Eating is something Peter has never really thought about that much, up until about a year or two ago, when he got bitten.
Before, he wouldn’t think twice about portion control, about if a cheeseburger or a bowl of macaroni would sufficiently fill him up for the day, because the answer to that was usually always a resounding yes.
Now, though, his metabolism is crazy fast. Something that would usually keep him full until his next meal, like a bowl of creamy tomato soup, now isn’t nearly enough to keep him satisfied for maybe three hours.
Of course, there’s also the fact that he and May don’t exactly have a lot of money to spend on things like snacks to put Peter off for a bit, or even full out dinners like you see on TV- meatloaf, mashed potatoes, a salad, the whole shebang.
So that’s why Peter hasn’t exactly told May about how crazy his metabolism is. He’s hinted towards it, but overall, he’s severely downplayed how much food he needs to actually get by.
Peter isn’t going to force her to buy even more food just so he can feel full. May shouldn’t have to be wasting the money they need for rent on him and his incessant needs, and besides, he knows how awful she’d feel at the prospect of finding out that she’s unintentionally been underfeeding him for months, and that she can’t exactly do much about it, with what little pay she gets.
What makes it even sadder, in a way, is that May always makes sure to serve him extra of every meal they eat, and Peter lies every time when she asks if that’s enough. He feels guilty- it’s extra food she’s missing, less on her plate.
And, while the spider bite made him ripped, as Ned says, the lack of a proper diet has been sort of nagging him recently.
Peter tries his best not to think about all of this as he walks into their apartment after school, dropping his bag next to the door. He’s hungry, no doubt about it- today he’s had a bowl of Cheerios, the school lunch, which consisted of five chicken nuggets, a scoop-full of mashed potatoes, and chocolate milk.
“Hey, baby. How was school?” May greets him with a smile, kissing the top of his forehead.
“It was alright,” Peter says, following her into the kitchen, “We dissected a frog in science today. Ned looked like he was gonna barf.”
May sticks out her tongue in mock disgust. “God, I remember when I had to do that, too. My lab partner actually got so nauseous they had to send her to the nurse’s office- poor thing.”
“Yikes. At least she didn’t have to see frog guts?” Peter shrugs, looking around the kitchen for a sign of anything cooking. It’s not like he expects May to have dinner ready pronto by the time he’s home from school- he’d never. It’s just that today he’s especially hungry, and he’s starting to feel ever-so-slightly faint.
“That’s true. Hey, how do you feel about having a french dinner tonight? It’s been such a long day.” May suggests, back to Peter, facing the cabinets.
Peter’s glad she can’t see his face right now, because it’s nothing short of disappointed.
Despite the title, there is nothing French about french dinners, despite the fact that they usually have a baguette in them.
French dinners was something Ben had come up with, back when he was still… around. Whenever he and May were too tired to cook, he’d suggest a french dinner, which would normally consist of the aforementioned baguette, and whatever else they could find in the cabinets that didn’t require any sort of cooking.
At the time, Peter had thought french dinners were really cool- they’d spread a big blanket out in the living room, and eat on paper towels. It felt like a picnic, and it was fun, so that really was all that mattered to Peter, getting to spend time with his aunt and uncle. Besides, they got to eat all sorts of things you only ate as snacks in between meals- how cool was that?
Now, though, a french dinner is the opposite of fun. Since french dinners are basically just snacks, it means he’s getting even less than he usually gets during real dinners, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell May this. It’s their tradition- May thinks Peter thinks it’s fun, and it’s also a convenient way for her to not have to cook after a long, grueling day at work. It should be a win-win.
Should.
“Sounds great,” Peter forces a smile, ‘I’ll go get the blanket.”
***
This time, french dinner consists of three-fourths of a baguette, a block of cheddar cheese, grapes, half a jumbo bag- which was really the equivalent of a bag of chips- of goldfish, and grape juice.
They’re sat out on the blanket- which has a red stain on the upper left corner of it, from the time that Peter was nine and he accidentally spilled his cherry Kool Aid all over it.
“Are you sure this is enough, Peter?” May asks, sounding, as she always does, slightly concerned. She has a Dixie cup of grape juice in her hand.
Peter nods. “Yeah, totally. My metabolism isn’t, like, that bad. Just, like, five percent faster than everyone else’s.” Peter lies, taking another bite of cheese.
May looks ever so slightly relieved- which only serves to make Peter feel even more like he has to keep this whole charade up. He’s helping her.
“I still want you to eat this, though,” May says, and hands him the rest of the goldfish.
Peter feels even worse when he can’t bring himself to insist he doesn’t need it- none of this is enough to keep him full, but hey, he’ll take what he can get.
He tries to swallow his guilt as he eats what’s left of the bag.
***
The next day, as Peter is riding the Metro to school, his phone buzzes lightly from his pocket. Curiously, he takes it out.
It’s a text from Tony.
Mr. Stark: Hey, kid. Remember to bring your suit to school. You’ll need it for lab day today.
Peter: don’t worry, Mr. Stark! already brought it.
Peter: i’m actually on my way to school right now. what are we gonna be doing? :0
Mr. Stark: That’s for me to know and you to find out, Underoos.
Peter: fiiiine. can we watch a movie after, though? heard there was a new Netflix special
Mr. Stark: Whatever you want, kid. Happy’s picking you up this time, so don’t make him wait too long.
Mr. Stark: I’ve got a meeting. See you after school, Pete.
Peter: bye Mr. Stark!!! :)
Peter smiles as he pockets his phone. Lab days are always fun- what could Tony be planning with his suit this time?
Across from him, a girl he vaguely recognizes as being a junior from his school is complaining to her friend. She’s pretty- wavy blond hair in a ponytail, pink painted nails and lipgloss to match.
“-And she’s on this total health food kick! It’s like, yeah, mom, I don’t want any fucking whole-wheat waffles! I don’t care how many damn stacks you make. And then she’s always like, ‘But I made so much food! Are you seriously going to let it go to waste just because you don’t like whole wheat?’ Well, yeah, mom, I am, because who the fuck wants to eat that sort of shit?” the girl gripes, and her friend nods sympathetically.
“I know, right? Total bummer. This one time, my mom made this, like, tuna and beet casserole. When she wasn’t looking, I slipped it in the trash. I ended up getting Jason to just buy me McDonald’s instead. I swear, parents are super crazy now.”
Peter looks down at his lap, doing his best to make it seem like he’s not listening. Deep down, though, Peter feels sort of unnerved. It’s one thing to have leftovers- it’s another thing entirely to just throw food away for the sake of it.
He’s sort of jealous. If he were those girls, he’d gladly eat whole-wheat waffles or a tuna-beet casserole, he thinks.
***
Peter loves lab days for a myriad of reasons, one of them being that Tony knows just how crazy his metabolism is.
He’s told Tony, no lies or anything- which had ended up being a good move, because now Tony has snacks on hand all the time.
When Peter goes upstate, he’s fed like he’s never been fed before.
Of course, it’s not as if he’s just using Tony for his food- if he didn’t like Tony or lab days, he probably would just give meager excuses as to why he couldn’t come over to avoid it all.
But Peter really does like lab days. He likes learning new things from Tony, working on their suits, watching movies, and really, just being around Tony in general.
The snacks were just something Tony had apparently taken it upon himself to start doing, and really, Peter isn’t going to say no to free food. It’s not as if he’s starving- sure, he’s always kind of hungry, but he’s not, like, dying or anything.
As soon as Peter walks into the lab, Tony tosses him a banana. “Hey, Underoos. How was spider-baby school?”
Peter rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but deep down, he feels a sort of appreciation and relief he’s never really felt until Tony started pushing snacks on him. Tony’s so casual about it- he never makes a big fuss about giving him food, he just hands it to him without a word about it and goes on with their lab day.
“It was good, actually. I got an A on my spanish quiz, so, yeah,” Peter says, walking over to Tony, peeling the peel back and taking a bite of the banana- it’s good, sweet and kind of mushy, but Peter’s not a complainer.
“Told you all that studying we did last time would pay off, Pete. Take out your suit, and I’ll show you what I’ve been working on.” Tony says, lightly ruffling Peter’s hair.
Peter does, and Tony explains to him a new feature for his suit he’s been sketching up: a new addition to his webshooters, aka a function that causes them to spit venom out. The venom isn’t inherently harmful; it only paralyzes the victim for about thirty minutes.
Peter thinks the function is awesome- Tony’s explained it’s only for serious cases, which is fair, but still. Peter excitedly gets to work with Tony- over the course of their work, Tony gives Peter a granola bar- it has raspberry filling- some blueberries- they’re plump and juicy- a pack of trail mix- Peter likes these solely for the M&M’s they bring, but he eats the nuts and raisins anyway- and a bag of Cheetos- the puffy kind, as Tony knows Peter’s preference is.
Peter eats all these things without complaint. He doesn’t think Tony knows about how hungry he can be on a regular basis, but Tony seems to give him food anyway, so really, there’s nothing to worry about.
He’s not going to worry Tony with the fact that he’s not getting nearly enough food as he should be every day, that the only time he’s ever felt content food-wise is when he comes over here.
A bit later,Tony says, “FRIDAY, what time is it?”
“It is approximately six P.M, boss.” FRIDAY responds on cue.
“That’s enough for today, Pete. What say you put on that Netflix original or whatever movie you were talking about, and I order dinner? Cheeseburgers fine with you?” Tony puts down his screwdriver and glances at Peter.
“Sounds good, Mr. Stark.”
With that, Peter runs to the living room and starts up Tony’s Netflix account- well, it’s technically his, too, since Tony said they could share. Tony joins him a few minutes later, with a bowl of delicious looking popcorn in his hands.
They sit on the couch together, and watch the movie. It kind of sucks, to be honest- Peter’s laying in Tony’s lap at this point, eating the buttery goodness that is popped corn- but it’s fun to hear Tony’s exasperated commentary at the movie- “Jesus christ, what kid talks like that? Do kids your age recite Shakespeare and reference Slyvia Plath in regular conversations, Pete?”
Peter looks up at Tony with a grin. “Um… ‘to be or not to be? That’s the, uh, problem.’”
Tony rolls his eyes and lightly bops Peter on the head with a pillow. “It’s, ‘that is the question’ first of all. Second, don’t you dare turn into one of those monologuing Netflix teenagers. I don’t think my heart could handle it.”
“Well, you are getting old,” Peter snorts- Tony rolls his eyes at that- and then, as an afterthought, “Who’s Slyvia Plath?”
Tony makes a sort of disgusted expression. “An author. Wrote depressing stuff, they’ll probably make you read a book she wrote in college, depending on what your major is- mind you, you’re going to MIT.”
Peter can’t help but smile at that. It’s nice, Tony looking out for his future, wanting him to follow in his footsteps. “Obviously, Mr. Stark. You said it was the best college out there, so,”
Tony looks down at Peter and smiles- it’s a proud smile, one that Peter’s always happy to receive.
Just then, FRIDAY says that the food has come, and Tony goes to get it. The burgers are delicious- cheese, bacon, lettuce, tomato, all of it.
Also, Tony has ordered three of them for Peter, along with an order of super-size cheese fries and a large soda.
Peter’s grateful. He doesn’t think he ever won’t be- Mr. Stark has given him so much, and is so, so casual and nonchalant about it.
Hopefully one day Peter will be able to return the favor.
***
“Do we have any bread left?” Peter asks one morning. He’s ready to go to school, and figures he’ll have breakfast on the go- thus, toast.
Yet, he can’t find any bread.
May is rushing around, tying her hair up in a bun, already in her scrubs. “No, sweetie, we ran out. I think there’s a box of granola bars in the cabinet where we keep the sugar, though- help yourself.” May replies as she grabs her purse from the counter.
Peter opens up the cabinet, and sure enough, lo and behold, there’s a box of granola bars- peanut butter flavored.
There’s only two left, which would be enough to suit a normal person, but Peter?
No, not Peter.
May pecks his cheek, a lipstick-y kiss. “Bye honey. I have a short shift today, so I’ll probably be home before you get out of school, okay?”
A part of Peter- a part that he’s ashamed of- is about to tell May that these granola bars are not nearly enough to keep him full. But who is he to do that, when there’s much worse than- god forbid, oh no- being a little hungry in the morning.
May leaves, and Peter eats the two granola bars.
He makes sure to wipe the crumbs off the counter.
***
Mr. Stark: Feeling Italian tonight?
Peter: yes!!! can i get fettuccine alfredo please Mr. Stark? :0
Mr. Stark: Sure. Garlic bread and tiramisu too?
Peter: yes please!
***
The school lunch is never all that great.
There’s a rule that the school has put in place, to try and get kids to eat healthier- all meals must have a side of fruits or vegetables.
The problem with that is that you have to pay extra to get that side, so Peter’s never gotten a cup of fruit sprinkled with cinnamon, or a pack of baby carrots like everyone else.
Peter’s on financial aid- at least that’s what he thinks they call it. This basically means he gets school lunch for free, because essentially, May by herself does not earn enough to afford paying for his lunch every day.
It’s something not a lot of kids in the school have- only him and a few others. It’s been a great help to him and May, though- he knows May feels bad about not being able to afford it, but it’s better than him making a hole in her pocket every single day.
Peter knows that most of his classmates are more well off than he is- Midtown is a pretty prestigious school, when you think about it, and Peter’s only here because of his scholarship.
The lunch never seems to be worth all this fuss, though- it’s hardly enough to satisfy a normal person, let alone Peter with his insane-fast metabolism.
Today’s lunch consists of a very small freezer PB&J, a carton of regular milk, and… that’s it.
Of course, there’s the fruit and vegetable sides that he can’t afford, but at least he’s getting something for free.
Ned is raving to Peter about a new Lego set he’s gotten- five hundred pieces!- and Peter is listening, all the while snarfing down his sandwich and milk. The sandwich has that sort of weird freezer-taste, and the milk is sort of watery, but whatever, Peter isn’t about to complain.
Today he had a bowl of cereal for breakfast- cocoa puffs- but, once again, it wasn’t nearly enough.
“Do you want my sandwich?” Ned asks suddenly. “I don’t really like PB&J, to be honest. I’m much more of a turkey and mustard man myself.”
“Yes! Uh, I mean, sure.” Peter nods, a little embarrassed at how quickly he’s jumped at the opportunity to eat Ned’s lunch.
Ned doesn’t seem to notice, though, and hands him the sandwich.
Peter eats it in about five seconds flat.
***
Peter’s losing weight.
The other night he weighed himself on May’s scale in the bathroom- he’s already lost three pounds since this month started.
Hurrah, Peter thinks. It probably doesn’t matter that much anyway- isn’t it healthy to lose weight?
Peter can’t be quite sure yet.
***
Everything seems to be deteriorating ever so slightly now, more and more and more.
Hunger is something Peter’s getting used to. It isn’t unbearable- not to say it’s pleasant in any sort of way, but it’s there, like a pimple that won’t pop, an ache you can’t shake, a tooth that won’t pull.
It’s become sort of a part of his daily routine now. Wake up, be hungry, go to school, be hungry, go to Mr. Starks- for once, be satisfied- go to bed, be hungry.
Peter doesn’t think much of it at this point. His hunger is common knowledge, the ABCs, how to tie your shoes, how to add and subtract. He knows it’s pointless to tell May- what, to worry her over something they can’t control? May is so sweet and caring, and Peter larbs his aunt.
That’s why he can’t lump all his problems onto her.
Besides, there’s worse. There’s always been worse.
Food is a pair of new shoes he wants, a new video game, a shiny, flexible action figure. Peter can learn to not expect it, and stick with what he has, even if it’s not enough, even if everyone else has better and more.
Peter refuses to be the hole in May’s pocket. He refuses to see her face twist in concern and sadness when he tells her that he hasn’t been getting enough to eat, and probably never will for as long as they live, seeing as they’re only living on one income- May refuses to let Peter get a job, saying he should focus on school, his friends, not work to support them at such a young age.
The least Peter can do is not add on to the pile of stress May’s been carrying with her since he arrived at her and Ben’s doorstep, parentless and small.
***
“What’s the capital of Wyoming?” Tony asks, handing Peter a sleeve of crackers.
“Cheyenne,” Peter responds promptly, immediately shoving at least five crackers into his mouth.
“Correct. What’s the capital of Wisconsin?” Tony walks over to the mini fridge he keeps in the lab.
“Um…” Peter mumbles, distracted by the crackers- they taste so good! Not too salty, not dribbling crumbs- man, who knew crackers could taste so amazing?
Maybe anything tastes good when you’re starving.
“Madison.” Peter finally says.
“Right you are, Underoos. How about Maine, though? God forbid you forget Maine,” Tony calls to Peter from across the room, still rummaging through the mini fridge.
“It’s… it’s Augusta, right?” Peter doesn’t pause in his destruction of the crackers, via his mouth and digestive system, but squints to look at what Tony is doing.
Tony remerges from the other side of the lab, carrying a tub of ice cream- butter pecan- six sodas, two plastic butter knives, and five more boxes of crackers.
“Excellent work, Underoos. You’re going to ace that state capitals test of yours- god, I can’t believe they have you memorizing that stuff.” Tony remarks, ruffling Peter’s hair.
“Thanks, Mr. Stark. Uh, what’s the ice cream for?” Peter’s eyes are fixated on the snacks Tony holds- yeah, he wants them.
“Just thought I’d show a certain spider-baby how to create one of the most delicious treats known to mankind. Well, unknown, I guess, but should be known.” Tony smirks, sitting down on a stool and balancing a cracker on his knee.
Peter looks on in interest- still munching on the crackers- as Tony proceeds to open the ice cream, take one of the knives, and- what the heck?!- spread the ice cream on the cracker and eat it.
“I… what?” Peter sputters, speechless.
“Just try it, Pete. I swear it’s not that bad. Scouts honor and everything.” Tony rolls his eyes and hands the tub to Peter.
Peter reluctantly sits on the stool next to Tony and does the whole “cracker-on-knee-ice-cream-spreading” thing. In any other circumstance, he would not be doing this, no thank you, but who is he to turn down free food at this point?
Peter takes a bite of his ice cream cracker, and then, “Oh my god Mr. Stark, why don’t people know about this?!”
Tony smirks. “I’m not going to say I told you so, but I just want you to know how very hard I’m thinking it right now, kid.”
“This is… oh my god, I think this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted?” Peter gushes, and, not even bothering to use the knife, dips another cracker into the ice cream and shoves it into his mouth.
Only right after he does this does he feel his usual self-consciousness creeping in. It isn’t something he feels that much anymore, at least around Mr. Stark- they joke around now, all that- but still, he’s dipping crackers into Tony’s ice cream.
“I’m, uh, sorry Mr. Stark. I probably ruined your ice cream now? I mean, with the crumbs in it from the crackers, I-”
Tony holds up a hand as if to stop Peter’s rambling. “It’s alright, kid. Go ham, it’s all yours.”
Peter looks at Tony meekly. “Are you, uh, sure?”
Tony raises an eyebrow. “Kid, I have a Ben & Jerry’s flavor named after me. I’m pretty sure I can get all the ice cream I want.”
Peter hesitantly nods and dips another cracker into the ice cream- Tony nods approvingly- and eats it.
And, as they work, Peter keeps eating, more and more crackers and ice cream mixed together, snacking like he’s never been able to.
He eats all of the Chinese food- noodles, dumplings, fried rice- Tony gets him too.
***
“Are you going to eat that?” Peter asks ned, gesturing to the leftover chicken nuggets on his styrofoam lunch tray.
Ned shakes his head. “Nah. You can have them.”
Peter gives Ned a smile- “Thanks, man,”- and proceeds to try and eat the nuggets at a normal rate, so Ned doesn’t think he’s, like, dying or anything.
Because he’s not.
***
Peter: hey Mr. Stark are you up
Mr. Stark: This better be good, kid.
Peter: what was the flavor of ice cream Ben & Jerry’s named after you called?
Mr. Stark: Stark Raving Hazelnuts. Planning on picking up a pint?
Peter: Uh no I was just curious I guess?
Mr. Stark: I have it in my freezer. We’ll spread it on crackers next lab day.
Peter: you keep your own ice cream around Mr. Stark?
Mr. Stark: Kid, when you get an ice cream flavor named after you, you’ll keep it around the
house too.
Peter: no offense Mr. Stark but i don’t think i’m ever going to get an ice cream flavor after me
Peter: maybe Spidey though?
Mr. Stark: Complete and total nonsense, Underoos. Peter Parker deserves- and is going to get-
an ice cream flavor named after him.
Mr. Stark: Doesn’t Peter Pecan Parker have a nice ring to it?
Mr. Stark: Also, go to bed. It’s too late for spider-babies to be up.
Peter: you have to go to bed too, Mr. Stark!
Peter: old people need their rest
Mr. Stark: Kid, I am young and sprightly. I can do as I please.
Mr. Stark: You, however, need to shut your teenage brain off for the night.
Peter: didn’t you just call me a baby?
Mr. Stark: And what about it?
Peter: kind of regretting teaching you memes now Mr. Stark
Mr. Stark: I’m the dankest there is kid.
Peter: STOP!!!
Peter: i’ll go to bed you don’t need to torture me anymore :(
Mr. Stark: Please do.
Peter: i will
Peter: also thank you Mr. Stark
Peter: for the ice cream thing
Peter: saying that i could get a flavor named after me i mean
Mr. Stark: No problem, kid. I don’t say things that aren’t true.
Mr. Stark: Also call me old one more time and I’ll be forced to have an “epic gamer moment”
against you.
Peter: i get it you want me to go to bed i’m going!
Peter: goodnight Mr. Stark
Mr. Stark: Goodnight kid.
***
The lunchline seems packed today.
There are two separate lunchlines in the cafeteria- one near the vending machines, and one near the entrance.
Peter always goes to the one near the entrance, since there are also lines at the vending machines, making the wait for lunch seem infinitely longer.
Today, he’s particularly hungry- a little thought in his mind says, ‘Aren’t we always?’ but Peter decides to just ignore it, no one likes a whiner- so when the lunch lady slops a hot dog and some beans on his tray, he doesn’t complain, even though he’s not a big bean fan.
But then again, beggars can’t afford to be choosers, can they?
When he’s at the cash register, he punches in his student ID on one of the machines- they have every student do this, to one, verify they go to this school, and two, see if they’re on free lunch or not.
The lady at the register shakes her head. “No. You can’t get lunch anymore.”
A surge of annoyance fills Peter- normally he wouldn’t get this overwhelmed over something so small, but being hungry makes his emotions, like, ten times bigger. Why does this lady have to be so cryptic, though?
“Um… why not, ma’am?” Peter asks, trying his best to be polite despite the fact that his stomach is growling at him like a pitbull.
“You had a certain time period to sign up for free lunch again this year. You didn’t sign up during that time period, so now you have to pay for your lunch.” the lady explains.
Suddenly, it’s like something connected in his brain, because now Peter remembers- he remembers the form he was given at the very beginning of the year to sign up for free lunch again, how he put it in his bookbag, promised himself he’d give it to May when he got home, and then forgot all about it, his day’s focus shifting to when Liz complimented the sweatshirt he’d been wearing.
It had been a dark blue sweatshirt with a little NASA patch sewn on it.
It’s probably Peter’s favorite sweatshirt.
His mind feels abnormally jumbled up with thoughts about that sweatshirt, like he can’t focus, because hunger, apparently, is all consuming. There’s this sort of sharp pain in his stomach now- whatever happened to hunger being accommodating, not demanding?
“I… there’s nothing I can do? To, like, get free lunch?” Peter snaps out of his thoughts, finally, and looks at the lady again. She has a piece of spinach wedged between her front teeth- Peter absentmindedly wonders if he should tell her or not.
“There was something you could have done. You didn’t do it.”
And, really, those words make so much sense. She’s completely and totally right. This situation is, in fact, Peter’s fault- how could it not be? He forgot about the paper, and now it’s only fair that he doesn’t get lunch.
He had one job, and he screwed it up. There’s consequences for that sort of thing.
Peter can hear people’s annoyed comments from the back of him, kids standing with their lunch trays in hand, tapping their feet, glaring at him.
“Um. Yeah. Okay. Do I… do I have to put this back?” Peter swallows, hoping the answer would be no. He’s ravenous, and how would he even go about putting back his lunch anyway? Would he just… give it to the lunch ladies?
The lady looks at him, and Peter can clearly see the expression of mild pity on her face.
“You can eat that. But I’m going to have to add that money to your account, which means you’ll be in debt until you pay it off.”
Peter’s so happy he could cry. “Cool. Um, thank you, ma’am,” he mumbles, ducking his head and walking away, tray still in hand.
Did people hear their conversation over the echoing shouts of the cafeteria? Usually Peter would find it in him to care- but he doesn’t right now. All that’s on his mind is the fact that this is the last school lunch he’s going to be able to have.
***
That night, after he gets back from patrol, he finds a distressed May sitting at the table, head in hands.
Throughout his patrol today, Peter had been thinking of ways to tell Aunt May that he needs lunch money.
For the rest of the school year.
And now that he’s come home to find her with her head in her hands, looking like she’s about to cry, he doesn’t know if asking for that is such a good idea now.
“Hey, May. Are you, um, okay?” Peter asks softly, taking off his mask.
May startles a bit- Peter feels bad at that- and tries to give him a smile.
“I’m fine, baby. Just a bit stressed is all. How was patrol?”
Peter knows she’s lying, but decides to at least answer her question. It’s the least he can do. “It was pretty quiet today. I helped some guy find his wallet, so that was cool,” Peter responds.
It wasn’t quiet at all today, actually. There had been at least five muggings today- all attempted muggings once Peter webbed them up, of course- but Peter doesn’t see the point in stressing May out even more.
May looks relieved, as she always does when Peter reports that nothing much happened on patrol. “That’s… that’s good. I’m proud of you, Peter.”
Peter smiles softly at her, and takes the seat opposite of her. May’s always made sure to tell him things like that- sometimes he wonders if she really means it, but then again, he wonders that everytime someone compliments him, so.
“Thanks, May. Are you sure you’re okay though? You kinda…” Peter trails off, not knowing if to say she looks like she’s about to cry, if that would make the situation any better.
May takes a deep breath. “They’re… they’re making cuts at work. Not just people, though- pay too. They docked my pay.”
Immediately, Peter now knows he can’t tell May about needing lunch money, ever. If her pay has been docked, then lunch money is just another thing that they’d be struggling to afford. And he just knows how bad May will feel knowing that she can barely afford to pay for her nephew’s lunch, knowing that Peter knows this as well.
Peter also knows that this means no more school lunch. It was his fault, anyway- he can’t just tell May, “Hey, I know we’ve been struggling to make ends meet for a while now, but I forgot to tell you to sign me up for free lunch this year, so now you need to give me lunch money every day for the rest of the school year. Oh, and also, we owe the school like five dollars because I ate today.”
Peter can live. Lunch is just… a meal. He can find a way to get by without it. He’s gone through worse before than skipping lunch. Other people have gone through worse. Peter will be fine.
It’s almost as if his stomach can already feel the absence of the necessary meal, though, as a sharp pang of hunger reminds Peter of what’s to come for the rest of the school year.
May lets out a choked sob.
Peter immediately rushes to her side and wraps his arms around her. “It’s okay, May. It’s… it’s gonna be fine.”
No it’s not.
“I know, I’m just… I’m so sorry about all of this, Peter. I really do want to give you the life you deserve, because you really are such a sweet boy, but… without Ben, it’s- it’s-” May frets, and Peter’s at a loss for words.
What can he do to make this better, besides not burdening May with debt she shouldn’t have to have in the first place?
“I… I have good news, actually,” Peter says impulsively, because for the life of him, he’s trying to make May feel better. He just wants her to stop crying, because she doesn’t deserve to go through all of this. She tries her best everyday, and it seems like the world just doesn’t care.
May gives him a watery smile, putting her glasses back on. “That’s… that’s great, honey. What is it?”
The words leave Peter’s mouth before he can even think about it.
“You… you know how my metabolism is, um, really fast? Because of the spider bite?’
May nods.
“Well… it’s, uh, back to normal.” Peter lies, and he can already feel the weight of the lie dragging him down, a balloon with a weight tied to it’s string.
May looks confused. “Your metabolism just… stopped being speedy?”
Peter nods. “Yeah, uh, Mr. Stark and I were sort of doing some tests or whatever, and… for the past month, my metabolism has been slowing down, and now it’s… back to normal. He thinks it might’ve just been a side effect from the bite. Like how even after you have a cold, your nose can still be stuffy and… stuff.” Peter finishes lamely.
Slowly, May nods. “Um… okay. I guess that’s better for you, huh?”
Peter bites back the urge to say that it’s better for her, too. Not out of spite or anything- he doesn’t think he could ever be spiteful towards May- but out of the fact that this actually will be better for her. She already buys more food than she has to just to try and keep up with Peter’s metabolism- not that it’s enough, and not that she knows it’s not enough- but still. She won’t have to buy as much food, or cook more food just so she can give Peter an extra serving.
Part of Peter is yelling at himself- why would he lie like this? He’s only making things worse for himself- first lunch goes, and now the extra servings he usually gets, even if they’re not nearly enough.
The other part of him is quiet in it’s defiance. No, this is going to be good for May. For the both of them. He isn’t dragging May down with his needs, and either way, Peter will survive. Some people survive on less- Peter can manage. For May’s sake, he’ll find a way to get by.
Maybe he should read one of those diet magazines or something.
***
“You alright, Underoos?” Tony asks, looking at Peter with concern in his eyes.
Peter nods. “Yeah. I’m, uh, fine. Just been a long day, is all.”
He’s just arrived after school for lab day- today was his first day without lunch at school.
He feels sort of dead.
Tony purses his lips, but doesn’t say anything. Peter knows Tony doesn't believe him, but as long as Tony doesn’t comment on it, he’ll be fine.
A few minutes later, when they’re all situated in the lab- today they’re making a mini Dum-E, Peter’s idea, because, “Mr. Stark, Dum-E needs a sibling! Butterfingers too!”- Tony gives Peter a bag of pistachios, and Peter has to resist the urge to literally just chug the whole bag, because they’re shelled.
***
Peter’s been really tired lately.
Well, it started off as him just being sort of drowsy at school, but now it feels like he could take a nap anywhere- on a bench, during class, stopping bank robbers.
Being tired isn’t just wanting to sleep, though. Everything seems to be going slower for Peter- time his movements, everything.
The only time he doesn’t feel tired is when he’s getting fed. Days have stopped being just days- they’re checkpoints, get breakfast, dinner, and whatever he can find in between.
Right now? Well, right now, Peter is in class, daydreaming of dinner. Today May and him might go out to eat at a Chinese- and while the restaurants portions still won’t be enough, sometimes they give you free little fortune cookies. God, anything would taste good right now.
Something sharp pokes him on the arm. Peter startles, with what little energy he has.
It’s MJ, and her pencil.
“Don’t tell me you’re about to fall asleep, Parker.” MJ crosses her arms, and Peter suspects she might be a little bit worried about him- it’s always hard to tell with MJ.
“Um… no. Just kind of spaced out.” Peter whispers as the teacher drones on- he was, in fact, about to fall asleep- his eyelids were getting heavier by the minute, it seemed, but MJ doesn’t need to know that.
“Yeah, okay. Well, you should stay awake, loser, because this is gonna be on our test next class.” MJ says, averting her eyes from Peter. She seems to be a bit more… open around him, lately, if anything. They have been talking a lot more than usual, so it makes sense.
That’s not what Peter’s focused on now, though. “Wait, we have a test?!” Peter’s eyes widen, and it’s at this brilliant, fantastic moment, that the teacher hears him.
“Yes, we do, Mr. Parker, so I suggest you pay attention. Now, would you mind answering the problem I’ve put on the board?” the teacher asks, and Peter can’t help but think that he does mind, because there’s no need for the teacher to try and make him feel bad in front of the class.
“What was that?” the teacher raises an eyebrow, and everyone turns to look at him.
Had he said that out loud?
It must have been the hunger speaking for him, because he honestly isn’t focusing on anything else but it right now.
“Um, nothing. Sorry,” Peter mumbles, face red, as he looks at the board.
The problem should be easy, under any other circumstance. Peter should know this, really, so why isn’t the answer coming to him? It feels like his brain is filled with cotton, and all he can feel is the pain in his stomach, gnawing at him from within, insatiable.
Peter feels like he’s about to cry.
Flash raises his hand, and then answers out of his own volition. “It’s five, Ms. Gavner, since Penis Parker doesn’t know how to use his brain- not that he had one in the first place.”
Flash whispers that last part, and there are giggles all around him now. MJ glares at Flash and tells him to shut up- at least he thinks she does, because really, he’s too distracted to tell.
“Thank you, Flash, although please remember to wait to be called on next time you speak. As for you, Peter- it would do you well to pay attention in class, instead of falling asleep.” Miss Gavner remarks, and then goes back to teaching.
Peter doesn’t do that. Instead, he puts his head in his arms on the desk, and takes a twenty minute nap until the bell rings.
***
It’s during patrol when Peter finds some guy trying to mug a woman walking home.
“Hey, buddy! Didn’t anyone ever tell you that taking other people’s things is bad?” Peter asks, dropping down from the street light in front of the criminal.
“Get out of the fucking way, spider-thing.” the guy growls, and Peter shakes his head.
“No can do, sir! I’m gonna make it easy and give you a chance to hand over the-”
Peter barely dodges the punch that’s thrown his way.
“Or not.” Peter mumbles, and the two begin to fight.
Something’s wrong, though- this should be an easy fight, no doubt about it, but his senses are all messed up. It’s like they’re not working- they don’t warn him until it’s too late, leaving Peter to just rely on his own instincts.
It’s hard to, though, when his stomach feels like it’s attacking him from within.
Another sharp pang in stomach actually makes Peter double over in pain- giving the criminal enough time to punch Peter square in the face, knocking him over and running away.
The criminal got away.
Peter let a criminal get away.
The woman also ran away, apparently, Peter realizes as he lays under the bright yellow streetlight in the middle of the night, all alone.
“Karen,” Peter mutters, clenching his jaw, “Do I… I don’t need to go to the hospital, right? It isn’t that bad?”
Karen’s silent for a moment, and then, “No, Peter, your current state does not require immediate medical action. However, it is my recommendation that you do seek medical help.”
Peter doesn’t say anything. He just stays there for a moment, letting his hunger consume him.
***
Pepper’s back.
Peter thinks Pepper is pretty cool. She’s nice, and always helps Peter whenever Tony refuses to do something basic, like sleeping, or not mixing Redbull and coffee.
Basic stuff.
Since Pepper’s back, Tony’s decided they’re all going to have dinner together. They’re not going to go out or anything- they’re getting it brought to them.
When Tony first told Peter this, he wasn’t sure if that meant they were getting takeout or something.
Apparently, though, they’re getting gourmet food delivered to them.
Just the thought of it makes Peter’s mouth water. He honestly feels like they could be eating mud-pies and he’d be happy, just as long as something is going in his stomach.
When Pepper arrives, Tony immediately wraps his arms around her waist and kisses her. Maybe he said something before that- Peter doesn’t know, his mind is in his stomach right now.
It’s weird. He knows he’ll be fed, and somehow his stomach is hungrier than before. Maybe it’s like how you feel before Christmas- the more you think about it, the more antsy and excited you get.
Peter doesn’t even process anything else that’s happening- god, his stomach is killing him, jabs and stabs coming from inside, making him wince constantly- until Pepper is in front of him.
“Hi, Peter. Oh, god, it’s been too long. How did that Spanish quiz go?” Pepper asks, and Peter honestly doesn’t know what the hell she’s talking about- did he mention he had a Spanish quiz last time he saw Pepper? If he did, it’s nice of her to remember, but Peter doesn’t- he wishes he did, but really, there’s only one main focus in his life right now.
“Um… it went good. I got a ninety five percent.” Peter’s become really good at fabricating lies, he thinks, as Pepper hugs him.
It’s not something he ever wanted to get good at.
Peter hugs her back, but it takes a lot of effort. His limbs feel like noodles tied down with weights- moving requires so much energy now!
As they walk to the dining room, which seems miles away, Peter finds that he’s involuntarily tuning everything Tony and Pepper are saying out- his stomach is demanding he eat, screaming at him.
Whenever Tony or Pepper try to involve him in the conversation, he does his best to act normal, but it’s hard to know what’s considered normal anymore. Days, it’s been days since he ate lunch, and now with the whole lie he’s told about his metabolism, he’s been declining all the extra portions May offers him at dinner- it seems she’s still sort of skeptical.
It kills him when he has to turn away another serving of pasta, but he made his bed, and now he has to sit in it.
Finally- it honestly does seem like it’s been forever, and god, it kind of hurts to walk now- they get to the dining room.
The aroma of all the food is overwhelming. Peter feels sort of faint- so many different smells coming at him, and the sight of it-
There’s trays and trays of lasagna, bowls of mashed potatoes and salad, spaghetti, steak, everything Peter could have ever dreamed of.
“Welcome home, Pep,” Tony says, an arm around her shoulders.
As Peter stares at the food, tears come to his eyes, and wow, is he actually about to cry over food?
The answer is yes, apparently, because when Pepper glances at him, her light expression turns to one of concern.
“Oh, Peter, honey, what’s wrong?” she frowns, gently untangling herself from Tony’s arms to walk over to Peter. She cups his face in her hands, which makes Peter cry more- has he been crying? His face is wet- his mind is so clouded over these days he can hardly process anything else his body does but hurt.
Tony comes over to them. “Are you alright, Underoos? I know Pepper’s homecoming is a momentous occasion, but you don’t have to cry about it.” he says, but Peter can hear the underlying tone of concern in his voice.
Great. He can’t let them know he’s crying over food! Then they’ll suspect something is wrong, and Peter’s been doing so good! He hasn’t wasted any of May’s money or food, he isn’t making life harder for her.
“I-It’s nothing,” Peter lies, forcing a sheepish smile, “I was just thinking about this video I saw of a baby otter finding its mom- it was, like, really sad.”
Pepper can’t help but smile, and Tony even laughs a little.
“Jesus christ, remind me to never show you Finding Nemo,” Tony rolls his eyes playfully, lightly thumping Peter on the back- Peter struggles to stay on his feet, because Mr. Stark is either suddenly very strong, or he’s grown very, very weak.
“Oh, don’t listen to him- he cried for like an hour after he watched that movie.” Pepper smirks, and Peter laughs a little, because he can totally see Mr. Stark crying over it in his head.
When they finally start to eat, Peter knows he’s being a little sloppier than usual, practically shoveling food down his throat. But god, food tastes so good!- the steak is juicy, the salad is refreshing, the mashed potatoes are warm, the spaghetti is heavenly, everything, everything tastes great.
He catches Tony sending him a few sort of concerned glances from across the table, but no one says anything. It feels like his mind is slowly getting less cloudy, the pain in his stomach going away ever so slightly, like everything is okay.
By the time they’re eating dessert- it’s chocolate mousse with a raspberry swirl to it, which Peter devours- Peter’s stable enough hunger-wise to actually hold a conversation. He tells Pepper about patrol, his friends, what he and Tony have been doing in the lab.
He feels better than he has in weeks.
When it’s time for him to go home, before Peter steps into Happy’s car, Tony hands him some leftovers- Peter almost cries at that again.
“Bye, Underoos.” Tony says, and Peter hugs him- it’s nice to know that they’re there, they’ve been there for a while now, it seems.
“Bye, Mr. Stark. I- thank you. Thank you so much. Everything was great.” Peter says, and Tony opens his mouth to say something- Peter knows it’s probably about how much he ate, how fast he ate, so Peter doesn’t give him the chance to.
He quickly jumps into the car and slams the door. Happy takes this as a signal to drive off, and as Peter watches Tony fade away from him into the night, he hopes he wasn’t too rude.
As Peter clutches the leftovers to his chest like a bible, he realizes that doesn’t feel like he’s in any pain right now.
And somehow, that’s all that matters to him anymore.
***
When he gets home, he realizes he is in pain now- just a different sort.
He immediately rushes to the toilet and vomits- maybe he had mistaken being full for being nauseous.
Was it food poisoning? Peter doesn’t think so, and although he’s not positive, he suspects it has something to do with the fact that he ate so much so quick, for the first time in weeks.
The aching in his ribs returns again, and when Peter finally finishes vomiting, he’s back at square one all over again.
***
Mr. Stark is leaving for three weeks and a half to Japan.
He tells this over the phone to Peter- it’s for a conference or something.
Peter has to hold back tears during the entire conversation.
Finally, when they finish talking, Peter sobs, and immediately regrets it. His body is now wracked with pain- apparently if you cry when you’re hungry, your entire body seizes or something similar to that.
As Peter holds wraps his arms around his stomach, he thinks, it’s not the prospect of Tony leaving that has him so upset. Well, of course he isn’t totally happy about that- he’s going to miss lab days and movie nights and weekends upstate.
But right now, what troubles him the most is that he’s just lost yet another meal- all those snacks Tony gives him, and the overload of food whenever he eats dinner there is probably the equivalent to the size of a meal he should have, with his metabolism.
And now it’s gone.
First lunch, then extra servings, and now this.
Peter heaves, but nothing comes up. How could anything?
***
Ned has started bringing packed lunch to school.
He says it’s because the cafeteria food is too gross- at this point, Peter wants to tell him that when you’re starving, you take what you can get, but he knows Ned doesn’t mean any harm by the comment, nor does he know Peter’s situation.
Peter, on the other hand, continues to survive without lunch- he’d never realize how he took the cafeteria food for granted until now- one day, he sees Cindy Moon munching on a watery meatball sub, and he almost keels over at the thought of him being the one eating it.
When Ned asks Peter why he doesn’t eat the school lunch anymore, he says it’s because he always eats lunch after school, during patrol, which isn’t true- he doesn’t use his spare change anymore to get a sandwich at Delmar’s. Instead, he slips it in May’s purse when she’s not looking, as if it’s compensation for his very being.
May still won’t let him get a job.
One day, Ned brings in some leftover Chinese- dumplings, fried rice, the whole deal.
When Ned offers him one of the dumplings, Peter has to hold back tears as he accepts it, and crams it down.
He ignores the concerned look Ned gives him.
***
Peter’s hair has been falling out recently.
Peter doesn’t know if that’s common or not, but it is- during gym, he ran his hands through his hair at one point, and his hand came out with strands of hair on it.
When he wakes up in the morning, his pillow has strands of hair on it, too.
Peter doesn’t think it’s noticeable- it’s not as if he looks like he’s balding or anything.
***
“I’m concerned,” his science teacher says to him one day after class. She’d made him stay- Peter doesn’t know why, unless if it’s because she caught him dozing off- but he does that in every class now.
Peter can’t help but ignore his teacher as he rambles on about Peter’s grades slipping, how he isn’t turning in the homework, how his classwork and tests are incomplete.
Peter just can’t find it in himself to care.
It seems as if there are more important things to worry about now- food is the only thing on his mind, when, where, and how he can get some.
His grades have been dropping from A’s to B’s to C’s, and finally, a D in this class.
It’s sort of incredible how fast they can change.
But really, Peter can’t just bring himself to focus like he used to! In the middle of his tests, he’ll feel a stab of pain, and he’ll have to put his head down for the rest of the class. The same goes for homework and studying. How can he possible focus on all of that if he’s in such constant pain?
“If you don’t start turning in your assignments, I’m going to have to be forced to call your guardian, Peter. And I don’t want to have to do that. You really are a bright student.” his teacher says, and Peter just weakly nods, arms folded across his stomach.
He’s missing part of lunchtime because of this.
He gives the teacher an empty promise, something about trying harder, and walks away, not bothering to let himself be dismissed by the teacher.
***
Peter’s been asking Ned for a piece of his lunch constantly, these past few days.
“Are you going to eat that?” Peter asks today, gesturing to Ned’s orange.
Ned hands Peter the orange, but apparently the exchange isn’t over there. “Are you alright, man? You’ve been acting kind of weird for a while now.” Ned says suddenly, and Peter has to pause in his shoving the orange slices into his mouth.
“I’m fine, Ned.” Peter mumbles, swallowing the orange slice- his stomach wants more. He doesn’t even bother to try and taste it anymore- taste doesn’t matter. It’s all about being filled.
“But-”
“Seriously, man, I’m fine.” Peter cuts Ned off. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”
With that, Peter stands up and leaves Ned at the table, lunch in front of him.
Peter can’t help but feel jealous of everyone at Midtown. He constantly hears people complaining about their food- don’t they know how good they have it?
Before Peter leaves the cafeteria, he does something he never would do under any other ordinary circumstance, but he just can’t help himself.
Besides the container of plastic forks and knives, they’ve started keeping cartons of milk, chilled in ice.
Peter pretends to grab a fork- yeah right, not like he has any use for them- and feigns dropping it into the milk cartons.
Quickly, he scoops up some of the ice the cartons are sitting on, and pops it into his mouth. Doesn’t it technically count as food?
Somehow, the ice makes him feel worse. Now his hands are cold, and the inside of his stomach feels cold, too.
Peter stumbles out of the cafeteria.
***
Tonight, Peter and May are having meatloaf that May cooked herself. May isn’t the best cook, but Peter doesn’t care about taste at this point- it pains him to have to take his time eating and not just wolf it down, so May doesn’t suspect anything.
Usually at dinner, they’ll be talking about their day or a new movie that’s coming out, something of that caliber.
Lately, though, Peter knows he’s been quiet- not just to May, but to everyone. There’s not much to say when your body is attacking itself out of need and your brain feels empty.
Peter does his best to keep up his regular Peter-personality around May, but today it feels especially hard. It feels like everything has gotten worse and worse- hunger was never an accommodation, Peter realizes, hunger would never be a normalcy. Peter is the accommodation to hunger, not the other way around. He is it’s vessel, the dog it walks on a leash, he doesn’t have the right to make demands, to ignore it.
“Are you okay, baby? You’re being really quiet tonight. Did something happen at school?” May asks, taking a bite of her meatloaf.
Peter just shakes his head. He feels like if he says something, everything will spill out- his lies, his pain, all of it.
“Peter, please,” May sighs, “You’ve been acting different lately. You don’t talk as much, and you always look so… so tired. I’m worried about you, Peter.”
Great. Wasn’t this what he was trying to stop in the first place? Worry, being a burden? And now it’s all backfired.
Maybe he wasn’t doing as good of a job at acting normal as he thought.
‘M’fine, May,” Peter mumbles, “Just… mid-year exams coming up. It’s kinda stressful.”
Peter doesn’t listen as May reassures him it’ll be okay- instead, he opts to stare at his meatloaf, and holds back the tears he’s been fighting everytime he sees any sort of food.
Nothing will ever be enough, Peter realizes. He’ll always have to be an accommodation.
***
Peter can see his ribs now.
He hadn’t really noticed until one day, as he wraps a towel around his waist after he’s finished showering, he sees them.
It’s almost surreal. Bones poking out of skin, begging to be seen- an SOS, a red flag waving high in the sky.
Peter traces them delicately with his finger. It hurts- everything hurts- but he feels them, in their stubborn defiance, a silent protest, refusing to go back to where they belong.
About a year ago, there had been muscle there- this also came as a surprise to Peter, but for different reasons. Now, though, it’s as if all of that just reversed, leaving Peter with his bones making a statement.
People have gone through worse.
Peter gets dressed.
***
When Tony calls, Peter feels as if he’s putting on some sort of elaborate play.
He spins lies about his days, his friends, everything. The one thing he doesn’t lie about is patrol- he always remembers that. The problem is, he hasn’t really been going on it lately, which is what Tony asks about when they speak most recently.
Peter tells him he just wants some time to study for mid-terms- which is not true at all- but really, it’s because Peter can hardly be Spider-Man anymore.
Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he physically can’t- his senses, which were once always dialed to eleven, are now dialed to even less, a negative number, if they’re doing that. His strength has seemingly died down, only working in moments of adrenaline. All he can do now is be sticky and shoot webs.
He doesn’t know if Tony buys it or not- isn’t there a way for Tony to check his vitals? The last time he was in the suit was about maybe a week ago- hunger has no concept of time, it seems- which makes Peter somewhat reassured- a week ago, things were bad, but not Karen-reporting-to-Mr. Stark bad.
Everything will be fine.
***
Peter has had to stop asking Ned for his leftovers.
Ned is getting suspicious now- the last time he did it, Ned asked him if he’s getting enough to eat during patrol- so now Peter isn’t a dog at the table, begging for scraps.
Now he steals them, in a way.
Today, when Ned stands up to throw away the leftover contents of his lunchbox, Peter puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey man, I’ll throw it out for you.” Peter says, with a kind smile.
MJ- she’s been sitting with them lately, but she never really does anything but read her book, which Peter doesn’t necessarily mind but finds a little weird- is she trying to ignore them? He hopes not- taps Peter’s shoulder.
“Mind throwing mine away too, loser?” she asks, gesturing to her lunch tray.
Peter almost hugs her from happiness.
“Um, sure. No problem.” Peter nods, and takes both Ned and MJ’s leftovers to the trash, as they both thank him.
The giant industrial trash bin everyone throws their leftovers away in is at the other side of the cafeteria, which gives Peter some time to assess what they’ve left behind.
Ned’s left behind precisely three spaghetti strands and a bitten meatball in a glass container, along with a few orange slices. MJ, who gets the school lunch, has left behind a few streaks of mashed potatoes and gravy.
When Peter makes it to the trash, he acts as quick as he can so no one will see him. Using the plastic fork MJ left behind, he eats the spaghetti, half-eaten meatball, and mashed potato residue as fast as he can.
He tucks the orange slices in his pocket for later.
He feels a mixture of shame and paranoia- he’s eating his friend’s lunches in the middle of the cafeteria, it’s like feeding your dog the few bits of meat you have left on your plate.
Peter decides not to dwell on this, and dumps the rest of their trash in the bin.
He makes his way back to his friends with a fake, plastered on smile.
***
A few days later- it’s about the second week that Tony’s been gone, Peter thinks- when he gets home from school, May sends him a text.
May: I have this one patient that’s taking a bit longer than usual, so I’m going to be coming home a bit later today. You don’t mind having a late dinner, do you?
Peter: that’s fine may! good luck :)
May: <3
Peter turns off his phone, and puts his head in his hands, leaning against the kitchen counter.
Today’s already been a bad day, food-wise. For days now, he’s been offering to take Ned and MJ’s leftovers to the trash and then, when no one is looking, eat them, but today Ned was absent and MJ ate almost all of her lunch.
So, essentially, Peter’s only had breakfast, and the breakfast serving of cereal he gave himself is only a quarter of the size of a meal he needs.
Suddenly, Peter feels extremely lightheaded. He nearly trips over his own feet trying to steady himself on the counter, as his vision sways.
The pain is unbearable.
He needs to eat something. Anything.
With the little strength he has left, Peter manages to look around the kitchen for something to eat. There’s practically nothing- May’s going grocery shopping tomorrow, he knows.
There’s his cereal, but no, he can’t eat that- then what will he have for breakfast tomorrow? Besides, the box isn’t even half full- another reason why May is doing groceries tomorrow.
The only things that Peter can possibly eat are three sticks of butter in the fridge, and a bag of white sugar in one of the cabinets.
Peter sets them out in front of him. No, he couldn’t possibly. Who eats butter and sugar raw? He’s already practically licking his friend’s plates clean- he can’t stoop this low, can he?
And, right after that thought, Peter tears into the sugar and butter, cramming the sticks of butter into his mouth with no remorse, shoving handful to handful of sugar in his mouth. He doesn’t stop, butter smeared all over his face, sugar clinging to his clothes like snowflakes. Peter doesn’t even think- he just eats.
Peter doesn’t realize there’s nothing left until he slumps on the ground, the overwhelming sweetness of the sugar still in his mouth, fingers slick with butter.
He feels like shit.
Through half-lidded eyes, Peter regards the mess in the kitchen- there’s sugar all over the floor, butter greasing the countertops.
He’ll have to clean it up later, before May gets back.
For now, though, Peter closes his eyes and lets out a sob.
He doesn’t think he can do this anymore.
***
Mr. Stark: Hey kid, how are you holding up?
Peter: pretty well, just studying for mid-terms. how’s japan?
Mr. Stark: I wouldn’t know since all I’ve been doing since I arrived is conferences.
Mr. Stark: Study hard, okay?
Peter: sure thing, Mr. Stark! :)
***
After the sugar and butter incident- god, it had taken hours to get sugar out of every crack and crevice before May got home- Peter doesn’t think he can get any lower. How can he?
Of course, per usual, the universe proves him wrong.
It happens when Peter’s out on patrol- only not in the suit Mr. Stark gave him. He’s in his homemade suit- he can’t risk Mr. Stark knowing his condition.
Today, though, he can’t help it. While the pain is too much to bear, Peter knows there are others out there in more pain.
So he goes on patrol.
As he swings- everything feels infinitely harder without Karen to help- Peter wonders if he should start layering more. Lately, he’s been wearing at least three shirts, to cover up how thin he’s gotten. Yet maybe a fourth is needed- you can never be too careful, right?
Peter doesn’t realize that the last web he fired missed until he feels himself falling.
When Peter hits the ground- he’s in some alleyway, it seems- it feels like every pain he’s ever felt has come back to haunt him. Old scars throb, his stomach clenches with yet another demand of sustenance- it feels like even his fingernails hurt.
Everything goes blurry, his vision swirling around like a kaleidoscope. His lungs scream for air, but are oppressed by his ribs- the wind has literally been knocked out of him.
A small part of Peter thinks that maybe, maybe, it would be better if he just died here.
***
He doesn’t know how long it’s been when he wakes up.
He’s still in the same alleyway, although it’s raining- of course it is.
Peter sits up.
Immediately, he seizes in pain- but through this pain, he smells something.
Next to him is a dumpster, and it smells just as good as a thing full of rotting garbage in the rain can smell.
But in a dumpster, there’s food, right?
Peter can’t even form a coherent thought as he crawls over to the dumpster, and manages to stand himself up against it.
With shaking hands, he lifts himself in, and digs through it to find something, anything, to eat.
Peter’s gone dumpster diving before, but not like this.
The dumpster, as it so happens, is filled with food- sure, it may be rotting, but Peter isn’t going to pass up this chance.
No one is around.
No one would know.
No one would tell.
Peter doesn’t even process what he’s eating, he just eats, biting and gnashing and licking, until he feels like he might throw up because oh god, this really is so much worse than the sugar and butter.
The different tastes- all of them bad- that flood Peter’s mouth make him gag, but there’s something about it that makes him keep going. He must look rabid, animalistic, feral, but who’s around?
Peter finally stops, tossing aside a cup of rotting yogurt he’s eaten with his bare fingers.
Spider-Man eating garbage. What a title for The Daily Bugle that would be.
Peter gets it now, though. There are so many things in life, but what do they matter? Hunger is about survival, life is about survival- you take what you can without complaint.
Briefly, in the back of his mind, he knows he’ll have to take a dozen showers so he won’t smell like garbage.
***
The day it all goes to shit- his efforts to accommodate, to help, to not be a burden- is a substitute day.
Peter’s in science, and they have a sub, which would normally totally excite Peter- he could work on his web fluid!- but today, he’s tired. Like always.
So, as Peter puts his head down, Ned rambling beside him about how they can watch a movie or something because the sub really doesn’t seem to care what anyone is doing- Peter thinks of lunch.
He’s developed a sort of routine.
Towards the beginning of lunch, Peter will go to the vending machines, when no one is around. He’ll feign accidentally dropping a coin or something under it, and then look for coins under the vending machine. He’s wedged his hand under them, and they’re honestly pretty gross, but if he’s lucky, he’ll find a quarter or something.
He does this with all the machines.
Then, he’ll go sit with Ned, if he wasn’t able to find anything. He’ll oogle his lunch, and then offer to throw it away, along with MJ’s, and then he does his whole, “I’m-a-dog-stealing-from-my-owner’s-plate” thing.
But the final blow to what little dignity he has left is this- after all that, he’ll stay behind in the cafeteria, once the lunch bell has rung, and go through the bins, looking for something to eat.
Usually, no one is around at that time- but yesterday, when Peter looked up from the garbage can he was currently dining at, cramming a half-eaten chicken nugget into his mouth, a janitor stood in front of him, mouth slightly open.
They made eye contact, and Peter’s face had flushed bright red.
He ran, ran to the bathroom, and ended up skipping his next period, which was Spanish.
On good days, he’s able to purchase a bag of pretzels from the vending machine, and afterwards eat whatever his friends have left behind, unbeknownst to them.in
On bad days, Peter starves.
Peter’s a sort of daze- maybe he’ll find the janitor and say he’d dropped his wallet in there or something?- until Flash is in front of him, a huge smirk on his face.
He smacks Peter’s pencil off his lab table.
“Whoops. Better pick that up, Penis.” Flash says, and Peter bends over to do that, the action already causing him physical pain.
“Seriously, Flash?” Peter mumbles.
“Fuck off, Flash.” MJ says, sitting behind them. She doesn’t even bother looking up from her book.
“Yeah, man. Just leave us alone.” Ned agrees.
Flash ignores both of them. “Find any coins down there, Penis?”
Peter’s heart stops.
“What?” he says slowly, sitting up to look at Flash. Flash has a huge shit-eating grin on- does he know? He couldn’t possibly- but he could, couldn’t he? After all, Peter does his whole vending machine schtick everyday- how long could people fall for it?
“Jesus, Flash, run out of insults?” MJ snarks, and a few people snicker at that.
Flash’s ears turn bright red.
“Shut up,” he snaps at MJ, “It’s not my fault Penis digs under the vending machines everyday looking for coins.”
Ned looks at Peter, confused, as well as a few other classmates. “What’re you talking about? Peter doesn’t do that- right, Peter?” Ned says, but Peter doesn’t even look at him.
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Flash. Just leave me alone, alright?” Peter says, although his voice is shaky.
Flash knows, Flash knows. Who else knows?
“Yeah right. Let me give you some advice, Penis- pretending to drop something under the vending machines everyday just so you can look for money under it to buy a bag of pretzels-”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Peter interrupts him. His face is red. “Just- just- just fuck off.”
It seems like everyone in the class is staring at him now.
Flash glares at him, and yeah, okay, maybe that wasn’t the right move.
“Wow, Penis, I can’t believe you grew a spine!” Flash steps closer to Peter. “Does it help you when you eat from the trash after lunch, when you think no one can see you? Or when you eat your friends’ leftovers behind their backs?”
Peter’s face is probably as red as the leftover ketchup packets he slurps- which would be a good insult for Flash.
Peter doesn’t say anything, because fuck, fuck, fuck, now everyone knows. Ned and MJ are saying something to him, but he doesn’t care, because now everyone knows he eats out of the trash and that he’s been starving himself, and god, he wasn’t careful enough- what is he going to eat now?
“You don’t even have any proof, Flash.” MJ says cooly. “You pull this sort of shit all the time. Why would anyone here believe all those fucked up accusations you’re making?”
But they’re true. Flash saw him- of course he did. Flash is probably always watching him, waiting for him to embarrass himself next so he can gloat about it.
This feels low, though. Even for Flash. And as Peter looks at Flash, he understands- Flash probably wouldn’t have revealed this all if Ned and MJ hadn’t made him look stupid, because even Flash isn’t that horrible- not that he blames them.
He only has himself to blame. Great, great, great, now someone’s probably going to tell the principal, who’ll tell May, and then he’ll be a burden, and he’ll make May cry, and fuck, fuck, FUCK-
“I do have proof!” Flash hisses, as people around him murmur in agreement with MJ. “You guys really don’t see it? How he does his whole fucking- fucking lunch routine everyday?”
Peter meets Flash’s eyes- they look desperate. Peter pleads to him silently, to just drop it, to let it go, and for a moment, Flash softens, like he’ll stop-
“Yeah right. If he was starving, he’d look like a fucking homeless person,” someone from the crowd now gathering around them says- the sub has fallen asleep, of course- and Flash’s eyes now look determined.
It seems like Flash has made his choice.
“He- he does! I bet you if Penis here lifts up his shirt, he’ll look like one of those starving kids you see on TV for those charity ads!”
“I’m not going to lift up my shirt, Flash. I’m not starving.” Peter crosses his arms over himself- that was pretty fucked up of Flash to say, but he has to ignore it now because they’re all very, very close to finding out- and he feels tears spring to his eyes.
“Don’t cry, Penis. Just take off your shirt. Show everyone how you’re totally NOT starving.” Flash grins, and a few people even start chanting.
“Take it off, take it off!”
“I-” Peter sputters, looking around. He feels faint again, and everyone, everyone is staring- they’re all going to know, everyone, and they’ll all think of him as the kid who starves himself- god, he just wanted to help May, he just wanted-
Suddenly, Flash darts over to Peter and lifts his shirt up. Flash’s expression is hesitant- it looks like he’s doubting himself- but when he sees Peter’s ribs, his eyes widen.
“Holy shit,” he mutters, and everyone else is staring at him, wide eyed. Ned’s jaw is hanging, MJ lets out a small gasp-
Peter quickly tugs down his shirt, face aflame, and the last thing he notices is Flash’s horrified expression, and someone saying, “That’s fucked up,” as everything turns black.
***
When Peter wakes up this time, he’s not in an alleyway in Queens.
He’s in a bed.
Everything is blurry for a second as his vision stills- he hopes it was all some sort of horrible nightmare- and he’s met with the sight of a room with walls painted a soothing white, a chair in the corner.
He feels a small pinch in his wrist, and when he looks at it, he sees an IB- in fact, there’s all sorts of machinery around him.
Oh.
He must be in a hospital.
Faintly, he hears arguing outside the door- his head is pounding- and then the door slams open.
“And you can go shove it up your ass!” someone says as they enter the room, and it’s Tony.
Tony.
“Mi’sr Stark?” Peter mumbles.
Tony’s running towards his bed, expression flooded with relief. “Kid, you’re- you’re awake. Okay. Thank god.” Tony takes a deep breath.
“I- why are you here? Where- where am I?” Peter asks, doing his best to sit up.
“You’re at the medbay, kid, upstate. Today was the day I was supposed to come back, and then I got a call from your school-”
Immediately, all the memories of today flood Peter’s mind, and he winces. He doesn’t mention it, though- instead, he just asks, “Why would my school call you?”
“May listed me as your second emergency contact. Apparently she didn’t pick up the phone when they called her, so here we are.” Tony gestures to the room, and pulls up the chair from the corner so he can sit next to Peter’s bed. “She’s on her way now, though. I’m having Happy drive her.”
“Oh. Um, okay.” Peter says. May put Tony as his second emergency contact? Not that he minds or anything, he just didn’t expect May to do that.
They’re silent for a moment. Cool air hits Peter’s face from the A.C above. It’s sort of refreshing.
Finally, Tony breaks the silence. “When the school called me, they said that the kids in your class- they said that you’ve been eating out of the garbage, and looking for coins under vending machines, tons of stuff.”
Peter just nods, and he sees Tony’s eyes widen.
“So it’s true?” Tony asks, voice eerily calm.
Peter nods again, staring straight ahead.
“I- it’s not May, right?”
Peter immediately shakes his head. “Oh, god no- Mr. Stark, May didn’t know about this. She isn’t- she isn’t going to get in trouble, is she? Because she really didn’t do anything. It- it was all me.”
Tony looks relieved. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t.”
More silence, and then, “Peter. I- May didn’t do this to you. So I-I can’t possibly fathom why you would do this to yourself.”
Peter doesn’t respond. He’s too busy being filled with shame, and embarrassment, because now Tony knows too, of all people. Now he probably thinks Peter is some sort of freak.
He wouldn’t be wrong.
Tony gets up from his chair, and starts pacing around the room. “I just- what were you thinking? You have no reason to starve yourself, Peter, especially with that damn metabolism. You could have died. Do you know that? Do you know what your aunt and I would do if you died over you doing this to yourself, if you just suddenly dropped dead one day in the middle of math class and we didn’t know why? Because the answer is I don’t know- I don’t know what we would do if that happened, Peter! We could have lost you!”
Suddenly, Peter lets out a sob that he feels like he’s been holding forever. “I-I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I really am. I don’t- I just-”
Tony rushes over to Peter. “I- god, what the fuck was I thinking?” Tony mutters. “I shouldn’t be yelling at you when you’re in a damn hospital bed- jesus, kid, I’m sorry, I-”
“I just wanted to help May. I just wanted to not be a burden on her anymore.” Peter says, voice clear as day, and then he bursts into tears.
He tells Tony everything. Everything. How no amount of food is never enough, how he had to stop getting free lunch, how he has a new routine for lunch, about the sugar and butter, the trash, his ribs and his hair and how he has to layer clothing now, everything.
When Peter finishes, he’s not the only one crying. Tony stares at him in shock for a second, and Peter is surprised to see, when he finally meets Tony’s eyes, that they’re full of tears.
Tony pulls him into a tight hug, and Peter sobs into his nice sports jacket. It feels good to let it out, to tell someone- like a weight has been lifted.
They stay like that until May gets there- then she joins them.
***
“Hey, Underoos. I have something to show you.” Tony says when Peter arrives for lab day. He’s wearing an old AC/DC t-shirt, and a grin. He looks excited, if anything.
“What is it?” Peter asks, putting his bookbag down on the lab floor. “Is it… another Dum-E? Because I’ve been thinking, Mr. Stark, the lab could use some more robots. Like, a million of them.”
Tony snorts. “Okay, firstly, no. The day I make an army of Dum-E’s is the day I announce to the public that Stark Industries is going to start producing robotic puppies and kittens.”
Peter’s eyes light up. “Can you do that, Mr. Stark? That would be totally awesome.”
Tony just groans, and walks to the other side of the lab. “For the last time, kid, I’m not doing that. In ever.”
“That’s not fair, Mr. Stark! It’s what the public wants!” Peter whines, taking a seat on one of the stools.
“It’s what you want!” Tony calls to him, and really, he can’t argue with that.
It’s been about a month since the hospital. These days, Peter’s never hungry- not when he’s not supposed to be. Tony ran some experiments on him, and they’ve calculated how much he has to eat to be full. He’s also- this is the best part- now one of Peter’s legal guardians, so he pretty much gets to help May pay for his food supply. May’s stubborn- she won’t let him pay for much else, but he knows May’s secretly thankful for the help.
She also is very adamant about Peter eating enough, now that she knows the whole truth, which is a bit overwhelming- “Baby, I larb you, but if you don’t eat everything that’s on your plate I won’t hesitate to call Tony,”- but still- even if she wakes him up in the middle of the night to ask if he’s hungry.
Peter always tells the truth when it comes to that.
It also rocks that he technically gets to call Tony dad now- he rarely ever did before unless he slipped up, but now, sometimes, he will, usually when they’re alone.
Sometimes his classmates look at him weird, but that’s okay. Really, Peter’s gotten used to it by now- as long as he has Ned, and MJ as well, who hangs out with them more prominently, it seems like everything school-wise will be fine, even if they’re constantly shoving his food down his throat.
Not to mention the fact that, about a week or two after he fainted in class, he received an apology letter from Flash. Peter isn’t sure if the principal made him send it or not- he suspects- but either way, it’s sort of endearing, if not a little amusing.
Tony comes back with what looks to be a pint of ice cream and two spoons, snapping Peter out of his reminiscent thoughts.
Tony hands the spoon to Peter.
“Oh, um- I’m good, Mr. Stark. I’m full.” Peter says, which feels awesome to say, by the way- but Tony just shakes his head and takes the top off the ice cream, setting it down on the table.
“Look at the name, Pete.”
When Tony hands the ice cream to him, Peter curiously turns the pint around, and his eyes widen at what he sees.
The ice cream is labeled, “Peter Pecan Parker.”
“What? I-” Peter sputters, a smile growing on his face.
“I managed to convince Ben & Jerry’s to release a new flavor out to the public tomorrow named after my genius intern- we get to try it first, though, so go ahead.” Tony says, and Peter immediately digs his spoon in.
Once he’s taken his first taste, Tony grins. “So? How’s it taste?”
Peter smiles up at Tony.
“It tastes great, Mr. Stark.”