5 Times Peter Fell, and Tony caught him. And the 1 Time Tony didn't.

Chapter 5: Step and Fall

5.

The world was falling. Or at least Peter's was.

And what did it really matter if the ground below his feet was still here, when what had kept him grounded to it was gone. All gone.

All dead.

All Peter's fault.

Higher.

There was a voice in Peter's head – it had to be his though. Who else could get in there? Who else was left, too?

Higher. It murmured. Higher. It will hurt less. Higher.

But god Peter's legs hurt. Every square inch of him ached, but he kept climbing, one stair at a time. That was all he had left in him. One foot in front of the other. He couldn't stop. Not ever. Stopping meant thinking. Thinking meant feeling.

And he couldn't feel this. He just couldn't. It would kill him.

Higher.

He clutched at the handrail, using it to haul himself up every time he stumbled, but he kept climbing. The concrete steps were cold on his bare feet. He'd lost his shoes somewhere along the long walk home.

The white walls began to blur together. And Peter blurred with them.

Oh god. He was alone. Alone.

Higher.

Peter's hands slammed into the metal-door at the top of the staircase. It took him a full minute to realise that he couldn't go up any further, and when he did the thoughts that were threatening to kill him started to poor right back in. No. No, he couldn't. He couldn't think about this. Couldn't –

Keep going.

The door grinded against its metal frame loudly as Peter swung it open. The lock had been broken for as long as Peter had lived in the building, and because of that the roof had become a bit of a hideout for him when he was younger. He used to go up with a blanket, and a pair of binoculars, and watch the New York skyline. Uncle Ben or May would bring him hot chocolate and sit with him – Ben would talk about the planets, and May would talk to Peter about school. And when they ran out of things to talk about they'd sing Beatles songs for hours. Or try to. They always botched the lyrics, and ended up making their own.

May.

Oh god. May.

No. No. He couldn't think about that. Not that.

The roof was deserted. It was only ten o'clock, the city's nightlife barely kicking off below, but there was already chill in the air that swept through Peter and threatened to bring him to his knees.

He stumbled out of the staircase and onto the roof, his bare feet carrying him numbly towards the ledge. This wasn't real. Was it? This couldn't be real. The skyline was all wrong. It was...empty. There was no more wonder in it. No more thrill. Peter had stared out across that skyline for majority of his life, and never once had he not been able to find something glorious about it. Possibilities hidden it.

He used to sit alone and watch the sky for hours just to catch a hint of red and gold soaring above Manhattan.

But the red and gold was gone.

He'd fallen, and he wasn't getting back up.

And neither was Peter.

Climb onto the ledge.

What. What? Wait –

Climb onto the ledge.

His feet were moving before he really knew what was happening. They were dragging him closer to the ledge. Stepping up onto the cool brick – and freezing there.