Irondad and Spiderson Oneshots (lots of angst) (requests welcome)

you saw who you would have become

part 2 of if you could see who you would have become!

i really hope anyone reading this likes the story! 

trigger warnings: mentions of depression, past depression, past suicidal thoughts, past self harm, self harm scars, near suicide attempt in the past, transphobic aunt may

this is the avengers watching the scene, its mostly gonna focus on tony's emotions, and then the aftermath of it, so things in italics are copy past from the last part

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The avengers watched as the scene appeared in front of Peter. 

He was sat on his bed, but he was different. Long hair, a more feminine face, and other feminine parts. Peter was a girl.

He- or she, the team wan't sure what what they were seeing meant- was clearly their Peter, just different.

Tony's eyes scrunched up in confusion as he watched things unfold, trying to decipher his son's memories.

Peter's eyes were red and puffy, and sported bags underneath them from many many nights without sleep. He wiped his face with his hands, but it was useless. No matter what he did the tears kept coming, and a broken sob escaped his chest as he broke down even more.

Tears began forming in Tony's eyes, and he knew this wasn't going to be a happy scene.

"What's wrong with me?" He whispered to himself as he rocked in an attempt to sooth himself, but nothing was working. He just got more and more upset, not bothering to hide the awful, broken noises that escaped his lips. Since no one had come running to check on him, it could be assumed he was home alone.

Peter's breathing became more and more ragged and frantic as he lost control of himself and fell into a panic attack. He clawed at his skin, trying to bring himself back with pain, but it wasn't enough. It was never enough anymore.

"No.." A weak protest escaped Tony's lips, his eyes glued to the heartbreaking image happening in front of him. 

He scrambled towards his nightstand and ripped it open, digging through to find what he so desperately needed at the moment.

Slicing the blade across his arm he let out a relieved sigh as the sharp pain brought him back to reality. He was coherent now, no longer panicking, but he didn't stop. he cut more and more, needing more. He cut deeper, until he ran out of room on his left arm.

"No!" Tears slid sloppily down the genius' face as more and more self-inflicted wounds appeared on his son's arms, "Peter...." he gasped brokenly.

He switched to his right arm, and once that arm was also covered in bright red gashes he finally stopped and breathed.

He looked down at the mess he had made of his arms, then around the room, then back down at himself again.

Standing, he walked to the mirror, and stared in disgust at his own body. At the long hair that hung around his shoulders, the slim frame that now had curves, horribly feminine curves. He looked in horror at his chest, which seemed to him to be akin to a set of balloons, too big, and too feminine, and disgusting.

Tony saw the look of disgust on Peter's face, both in the vision and on the real Peter. Disgust. His son glared at his body, contempt clear on his face. 

His arms were dripping blood onto the carpet but he didn't care. He looked down at the mess on his arms, at the small white lines that covered him. He looked back at the shiny razor that had caused the gashes. Turning his arms over he realized that there were no new marks on his wrists, and he needed the new marks. He deserved the new marks, he needed them.