(someone requested more sh/sui Peter so take this inspired by a traumatizing short film I watched in 7th grade (2nd half))
Context:
Set post endgame, noncompliant to any following lore. Tony is in fact dead.
Peter and several of the avengers are left homeless post blip are living in the rebuilt compound. The avengers and people around the world had donated money to get it rebuilt so the returned heroes would have a place to live.
Peter is not handling being back well at all.
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Peter had mental health problems before the blip. Mostly anxiety issues, panic attacks, problems with symptoms of PTSD after homecoming, and he'd always had a weird issue with self harm, hurting himself to dim rushing thoughts and provide mental relief with distracting physical pain, but he'd never felt actively suicidal until he was tossed back into life after being nonexistent for five years, and having everything that was ever consistent from him torn away.
Sure, he'd always had the thought of 'if I die, oh well.' it made spiderman easier, knowing he would die for a good cause of if he died people would remember him. He never really looked at is as suicidal, more just at peace with death. Fine losing everything he had, fine with escaping the turmoil of his head if that's what the universe planned for him, but he never wanted to jump off a building without his webshooters or anything.
Until now.
After Thanos had come back, and Tony had died, Peter had been struggling more than ever.
There was so much change. He was tossed back into school where he knew barely any of his classmates, but still had Ned -though he was different, too. Struggling in the changes, trying to fight it, and not winning either.
His aunt and Happy were dating, which was a huge shocker. He didn't know how he felt about that one at all. He tried not to think about it. It felt like he was replacing Ben, even though it had technically been over six years now, Peter felt like it barely happened six months ago.
He was living with the avengers now. Well, some of them. Doctor Strange, Thor and Loki, Wanda, Sam (Falcon), Bucky, and every once in a while Clint stopped by to say hello, bringing his kids to visit their passed Aunt Natalie's friends and coworkers, let them go ham on the ping pong table in the common room, and all the fun things. Pepper and Morgan stopped by sometimes as well, always bringing his Aunt May and Happy whenever they were. Peter's own guardians lived outside New York City now, but he wanted to stay at his school, stay with Ned (who he knew was struggling) so they agreed to let him stay in the compound.
Worst off though, Tony was dead. After everything Tony did to get him back. To get him back -not half the population- him, his father figure had died. He had been there to watch his soul leave his body and the life slip from his eyes, leaving them dull and gray, watching as Pepper collapsed into sobs in front of him at the death of her husband, knowing their little girl was at home, waiting for her dad to give her another juice pop past her bed time, having no clue the generosity her father had endured to save so so many.
Peter was almost jealous of Morgan, he loved her like a little sister. Spending time with her was a joy when she came over every couple of months, but the more time went on, the more the life was sucked out of everything. His feelings went gray. Everything was hazy. He stopped being present in life as the shock of the situation weared off and reality set in.
That's when he started cutting again.
It was small at first, but within a week or two the habit had grown completely out of hand.
Worst part was that no one noticed a thing. Everyone was cought up in their own grief. Their own troubles. Their own work. Peter was more or less forgotten about until the next time Clint visited and let his kids loose to run around the bottom floor.
He furrowed his eyebrows when he didn't see Peter out and about as usual. The last time he had been up to visit, Peter had been interacting with his kids, trying to drink coffee upsidedown, all of them laughing when he chuckled and it came shooting out his nose, only making everyone laugh even harder. Peter had fallen off the ceiling and curled up into giggles. Even then though, you could see the hurt behind the laugh, a thin facade of joy. Clint could tell the kid was going through it still, but in the lighter moments he thought he'd seen healing too.
He climbed up the stairs to go find Peter, scanning the common spaces and their ceilings but finding no signs. Eventually, he knocked at the door of his room, assuming maybe the boy was napping, knowing he would appreciate being woken up so he could interact with some of the younger folks.
He did indeed find Peter sleeping in his bed, and went over to gently shake him awake. Upon closer look though, Peter had tear tracks down his cheeks and sweat on his brow. He was curled up under his comforter, hands tucked into his chest.
Clint carefully placed a hand on his shoulder, moving his arm back and fourth until Peter stirred.
"Pete, bud, wake up." Clint said softly, his voice gruff as Peter winced in his sleep. The thought came to mind that he may be having a nightmare, and all of that was true when suddenly Peter burst back, shoving Clint away and springing off the bed and onto the wall, sticking effortlessly, holding himself in a defensive position.
He was breathing heavily, no new tears streaming down his face. He couldn't catch his breath. Everything was spinning. He couldn't get Tony's body out of his head. The aliens. Thanos. The spaceships. He wasn't seeing what was really in front of him.
He blinked and he was back, back and hyperventilating. He slid down off the wall and moved past Clint, ignoring his questions on if he was okay and locking himself in the bathroom, immediately opening a drawer and taking out his razorblade.
He rolled his sleeve up and dug it straight into his wrist, taking a gasp as a pain erupted from the wound. A gasp that knocked him out of hyperventilating.
He took a deep breath as he added another cut. And then another.
Clint knocked at the door, "Peter, bud, talk to me. Are you okay?" He asked worried seriousness in his tone.
"I'm fine." Peter mumbled, tossing the blade back into the drawer carelessly and tugging his sleeves over the already healing cuts, ignoring the blood that had dripped onto the floor.
Clint was a spy though. He didn't miss the clatter of the metal into the drawer. He didn't miss the blood on the floor once the door was opened up.
"Peter, where are you bleeding? What happened?" Clint asked. Peter looked a little more alert at that question.
"I'm fine." He mumbled, pushing past Clint and back into bed.
"No, Peter." Clint said sternly, quickly going to turn the lights in the room on and then walking towards the bathroom. Peter didn't stop him, instead he just left his room and went to play with the man's kids, talk to Laura, avoid him until he wouldn't bring it up.
But Clint decided that wouldn't work on him.
When he found Peter downstairs playing pingpong with one of his kids, he sort of gave his kid a look, causing her to catch the ball and him to grab Peter and drag him off to a room where they would sit down and talk.
"Peter, what is this?" Clint said, holding up the bloody razorblade.
Peter just huffed, trying to get up and walk away, but he was pulled back down by Clint.
"Peter, you can't do this to yourself." Clint tried, attempting to take the angry fear out of his voice, but mostly failing.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Barton." Peter started coldly, "but this isn't new. And it doesn't hurt me, I heal in like two seconds. We're all going to have to deal with it because you can't make me stop." He stood up afterwards, planning to walk away, but was blocked.
"Don't Mr. Barton me!" Clint said, stepping up and in front of Peter, towering over the boy, "you can not do this to yourself."
Peter just shoved him off and started walking away. Clint grabbed his arm and he pulled it away, starting to yell out hateful things he didn't even believe. Hateful things just to be hateful. He felt like shit. Then he apologized, because he really didn't mean it, but it sounded unbelievably ingenuine. His emotions were out of reach, unsummonable to the outside.
Clint was quiet by the end. Quiet and hurt.
Peter turned to leave, feeling all shades of shit, but the doorway was blocked by another. Dr. Strange was standing there.
"What the hell is going on?" He asked exhaustedly, looking annoyed by the two. Clint stormed up behind, grabbing Peter's wrist and holding up the blade. Peter yanked his hand away, "fuck off."
"Woah woah WOAH." Strange said seriously, raising his voice, "Peter, explain, please." He asked.
Peter just stared at him, his eyes tired, "I'll stop." He whispered, "I promise I'll stop." He lied.
The wizard knelt down on one knee to be more eye level with the boy he'd come to respect so much, "Kid, just come and talk to someone if you ever need it, okay? We're here for you, we know what you're going through, hurting yourself isn't helping anything though. Okay?" Strange said seriously.
Peter just nodded.
"Audible response please?"
"Yes." Peter spoke.
And that was the end of it.
Problem was, when Peter really did need help, no one was willing to give it to him.
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After his argument with Clint, Peter's health started to drastically decline.
There were days when he was doing nothing but laying in bed and thinking about suicide. Wallowing in self pity. He knew he didn't deserve pity or kindness. He missed Tony. He missed the way everything used to be. He missed MJ being there to defend him from Flash. He missed his Aunt. He missed the way things used to be. He was so exhausted of trying to adapt. He hadn't gone out as Spiderman in months. The cutting had gotten so bad he was passing out, even with his healing.
He wasn't eating much. He wasn't drinking much. He was barely surviving, he felt like he was drowning.
At the end of the night, he had figured out a method of suicide. He was exhausted and just wanted it to be over. He had everything he needed. He had so many pills.
He was hoping it was enough to beat his strong, but weakened metabolism.
He found himself crying as he wrote a note out on his phone and his thoughts kept circling back to what Dr. Strange had said.
Just come and talk to someone if you ever need it, okay?
He pulled on a hoodie and went to the bathroom, examining himself in the mirror. He was a disaster. His face was pale with massive, dark eyebags and his hair was stringy from not being washed. He couldn't recall the last time he had showered.
He wandered out of his room, shaky from hunger. When was the last time he'd eaten? He couldn't remember.
The first person he found was Wanda, who was in her room practicing her magic, hovering things above her desk, making the lamp light turn brighter and softer. Her door was cracked open and he peeked his head through.
"Wanda?" He called out, his voice thin, "can I talk to you?"
Suddenly the lamp flicked off.
"Peter, can't you see I'm kind of busy?" She asked, her voice annoyed.
He shrunk back, muttering a sorry, contemplating not even trying to talk to anyone else and just swallowing all the pills he had gathered up, but he thought of who he'd be leaving behind and at least figured he should try to get himself help.
He found Sam next, who was on the phone in his office, the door opened as he talked to someone. Peter stood in the frame for a moment, shifting from side to side.
"One sec." Sam said into the phone before swiveling his chair to face Peter, "hm?"
"Can I talk to you?" He asked weakly, rubbing his forearm with one hand.
"Can it wait? I need to finish this phone call." Sam explained, barely registering Peter nod and wander away.
He felt shittier by the second.
Bucky was in his room with his door shut, probably sleeping. Peter knocked anyways. He was scared of what was going on in his head. Terrified at how much he actually believed in going through with it. Horrified at his own craving for it all to end. When Bucky showed up at the door, he was half asleep. Peter was next to tears at this point, "I'm sorry, were you asleep?"
"Yeah." Bucky answered, yawning after, "what do you need?"
"Can I talk to you?" He asked quietly. He didn't look well at all.
"About what?" Bucky asked, but Sam ran by, waving him over, needing him for part of whatever call he was involved in, "well, apparently I have to go, later, okay?"
Peter didn't respond as Bucky was pulled away, wearing funny slippers that Peter was too exhausted to notice. He supposed it was time to find someone else, his hope fleeting as the thought of giving up lured him closer and closer.
Loki and Thor were playing video games and brushed him off, saying they were busy, not taking a single second to listen or look at the poor boy's face.
Finally, he went to find Doctor Strange, his last resort, but entered his room just as the orange sparks of his portal disappeared. He felt tears prick at his eyes and quickly made his way back to his room, locking his door, then going to his bathroom, and locking his bathroom door.
He quickly finished his phone note, set it as his first tab open, removed his phone password, and began swallowing pills.
After three bottles he finally began to feel dizzy. And sick. Suddenly it was all hitting him. He couldn't count the amount of times he vomited, but it didn't matter because all the medication was in his blood now. If there was some afterlife, he knew he would get a lecture from Tony for this. He didn't care though, he was too tired to think about it, so he turned the bathroom light off and fell asleep.
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When Stephen Strange re-entered the complex after an outing to Wakanda for a meeting, he immediately went to get himself some late dinner. After he finished eating, he went to grab the dish of food from the previous night off of Peter's night stand.
He always brought something for Peter, even though he hadn't been eating it.
However, when he got to the bedroom, the door was locked. He knocked, a knew plate of food still in his spare hand. He didn't hesitate to make a quick portal inside when he got to answer, planning to let Peter nap and just switch out the plates, hoping he might actually wake up and eat something this time.
But instead, Peter was missing.
So naturally, he portaled back out of the room and went looking, then found out Peter had asked everyone if they had time to talk, and realized that Peter could be really not well right now. He rounded his way back to the bedroom, listening for any signs of the boy, standing perfectly still.
At the sound of a wheezed breath he ran towards the bathroom, jiggling the knob before teleporting inside and turning the lights on. The scene was horrifying. Peter's lips were blue and his breaths were wheezed, there was vomit in the toilet and three empty pill bottles on the counter.
Immediately he was kneeling next to the boy, feeling for a heartbeat, praying for a breath.
It came.
Small and weak and wheezy.
Immediately, he opened a portal to a hospital, scooped the boy up, grabbed the pill bottles, and stepped through. Immediately the boy stood out in the emergency room, his fingers and lips were a steely blue and his face was pale as he gasped for breaths.
Strange handed him to a nurse quickly, his shaking hands rattling off information about the overdose. The medication type, the time he was found. He found himself falling into a calm routine in the hustle of the hospital.
All the same till he saw Peter being hooked up to life support, and quickly opened a portal back to the compound, his furious words coming out as a roar whenever he saw the others, angry tears glossing his eyes as he yelled that Peter was in the hospital because none of them could take time out of their own fucking lives to be a friend for someone who was very obviously having a hard time.
He collected a bag of clothes for the both of them and zipped the portal shut behind him, now standing back in the dank hospital room, whirring white machines the only thing keeping the boy breathing.
He sank into a cold plastic chair beside the bed as nurses ran around, trying to figure why his vitals where changing so rapidly.
A moment later, Peter's eyes fluttered open. He didn't fight the ventilator, just glanced around, in a daze. When he saw Strange, a tear slipped out and he moved his finger (no longer blue) weakly. Stephen moved forward and held the boy's hand as he blinked slowly, more tears racing down his cheeks.
"I'm sorry we weren't there, Peter." He said regretfully as a nurse came by and began administering him anesthetic, confused when Peter stayed awake for an extra three doses.
Peter looked over and the nurse as she administered another, and his eyes drooped, signaling a fight at consciousness. She and a few others removed the ventilator. Strange didn't look away. He'd seen it a thousand times.
But it was much worse watching it happen to Peter.
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When Peter woke up, he was startlingly aware. The lights were buzzing, the sheets were cold, there was a rough papery texture touching half his body, there was plastic strapped to his face, everything was spinning, he felt sweaty but cold, nauseous, and his whole body was shaking. There were three voices right outside the door, two more down the hall, and so many in the whole building. The walls were thin, he could hear the whizz of electricity to machines around the hospital, the running of water in the rooms all around him and on neighboring floors. He couldn't piece together where he was or what had happened.
He didn't understand where he was or what was happening.
"May?" He called out first, receiving no response. His voice was scratchy and his mouth was bone dry. He felt sick. He couldn't distinguish anyone's voices.
After another second of looking around and the IV in his arm, he deducted he was in a hospital, and called out for Tony. He must have gotten hurt spidermanning.
"Mr. Stark?" He called out weakly. He felt sick, pushing himself so he was actually sitting up in the empty hospital room. He shifted so he could get out of the bed, pulling his IV out and his oxygen mask off in defiance, pain shooting through his feeble body as he wandered to the door and opened it, finding his aunt, Happy, and Dr. Strange all discussing something outside his door.
He blinked slowly, taking a short breath, "wheres'Tony?" He slurred. He felt ill.
"May? My head hurts." He mumbled, stumbling forwards.
The group was horrified and quickly ushered the boy back to the hospital bed, calling a nurse over to move his IV to the opposite hand and wrap the one now bleeding.
"Peter, why did you do this?" May asked, her eyes teary as she rubbed his shoulder. He was still so high on medication, his head was still so messed up from the overdose.
"May i feel sick." He said, his head spinning, not processing or answering the question, "everything's so loud."
May climbed onto the bed and cradled him in her arms, methodically covering his ears in the hug. Soon he was sobbing into her shoulder, first from sensory overload, but the thoughts were coming back, the memories returning in peices as he puzzled them together and remembered what he'd done.
"Peter, why didn't you ask for help?" She asked.
"I did." He sobbed harder, "no one cared."
Stephen looked down, angry, feeling the need to go back and yell at all of the avengers left in the tower for what they'd done. He didn't hold himself back, he made a portal and immediately left, coming back a couple of minutes later to a sleeping Peter.
May looked at him questioningly, not knowing the man who had saved her son incredibly well, not knowing where he had just magically disappeared to.
"Sorry, got the urge to yell at the people left at the compound again." He said, his voice low as to not wake Peter up, "I wasn't there. He asked everyone in the tower if he could talk to them and they were all too busy or selfish to do do the right thing."
May's heart broke and she hugged her nephew tighter. Happy was outside guarding the door, making sure his family was safe. He would always be head of security at heart.
"We're gonna get you help, bud. You're gonna be okay." She whispered to her sleeping boy. More than anything in the world, she wanted him to feel better.
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The next time Clint stopped by the Avengers tower, everyone was there except Peter, and the mood was dim.
Clint tried to find Peter, ask where he was, but only got vague answers like "he's gone right now" or "he'll be here in a couple of days" until he found Strange, who told him everything. Everything.
Then Clint went and yelled at the rest of the avengers, and he and his kids left, planning to come back and visit once Peter was out of the mental hospital.
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Peter came back with medication that was too low of a dosage for him. It was a big day moving back to the compound, seeing the guilty faces that had shoved him off now, his heart hammering nervously as some struggled to apologize, embarrassed by their selfish actions. Others made him nervous because they were so genuinely emotional.
Bucky felt horrible, in a way Peter was like a little brother to him. When they had moved into the compound after the war with Thanos, Peter had taught him how to play non triggering video games: coached him at Mario kart, tutored him on animal crossing, started a co-op world on Stardew valley, they had even built a couple of castles in Minecraft together.
At the end of the day, Peter had been the one to help him when he was feeling down after Steve died, and he had wanted to be there for Peter, but for pulled away and didn't give it a second thought until it was too late.
Peter didn't expect a strong hug from Bucky, but that's what he got. He hugged back and tried not to cry.
"I'm so sorry, Pete." He said, moving his hair out of his face, "I'm here for you, alright? I won't let Sam steal me again."
Peter just nodded, trying to muster a smile, but he was nervous. Everything got more overwhelming when Clint walked in the door, this time, his kids not in tow. Peter took a deep breath, desperately grasping at his tears, not letting them run wildly down his face until Clint wrapped Peter in the most father-like hug he'd had in years.
That's all it took for him to be wailing, tripping over his words as he tried to apologize again for their argument and Clint simply telling him that it was alright, that Peter was forgiven, that he didn't care anymore about what happened.
"You know Tony would have killed you in the afterlife if that worked, right?" Clint said, pulling out of the hug and catching Peter's attention, making him laugh as he nodded, "I thought about it actually."
"I miss him." He choked, "I miss him so much." He sobbed. He was wrapped in hugs again, reminding him that he was safe and loved and wanted.
Dr. Strange walked out to find Peter a sobbing mess and went back out to call Bruce about stopping by and seeing what adjustments they could make to his medication for it to suit his metabolism needs.
Now, everyone made sure to listen to Peter. And Peter made sure to listen to everyone else too, because sometimes all someone needs is a person to talk to.
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The end !!!
Anyways in the short film this was Lowkey inspired off of the girl died at the end and it was very traumatizing I have no desire to rewatch it ANYWAYS ‼️‼️‼️🤫🫶🤞🤞🤞🤞
Anyone catch the song at the beginning I don't add those very often should I start doing that? Lol
Also does it play while you read it bc that would be epic and incredibly sad and I hope it does cuz it works on editing mode !!!
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