A/N: hey guys, first I'd like to say thank you for all of the sweet comments and support regarding my last chapter, it really helped a lot. I'm thinking of taking a break sort to say, but I feel that I won't be able to unless I get these few oneshots that's been sitting in my drafts out of my system asap. And the break wouldn't be very long, but I kinda felt good not having to worry about a whole number of things. I've been feeling overwhelmed lately, and I feel that once I can create a more organized take on quarantine life then I can be back to normal. In the meantime, I've been working a lot more on a novel that I aspire to actually publish one day....and trigger warning for this fic...cutting. y'all remember my last rant/vent? Not the one from a few days ago, but the one a few months ago. This came as a result of it...writing this made me cry over and over again so just a heads up. If this doesn't make you guys cry, then idk what will but I still won't give up because I love a good challenge. Okay I'll stop talking or writing, communicating?

Peter Stark was sitting at his desk, brow furrowed and pencil in hand as he contemplated the question in front of him. The question didn’t make a wink of sense despite it being geometry, the boy was stumped. He had been sitting there for at least fifteen minutes, and the frustration was starting  to make his head hurt. He picked up his laptop and headed to the living room in the hopes that his dad could help him out. 

His eyes were still glued to his laptop screen as he called out, “Hey dad, can you help me out with this question? I’ve been stuck on it for like ten minutes.” The lack of a response provoked Peter to lift his gaze, and when he did, he froze. 

He didn’t remember anyone from telling him that Secretary Ross, the one who presented the Sokovian Accords was going to be having a meeting with his dad. Peter stammered from the surprise, “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know we were expecting someone. My bad.” 

Tony swiped Ross’s hologram away before turning around to furiously look at Peter. Peter had never seen his father so angry as he spoke in a tone laced heavily with annoyance, “Gosh, Peter you’re so annoying! Couldn’t you have telled that I was in the middle of something important?”

Unused to being addressed in the vicious tone his father had used or expected what his father just said, Peter shook his head, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know, FRIDAY didn’t say anything.” He spoke rather lamely, “I, um, just needed help with this math problem.” 

Tony bit his lip, glancing sideways before addressing tightly, “Peter, I swear! It’s a whole fucking wonder I’ve ever been able to put up with you! You need help with a problem? I’m sorry you’re too dumb to do a single fucking problem! Can you not do anything by yourself? Or are you too fucked up to do just that?”

Peter swallowed, thickly as he dipped his head down to fight back the tears that threatened to pool his eyes. He had never seen his father so angry, and the fact that it was father being angry at him, his best friend, made him feel like sobbing. His father never cursed at him, let alone insulted him. The teenager didn’t know why he had upset his father so much, but thought twice before opening his mouth. 

Tony continued, voice increasing volume per the second, “I’m sorry you can’t grow up and be a functional human being, or is that another one of your problems that I have to deal with? Don’t you ever fucking realize that you’re always bothering other people? You’re so fucking needy and annoying, don’t you ever fucking get it? Do you know how messed up you are?”

Peter couldn’t control the tears that spilled down his face. His gaze was glued to the floor as pink crept his cheeks, “No. I’m sorry.” Peter didn’t know why his dad was so angry at him but he wished he’d just stop yelling at him. He didn’t mean to always be a bother his dad as he was claiming. Humiliation burned in his cheeks as his father only continued. 

Tony furiously ran his hand through his hair despite Peter’s cries as he sneered, “You’re so fucking problematic, every little thing, oh, that triggers my anxiety, that does this, complete bullshit. Oh dad, I’m sad. Well guess what Peter, I’m sad all the fucking time, so get over it. You have all these problems, grow the fucking hell up.”

Peter didn’t know what to say except for choke back the sobs that threatened to tear from his throat. He whispered quietly as he began to feel scared and small, “Dad, I’m sorry, please stop. I didn’t mean to bother you, I’m sorry I won’t do it again. Please,” he sniffled as tears spilled uncontrollably down his cheeks, “You’re scaring me. ”

Tony roared even louder, “Peter, don’t you get it? You can never do things for youself, and that is why you’re going to die alone, and I’m the one whose still going to have to deal with all your shitty issues because I didn’t wear a fucking condom! God, how I hate you? You do nothing but whine and complain, and I’m sick of you and your goddamn bullshit!”

Peter was trembling as he dug his fingernails into his skin so hard that he drew blood. He dipped his head down as he sniffled, trying not to break down in front of his father despite all the awful, horrible things he was saying. He felt himself become angry and hurt at the very possible idea that maybe his dad never loved him anyways. If he could go back in time, he never would have asked for help. But if he didn’t, would he still know this truth? Peter knew for a fact that what his father was angrily spewing at him was true, because Tony never lied to him. 

Tony never lied to him about the things that were happening, or how he was feeling, or just things in general. And there was no way his dad, who Peter thought was his constant number one supporter would lie about all these things, which meant that every hug, kiss, and “I love you so much Pete, don’t you ever forget it” was a lie. 

Tony still wasn’t finished as he screamed, “I hate you so fucking much Peter, you just can’t leave the person alone! Not everything is about you!” Without realizing, the father grabbed Peter’s laptop, the one that he got Peter for his thirteenth birthday and slammed it on the ground, breaking it into hundreds of itty bitty pieces, and Peter’s heart followed suite. 

Peter sucked in a harsh breath as anxiety and panic coursed through his veins, seizing a hold on him. He wanted to run and cry, but at the same time all he wanted was his dad to hold him, but knew that wouldn’t happen anymore. He felt like the shittest person in the entire universe.

Still not realizing what he had just done, Tony spoke bitterly, “This is why you won’t ever be a fucking good hero, let alone an Avenger, cause you’re so worthless. You think you’re so good as Spiderman, but you’re irresponsible and undeserving of that power and responsibility!”

Peter couldn’t hold back the cries anymore and was openly sobbing. 

Tony exaggerated a groan and Peter felt like his heart was getting stabbed over and over again, “And you’re crying, oh of course you are. That’s all you do! Anxiety, cry. You always fucking cry over the simplest shit, for fuck’s sake can’t you act your age?! You’re always seeking comfort and you know what, I’m sick of your bullshit Peter! I hate you! I wish I never had a son as pathetic as you! Gosh, you’re so messed up! And because of you,” he stepped closer to Peter so he was mere centimeters from Peter’s face hissing, “I never get to live a life all because of you, you stupid brat!” 

Peter looked away, unable to take anymore of what his dad had to say. He felt sick and dizzy, and he most definitely didn’t want to pass out in front of his dad. Not that Tony would care much anyways, Peter thought sadly.  

Just as the last word echoed out of Tony’s mouth, the man froze and put a hand over his mouth. He was still processing what he had said to who, “Peter, I…”

Peter said nothing as he shook his head while walking away despite Tony’s weak protests. He sniffed as gently shut his bedroom door closed while his legs wobbled, and the next thing the teenager knew he tripped over something and was now leaning against the frame of his door and sobbing. He asked FRIDAY to soundproof his room, not wanting to anger his father anymore. If Tony still wanted to be his. 

Peter was beyond being angry and sad. He was furious and felt betrayed too. He couldn’t help but feel disappointed in himself and his father because he thought that his dad loved him, but his dad had lied to him for what Peter assumed to be his entire life. Peter began to wonder how many lies Tony had said just to get him to shut up and leave him alone. Didn’t matter now, the damage was already done and Peter felt like the most insignificant, shittiest person in the galaxy. 

He was angry to bother continuing with his homework, not that he could’ve even if he wanted to. His vision began to blur and his chest hurt as he hiccuped, “I hate me!” Peter kept on crying as he buried his head against his knees and hugged himself as he yelled to no one, “I hate me! I hate everything!” He hiccuped waterily as the waterworks refused to falter, “God, I just want to die!”

He melted as he smacked his face with his hands, wishing that someone would just end his sorry excuse of a life already. What did he have left if the one person who truly mattered didn’t want any part of his?

Peter sniffled while speaking waterily and brokenly, “I’m so pathetic.” Flash was right, hell everyone was right. Peter was nothing but a pathetic, bad person. All he wanted was help with a problem, he didn’t know that was so needy and selfish but whatever. The Stark didn’t have the heart to care. 

And the fact that Tony, out of all people, went for everything that made Peter feel self-conscious and vulnerable stung three thousand times worse. The same man who he thought was his best friend and could tell anything without having to worry about being judged or ridiculed was the person who sent his world spiralling into a crash. Only this time, Peter thought as he rubbed his eyes that refused to stop leaking, he didn’t think he could recover. 

He can’t stop the crying, and Tony’s voice played in his head again about how he can’t stop crying. The same man who told him that crying actually helped the body, something about removing toxins from the brain. The very same person who encouraged him to vent and rant, promising to make him feel better and more often than not it did. 

Peter continued sobbing, all the way to the point of exhaustion but he’s far too angry to sleep. He felt the urge to cut himself up into itty bitty black pieces, hoping that he could just die and leave everyone else alone. 

Peter bit down on his quivering lip as another fresh round of cries picked up again. He felt so vulnerable and helpless, God, all these emotions were drowning him and he can’t reach the oxygen. So he gave in to the suffocation. 

His dad doesn’t love him. His dad never did. His dad. His father. Tony. Dads were supposed to love and care for their kids, not say that they wished their children were never created in the first place. His dad was always there for him, and now seeing that all of it was a lie, it hurt all over him. Especially his heart. So much. He felt so disgusted and hateful toward himself, wanting nothing more than to peel his head off or jump off his balcony and just crash. 

Peter stood up slowly, a horrid idea unfolding in his mind. The teenager was too numb and hurt  to stop himself as he reached for the blade that Natasha had gifted him for self defense a few years ago and held it to his wrists. It only made the boy  feel worse, but it was intoxicating and before Peter could realize, he had cut up his wrists entirely as he continued to sob. He kept on cutting and cutting because there was so much pain and tears that he just wanted to stop but his fucking anxiety churned and he can’t fucking breathe because God, there’s too many fucking feelings. 

He wasn’t sure how long he was laying on the floor, bleeding and crying when he heard a faint knock on his door.  

His father sounded like he was crying, and for the first time ever, a deep dark part in Peter didn’t care. Tony thought he was selfish, fine! He could be selfish. Tony spoke quietly, probably from the ashament that Peter heard what he had to say, Peter thought bitterly. 

Peter didn’t know what came over him as he hoarsely yelled just like his father had no problem doing, “Go away!” The teenager didn’t care how how loud or hurt he sounded, he was entitled to his own anger. Just like Tony was. 

Tony spoke as lamely as Peter felt, “Peter, I am so, so sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean, hell I didn’t realize that I was saying those awful things, and…”

His words trailed away as Peter opened the door, revealing red-rimmed, puffy eyes, sunken, tear-stained cheeks. Pain and betrayal were well evident in Peter’s eyes, to the point where he looked completely wrecked. It took Tony a few minutes for him to realize that all of this was because of him. All the father wanted to do was hold Peter in his arms and promise him that everything he had just said was a lie. He just wanted to hold his baby again. 

God, Tony wanted to take it all back. He didn’t know where those awful, terrible words came from, and he was dearly, terribly sorry. The worst part was that what he said was unforgivable, and pure evil. He had become the very thing he swore he’d never do. The thing that kept him up at nights while he thought about Peter, the most precious and blessed thing in his life. Howard was bad, he was cold and caluclating and he went out of his way to make sure he took as little part in Tony’s life as possible. A time ago he wanted Howard dead, and now Peter would probably too. 

Peter’s voice was raw as he accused through another wave of fresh tears, “You were the one person, who was never supposed to make me feel like this.” The Stark was beyond enraged, yelling through his tears, “The one person who promised to love me forever, turns out doesn’t.” He laughed hollowly, a sound that would never escape Tony’s mind, “And never did anyways.” He sniffed, looking at Tony directly in the eyes, “Why couldn’t you love me?”

Tony opened his mouth to speak, his own eyes watering as he realized just how much his unintentioned words hurt his son,the best thing in his life, “Peter-” 

Peter shook his head, hiding the red lines that decorated his wrists. “No! You don’t get to say that you’re sorry or that you love me! You lied to me,” he sniffled heartbrokenly. “All those cuddles, movie nights, I love yous, apparently meant nothing to you! You can be angry and say such mean things, well I can be angry too!” He looked dead in Tony’s eyes as he finished, “I hate you! I’m going to bed, you don’t need to worry about me ever again! I’ll take the bus to school tomorrow, don’t bother showing up or sending Happy!” He slammed his bedroom door shut before collapsing to the floor as he sobbed throughout the rest of the night into morning, not getting a single wink of sleep. 

A/N: I'm sorry? I know you guys want part twos when I leave angsty endings, especially for something like this, but this one I want to leave open to interpretation. I also don't feel that I can write a good enough part two that would express something meaningful but what would happen next if you're interested is that Peter closes himself off from Tony completely, going to school and coming home without him or happy, refusing to take happy, locking himself in his room because he can't trust Tony anymore. Cause like words are damaging. They're little blades of their own, small but sharp when penetrating that relive over and over in the head. Don't forget to vote n comment .