Peter had learnt early on in his struggles with his mental health that he had to have a routine. Everything seemed to go tits up the moment something changed from the heavily regimented structure of everyday life. For the most part, this was manageable; one of the only positives about going to school was that he was forced to wake up and eat at specific times of the day. Everything else fitted around this framework.
He set manageable tasks for himself that had to be completed each day: make the bed, have a shower, wash the dishes, put his laundry in the hamper. He never felt like doing any of it, but he knew that if he skipped one tiny thing, his entire world of fake happiness would crumble within hours. Peter refused to let that happen. Not again.
However, the summer holidays threw all of Peter’s best laid plans out the window, leaving him backsliding at an alarming speed, and quickly falling into old habits left, right and centre.
It had started innocently enough: for the first week of the holidays, Peter had decided that he would allow himself a bit of a break from the forced chores. This meant that for the first time in six months, he didn’t make his bed as soon as he got up. It felt good. He knew it would. Despite how little time it took to straighten out his pillows, and drag the quilt flat, it was his least favourite job.
The day had been spent in the lab with Tony, meaning that they had a late lunch consisting of Doritos and coffee. Dumb-E had attempted to wash the mugs, giving Peter an excuse to avoid another of his obligations. The knowledge that he had no responsibilities was blissful and Peter had no idea why he hadn’t given up on his routine long ago. Lord knows he had wanted to.
That night’s patrol had been particularly taxing, meaning that when Peter got back to his and May’s apartment, he was far too tired to wash up after his rushed dinner (a cheese sandwich – chosen for ease rather than taste).
Once he re-entered his room, however, Peter found that the sight of his unmade bed set his teeth on edge, and he couldn’t bear to think about the plate that was still full of crumbs on the kitchen table.
Peter should have learnt his lesson from the first day. Stick to your routines, idiot, he scalded himself while he made his way out of the flat with the knowledge that his bed was still unmade and there was now a week and a half’s worth of used coffee mugs and cereal bowls joining the dirty plate on the kitchen table. May wasn’t home enough to scald Peter about them yet, but as soon as she finished her row of night shifts, he was sure that he would hear all about how lazy he was being.
His work with Tony had been going well all morning – they had made surprising headway on a new formula for the web fluid which would mean that it took longer to dissolve. Peter was still undecided as to whether this was a good idea or not; he sometimes got complaints from the Queens residents that his webs lasted too long when he was swinging around the city on patrol. Peter had to agree with them on that part – occasionally, some soupped up criminal would follow his trail of webs and track him down for a fight. But Tony had been adamant that it would be better for catching crooks. They had agreed to give it a week’s trial, but Peter wasn’t holding out much hope.
However, half way through the afternoon, Tony had asked the one question that Peter always dreaded most of all: ‘So, Pete, you got a girlfriend?’
‘What? No! Why – why would you ask that?’ Peter shifted uncomfortably on his seat, digging his fingernails into the soft skin on the inside of his wrist.
Tony looked surprised at Peter’s alarmed tone and raised an eyebrow. ‘Just making conversation.’ He said warily. Peter could see the cogs turning in his mentor’s mind. ‘I just thought that you seemed pretty close to that MJ character. You certainly talk about her a lot.’
Peter wrinkled his nose. I’m, like, the biggest gay you’ll ever meet, Tony. ‘Egh, no! She’s my friend Mr Stark. I just like talking about my friends. I talk about Ned just as much as I talk about MJ.’
As soon as he said it, he realised his mistake.
‘Oh.’ Hummed Tony.
Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it. Please don’t say it. I don’t want to have to lie to you, Mr Stark.
‘Oh,’ Tony said again, with more understanding behind it. ‘Do you have a boyfriend then?’
The question was cheeky. There was no malice behind it. So why did it leave such an unpleasant taste in Peter’s mouth? ‘No.’ Peter replied, smiling bitterly to himself, if only.
Tony seemed to sense Peter’s change in mood. He cautiously made his way closer to his kid, trying not to startle him.
Peter could hear Tony moving in front of him, but he kept his gaze fixed on the note book he was working in. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his mentor bend down slightly and lean his forearms on the table between them in the hopes that being at his kid’s eye level would make it more likely for Peter to look at him.
They both knew that it wasn’t going to happen. Peter’s spider sense was going haywire; whether it was from what Tony’s reaction would be, or the fact that he was on the verge of a panic attack, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that this needed to stop. He needed to get away before he embarrassed himself by crying or – god forbid – coming out. Most of all, he needed the sharp bite of a blade across his skin to remind him what breathing felt like.
‘Is this something we need to talk about Peter?’ Tony’s voice was sickeningly soft, and it made Peter’s skin crawl.
‘No. I just – I don’t want to talk about girls.’ He said. At least that’s a half truth. I’m not lying yet, he mused dejectedly. Peter knew he couldn’t come out to Tony. Being spider man was the only thing that gave him purpose; without it, he might as well just give up (if you’re nothing without the suit, you shouldn’t have it Tony’s voice scalded in his head). He wasn’t about to jeopardise everything he had in the hopes of awkwardly talking about boys with Iron Man.
‘You’re figuring stuff out. I get it.’ Tony said, nodding.
Out of nowhere, anger was suddenly boiling in Peter’s veins, intensifying the vicious crawl under his skin. What right does Mr Stark have to assume he knows what I’m going through? Peter thought. ‘No!’ He spat, rising so quickly from his chair that he knocked it over. ‘I know who I am.’ He wanted to punch something.
‘Alright.’ Tony said bemusedly, raising his hands in surrender.
No, Mr Stark, it’s not alright. Peter wanted to shout. I’m fucking depressed and I’m gay and being both makes me feel like the loneliest person in the world. How am I meant to recover when I can’t let anyone get close to me just in case they have a fundamental problem with something that I can’t change?
Instead, however, Peter quickly cast around for his backpack, making some lame excuse that he was supposed to be meeting Ned.
As soon as Peter entered his room, he regretted it. His unmade bed made was nauseating, and the sight of his dirty washing scattered around the room tipped him over the edge into a full blown panic attack. Why couldn’t you have just cleaned your fucking room? He scalded himself.
In the back of his mind, he knew what would make this whole situation more manageable. It had been four hard fought months since Peter had last had a blade in his hand, a fact that he was undeniably proud of; it had taken more effort than he would care to admit to stay clean that long.
He slid down the wall next to his door, eying the desk draw opposite him where he still kept his blades and plasters. It would be a waste to give in now.
Peter’s breathing sped up dramatically as he relived his conversation with Tony. He wasn’t ashamed of who he was per se, it was just that over the years he had absorbed all sorts of homophobic messages, and he still worried about whether they were true or not (was he really going to go to hell for liking boys? Some days – especially the days when he saw the cute server that worked at McDonalds – he didn’t care if he was going to hell or not. But days like today, he could spend hours drowning under the weight of his own self-doubt and insecurities).
All of the air was sucked out of the room the moment Peter’s phone went off three times in quick succession.
Message from: Tony Stark
Hope you got home safe :)
Tony had obviously seen through Peter’s weak excuse. They both knew that. But did he really have to make it so clear that he knew Peter was lying to his face?
Need more measurements for the suit update
Come by tomorrow @ 10?
Peter looked at the time 16:34 – a full two hours earlier than he normally got home from the lab. May would be awake in an hour or so and expecting Peter to eat with her now that he was home. He wasn’t sure that he would be able to force his body into some semblance of okay-ness in such a short amount of time. His arms ached with a call for bloodshed, and his lungs burned due to too many failed attempts to take a deep breath.
He shot back a quick K in reply to his mentor’s messages, and dragged himself shakily to his feet. The room span around him as he made his way across to his desk.
Peter tried not to notice how his hands immediately found what he was looking for, or the fact that his breathing slowed as soon as the cold metal had touched his fingertips. And he certainly wasn’t going to acknowledge the fact that it already felt like he had never stopped in the first place; the little rituals he did before he self-harmed were already slipping out of him unprompted.
It felt good, just like it had the first day that he had left his bed unmade.
He counted out five plasters. It was a good number of cuts to make in one go – enough to allow him to pull himself together, but not too many that he would get caught up and not know when to stop (the last time he hadn’t set the number of cuts he was going to make beforehand, he had almost passed out due to blood loss – a feat in itself considering his healing factor).
Before Peter knew what was happening, he was sat on the bathroom floor, his back against the bath and his trousers left in a crumpled heap by the door. He rolled up the bottom of his boxers, exposing an expanse of ghostly white scars.
Almost out of instinct, Peter picked up the blade, turning it over in his hands. I could stop now, he thought dully, I could go to bed and deal with May in the morning once I’ve had time to compose myself.
Despite his last ditch effort to keep his clean streak running, he knew in the back of his mind that he would relapse that night. The sound of his phone vibrating again just cemented the thought.
Message from: Tony Stark
Great! H will b there @ 9
Suddenly, Peter was back in the room with Tony’s questioning glances and do you have a boyfriend? Seemed to echo off the bathroom walls. Without much thought, Peter dragged the blade against the soft skin on the top of his thigh, letting out a hiss of breath through his teeth as he did so.
It was fucked up how much better he immediately felt, the sight of the blood making him woozy with satisfaction. A small voice in the back of his mind wondered why he had ever given up in the first place. Rationally, he knew that the reason he had stopped was because of the guilt and fear of the people he loved finding out. So far, no one knew about his “habits” but he was sure that it would only be a matter of time before Ned saw them in PE, or May burst into his room unannounced and caught him mid panic attack.
The knowledge he was back to square one in terms of recovery hit him like a brick in the face, and he sharply dragged the blade across his thigh again, careful not to hit any of his other scars as he did so. It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t supposed to start feeling guilty about this until at least after he had cleaned up the mess he was currently making, but a heavy stone of shame had already settled itself on Peter’s lungs.
The last three cuts were a blur of tears and sickening anger. Peter didn’t even know why he was mad, but he the rage bubbling through his veins made him wish he had brought more plasters into the bathroom with him.
He spent the next five minutes in a numb daze, staring blankly at the sink in front of him. The need for bloodshed hadn’t completely subsided, but the dull throb in his thigh certainly lessoned Peter’s discomfort. How long will it be until I’m back here again? Peter thought wildly. It unsettled him substantially that the urge to self harm hadn’t left him after he had given in; normally, it was a good few hours before he felt the low crawl under his muscles again. But tonight, he felt almost as bad as if he hadn’t just torn himself apart.
It made his relapse even more frustrating – cutting hadn’t even done its job properly.
Slowly, Peter began to clean up, first disinfecting and dressing his injuries, then cleaning the blade. Lastly, he wiped the dried blood off the floor. Just as he was hiding the last bit of evidence of what he had been doing, he heard May walking down the hall towards the kitchen. It was a little too much of a close call, Peter knew; he barely had time to clean up and compose himself before he heard a happy gasp and ‘Peter, you’re home in time for us to eat together!’ permeated through the apartment.
It wasn’t until Peter was making his way towards Happy and the car the next morning that the implications of Tony taking suit measurements really sunk in. The last time that had happened, Peter had had to quickly research the best kind of makeup to cover scars, and even then he’d felt far too exposed.
Today, not only did he have nothing to cover his old scars with, he also had five very new cuts that were still scabs, despite his advanced healing. Oh man, Peter thought vaguely, I’m screwed.
The car ride to the compound was full of forced chatter (almost all of it from Peter). In truth, he wanted to shut up as much as Happy probably wanted him to, but he knew that he couldn’t raise suspicions, not when Happy would definitely text Tony if he thought there was something wrong with him.
In the elevator on the way down to the lab, Peter vaguely wondered if there was a way that he could get out of the suit fitting without arousing suspicion of any kind. Once the lift doors opened, he knew he was wrong.
In the centre of the lab, Tony was setting up a large machine that Peter knew took a full body scan, calculating measurements and stress points as it did so. If he wasn’t freaking out whenever he was inside it, Peter would have admired Tony’s skill to invent such a precise bit of kit. As it was, however, his breathing was already getting shallower.
‘Pete,’ greeted Tony, abandoning the spanner he was currently using to tighten a bolt on the machine. ‘Thought I’d scared you away for good yesterday.’
‘Can’t get rid of me that easily,’ Peter said, aiming for playfulness but missing and instead landing somewhere between disappointment and embarrassment.
‘Yeah, well,’ Tony said brightly, ‘I’m glad you’re here. This is ready now –’ he gestured to the measuring machine ‘– so if you just change into these,’ he handed Peter a very short pair of shorts, ‘and hop in.’
Peter stood frozen to the spot. The shorts definitely wouldn’t cover any of his scars. Don’t cry. He scalded himself. Please don’t be a little shit, just this once. Tears still persistently prickled in the corners of his eyes.
‘Come on, Pete, I want you in this new suit asap.’
‘Alright Edna Mode.’ Peter hoped Tony wouldn’t notice that he was stalling.
‘She did have a point about the capes.’ Tony said, smiling. ‘We should tell Thor.’
Peter let out a tense laugh and Tony frowned. Oh shit, Peter thought, worried Tony is my least favourite kind of Tony.
‘Come on then,’ Tony prompted, walking over to the machine and typing something in on a computer. Peter hadn’t moved a muscle by the time he turned around again. ‘Is there a problem?’
‘Uh, no – I mean – yes – um, sort of?’ Peter said, fully aware of how dumb he sounded. ‘It’s just that –’ Tony raised his eyebrows in an expression that clearly said well? ‘These shorts are just really short, Mr Stark, and well – don’t you have something more modest I could wear?’
‘Modest?’ Tony asked incredulously. ‘Pete, you wear a spandex suit for a living – that’s not exactly what I would call modest.’
Peter still didn’t make a move to change into the shorts.
‘If this is an embarrassment thing, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, Pete, and it will only take like five minutes tops, but I need you to wear these specific shorts because they will minimise inaccurate measurements and the machine is calibrated to take them into account. Plus, the fact they’re so immodest means there’s less fabric to mess with the readings.’
Tony was edging towards Peter now, and the kid had no idea what to do; it wasn’t as if he could just turn and run, despite how much he wanted to. But his brain wasn’t working fast enough to provide a water tight excuse for not wearing the booty shorts. God, this is a mess.
‘I’d offer to go out of the room while it scans you, but this machine makes a virtual 3D model of your body – I’d just see whatever you’re worried about on that instead.’
‘That – that didn’t happen last time.’ Peter stumbled out past the lump in his throat.
‘I updated the software. It’s more accurate now.’ Tony shrugged. ‘Now, are you gonna tell me what the problem is or…?’
Peter sighed, finally moving for the first time since he had entered the lab that morning. ‘Nah, you’ll see soon enough. Please just – just don’t mention it until this is over.’
Tony had agreed. He walked back to the computer attached to the machine continued to set it up, hoping to give Peter privacy while he changed.
‘Alright,’ he heard from behind him. The defeat in Peter’s voice was sickening, but it was the only way Tony could get the data he needed, and his kid’s life depended on having a suit that worked like it was designed to. This was just something that had to happen.
When Tony turned around and finally saw what Peter was so worried about hiding, his stomach dropped so fast that all the air in his lungs left in a dizzying rush. ‘What the fuck Parker?’
‘You said you wouldn’t mention it until after,’ Peter whined, stepping delicately into the machine.
Time seemed to both slow to a crawl, and fly by quicker than either of the men had thought possible. Tony was true to his word, Peter conceded; he had remained strictly professional throughout the scan, but Peter could feel his eyes on his scars the entire time. The scan took just under five minutes like Tony had said, and all too soon, Peter was dragging his jeans back over his scarred thighs.
‘Can you sit down please, Pete, I’d like to ask some questions if I may,’ Tony asked, his voice uncharacteristically polite.
Peter sat on the closest stool and waited patiently for Tony to tell him he was taking the suit away for good.
‘Are you okay?’
Peter blinked. That wasn’t the first question he had imagined being asked, and he certainly expected more shouting and accusations than Tony seemed to be gearing up for. ‘What? Of – of course I’m okay. This is just a – it’s nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ Tony asked incredulously.
‘Yeah. It’s not something you have to concern yourself with – won’t happen again.’
‘Not something I have to concern myself with?’
‘Would you please stop repeating what I’m saying?’ Peter asked hotly.
‘Then can you please start telling me the truth,’ Tony countered, smiling sadly once he saw that Peter understood that he was backed into a corner. ‘Those looked –’ Tony waved his hand vaguely in the direction of Peter’s leg, ‘well, Pete, those looked pretty serious. When was the last time you…?’
Peter didn’t know if he was annoyed or thankful that Tony refused to name what he had done to himself. ‘Yesterday.’ He gritted out, knowing that his mentor would see through any lie he told, given all the research they had done together on his healing factor. He found that he could no longer meet Tony’s eye, instead focusing an unnecessary amount of attention on the small hole in his t shirt.
‘Shit kid,’ Tony breathed. ‘Was it –’
‘I’m sorry Mr Stark.’ Peter blurted, cutting him off mid question. ‘I swear it was a onetime thing. You won’t have to deal with this again.’
‘A onetime thing huh?’ Tony asked, his tone suggesting that Peter should tread carefully with his answers from now on. ‘Then what about all the other scars?’
For a split second, Peter made eye contact with his childhood hero, and made an apologetic face that seemed to say I was really hoping you weren’t going to mention that. Before Tony had time to offer any form of comfort to Peter, he was on his feet, walking in dizzying circles around the lab bench. ‘It was something I used to use a long time ago – before spider man – and when I got bit – I tried – stopping was fucking hard, Mr Stark – but I helping people made things quieter. Easier. But sometimes – there are days when it’s bad, sir – I’m sorry – I – I – I’m trying to get better. Yesterday was just a slip up. Won’t happen again.’
‘So you’ve said,’ Tony murmured, a frown pinching at his expression. ‘What made yesterday so bad, kiddo?’
Peter froze. He could hardly tell one of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes that he was afraid to come out to them. More importantly, he couldn’t tell Tony Stark (the man who was quickly becoming like a father to him) that the fact that he physically couldn’t explain to him the reason he didn’t want to talk about girls made his arms burn in a way only a razor could fix. He had lived drowning in the shame of it for too long to ever fully unlearn what he had been taught by the people he had once trusted. But how was he meant to tell Tony that? How was he meant to explain that the reason the day before had been bad was because he had been left alone with his thoughts for too long? ‘I hadn’t made my bed,’ fell out of his mouth before he could think of a better excuse.
Tony hummed, his tone betraying none of his thoughts.
‘I – see, I need a routine, and – given it’s the summer holidays – I decided to give myself a break from the jobs I usually force myself to do. Hooh, boy, was that a mistake.’ Peter half-heartedly joked. ‘So yesterday, when I got home and my bed wasn’t made, I kind of freaked out, and before I knew it – yeah.’
‘I get it,’ Tony sighed. ‘Executive dysfunction can be a bitch. Mine always pops up right when I’ve thought of something cool to make.’ He paused and seemed to consider his next words carefully. ‘But there are ways around that, buddy. You don’t have to tear yourself apart over shit like that.’
Peter let out a huff of breath that was more of a broken sob than a sigh. ‘It wasn’t – it wasn’t just that, Mr Stark. I got – overwhelmed – when I – after we –’
‘When you left here,’ Tony supplied calmly.
‘Yeah.’ Peter halted his journey around the bench, instead looking directly at Tony. ‘I – I guess you’ve already worked it out but – but I’m gay, Tony. And I was so scared of telling anyone because people are never nice about it. And I know that makes me sound like an actual dick for not trusting you, and for assuming you would say something bad but – but I – ’
‘Oh bud,’ Tony cut Peter off, rising to meet him. ‘It’s okay. I love you, no matter who you are. I need you to know that you can always be yourself around me.’ Once he reached Peter, he pulled him into a tight hug, and Peter finally allowed himself to cry in front of someone for the first time since Ben had died. ‘But please, kiddo, please come to me next time you feel like doing that again. I hate to see you hurting, but I swear we can find a way to make you feel better.’
‘I – I’m so tired, Tony.’
‘I know kid. We can find a way to help.’
Peter sniffed, ducking his head in embarrassment as he pulled away from his mentor’s embrace.
Tony frowned in thought ‘Have I ever told you about when Cap’ can Bucky came out? They were pretty damn scared too.’
‘Wait – they’re – ?’
‘Yup. Maybe you guys could have a chat about it when you’re feeling up to it’ Tony suggested, seamlessly handing Peter a small wrench and guiding him in the direction of one of the iron man suits that was currently in bits all over the floor in the centre of the room.
And sure, things hadn’t miraculously got better. Peter could still feel the deep drag under his skin that reminded him of how much he still had to deal with, but things were certainly starting to head in the right direction.