In the shadow of Stark Tower, a solitary figure perched on the ledge of a nearby rooftop, watching the world below with a sense of responsibility that weighed heavier than the costume clinging to his frame. Peter Parker's eyes darted across the cityscape, searching for the telltale signs of trouble that had become his personal radar. The night air was cool, a gentle breeze whispering past him, carrying the distant sounds of the city's heartbeat—sirens, laughter, and the occasional car horn. He was tired, but the city never slept, and neither could he.
A glint of metal caught Peter's attention. His muscles coiled, ready to leap into action. It was just a loose shutter banging against a skyscraper window. He sighed, the tension draining from his body. His mind wandered to Tony Stark, the man he'd saved from a burning building and who now knew his secret. The billionaire had been strangely distant since that fateful night, and Peter couldn't shake the feeling that he'd done something wrong. He'd hoped that their shared secret might bring them closer together, but instead, it had driven a wedge between them, leaving Peter feeling more isolated than ever.
The crunch of gravel alerted Peter to movement beside him. He whirled around, fists raised, only to see Tony Stark standing there in his own suit of armor. The Arc Reactor pulsed a steady rhythm in Tony's chest, casting a soft blue glow over his concerned expression. "Kid, what are you doing up here?" Tony's voice was a mix of annoyance and worry.
"Just... keeping an eye out," Peter replied, his heart racing from both the surprise and the proximity to the man he'd idolized for so long.
Tony sighed, his armor's servos whirring softly. "You've been out here every night. You know you can't save everyone, right?"
"I know," Peter murmured, his eyes never leaving the horizon. "But I can't help it."
"You need to take care of yourself, too," Tony said, his tone shifting from frustration to genuine concern. "You're pushing yourself too hard."
Peter shrugged, his eyes still scanning the streets. "It's just what I do."
"It's what you do?" Tony echoed. "You're not a machine, Peter. You need rest, food, a life."
"I'm fine," Peter insisted, though the tremble in his voice betrayed his fatigue.
Tony's gaze narrowed, the glow from the Arc Reactor piercing through the darkness. "No, you're not," he said firmly. "You're pushing yourself to the brink."
Before Peter could protest, Tony reached out a metal-clad hand and gently placed it on Peter's shoulder. "Look at you, you're shaking." His eyes searched Peter's face, noticing the paleness of his skin and the dark circles under his eyes. "When was the last time you ate something?"
"I...I had a sandwich," Peter lied, trying to shrug off Tony's touch. The truth was, he couldn't remember his last proper meal. Between school, his internship, and being Spiderman, food had become a luxury rather than a necessity.
"A sandwich?" Tony repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. "How long ago was that?"
"I...uh..." Peter's stomach rumbled, the betraying sound echoing in the quiet night. He swallowed, feeling the hollowness of his lie. "It's just been busy," he said, trying to deflect.
Tony's grip on his shoulder tightened slightly, his eyes searching Peter's face with an intensity that made him squirm. "Busy isn't an excuse for neglecting yourself," he said firmly. "You're not invincible, Spiderman."
The words hit Peter like a punch to the gut. He'd been trying so hard to juggle everything—his schoolwork, his internship, and his life as a superhero—that he'd forgotten to take care of the most basic of needs. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a decent meal. The guilt of not being able to afford food after a mission gone wrong, the regret of not having the funds to help his Aunt May, it all weighed on him. The food he'd managed to grab was often stale, the kind that left him feeling more empty than satisfied.
Also, the feeling of not deserving to eat after a mission gone wrong definitely didn't help.
"Come on," Tony said, his voice softer now. "Let's get you inside. You can tell me all about it." He gestured towards the gleaming tower behind them.
Peter hesitated, unsure if he wanted to bring his mentor into the mess that was his personal life. But the warmth in Tony's eyes and the gentle squeeze of his hand on Peter's shoulder made him feel less alone. With a resigned nod, he allowed himself to be guided towards the Stark Industries headquarters.
Inside, the tower was alive with technology and energy, a stark contrast to the quiet, dark streets below. Tony led Peter to a private elevator, and they ascended in silence. The doors slid open to reveal a living space filled with modern comforts and the faint smell of metal. It was a stark reminder (pun intended) of the world Peter aspired to be a part of and the responsibilities he'd taken on.
As they approached the couch, the world around Peter began to spin. His stomach lurched, and he felt his legs give out. "Tony..." he whispered, his vision swimming with black dots.
Tony's eyes widened in horror as Peter crumpled to the floor, the weight of his costume and gear exaggerating the fall. He rushed to catch him, but Peter's body was already on its way down. Time seemed to slow as Peter's eyes rolled back and he went limp, his Spiderman mask slipping slightly to reveal the stark reality of his youthful, exhausted face.
"Peter!" Tony's voice was a mix of panic and dread as he cradled Peter's unconscious form in his arms. The contrast between the heavy responsibility Peter carried and the fragility of his physical form was not lost on Tony. He felt the weight of his own neglect in not reaching out sooner.
He lifted the kid, who was way to light, lighter then any person should be.
As he carefully laid Peter on the couch, Tony's eyes widened with alarm. He reached for Peter's shirt, pulling it up gently. The sight of Peter's prominent ribs was a reminder of the gravity of the situation. "You're way too light," Tony murmured, his voice thick with concern. "Jesus, kid."
The room was suddenly too bright, the sounds of the city muffled by the tower's thick windows. Tony felt a knot tighten in his stomach as he took in the stark reality of Peter's condition. This was his fault. He should have seen the signs, should have been there for him. Instead, he'd been too wrapped up in his own life, his own guilt over his past, to notice the kid he'd promised to look after was slowly fading away.
Gently, Tony peeled back Peter's mask, revealing his pale, sweat-drenched face. He looked so young, so vulnerable, and Tony's heart ached. He brushed the hair from Peter's forehead, feeling the warmth of his skin, the faint flutter of his eyelashes as he dreamed of the battles he'd fought, the lives he'd saved. Tony's hand hovered over Peter's chest, feeling the erratic rhythm of his heart, the rapid rise and fall of his breath.
With a soft groan, Peter's eyes fluttered open, focusing with difficulty on Tony's concerned face. "H-hey," Peter managed to say, his voice weak.
Tony's expression was a tumult of emotions—relief, anger, and a deep, abiding worry. "Hey," he said back, his voice gruff. "How are you feeling?"
"Tired," Peter whispered, his eyes drooping closed again. "So tired."
Tony's heart squeezed tight. "You need to eat something," he said firmly. "And not just a sandwich from the corner store."
"I... I can't," Peter protested weakly, his stomach giving a painful growl. "Aunt May... I don't want to worry her."
"Your Aunt May is one of the strongest people I know, Peter," Tony said gently, his hand still resting on Peter's shoulder. "But you can't keep doing this to yourself. You're not a failure because you can't save everyone."
"But I could have done more," Peter murmured, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "There's always someone I miss, someone who gets hurt because I'm not there."
Tony's expression softened, his hand moving to cup Peter's cheek. "You can't save everyone," he repeated, his voice gentle. "But you've saved more than most. You're not a failure, Peter. You're a hero."
A single tear slipped down Peter's cheek, tracing a path through the dust and grime of his Spiderman mask. "But...I can't even save myself," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I don't deserve...to eat."
Tony's eyes searched Peter's, finding the raw pain and guilt that lay beneath the surface. "That's not true," he said firmly. "You deserve every bit of happiness and comfort you can get. You're not a failure because you're not perfect."
The words hung in the air, heavy. Peter's chest tightened as he tried to hold back the sob that threatened to escape. "I...I don't know what you mean," he said, his voice trembling.
Tony's eyes searched Peter's, filled with a sadness that made Peter's heart ache. "It's okay, kid," Tony said, his voice low and gentle. "You don't have to be so strong all the time. I think... I think you might have an eating disorder."
The words hung in the air, as sharp as a knife. Peter's eyes widened in shock, his breath hitching in his throat. An eating disorder? He'd heard about it in health class, but he was just busy, right? Just a little forgetful about food. "No," he whispered, shaking his head. "I'm just... I've been busy."
But Tony's gaze didn't waver, the understanding in his eyes cutting deeper than any laser could. "You're more than that, Peter," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "You're pushing yourself too hard."
Peter's chest tightened, his breathing shallow as he tried to process Tony's words. An eating disorder? It was like a punch to the gut. He'd never thought about it that way before. It was just...he was busy, right? But as he looked into Tony's eyes, he saw the truth reflected back at him—his actions were not just a result of a hectic lifestyle; they were a cry for help he hadn't even realized he was sending.
The dam broke, and Peter's eyes filled with tears. He didn't know how to explain the guilt that ate away at him every time he saw someone hurt because he wasn't there, the fear that he wasn't good enough, that he could always do more. The tears spilled over, tracing hot paths down his cheeks, and he felt a tremble in his body that had nothing to do with his Spidey-sense and everything to do with the weight of his own self-doubt.
Tony saw the raw emotion on Peter's face and felt his own heart crack. He quickly shed his Iron Man armor, the clanking metal echoing in the room as it fell away, and he was just Tony Stark again—flawed, human, and aching to help the boy he'd let slip through the cracks. He scooted closer, reaching out to wrap his arms around Peter, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Shh, it's okay," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm to Peter's frazzled nerves.
The warmth of Tony's embrace was surprising, a contrast to the cold, hard metal Peter was used to. His body melted into the comfort of the billionaire's chest, his own sobs muffled against the fabric of Tony's shirt. The tears flowed freely now, a dam bursting under the pressure of his pent-up fear and guilt. He clung to Tony, his mentor, his friend, his confidant—the one person who knew the full weight of his secret identity.
"Jarvis," Tony called out, his voice thick with emotion. "Can you bring us some food, please? Something substantial for Peter."
The AI's calm response was almost immediate. "Of course, sir. I'll prepare something nutritious and have it sent up."
Tony held Peter close, his hand rubbing small circles on Peter's back as he sobbed into his chest. The steady beat of Tony's heart was a comfort, a reminder that he wasn't alone in his battle. The warmth of the embrace washed over Peter, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to lean into it, to accept the comfort being offered. Tony's arms tightened around him, and Peter could feel the man's own tension begin to ease as he held him, as if the act of providing support was a balm to his own troubled soul.
The door to the room slid open, and the scent of warm food wafted in, making Peter's stomach rumble even louder. He pulled back slightly, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, feeling embarrassed for breaking down in front of his idol. Tony, however, didn't seem to notice the interruption, his gaze never leaving Peter's face. "Look at you," he said, his voice gentle. "You've taken on so much, saved so many. You're a hero, Peter."
A tray laden with steaming dishes was placed on the coffee table by an automated butler. Peter's eyes widened at the sight of the food—it looked heavenly, but his mind was a war zone of doubt and fear. He didn't feel worthy of such care. "But...I could have done more," Peter whispered, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him like a boulder.
Tony's gaze softened, and he leaned back to look into Peter's tear-stained eyes. "You've done enough," he said firmly. "You're not a failure, Peter. You're one of the best things to come out of this messed up world. And if eating means you can keep being that hero, then that's what you need to do."
With a gentle hand, Tony guided Peter to sit up and picked up a sandwich from the tray. "Here," he said, holding it out. "Take a bite." Peter took it hesitantly, the bread feeling heavy and foreign in his trembling hand. He took a tentative bite, and as he chewed, Tony's eyes never left his face. "Good," he murmured, the praise warm and sincere. "Another."
Each bite was a victory, a step towards admitting he deserved this simple act of nourishment. Tony's words of encouragement were a salve to Peter's battered psyche, his voice a lifeline in the storm of his thoughts. "That's it, kid," he said, his eyes shining with something akin to pride. "You're doing great."
With every mouthful, Peter felt the warmth spread from his stomach to his fingertips. It was as if the food was rekindling a fire within him, one that had been smoldering for too long. The taste was heavenly, a symphony of flavors that seemed so distant in his recent memory. He took another bite, the bread thick and the meat flavorful, the cheese melting in his mouth. Tony watched him, his eyes never leaving Peter's face, his own hunger for connection as palpable as the aroma of the food.
"Good," Tony said after each bite, his voice a soothing balm that seemed to fill Peter's hollowed-out chest with a warmth he hadn't felt in what felt like an eternity. "You're doing it." The praise was like a gentle pat on the back, a nod of approval that Peter hadn't realized he craved. It was strange, this intimate act of being fed by the man who knew his deepest secret, the man he'd looked up to for so long. Yet, it felt right.
The sandwich was gone before Peter knew it, and Tony was already reaching for another one, his eyes never leaving Peter's. "You can stop whenever you want," he assured Peter, his voice gentle, but Peter found himself shaking his head. He didn't want to stop. He was hungry—so hungry he hadn't realized it until now. The food was a comfort, a reminder that he was more than just a superhero, more than just the sum of his mistakes.
With each bite, Peter felt the weight of his guilt ease slightly, replaced by the warmth of Tony's words and the simple act of nourishing his body. It was a revelation, the idea that he could allow himself to be taken care of without feeling like he was failinging. Tony watched him, his expression a mix of relief and pride, and Peter felt his own chest swell with something unfamiliar—hope.
As Peter took the last bite of the second sandwich, Tony placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "That's enough for now," he said, his voice filled with a warmth that made Peter's eyes sting with fresh tears. "You did so good, Peter."
Peter looked down at the empty plate, feeling a sense of accomplishment that was alien to him. He'd never felt proud of something as simple as eating before. But here he was, in the arms of Tony Stark, feeling like he'd just won a battle more personal than any he'd ever fought. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice small.
Tony's grip tightened on Peter's shoulder. "You don't have to thank me, kid," he said, his voice gruff. "But you do have to promise me something."
Peter looked up at him through tear-soaked lashes. "What?"
"You need rest," Tony said firmly. "Proper rest." He stood, lifting Peter into his arms with surprising ease. Despite the weight of the armor, Peter felt like a feather to Tony's enhanced strength. "I'm taking you to my room."
Peter's eyes widened in surprise, but his protests were weak. "Tony, I can't—"
"You can and you will," Tony cut him off, his voice firm yet gentle. "You're not leaving my sight until I know you're okay."
He carried Peter through the penthouse, the lights dimming automatically as they passed, casting a warm glow over the opulent surroundings. The bedroom was vast, the king-sized bed looking like a cloud in the center of the room. Tony laid Peter down gently, his movements surprisingly tender for a man known for his brusque exterior. He pulled back the covers, revealing crisp, clean sheets that smelled faintly of something Peter couldn't quite place—something comforting and homey amidst all the steel and glass.
Without asking, Tony began to unbuckle Peter's utility belt, his hands deft despite the clumsiness of his concern. Peter felt a flush of embarrassment at being undressed like a child, but his protests died in his throat when he realized how much energy it took just to breathe. Tony noticed and paused, his eyes searching Peter's face for permission. Peter nodded weakly, feeling the weight of his exhaustion settle in.
With Peter's costume and utility belt removed, Tony slid the covers over him, tucking him in with a tenderness that made Peter's heart ache. He climbed into the bed, the warmth of the sheets enveloping him like a cocoon. Tony shifted closer, spooning Peter from behind, his arms wrapping around Peter's waist. Peter's body stiffened for a moment before relaxing into the embrace. It was strange, the feeling of being so close to someone after so much solitude, but it was also...nice.
Peter's eyes fluttered shut, the exhaustion pulling him under like a wave. He felt Tony's warm breath on the back of his neck, his heart beating in a steady rhythm that matched Peter's own racing heart. The comfort of Tony's embrace was unlike anything Peter had ever felt, and he found himself sinking into it, his body relaxing in a way it hadn't in months. The tension in his muscles eased, and the world outside the bedroom door faded away.
The billionaire's chest was a wall of warmth behind him, his breathing steady and comforting. Tony's hand found Peter's, entwining their fingers. "You're going to be okay," he murmured, his voice a soothing whisper in the quiet room. "I've got you."