Chapter Text
If Peter had picked up on anything his entire career as a superhero, it was that:
- Superheroes shouldn’t be trying to protect their cities while they aren’t at one-hundred percent capacity.
- If a superhero has the ability to help someone, they should.
It was this combination of contradictions that had Peter slinging his way through Queens, his head pounding, his vision blurry, his stomach cramping, trying to navigate his way back to his aunt’s apartment after a particularly strenuous patrol. It wasn’t as though he wanted to feel like this, but it also wasn’t like the lady he saw while heading to a bank robbery wanted to be assaulted, it wasn’t like the civilians at the bank wanted to be held hostage, it wasn’t like the friendly owners of the small jewelry shop nearby wanted to get held up by another gang while the bank robbery was going on. By that point in his life, Peter knew that people didn’t always get what they want, so he had no right to complain about his current state, even if he wanted to hurl as he began to climb through his bedroom window.
As soon as his feet hit the carpet of the bedroom floor, he scrambled over to a small duffle bag underneath his bed and found his last emergency protein bar, given to him and made by Mr. Stark himself.
“This is for an absolute emergency, Peter, for something like a blood sugar crash! Not for a quick post-patrol snack when you have food available!” Mr. Stark had chastised Peter after finding him casually munching one one. As he willed his metabolism to move faster and heal his stab wounds from the night, he wondered if not eating a proper meal in over a week counted as an emergency. He was lucky that Mr. Stark had been out of town for three weeks, or his plan that he hatched a week ago would have surely been discovered under his mentor’s watchful eye.
-
It had all started after he had gotten back an hour before his curfew one night, a little more than two weeks prior, wanting to hang out with May while eating his usual second dinner. He had changed from his suit as quickly as he could and reached for his door handle when he heard a noise through his door.
“What about Sheila? She’s on maternity leave starting Thursday!”
It was Aunt May on the phone with someone, probably from work, Peter had guessed. He smiled as he imagined her, lounging on the couch, rolling her eyes while talking with friends. He was about to turn his doorknob and say hello to his aunt when she started speaking again, in a much more desperate tone.
“Please Mr. Montoya, I need these shifts. I need to take care of my nephew, and I can hardly foot our grocery bills anymore.”
Peter froze where he stood, his grin dropping from his face, his hand going slack. Mr. Montoya was May’s boss at the hospital. She was asking for more work. Suddenly, he felt his stomach drop and his appetite disappear. How could be so selfish? He knew that May didn’t have lots of money, and here he was, planning to eat a second dinner. Peter backed away from his door and collapsed on his bed, taking his pillow and folding his it over his ears in a vain attempt to block out the conversation playing out on the other side of his door.
“...yes, but he has an incredibly high metabolism. I’ve been having to eat half of what I usually do to make sure…”
Peter felt tears coming to his eyes, and vomit rising in his throat. Not only had he been causing financial strain on his aunt, but he had caused her to eat less when she has a high-intensity job? He felt like the scum of the Earth. How could he be so selfish?
He resolved then to make plans to eat less, so she wouldn’t have to waste more money on him. He quickly drafted the plan up in the notes app on his phone.
Food Plan:
Days 0-3: cut out second dinner
Days 4-6: cut out snacks between meals
Days 7+: eat ¾ of usual meals
Peter stared at the last line. He was trying to wean his body off his abnormal food consumption, but was he not going far enough? He ate a lot more than the average person, so he figured he needed to go a bit further.
Food Plan:
Days 0-3: cut out second dinner
Days 4-6: cut out snacks between meals
Days 7+: eat ¾ of usual meals
Days 7-10: eat ¾ of usual meals
Days 11+: eat ½ of regular meals
Peter nodded his head, determined. He wouldn’t be a burden on his family any longer. He wouldn’t.
-
As Peter stripped off his suit after eating his emergency protein bar and took a shower, he wondered what would happen when Mr. Stark came back in a few days. He was currently on Day 16 of his plan, and his body hadn’t reacted even remotely well to the lack of food. He had trouble sleeping, was constantly fatigued, and was in a permanent state of migraine. Because of this, his grades in school had started to slip. His appearance had changed too: the bags under his eyes had gotten so prominent that he started to use Aunt May’s concealer to cover them up. He had also noticed his face getting skinnier, so he tried to use a combination of highlighter and concealer to make his face look less sunken than it was. His ribs, however, couldn’t be helped. He cringed at himself whenever he looked in the mirror and saw his ribs standing out amongst his too-skinny frame, bruises littered all over his torso from his reduced healing factor.
He didn’t know how long he could keep this up for, especially with Spider-Man duties. He wanted to keep being Spider-Man, but he had noticed his energy levels decreasing at an alarming rate since he started his half-meals. If he had to quit being Spider-Man anyway, maybe he should just get a job to cover his extra food costs.
Peter shook his head. Getting a job would likely mean he couldn’t spend any more time in the lab with Tony, and that would be hell in itself. But he had been doing it for over two weeks already, maybe he would get used to it. As he got into his pajamas and lied down, he thought of all the times May tried to hide her relief of Peter being “full” or “eating something at Ned’s,” and became more determined to continue. He would do it for his aunt.
When Peter arrived at school the next day, before he could even step into his chemistry class he had with Ned and MJ, the two teens dragged him away from the classroom, all the way past the football field, and behind the bleachers, where they eventually set him down.
“Hey guys, what’s up—?” Peter tried to say casually, but was interrupted by a particularly loud grumble from his stomach. MJ simply raised an eyebrow at him and gave a pointed look. Ned simply walked over to where he was sitting and crouched down to his level.
“What’s up with us? What’s up with you, man! You come to class looking awful—“
“Like death warmed over,” MJ amended, picking at her nails. Peter would have thought she was disinterested if it weren’t for the slight furrowing of her brows as she spoke.
“Yeah, like death warmed over, nearly falling asleep in every class, stomach grumbling, until you get to lunch where you binge as much food as you can! What’s going on with you?! And don’t give us the bullshit ‘nothing, don’t worry about it’ that you’ve been giving us for the past two weeks!”
Peter turned his head away, not wanting to look at his friends’ concerned looks. His lunches were free, as a part of his scholarship and financial aid, so Peter allowed himself to eat as much as he could in that time. He thought his friends hadn’t noticed. He was wrong.
“You’re skinnier too,” MJ commented in a deadpan voice, reaching in her bag for something. When she pulled a light blue pack of something, he was confused, until he realized May had a pack of makeup wipes that looked similar. Peter tried to scoot away from her, but she simply rolled her eyes and quickly walked over to him, wiping off his makeup.
“H-how do you even have those! You don’t even wear makeup!” Peter complained, stuttering slightly.
MJ sighed and sat down next to him on the right, Ned doing the same on the left.
“You’d better be glad I do, or else you would keep hiding the fact that you’re starving until you actually fucking died,” she stated bluntly, turning her head to glare at him. Peter went to protest but withered when her glare intensified. “Don’t even try to argue with me, or I’ll lift your shirt up so we can have a better idea of what’s going on.”
Peter put his head in his hands, tears building. He didn’t want this. He just wanted May not to worry as much.
“Peter?” Ned asked gently, and that’s all it took for Peter’s emotional barrier to break, for his tears to start falling. Ned put an arm around him, and MJ rubbed his back lightly, waiting for him to speak. And after a few minutes, speak he did, finally letting out everything that’s been happening in his life for the past few weeks.
Both of his friends looked at him non-judgmentally, albeit confusedly.
“Why didn’t you just ask us for help?” Ned questioned him. “We would’ve helped you.” MJ nodded in agreement.
“If I didn’t want to be a burden on May, of course I’m not going to be a burden on my best friends,” he stated. As Ned started to say something about not being a burden, MJ held up her hand and pinched her fingers together, telling the other boy to be quiet. “What about Stark?” she asked.
Peter looked at her, startled. “What?”
“What about Stark,” she said again, slowly. “He has tons of money to spare, and you’re his personal intern. Of course he would help you.”
Peter scoffed and stood up, moving away from where they were seated, glaring heatedly at MJ. “I’m not some billionaire’s charity case.”
MJ looked frustrated. “I wasn’t saying that you are, I’m just—”
“Saying that I should beg for a billionaire’s money?” Peter nearly snarled back.
“No, not at all—”
“Or say he should take pity on the orphan in distress—”
“PARKER!!” the girl yelled, effectively shutting the teen superhero up, as well as startling Ned, who was looking upon the conversation in a similar manner as a child whose parents were fighting. “Let me fucking finish my sentence.”
MJ pinched the bridge of her nose and breathed in and out for a few seconds, trying to calm herself. “As much as I’m not a fan of Stark, he clearly cares about you. He would be happy to help you.”
“And,” she continued after taking another breath, “if it’s a pride thing, fine. Ask for the internship to be paid, since it basically prevents you from getting an actual job.”
Peter thought about what she said for a moment. Would Mr. Stark not look down on him for asking for help? Could it be that easy?
“He’s out of town right now—” he weakly tried to protest, but Ned spoke up.
“Nuh-uh, you can pay someone digitally, and I know he gave you his number. No getting out of this one.” Ned’s tone was as much of a “no-bullshit” tone as he could muster.
“Alright, fine, I’ll do that,” Peter mumbled, sitting back down. Ned gave him a hug as soon as he touched the ground, and MJ begrudgingly joined in.
“Don’t be dumb, ‘kay Parker?” She spoke, her words slightly muffled by her face against Peter’s shoulder. The group felt more than heard the reverberating laugh the boy gave in response, along with the squeaked “Okay, okay, I promise!” after MJ pulled out of the hug and started hitting him.
-
As Peter put on his Spider-Man suit and snuck out his window later that day, he promised himself that it would be the last time he swung around in that condition. He would have just stayed home today if not for the fact that Mr. Stark would be likely be grounding him from the suit the second he got home. He wanted a last taste of freedom before then. He swung toward Manhattan, specifically Stark Tower, planning on watching the sunset from the top of the building, when nearly halfway there he became incredibly dizzy and shaky, losing his sense of orientation along with his grip on the web he was swinging on. He was at the highest arc of his swing when he let go, causing him to fly further down the street he was following until he landed on the roof of a slightly shorter high-rise, a sickening crack following the landing.
“Kar’n,” Peter panted, laying on his back, slurring his words slightly, “ple’s tell me the cr’ck wasn’ me.”
“It appears the large crack you heard was the simultaneous fracture in your left clavicle, and the clean break in your left humerus and left femur. It appears three ribs on your left side have also been broken, along with a torn deltoid around the area of your previous fractures” Karen stated calmly.
“Shit,” Peter mumbled, and broke into a fit of coughs.
“If it makes you feel any better, you did break part of the roof where you landed, which may have contributed a small amount of the noise,” the AI added after his coughing fit had died down.
“Wow th’nks,” the boy muttered bitterly. “Wait ‘f m’ injur’es are on m’ lef’ side, do’s tha’ mean ’m all ri—” he tried to joke, but Karen interrupted him.
“You may also have internal bruising and/or bleeding due to the fall. An immediate medical checkup is advised,” Karen spoke calmly again, ignoring the frantic tone of the boy’s consequent string of curses.
“Nah K’r’n, ‘m good, c’n alre’dy feel m’self healin’” Peter slurred and tried to move, a large spike of pain greeting him at the action.
“It appears your injuries are not healing at their regular rate,” Karen noted. “I must contact Boss of this, courtesy of the Baby-Monitor protocol.”
“Sh’, I though’ h’ d’sabl’d tha’” Peter tried to speak, slurring his words even more, black spots dancing in his vision.
“Wai’, ‘sn h’ ou’ ‘f t’wn” was his final attempt at speaking before he blacked out.
-
When Peter woke up, the first thing he noticed was the intense lights that shone down on him. The immediate second thing was the smell of disinfectants that burned his nostrils and made him cough. The consequential third thing he noticed was the pain radiating from his left side.
“Welcome back to the world, Sleeping Beauty.” a voice said.
Peter slowly turned his head toward the noise and inwardly groaned. Apparently an angry billionaire as the fourth thing. And the fact he was in the med bay at the Tower as the fifth.
“Hi Mr. Stark,” he croaked out. “Thought you were still on your trip.” The man in question raised his eyebrow questioningly and Peter hastily added on, “Not that I did this because you were away, because that would be idiotic and childish, but you told me that you were going to be back on Saturday, and it’s probably Thursday. Oh my god it’s Thursday, Ned and MJ are going to kill me, I’m not in school—” Peter rambled, despite his voice hurting, not able to stop the spew of words coming from his mouth until Mr. Stark put his hand over it.
“Thanks,” he mumbled weakly.
Tony nodded and moved one of the chairs on the far side of the room next to the bed, sitting down.
“I got home early from the trip. It turns out one of the guys from the company I had been negotiating the business deal with had been subpoenaed by congress as a witness about potential tax evasion from his boss. Since we were almost done with the deal, they decided to just call back when the whole situation was dealt with, so I came home a few days early,” he casually stated. “Imagine my surprise when, while I’m unpacking, my AI contacts me to say that Spider-Man has multiple broken bones, and possible internal bleeding.”
Peter looked down in shame, but Tony continued speaking anyway, “And then I pick him up and take him back to the med bay, and find out his blood sugar level is 15 mg/dL. And that when I take off his suit to put him in more comfortable clothing, his ribs are sticking out.” he finished, irritation evident in his voice.
Peter’s eyes started glistening with tears, which Tony noticed a few moments later.
“Kid?” he asked hesitantly, placing his hand on his mentee’s. Peter’s tears broke free as he spilled everything that had happened since Tony left for his trip. Tony clenched his jaw when he heard about the diet plan, but rubbed Peter’s hand with his thumb in circles until he finished speaking.
“I-I’m sorry,” Peter whispered at the end of his explanation, tears streaming down his face. “I didn’t want to worry anyone.”
“Oh kid,” Tony sighed, standing up so he can run his fingers through Peter’s hair. “I worry about you regardless. And I know that your aunt does as well. You aren’t a burden to either of us.”
Peter outright sobbed at that comment, and Tony took it upon himself to wedge his body next to Peter’s in the space of the hospital bed. The young hero turned and cried into his mentor’s shirt.
“You shouldn’t ever have to worry about stuff like food, okay? I know I’m not your biological parent—” Peter flinched at the admission, and Tony sighed, “—but I care about you like you’re my own son. You’re my kid. Don’t feel guilty about asking for what you need.” Tony continued playing with Peter’s hair, patiently waiting for him to respond. When the boy tilted his head up, Tony stop his movements, focusing on his kid.
“T-thank y-you Mr. Stark,” he hiccuped, hugging his father-figure.
“Of course, Pete, anytime,” the older man simply responded, hugging him back.