Peter could hear the sound of Tony's suit a good 5 minutes before he heard it land on the roof behind him. He knew he looked bad, tear tracks down a red puffy face, hair spiked after being pulled, curls matted and tangled. He was sat on the edge of the roof, which he imagined was the reason Tony's heart beat was so quick behind him. He didnt want to speak. Couldn't muster the energy to explain or even to calm Tony down. Everything just felt so pointless.
"Hey kid." He could hear the shake in Tony's voice, the stutter in his heart when Peter made no move to respond.
"Do you wanna step further onto the roof for me, away from that ledge?" Again, Peter made no move to respond. He knew he was scaring Tony, knew he would be told off for it later, but right now the only thing ground him was the cold radiating from the brick on the ledge, the feeling of the wind rushing against his stained face, and the adrenaline running through his veins.
He didn't want to answer Tony. If he spoke, it would make it real. Everything he was feeling, everything he had done since he started spiralling, and all the thoughts he had wanted to act on. And he didn't want it to be real. He didn't want to see the fear in Tony's eyes and he definitely didn't want to be forced to come to terms with how absolutely fucked up his brain was. How out of control he felt. How a part of him really wanted to darker thoughts to finally win and take over, so that he didn't have to keep up the fight.
"Okay kid, can I come and sit next to you up there?" He knew Tony didn't want to scare him with sudden movement but wanted him in grabbing distance.
Peter also knew Tony really didn't want to sit on the ledge, so he sighed before moving to sit down on the roof, back leaning against the ledge.
"Thank you" Tony whispered, sitting beside him. Not quite touching him, but letting Peter know he was there if he needed physical reassurance.
The moment Peter rested his head on Tony's shoulder his trance broke, cuddling into his mentor-come-father figure and crying silently.
There wasnt anything Tony could say to help, Peter knew. But being held, as if Tony had nothing better to do, helped some.
They sat there for an hour, Tony eventually using the heater on his nano tech suit to keep them both warm. At some point, Peter had stopped crying and just sat huddled into Tony, with endless thoughts that Tony wished he could read and rub away. After a while Peter started crying again, holding Tony's hand for dear life.
After what felt like forever, Tony's other hand still rubbing Peter's back and side, Tony softly muttered
"Pete, it's okay, I've got you" and Peter cried some more.
"What's the point in all of this, Tony?"
Now, it's not that Tony hadn't asked Peter to call him that before. He had in fact, multiple times, but he knew Peter felt some kind of satisfaction and joy out of annoying him with the formal title. The fact that he wasn't using it now worried Tony beyond belief.
"In me sitting here next to you, maybe for hours on end? Because I care about you Pete. I love you, and I know I don't say it enough, but I'm here for you no matter what your brain is telling you."
They both knew that Peter suffered from anxiety, depression and PTSD. The Tower was filled with people that suffered various mental illnesses on a daily basis, and the experiences Peter had faced as a superhero, and well before, were far more than any 16 year old should have to deal with.
"No, not that. I get that people care. And sometimes that's enough. Sometimes I dont think people care that much- don't worry this isn't one of those times -but sometimes it doesn't matter how much others care because no one can care so much that it stops how I feel right now."
After his attempt to interrupt, Tony sat silent, allowing Peter to get it all off his chest.
"Sometimes... sometimes I feel like it doesnt matter how much I fight against my illnesses. Because I know they will always be part of me. No matter how much progress I make, I will still have bad days, weeks, maybe months. I will still feel so low that the idea if swallowing pills feels better, so overwhelmed that the only way I can let out the feelings trying to burst through my stomach is to slice my skin, so sad that eating isn't appealing to me."
"And... and I don't know if I can deal with that. Or maybe I can, but I dont know if I want to live like that. To never know when a high is going to lead to a low that feels so final. God Tony, sometimes I wonder if theres any therapy in the world good enough, any hug strong enough, any words powerful enough to ever erase this hole inside me. Sometimes I just don't know what else to do except..."
Peter trailed off, looking at the skyline over the adjacent edge of the roof. He could feel the warmth of Tony's skin, the pick up in his heart beat, soothed after so long of sitting still, suddenly bursting to life again at Peter's words.
"You dont know what else to do... other than..." Tony urged Peter on, the younger boy just sighed and stared down at his knees in response.
"Other than what, Pete?" He could hear the younger boys breath catch, looking out again over the rooftop. He pulled Peter back to his chest - no hug strong enough my ass - as Peter shook in his arms.
He didn't know what to tell Peter. He was right after all, he would likely go through depressive episodes and suffer with anxiety attacks for the rest of his life. He wanted to compare his life, or that of the team, to Peter - to ask him if he felt that their lives were less worth living because of the symptoms they faced. But he knew that this went deeper. It's not that Peter didn't see the value the Team had in their lives, but rather that Peter didn't know if he could live through the lows in order to appreciate the highs. He didn't know if he wanted to. And that's what terrified Tony.
"Okay, bud. Why dont we go back to the tower, grab our pjs, some hot chocolates and get some dopamine into your system. I know it's not a long term solution, but right now we need to figure out how to get you out of this spiral and into a more content mindset."
Peter didn't really want to move. Peter wanted to move more than anything in the world. He knew it was two parts of his brain competing - the one chasing chemical highs verses the one chasing chemical lows. But Tony was shivering, FRIDAY having powered down his nano tech heat pad before he had too little energy to get back home. So he got up, let Tony suit up, before Tony picked him up and held him securely in his chest. No swinging from high buildings today.
While they were flying back, Peter thought about how he should appreciate this more. Who gets to fly through the early hours of the morning, watching the sun rise and the birds awake, in the arms of a billion dollar suit and a man as amazing as Tony.
"What difference does it make if I feel happy today Tony, if I wont tomorrow?" Peter asked in a frustrated tone, looking down at the building passing them.
Tony wished he had an answer.
*
Sometimes he didn't think he really had anxiety.
He didn't get panic attacks the way everyone else seemed to, short breaths and lungs closing for a short period in time.
Instead, he would feel it throughout the day. The cold snap you feel when faced with immense fear would come every 20 minutes or so. His stomach would hold tight, feeling like a rock was sat at the bottom and a vine was tightening gradually. It was impossible to eat anything; everything he ate felt tasteless, like sand in his mouth.
It was gross, but the tightness of his stomach caused so much acid to be produced that he had to gag back the reflux. He couldn't have caffeine or energy drinks or anything that might worsen it. His stomach would burn.
The need to act, act, act pounding in his chest with every heart beat. He couldn't sleep, couldn't stop the thoughts swirling his head, the clenching of his muscles. Kept waking throughout the night, flush with terror. Nightmares replaying his fears throughout the night.
He felt overwhelmed. He felt so, so much. Too much. God, he missed feeling empty. It was so much easier, sitting in apathy, stewing in depression. He wished he just felt depressed, instead of this anxiety, tearing him from the outside. He was so fucking exhausted.
Nothing helped. No breathing exercises for panic attacks worked. No TV show could hold his attention. It lasted for days. Sometimes weeks. It was too much. He'd give anything for this to stop.
He knew how it could.
It was there, like it was when he was in darkness. Whispering to remind him that there was always that option. It felt tempting. It felt closer. Closer than it did when he was low. Depressive episodes made him feel, well, depressed. But he didn't have the energy to do anything when he felt that way.
But now, he had so much adrenaline that wouldn't leave. But he still had the same core thoughts, wanting to put him out his misery.
It had been a while since the anxiety had gotten this bad, but it would happen again. It always did.
Was it worth it? Tony's hugs, swinging as spiderman, laughing with Ned.... were they worth this? When facing uncertainty caused this? Not knowing when this would happen, feeling that now pandora's box had opened it would be so hard for it to close, so much easier for it to open again.
He had texted people. Told them how he was feeling. But they couldn't do anything about it. They couldn't step into his life and change the real world activities causing this.
And it was so easy for them to say that it would get better, that it wouldn't always be like this, that he would be okay. Because they hadn't been through this before. Again and again. They hadn't sat as he was, staring at his hands and thinking 'I dont know how much more of this I can survive. How many times can I sit here and feel this before it gets too much?'
He wished he was clairvoyant. That he could look to the future and see which choices he had to take to feel content in life. Was there a universe where he was? Or did every Peter Parker in every universe have this cloud lurking within him, this tar in his lungs, this grief waiting to seep out of him?
MJ knocked at his door and he ran to it. Swept her into a hug before planting himself on the mattress, trying not to cry, knowing the anxiety was rushing through his blood veins.
"What do you need right now?" She asked softly, settling on the mattress next to him.
He leant his head into her shoulder, shuddering breaths into her neck.
"God, I dont know. I don't know. Maybe a distraction? Something gentle?"
MJ wrapped him in a hug, before getting up and setting up his laptop, queuing an episode of Modern Family. She kissed his hair, letting him roll his weight into her.
It wouldn't fix him. It wouldn't really stop this feeling. When she was gone, it would come back in full force. But the brief relief was nice, enabled him to calm enough to eat something nutritious. Before she left, she pushed him into the shower, telling him not to leave it over a week again.
He would. They both knew he would. But he smiled and said he wouldn't, closing the door behind him.
He looked around the bathroom, stipping off and starting the shower as the anxiety seeped back into his skin and settled in his stomach.
*
Peter hadn't left his bed that morning. Hadn't left his room since lunch the day before. He was spending the weekend, supposed to be joining for team breakfasts and sparing and insulting Tony in the lab.
At 11, Tony decided he had to go up there. He wouldn't let it reach 24 hours without the kid being seen. He knocked, recieved no answer, called Peter's name, recieved no answer, told him he was coming in.
Part of him wished he hadn't come to check in on him. Peter was lying on his bed, staring blankly up to the ceiling. Bruises around his eyes that suggested he'd barely slept.
Tony perched on the mattress by his hip, close enough to touch but not quite there. "Hey bud, can you look at me?"
Peter didn't respond immediately. After a minute be blinked and turned his head slightly towards Tony.
Tony wasn't surprised by the vacant look in his eyes, usually filled with merth. Or the pale tinged, nutrient-deprived skin.
He was surprised to see no evidence of tears. No red puff around his eyes, no wetness, no tear tracks. Peter had told him this before, whispering into his knees as if they could stop the words reaching Tony's ears, that feeling depressed didn't mean feeling upset. Sometimes he just felt utterly empty. His brain would loop that nothing he did mattered.
"Have you been this morning?" Tony asked, head slightly inclined towards the en suite. He didn't really need to ask. He didn't think Peter had done moved a muscle in the 23 hours since they had last seen him. He knew he hadn't eaten, hadn't drank, didn't even have a cup near him. His phone was on the floor a few feet away, looking as if it had been tossed there from the bed.
Peter faced changed slightly, relaxed lips moving down slightly, and Tony knew that meant that no, he hadnt relieved himself either.
Tony stood, "Okay Pete, here's the plan. You're gonna get up and go to the bathroom, and then we're camping out on the sofa for a few hours."
Peter stared back at him, no sign that he had heard what Tony had said. Tony sighed, putting his hand on Peter's leg through the covers.
"I dont know what you're thinking kiddo, but I know it isn't particularly nice. And I know you hate when people use guilt-tripping as a support method... but could you let me help you with this? For me?"
Peter turned away from Tony, staring back towards the ceiling before closing his eyes. He took a breath, deeper than any Tony had heard yet, and Tony took it as a yes. It wasn't exactly consent, but Peter wasn't capable of putting his best interest forward right now.
"Okay bud, I'm gonna pull back the covers and help you sit up. We'll get you to the en suite together, yeah?"
So Tony did. Pushed back the covers, propped Peter against the headboard. Hugged him for a moment before pulling him to his legs, holding him for a second while his unused legs stumbled under the sudden weight.
They got to the bathroom, and Pete must have been worse than usual because Tony had to keep encouraging him to go until finally giving in and physically helping him. He was sure when Peter was feeling better he would be mortified about needing help in the bathroom, but right now Tony was resigned to do what he had to.
When they got to the living room Peter still didn't feel much of anything. He just felt empty; the silence in house after everybody has left.
If Tony had asked him what he wanted to do, he wouldn't have been able to answer with anything except lie in bed and do nothing. He didn't know if he would even sleep, but just didn't want to have his eyes open anymore. He wished he could close his brain off too.
Thankfully Tony didn't ask. Anything Peter could think of to do: building, crafting, cleaning, showering, gaming, eating, exercising... it all felt completely futile. None of it would make a difference, not in the long run. But Tony dragged him to the sofa, set him up under a blanket, and flicked on an episode of The Office.
"Are you hungry?" He asked, bringing over water and some snacks.
"Not really" Peter replied, tone low and empty.
Tony was relieved to hear Peter speak, but it didn't feel good. He wasn't sure he had ever heard Peter with so little emotion. He joined Peter on the couch, pulling him into his side.
Honestly, he didn't know what to do with the kid. Tony had developed anti-depressants that worked with his metabolism and paid for all the therapy sessions money could buy. He had sat through Peter telling him his thought spirals, his emotions, his physical reactions, and talking him through safety plans while giving him endless affection.
Sometimes he really thought it was working. When Peter would do something that 5 years ago would have stopped him dead in his tracks, eyes wide with fear. Or when Peter smiled so brightly and laughed so loudly you couldn't imagine him ever feeling sad. When he told member of the team how much they meant to him, how they brightened his day, how excited he felt about the future.
But then days like this would come and Tony would wonder if at the end of his best days, Peter lay awake thinking about all the things he was today. If he felt this more regularly than anyone noticed, but they couldn't see, or maybe didn't want to, because in that moment Peter looked happy and god, no one wanted to shatter that.
Tony had always been under the impression that telling people was the hardest part. That opening up about your feelings was world changing and shattering and impossible. It certainly felt that way for him, whenever someone wanted him to open up. But he knew better now. Watching Peter over the years, he knew the worst part wasn't opening up. No, it was trying so hard to feel better and failing. Meeting hurdle after hurdle, and despite putting so much energy into recovery and wellness, and being beaten back into this place.
He looked at Peter - this wonderful, intelligent, kind-hearted kid, who reached out when he needed help and helped other, who deserved every good thing in the world - and he felt lost.
He couldn't reach into Peter's brain and remove the fog. Couldn't push the love he felt in his bones through his skin and into Peter's. All he could do was hold him and help him and hope.
Hope that Peter could hold himself, help himself, and hope. And keep returning to that hope, even when his brain was telling him there was nothing left to hope for.