#but then like. there's the AI rat penis so. anyways)

[universalsatan]

Hey bestie, no need to answer this, but I saw u reblogged something from roach - works, and I just wanna let u know that she's a major terf

oh!!! thank you for this fr. i'm answering this bc i just wanna say that i don't have shinigami eyes and i'm on mobile most of the time, so these pointers are much appreciated <33

[tempestaurora]

WHUMPVEMBER #24: DROWNING

alright this is the Suicide Attempt fic that no one needs or wanted lmao. pls don’t read if this will be triggering for you. also, for those who are reading, i’m not massively proud of this one, but i really couldn’t think of anything else to write. AO3

Tony had been having a particularly good night when he checked Peter’s vitals. He did this occasionally. Peter patrolled like clockwork, four nights a week, and Tony took to checking on the suit once or twice on those nights, just in case he got himself in some trouble and didn’t want to call for help.

They weren’t particularly close, anyway. Tony and Peter kept a distant relationship, like Tony kept with most of the people in his life, and they spoke largely through Happy and the occasional bring the suit by the compound after school so I can fix it texts.

Pepper was curled up on the sofa, Tony’s feet in her lap as some movie he’d stopped watching a while ago played in the background. The compound was as quiet as always, now half the Avengers were gone, and while Tony scrolled through his phone, Pepper typed at her laptop. It was quiet and it was nice – honestly, one of the better nights they’d had recently. There was wine, the lights were low, and at some point Pepper would probably say she was going to bed and then inform him that he was coming with her.

A good night.

But Tony frowned as he logged into the Baby Monitor app he’d made to connect to the Spiderman suit. Peter’s heartrate was off the charts and he’d been sitting in the same spot on the Brooklyn Bridge for almost an hour.

It was almost midnight. The kid’s curfew was at twelve – he wouldn’t be making it back in time if he sat there much longer. Tony scrolled through the protocols and information transmitting from the suit; they listed out one after another. The heater was off. Enhanced Combat Mode was off. Karen – the name Peter insisted on calling his AI – was muted.

Why would he mute his AI?

Tony blew out a breath and elected to call him. This wasn’t exactly unheard of – occasionally Tony would watch Peter’s vitals as he bled out from a stab wound and call the kid, seeing as the kid was insisting on not calling Tony.

Pepper only glanced briefly out of the corner of her eye as he lifted the phone to his ear. He blinked when Peter didn’t pick up.

He hummed and called again. It rang all the way through and timed out. Hey, this is Peter’s phone, please don’t leave a message, just text me. Tony hung up.

“Damn kid,” he muttered, tapping at his phone screen. He wasn’t going to text the kid, no – instead, he tapped along the Baby Monitor app until he was brought to another screen.

“Is he alright?” Pepper asked.

“No idea. Not picking up. I’m gonna force it through.”

This time, Peter wasn’t given the option to decline the call. Rather, it rang twice, as a warning, and then Tony could hear wind and traffic and heavy breathing.

“Hey, Parker,” Tony greeted, mild. “Thanks for picking up at last.” There was a grumble that he couldn’t make out. “Say again?”

“Nothing, Mr Stark,” Peter sighed. “What’s up?”

“I’m just calling because your heartrate is crazy high right now,” Tony said, “and you’ve been sitting on the bridge for an hour. What gives? Are you injured?”

“What? No, no. I’m fine, Mr Stark. Really. I’m just--enjoying the view.”

“Sure,” Tony said, though he didn’t believe it. Peter’s voice held an edge that he wasn’t familiar with. “Enjoying the view. You okay, Peter?”

There was a moment where Peter didn’t speak, a lorry roaring past. “I’m fine, Mr Stark.” Tony hated that he recognised the lie when he heard it. He knew it because he’d sounded the same way before. He’d said the same, defeated I’m fine that Peter was saying, and he knew it meant the opposite. He knew it was a badly concealed cry for help.

Tony didn’t know how to handle this, though. Out of everyone he knew, Tony was the one with issues; Tony was the one barely holding it together. Rhodey and Pepper were the strongest, most collected people he knew, and Happy always had an underlying frustration, but he was never anything but put together.

What Tony knew, however, was that when he was feeling shit, he needed people. They weren’t close, but Tony was still a person with a beating heart, and maybe that would be enough.

“How’s your Aunt?” he asked, sitting up. Pepper looked up just before he pressed a kiss to her temple, covering the receiver with his hand and whispering, “I’m gonna check on him.” She frowned but nodded.

“Good luck,” she replied, as Peter spoke in his ear.

“Uh – she’s alright, I think. Fine, sure. She’s at work right now.”

“She’s a nurse, right?” Tony asked, heading through the living room and towards the balcony.

“Yeah. She’s working like, every day, all the time.”

“When do you see her?”

Peter paused. “Sometimes I see her before school. She takes double shifts and all the overtime she can, though.” He hesitated and Tony waited, slipping out the door and calling his suit to him. “I don’t think I’ve seen her in three days.”

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Three? Really?” He’d gotten the impression they were close. From his research, Peter and May were the last Parkers left standing. The other three had bitten the dust in unfortunate, and no doubt traumatic, manners.

“She was still asleep when I went to school this morning and she was at work when I got back,” Peter said. His voice sounded dull, inside and out, like he was used to this. Like this was just how it went for him.

The pieces of Tony’s suit snapped around him and he caught the faceplate, slipping it on. Tony transferred the call, ditching his phone on the balcony and shooting off into the sky. FRIDAY set a course for Peter and Tony upped the speed.

“And school? How is it? Last time I checked you were top of your class.”

“You checked?” Peter asked. “When was that?”

“Before Germany,” Tony replied, mild. “About the same time I was finding out your home address.”

“Oh. Well. I’m doing okay. I keep missing Decathlon practice – not, not on purpose, but last week there was that weird, giant rat that I had to deal with, so I missed it. And I was an hour late the week before because I got detention-”

“You got detention?” The kid, as far as Tony was aware, was as much of a goody two shoes as you could get.

Peter sighed. “It was a misunderstanding with some late homework. I did it, but my backpack got stolen when I was out Spidermanning so I couldn’t hand it in. So, detention. Late for practice... MJ’s running out of patience for me, I think. She said if I miss this week I’m off the team.”

While they spoke, Tony’s brain was running through the possible circumstances. Reasons why Peter would keep talking when he sounded so down – Tony knew he was a talker, but his rambling was always happy. This sounded like unloading. Like he’d been wanting to talk about a whole lot of things and he’d had no one to say it to. Tony guessed it was May who’d get these conversations, but May was at work 24/7 and Peter had no one to talk to.

Then there was the bridge. Tony didn’t like that they were having this conversation as Peter sat there. He didn’t like the connotations of it.

“When’s the next practice?” Tony asked.

“Tomorrow. Every Thursday after school.” Peter didn’t tend to patrol on Thursdays and maybe that was why. Last week’s giant rat incident had been both unlikely and unfortunate.

“You enjoy Decathlon, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s fun. But you only stay on Decathlon if you turn up and if your grades are high enough, and…” Peter huffed. The wind picked up in Tony’s ear as the city appeared ahead of him. “I don’t know. I’m trying but it’s just – it’s difficult. I can’t keep my mind in the right place, you know? And there’s- it’s-”

Tony thought he heard Peter sniff and he frowned.

“Hey,” he said, trying to make his voice sound soft. “It’s alright, Peter. It’s gonna be okay. How’s your friend? The- the one that hacked the suit. Ted?”

“Ned.”

“Yeah. How’s he?”

“He’s okay. He’s- he’s fine. He’s not around much right now – he’s in like three times the amount of clubs I am, and he’s getting extra classes for extra credit- I’d do it too but they’re on patrol days, and I’d prefer to be out here, you know?”

“Yeah, kid. You’re doing great as Spiderman.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. You help a lot of people.”

Peter was quiet and Tony tried rerouting more power to the thrusters. He just had a bad feeling in his gut, sinking further and further. There was this ache in the way Peter was speaking. He hadn’t said a positive thing since Tony called him – Peter was always excited about something – and he hadn’t even picked up the first few times. Tony was pretty sure the shiny appeal of Tony Stark hadn’t worn off yet – not picking up the phone was a big deal.

“I prefer Spiderman over Peter Parker,” Peter said, and Tony hated to be right for the first time in his life.

“I don’t,” Tony replied.

“Sure you do. You wouldn’t know me if it weren’t for Spiderman. We don’t talk unless it’s about Spiderman. Spiderman’s the only reason you have an interest in my existence, Mr Stark. I’m not- I’m not judging or anything, but it’s true. And Ned – he loves the fact that I’m Spiderman, but it’s all we talk about. It’s all he wants to talk about, and I’m just- I’m better as him. I am. Penis Parker gets shoved into lockers and beaten up behind the sport’s block. Spiderman actually does something.”

“Peter does a lot, too,” Tony said, but Peter wasn’t stopping.

“There’s just no point, you know? There’s no point in this. If I could be Spiderman all the time, I would. But that’s – that’s not how this goes, and I don’t want to be Peter, anymore, you know? It sucks, Mr Stark. It sucks because I’m stuck being someone I hate.”

“Peter.”

The bridge was still too far off. It was still a good minute away.

“I shouldn’t be bothering you with this,” Peter said. “You’re probably super busy – I’m- I’m sorry. I, uh, I tried disabling the parachute.” Tony’s heart crawled into his throat. He thought he would vomit it up into the suit. “Couldn’t do it without alerting you, so the whole leaping off a building thing wouldn’t work. I wasn’t sure if I’d do it, but I used up all my web fluid so I wouldn’t chicken out again.”

Again, again, again. How many times had the kid sat on the bridge in the last week? Tony hadn’t checked.

Peter was crying, now, and Tony hated the sound of it. There was a sixteen-year-old kid crying to Tony Stark on the phone and Tony couldn’t get there in time. Tony wasn’t sure he’d be able to save him.

“Kid, Peter. Don’t do this. You’re important, you mean something.”

“Thanks for all the help, Mr Stark. Really. It was cool, getting to be Spiderman. I don’t know if you’ll speak to her, but if you do, tell May I’m sorry. I left her a note, but I just- I don’t know. Tell her, is all.”

“Peter.”

Peter made a sound that was too similar to a sob. “I’m sorry.”

The line cut off.

“FRIDAY, all remaining power to the thrusters.”

“It’ll overload them – you’ll only have thirteen seconds before they go.”

“Just do it, FRI.”

The power shot him off through the sky, above the skyscrapers and towards the bridge. At six seconds, he searched frantically for Peter on the side of the bridge where he’d been. The tracker to Peter’s suit led to the water.

At eight seconds, he was plunging into the river, the faint lights of the Iron Man armour shining through the dark. Nine, ten. There was nothing, nothing – then a shape. A figure. A person.

Peter.

The red Spiderman suit looked muddy in the dark, and Tony grabbed onto it, pulling Peter into his arms.

Eleven, he was out of the water. Twelve, thirteen-

The thrusters sputtered out and they freefell towards the bank of the river.

Yelling, Tony grabbed Peter tight in his arms and span until the armour was beneath them, breaking the fall as they landed hard on the concrete bank. The suit scratched and scraped, squealing and sparking as the two of them ground to a stop.

Tony was took three deep, panicked breaths, then asked FRIDAY to open the suit.

Peter had rolled out of his arms somewhere during the landing and Tony scrambled to his feet, running the few metres to where Peter was slumped on the ground.

He yanked the mask off, Peter’s face pale and soaking wet.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

He hadn’t been under that long, right? Ten seconds, maybe. Twenty at a push. Tony shoved cheek close to Peter’s mouth, and when he couldn’t feel any warm puffs of air he went searching for a pulse he couldn’t locate. He never was good at that though, so he tried rolling him into the recovery position, and when nothing happening; when no water poured out of his mouth, he tried CPR.

“Come on, kid, come on,” Tony muttered.

The water that Peter choked up when he started breathing again looked yellow under the street lamps. Tony sat back as Peter coughed, then helped him when he moved to sit up.

“Jesus Christ, Peter, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Peter mumbled something, eyes shut, as his soaking head came to rest on Tony’s shoulder.

“It’s alright,” Tony whispered. “You’re okay. You’ll be okay. Things will be better tomorrow.”

Peter didn’t reply, just cried quietly into Tony’s shoulder – whether for the fact that he was alive, or wasn’t dead, or just because there was a deep kind of sadness that was surrounding him, Tony wasn’t sure. But Peter was alive, and there was a chance for things to get better.

Tony would do anything to make things better.

He didn’t know Peter, not really. He knew the facts and figures about the kid. Knew his grades, his resting heartbeat, the amount of times a week he patrolled in a vigilante get-up. But he didn’t know Peter. Didn’t know him as a person, and so didn’t know what the signs would look like when Peter fell into a depressive episode he couldn’t climb out of; didn’t know that Peter wasn’t the kind of person to ask for help; didn’t know the deep-seated feeling of being a burden that weighed on Peter Parker’s shoulders every goddamn day.

But he would.

He would know because Tony would make sure of it. Tony would keep Peter alive long enough to know it all, long enough to learn everything about him and how to help him on the days he didn’t feel like breathing.

And somewhere along the line, Peter would know him, too.

But that night, beside the river Peter had tried to drown himself in, Tony held the sopping wet kid in his arms as he called for a car to take them home. He took Peter to the compound, to a doctor on site, and made a call to May, who sat somewhere in a storage cupboard in a hospital in Queens and cried.

That night, he did what he could. He made hot chocolate, found dry clothes for Peter and let him say as much or as little as he needed to. And when Peter finally fell asleep at three AM on the sofa, Tony carried him the bedroom closest to his own and then went to bed, himself, Pepper asleep by his side, as he read every article and essay on depression, on the feelings that he’d felt himself and Peter was currently, heartbreakingly, feeling, until he had an action plan on how to help.

And the next day, Tony supposed, would be a better day.