It’s hard to wake up, fresh with vivid memories, some wanted while others aren’t. It’s hard to breathe with a stinging sensation that’s practically ingrained in his head. It’s hard to open his eyes to a world that’s moving faster and faster. And Peter just can’t keep up. It’s just as hard to go to sleep because instead of hiding, all Peter Anthony Stark can do is have the worst of his dreams, nightmares, and memories roll out, shaking through his nose and brian as it slowly kills him from the inside out. 

The worst part is, Peter doesn’t even know why he’s like this. He’s constantly apologizing for mistakes because he forgot or he’s human and allowed to make mistakes without people harassing him. Or, he didn’t know that he did something wrong and now everyone is yelling at him like he’s a force of evil that needs its spark extracted. And then he cries. He can’t help being anxious or sensitive. Why must he always apologize for doing so?

Today is no different. He bolts awake, completely upright and shaking as cold sweat finds its way into his hair. Another nightmare. His father’s body is clad in his armor and Infinity Stones that clash with blood, dust, soot, and grime. The boy is alone in his father’s bed but then remembers that his dad is indeed alive, and on a mission with Cap, Cap, Falcon, and the ex-Winter Soldier. His thoughts briefly communicate for a little while more before they steel off, forcing Peter to interact with his conscience. He misses his dad so much, and as he wipes his face he can’t help but wonder if the man will make it home. 

Suddenly, Peter feels tired even though he just woke up. He buries his face against the cold smoothness of his hands. He exhaled as his eyes fluttered shut. Peter wants to cry even though he has no reason to. Either way, no tears come out. How broken do you have to be so sad and exhausted and yet no longer able to cry?

Perhaps, his sensitivity has derived his Nile River of tears, he thinks. Or maybe it’s too early to cry. But that shouldn’t matter, his body has been broken multiple times and his mind has been to hell just as many. There are times when he finds himself randomly crying, without any concept of time, or days where he stays in bed all day long. Perhaps he is indeed broken. 

His father, if he were here, would've held him close to his heart. He would’ve told Peter that his heart had only beated for him. It had almost become a routine, Peter would catch another sob as he asked if he was broken. Tony’s reply had always been the same, “Never, Starks are made of iron, and iron doesn’t break.  And neither will you. Besides, Iron Man wouldn’t allow it.” Then, he’d wrap his arms around Peter and whisper soft soothes until the boy would fall asleep. 

Only this time, it’s just him. He just asked FRIDAY how long until Tony would be back and the A.I answered in about an hour. Tony didn’t want to go on many missions after Thanos. He’s still an Avenger because it’s his heart’s calling and from what Captain Marvel said, there could be beings like or worse than Thanos. And the world needs saving, restorement from all the trauma brought along by Thanos. But Tony needs to take care of someone more important; his Peter. 

Peter misses his father, even more as his thoughts remind him why he needs to be taken care of. The first example is Peter’s least favorite. When everything had become too much and Peter couldn’t handle any of it. He was so tired. Tired of crying and feeling weak. Tired of pain and trauma-induced nightmares. Tired of confining himself to his bed unable to feel but at the same time completely, helplessly able to do so. He doesn’t even know why he feels this way, he just does. So he forced himself out of bed some days ago for the first time in weeks, wincing at how strange the feeling was to carry his own weight. He didn’t know what he needed, only the urge to walk wherever his staggering weight would take him. And when he stumbled into the bathroom, the first thing he could take in was his own reflection. Pale and ashy with eyes that barely flickered with life. He was deteriorating, he deduced in horror. So he pulled out a razor and cut his wrists open. 

Still sitting on the bed, Peter can’t help but feel again. He wants to be normal, accepted. He wants to feel like a person again. He decides to lie back down as he adds that he can’t. At least, not without help. 

He’s hurt no doubt. Physically, emotionally, mentally. So many people had tried to hurt him, and they all succeded. Wasn’t that pathetic?

The teenager has no appetite for anything, and as far as Peter can recall, he hasn’t had one in a long time. Tears finally begin to leak from the corners of his eyes, silently running down the broken child’s face. He thinks about the mess that his mind is and then wonders what would’ve happened if Tony hadn’t found him in the bathroom. 

His thoughts shift immediately, and Peter begins to wonder when this cycle will end. People hurt, themselves and each other all the time. It’s horrible and sickening all at once. He’s tired of it, he’s had more than his fair share. 

That’s what he said to Bruce who diagnosed him with depression. That was a sad word. Peter doesn’t like sad words.

Peter wants to sleep but he can’t. He’s too afraid of what more demons he must face in the darkness. The dark is scary, he thinks, because that is where the monsters and magic roam freely undetected and at full force. More tears spill. Peter’s exhausted and all he wants is his dad. 

His dad is his favorite person. The only person that could make him okay. His father never judged him when he was sad or anxious. His father always made Peter feel better, even if it was only a little bit. Tony is also the only good thing the boy has left. 

And then Tony finally comes. He’s in his armor underclothes and he almost falters when he sees his son silently crying under a heap of blankets. It pains the father in him to see someone so broken looking, but it shatters the remains of his heart because that someone is his son; his blood, legacy, and his best creation. Besides Tony’s inventions, Peter is the one thing he truly has left to love. Tony refuses to falter though, his son needs him. Life had always been harder on the Starks. One would even say that when great power was blessed, so was great, burdening responsibility. 

With great power comes great responsibility, and with responsibilities and power came struggles. Sometimes it’s loud and demanding, but it’s also quiet and undetectable, waiting to be broken. 

Tony plants a kiss on Peter’s forehead as he speaks while joining his son in bed, “Hey buddy, how are you feeling?”

“Lost”, Peter replies in a voice that’s as distant as he suggests, “like a planet out of orbit.”

Tony offers, “We can look for it. It might be hard but we can take it one step at a time. How’s that sound?” He strokes his calloused finger across Peter’s cold cheek, remembering a time when it used to feel as warm as the life that would shine in his son’s eyes. 

Peter doesn’t reply vocally, instead moves closer to his father, needing the loving touch like a high. It’s his drug for some stability for his mind that seems to fall numb when the man holds him. 

Tony speaks as he cards Peter’s hair, “We can try something else if we get too lost. Number?”

Peter just barely whispers, “Four.” That number is exclusive to nightmares. 

Tony softens, brushing away Peter’s hair from his face, “Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry I wasn’t there. Do you want to talk about it?” It’s hard, Tony knows, but struggles are inevitable to bring burdens. 

Peter forces himself to meet his father’s eyes as he replies, “You don’t have to be sorry.” It’s not a plea but a statement. A fact. He answers his father’s question without maintaining eye contact, “When you snapped.”

Tony softens again as his forehead creases in worry. Children shouldn’t have to watch their parents die. His survival was a miracle, a Wakandan one. 

There’s something else occupying his son’s mind, Tony notices. It’s easy for the father to ready his body, especially with the way Peter’s trying to get as close to him as possible. Tony can’t blame Peter’s anxiety. The father can only blame all the people that wormed their way into Peter’s life just to hurt him, call him things that aren’t true, and make Peter feel so sick that most days he can barely leave the bed. The aftermath still lives in his son’s being, it vibrates at its own frequency, punishing and ruining. Tony hates how Peter is marked in ways that are practically unforgettable. 

Tony wants to help his son in any way he can possible so he speaks kindly as he had all the days and nights before, “Bambino, honey, what’s on your mind?” 

Peter struggles to answer at first, eyes shining with confliction as water bubbles behind it. 

Tony consoles as he plays with Peter’s hair, mentally encouraging him on. “You can cry. It’s okay.” 

And then the waterworks combust. Peter’s sobbing into his father’s chest, “I can’t! I can’t do this anymore! I’m tired of trying! I’m tired of all the pain! I’m tired of all the hurt and nightmares! Tired of people hurting me!” He bawls, “It’s so hard!” 

Tony pulls Peter onto his lap, holding and rocking him as the boy’s sob increases. “I’m trying Dad, I really am. But it’s so hard! I just want to feel something good but I don’t know how to!” He rested his head against his father’s blue-lit arc reactor whispering brokenly as tears fall freely, “It’s just so hard. I can’t do this, I just can’t.” 

Peter leans into his father’s comforting hold, quiet except for the occasional sniffle. A soaked silence lingers between the father and son as they just hold each other. Maybe one day everything will be okay, the younger Stark thinks, but then again it might not. After all, he’s not. 

Tony presses a kiss to the top of Peter’s head. HIs baby is hurting so much and all Tony wants is for Peter to heal. But healing takes time. Lucky for them, they have plenty of it. 

Tony starts, “I know honey, I know. Muffin, I know you’re tired and hurting, and I wish I could do something to make it better. I really wish I could.” His thumb glazes over Peter’s temple, promise and love shining in the weariness of his eyes, “But, you know what? You’re doing so well. You know that?” 

The only reply out of Peter is a sniffle accompanied by a hiccup. 

Tony continues, nodding for emphasis, “It’s true. Trying is hard, I know, but you’re doing so well. You’re so brave and strong. You’re a fighter and together we’re gonna tough this out. I’m going to get you there no matter what, you hear me?”

Maybe there’s hope for me, Peter thinks as he inquires, “Really?” 

Tony nods with a reassuring smile as he wipes Peter’s tears with his thumb pads. His voice is soft yet promising as he continues, “Yeah. And no one is going to hurt you ever again. I won’t allow it. My baby only deserves the best in life. You can do this.” He traces the thin red scars on Peter’s wrists and gently brings them to his lips to kiss them. “I know you can. You’re so smart,” he praises, “so smart, kind, beautiful and so good. You’re my son and you can get through anything. I believe in you.”

Tony concluded as he lay back down, pulling Peter’s head right over his heart that only beat for him, “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to wake up one day and you’re not going to feel as much pain. It might not go away completely, but I promise you I will get you through each step of the way.” He kissed Peter’s cheek, “We’re in this together. I promise.”

A/N: welcome to my quarantine collection. This I wrote last week after a certain incident happened to vent. I hope you guys liked this fic. So basically, Tony doesn't die in endgame and Steve doesn't become old. As for Peter, the traumatic weight of everything in his life and more just makes him crash.

I remember you guys saying that my fics were making your quarantine a little easier (which made me so happy and soft to hear btw <3) so I got myself together and worked out some oneshots. Turned out I just needed to vent on paper and then convert to Google docs.