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It's kinda funny, isn't it?
The- the way we romanticize the idea of marriage, and kids, and love. It's the American dream, right? And your kid- they're everything. A parents love for their child is so, so huge, right? You can't beat that.
And he really, really believed that, when he saw his brother die and his parents absolutely broken faces at the sight of their son- in a casket being lowered into the ground. And he wasn't coming back.
Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth.
1 Corinthians 13:4-7
Funny, isn't it?
Love is conditional. From a technical standpoint that's undeniably true, humans are shit bags and at the end of the day we love what conveniences us. Unfortunately, God, your bible verses can't save us, because your first two creations couldn't keep their hands off a god damned apple.
Love is conditional, and Peter learns that quickly.
From the way his mother is so quick to anger. Not just with him, but god, his father? They didn't love each other period. Regardless of the love and gifts the man gives her, she won't love him. They can't even like each other.
She's also quick to grab the bottles of Whiteclaw. Empty and empty goes the boxes, so quickly Peter can't even snatch one. They're at a competition for who can become the next addict in the family first; Peter can't tell whose winning.
She's quick to miss her son. And it's reasonable, isn't it? Her son, pride and joy, why wouldn't she miss him? Considering the man is dead and all. So why can't she miss Peter too?
Maybe he doesn't give her enough credit; she's got to love him, it's just so, so hard to realize that. He thought it was just her; he thought it was getting better. She truly does love him, she's just been busy with work and the past two days she's been off has been great but-
Then it's his dad. And Peter remembers that they'll never actually see him as their son.
Their child, maybe, but their son? How could they.
"You're not a real man."
That's what they'd say, what he tells himself when it's late and he can't sleep, and he knows if he ever dares tell them they'll never look at him the same.
He thought it was just his mother, but love is conditional.
It's resentful, and it boasts, and it's angry, and it's rough. And Peter would kill for a love that stays, just one more time.
Because MJ couldn't bother to stick around once the other guy came along, and Peter had to ruin things with Ned on his own, and Harley had to go and get himself killed, so all that's next is his parents, right?
The words sit on his tongue; they burn and beg to be let out. He's so tired of pretending; of smiling and answering to the name he hates. It's a fucking poison, and it's killing him. He didn't mind until it started to sting, until he saw this was slow and painful and why can't it just be over with?
"I'm trans," he wants to say. "I'm your son! Your fucking son! Why can't you love me, huh? Why can't you fucking see me as that. You wanted another one, Dad, so here I am! Why does a fucking genital and the words of your biased pastor have to dictate what I am to you?"
He doesn't risk it.
He won't be kicked out, he doesn't think, but that's as far as it goes. The rest is, well, truly unpredictable. Peter thinks- no, he knows- if they find out, if they were to hit him-
Well, he wouldn't care.
He would, he'd be mad. He wouldn't deal with it, he'd leave. But, he doesn't think he has the hear to report them, worst case scenario he has to. Because regardless, he loves them. He can't not love them. Family is family, right? They're blood. He hates them, he can't stand them, he feels suffocated and disgusted around them.
But he loves them.
Love is. It's messy.
It's not the "I'll run to the air port to find you, and confess my love, and have two kids in a nice suburban house with you". It's the "I hate you"s and "I'm sorry" and "Can we fix this?" and "No we can't."
He wants a love that stays.
He guesses it doesn't. Harley's gone and- and maybe, had he stayed, maybe he would've seen Peter as a brother. Maybe, hopefully, god, hopefully. But Harley is gone and Peter is never going to see him again. Not dead or alive. So what, if his parents are right and there is a God? Peter won't worship the man regardless. And if he isn't real? Then it's all the same; he'll simply be matter. Or there's some other god; Zeus is real, or maybe Buddha. Peter sure isn't going to their version of Heaven, and sure as hell not the same one his brother is in.
Hopefully in, anyways; he has to be, or Peter might break.
He already has, hasn't he? He's broke, finally fucking cracked, and teetering at the edge of the building across Delmar's.
Breathe, asshole, it's not that hard, he berates himself. His breathes come in short and quick pants, and he's pacing the roof, trying to get himself together before he makes the decision whether to let himself plummet or not.
"Peter, you appear to be in destress. Should I contact Mr. Stark?" Karen asks, and Peter has to laugh; it comes out a sob. He ignores it.
"No, no, it's okay. I'm just- I'll get it together."
The AI doesn't respond. It hurts, even if he knows it isn't personal; it can't be, Karen is a fucking robot. But everything hurts, god, everything does. It hurts knowing he wants to call Harley right now, that it's his first instinct. To cry and tell him what happened, and ask what the hell to do. Why didn't he do that before? Of all people that could've helped, it'd be Harley, but Peter rarely talked to his brother in the last year of his life.
Whatever. Harley's gone and if Peter does this right, he will be too.
"Mr. Stark is calling," Karen interrupts Peter, just as he's standing on the edge. His foot is halfway off and he bites his lip in annoyance.
"Ignore it."
"Sorry, Peter, but he's forcing his way through."
Peter starts to stutter an excuse, but the call starts.
"Hey, kid, where are you?" Tony asks through the screen. There's noises of things moving; clutter, and maybe even footsteps. Tony's moving somewhere. But Peter can't fully tell over the phone.
"Uh, just patrolling."
"Uhuh," Tony hums in clear disbelief. More noises. Something isn't right, Peter can feel it, but he doesn't voice this. "Well uh, are you busy this weekend?"
Peter swallows. It hurts. God, it hurts. He wants to cry, he wants to tell Tony but he can't. "Yeah, sorry, I am. Why?"
"Mhm. What's so important?"
Peter stutters for an excuse. "Uh- MJ, wants to meet up with me, for like, Decathlon."
"I thought you quit? After the breakup, and all."
"Um, well, since we're on good terms again, I rejoined," Peter lies. The truth is, they were on good terms, and then Peter sent one too many drunk texts.
Yeah.
Tony hums again, and Peter shifts his feet awkwardly. "Well uh, can I get back to.. y'know?"
"How about you come down to the tower, actually?" Tony offers. "I've got some things to work on. Or we could watch a movie, you know. Natasha is over, she wanted to see you."
God, it fucking hurts. What was the last thing he said to her? What's the last thing he said to his dad? They fought. "I hate you, just get out."
"Love is conditional," Peter blurts.
"What?"
"It's-" He pauses, thinks. He really didn't mean to say that aloud. "Love isn't.. we don't- People don't actually, love, you know? I'm just sick of.. of pretending that at the end of the day, people will actually fucking care about me, for who- what I am."
"Is this- is this about Spider-Man? Kid-"
Peter laughs. "No, no. It's- I'm trans," he finally admits. The burning is still there, and it stings, but it's no longer on his tongue and bleeding to his lips, but down in his stomach; in his chest, where he knows it'll hurt most when Tony finally gives up on him. "You couldn't meet my parents because they don't- they don't know. I'm a trans man, Tony. I was born- they thought- a woman. I'm a woman, right? Because Mom and Dad- they'll never see me as their son."
It's the first time he's called the man by his first name. The first and last.
"Hey, Peter, I- Can you just, hold on, kid?"
Oh. That's what it was; the noise.
Tony's out. He knows where Peter is, and he's on his way.
"We can talk about this at the tower, alright? But just wait. I'm- I don't care if you're trans, you're still my kid. You're still Peter. Your parents- we'll get to that. But can you please step off the edge?"
"Don't come," Peter whispers. "I just want to know.. what it's like to fall." Tony is almost there, he knows, just minutes; he's not going to wait to find out the exact time. The man is yelling through the screen but Peter isn't listening.
Step, and fall.
The fall is nice, the landing isn't.
~_~_~_~
A lot of people, suicide attempt survivors, talk about their stories.
Specifically people who have jumped off bridges; they'll explain the fall down, and the bones they broke, and the physical therapy. And, specifically, how they realized, halfway down, that they don't want to die.
Halfway down, there was no revelation for Peter on the mistake he made. The only thing he realized was: He's Spider-Man, he'll survive a fall from this height.
And he does.
His death was meant to be painless, a simple gunshot to the head or taking so many pills he drifts off into a nice, calm sleep. But there isn't even death; all he gets is more pain.
When is it enough?
He's doped up to no end.. Everything is loopy, more so than when he's on his fourth shot of Smirnoff. It's almost nice, in fact. All he feels is a dull ache in his legs, but other than that, he feels great
It's clear that isn't a reciprocated feeling.
"Misser- Miter St'rk," Peter slurs, waving his hand towards the middle aged man on a chair beside his bed. His throat hurts, like it did when he woke up hungover and with a developing cold.
"Morning, kiddo," Tony whispers and starts to run his hand through Peter's hair. The boy grimaces, though.
"N- No, n't. Not, kid-O. Dad- Dad c'lled H'rley that."
The thought of his father makes him sick, and he hates that.
Tony nods, quietly. "Okay, yeah, that's alright. How're you feeling? Hungry, thirsty?"
"Wasser," Peter murmurs. "W'nt, the- uh, wasser."
Tony hums and hands the teenager a glass off water from the nightstand. Fuck, when was that thing there? Peter gives it a good stare before excepting the liquid. Damn, who knew a necessity for living could taste so good?
"You get some sleep, bud, we'll talk when you're not on all the morphine, 'kay?"
"Mor- m'rphine?" Peter squeaks. His fingers, cold and shaking, clutch the glass; Tony takes it from his hands. "Get- get me 'ff it." Tears brim his eyes and fuck, he's high, he shouldn't be able to think, but he can and it hurts-
"Hey, Underoos, breathe, it's alright. You need the morphine kid, it's keeping all the pain away."
Peter shakes his head. "No- no, H'rley, m'rphine. I promised, Misser St'rk, no.. none. I pr'mised him." He swallows down the words, and it burns his throat.
He promised me, too.
It takes him a moment, but when Tony connects the dots, he nods solemnly. "Okay, we'll take it off in a bit. Just sleep, alright? You won't have it when you wake up."
Peter nods, slowly, and yawns. Yeah, maybe it's a good idea; he's tired, anyways.
"Night, Misser St'rk."
~_~_~_~
Peter realizes, when he wakes, that keeping the morphine on had been a good idea anyways.
Except it wasn't, because he was going to hurt either way. It was probably better, anyways, way better than it had been. He still has a major headache, and his legs burn, but he's sure he's healed considerably.
He's also alone this time. The stale and coldness of the room make him shiver. He wants to get up and move, but he's near inoperable.
"Morning, Peter. I have informed Boss you're awake," FRIDAY alerts through the ceiling.
Peter starts to question why, but remembers- He just tried to kill himself, of course Tony is going to be alerted when he wakes up, and sober this time.
Right, yeah, that too; he tried to kill himself. It's kind of hard to forget, actually.
Tony comes in minutes later, slightly disheveled; but there.
"Hey, morning, Pete," he greets. His voice is unreasonably soft, a tone Peter hasn't heard in- well, he doesn't think he's ever actually heard it.
"Hey, Mr. Stark."
Tony sighs and takes a seat at the side of the bed. His foot bounces up and down as he messes around awkwardly; trying to find the words. "I've talked to your parents." At Peter's horrified look, he adds, "I didn't out you, kid. They.. they know what you did, but not that you're- yeah, but I need you to talk to me kid, why you- what even- I'm at a loss, right now."
"I'm tired," he whispers. "It just hurts. So much, every day, until it doesn't. There's everything, and then there's nothing, and I just want it to stop."
Tony takes it in. He's silent while he thinks, clearly at a loss for words. "You could've told me, you know? About all of this. I'd never get mad, and you- you are a real man, you know that right? There's not even-" He takes Peter's hands and forces the teenager to look him in the eyes. "You're Peter, and you know what you are. You're a man? Then I'll support you. I know things aren't picture perfect with your parents, but I'm always going to be here to pick you up when you need it. But I can't lose you kid, and I need you to come to be before you do this."
"You're gonna leave," Peter whispers, forcing back the cries. "I love you, and I want this to stay the way it is. But Mom and Dad will never see me as a man, and one day you'll be the same. I can't get anyone to stay. I get it, people leave, but it hurts. It never stops. That was- that was my way out, Mr. Stark, why did you have to stop it?"
"Kid," Tony whispers. It's the first time Peter's ever seen tears fill the man's eyes, but he doesn't see it long because he's pulled into a tight hug.
"I know it hurts right now, but you don't need to die to fix that. I'll work things out with your parents, I'll take custody of you for fucks sake, if I need to. And hey, how does a therapist sound?" He gets cautious at the end, as if Peter will pull away and deny the idea like a sin. And, maybe two years ago, he would've, but now, he simply nods.
"Yeah, okay," he whispers.
"I won't leave, bud. Not on my own, voluntary terms. You're stuck with me."
Peter lets out a quiet, semi-forced chuckle.
Yeah, it isn't perfect, it isn't unconditional, and god knows if it'll stay; but it's there, it's love.