spiderman angst/sickfic oneshots

the fifth day of sickmas: seasonal depression

"Sure, we'll have some dinner afterwards, okay?" Tony said, "you know where your bedroom is, get some rest."

Peter just nodded and went off.

And then he felt like shit for making Tony sad and being standoffish and instead of sleeping for the first hour, he walked in to the dark room, not even turning the lights on before going to the bathroom and pulling out the box cutter.

He dug the blade deep into his upper forearm, having run out of room lower down. He hissed in pain as a burning sensation enveloped the cut. He dragged the blade further as anger and self hate boiled over the edge.

He stuck the blade into his arm another time, angry, pained tears brimming over his eyes, "fuck." He mumbled, "shit shit shit what did I do?" He said, his voice shaky as he pulled out the bloody box cutter.

He took a breath, then another. He was bleeding pretty heavily, but it was fine. He finally felt a little more okay than before. He finally felt relaxed and a little more okay. And now just exhausted.

He wrapped up the cuts with the supplies he had, kicked his shoes off, and collapsed into bed. Falling asleep before even getting himself under the covers.

2 hours later, Friday spoke to wake him up, then informed Mr. Stark that Peter was too fast asleep for her voice to wake him, so instead he went to do it himself. When he walked into the dark room, the hallway light illuminated Peter's curled up figure on the bed, facing away from him, his arms tucked tight into his chest.

He walked around the bed to wake him up, shaking him softly by the shoulder.

His sleeve pushed up slightly as Peter began to shift awake. Tony saw something on his arm and went to look at what it was, immediately wondering what pen Peter had drawn on the reddish lines he was seeing.

The sleeve rolled up further for a moment, the dropped back down as he fully sat up.

But Tony had seen everything.

"Peter, what happened to your arms?" Tony asked, his face serious.

Peter looked back at Tony, not giving anything away, hoping he could lie his way out, "...nothing? What are you talking about?"

"Friday, lights on." Tony said, his voice sounding angry but he was just so so so so worried, "Peter, let me see your arms." He demanded, his voice shaky.

Peter thought it was shaking in anger.

Tony knew it was shaking in fear.

He held up his sleeved arms, flipped them front and back and quickly put them back down, "happy?" He asked rudely.

"No, Peter. No, roll up your sleeves, let me see." Tony said, raising his voice unintentionally.

So Peter did too, "well clearly you've already seen enough!" He shouted.

"Peter, just let me see." Tony said, trying to grab Peter's arm. His mind was foggy. He wasn't making rational decisions.

"Get you're fucking hands off!" Peter shouted, snatching his hand away, feeling one of the cuts rip open.

"Peter, I have to make sure you're not gonna bleed out because you cut your fucking arms open!" He yelled back.

"Stop!" Peter screamed, hopping up from the bed to the ceiling where Stark couldn't reach him, "why do you even fucking care!? You're not my fucking dad!"

And for some reason that really hurt.

Tony took a breath and stopped yelling, trying to stop the tears from gathering in his eyes, "I know I'm not your dad." He said softly, his voice still dead serious and nervously shaky, "I'm sorry I yelled. I'm sorry, I got scared. Im- Peter I'm scared for you, bud."