IronDad and Spidyson One Shots Vol. 1 [UNDERGOING EDITING, REQUESTS ARE CLOSED]

Lies Uncovered

(Edited)

Warning: Cutting, mentions of suicide, angst, feels, and some fluff at the end.

So this particular story is about how Peter is depressed and is cutting himself and Tony finds out and comforts him. I will put '###' when the cutting part comes up.

Edits: I wanted to make Peter and Tony more in character, especially since Tony when I wrote this wasn't 1. A touchy-feely guy and 2. Didn't have experience with suicidal teens. I wanted to make it a little more clunky and awkward, but maintaining that sense of "Don't you die on me," you know? More detail and suspense added as well.

ANYWAY, ON WITH THE ONE SHOT!

Peter Parker POV

  I can't have anyone worrying. I have to be strong. I'm Spider-Man. I need to be strong when no one else can. If people worry, that only gets in my way, and I have to help people. Can't have Mr. Stark worrying (Not that he would,) can't have May worrying (Burdensome child,) it would waste their time.

    That doesn't make it easy though.

   That doesn't make it easier to bear a fake smile. That doesn't make it easier to pull my sleeves down. That doesn't make it easier to lie, over and over again.

  The funny thing is though, I don't want to die. Not exactly. I just don't want to live, if it makes sense. Existing is anywhere from annoying to unbearable at any moment. But if I leave or I die, more people get hurt, and I don't want that. So I stay, even if I still hurt myself. It would be even worse if I just up and died, there'd be more work for the hero's. So I stay, even if it hurts. Even if the world tells me I'm just a wannabe superhero who won't ever make it big. I stay, despite the way it hurts to swing because my arms are covered in wounds of my own doing.

  I also tried to stop eating. I couldn't stand taking up so much space, for some reason. It bothered me. What right did I have to take up so much space, so many peoples minds? I can't completely do it, but I'm coming close. I shouldn't be eating food that others need, that's selfish too.

  It's all quiet in the tower. I felt the bed I didn't deserve sag a little as I sat up, swinging my legs over the side and sighing. 5 am, I thought. It's time. I asked Friday, "Is Mr. Stark asleep?"

   Friday chimed, "Yes. He is entering stage two of sleep. Though, I would advise to stop your current behavior. Your health is in danger."

   I said, "Friday, mute!" Everything was quiet again. I programmed her to not have the same health and monitoring system for me as the rest of the team, so I didn't have to worry about being caught. Not wasting any time, I went under my bed and grabbed a red, leather box.

###

  I pulled out a razor blade. It was slightly red from other uses, as to be expected with my sleeves being rolled down. Here we go.

   I slid up my sleeve.

   Slice.

   The cut quickly faded, but I continued to cut till it became a scar. I did this several times more with different cuts. I cut farther up my arm, on my shoulders and thighs so I could wear shorter sleeves without suspicion. I looked at my work, my arms, shoulders and legs bleeding profusely. I couldn't describe why I did it, I guess it was just for some sort of release. Some way of letting something out. I just wasn't exactly sure what.

   Then I heard something at the door. A knock.

   "Peter? You still awake?" Mr. Stark's voice called, oblivious to the horrors inside of the room.