urgent low
Peter forgot to turn his phone back up after being on patrol. For anyone else, this would result in a missed alarm. Being late to school or to a meeting. Embarrassing, yes, but ultimately unimportant. For Peter, it isn’t that simple.
After patrol, he came back into the compound and crashed, meaning he didn’t get a snack before bed. And because his metabolic system is even more fucked because of the spider-bite, Peter’s blood sugar went low. Really low.
And he didn’t know, because his phone was silenced.
Tony awoke to four shrill beeps coming from his phone.
“Motherfucker. FRIDAY, what is it?” Tony said, rolling over into his pillow.
The AI responded. “You have an urgent low glucose alert from Peter. Would you like to open it?”
“What?” Tony shrieked. He shot up, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. He unlocked it.
47.
One arrow straight down.
Fuck.
Tony practically ran to Peter’s room. He didn’t bother knocking, and opened Peter’s door.
“Hey, kid? You up?” Tony said softly. He saw Peter fast asleep in bed, in a cold sweat with a look of discomfort on his face. He walked to him, and lightly nudged his shoulder.
“Pete, bud. Wake up, your blood sugar’s low.” Tony said gently. Peter’s eyes fluttered open.
“Wh-what?” the kid rubbed his eyes. He wore a look of confusion.
“Did you know your sugar’s low, Pete?”
“Wh- it- it isn’ m’ phone didn’ be-beep.” Peter sounded completely disoriented.
Tony’s anxiety increased. He grabbed the meter bag laying on Pete’s nightstand.
“Peter, dex says you’re forty-seven and dropping. I’m gonna do a blood check, okay? What finger do you want me to check on?”
“Don’t care.” Peter stuttered. He pulled his knees to his chest.
Tony grabbed his hand softly, knowing he feels like complete shit. He wiped an alcohol pad across his ring finger before pricking and depositingthe blood onto the test strip. Tony anxiously waited the five seconds for the meter to read. 39. Oh boy.
Tony kept his calm, at least on the outside.
“Wha’is it?” Peter slurred.
Tony didn’t want to make him freak out. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo. You’re really low. I’ll be back, I’m gonna go get you some juice, okay?”
Peter gave a small nod.
Tony returned less than two minutes later with a glass of orange juice in one hand and a spoon of peanut butter in the other. (And a glucagon in the pocket of his pajama pants, just in case.)
“Hey, Pete. With me, bud? I brought you some OJ.”
“Mhmm.” Peter confirmed. Tony looked at the boy. He looked pitiful.
“It’s got a straw, so I’m gonna hold it, okay?” Tony made sure to keep talking to him to keep him awake.
Peter took a few small sips of juice from the glass before pulling away with a disgusted look on his face.
“Nauseous.” the boy mumbled.
“Oh, I know, Pete. You’ve gotta try and drink it though, kiddo. Do you wanna try the peanut butter?”
“Yeah.”
Tony handed him the spoon. Right before Peter got it to his mouth, he dropped the spoon onto his shirt. Tony chuckled, and helped Peter hold the spoon steady.
“Did you eat when you came in late from patrol?”
“No.” Peter responded sheepishly.
“Pete, gotta try and remember that.”
Peter had consumed about half of his low treatment. Tony looked at his phone. It had been about ten minutes since the last check, and he decided he should check peter again. 48.
“Can you drink the rest of your juice for me?”
“I ‘an try.”
Tony held the glass for him again, and he finished the glass, along with the peanut butter. Peter kept trying to nod off.
“Please don’t fall asleep. I know lows make you tired but you gotta stay awake for me, Underoos.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize bud, I’m just worried about you.” Tony looked the kid somberly. In attempt to keep Peter stirring, he asked “How was patrol?”.
“Good. I got kitty outta th’ tree.”
Tony smiled. “How’d you do that?”
“This ol’ lady was like ‘yo, Spider-Man, my kitty’s in th’ tree!’ an’ I’s like, ‘okay’, and I shot a web at a branch, an’ climbed up, an’ grabbed the cat, an’ I slid down.” Peter recounted.
“Little hero.” Tony smiled, ruffling Peter’s hair.
“She offer’ t’ buy me a churro bu’ my sugar was kin’a high so I wouldn’ let ‘er.”
“Good kid, Pete. Wanna check your sugar again?”
“Mhmmm.”
Tony did yet another blood check, not trusting the CGM with his glucose that low.
“It’s been about 10 minutes since you finished off that juice, and you’re forty-three. What do you wanna do, bud? Want some gluc tabs or something?”
“I told you this mornin’, I’m out.”
Tony called out to the room. “FRIDAY, express order some glucose tabs, will you?”
“Yes, sir. What kind shall I order?”
“Tropical fruit ones!” Peter called out, smearing the words.
“Whatever the kid wants. They’re nasty, he’s the one that has to eat ‘em.”
“Your order should arrive tomorrow morning at ten A.M..”
“Thanks, FRI.” Tony directed his attention back at Peter.
“C-crackers?”
“Crackers- yeah, crackers. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay, I have returned. I wield cheese and crackers.”
Peter snickered. “Thanks, Mr. Stark, for takin’ care of me.”
“You don’t have to thank me, kid. It’s part of my job.” Tony chuckled. He thought Peter seemed to be acting better.
Peter smiled. “C-can I have my crackers now? I wanna sleep.” he sighed.
“Oh- yeah, of course.” Tony handed him the crackers and sat at the foot of Peter’s bed.
“When do we need to retest?” Peter mumbled through a mouthful of cracker.
“Give it another fifteen, Pete. We just checked, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“You okay?”
It took a moment for him to respond.
“Uh, y-yeah.” Peter finally uttered quietly. “Jus’ low.” he huffed. “Think I’m droppin’ again.”
“That’s not good. No point in testing again yet- just eat.”
Peter continued to slowly eat his crackers. A few more minutes passed. Tony looked at his phone again.
“Dex says you’re sixty-five. You trust it or want a blood check?”
Peter opened his mouth to respond but the words wouldn’t come to him. He was definitely dropping, or at the very least still quite low. He tapped the pad of his index finger with his thumb.
“Blood, got it.” Tony put another strip in the meter. “It’s been at least 20 minutes since juice and peanut butter and you’re back down to thirty-nine. God damn it.”
Peter flashed a look on his faced that wordlessly said I’m sorry.
“If you’re not above fifty-five in twenty more minutes I’m starting an orange juice IV.” Tony half-joked. Peter didn’t laugh. He didn’t have the energy. “Can you turn down your basals until you come up?”
“C-can y-you do it?” Peter unclipped his pump from his waistband.
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Tony fiddled with the device for a moment. “Half basal? An hour?”
“Quarter. And two.” Peter replied dully.
“I don’t want you going high.”
“Mr. Stark, I couldn’t care less, I just want it to come up.”
“You’re the boss. Quarter basals for two hours.”
Peter sighed. “I’m sleepy.” The boy rubbed his eyes.
“I know you are, kid. I’m just paranoid you’ll be comatose instead of asleep.”
Peter only smirked. The two sat in silence for a while, with Tony nudging Peter softly every few minutes. Tony’s own eyes felt heavy, but he was too scared to even think of falling asleep.
“It’s been about fifteen minutes since your last check, I’m gonna stick you again.”
Peter shrugged. He couldn’t care less.
“Three, two, one. Motherfucker!” Tony put his face in his palms.
“What’s it now?” Peter whispered.
“Forty-five. You should be at least seventy by now.”
Peter huffed.
“That’s it, I’m done. You’re getting gluced.”
“Mr. Stark, please don’t. I’ll be so high in the morning.” Peter half-assedly pleaded.
“I thought you said you didn’t care.” Tony darted.
“I thought you said you did.” Peter retortled.
“I do, but I also care about my kid not continuing to slowly drop into a hypoglycemic coma, so yeah; glucagon.”
Peter’s eyes lit up when Tony called him his kid. Tony noticed and grinned
“I don’t even keep one in here.” Peter started.
“Nice cop-out, but I have one in my pocket.” Tony slid out the red box. “And you’d better start keeping one in here. There’s one in nearly every other room.”
Peter didn’t even respond. He knew Tony won.
Tony deposited the saline into the vial, then proceeded to shake the contents and draw a quarter of it into a smaller syringe.
“Gimmie your arm.” Tony instructed. Peter obliged, obviously. Tony administered the injection without a forewarning to Peter, earning him a scowl. Tony laughed at him.
Another fifteen minutes passed, and Tony checked Peter a final time. 78. Tony breathed a sigh of relief. He looked at his phone, and saw that the CGM said Peter was steadily rising. He saw Peter had already dozed back off, and woke him only to tell him he should lay back down instead of propping up.
Tony did leave a glass of juice on Peter’s bedside table before returning back to his own bed, though. Just in case.
***
Peter awoke to his phone vibrating on his side table. He rolled out of bed. His head was pounding. He felt like he was dying. He needed water. And a bathroom.
He looked at his bedside table, and saw a sticky note left atop his meter case.
‘Check your BG, Parker. <3 - Tony’
Peter grabbed his phone out of his bed. Three missed calls, six missed texts, all from Tony. And A high glucose alert. Oh god.
Peter opened the dexcom app. It read HIGH and rising. That explains why he feels so shitty. He checked his texts.
You had a rough night. Try and stay on top of your stuff today, it was scary.
Your sugar’s going up, kid.
You’re like 180, might wanna correct before it goes up any more.
Peter, you’re 300, check. Please.
You are literally 400, check your SHIT.
I’m just gonna call you until you answer the fucking phone.
Midway through reading the texts, Peter got another call. He answered it.
“Hello?” he whispered, voice hoarse and groggy from his evident dehydration.
“Did you do a blood check yet?” Tony asked.
“Wh- I just woke up.”
“I don’t care. Your meter’s on your side table. Check. Now, Pete.”
“Okay, okay.” Peter put the phone on speaker and laid it down.
“What is it?” Tony was very impatient. “Oh, good morning.” he added as an afterthought.
“I’m working on checking.” Peter replied. “Uh, hold on.”
“What?”
“My meter said error.”
“New strip. Swab your finger.”
“I know, I know. I’ve been doing this for years, Mr. Stark.”
“Tony, and I know. I’m just scared.”
“It still says error.” Peter sighed.
“Check ketones.”
“On it.” he walked toward the bathroom.
“Come right back!”
“I will, Mis- Tony.”
Peter tested for ketones. He almost dropped the bottle when he saw the result. Large ketones. He threw away the strip and washed his hands.
“I’m back…” Peter muttered.
“...And?”
The boy sighed. “Large ketones.”
“Kid!”