Spiderson and irondad oneshots

Trembling hands

Warning: mentions of suicide and self harm

He played with the trigger as it laid in his palm, the coldness of the metal was soothing, yet it was a great contrast to his hot and sweaty palms. He knew what was going to happen. He knew what he was going to do. Slowly, his hands began to tremble, to shake. He held the metal with a firm grip, yet it wasn't enough to stop the violent trembling in his hands.

His tan skin was coated in patterns and swirls or red. Scabs, scars and burns drowned his body in mass amounts of pain. This was all his fault and soon he shall sing the deceased song.

The cold barrel of the gun met his head, harshly being pushed into his skull to stop the trembling that still remained. In that moment everything hit him, everything came down.

The tears welled down his face, hot teardrops staining his tan cheeks that were flushed from the intensity of his sobs and chokes.
Do it, do it, do it!
His head screamed and yelled at him as he shook.

Slowly, pulling the gun away, his sobs grew louder and soon enough he was on the floor holding her head to her knees and wishing for it all to be over.

If someone else held him at gun point, he wouldn't care anymore, he'd let them pull the trigger. There'd be no begging, negotiating and witty remarks... he'd just be grateful. They'd be doing him a favour by letting him leave the world he felt so trapped by.

Every breath, every step he took was lived in mental and physical pain, the cuts on his wrist that burnt like hellfire and the constant voice in his head, always screaming.

He should've tried harder.
He wasn't worthy of love.
He shouldn't be surrounded by the people who cared about him.

Everyday was as if he was drowning, feeling the water corrupt his lungs and the air slowly being violently ripped from him and his instinct to hold his breathe gave out. Everything burnt as he watched everyone around him having fun and not worrying about the guy who was slowly dying.

Drowning in his pain, sorrow and every corrupted thought that possessed his mind.

He was dying.

And no one cared enough to realise.

~~~~~~
The gray monotone skies slowly engulfed the sun, like a candle being blown out by the cold, chilled air of the night. He knew he couldn't wander off, he had other things to do.

As he stared at his coarse, large hands, he felt a sudden shock down his back, with the clouds bringing drizzle and rain alongside with fear. A faint but subtle sob could be heard. He stared into the direction of Tonys house, he couldnt be hearing things?

His legs trembling with horror. Arms by him, the only thing that could protect him,  as the rain slid down his trenchcoat. He made his way into the house that tony told him not to go into. But why? What was Tony hiding?

It was an old house, what would you even keep here?

These thoughts all flashing by in his mind like thunder. Step by step, he made it inside, and he saw a tony on the floor, a gun laying nearby him.

It was loaded.

Tony looked pale, his body looking malnorished and in poor condition. It was clear what his  intentions were with the gun.

~~~~~~

The brown dull eyes met the blue electric ones that were consumed by shock. Steve could also see the vile of ashes laying by Tony and soon knew exactly why the gun had been brought out.

"I want to see him again Steve... I can't... I don't want to... I see him... every night" the dark haired man choked out, and all the blonde haired man could do was hold his friend as sobs racked his body and a gun lay a good meter away from the two.