about the death and destruction that would followed him around. That still follows him around. That would follow him around for the rest of him life.
He couldn't take it anymore.
He got up from his bed and rushed into the bathroom. He was going to throw up, he was going to pass out, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't... he couldn't-
The glint of silver caught his eye as he leaned down to splash water on his face from the sink. He had shaved this morning, and had forgotten to put the razor back into the medicine cabinet.
He stared at the blade for a long time, contemplating on what he was going to do. He remembered the talks at school, from the councilors when Uncle Ben died, and from the teachers during the annual Suicide Awareness Week. Hurting yourself if never a solution to the pain. If you break a bone, taking medicine with stop the pain, but it won't heal the break. Look for help. Always go to an adult for help.
No one could help him. Why would anyone want to? He tried to help people all the time, and it never worked. Everyone around him died. So who was there that could possibly help him?
"JARVIS," Peter croaked, not taking his eyes from the razor next to his sink. "Security clearance Alpha 3, complete privacy lock code 157. Please."
"Sir," JARVIS' voice rang out hesitantly. "I'm not sure that it the wisest course of action right now. I've been told to keep an eye on you for the rest of the-"
"JARVIS, please," Peter cried. "Complete privacy lock, code 157."
"Yes, sir," JARVIS said quietly after a long pause. Peter heard a quiet hum and knew that meant JARVIS had been shut down in this room. JARVIS couldn't see or hear him, and neither could anyone else.
With trembling hands, he picked up his razor and took out the blade. He stared at it hard for a few moments before he backed up to the wall and slid down it. He was shaking and he could feel it, but he couldn't bring himself to stop. Sweat dripped from his brow and down his back as he pressed the blade against his wrist, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and dragged the blade to the side.
The pain was instantaneous, but it was nothing compared to the pain he was feeling inside. Compared to how he had felt these past few days, this was almost a relief, a release, a balm on his nerves. It felt good.
So he cut. And he cut. A cut for getting her involved, suffering the pain for letting her die: and watching his blood run down his arm, the blood that should've been spilled instead of hers. Because he'll never learn. First Uncle Ben, then Captain Stacey, and now Gwen? How many people were going to die because of him? Aunt May? Dad, Pops? How many more people had to suffer before he realized he didn't know what he was doing? He was no hero. He was a failure. And failures have to take it, and suffer for their mistakes. Which was all Peter was. A mistake.
He didn't know how long he sat there tearing at his arm, but he knew it couldn't have been as long as it felt. Before he knew it his whole forearm was filled with shallow cuts and scratches, blood pooling together and dripping to the floor, leaving a surprisingly sizable puddle.
He didn't notice the banging at the door until someone starting shouting. Someone was banging and shouting and pulling at the doorknob, which was weird because he didn't remember locking it.
"JARVIS!" He heard a strangled shout through the door, "Security clearance Alpha 0, code override 157, NOW!"
He heard the hum as the cameras, microphones, and speakers came back on, and he threw the blade down as the bathroom door flew open, smearing the blood on the floor.
"God, Peter," he heard his Dad's distraught voice and before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching for his father, grasping for his father, face screwing up in anguish as he realized what he had done.
"Dad," Peter gasped, reaching out for his fathers arms, getting his blood all over them. "I'm so sorry..."
Tony flung himself onto the ground, not caring that he was getting his son's blood all over his clothes."
"Peter, God, what are you doing, baby boy, no..."
Peter clung to his father when he finally got his arms around him, smearing blood all over his fathers neck and the back of his grey AC/DC shirt.
"Dad," Peter gasped quietly. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted the world to feel the pain he felt right now. But he couldn't. He was exhausted, he was all cried out, his body and mind were simply done. "Dad, it's my fault... it's all my fault..."
"Shhhhhh, Petey, don't talk like that," Tony pulled back and reached up to the towel rack to pull one down and tightly wrap Peter's arm.
"God, there's so much blood... STEVE! STEVE GET IN HERE NOW! JARVIS, alert Bruce of the situation... Peter, don't move, just hang on, okay? I'm gonna get you help, okay?"
Peter didn't remember much from the rest of that night. He figured Pops must have showed up eventually as his panicked face appeared in front of his. He remembered Uncle Bruce showing up with bandages and gauze, murmuring to him as he cleaned up his arm. He remembered Pop's and Uncle Bruce sitting next to his bed while his father got cleaned up, and he remembered three other Avenger-like figures hovering in his doorway.
And he thought he remembered waking up to some noises that night while he was sleeping. It had sounded like Dad crying on Pop's shoulder, but honestly at that point, if it was what he heard, he really couldn't bring himself to care.