urgent high
“Kid!”
“What?” What did I do?”
“Nothing, just come on to the kitchen. We’ve gotta get it down.”
“I feel like shit.” the boy sighed.
“I know you do, Pete. We’ll fix it, it’s okay.”
Peter made a noise of agreement.
“I love you, kid.” Tony nudged after a moment of silence.
“Love you too. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Peter hung up and fell back on his bed. Fuck.
He begrudgingly made his way to the kitchen. He saw Tony leaning on the island, a cup of coffee pressed to his lips. Tony cocked his head when he saw Peter.
“G’morning, underoos.”
Peter glared at him. He felt particularly bitchy when he was high, and he did not give a damn who he took it out on. He sat on a stool opposite where Tony stood.
“You’re too high for your meter to read?” Tony began.
“Yep.”
“Do you want to just assume you’re right at six-hundred and use that with your correction factor? Or do you want to go to the lab and take a blood sample so we know for sure?”
“Option A.”
“Okay. Can you retest for me just so we know there isn’t something wrong with that strip? Did you bring your meter bag?”
“Mhm.” Peter mumbled. He threw his bag on the counter and hastily checked. It still, for the third time, read an error.
Tony sighed. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water before handing it to Peter.
“Drink, underoos.”
Peter looked down and half-smiled sheepishly. Tony grabbed his insulin from the fridge.
“What’s your correction factor right now? You changed it again didn’t you?”
“It’s a hundred-twenty-five over forty-five.” Peter took a sip of his water. “I was running high last week so I upped my dosages.”
“Okay. Er- six-hun- onetwefiv- for-” Tony calculated aloud. “Ten and a half?”
“Half that because I have ketones. I don’t wanna come down too fast.”
“Right. Five.”
Tony began drawing up the insulin. “Did your pump turn back on last night?”
“Yeah, I guess. I don’t even remember last night.”
“You got gluced, that’s why you’re so high. You had like, fifty carbs and would go above fifty.”
“Did you give a full vial or something?”
“Just a quarter.”
Peter nodded. Tony flicked an air bubble out to the syringe before handing it to Peter. The boy checked the dosage.
“This is like, four units.” Peter observed. Tony took the syringe back from Peter. He corrected his mistake.
Peter poked the needle into the top of his thigh, this time with the right amount of insulin inside of it. He recapped the needle and threw it to Tony.
“Sharps.”
Tony laughed. “Careful, kid. Don’t stab my eye out.”
He placed the needle in the sharps container on the counter.
“You need to drink your water, kid. You need to flush the ketones out.” Tony was concerned for the kid.
“It’s making me even more nauseous.” Peter scowled. “I can’t right now.”
“Try your best. You look dehydrated as it is.”
Peter shook his head. He took another sip, and returned his glass to the countertop. “I’ll be back.” He stood up.
“Where you goin’?”
“Um, to pee?” Peter casted a strange look at Tony. “I have large ketones?”
“Check ketones again.”
“You know I will.”
“Cut the sass while you’re at it, Spider-Bitch.”
Peter stopped walking just to turn around and glare at Tony. Tony shot an innocent smile.
Tony decided to set up the couch for Peter so he could watch movies, as he usually did when he was this high. Peter returned, only to have a bottle of Powerade Zero chucked at him from half across the room.
“I set up the couch so you can watch movies and rest while you’re coming down.” Tony began. “I know you usually like to do that.”
“Is this your apology for calling me ‘Spider-Bitch’?” Peter retorted. A sarcastic grin grew on his face.
Tony walked toward Peter. “I’m not going to apologize for that. It was funny. Don’t make me feel bad.” He began walking to the hall. “I’ve got some stuff to work on. I’ll be in the lab if you need me. I have my phone.”
Peter was situating his blanket on the couch. “Tony- wait.”
Tony turned around. He cocked his head, waiting on Peter to finish.
Peter’s voice was quiet. “Do you have to?”
Tony did have work, but mostly wanted to stay out of Peter’s hair. “No, no. ‘Course not, kid.”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t want to be alone.” Peter vocalized timidly. “I really don’t feel good.”
Tony made his way to the couch. “Bud, you don’t have to feel sorry. It’s okay to not feel good.”
Tony ruffled Peter’s hair before sitting beside him. Peter leaned his head on Tony’s shoulder.
“Can we watch the really bad Justice League movie?” asked Peter, playing with the hems of his blanket.
Tony smiled and shook his head. “Hate-watching time.”
Peter shot up off the couch right as Tony was about to press ‘play’. He luckily made it to the kitchen trash bin, where he proceeded to vomit.
Tony raced to his side. Peter clung to the can, feeling inescapably dizzy.
Tony rubbed his back. “It’s okay, Pete. You’re gonna be okay.”
Peter tried to pull away from the receptacle numerous times, only to start retching again. He started crying, continuing to vomit bile.
He was finally able to pull away from the bin. “I hate this.”
“I’m so sorry, Pete.”
Peter made a noise of acknowledgment and sunk into himself, making himself as small as possible. Tony knelt next to him and patted his shoulder.
“Do you want some water or ginger-ale or something? Or your Powerade?”
“I want this disease to go to hell.”
“I know you do, bud. I do too.” Tony wiped Peter’s eyes.
“Can I check my blood sugar again?”
“Yes, please do.” Tony grabbed his meter case for him off the counter.
Peter bloodied the test strip. The five seconds felt more like five minutes to Peter. Everything felt horribly slow.
“Shit.” Peter sighed. It still was too high.
Tony looked at the boy with concern. Peter started crying again, his tears quickly disheveling into sobs.
Tony hugged him, letting him sob into his shoulder.
“I know it’s really hard right now, and your senses are overloading, and everything really sucks, but you really need to try and calm down for me.” Tony said gently. “It’s just gonna make you higher.”
Peter’s breathing hitched on a sob. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no, Pete, no. Don’t be sorry, kid.” Tony pulled away to look at Peter. “This shit sucks, and it’s a lot for a kid to handle, okay? It’s okay to cry. I just don’t want this to get worse.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to try laying down again? Maybe a nap?” Tony suggested.
Peter wanted to protest, but agreed. A nap sounded great.
Tony led the boy back to the couch, covering him and tucking him in.
“I’m not gonna leave, okay? I’ll be right here.”
“Thank you.”
Tony let Peter sleep, continuing to periodically test his glucose level. It took nearly an hour, but Tony finally got a numerical reading from him. 576.
Forty-five minutes later, Peter stirred when Tony couldn’t get blood and had to stick him twice. Peter blinked his eyes open. Disorientation was present across his face.
“I’m just checkin’ you. I think you’ve plateaued around five-fifty.”
“Stab me again and let me sleep.” Peter muttered. He turned over to bury his face in the back of the couch.
Tony shook his head. He didn’t want to, but did end up caving and administering Peter’s correction for him.
Peter awoke an hour or so later, a groggy, sickly expression clouding his features. “Wha’s m’ bl’ sugar?”
“I haven’t checked it in a while.” Tony replied, looking up from his laptop. He tossed Peter his meter pouch.
Peter attempted to stifle a yawn. “Thanks.” The boy stretched.
Tony looked at him, making sure he didn’t fall asleep while checking, which he’d been known to do.
“Three-fifty-seven.”
Tony nodded. “Don’t correct again, you just had one like, an hour ago.”
Peter brushed the bag off his lap and into the floor. “I’m hungry.”
“Do you think you could keep anything down?”
Peter thought about it. “Probably not.” He pulled the blanket to his chest.
“We’ll get dinner when your blood sugar stablizes.”
Peter groaned, pushing the comforter off himself. “I have to pee again. I’ll be back.”
“Check ketones, Parker.”
“I always do.”
Peter returned with an annoyed expression. “Moderate to large.”
“Drink water. Or your Powerade”
“I don’t wanna puke again.”
“If you do, at least you’re expelling ketones. You know, life threatening blood acid.”
Peter’s face contorted into a disgusted smirk. “I’ll drink water.”
“Good spider-ling.”
Peter returned with a large water bottle. “What are you working on?”
“I’m just replying to emails.”
“Ew, sounds adulty.” Peter made a face.
Tony chuckled. “You have no idea.”
***
“Fall rate notification from Peter Parker.” FRIDAY said into the room, exactly when Peter’s phone emitted a cascading series of beeps.
“Got it, FRI.” Tony said back to the AI. “Pete, blood check. Please.”
Peter huffed, not wanting to pause his entirely ironic viewing of Fortnite memes. He promptly grabbed his meter.
“Uh, Tony?” Peter looked at his reading with doubt. “I’m one-hundred-three.”
“That can’t be right, you were almost four-hundred an hour and a half ago.”
“I’m gonna check again.”
“Don’t bother. FRIDAY, what’s Peter’s dexcom reading?” Tony called out.
“Ninety-six and dropping at a pace of two milligrams per deciliter per minute.”
Tony set his laptop on the seat beside him and went to retrieve Peter’s blood ketone testing meter.
“Check blood ketones.”
“One-twenty-seven.”
“Motherfu- get three glucose tabs and keep flushing ketones.”
“I literally would rather die. The company sent orange tabs.”
“Half a cup of juice? Peanut butter? Something, I don’t care.”
***
Peter raced into the room. “Tony!” he yelled, clearly over-excited.
Tony simply turned around, raising one eyebrow.
“Small ketones!”
“That’s great and all, but check blood ketones, too.”
Peter hummed excitedly. “Forty-five!”
“That’s- acceptable. Blood glucose?”
“Dex says one-fifteen.”
Tony thought for a minute. He looked at his watch. “It’s a quarter ‘til five. You hungry?”
“Uh, duh.” Peter paused for a moment. “I want Subway.” he declared.
Tony smiled. “Pre-bolus.”