Outnumbered

Peter decides to stay with May for a few days to let Tony cool off. That, and he needs familiarity. Someone who will let him be in his thoughts and talk him through everything when he’s ready. The low during the mission, and the scene in MedBay with Tony turning red in the face, was enough to throw him into hypervigilance mode when it came to anything and everything diabetes. Now, it’s like he can’t calm down. It’s on his mind 24/7, every beep and buzz from his pump or phone making him jump, making him feel like he’s in trouble.

He stays in May and Happy’s guest room, pretends he’s taking a small vacation.

His birthday arrives and May makes her traditional birthday pancakes for breakfast. It feels like old times. Kind of. When it was just Peter and May in their Forest Hills apartment.

Truth be told, though, he’s absolutely terrified of facing Tony, hasn’t spoken to him in six whole days. May had done the initial communicating, had recommended that everyone have some time to calm down before coming together to discuss what would happen going forward.

Peter wishes he could slip into his suit and spend the evenings swinging to get his mind off of everything, but that’s off the table until further notice.

“I don’t agree with it, either, Peter,” May had said as she’d made up the guest bed that first night. “But a break from everything doesn’t sound so bad.”

A break? Yeah, right.

“You’ve been going full-throttle since you got diagnosed. I think a few days at Club May might be just what you need.”

Peter had rolled his eyes as he sat on the edge of the just-made bed, a sigh escaping before he let his chin hit his chest.

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry, he told himself.

The tears came anyway.

“Oh, baby,” he heard May whisper as she sat beside him and pulled him into her arms, rocking him back and forth. “I know this is so hard. I know.”

“I don’t know how to do this!” he sobbed hoarsely.

“No one knows how to do this, baby. We’ve just gotta figure it out as we go, like we’ve always done.”

“I’ve fucked everything up…”

“You did not fuck everything up,” she reminded him, rubbing his back. “You made a mistake. We all make mistakes.”

“Not ones that can kill you!” he argued, lifting his head up. “May, I did something really stupid and Tony…he’s…always so obsessive about my blood sugar levels, so this is like…monumental in his book! He’s never exploded on me like that before! I’ve royally fucked everything up and I don’t think I can…f-fix this!”

She’d set her hand on his shoulder and sighed. “Peter, I know you look up to Tony, and I know he loves you, but sometimes an adult’s reaction to something has more to do with them than you. I’m not saying you’re totally innocent here; you do get ahead of yourself sometimes when it comes to paying attention to details. But you’re not the only person who has mixed-up numbers while bolusing. I see people all of the time in the ER who take their long-acting insulin instead of their short-acting or ones who forgot to detach their tubing while priming their pump and give themselves an extra ten units inadvertently.”

“I just feel like, eventually, you’re gonna start yelling at me, too,” he whispered, turning away from May to wipe his face. “Like you’re being nice right now, but that eventually it’s gonna turn into a rant, because that’s how it is with Tony.”

“I’m not going to yell at you. I know that you know what happened today had consequences.” She paused, thinking of how to put her thoughts into words. “I think Tony’s feeling just as beat up about everything as you are right now. He’s probably mad at himself, too. Like I said, sometimes someone’s reaction has everything to do with them and what’s going on in their head. Sleeping on this will be good for everyone.”

“I don’t know,” Peter said, sniffling. “This time it feels different. And I know this has been really hard for everyone. Like…I get that. And I feel that. All of the time.”

“What do you mean?”

He made eye contact, tried not to cry as he said it. “May, it’s really hard to be honest about everything when everyone is telling you how brave or strong you are. Especially when you’re terrified and feeling like you can’t make even a single mistake. It’s constant and unpredictable and overwhelming, a-and-” He bursts into tears again before he can finish. “I’ve been trying so hard, but it just keeps getting harder!” His voice was hoarse, breaths shudders as the emotions swelled in his chest. “I wish I could just…let it all out…without anyone being m-mad! But I can’t!”

She rubbed his back again. “Baby, you can always tell me how you’re feeling. I will never, ever be angry at you for being honest, especially about anything diabetes-related.”

She thought back to the night she realized Peter had been sneaking out. May had spent the evening calling every hospital and police station across New York City, and it had taken everything in her not to completely lose it on Peter when he’d shown up at their door so late at night in bright pink Hello Kitty pajama pants smelling like garbage.

Part of her had been beyond relieved that he was home and safe.

And the other half was angry enough to overshadow that.

But she’d held back, because she’d remembered her own parents yelling at her when she needed them most. May Parker could give tough love. It was her superpower. But she also knew when someone needed the exact opposite.

And watching Peter go through everything that comes with a type one diabetes diagnosis the last few months? It was arguably the second hardest thing she’d ever had to do.

She’d been the first to have an inkling that something was wrong.

Peter had been asleep on the couch when she’d gotten home from work one evening, and by the paleness of his skin alone, she could swear he had a fever, was coming down with something, but when she’d pressed a hand to his forehead and then followed-up with a thermometer, she’d found that he was running at a perfect 98.6. He’d swatted her away and burrowed deeper beneath his blanket.

He was eating, drinking, and going to school, so she’d chalked the tiredness up to stress and factored in cold and flu season. To be honest, she was too tired herself between work and wedding planning to allow herself to dive into a full-on panic.

May Parker doesnot panic.

But then Happy had texted while she was at the hospital the next day about Peter drinking enough water lately to drain the Central Park lake, and May’s heart had nearly stopped. He’s starting to get a little thin, Happy had added. Call me crazy, but this isn’t his metabolism. You think he’s got mono, maybe?

Excessive thirst. Fatigue. Weight loss; he had lost a bit of weight despite his typically outrageous appetite, hadn’t he?

That afternoon, she brought home a blood glucose meter from work and found the courage to prick Peter’s finger.

“Tony,” she cried into the phone a few minutes later. Her hand was covering her flushed face, heart racing as she tried to make sense of what had just happened. “Tony, it’s Peter.”

“May? What’s wrong?”

“I borrowed a meter from work and just tested his blood sugar. It read HIGH.”

“And?”

“Is Bruce in the Tower?”

“Not following, May.”

“Tony,” she said, closing her eyes and taking a deep, calming breath that failed to calm the fire of panic that had been growing inside of her since the meter had beeped. “His blood sugar is too high for the meter to read.”

It took Tony a moment, but he quickly caught on.

“You’ve noticed the water, right? How often he’s been using the bathroom?” she added.

“You’re thinking…” Tony trailed.

“Type one diabetes. And I think he’s in diabetic ketoacidosis. We need Bruce, now.”

Peter had been unconscious for two days while they worked to bring his sugar levels down.

May’s heart flutters every time she thinks about just how close they were to losing him.

“I just wish I could tell Tony exactly what I’ve been feeling,” Peter admitted, bringing May back to the guest room. “Y-you never yell, even when I know you’re mad, b-but Tony…he just…I think he takes it personally, even when it isn’t, a-and…I’m tired of pretending I’m okay. I’m tired of feeling like I have to pretend in the first place.” He sniffled, wiped his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

“How about, in a few days, we have a meeting. You can tell Tony as much or as little as you’d like.”

“W-with everyone? I…I don’t know if I want everyone there…”

“Who do you want there?” she asked gently, brushing Peter’s hair out of his eyes.

“Maybe just you and Tony? For now? He always says I can tell him what I’m thinking or feeling, and he means it, but I always feel like I have to brace for his response, and it kind of undoes everything.”

“I think it’s important for you to tell him that. When you’re ready.”

“Right now, I think I’m just ready for bed,” he joked, sniffling, and May had smiled warmly, had given him a kiss on the forehead and let him go brush his teeth.

X

Peter feels like he’s on trial.

Like sitting across from Tony at May’s dining room table is not a family meeting, but a sentencing.

“I know you two haven’t spoken in a few days,” May begins cautiously.

“Six days,” Peter mutters under his breath, looking down at his lap. He can’t get himself to look at Tony, to see the anger or guilt or pity or whatever emotion is visible in his eyes. He knows Tony, but this guy? The one sitting here, refusing to say a word when he usually commands a room of Avengers? He’s making Peter think that this meeting is going to go south sooner rather than later.

It’s silent.

Too silent.

Peter can hear everyone’s heartbeats, fast and staccato, and it’s not helping his anxiety.

May clears her throat. “Regardless of what did or didn’t happen nearly a week ago, I think an honest, moderated discussion is in order. Everyone will have five minutes to speak. When your time is up, the next person will go. No interruptions or back-and-forth until everyone has said their peace. Agree?”

“Agree,” Tony and Peter mumble, though neither seems thrilled.

“Tony, would you like to go first?” May asks.

Tony shifts in his chair, bites his lip, and nods. May starts the timer app on her phone. “Not really sure what to say. I guess I feel like it’s my job to protect you, Underoos. Whether it’s overnight or during a mission. This disease is brutal, and I spend countless hours planning ahead and tinkering to make it just that much easier for you. I keep telling myself that if we had known then, when you were diagnosed, what we know now, that maybe it wouldn’t be as overwhelming, but I know that isn’t true. It’s hard to make sense of sometimes, you know? A lot of handling this is built on trust, and I thought for much of the last week that you were the one who broke my trust, but now I’m starting to feel like it was actually me. I owe you an apology, kid. You’re the king of apologizing when you haven’t done anything wrong, and I tend to be stubborn and refuse to own up to my shit, but I’m really sorry, Peter, for getting angry with you in MedBay. You were sick and scared and I just kept digging deeper and deeper.”

The apology is the opposite of what Peter’s expected.

He’s spent the last six days listing all of the reasons that Tony could possibly hate him in his head, starting with his inability to shut up when he’s excited about something and ending somewhere in diabetesland. And yet, Tony had spent those days trapped in his head, too, thinking through all of the ways he’s fucked up.

Maybe we’re more alike than I thought, Peter realizes.

Tony continues with, “I still feel really bad about the Dexcom-pool argument, and the issues with FRIDAY’s coding when I was just trying to give you a break. I’m not…” he trails, sighing, his hands moving as he talks. “I’m not good at the touchy-feely stuff, kid. I’m quick to anger, and I honestly never imagined myself being a dad until you and your webslinging showed up on my radar.”

Wait.

I never imagined myself being a dad until you…

The words echo in Peter’s head, but he has a hard time believing it.

Even though Tony is being completely honest and open, which Peter knows is hard for him.

Even though he’s apologized.

Because after Ben, Tony is the most father-like figure he’s ever had, and he can’t help but think that none of this would have even happened if he hadn’t gotten diabetes, if he hadn’t fought Tony so hard on the Dexcom and pump stuff, if he had just listened and slowed down instead of getting distracted when that mission alarm went off…

“And now I’ve got you and Morgan, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t spend every waking minute of my life worried sick about something, anything, happening to either of you. Being a parent is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, but it’s harder than I ever imagined. Especially now with diabetes thrown into the mix. May can probably vouch for me on both of those fronts.”

May nods, gives a small, knowing smile, before the timer goes off. “Okay, Peter. You’re up.”

He wrings his hands in his lap, decides to put them on the table, and then puts them under his legs so that he doesn’t fidget. He’s nervous, afraid to say the wrong thing even though Tony was so open just a moment ago. May starts the timer again. “S-sometimes I’m afraid to tell you how I’m feeling, or about a mistake I made, because you can be really supportive one minute and then the next, you’re just...soangry,” Peter starts. “And the other day you said that you thought I was angry that this happened to me, which I guess I am...but maybe you’re...angry, too? Like, I think I’m angry at diabetes, not you or May or anyone, and maybe you are, too. And I’m trying, Tony, I really, truly am, but I’m still new at this and I can’t help but make mistakes. It can get so complicated. You help me so much, so I don’t always want to ask you when I think I’ve made a mistake or have a question, which makes me feel like I have to do this all on my own because even though you say I can come to you any time, it doesn’t actually feel like that. So I go back and forth in my head, trying to figure out if I can handle this on my own or if it’s worth the possible argument to go to you. I never know what your reaction is gonna be, which makes me anxious, and then I get distracted and make more mistakes. It feels like I’m not allowed to fail, but it’s impossible for me not to sometimes.”

The timer goes off. Peter’s five minutes are up.

“May I propose a new rule?” May asks.

“Guideline sounds less intimidating,” Peter says.

“Okay, I propose a new guideline that Peter can’t get in trouble for diabetes-related things.”

Tony sits back in his chair, takes a deep breath.

May leans forward, rests her elbows on the table. “I think that diabetes is stressful enough without Peter having to worry about being in trouble or asking for help when he needs it. He should be able to come to either of us, or Happy and Pepper. No yelling. No tension. Just troubleshooting and letting it go once it’s resolved.”

Tony’s eyebrows knit as he thinks about it. Peter assumes he’s going to disagree, start on one of his speeches about trust and being responsible, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a deep breath through his nose and clasps his hands under his chin. “I know it seems like all I see is your diabetes, Underoos, but I promise that’s not true. After you were diagnosed, I signed up for a support group for parents of kids with diabetes, and I know that I don’t always get it all right, either, but I promise I’m learning and reflecting. I’ve been reading book after book about the best ways to go about this. I think May’s idea makes a lot of sense. It’s supposed to be kid first, diabetes second, and I’ve done the opposite of that quite a few times now. Maybe having this guideline will be a good boundary to keep that from happening.”

“What do you think, Peter?”

“I like the idea. Maybe we can also discuss things more? Like we did after the pool thing with my Dexcom? We had a long talk about what we were both worried about and then we agreed that maybe I could take Dexcom breaks sometimes as long as I had my meter.”

“You haven’t taken a Dexcom break, though,” Tony adds, eyebrows knitting again.

“Because I was afraid that you’d blow up on me even though we’d already agreed on it,” Peter admits. “I want to be honest with you, but I hold back a lot of the time.”

Tony chimes in with, “You don’t have to hold back, Pete.”

“I kinda do, though.” Peter shrugs. “I don’t need you to fix everything, Tony. I just need to know that I can come to you.”

Tony nods in agreement, sitting back in his chair. “I have made that pretty difficult, haven’t I?”

There’s so much truth, so much acknowledgement in his voice, that Peter feels himself relax and look up to answer him.

“Kind of. I mean, I know that you care, Tony, because you do so much for me. You’ve always got my back, even when you’re angry, which is why I think I’m terrified to be 100% honest. Like, your words and actions sometimes conflict, and then my brain can’t figure out what the best course of action is, so I don’t make a choice…but then I guess I do make a choice, since not doing anything is technically a choice…” He exhales. “This disease is a real mind fuck. Sorry for the language, but it’s all I could come up with to describe it.”

May jumps in. “We’ve all been in survival mode since this started. Maybe it’s time to move toward a mindset of co-existing with diabetes.”

Peter knows May is already there, probably because of her nursing background and all.

But Peter?

Peter is afraid to move out of survival mode, because that means accepting this, like really accepting that this is forever. It’s a tough pill to swallow. It’s easier feeling like if he just keeps running, keeps up the charade, that maybe he won’t be as likely to crash.

Crash like he did during the last mission.

Damn.

He’s already crashed. Hard.

And he’s nearly taken everyone he loves down with him.

Tony doesn’t look ready, either, but somehow, Peter knows he’s ready to try, too. For Peter’s sake.

“Some days, it feels like all I am are the highs and lows,” he confesses, and for some reason, he feels tears pressing.

Why does he always have to cry when the emotions bubble up?

“It never, ever ends,” Peter whispers, his shoulders shuddering as the tears begin to roll down his cheeks.

“Is this about the mission?” Tony asks, coming over to kneel beside him, a hand on his shoulder. “Talk to me, Underoos.”

“It’s about everything,” he sobs quietly, shoulders rolling forward as his face twists in sadness. “I am angry that this happened! So angry! Only instead of figuring that out, I took it out on everyone, a-and…now Ned and MJ aren’t talking to me, and then the mission happened, and I put my entire team in jeopardy…I could’ve gotten someone killed!” He inhales, wipes the tears from his eyes. “I keep thinking…that you were right to be mad at me…for making such a big mistake…even though we agreed I can’t get in trouble for diabetes stuff…”

“I’m mad that it happened, Pete, yes, but I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you. I guess we both let our emotions get the best of us.”

“I keep thinking that if I had planned ahead, if I’d tested the Bluetooth thing with my Dexcom and pump and suit…that maybe…maybe it wouldn’t have happened…and everything would be okay…”

“Kiddo,” Tony says, sighing as he squeezes Peter’s shoulder. “The only person I know that can see the future is Strange, and even that gets complicated because of the sheer number of possible outcomes. Even if you could have predicted the future or made every attempt to stop it from happening, diabetes is unpredictable. Honestly, the only thing that’s predictable about type one is how unpredictable it can be.”

Peter laughs at that between sniffles, is smiling as he rubs at his eyes, and then Tony is laughing too, despite the tears forming in his eyes, May ultimately joining.

“Is this a bad time to give you your birthday gift?” Tony finally asks when they’re laughed out and Peter’s tears have dried up. He hands over a blue envelope to Peter.

“You didn’t have to get me a gift, Tony. I’m not five.”

“Sometimes you do act a lot like Morgan,” he jokes, Peter throwing his head back and rolling his eyes. “You guys are two peas in a pod.”

May nudges Peter, gives him a look that says don’t forget to say thank you.

“Thank you, Tony.”

“Actually, it’s from all of us. May, Happy, Pepper, Morgan…”

Peter looks down at the envelope, confused. What could possible fit in there that isn’t money or a gift card?

“Thanks, May,” he adds, and she leans in to give him a hug, tears glistening in her eyes.

“My baby is all grown up,” she muses, fanning her face, and it’s not until Peter opens the card that he realizes why.

His gift is a certificate for flying lessons out on Long Island with the promise that once he completes the course, he’ll be eligible for a private pilot’s license.

It’s the same place Ben used to fly out of in his little Cessna.

He immediately wraps his arms around May’s small frame, squeezing her tight, lingering for a moment as he tries not to let his grief and anxiety and excitement get him all worked up again. Then he throws his arms around Tony and mumbles a series of thank you’s.

“I told you I’d get you up in the air, Underoos. It was May’s idea, really, but everyone else thought this would be a great ‘fuck you’ to diabetes,” Tony explains.

“What do you mean by everyone?” Peter asks, confused. He pulls the card into his hands and looks down.

There, scrawled in every available space, are the signatures of not only his family, but his team. Peter finds himself getting teary again, only it’s not because he’s angry or upset.

It’s because even with his mess ups and this stupid disease, even with Peter unable to see it for himself, the people who matter the most still see him for who he is.

The nerdy kid that’s a little too obsessed with space and aeronautics, who can talk faster than the speed of sound (well, not really, but metaphorically), and purposely puts everyone else’s needs and safety before his own.

This gift doesn’t fix everything, but it’s enough to give Peter the boost he needs. Enough to give him something to look forward to.

To continue something he’d started with Ben, all of those years ago.

To remind himself that this crazy family he’s found himself in will always outnumber anything he sees on his meter or Dexcom.

X