Hypoglycemia
Peter had lost his appetite.
Tony's words were on a loop in his mind, stabbing deeper every time they echoed back.
‘Look at yourself, Peter. Are you proud of this?’ ‘Putting on that suit when you weren't fully in control of yourself was the stupidest thing you've ever done, Parker!’ ‘ And why am I even bothering? If I want your suit, I’ll take it. End of story. Now go.’
And it wasn't just words that were stabbing invisible daggers into his chest.
Since his punishment, it felt like Tony had been avoiding him. He spent hours in his office or out on the move, always delegating messages through Happy or Rhodes. Pepper also texted often, sweetly checking in about school and his day, but she never mentioned Tony.
Anyway, what could she have said?
Tony hated him. That much was obvious: he’d offered him a family, a home, and he’d wrecked it. And for what? A few laughs with Ned and MJ, some tequila shots that had left a bitter taste on his tongue, and a disastrous outing night in the Spider-Man suit. Yuck.
God, he missed the suit. Not being able to swing anonymously across rooftops, to climb to the highest ledges, or to help people… it made him feel like a shadow of himself. Ever since that radioactive spider had bitten him, Spider-Man had been a part of his soul. Without him, Peter burned away like the wick of a candle.
Tony had warned him once: ‘If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it.’
Hunched up in the bottom of his bed, Peter clenched his jaw to keep from crying.
OOO
So, Peter had lost his appetite.
At lunch, he stared blankly at his plate without finding anything appetizing in his tuna sandwich. The little brown pieces, drowned in gooey mayo, made his stomach turn.
‘You know you can't live on air, right?‘ MJ asked, eyeing him with concern.
‘Why not? There are salamanders that feed on light,’ Peter muttered with a shrug.
MJ opened her mouth, clearly about to fire back something biting, but finally decided to hold it in.
It was Ned who nudged him a few minutes later, when they were walking away:
‘You haven't been bitten by a salamander, Peter. Spiders need to eat too.’
Peter didn't want to be a spider anymore. He just wanted to be a normal teen again. Thirteen, maybe fourteen, living with May in their little Queens apartment. So far from Tony Stark's massive tower, far from the constant weight of expectations… He had never missed May so much. So much it physically hurt. May wouldn’t have punished him for trying tequila. She wouldn’t have hated him. She was his family. Tony, on the other hand, was just his legal guardian, which was totally different. He didn't have to love him; just to feed him, clothe him, provide the basics.
And Peter had no right to want more. Tony had been generous to take him in: it would be unfair to expect affection on top of that. And it was his fault that the bond between them had been broken. He hadn't thought about the consequences of his actions...
So, yeah. He deserved to feel like a stone sinking to the bottom of the ocean.
OOO
The anxiety also manifested at night, preventing him from sleeping as his thoughts raced, offering him more and more catastrophic scenarios in which Tony realized he was a burden and decided to give up on him. It wasn't long before the circles under his eyes darkened—and like his fading appetite, they didn’t go unnoticed.
‘How’re you doing, Peter?‘ Happy asked one afternoon, while driving him home.
‘Good! Great? Really great’ Peter blurted way too fast. ‘W-why?’
‘You look tired. And a little pale,’ Happy replied, trying for casual but giving himself away with a worried glance. ‘Sure you're not sick? I could call Bruce.’
‘No! No, absolutely not. Don't bother him, I’m fine,” Peter insisted.
He winced when Happy placed a hand on his forehead.
‘Huh. No fever…’ the man mumbled, unconvinced.
‘D-don't worry, Hap. I’m okay. Everything’s fine. D-did you know salamanders can feed exclusively on air? They do it by entering into symbiosis with algae. Pretty wild, right?’
The abrupt change of conversation seemed to unsettle Happy. Peter clung to it, hoping that his distress would go unnoticed amid his ramblings about amphibians, and he even managed to force a smile.
‘Uh… is Tony there?’ Peter finally asked as Stark Tower rose into view, gleaming silver above Central Park.
Happy's expression softened and his voice dropped.
‘No, he's working. But Rhodes should be around if you need anything.’
‘Oh...’
Peter looked away, disappointment prickling behind his eyes.
‘O-okay. Thanks, Happy.’
‘Peter... I know Tony’s been—’
‘I get it! He’s busy. It’s fine. He can’t always be there’ Peter cut him off in an awful, high-pitched voice.
‘But he cares about you, okay?’ Happy pushed. ‘He's just bad at showing it sometimes. Like, really bad. But he hasn't forgotten you.’
‘Yeah. Of course. I know, Hap. I-I…’ His voice rose two or three octaves, then cracked. He cleared his throat, smiled at Happy and headed up to top floor of Stark Tower, his stomach lodged somewhere in his throat.
OOO
Jim Rhodes offered him burgers, but Peter politely declined. He did his homework, climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling, like maybe the answers to everything were hidden in the cracks of the paint.
Is Tony fed up with me? Is he going to leave me? Oh God, please... He’s all I’ve got…
What am I going to do?
The next morning, he almost blacked out getting out of bed. Spots danced at the edges of his vision, and he had to sit down again to steady his breathing.
The whole day felt like a daze, punctuated by waves of dizziness that took his breath away and forced him to curl up, his head between his knees, desperately trying to breathe properly through the invisible nets that were restricting his ribcage. When Ned found him like that, he tried —in vain— to convince him to call someone.
‘You really don't look good. At least go to the nurse?’
‘What?! No, I don't need a nurse! I'm not sick, just a little tired! It’ll pass, okay?
‘Peter, I think you need to talk to someone...’ Seeing Peter flinch, Ned added with a hint of hesitation: ‘Is... is everything okay with Mr. Stark?’
‘Yes! Of course! Why wouldn't it be? We're cool. Everything's cool!’
Yeah right, a voice whispered in his head. He totally doesn’t hate you.
‘I'm fine, Ned. Really.’
OOO
The buzzing in his hear didn’t fade; in fact, it got worse. When he stepped into the Tower’s lounge after school, it felt like a family of hornets had settled inside his ear canals.
He was surprised to Tony on the couch, scrolling on his tablet, his eyes invisible behind his usual sunglasses. Peter froze, and his bag—which weighed about the same as a baby elephant— swung into his hip.
‘T-Tony? What are you... what are you doing here?’ he stammered.
Tony briefly stopped tapping on his tablet and looked up, visibly bored. ‘Last time I heard, I was living here.’
Peter stared at him, his hand clenched around the strap of his bag, barely noticing his fingers were shaking. Frustration electrified his heart and, before he could think, he exclaimed:
‘You know what I mean! You've been ignoring me for a week, and now you're just—here?! Like nothing happened?’
‘I had work.’
‘You always have work! But before, you didn’t ignore my calls, or send Happy or Mr. Rhodes to deal with me, or—’
‘What do you want me to say, Peter? I didn't have time. Breaking news: some of us have jobs.‘
Peter stepped forward, rage and dizziness crashing together, and swayed slightly. Tony frowned. ‘Peter…’
But Peter cut him off, voice cracking. ‘I know you have a job! And I know you hate me! That you regret being my guardian! But I thought… I thought you...’
His tongue felt abnormally huge, as it had doubled in size (what on earth was going on in his mouth?), and the words slipped away. As for the world, it was filled with stars.
Peter was hot, nauseous, and the horizon was turning black. Then, he couldn’t feel anything anymore. Anything, but the cold floor hitting his cheek.
‘Shit! Peter!’
The world was nothing but black flashes and buzzing.
‘Shit, shit, shit… kid? Kid? Friday, call Bruce, now!’
Hands touched his neck, his face, his arms.
The voice came again, frantic. ‘Bruce, something’s wrong with Peter! I don't know, he just… fainted! No, no visible injuries. Friday says his temp’s normal, but his heart is beating too fast. Ok, I'll check. I'll call back.’
A hand rested against his cheek. It felt… safe. Familiar. Like May’s.
‘Peter, can you hear me? Please look at me. I'm not mad, I promise.’
He tries to blink and thought he saw Tony kneeling beside him, his shadow spreading against his eyelashes in the backlight.
‘That's it, kid, that’s it. Good.’
With his free hand, Tony picked something up on his finger. Peter jumped.
‘Shh, easy. It’s over,’ Tony murmured, stroking his hair.
He read something on a small machine that Peter did not recognize. ‘Okay. That explains a lot.’
Peter stirred. ‘W-what’s going on?’
‘Don’t move. I’m carrying you somewhere more comfortable.’
Tony scooped him up. Instinctively, Peter clung to him, his head—far too heavy, as if it had been turned into a pumpkin— rolling on his chest. Then, he felt himself being placed against a cosy surface, and something soft was slipped behind his head. Through his half-closed eyelids, he recognized the sofa in the living-room.
‘I'll be right back. Don't move.’
Even if he wanted to, Peter couldn’t. He remained motionless, trying to control his breathing. A few seconds later, a small spoon was slipped into his mouth, making him frown.
‘It’s just honey, kid. Eat.’
Encouraged by Tony’s voice, Peter obeyed, letting the sweetness spread across his tongue. After a few minutes, it seemed that the clouds obscuring his vision were fading a little.
‘That's good. You’re doing great. One more, come on, open up!’ More spoonfuls were pushed into his mouth before Peter could sit up a little. He felt still tired, but no longer drowning.
Kneeling in front of him, Tony seemed hesitant. He had taken off his sunglasses, and for the first time, Peter noticed the network of small wrinkles lining his eyelids.
‘Th-thank you, Tony,’ Peter whispered, looking away. ’I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell. Or faint.I don't know what happened...’
Tony raised a hand. ‘Hey, no, Pete. It's my turn to talk.’
Peter stared at an invisible point on the sofa, his throat suddenly tight. Was Tony still angry with him?
‘Look at me, kiddo.’
He summoned up all his courage to straighten his face and face Tony's eyes. There was no anger, no resentment in them. Only fatigue, mixed with a hint of gentleness.
‘What you said earlier? You have to understand it's not true, Peter. I don't hate you. I don't regret being your guardian. Never have. And I don’t want to hear that again, or you’ll be grounded until you’re thirty.’
‘But…’
Tony interrupted without animosity. ‘My turn, remember?’
Peter bit his lip.
‘If I punished you, it wasn't to hurt you. I was scared, Peter. Seeing you like that, escorted by the police, half drunk, hurt… I saw me at your age. And I told you: I don't want that for you.’
Peter nodded, ashamed. He wanted to look away again, but Tony's hand on his chin prevented him.
‘You're better, a thousand times better than me.’ He wanted to protest, but Tony continued. ‘You said I wasn’t your dad, and I told you you were right. Do you know why?’
At the time, he had thought it was because he hated him. But what if it wasn't that…?
‘My dad wouldn’t have done anything if I’d pulled a stunt like that. No yelling, no grounding. Just silence. Judgmental silence. He thought it was the best way to help me. That I would magically pull myself together. Do you think it worked?'
Peter didn't dare answer.
‘Yeah,’ said Tony without losing his smile. ’I just thought he didn't care, and I kept falling… until I almost didn’t get back up. Because he wasn’t there for me.’
His index finger brushed Peter's forehead.
‘I won't let than happen to you.’
The words brought tears in Peter’s eyes, and he fought a sudden urge to snuggle into his guardian's arms. Instead, he whispered, his voice trembling, ‘I'm sorry, Tony. I know I've disappointed you.’
‘These things happen. Doesn’t change anything between you and me. Whatever you do, I’ll never hate you. And you’ll still be my favorite teenager.’ Tony concluded, gently ruffling his hair.
Peter couldn't help but laugh through the tears.
Then Tony suddenly turned serious. ‘I owe you an apology, too. I didn't lie to you, I've had a lot of work lately, yeah, but I should have made more time for you. And I shouldn't have spoken to you like that earlier. Respect goes both ways. And if I'd known you were unwell…’
‘I was fine.’
Tony raised a brow. ‘When was your last meal?’
Peter said nothing.
‘You gave us a full-blown hypoglycemic crash, Pete. Your metabolism’s not normal: you have to eat.’
‘I wasn't hungry...’
‘You should’ve told me, I would’ve made soup. You don't have to be hungry to eat soup.’
Peter wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t argue. Tony was already tapping on his phone, looking very focused.
‘How about burgers? With all these emotions, I'm starving, not you?’
At that moment, Peter realized that his own stomach was growling desperately, and he nodded wholeheartedly:
‘Yes, please! Can we have fries too?’
‘Fries, onion rings, the whole shebang. And I’m not leaving until you eat every bite.’
‘Aye, aye, captain!’
‘Please, don’t call me that. It makes me feel like Steve.’
Peter couldn't help but laugh, heart suddenly lighter.