Outnumbered

Their trip to California comes before Peter’s sure he’s ready.

Not that one could ever truly be ready to present and defend their work at NASA.

He’s done his best to keep his blood sugar from rollercoasting on the flight, after their rooftop celebratory dinner the night before at a beachfront restaurant in Malibu, and now, the morning of the meeting at JPL, but the nerves are getting to him and his blood sugar is running higher than he’d like it to be.

That, and he’s just dropped a full vial of unopened insulin on the kitchen floor of Tony’s Cali house, the glass now shattered and liquid pooling on the tile.

The sixth most expensive liquid in the world.

“Hey, slow down, kiddo,” Tony says softly, a hand on Peter’s arm. The smell of bandaids and alcohol wipes fills the room.

Peter bends down to reach for the shards of glass. “Shit! I-I’m sorry, I’m s-so nervous-”

“It happens,” Tony says, pulling Peter away from the mess and into a chair at the kitchen island. “FRIDAY, have the bots clean this up, please.”

“Of course, Sir,” she replies. Small, motorized bots that look like mini-Roombas fill the area, sucking up the glass and liquid, cleaning the area in seconds.

But all that Peter can see in his head as he watches Tony grab a new vial from the fridge is dollar signs. $300 times two vials… May would’ve never been able to afford this…

“Stop worrying about the price tag,” Tony says knowingly. “You’ll never have to worry about paying for your supplies, Peter. I’ve made sure of it. It was one of the first things May and I discussed after you were diagnosed.”

“But other people can’t always afford their insulin or supplies, so when things like this happen, I feel really awful.” He sighs, fiddles with the new cartridge they’re about to put into his pump. “I know that I cost you and May a lot of money.”

“Insulin affordability is a serious issue, and yes, your supplies cost a lot of money, not you, kiddo. We’ll just be more careful next time. Accidents happen. Responsibility is important, but getting crazy about things we can’t control aren’t going to get us anywhere good.”

Tony said some version of that when Peter forgot to put his pump back on, but it hadn’t exactly made Peter feel any better about fucking up.

Because what if one day he makes a mistake he can’t quickly recover from?

Diabetes is the only disease he knows of where patients are making their own dosing decisions with a lifesaving but also potentially deadly medication multiple times a day.

Five months ago, he wouldn’t have been able to tell one unit of insulin from five, and now he’s expected to troubleshoot a myriad of complex situations and calculations with accuracy.

There’s still so much he doesn’t know about this disease yet.

“It wouldn’t have been an accident if I’d been paying better attention,” he chastises, nervously running his fingers through his hair. “I’m a little lost in my head today.”

“That’s to be expected. Not every day you get to meet at NASA,” Tony assures him.

“Sir, a Google search indicates that there are silicone vial protectors for purchase online,” FRIDAY interrupts. “Would you like me to complete a rush order?”

“That would be great, FRIDAY. Thanks,” Tony answers.

“Purchase complete.”

“I can’t tell if I smell like insulin now or if it’s just in my nose.” Peter covers his face, groans. “It’s throwing my Spidey senses off. I really really really hate this, Tony. I want a break so badly. Today was supposed to be a good day.” He can hear it in his own voice, how it’s cracking, how he’s close to tears even though what happened would probably seem small to someone who doesn’t understand, who doesn’t deal with this stupid disease every day. $300 per vial… Fuck. He’s sure Tony doesn’t pay that, since they’ve got insurance, but still. Other people aren’t as lucky as he is, and he’s constantly reminded of this fact when he sees the bill that comes with every supply delivery. He’s crunched the numbers.

It doesn’t matter how rich Tony is. Money is money.

“Kid, look at me,” Tony says, sitting down in the chair to his left.

Peter shakes his head, holds the tears in with every fiber of his being and fingers pressed against his eyelids.

“These kinds of things are bound to happen. Like that night when you forgot to put your pump back on before bed. We can’t be perfect at this every single time. There’s more to life than diabetes, Peter, even though I know it doesn’t feel like that most days. Like today, you’re going to meet with execs at NASA and rock their socks off, diabetes and all.” Tony sounds triumphant, is trying to shift the tone of the morning’s events.

Peter just sniffles, holds his head in his hands. Tony keeps saying we and it only reminds Peter of how lucky he truly is to be able to drop a full vial of insulin without worrying for about it for more than a few minutes because of Tony. He’s spent his entire life worrying about things that he knows Tony has probably never thought twice about, because while May has always done her best, it hasn’t always been easy, especially not after Ben died. And while he doesn’t think about the what ifs as much as he used to, as much as he had to, he can’t help but harbor the guilt that he’s so damn lucky even though this sucks so freaking much.

Peter licks his lips. “You can say that because we don’t have to worry about supplies, Tony. Not…not everyone gets to pretend there’s more to life than diabetes,” Peter whispers. “Not as much as we can, anyway. Not when they don’t know how they’re going to pay for their next injection or a possible trip to the hospital.”

Tony nods, digesting what Peter’s saying. “You’re right. We are very lucky in that way, Underoos. Hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“After that night when I forgot to connect my pump, I just kept thinking, like, what if things were different and I wasn’t Spiderman, didn’t know you. What if I’d been diagnosed and didn’t have Dexcom or a pump. What if I’d fallen asleep without checking and had gone into DKA and May had to pay for a hospital stay in the ICU, or something worse had happened, and…it’s just got me thinking that not everyone gets to rely on Dexcom to wake them up and just reconnect their pump and go back to bed knowing they’ll come down. Like, what if that vial I dropped was my last one, was supposed to last me a bit, and there wasn’t enough in May’s account to cover a new one, or I didn’t have time before my meeting at NASA and it was my big break, a-and I had to go without my pump or injections for hours because this meeting was the one that could change everything, get me the insurance I needed?”

Tony goes to speak, but stops.

“I know that I’m impulsive and that sometimes I make stupid mistakes, but I also spend way too many hours thinking about these kinds of things because I feel like I have to plan ahead all of the time, just in case. I don’t want this to be anyone else’s burden if it doesn’t have to be and I hate when I’m the focus of everyone else’s attention. It’s just…I feel like I have to worry about every little thing in order to make sure this kind of stuff doesn’t happen too often. It’s hard not to worry about it, Tony. I know I have a safety net for my supplies in place, and I’m so thankful for that, but it’s sometimes hard to switch my anxiety about the future and everything to focusing on the present, you know?”

“Pete,” Tony says, sighing. “That’s a lot of anxiety for one person.”

“Tell me about it,” he huffs, wiping his eyes.

“You know you don’t have to do this all on your own.”

“One day I’m going to have to,” Peter says, shrugging.

“Site changes and ordering supplies, yes. Managing highs and lows and bolusing? Yes. The rest, though? That’s where your family comes in. And you’re not a burden, Peter. You could never be a burden to us. Do I hate diabetes? Of course. Do I get frustrated watching you get frustrated? Of course I do. But things happen whether we want them to or not. That’s what your family is here for.”

“You guys already do so much for me.”

“And soon you’ll start taking on more of those responsibilities. You’re already doing solo pump site changes, which I know still freaks you out a bit. But after that site change at school you’ve been a pro. And the other night, when you needed a shot because your pump site was bent, you did that without thinking twice.”

“It’s not always that easy, Tony. I just…made myself not think about it and just…did it because I wasn’t feeling great and I knew I had to get it done.”

“Never said it would get easier. You’ll just get better at knowing yourself and your diabetes. I wish it did get easier.” Tony sighs. “You’ve been keeping all of this in and I wish you didn’t feel like you had to.”

“I didn’t realize I was doing it until just now.”

“Oh.”

“And I’m afraid that one day I’m going to be impulsive and fuck up really badly and you and May are not gonna be as…as understanding as you’ve been, and it…that also makes me really anxious.”

“I can be impulsive when I react. I know that, kiddo. I get so worried about you sometimes. It’s hard letting you go out and do this on your own sometimes because my own anxiety likes to kick in with the what ifs.”

“Turns out figuring out the emotional stuff is just as hard as the physical stuff,” Peter says with a small laugh.

Tony gives a small laugh back. “How about we do your site change after you shower?”

“I smell like insulin, don’t I?” Peter asks, cringing.

Tony nods, squeezes Peter’s shoulder. “We’ve got about an hour until the driver arrives. Think that’s enough time?”

“I’ll be quick,” he says, getting up.

“Oh, and Peter?”

He stops, turns to face Tony.

“There’s still more to life than diabetes. Especially today. Remember that.”

Peter rolls his eyes.

“I mean it, kiddo!” Tony says. “Today is all yours!”

“I know, I know. I’m gonna rock their socks off or whatever.” Peter smiles, sniffles, and wipes the last of his tears away.

“You’ve got this,” Tony says with a grin. “I am so fucking proud of you, Underoos, do you know that?”

Peter blushes, takes a deep breath. He needed to hear that.

It makes him think that maybe he can do this, this big, scary meeting today that he never thought would actually happen.

After all, he’s been doing a lot of big, scary things lately that he’d never thought he’d have to.

It feels weird, to be jumping so readily into the unknown. He’s always taken risks in missions, but never something like this.

He runs the meeting through his head in the shower, practices the speaking parts Tony’s reviewed with him. He knows this system inside and out, can answer any question Tony can. He has a feeling Tony is going to give him the floor, so to speak, to act as the lead engineer on the project.

He forces I am so fucking proud of you, Underoos, do you know that? to repeat in his head, over and over, until he can’t convince himself it’s untrue.

x

Tony hopes that Peter’s shower would be a kind of hard reset after the dropped vial of insulin, but when Peter trudges into the kitchen to do his site change with his hair wet and curls wild, t-shirt untucked and dress shirt unbuttoned so that he can put a new site on his stomach, he realizes that he’s going to have to really pump the kid up to get him ready for this meeting. He doesn’t want to blame his lingering crankiness on his blood sugar levels, would rather chalk it up to nerves and jet lag, but he can tell this morning wasn’t exactly the strong start Peter needed, that it isn’t helping at all.

He watches from the corner of his eye as Peter does his own site change, notices that he barely hesitates when it comes time to insert the cannula. Tony exhales slowly, trying not to make a big deal of things, and makes himself a cup of coffee while Peter cleans everything up.

“Should I give a bolus to bring myself down?” Peter asks. “I’m like 260.”

“Your basal can handle it for now. Don’t wanna stack insulin since you had breakfast an hour ago and have you drop in the meeting. I’ll keep an eye on it while you’re presenting and we can handle it when the meeting is done.”

“I’m nervous, Tony,” Peter admits, running his fingers through his messy hair.

“I know, and that’s normal. But you’re gonna be great, kid. They’re going to love you.”

Peter goes to the bathroom to fix his hair, returns looking even more dejected than earlier.

“I can’t get the pump tubing right under my dress shirt,” Peter complains, pulling his tucked dress shirt out for the third time. The pump helps, it does, but Tony knows that it also makes wearing anything tucked a pain in the ass. “I think this and that broken vial are signs that I should stay here while you do the meeting. It’s not like they’re going to take me even remotely seriously.”

Tony shakes his head and fixes his tie. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“Can’t I just take it off for a few hours?” he begs, fingers ready to unclip the pump tubing from the site on his abdomen.

“Peter,” Tony warns gently.

“Well, that’s definitely a ‘no.’” He groans.

“Hey, I didn’t say ‘no,’ I just think we need to troubleshoot this out loud before you make a decision.”

Peter perks up at the idea that Tony’s going to let him decide.

“You’re already running high because you’re nervous. You’ve got your basal in the background. We don’t want you rising mid-meeting and stuck without a way to come down. Is this because you want a pump break, or because you don’t want them to see it?”

Peter pulls his lips inward and looks away.

“I’m not going to answer the question for you,” Tony says softly, even though he already knows Peter’s answer.

“It’s just,” Peter starts, sighing. “What if they remember me, somewhere down the line, since they partner with Cal Tech and it’s on my list of safety schools, and all they can picture in their head is the kid with the insulin pump? What if…what if they don’t want me because of that?”

Tony nods, trying to acknowledge Peter’s anxiety despite the urge to remind him about the ADA or Americans with Disabilities Act. It’s a strategy he’s learned in his caregiver group, the one he hasn’t mentioned to Peter yet. He doesn’t want him to take it the wrong way.

“I know it’s illegal for them to not consider me because of this,” Peter continues, “but if I can’t fly a plane, how are they supposed to hire me to oversee things flying in space. What if…this disqualifies me from that, too?”

“There are people with diabetes who work at NASA, Underoos.”

“I highly doubt that,” he says, giving a small, sad huff. Tony can tell that he’s on the verge of tears, shoulders slumped, the bottom his dress shirt rumpled from so many failed attempts at tucking it in. “There’s no way you could know that for sure.”

“There is, actually,” Tony states, pulling his phone out from the pocket of his dress pants. He unlocks it and scrolls until he finds what he’s looking for, turning the phone toward Peter.

It’s a post on Instagram. The same pump Peter has takes up most of the frame, and in the background is a yellow blur of letters that read Mission Control Center above screens detailing the International Space Station’s health and trajectory.

The post from @nerdyapril reads, “It’s been a hot minute since I posted a picture of my #pancreas in #missioncontrol. Don’t worry, I still have #type1diabetes and I still fly @iss from my console @nasa.”

“S-she works at NASA.” It comes out as a comment rather than a question. Tony’s surprised the kid’s so quiet about it, wonders briefly if maybe Peter’s still processing the idea that this is even possible. He’d expected an onslaught of eagerness, questions, and pondering, but Peter stands unmoving, staring blankly at Tony’s phone.

A second later, Peter’s eyes flit up to Tony’s, full of surprise. “Holy shit, she flies theInternational Space Station?!”

Tony laughs, because that, right there, is the response he was waiting for, knew Peter would have.

“I have to follow her!” Peter says, taking his phone out. “This is so cool!”

“What if we tuck the tubing through a hole between two buttons?” Tony offers as a solution, but mostly, it’s an attempt to get Peter to keep his pump attached.

“Do you think if I take a picture with my pump in front of the NASA sign, with their permission of course, ‘cause it’s NASA and all, and tag her, she’ll respond?!” There’s hope on Peter’s face, along with a sweet, energized smile, and Tony realizes he’s missed seeing this side of Peter.

Things have been so serious since Peter’s diagnosis and Tony knows that it’s shifted their relationship enough be noticeable. It’s stolen a bit of Peter’s hope.

Tony doesn’t even care that Peter’s ignored his question about the tubing, just smiles back and ruffles Peter’s hair. “Yeah, kiddo, I think she’d get a real kick out of it.”

X