Outnumbered

Entering May and Happy’s apartment without knocking seems rude even though they’ve told Peter again and again that he’s welcome any time. He has a key, but he knocks and waits for May to open the door anyway.

“Baby,” she squeals, giving him a tight hug before pulling away to check him over. She’s tan from her two weeks in Hawaii and already in her scrubs for work; Peter knows she’s leaving for her shift at the hospital soon, that they’re just doing a quick, early dinner to catch-up. “You look exhausted. AP week must’ve taken a lot out of you, huh? How’s everything else at school?”

It’s a general question, one that shouldn’t bother Peter so much, but it does because school, which has always been easy and the least of his worries, is suddenly giving him anxiety.

Like, can’t sleep, no appetite, willing to skip class to avoid feeling overwhelmed in certain classes, anxiety.

But it also means she knows. About the Griggs situation.

Did he really think Tony wouldn’t tell her?

He hasn’t wanted to admit it, but taking three AP classes as a junior was much harder than Peter thought it would be. His honors classes may be tedious and take up much of his afternoons during both the week and weekend, but school has never felt exceedingly overwhelming like it does now. And even though he eventually caught up on the material he missed while he was out, and even though he took all of the exams last week and is finished with AP classes for the year, he’s worried he won’t score high enough to get college credit on any of them. The overwhelming reminder that May paid hundreds of dollars for him to potentially bomb all three tests and lose out on college credits has weighed heavily on him all week because he doesn’t feel like he’s done his best. That, and the dean referral situation with Griggs had only made him even more panicked about needing approved accommodations from College Board during testing.

It’s not that Peter doesn’t trust his teachers since that day in math class.

Okay, so maybe he’s nervous about having to fight another referral even though Tony reminded him during their internship this week that it’s in his 504 plan that he can walk out of class whenever he needs to for diabetes-related issues, no questions asked, and go to the nurse without penalty.

Still, all of that hadn’t made AP week, needing accommodations just to fairly take his tests, any easier.

He’d sat in a stuffy room with six other students who needed extended time. MJ was already seated when Peter had arrived. He didn’t approach her about it because he didn’t feel like it was his business, figured maybe she had test anxiety or ADD. That didn’t stop him from wondering, though. While testing, he’d had a few lows and highs, had drank apple juice and programmed a few corrections. As he’d sat in that testing room, he secretly wished he’d used his accommodations for smaller tests as practice, had come up with the perfect pre-test breakfast to keep him steady despite his anxiety.

Peter realizes May is waiting for him to answer, has a hand on her hip in anticipation.

“School is…school.” He shrugs, tries to be nonchalant. He doesn’t want to talk about Griggs right now.

"I heard about the prototype for NASA. I'm so proud of you!" she exclaims, kissing him on the forehead. “Oh!” she says, eyes lighting up. “I bought you some toiletries and snacks for your trip this weekend,” May announces, grabbing a Target bag from the dining room table and bringing it over to the couch. “Look through it and let me know if I missed anything important.”

There’s the usual, like toothpaste and deodorant, but then there’s a few packs of Skittles, Sour Patch Kids, Pringles, and Chex Mix. They’re the snacks she buys for annual school trips to places like MoMA or The Liberty Science Center, which is why a pang of sadness settles in Peter’s stomach. She’s trying to make this trip anything but a big deal even though he knows she’s just as nervous as he is.

The sadness he’s feeling has nothing to do with the snacks, not really. He knows he can eat them if he covers them with a bolus, doesn’t need to wait to use them for lows. Sugar free candy upsets his stomach, so he’s learned to just eat the real stuff and figure out the best way to pre-bolus and how much to give himself for his favorite candy. Tony’s much more vigilant about the exact carb counts of what Peter eats, which is annoying sometimes, while May’s freer, encourages him to try new foods and see how it goes. He knows she’s vigilant in her own way, off on the sidelines, just wants Peter to work on his independence since he’ll be going to college soon.

Neither of them know that Peter listens in on their conversations, that his hearing can be fine-tuned if he wants it to be. But he’s also not dumb; he’s good at reading people, at reading Tony and May, and watching them co-parent despite not being married has been…weird.

“Pete, hey,” Happy says, entering the room. He’s in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, which Peter still isn’t used to seeing him in. Happy goes in for an awkward side hug, and Peter lets it happen. He likes Happy, he does, just isn’t sure how to do this sort-of-an-uncle, sort-of-a-father-figure thing. “Congrats on the NASA stuff. That's a big deal. Did May give you the gift?”

May jumps up from the couch. “Oh, shoot! I’ll be right back!” She scurries off toward the bedroom.

Happy chuckles. “I think she may have left her brain back in Hawaii.”

“Did you guys have a good trip?”

“Amazing trip. We couldn’t wait to get home and see you, though.”

We?

He wonders if that’s codeword for May and I were worried sick the entire time.

Peter shakes the thought away; May seems content, more so than she has in years. There’s a literal bounce in her step, a joyfulness to her voice that Peter hasn’t heard in so long. And Happy seems…happy. Like himself but even calmer. More chill.

May holds out a small box when she returns. “Here we go.”

Peter carefully pulls away tissue paper and holds the item in the palm of his hand. “You…you got me a rock.” The words tumble out before he can stop them. His nerdy ass knows exactly what kind of rock he’s holding, how rare obsidian is in Hawaii. He struggles to find the words to correct what he’s said, though, is afraid to look up at May because he doesn’t want to have upset her. And then he remembers Pele’s Curse. “I’m guessing you didn’t know that you’re not supposed to take anything like sand or rocks from Hawaii because it’s considered bad luck.”

He closes his eyes and does a mental facepalm.

He’s fucked up. Big time. Just say thank you, he thinks.

He knows the curse isn’t realistic, but it hasn’t exactly been the best year so far. He’d like all of the help he can get.

“T-thank you. Both of you. I do love it, even if it’s cursed. I’m excited to add it to my rock collection.” He gives a small laugh, lets May kiss him sweetly on his forehead. For a moment, it feels like Ben is there, just as genuinely thrilled as Peter is over a rock.

Not just any rock, Peter hears Ben whisper in his head.

“Anything for my baby,” May chimes before the oven buzzer goes off in the kitchen.

X

Peter pauses in front of the Embry Riddle booth at Midtown’s college fair in the school gym.

He can’t help but think of Ben.

May’s gift rock from the other day has him thinking about Ben again, about his love for all things science.

And all things stories.

Ben and his stories.

About traveling the world. Hiking National Parks. Flying. Just thinking about him, he can hear the engines of the small plane Ben had taken him up in roaring to life, smell the jet fuel, picture the way the world rushed past in the window. It brings a welcome smile to his face, which invites the man at the booth to wave him over.

“You interested in flying?” the man asks in a Southern accent, holding out a brochure.

“Y-yeah,” Peter says with a small laugh. “I-I’ve always wanted to fly.”

“Embry Riddle’s one of the top programs in the country for aviation. We offer multiple majors that might interest you, depending on your plans. Were you looking into any other schools?”

“Cal Tech,” Peter adds, shrugging. “MIT as a backup.”

“Ah, yes, MIT was my backup, too,” the man says, winking. Peter laughs and flips through the glossy pages of the brochure. The college is just as Ben described. There’s a sprawling campus with science buildings, labs, and hangars for hands-on experience. And the Florida backdrop, beaches and lush forest, are the opposite of New York most of year. He feels his heart longing to go somewhere, anywhere, to start over.

The man nods as he asks, “What kind of extracurriculars are you involved in?”

Peter details his time on the decathlon team, in the robotics and LEGO clubs; he hopes he doesn’t make himself sound too much like a dork. He describes his Stark Internship as an “apprenticeship with a local engineer” to avoid being peppered with invasive questions and lists the AP courses he’s dedicated himself to junior and senior years.

“Impressive,” the man states, chuckling. “GPA?”

Peter beams, because he knows he’s got a good shot at getting in. “3.8, unweighted.”

“Uh-huh. You take the SAT or ACT yet?”

“No, but I’m taking an SAT class this summer.” He leaves out the part about missing his originally scheduled safety test because of DKA, or diabetic ketoacidosis.

He’s not ready to disclose that to his potential colleges yet. Tony said he didn’t have to, that it was probably best that he just applied for accommodations later.

“What’s that you got there?” he asks, nodding toward Peter’s hip.

Peter’s flustered all of a sudden, nearly drops the brochure because he’s so thrown off by the question. It’s not the first time he’s been asked, but it always seems to jostle him, reminds him that his disease is sometimes visible. “Oh, that’s uh, just my insulin pump.”

“You diabetic?”

“Type one?” Peter answers, not sure where the conversation is going. He half-expects the man to ask something completely inaccurate and off-based like, “Did you eat too much candy as a kid?” Instead, he watches the man’s excitement fade. A pit forms in his stomach.

“You know you can’t fly commercially with that, right? And the military is definitely off the table.”

Peter swallows as the words sink in. It’s like all of the air in his lungs has disappeared and he can’t get them to expand to take any more in. He hasn’t realized this monumental truth until just now, didn’t even think about it with everything that’s been going on the last few months. Tony’s let him get back to light Spiderman patrols, sure, but Peter had failed to factor in how this would affect his future outside of the Avengers, outside of the protective bubble that is May and Tony.

The man must be able to see the shock on his face, because he’s suddenly sighing and shaking his head. “Shit, kid, you didn’t know? I’m sorry. Maybe in the future, you know?”

They stand in awkward silence as Peter grips the brochure, waves of heat moving through his body as he tries to dim the panic in his chest.

“T-thank you for your time,” he manages, voice cracking, before he wills his legs to move.

“We have more than just pilot programs,” the man’s calling out, but Peter’s on autopilot, is moving through the crowd toward the gym doors, and then down the hallway toward the bathroom.

X

Peter tries to focus on the coding in front of him while Tony talks him through a new line, but his head is still buzzing from his conversation with the man from Embry Riddle earlier today at the college fair.

“Earth to Peter,” Tony comments playfully, flicking him on the head.

“Ow!” he yelps, pulling away.

“Hey, you feel low?” Tony asks, worry etching his features as he checks his StarkWatch for Peter’s Dexcom number.

“No,” Peter groans angrily, blinking his eyes to refocus on the screen and keyboard in front of him. “I’m not low! Not everything is about diabetes!”

Tony looks back at Peter with a shocked expression, "Wow, okay then!" He continues on with a chuckle and "What crawled up your webbing and died, Spider Brat?"

Peter's not in the mood to deal with Tony's sarcasm at the moment, so he replies exasperatedly with "Can we just get back to the coding?"

“You mean the coding that’s got the same five lines repeated because you’re lost in space, or–”

Peter leans forward and reads through the lines in front of him, has to suppress a disappointed sigh when he realizes Tony’s right.

“What’s eating you, Gilbert Grape?” Tony asks, throwing an apple in the air and catching it before taking a bite. “Decathlon? AP exams? No wait, you took those last week.”

“No.” Peter exhales and rubs his face. “Nothing is wrong.”

“Is it a girl?” He takes another bite and plops himself onto the worktable beside the computer. “Or a guy?”

“Ugh, Tony!” Peter whines, throwing his arms out. “No, it’s not...it’s nothing romantic. It’s...nothing at all, really. I’m just tired.”

“Tired isn’t in your vocabulary, kid. Your mouth still runs a mile a minute on two hours of sleep. You, my friend, have been as quiet as a church mouse since you got home from school today, which means something is wrong. And judging by your lack of focus and how swollen your eyelids are, I’m going to guess that it’s not just academics.”

“I’m fine, Tony.”

He starts with a laugh, but it melts, turns into a sad sigh as Tony puts his apple down on the worktable. “Kiddo, you know that you can talk to me about the health stuff, right?” he asks after a moment. “If it’s confusing, or it feels like too much, or if there’s something like what happened with your math teacher…”

Peter examines his hands in his lap. “I know.”

“What we go through,” Tony starts, sighing again. “It’s not easy, kid. And pretending it’s easy only makes it worse.”

“I know.”

“It’s not healthy to keep it all in and ignore what your body and mind are telling you.”

Peter knows what Tony’s getting at. They’ve had this conversation before. The worst had been at a restaurant a month ago when Peter knew that his drink wasn’t diet despite the waiter’s insistence that it was. He’d had half of it anyway, tried to convince himself it was fine because he didn’t want to be a pest. Dexcom had him at 300 with double up arrows within twenty minutes. The meal had ended before it began with Tony threatening the restaurant with his lawyers.

“It’s just,” Peter starts, debating whether or not it’s worth it to go there.

Tony raises his eyebrows as if to say, “It’s okay, go on.”

So he does. “It’s just that I had this plan. Ben and I had this whole plan,” Peter says, on the verge of tears as he runs his palms up and down the front of his jeans in an effort to calm himself down. He’s taking deep breaths, knows he looks seconds away from completely falling apart again.

It’s the mention of Ben that throws Tony off guard, though, has him tilting his head like Morgan does when she’s confused.

Peter sniffles, holds back his tears. “We were both super into aeronautics and NASA and stuff. We’d build model airplanes and he’d take me on these weekend trips to Long Island or Washington D.C. so we could go to the air and space museums. Did you know Grumman on Long Island was part of the Space Race?” His voice is shaking, but he takes a deep breath to steady himself and continue. “Anyway, one time he took me to Houston, because he had a work conference or something, and it was…it was amazing getting to see Mission Control. It was like my childhood dream come true. I think about that trip a lot when I miss him. All of those trips were full of happy memories. Flying was our thing, you know? It was ours and then he died and I didn’t know what to do. May pushed me to apply to Midtown, which is insanely difficult to get into, and it’s where Ben went and everything. After he died, I promised him I was gonna do well there and get into Embry Riddle, get my pilot’s license and maybe eventually get to NASA and go to space. That was the plan. It was all going to be forBen, you know? It’s all I had left of him and now it’s just…gone…” The tears press heavily as he looks away, his body completely still for fear they’ll come loose.

“You’ve already been to space, kiddo,” Tony says, but his soft smile falls.

“No, Tony,” Peter says, swallowing slowly with his eyes glassy as he tries to come up with a way to explain what, exactly, he means. “I can’t…do any of that now.”

Peter can tell that Tony’s first instinct is to tell him that, yes, yes he can, if he really wants to, if he puts in the time and the hard work like he always does, but it’s not until Tony’s jaw clenches that Peter knows Tony understands how undeniably wrong he is this time, understands exactly what Peter’s saying now.

You can’t become a commercial pilot with type one diabetes.

And you sure as hell can’t go to space with it.

“I made a promise to Ben, and n-now I can’t keep it,” he says, all of the pent up frustration and anger flooding out in long, terrible sobs. He was hoping it wouldn’t happen until he was alone in his room, the lights off, but now it’s too late. The flood gates have opened. There’s no closing them now.

“Hey,” Tony says, scooting closer and placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I never met Ben, but from what you and May have told me, he doesn’t seem like the type who would be angry at you for any of this. And you’re still a kid, Peter–”

“A kid who has to decide where he’s applying to college in the next six months!” he says with an edge and tears in his eyes. “A kid who has to decide what he’s going to do for the rest of his life!”

“I do have some pull at MIT, you know,” Tony says softly. “They have some great aeronautics programs–”

“I want to be a pilot, Tony.”

“You can be my pilot.”

“No! I know I can get a private license. I looked it up! I spent hours scouring the Internet searching for good news and there isn’t any. A private license is not the same. It’s not what I want! And it’s not fair! None of this has been fair and I don’t want to complain because my life isn’t really that bad at all, but I feel like nothing good has happened in months! I feel like I have the worst luck, the shittiest Parker luck, and every time I try to do something good, it’s not enough because more bad shit happens. It’s like I’m not…not good enough to deserve good things or something…even though I try to do so much good…” He places his head in his hands, cries the rest of the big, ugly tears that have been building up inside of him all afternoon.

“Peter, you are the goodest person I know. And I’m not just saying that because you’re here and breaking down on me.”

“Goodest isn’t even a word.” Peter’s voice sounds tight.

“Fine, then you’re the best person I know.”

“I’m sure that statement would make Pepper feel great,” he grumbles though his tears.

“Pepper is a good person, and I love her, but you have this…thing about you where you just won’t stop until the right thing is done, and it’s not that Pepper and other people don’t have that, but it’s that you embody it and you live it and you deserve good things, Peter. I don’t know why this happened. I mean, scientifically, we know why this happened, but on a bigger scale, no, I don’t know why any of the shitty things that have happened to you happened, and if I could go back and undo them, all of them, I would. I’d do it for you if that’s what you wanted, but I couldn’t promise that it’d actually fix anything or that other shitty stuff wouldn’t happen.” He sighs heavily. “I don’t know where I’m going with this.”

“I’m not asking you to fix this.”

“Then what are you asking me, kiddo?”

“I’m not asking you anything, I’m just telling you what’s going on in my head right now.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. And, I don’t know, I guess I just wish Ben were here.” He shrugs. “There’s a lot I wish I could tell him, talk to him about.”

“I know I’m not Ben, Pete. I couldn’t ever pretend to be. But I’m here, and I care a lot, and if you need someone to talk to, doesn’t matter when or what it’s about, I’d listen.”

“I know. And thank you. You…you’ve already done so much for me, Tony. I can’t keep expecting you to just–”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Understand?”

Peter looks up, studies the scarring that covers the right side of Tony’s face and trails down his neck, hides beneath the collar of his t-shirt, and reappears on his forearm and hand.

“Y-yeah.”

“Whatever the future holds for you, kiddo, it has to be what you want. Not what May or I want for you. Not what Ben wanted for you. If I’ve learned anything during my own health crap, it’s that there are going to be things we can’t do sometimes and that’s okay. People love to tell us how we should live with chronic illness and disability. They love stories of people not letting anything stop them from living their dreams. They put all of this focus on overcoming it, but they don’t realize that not everything is necessarily meant to be overcome. It’s kind of like the conversation we had about whether or not this stuff defines us. You get to choose how you feel about this, Peter. It’s okay if your feelings about it change over time, too. I’m not saying don’t dream or reach for the stars. I’m not saying give up on the things you truly want to do. If you want to fight this ban on pilots with diabetes, I’d be happy to get my lawyers on it and help you and other people give a big “fuck you” to diabetes. But like I was saying, it’s okay if you find new dreams because you hit barriers. And it’s okay to grieve the things you once wanted.”

“C-can I think about it? The lawyer thing?”

“Of course. Take your time, kiddo.” Tony lifts his right arm at a slight angle and grimaces slightly. “You know, some days, I can raise my arm this much. Other times, I can’t do it at all. Sometimes, adapting is easy and mindless, but other times, I get frustrated over something that would seem small to other people but feels huge to me in the moment. I’d be lying if I said Pepper has never had to hold me like I held you the other night after your site changes. What you’re going through and feeling is real, Peter. There are people who have been through what we’ve been through, felt what we’ve felt. And then there are people who go their entire lives without experiencing any of it. They try to understand, but it can be hard to explain. And I know that we deal with different things. I never mean to dismiss your personal experiences when I talk about mine. But there are parallels between us. Themes. We struggle with similar things. Like asking for help. Thinking we’re inconveniencing other people with our health stuff or hiding it that others can’t see and judge it. Pretending we’re fine when we’re not because it’s easier in the moment. Apologizing for things we can’t control.

“The other day I found myself apologizing during a meeting because I couldn’t get a good grip on my StarkPad to show a client something. It was like my fingers and my brain weren’t even connected. But the truth is, we have nothing to apologize for. For months after everything with Thanos, I longed to be in my lab. I used to dream about it, felt the muscle memory come back to me. That’s about the time I started seeing a therapist.” Peter’s head lifts at the new information. “Yes, yours truly saw a therapist. It was one of the best things I ever did. And you know what she said to me after I sobbed to her like you just did? She said, “Tony, you have value no matter what. Whether you have an arm, lose it, or it’s never the same again.” She was right. We still have value, kiddo, even if our health stuff makes us feel like we don’t or keeps us from doing things. You still matter, Peter, even if you can’t be a pilot. Even if you feel like you’re letting Ben down, which you’re not. You’re like me in the sense that you’re hard on yourself on the inside. You say things to yourself that you wouldn’t say to anyone else. Maybe I’m wrong about this, but it seems like you’re putting pressure on yourself to be Peter from a few months ago. It’s what I did for a long time. I had to learn that it’s okay to change and grow around what happens to you. That’s why May and I want you to see a therapist or attend the group at Children’s.”

“The ultimatum.”

Tony sighs. “It’s not an ultimatum.”

Only it is. And Peter isn’t sure what he wants anymore. Hell, he can barely tell the sky from the ground right now. He’s not used to his brain feeling so jumbled, to his thoughts and emotions bundling into a giant ball of confusing chaos. Untangling all of this feels overwhelming, like it won’t actually get him anywhere in the end.

“How about we switch gears. I could go for some ice cream right about now,” Tony announces, kicking his legs back and forth on the counter like a little kid. “I know it doesn’t fix anything, but we can pretend it does. Plus, it’s better than that fro-yo crap Pepper and Morgan love. You in?”

Peter wipes under his eyes with his fingertips, sniffles, and nods. “Yeah, ice cream sounds perfect, actually.” His voice cracks again, but he’s no longer sobbing, so there’s that.

He doesn’t even let himself think about how much he’s going to have to bolus to cover the carb count on the sundae he’s imagining in his head or how long he’s going to have to wait after bolusing before eating.

Ice cream is ice cream, Peter decides as they take the elevator up to the residence, the lab, coding, and future beyond ice cream happily forgotten for now.