A/N: Hey my dudes!!!! I forgot to post last week, which was a total oopsies on my part, but I'm back at it yet again, giving all of my amazing readers the content I hope they've been waiting for. Sorry for the inconvenience but high school has been keeping me on my hands and knees trying to manage midterms, projects, tests, and regents, like big oof. As a way of my thank you, take these many oneshots I've managed to write. This one is one of my personal favorites but has some triggers for contemplation of suicide, cutting, and the blues. 

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Sometimes the thoughts are good, waves of nostalgic memories, funny jokes, or just warm, uplifting things that make his heart beat with pride, and the corners of his lips tug into a smile. Those thoughts linger in Peter's head, making him feel welcomed and loved. Cared for. That he was important, and that he actually mattered in people's lives.

But sometimes, the thoughts weren't so good. Dark voices would hiss in his ears about how pathetic he was, or how stupid he was. He always felt the pricking of water threaten to flood before spilling, and he hated it. He hated how easy those watery feelings came to him, they made him feel stupid and weak. Or when he got a grade that was lower when he was expected, his thoughts always made it a thousand times worse by making him feel dumber than he was, unworthy of the status as an intern at Stark Industries. He'd feel like a failure, and he hated feeling like a failure.

Or sometimes, the thoughts would be about no one liking him, because of his appearance, or just his personality. Those thoughts made him want to fold into a ball as he tugged on his sleeves, wishing he had a blade between fingers to let the blood he begun to hate spill.

Peter hated that watching his blood trickle brought him satisfaction. But Peter also hated the loneliness and stupid feelings he brought upon himself.

Like, when he forgot to clean up his room because he passed out from exhaustion after patrol, she snapped at him about how he couldn't do the one thing she asked him to do. It wasn't even meant to hurt him, and Peter could feel the tears about to roll. He quickly wiped his eyes, blaming it on some dust that made his skin itch.

Peter couldn't trust himself, or at least, he couldn't trust his own mind.

His mind was complicated, a puzzle that was overly intricate. Peter didn't want to solve it. Not because he didn't want to, he spent hours laying in bed trying to figure out what was so wrong with him, only to come up with nothing. Instead, it was the very fact that his brain shouldn't be this complicated.

He shouldn't feel like crying at a slight repremandment.

Little things seemed to bother him, like when his skin seemed oily and in need of a cleaning, it really bothered him to the point where he couldn't do little things until the annoying itch was gone.

He shouldn't feel that all the people around him really don't like him.

He should, however, be able to control the bad thoughts. But he can't. Once the first bad thoughts form, they spiral out of control and Peter can't help the suffering. It's like a war with himself.

So he cuts. And yes, Peter hates that the only way to make the pain go away is by hurting himself.

But who can he tell?

Certainly not May, she'd judge him, and the last thing Peter needs is for May to hate him for real.

And especially not Mister Stark, the man has better things to do than to worry about him. He's Iron Man for God's sake!

So he keeps quiet and lets the suffering continue.

It's not until one night during patrol, he swoops in to save a man from being mugged when the man chortles, "I don't need to be saved by some weak hero in spandex, go home kid. The world doesn't need you. You think you're helping people, but all you're doing is getting in the way."

Weak hero.

Pathetic hero.

The world doesn't need you.

The world, doesn't need you.

But all you're doing is getting in the way.

You think you're a hero? You're not!

Peter didn't go home that night. His bones felt hollow, and his face was weary. He didn't know the exact reason he didn't want to go home, but he just couldn't. He soundlessly swung away from the man, settling down on a skyscraper ledge, letting his legs dangle off the edge. It didn't bother him how close he was to falling to what he presumed to be death as he slipped his mask off his head, letting the brisk air flood his lungs.

Here, there was no one to judge him as his eyes pricked with tears that fell silently against cold, quivering skin as the next thing Peter knew, he was shaking from sobs. All the bad thoughts came flooding in at once, and Peter couldn't help the wash of sadness that coursed through his veins.

And just as he predicted, the thoughts expanded way beyond the boy's control, stretching more and more about how much of a failure he was, and why the hell was he too weak to ask for help.

He thickly swallowed, not wanting to be a burden on the people around him, it might provoke them to leave him.

Maybe if I fell it would be easier.

He froze, startled by the thought that he would commit sucidie. He didn't know where it came from, and the fact that his mind came up with it, scared him.

He felt panic itch through his veins as his vision blurred and his chest felt like it was floating. He felt his lungs seize as his bronchioles shriveled, crying for oxygen.

He was so consumed with his own thoughts, he missed the metallic sound of iron settling onto the floor, and footsteps approaching him. It was the warm voice of his mentor that snapped him from his self-panic, "Hey kiddo, what's caught your mind bud?"

Peter recovered quickly from his shock stuttering a reply, "Oh! Hey Mister Stark, oh, it's nothing."

Tony shook his head as he settled down next to Peter, "Peter, you're at the top of Stark Industries on a Friday night at midnight. Something's wrong, my Irondad senses are tingling. You want to move away from the ledge kiddo?"

Peter shook his head, "Mister Stark, do you ever feel lonely sometimes?"

Tony nods, unsure of where Peter's going with this but following it anyways, "Yeah bud, why do you ask?" He looks over the boy curiously, wondering why the boy is here, but whatever the reason is, for some strange reason it terrifies him.

Peter glazes over the lighted buildings and the ant-like people that scurry to and from, "Mister Stark, did you know that when stars run out of energy they burn out. They then burst into a supernova, and then they're gone. Just like that."

Tony listens carefully to Peter's words, and draws conclusions that he doesn't like and keeps the panic in his tone to a minimum, "Peter, what's wrong?"

Peter hummed in a tone to carefree for Tony's liking, "I feel lonely Mister Stark. And I hate it."

Tony turns softly to the boy who is more pained than he lets on, "Why's that Peter?"

Peter's response is bland but pained, "Because I hate me. I hate me. So much. And I want to go away, make everything disappear, but at the same time, I don't want to." He fumbled at his sleeves where thin red marks that were beginning to fade protruded from his delicate skin and Tony could only look in horror at the terror Peter brought upon himself as the boy added, "It's always a clash between the good thoughts, and the bad. I can't focus on one or the other, they're always in balance with each other. And I hate it. I need it to go away, Mister Stark. I need everything, to just, go away."

And then came the waterworks as Peter felt himself combusting, "I,I can't do this anymore! I try Mister Stark, I, I swear, but, I, I can't!" He smacked his head in his hands and sobbed harder. He felt warm hands envelop his small being and pull him onto his sturdier lap, "Hey, it's going to be okay. Let it out, talk to me bud."

Peter spoke in a broken tone, "I hate me." And then he started sobbing all over again. He tried to fist on the metallic suit, wishing to have something to hold on to, which only caused frustration and more tears to streak down. He moved his hands back over his eyes and curled them into tight fists, hating himself and everything on the planet.

Tony's soft voice accompanied his equally as gentle hands as he carefully guided Peter's hands into his much larger one while the other rubbed soft circles over the latter's back. Tony asked gently, trying to cover up the concern he had, "Peter, why?"

Peter sniffed, "Because, what's there not to hate? I'm so skinny and ugly, and no matter how hard I try to change that, nothing I do works. And I can't do anything right, and then,..." He paused as he swallowed thickly and let his eyes flutter closed. He leaned his exhausted head to rest on the blue-lit reactor that served as more than Tony Stark's heart, "And then whenever I get told to do better, I can't stop crying, it's childish."

He sniffed once more as he wiped his nose adding glumly, "It's pathetic." He leaned into the soothing touch of his mentor as he drummed light patterns over his forearm, creating a slight sense of tranquility in hazy disturbia, as well as the mustering courage to finish.

He concluded quietly, "And I can't make it stop. It keeps hurting. Everything hurts. Waking up, going to school, smiling, being Peter Parker hurts. But not Spiderman. Spiderman saves lives, no one makes fun of him, he's a hero. But Peter Parker, sucks."

He wanted to finish, but each word that spills out of quivering lips hurts so he let salty-sweet droplets race each other down sweat-plastered skin. He wants to tell Tony everything, that cutting his skin took the pain away, and created something else. A void where he didn't have to think about his constant insecurities, but to say that, he felt that he was going to throw up. And he wasn't going to cry on Tony Stark.

He can't even imagine how Tony feels, he properly hates him, for being so weak. He might even take the suit back again, honestly, Peter's surprised he hasn't already, with the fuck up failure he is. So he doesn't try to stop his shaking self as he scrunched his eyes shut waiting for Tony to throw him off his lap and just say something, anything.

Instead of doing any of what Peter envisions but hopes doesn't happen, Tony does the exact opposite. The elder man shifted his arms tightly around Peter, and moved a calloused hand to run through Peter's chocolate-colored curls and pressed a firm kiss to the top of Peter's head.

Peter asked quietly, "You, aren't upset?" He waited lingering moments for Tony to suddenly realize what he was doing and throw him away, making him a mere long lost memory of someone that he used to know.

Tony shook his head as he kissed the top of Peter's head once again, "Peter, how could I be upset at you? You didn't have to tell me any of that, thank you, buddy."

Peter slightly frowned, he didn't think of it like that.

Tony continued, "Pete, why didn't you tell me any of this before?"

Peter closed his eyes ashamed, "Embarrassed."

Tony shook his head, "Peter, there's nothing to be embarrassed about. But, you do know that you're wrong about one thing?"

Peter braced himself but instantly relaxed when Tony replied, "There's nothing wrong with you Peter. You don't have to feel alone anymore, I'm going to help you now, alright? Anytime you feel like that ever again, you let me know okay? I'm going to help you, alright?"

Peter nodded tightly, allowing himself to relax within Tony's arms, "Okay." 

A/N: Hey. I hope I made that as raw and broken as it sounded in my head. Please please please leave a comment and a vote, it makes me feel so happy and appreciated, y'know? And if you feel like Peter, please remember that suicide is not the way, and if you know a Peter, everyone could use a Tony Stark in their lives. :)