eunoia || Peter Parker (Spider-Man: Homecoming)

04

Peter found Tony a few hours later.

He was numb, like his mind was floating somewhere outside his body. He wasn't really there, everything around him had sort of stopped. He hadn't cried, he hadn't screamed, because he hadn't felt. Ever since the Terrorist, he'd found it easier to shut out his emotions, when it got too hard. So, that's what he did.

He didn't want to have to think about how it was his fault his last, living relative was dead. He didn't want to have to think about how it was his fault that May had begun drinking. He didn't want to have to think about how it was his fault that she'd accidently overdosed.

So, when the numbness took over, he let it.

He'd talked to Pepper, who had told him that she didn't know where her fiancé was. Peter had narrowed his eyes as she had hesitated, before saying that she thought she might have an idea.

Mr Stark was known for his self-loathing habits. So it was only logical that he'd go somewhere where he could hate his life even more, and completely drown in his guilt instead, because treading water was harder (or was that Peter—?). And there was only one place that Tony hated more than that cave in Afghanistan.

His parents' house.

And that's where Peter went. With his mind disconnected from his body and his heart pumping blood through his veins and nothing else, he had walked inside. He had almost expected to see his dead body on the floor, just like with his Aunt May.

Almost.

Which was why, when he saw exactly that, he felt.

Every emotion crashed back into him, knocking the air from his lungs and kickstarting his heart. Everything clicked back into place, the sight before him punching a hole through his chest.

No.

Not him too.

Please. Please.

Peter felt his knees fall out from underneath him, eyes transfixed on the body strewn across the lounge room floor. He dragged himself forward, blood rushing through his ears, laboured breaths loud.

(And it takes and it takes and it takes—)

It was déjà vu, it was May dead all over again. He yelled Tony's name as he crawled towards the man's still figure, voice choked as he reached out to him with trembling fingers.

Just like he had in the warehouse, where all this crap started. Just like he had when he'd nearly been killed at the hands of Thanos, and just like he had when the memories were coming back. Even trapped underneath that building, on the night of his Homecoming, he'd reach out. He'd reached out for help, for Mr Stark, because he knew that Mr Stark would help him.

Now it was Peter's turn to help Tony.

But he was too late, too late—

His fingers latched onto Tony's shirt, and ignoring the slices of pain from the broken beer bottles surrounding him, he pulled himself forward, strangled pleads escaping from between his lips.

"Hey," he croaked, gripping Tony's shoulders and fighting back a sob, "Tony." He whispered thickly, shaking him a little.

Mr Stark's face was pallid and slack, eyebrows pulled into the lightest of frowns. An arm lay off to the side, palm open and holding an empty bottle with stiff, curled fingers. Peter struggled to breathe as he leant on Tony's chest, the fumes of alcohol stinging his nose.