Irondad Oneshots

Regret (Part 1)

He looked up, and groaned internally as Sam and Wanda came in, Steve and Bucky behind them.

He tried to leave the room unobtrusively, but was noticed before he could.

"Hey kid! Get over here!" Steve yelled.

Peter took a deep breath. "What do you want, Steve?"

Steve chuckled. "Hear that? He's getting an attitude."

Peter exhaled heavily. "Nat, I'm going on patrol." He whispered, quietly enough that no one else could hear him.

As he walked past Steve, though, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Steve sneered at him. "Got somewhere else to be?"

Peter glared at him. "Yes."

He started to walk away, but felt something hit his back, sending him crashing into the wall.

"Steve! Stop!" Bucky yelled, his voice clearly horrified.

Peter slumped on the ground, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead.

He slowly lifted his head to see Bucky standing in front of him. "You okay, kid?"

Peter blinked. "I... yeah." He accepted Bucky's hand, and stood up.

Steve was still glaring at Peter. "You're dead," he mouthed.

Worthless. No one would miss you.

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Peter knocked on the door of the lab, eyes stinging. "Mr Stark? Can I talk to you?"

Tony was at the desk, head on his arms.

Peter touched his shoulder. "Mr Stark?"

Tony jumped, swatting Peter's hand away. "Whaddya wan'?"

Peter recoiled as the scent of alcohol reached his nose. "You're drunk."

"And what if I am?" Tony slurred.

Peter sighed. "I just needed to talk to you, that's all."

Tony rested his head in his hands. "Surely it can't be that important."

Peter nodded shortly. "I guess not."

Tony sat up. "What do you mean by that?"

Peter lifted a shoulder. "Surely alcohol is more important than me needing your help."

Tony huffed. "I'm sure you'll be okay. Talk to Nat or something."

Peter took a deep breath. "Nat's not you."

Tony waved his hand dismissively. "Just- go."

Peter felt a lump rising in his throat, but he left before tears could escape.

Worthless. Nothing.

--------------

Days later Tony stands in Peter's room, staring at the small notebook the teenager kept, trying to decide whether to open it or not.

He did.

He had to understand why Peter had done what he had.

Why had he wanted to die?

On the first page was a small poem.

Like ice in the sun, I am broken.
Like a desert of dreams, I am shattered.
A forest of hope, I'm forgotten.
A boat on the sea, tossed and battered.

A dark room, I am darker.
Like a raindrop, I am nothing.
A paper, I am used, and thrown away.
Like a plant in a storm, I am destroyed.