Peter sat on the floor of his room, leaning against his bed, an array of bottles splayed out in front of him. He casually ran his fingers lightly over the collection he had, hearing the rattling of pills inside them. His mind wasn't really connected to anything—or maybe it was the opposite, and it was connecting to everything at once, things moving too fast, thoughts and senses colliding—pure chaos held in frozen silence.

There was a painful swell in his throat, a sob building that he didn't want to release from its cage because then it would have the power to grow and more would be sure to follow. He knew it would lead to unrelenting tears. It felt like his heart was gone from his chest, a void of pain in its place. He didn't want to feel it, but the hollow burn in his chest kept growing. It was consuming, curling around him like a painful, heavy blanket, even his limbs felt heavy.

Tears began to burn at his eyes. They were fast to fall, rolling down his cheeks, hot and steady. He absently tried to wipe them away, stem the flow, but it was futile. He was losing control. Then it happened, the sob he had been holding back finally broke free, like a choking noise, followed by a cry of something so primal it sounded animalistic. He fisted his hands and let the pain ravage him.

The cries went unheard though, no one came to soothe him. He was alone now. May was gone, and she wasn't coming back. No villain had stolen her, no illness crept upon her, just a simple accident, a sad twist of fate. A bus colliding with a car, something that would only gain a moment's mention on the news but had changed his life forever.

He had been sleeping when it happened. His senses never tingling to wake him—nothing causing him to stir, nothing to wake him in time to save her.

It had been a hard knock at the door that had jostled him awake that morning. When he'd cracked the door open, still disheveled from sleep, he was greeted by the weathered face of a patrolman. The officer looked to the floor for a moment before taking off his hat, clutching it to his chest. There was a silent exchange when their eyes met next. Peter reached for the doorframe for support as he listened to the officer apologizing for what was to come. It was fast, he had said, likely painless.

Gravity shifted beneath him. His senses seemed to shut down, and though the officer's mouth kept moving, Peter had heard enough—nothing else mattered. She was gone. He became untethered to reality. He shut the door on the officer, his heart hollow and aching, his stomach somewhere near his feet.

He felt lost. It had only taken a matter of moments, and his world was upside down and broken. Emptiness surrounded him. He reached back and locked the deadbolt, faintly hearing the officer calling his name from the other side.

Without thought, his feet led him towards the bathroom and finally to the medicine cabinet. He'd gathered everything he could in his arms, not reading labels. He wasn't sure he could kill himself this way. He wasn't sure if that was what he was doing. He just wanted the pain to stop.

So, that's where he found himself, sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed, bottles laid out before him. He glanced up at the desk in his room. It was messy, except for one thing—his suit. He took a moment to neatly fold it and put it back in the original paper bag it came in, ready for Tony to retrieve once he was passed. He was glad he wasn't going to see the look on Tony's face. The man had put hours into the suit, and here Peter was rejecting it. He hoped Tony would understand. It wasn't like the man really cared about him. He cared about Spider-Man.

A sharp ringing cut the air in the room. He glanced up through tear-filled eyes and saw his phone lit up, the face of Iron Man's mask on the screen. He didn't know why, but it made him laugh, a sad, dark laugh.

Once he would have jumped to answer, his hero calling, but now he didn't care. It all seemed so distant and in the past. He couldn't be bothered to reach for it, so he let it ring through to voice mail. A few beats later, the phone pinged, signaling a message.

Catching him a little off guard, a few seconds later, it began ringing again. He hadn't expected that. He sighed when he saw it was Tony again, and again the same as before, he ignored it, only for it to start ringing again. He wondered how many times he would call. If there was anything Peter had learned, it was that Tony was persistent. Whatever he wanted, he wasn't giving up.

The ringing was wearing on him. He was growing angry the man wouldn't just stop and let him be, find another hero to solve his problems. It wasn't fair. Peter had a way out of the pain. It was simple and so close, but Tony just wouldn't stop. Whatever mission he had, there were plenty of other heroes.

Finally, having had enough and huffing in frustration, he crawled and stretched to the desk where his phone lay. He snatched it from its resting spot, and with one last glance at the screen, he crushed it in his hand. It fell silent, the only noise to follow the soft thud of it hitting the floor.

The silence collapsed in on him. Suddenly, he almost missed the ringing of the phone because now he was alone with his thoughts. Trying to find comfort, he drew his arms around his knees, burying his face, eyeing the bottles on the floor, his previous plans no longer feeling quite right. There was a tangible heaviness to the air now.

Time had become irrelevant as he rested there, curled into himself. Daylight was no longer shining in through the window; night had fallen. He wondered how long he could stay there, in his room, holding onto the broken threads of reality that were holding him together. As the room grew darker and his sniffling sobs smoothed out to even breaths, he drifted off to sleep.

Flashes of Ben and May, sitting around the table with him, sharing laughter and good food danced in his mind. His heartfelt warm and full. He wanted to stay right there in that moment, but something dark began to creep into the edges of his mind. First, his uncle began to fade, his smile falling from his face. Peter tried to reach out to him, but darkness curled around him, wiping him away. May was next, the color fading from her figure, her hands reaching out to Peter. He tried to reach her, but she was gone before he could. The apartment turned dark, everything good was swallowed by the darkness, and soon he was sitting alone at the table surrounded by shadows, something in the shadows started calling his name.

Peter … Peter … Peter …

"Peter!"

A hand suddenly touched his shoulder and his head snapped up; he blinked in the darkness. He was back in his room. He was awake, but not alone. His sharp vision had no problem identifying who was knelt in front of him, the manic look, the strewn hair, the suit that cost more than everything Peter owned combined. Tony was there, looking him over carefully, studying him with a look that Peter hadn't seen on the man before. The line of his mouth was tight, but his eyes were soft. The man kept his hand on Peter's shoulder as he looked at the strewn bottles of pills, his gaze finally settling back on Peter.

Silent questions hung in the air. Peter knew that the scene was a bad one to walk in on, but what was he going to say? He planned to kill himself, that maybe he still was. The truth was he didn't really know.

Tony's rubbed his eyes tiredly. Peter watched, feeling bad for stressing the man. He hadn't meant it to be like this, and really, what was the billionaire doing at his apartment anyway?

Tony cleared his throat, swallowing noticeably hard, breaking the silence. "Okay," he said, standing up, reaching a hand out to Peter. "I think we should get you checked out, don't you?" He nodded to the bottles on the floor.

Peter pushed himself up, his legs wobbly beneath him from sitting so long. How long had it been? He rubbed the back of his neck, dropping his head. "It's fine. I didn't do anything. I'm fine, really. You can go."

Tony's eyes fell closed, and he shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. He sighed. "Peter …"

"Really, it's fine. I know you're busy. I can handle this."

Tony gestured to the room. "You call this handled? Peter, you can't be alone right now, not after …"

Peter tried to hold himself together; he really did. The lump was back in his throat, and he was everything but fine. He hurt, and the painful hollow was consuming him again. The one thing he didn't have the energy to do was deal with the eccentric billionaire. He wanted his Aunt back. He just wanted it to be yesterday again, so he could tell her he loved her one last time.

"Please, Mr. Stark, just go," Peter begged, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, kid. I can't do that. You mean too much to me."

"I'm sure you can find another superhero to replace me," Peter said. "You can have the suit back."

"Christ, Peter, you think that I give damn if you are Spider-Man or not?"

Peter looked up, wiping the tears from his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt. "I don't know. You never … It's not like … I thought I bothered you."

Tony spun, running a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots. He turned back to Peter. "The moment I heard about your Aunt, I tried to get to you. I was literally trapped, or I would have been here sooner. The only thing I could do was call from my suit, and you wouldn't answer."

Peter looked away, embarassed by the way he'd acted.

"Peter, you are the thread that ties me to what's left of humanity," Tony continued. "When I look at you, I see that good still exists, and yeah, maybe it scares me a little just how much I do give a damn about you, but I've done you a huge disservice. I see that now. I let you think you were unimportant to me as a person. I can't lose you, Peter. You're the last good thing I have."

Peter met Tony's pained gaze. "She was my good thing, and now she's gone. I have nothing now. Why did it have to be her? What did I do?"

"Peter … You didn't do anything. Come here." Tony opened his arms, and Peter didn't need any more invitation. He found himself crashing into Tony, wrapping his arms around the older man and pressing his face into his chest. Tony rested his chin on Peter's head.

"It's gonna get better. I promise. It's gonna get better," Tony hummed against his hair. "You're gonna come back upstate with me. I'll take care of everything. As for what you were planning, we need to talk some more, not today, but don't think we won't."

"I'm sorry I … I didn't think," Peter whispered. "I just wanted the hurt to stop."

"I know, kiddo," Tony breathed. "I know. I'm just glad you didn't."

"Can we leave?" Peter asked quietly.

"Yeah, we can go. Don't worry about grabbing anything right now," Tony reassured. "We can come back when you're ready."

"My suit." Peter gestured to the tattered bag sitting on the desk. He looked away, though, glancing at the bottles on the floor. Tony rubbed a hand up and down Peter's rigid back.

"We don't need to take it now," Tony said, letting out a breath. "It can wait. I will be here for you whether you decide to put it on again or not. It's not something you need to think about tonight—or any time soon. Tonight, I think we should just take things minute by minute, starting with heading to the car."

Peter nodded, sniffling, and drying his eyes on his sleeve. Tony kept a hand on Peter as he led him around the bottles on the floor and out to the living room. Peter paused, looking over at the hutch against the wall, a smiling photo of Uncle Ben and Aunt May looking back at him. He stepped away from Tony's grounding touch, picking it up, clutching it to his chest.

He looked to Tony, who gave him a weak smile, waving a hand for him to come along. Peter crossed the room back to his mentor's side. Tony slipped an arm around him, and together they walked out of the apartment.

With Tony's firm grip around his shoulders, Peter made his way to the car, letting the older man's strength hold his broken pieces together. With gentle guidance, Tony helped him into the front seat of the car, then walking to the driver's seat himself.

He felt neither here nor there. He stared out the window as they pulled away from the curb and watched through the mirror as the apartment building disappeared into the distance. He held the photo to his chest and tried to empty his mind, sinking back into the plush leather seat, but it wasn't working.

Tony seemed to sense his pain and reached over, resting his hand on Peter's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Peter appreciated the effort, but it did nothing for the pain growing inside him.

"Almost there," Tony said. "Why don't you close your eyes for a bit and rest. I'll wake you when we get there."

Peter shook his head. "Every time I close my eyes, I see them, everyone I've lost. What kind of hero am I?"

Peter heard a sigh as Tony's firm hand tightened on his shoulder. "You can't do this to yourself, Peter. Trust me, I've done it. I've walked that road. Don't blame yourself. You couldn't have stopped it. Sometimes bad things just happen to good people."

Peter looked down at the photo in his hands. "I think I still want the suit," he said, glancing at Tony.

"You sure?"

Peter traced the faces of his Aunt and Uncle in the photo. "It's the right thing to do."

"I'll send Happy after it, but I want you to take some time before diving back into things. I need to make sure you're okay first. No arguments."

Peter nodded. It was only fair, and truthfully, he knew he needed time. He knew Tony needed time.

The compound slowly came into view, and unlike his last visit, when he was bounding with excitement, this time he was just empty and hollow. The building was the same, but the magic was gone, or maybe he was different now, no longer the young naïve child idolizing his heroes. Now all he could see was the fragility of life. Would he ever be the same?

The car rolled to a stop in front of the structure and Tony was quick to slide out of his seat, walking with purposeful strides to Peter's door, opening it and stepping to the side, allowing Peter out.

Peter drew a shaky breath, mentally coaching himself to move his stiff limbs. He climbed from the car and looked up at the building he would now call home. He wasn't ready, but life had thrown him from the nest, and he needed to find his wings. His mind chanted the same thoughts again and again. He wasn't strong enough. He couldn't do this.

"Easy, kiddo," Tony said. It was then he realized he was starting to hyperventilate. Tony's hand firmly pressed against his back. "Just breathe. That's all I need from you. Let me do the rest. Now follow me, I'll show you to your room. You can meet the crew tomorrow if you're up to it."

Peter nodded, his palms sweaty from nerves, the picture still clasped in his hands. "Can you not tell them about, you know …"

"Your Aunt?"

"No, I mean what almost happened after," Peter whispered. "I don't want them thinking I'm … I'm crazy or something."

Tony drew a cross over his heart with his finger. "Secrets safe with me, but just remember they're good people, and I guarantee anyone of them would willingly sit and listen if you wanted to talk. There's always someone around if you feel alone and can't reach me."

A little warmth spread through Peter for the first time that day, like a tiny piece of hope entering the hollow of darkness within him. Maybe he'd be okay. Maybe he'd find a place here with the Avengers. Only time would tell. Putting one foot in front of the other, Peter walked toward the doors. He wasn't alone. Tony was there beside him, hand never leaving his back. Things were never going to be the same, but maybe they would be okay.