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There's never a pattern to it. There's rarely a warning. When he finds himself slipping towards the black hole, he doesn't even try to fight it. He's tired of fighting and resisting. He just wants to be left alone, so he gives up and he gives in.
He wrestles with the monster for a bit before he submits. Well, can it even be considered wrestling if he doesn't put up a fight? It feels more like unnecessary collateral damage.
He wants to scream at the monster because he already gave in. It doesn't have to hurt him, but it does anyway. It toys with him before dragging him into the hole.
It makes his breathing quicken until he's almost hyperventilating and then his lungs freeze and he just stares. He's not sure what he's waiting for. A silent sob tears from his throat, and he waits for it to pass.
But even when he holds his breath, the world around him is too overwhelming. Thoughts are swirling around his mind faster than light. The words in his mind scare him, no matter how used to them he is.
The thoughts leave him with the overwhelming urge to grab his arm and squeeze. It used to feel like a punishment but now it feels like a relief.
This part is always the scariest. Because he grabs tight and he squeezes. He squeezes hard enough that he could almost shatter a bone but he refrains. Something like a broken bone would lead to questions that he doesn't want to answer.
So his fingers squeeze enough to bruise, but even then, the pain isn't enough. His nails press into his skin, creating a sharp pain that makes Peter smile.
And it's wrong-- he knows this.
He's not a masochist. When he's okay and he gets hurt, he doesn't smile. Getting injured as Spider-Man doesn't make him happy or feel good.
But pain feels different when he's circling the blackhole. It feels grounding when everything around him is too much.
He hurts and hurts just enough before he stops and his body sags in relief. Peter savors that relief. It feels good.
And he feels grounded.
But not in a good way. This kind of grounding is like an anchor dragging him to the bottom of the ocean. He lets himself sink and he lets out a heavy sigh.
He feels at peace now. All of the previous chaos whirling in his mind is gone and he lays there.
Sometimes, he leaves. He floats around himself until his body sleeps. Sometimes, he stays. Tonight, he's not really sure.
He's laying on the ground of his bedroom floor instead of his bed. He's wearing his clothes from the day despite the late hour. His t-shirt and jeans were uncomfortable before, but now, he's trying to ignore them. He doesn't want to feel it.
There are two tracks of tears falling from his eyes to his temples and they pool in his ear, feeling cool. Maybe he's not floating if he feels that. He's not sure why he's crying or when he had started. He sniffles quietly and feels snot dripping to the back of his throat as he continues to lay on his back and stare up at the ceiling.
He wishes someone were here but then stops himself. People shouldn't have to bother with this. With him.
No one even cares that Peter's laying on his bedroom floor after spending the last hour screaming silently through tears as the monster tore through him.
Rationally, he knows the thought is stupid and unfair. How is anyone in the tower supposed to know he's hurting if he doesn't ask for help? They can't. It's literally impossible.
He needs to tell someone. But he doesn't because what would it do? Nothing. They wouldn't be able to take this away. They couldn't kill the monster. No one could. Not even Peter. Not even when he hid and he his so well that the monster couldn't find him. Sometimes he'd be free for weeks, for months, and he'd think-- finally. I've lost it. But it always comes back to find him. And when it does, it's always angry. It makes up for its absence, leaving Peter a numb shell after it's done with him.
The numbness, in theory, should be welcomed. How can it hurt him if he's numb? But this numbness isn't like his foot falling asleep in class. It's painful. It hurts.
It leaves him with usually the same thought: i am a bother to the world around me.
It's the same conclusion to every episode. Peter realizes that if he could exist like this forever, it would be better that way. He couldn't let people down. He couldn't speak and say the wrong thing. He wouldn't have to wake up tomorrow and face the music of his actions in the light of morning.
When the dark faded and the monster followed, it always left Peter a puddle-- no, an ocean-- of shame to drown in.
And he'd promise himself he'd never let himself get so low again. He'd ghost his fingers over the bruises and the scabs and promise to never hurt himself again. He'd feel like an idiot. He'd laugh with Michelle and Ned, wondering if they knew how fucked up he really was. He'd swear it was the last time. He'd really really try his best.
But he'd fail.
He'd trip and he'd stumble and the monster would catch up. Sometimes, he didn't run for very long. Sometimes, he kept a good distance between falls.
But inevitably, he always found himself in that same spot-- crying at nothing, screaming silently into the dark, digging his teeth into his arm to keep his secret from being heard, laying on the floor in a heap of numbness that slowly turned to regret.
It's a vicious cycle that Peter doesn't know how to escape.
Tonight, the monster doesn't even announce itself before digging its claws into his back and dragging him down. He's been running for a few days now since the last fall.
So he should expect it, but he doesn't.
He really doesn't expect a soft knock at his door while he's in the middle of staring up at the ceiling, unsure of where he is right now. He continues staring, blinking once to expel more tears. He's not sure if they're replenishing or he just has a lot in his eyes.
There's another knock before his door starts to drift open and for the first time since his panicking started, a sliver of light finds its way inside his room. It's just enough to illuminate some of the room, jarring Peter.
He's supposed to be in a hole. A deep deep black hole. There's not supposed to be Star Wars posters on the wall of blackholes.
Nothing existed in blackholes. Not him, not happiness, and especially not Star Wars posters.
"Hey, kid," a soft voice says, crackling in his ears. When he stops speaking, Peter is hit with the tinnitus that usually drowns itself out throughout the day.
It's ringing in his ear. Roaring. Maybe it's crying too. Peter isn't shocked. It's part of him. Of course, it's crying.
There's a thud against his leg followed by cursing. The shadow above him falls and for a brief moment, Peter wonders if the shadow is trying to join him in the blackhole-- but he isn't in it anymore. He feels like it-- he's supposed to be-- but this isn't-- posters aren't there-- the shadow that tripped isn't there-- the bed he catches himself on isn't either.
"Jesus Christ, Pete," the voice says again, and it's not just a voice. It's a voice that belongs to the shadow. The shadow is light in the dark. It's warm. "What are you doing on the floor? You're lucky you're by your bed or else it would have been you breaking my fall."
Peter blinks at the shadow and can't tell if he's comforted or irritated by the new company.
"What? No quip about me breaking a hip?" There's silence. "Peter?"
More movement and noises around him until there's a sudden light and it makes Peter flinch hard. It's supposed to be dark and black. Why can he see colors and things and Tony? His heart settles in his chest as Tony stares down at him.
"Oh, kid…"
Pity. That's all Tony can offer him. He can't pick him up and he can't cover this hole and he can't kill the monster.
This is why he never reaches for help.
Peter stares up at Tony, trying to see him. He knows Tony must think he's stupid as he looks down at him. Peter wonders if he can see the phantom handprints on his own skin. The thought makes him faintly sick.
He can't even bring himself to cover his arm as Tony stares down at him. He can't move his mouth to make an excuse. He can only lay there.
Tony doesn't hold out a hand or try to lift him up. Instead, he lays down with him. Their shoulders press against each other and Peter wishes he was in control right now. He wants to curl against Tony and he held. But he can only lay there, motionless. New tears start to form.
"I didn't know it was a floor day. Thought we were having fun, but these nights sneak up on ya', huh?"
It's just a reminder that Tony's found him in this numb state before. Peter's felt the shame of knowing that Tony knows how broken he is. The first tear falls.
"We should paint something cool up there," Tony continues, his voice soft. He isn't trying to hard to pull him up-- they learned the hard way that that only makes Peter panic and choke on the emptiness surrounding him.
(He actually chokes on the sobs that tear through his throat as he desperately tries to contain them.)
"You might have to do that by yourself though. You've got the sticky hands. I can offer you moral support from the floor below though. And lots of paint."
Peter's mind goes to Rapunzel painting her tower-- her prison. He wouldn't mind looking at something pretty at a time like this.
"Maybe some glow in the dark paint? That way you'll see it. Even when you feel like you're slipping down that blackhole."
Tony knows about the hole. He knows about it, but he can't fix it. Peter knows that kills Tony.
"You could totally put a portrait of Thor up there. You'll always come running back to see him."
Peter can't draw or paint. But Steve can. Maybe he could ask him. The next time he found his way out.
"Nothing outta Playgirl though. You're still a child. A baby. You don't get to put any of that on your wall until you're living in a college dorm room."
College. That's far. Would Peter be able to run that far? He wants to. He really does. He manages to turn his head to look over at Tony. He stares at the side of his head. He waits for Tony to look.
A second later, he turns his head so their cheeks are both resting against his hard floor. Tony smiles, but he's scared. He's worried. He's sad. Because of Peter. Peter hates hurting Tony. He hates being so close to him yet feeling so far. He wants to reach out and hold him and hug him and cling so Tony can pull him out.
Tony seems to read his mind. His hand finds Peter's-- the one with teeth indents in skin-- and he squeezes it. Hard. "I'm here, kiddo. Not going anywhere without you."
More tears fall and he wishes he could just come up for air. He wants to be with Tony at present. He doesn't want to be staring at him through his blackhole.
Tony smiles, rubbing his finger on his skin. "Take your time coming back. I'm not going anywhere."
Peter feels his bottom lip start to quiver. He wants to squeeze Tony's hand back. It takes him a few long moments to do so.
When he does, a sob builds up in his throat. It claws its way up Peter's throat before he's letting out a gross snot filled choking noise. Tony is patient though. He lets Peter struggle through the fog until finally, he's up for air. He pries himself into the cold air of reality and cries.
He feels like a newborn baby entering the world for the first time. He feels as useless as one too as Tony immediately goes to action.
He turns over and pulls Peter in close, rubbing his back and whispering, "It's alright. You're back. You're safe."
Peter still can't speak. He just clings to Tony.
Don't let me fall. Don't let me fall in again.
He doesn't ask Tony, but of course, Tony doesn't need to be told. He holds him safely until he manages to calm down enough. Peter's even weaker after it's all sad and done. Crawling from the hole always leaves him exhausted.
Tony groans as he lifts Peter up and settles him in his bed. He tucks the blankets around him. "You better not tell anyone about this. I have a reputation to uphold with this team and if they find out, Cap might start asking for a bedtime story before bed."
Peter doesn't stare-- he looks up at Tony as he smooths some of his hair off of his forehead. He's afraid to take his eyes off of Tony and lose all the clarity he's finally found again.
"I'm still here," Tony promises. "I can lay next to you-- or sit next to you. Whatever you want. But if my back spends another two hours on that floor, I'm not sure I'll get up."
Two hours?
Peter opens his mouth and he's ready to apologize, but Tony cuts him off. "Don't you dare. No 'I'm sorry's from you for at least a week. Never because of this."
Peter wants to though. He feels like a burden now that he's surfaced. The vicious cycle continues. It always does.
But Tony knows this, and he does his best to drown the rest of it out. "Don't go back there. Stay here with me. Think about your ceiling and what you wanna paint."
Peter drags his mind away from the torture. He can't focus on anything else but staying away from the monster.
Again, Tony knows this, and he starts talking. He picks up the conversation right where he left off, not letting Peter's mind wander too far. He's still talking-- about this new French toast recipe Rhodey wanted him to try from Pinterest of all places-- when Peter feels himself start to drift.
But this time, it isn't somewhere dark and cold. It's safe and warm. And Tony never leaves his side as he lets his mind and body finally rest.
When he wakes up the next morning, it's almost two in the afternoon and the smell of French toast fills the air.
Tony is still by his side, reading one of Peter's Star Wars encyclopedia. He can mange a small smile when Tony looks up at him from the book. "Morning, Underroos. How're we feeling today?"
Peter can still feel the monster nearby. It's like his spider sense can feel it. And he feels the shame of last night. How stupid he'd been for the things he'd done and the things he'd thought.
But Tony's there still, and he's safe.
He makes Peter feel calm and present and clear.
His stomach growls loudly the moment Peter realizes this. His cheeks flush as Tony's smile turns to a grin.
Tony laughs. "I hear ya', bud. Don't worry. Cap's making us big plates. He ran to the store after his morning run to buy enough eggs to feed a growing mutant boy. He also picked up these, and I thought we could put 'em up later."
Peter looked at the package of ceiling star stickers in Tony's hand. He finally smiled.
"They glow in the dark," Tony explained. "If I'm ever not there… because I can't always be… just follow the stars back home. They'll always bring you back to us."
Maybe the vicious cycle didn't always have to be so scary.