drown

Peter’s journey home was frustrating and long; without the suit, he couldn’t rely on Karen to tell him where to go, and given that the compound was in the middle of fucking nowhere, and about ten miles from the edge of the city, Peter was in for an arduous journey of half remembered back roads.

He was pretty sure that Happy was following him because the same dark car with tinted windows had passed him about five times now, and it definitely seemed like something Tony would ask him to do. Peter half wished that Happy would offer him a lift – if it was him, and not some kidnapper or something – it would make both of their lives easier, but he has far too much pride to ask to be dropped home, and he knew that Happy was probably under strict orders to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Happy never has been very good at being covert.

Were Peter not freaking out about the fact that Tony brought up him dating girls – brought up Liz no less, and all that homecoming had entailed – he probably would have appreciated the fresh air. As it was, his mind was a spiral of ever more self-deprecating thoughts, and his bones were aching with a heavy call for blood.

The dull knowledge of what would happen when Peter got home almost made him wish he had stayed at the compound and just glossed over Tony’s last comment. Almost.

By the time he got back to his local neighbourhood, it was gone seven, meaning that May would have already left for her night shift. Peter couldn’t tell if it was a blessing or a curse that she wasn’t there when he finally stumbled into the apartment, knees buckling from the crushing weight of concrete and memories.

You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe. Peter repeated in his head, trying desperately to convince himself he wasn’t still choking on dust and water.

Briefly, Peter considered putting on his shitty onesie and heading out on patrol without Karen, but the sight of his low tech and well-loved suit only served as a reminder as to everything that had happened since the spider bite, and the spectacle sent Peter careering backwards away from the cheap fabric, bile rising rapidly in his throat.

This night was only ever going to end one way, Peter conceded, turning towards the apartment’s small bathroom. His senses were already dialled to a hundred, and the thought of turning the harsh white light on made his hands shake harder than they already were. Instead, he shut and locked the bathroom door (just in case) and turned on the torch function on his phone.

The next few minutes were spent in the blissful routine that Peter seemed to be relying on far too heavily these days. First, he headed to the cupboard under the sink to retrieve the first aid kit. His blade was hidden there too – taped to the underside of the middle shelf where no one would think to look (not that May did sharps sweeps anymore). Peter swallowed down a choked sob at the thought of what May would say if she could see him now.

God, he was such a fuck up.

Once his equipment was laid out on the floor around him, Peter began shedding clothes at lightning speed until he was left only in his boxers. He took a long time to stare at the scars he’d accumulated over the years – the gash across his ribs from an armed robber, the shadow of a cut across his knee from falling off his scooter as a kid.

Peter’s eyes quickly travelled to the meticulous rows of ghost white scars on his right thigh; those were the ones that May knew about. She had seen them once when they had gone swimming and immediately booked him an appointment with a shrink, despite the fact that she and Ben could barely afford it.

Above that, there were the scars on his hip. These were less ordered, all intersecting at weird angles; he had made the majority of them on the same night, Ben’s blood still crusting his nails as he gripped the blade. This relapse was the first time that Peter lied to May about getting better. He knew that his Aunt was far too preoccupied with her husband’s death to do more than take him at his word. Searches for blades steadily decreased in frequency from that moment, only serving to fuel Peter’s habit.

The final group of scars were the ones that littered the inside of both his forearms. They started just below the crooks of his elbows and reached to around half way to his wrist on both sides – never close enough to be seen if his shirt sleeve accidentally rode up (Peter was quick to make sure of that). The soft pinks and whites of this set of scars marked them as the newest. Despite Peter’s healing factor, he still scarred like everyone else, for which he was eternally grateful. These scars were even more methodical than the first set of self inflicted injuries: each was the same length and distance apart, despite the fact that the depth sometimes varied. They were also the most serious, owing to the fact that Peter’s advanced healing meant that he was bolder and more careless with the blade (not to mention the fact that his mental health was the worst it has ever been).

Finally, he picked up the blade. The weight of it on his palm steadied his nerves and the steel crushing his chest seemed to lighten slightly.

He stared at his arms with dead eyes, not fully registering quite what was happening yet. The bloodlust that was boiling just under the surface of Peter’s skin was getting harder to bear, and without thinking, he made a quick swipe with the blade across the base of his wrist, right where his palm joined his arm.

The pain was immediate and intense, sharpening Peter’s overworked senses. He made two more cuts in quick succession below the first before his brain caught up to his mistake: the cuts were far too visible. All Tony would have to do was want to take measurements for the new web shooters they were working on and he would find out Peter’s secret. Sure, make up was effective for covering the marks in PE, but he was certain that Tony would see right through that.

Peter swallowed thickly, desperately trying to clear his head.

The sight of the steadily bleeding marks did nothing to help the situation, especially given that the torch light made them look distorted and strange.

Before he knew what he was doing, Peter was bringing the blade down against his arm again in a desperate attempt to clear his head. The sharp sting did nothing to reduce the fog in his mind, however, and he had made six more cuts by the time he finally found the will power to stop and clean up the mess he’d made.

When Peter finally dragged himself to bed that night – feeling far too dizzy for comfort – he couldn’t help thinking of Tony’s worried expression as he had left the compound. There was something about the fact that he had sent Happy after him to make sure he got home safe that made Peter feel just a little warmer inside.

The next morning, Peter’s phone buzzed cheerfully next to him a full ten minutes before he expected it. This could only mean one thing: Happy was early – something that never happened unintentionally.

Peter sighed, and grabbed his keys, heading out the door without breakfast (for the fourth day in a row), and before he had a chance to change the bandage on his wrist. He took the stairs down to the car, half because he was desperate to stall the inevitable conversation with Mr Stark when they arrived at the compound, and half because the stomach dropping feeling the lift made reminded him far too much of being thrown around during his fight with ant man at the airport – and that was not something he was willing to relive just then.

Peter froze as soon as he exited the building. The sight of Tony’s sports car parked in front of him made his hands clammy, and immediately he considered whether he could run back inside.

Unfortunately Tony had already clocked him and something in his expression made Peter think he could read minds; he looked almost as tense as Peter as he reached across to open the passenger side door from the inside.

Peter forced himself towards the car, tugging at the ends of his sleeves as he did so in a desperate attempt to hide the old, greying bandage on his wrist. ‘Hey, Mr Stark,’ Peter greeted in what he hoped was a jolly and not at all forced tone.

Tony’s only response was a tight smile before he was starting the car and pulling out into the flow of traffic.

‘Do you prefer KFC or Dunkin’?’ Tony asked out of the blue as they stopped at traffic lights.

‘What?’

‘Do you –’

‘No,’ Peter cut Tony off, ‘I heard you. But that seems like a bit of an odd question to ask.’ When the lights turned green and Tony turned in the opposite direction to the compound, Peter suddenly realised that he may well have just walked straight into a trap. ‘Why – we’re heading away from the compound.’ He stated, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

‘We’re going out for breakfast.’

Peter was sure this was a trap now – something Tony had come up with specifically to talk about what happened yesterday, and he was desperate to find a way out of confronting his demons. ‘I’ve already eaten.’

For a minute, the only response Tony gave was a sceptical hum, and Peter desperately hoped that maybe they could leave the conversation at that and just head straight to the lab. ‘Your metabolism has probably burnt through most of what you ate already,’ Tony said, voice low and firm. And he was right. Peter knew that had he eaten, he would already be getting hungry again, but that’s not to say that he’s about to let Tony win so easily.

‘I’ve still got to finish the web shooters, Mr Stark. And I – I have a lot of homework – never did finish that chem from yesterday.’

Tony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘kid, you’re killin’ me. Relax. Have a little fun. Your homework will still be waiting for you when we get to HQ later.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ Peter muttered under his breath. He had hoped that he’d spoken quietly enough that his mentor wouldn’t hear, but the sound of Tony shifting in his seat told him otherwise.

‘Pete?’ Tony murmured, and despite the fact that he had his back to Mr Stark, and was staring resolutely out the window, Peter could hear the frown in the mechanic’s voice. It did nothing to make him feel better about the situation.

‘I just don’t like knowing that I haven’t finished it yet.’ He knew it sounded lame. It was a poor excuse at best – especially when he spent so much time avoiding doing his homework – but right now, he’d rather have a hundred chemistry tests than a heart to heart with Iron Man.

‘Listen, I’ll help you with school work later, but for now, KFC or Dunkin’?’

‘KFC,’ Peter conceded quietly, ‘I’m really craving fries.’ He pretended not to notice Tony’s relieved sigh.

It took another few minutes of driving before Tony piped up again, and were Peter a betting man, he would have put money on his mentor waiting until they were driving fast enough that Peter couldn’t attempt to get out of the car to avoid talking. ‘Look, Pete, I’m really sorry about how we left things yesterday, I should never have brought up Liz and –’

‘Please don’t bring her up now,’ Peter cut him off, dragging his nails roughly along his thigh in a desperate attempt to keep the memories at bay.

‘Noted.’ Tony said, obviously a little defeated. ‘But just know that I’m sorry, kid.’

It was odd, Peter thought, he’d assumed that something would have changed in the relationship between himself and Tony now that most things were out in the open, but nothing seemed different. He dragged his gaze away from the window to study his mentor’s face. There was definitely tension in his features, but that could be caused by any number of things – after all, Peter had been more than aware from the beginning of his internship that Tony had to deal with his own issues, most of which were talked about shamelessly in trashy gossip magazines. ‘Mr Stark?’

Tony hummed.

‘Are you okay?’ Peter asked. He hadn’t really considered yesterday that their conversation was probably just as hard on Tony as it was on him. It was no secret that he meant a lot to his mentor, and he had already seen how hard it had been for May to watch him deal with a mental illness and be helpless to fix it

‘Yeah,’ Tony replied, his frown deepening and a tight smile pulling at his lips, ‘of course. Are you okay?’

‘I –’ Peter began. He was still not entirely sure whether he should be lying and saying he’s fine, or being completely honest so that Tony can see just how truly fucked up he is. In the end, he settled for an even middle ground. ‘I’ve been better.’

‘You don’t –’ Tony sighed and spent a long time driving in silence before he began his question again. ‘You don’t regret coming out to me though, right?’

‘What?’

‘I mean with the whole Liz thing –’

‘We’re not talking about that.’ Peter implored.

‘Right. But you left pretty sharpish yesterday. I never want you to feel like you can’t tell me anything.’ For once, it was Tony who was dragging his hand through his hair in some kind of nervous tick instead of Peter.

‘I don’t regret it, Mr Stark.’

‘Good,’ Tony sighed in relief as he pulled in to the drive through.

Once they had ordered (fries and a milk shake each), Tony drove them to an empty parking lot near the edge of the city. Peter was highly aware of the fact that his mentor definitely went to the furthest away KFC for a reason, and their current secluded location was probably the product of a well-planned coincidence. Despite this, however, he refused to let anything get in the way of him enjoying his meal (even if that meant he had to force himself not to count the calories in every bite he took).

Tony was mid-way through a story about his college days with Colonel Rhodes before Peter lost his battle with his appetite, something that he was a little proud of – this was the most he’d eaten in one sitting for at least five weeks.

‘– so Rhodey and I had snuck in and were about to –’ Tony cut himself off as Peter reached to place his empty milkshake cup on the dash board, and Peter was almost relieved – he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to hear about his childhood hero’s wild college adventures – the dad/super hero thing he’s got going on these days was much more Peter’s style. ‘What’s that under your sleeve, Pete?’

Peter pulled his hand back to his chest so quickly that he knocked his cup over (thank god that’s empty, he thought vaguely). Before he had even finished apologising to Mr Stark for almost spilling milkshake everywhere, he already knew that his violent reaction would be his downfall.

‘For the thousandth time, Parker, the cup was empty. It didn’t spill. And even if it did, I have enough money to get the car cleaned. That’s not what’s important right now. Was that a bandage on your arm?’

‘Uh, no…’ Peter ventured uncertainly, desperately searching for an explanation that would cover his tracks.

Tony narrowed his eyes, shifting his body in his seat so that the full force of his sceptical glare could be appreciated. ‘Peter Benjamin Parker, you didn’t go out on patrol last night did you?’

‘No.’ And for once, Peter wished he was lying.

‘Then what happened to your arm?’

‘Sprained it.’

‘Doing what?’

‘Uh,’ Peter could tell that Tony was unconvinced by his weak excuse, but the lie seemed so much easier to continue with than attempting to tell the truth. In his head, he could almost picture his best friends’ responses; MJ would say something like masturbating, her features mastered into a mask of stony calm, before she cracked up into folds of laughter at Tony’s inevitable awkwardness. Ned, on the other hand, would probably say something along the lines of you know that fight scene between Steve and Johnathan in Stranger Things? That was me and this robber last night! But Peter can come up with nothing.

‘Pete,’ Tony sighed, reaching his hand across the central console painfully slowly, keeping his eyes on the kid’s face in an attempt to gauge his reaction at being touched. ‘Let me see.’

Tony’s fingers locked carefully around Peter’s hand in what felt like slow motion. Neither of them seemed brave enough to talk; to Peter, it almost felt like a spell had fallen over the car. Somehow, despite the fact that another one of Peter’s darkest secrets was about to be revealed, Tony’s gentleness almost made him feel like things could be okay. Maybe. ‘I don’t see how you could have hurt yourself badly enough to need a bandage, Pete. Happy made sure you got home safe alright yesterday, and I had your suit so,’ Tony paused and began to peel back Peter’s sleeve and unwind the bandage. ‘Unless some disaster befell you in your apartment last night, I’m at a loss as to how you –’

At the sight of the first raised line on Peter’s wrist, the other shoe dropped for Tony, leaving him reeling at the knowledge that his feeling had been right all along: everything he thought he knew about his kid was gone.

Peter was familiar with this feeling of being discovered; given the amount of badly kept secrets he seemed to have these days, it shouldn’t have been surprising to him that he knew the shape of every sharp edge and warn corner of this odd grief that seemed to take over as soon as his secret was no longer his alone to carry.

Unaware of Peter’s silent mourning for the loss of his privacy, Tony continued to unravel the bandage until all nine new cuts could be seen. They had all scabbed over almost completely now, but Tony was more than aware that Peter’s healing factor should have turned shallow cuts into scars by now. That knowledge, paired with the stomach turning amount of blood that soaked the gauze below the lumpy grey bandage told Tony that the cuts would have certainly needed stitches had it not been for Peter’s powers. Even so, he thinks, if it were up to me, I still would have given him stitches. Tony pushed the sleeve up more, revealing the beginnings of rows upon rows of scars. He cleared his throat awkwardly, willing himself not to weep for the jolly boy whom he seemed to have lost without even noticing. ‘You’re fucking lucky your body can heal so quick buddy,’ he scalded.

Peter nodded, keeping his eyes focused on the half eaten bag of fries in his lap. Were he talking to anyone else, he would have been more than a little offended that instead of words of comfort, his mentor had offered reproach, but Peter knew Tony well enough to understand that this was as close to affection as he could give right now. The use of buddy reminded Peter very clearly of the first time Tony had directed it at him – I love you, buddy, he had said as Peter had re-enacted what had happened between Flash and MJ in the cafeteria that day, and sure, his voice was laced with humour, but the statement still rang true. Ever since then, Tony seemed to use buddy as a coded way of saying I care about you, and it was no different today. ‘I’m sorry Mr Stark.’

‘No. You don’t have to apologise for this. If anything, I’m sorry of not helping you sooner.’

Peter shook his head, his eyes wide with shock. ‘You couldn’t have done anything, I – I wanted it to be a secret.’

‘How long has this been going on?’

‘Most recently, it’s been about a year.’

Tony let out a long breath, attempting to steady his heartrate. ‘Most recently?’ He prompted.

‘Yeah, I – the reason May took me to therapy in the first place was because she saw some scars. I stopped for a while until – until Ben – when he – but anyway, since then, it’s been about a year.’

‘Listen kiddo, I don’t want you doing this. Next time, you speak to me straight away, okay? I don’t care what time it is, I’ll be there – you just say the word.’ Tony took a shaky sip of milkshake.

Peter nodded, keeping his eyes trained on the carpark out the windscreen so that he didn’t have to see his mentor’s face. ‘Please don’t tell Aunt May,’ he whispered.

‘I’m really not sure about that, Pete,’ Tony sighed, thinking back to when he and Rhodey’d had a similar discussion about his own drug use back in college. ‘I’ll tell you what, I won’t tell May as long as we talk regularly about how you’re feeling and what’s going on with you. Sound like a plan?’

Peter hesitated. He hated talking about how he felt, especially when it made him feel so much weaker than the other avengers. Tony had enough problems without having to deal with a scared teenager, after all. ‘Fine.’ He conceded, ‘but for today, please can we just work in the lab like we used to?’

‘Yeah, we can do that, buddy.’ Tony let out a relieved breath, glancing over at his kid and finally getting eye contact back. He was more than happy to pretend things were back to normal just for one day, and something about Peter’s body language made Tony suspect that a weight was already beginning to lift from the boy now that his secrets were all known by someone.

Certainly, they both knew that this was by no means a quick fix, but at least they now had a chance to make things easier for Peter; even if Peter never got rid of his depression, Tony could at least help him find constructive ways to cope.