"Homework," Peter mumbles before Tony can ask how his school day was, the teen bypassing his usual afternoon snack at the kitchen island and heading straight for his room.
"My day was just okay, too," Tony calls out jokingly, Peter's door slamming closed in response.
The interaction isn't unusual to Tony, but Peter's slew of breakdowns the past week have him more aware of the slight changes in Peter's language and behavior.
He figures he'll give Peter some time to himself before checking on him around dinner.
He grabs an apple from the island, gets comfortable on a stool, and takes a bite while scrolling through emails on his StarkPad. Most are the usual Grumman, Lockheed, and General Dynamics emails and calendar meeting reminders. He accepts the meeting invites Pepper reminded him about earlier and replies to her texts about picking up Morgan from gymnastics at six. It takes him a while, but there, in the middle of the unread list, are two emails from Peter's school, back-to-back. One is from Peter's math teacher, Mr. Griggs, and the second is from the nurse, Shannon. He chooses the nurse's email first, because he's met her face-to-face, and he's glad he does, because she details an impromptu pump site change after Peter's was leaking insulin rather than delivering it, which explains the 350 with one arrow straight up that he saw on the Dexcom follow app earlier today. He was pretty distraught, she explained. I take it this was his first solo site change. Took us nearly twenty minutes to get him to gather the courage to insert it. There were some tears, but he did it all on his own.
The painful Dexcom and site changes have been Tony's responsibility, and while he knows Peter will need to be able to do it all on his own by the time he leaves for college next year, he feels guilty pushing the issue right now. He knows that this diagnosis was unexpected and has been difficult for Peter. He's thankful for Shannon's updates and her help while Peter's at school, makes a mental note to send her a thank you.
The email from Peter's math teacher, however, is of a different tone entirely. Peter was using his phone during class despite a strict no cell phone use policy. At his refusal to hand it over, Peter was given a referral to see the Dean. When Peter finally handed it over, the texts on the screen read, "You're high. How much did you take at lunch?" Because of the possible drug use, I sent him to the Dean's office with a referral in-hand, only he never showed, which is why he is now slated for two days of after-school detention this week.
Well, that explains the mood, Tony thinks to himself. He'd sent the you're high and how much did you take at lunch? texts, had been referring to Peter's blood sugar and units of insulin to cover the carb count for the sandwich and snacks they'd discussed and packed for lunch.
Tony takes a deep breath, tosses the apple in the garbage can, and walks to Peter's bedroom. "Kiddo?" he asks, knocking.
No answer.
"I'm coming in."
x
Peter's belly-down on the bed, face turned toward the wall, feeling like an absolute failure. Nothing went right at school today, from the failed English quiz to spilling juice down his shirt, and finally, what happened in math class.
"Hey, bad day at school?" Tony asks, entering.
"Did the Dean email you?" Peter's voice is small, barely above a whisper. He's trying not to give away how hard he's been crying, how hoarse his voice is, but he knows he's failing at that, too.
"No, but Mr. Griggs and the nurse did. Heard you did your first solo site change," Tony says, sitting on the edge of Peter's bed. "Proud of you, kiddo. I know that's been hard for you."
"I wasn't on my phone," Peter says, sniffling, and it's only now that he turns to Tony, reveals his face, red and streaked with tears. "I p-promise I wasn't," he adds.
Tony sighs. "I know you weren't, kiddo."
"I got a Dexcom alert that I was high, only I'd just b-bolused for lunch forty minutes beforehand, so I w-went to g-go bolus again and he asked m-me to hand over my phone, only it was my p-pump, and I was high and had a headache and I just f-froze. And that made him m-mad, so I tried to hand him my actual phone, and he read your text, about me being h-high, and he flipped out, asked me if I was on drugs, and I felt like s-shit and was afraid to say something rude, so I didn't answer him. On the way down to the nurse, I realized that my site failed. I couldn't go to the Dean until I got my blood sugar down. I-I'll do the detentions, it's okay, I just–"
"You're not doing the detentions, Peter," Tony interrupts, shaking his head.
Peter's glassy eyes widen with panic. "Please don't go up there, Tony! It's totally fine. I can just do the–"
"You are not doing those detentions, and I'm going to tell you why! Your 504 plan, a legal document that Mr. Griggs should have read and signed a form stating that he'd read as your teacher–"
"I don't want you to talk to them! It's bad enough that I interrupted class and then cried in the nurse's office! Everyone thinks I do drugs now! I don't want to be treated any differently than anyone else! I just had a really shitty day, and it's fine, I can do the detentions!"
"We need to start talking about all of this."
Peter frowns. "About me getting in trouble at school?"
"About you bottling up everything about your diabetes and not advocating for yourself when you should."
"Well, maybe I don't want everyone to know, and asking for things means I have to do it publicly! You don't understand what it's like at school!"
Tony sighs, bringing up a conversation that he knows Peter hates having but needs to hear again. "Remember how we applied to College Board for your AP and SAT accommodations? How we had to submit a letter to the decathlon competition?"
"I told you the last time we talked about it, I'm just gonna take my pump off and hope for the best. I don't need any accommodations!"
"It's time to start thinking about how we are going to handle this going forward. I'm not just talking about testing and competitions, kiddo. There's driving, college, living on your own, getting a job..."
"'We'?! Since when is there a 'we' in this? You and May don't even know what a pump site change or low feels like, so how can you say 'we' when I'm the one who is doing this on my own every day?"
"You're not doing this completely on your own, Peter. You have so much support, so many people who love and care about you."
"But I am doing this on my own, Tony! You and May have been really great and helpful, but it's not...it's not the same as what I go through!"
"May and I think therapy or a support group might be a good idea."
"Oh, so now that I've admitted this is hard, I have to go to therapy?!" Why did I even open my mouth?
Tony sighs. "No, Peter. That's not it at all. I've gone to therapy a few times now, and it's always given me some clarity, some tools–"
"I've been to a therapist before, Tony! After...after Ben! And I don't need one now because I'm fine! This is just hard right now, but I'm okay!"
"Kiddo, we both know that's not true. And I know May isn't here right now to discuss this in person, but we spoke on the phone last night, after your site changes, and we both think–"
What the fuck? Peter thinks. "You talked about me behind my back?! With May?"
"Yes," he admits softly, nodding. "And we collectively decided that if you don't try at least two therapy sessions or teen support group meetings at Children's, you can't go to Nationals for decathlon."
Peter sets his jaw and shakes his head. "More rules, got it," Peter comments harshly. Everything is about rules now, never what I want. Never what I think or know I need. "So, I get no say in this?"
"It's not like that."
"Yes, it is! It's exactly like that! Everything is like that now!"
"Peter, don't make this harder than it has to be. Don't fight this. I know you had a hard day–"
"You," Peter spits, pointing a finger at Tony, "don't know anything, so please, just stop pretending that you do! Stop talking to me like I'm Morgan and can't do anything for myself!" He knows he could be doing more, like his own Dexcom and pump site changes, more of the carb calculations, but he's still a little bit scared, just wants Tony and May there when he needs them, not overstepping, worrying to a fault and taking control of every little piece of his life. "I want to be alone!"
He needs time to think. Time to come up with another plan.
Scratch that.
He needs a nap, for his brain to stop cycling through everything that happened at school and now Tony and May's plan for Peter to attend therapy.
A nap sounds perfect right about now.
"I'll let you know when dinner's ready," Tony says, patting the bed before getting up and leaving.
"Don't bother," Peter mumbles, but Tony's already gone, door shut and room still.
x
It's been nearly a week since the incident in math class, since Tony and May dropped their ultimatum on him, and Peter's thankful for an afternoon with Ned, talking about States and building LEGOs.
It's the most normal he's felt in months.
"You're not going to be an alternate, Peter," Ned assures him as he sorts through the LEGO bricks on the carpet of Peter's room. They've been saving for this 6,000-piece Harry Potter Hogwarts Castle kit for over a year now, and it finally came in the mail after being on backorder while they were at school. "For starters," Ned continues, "we've only ever had one alternate, and it's always been Flash."
Peter picks through the same pile as Ned to collect the pieces for Hagrid's Hut and sighs. "Flash definitely did better than me on that practice test Harrington gave."
"He definitely didn't. And wasn't your blood sugar like, 300, that afternoon?"
"Yeah, which is why I couldn't focus, but I didn't say anything to Harrington, so he doesn't even know, and now I feel like I'm definitely going to be an alternate. I...I should've said something." He shakes his head and sighs in frustration. "I didn't want Flash to make a big deal about it. And I didn't want MJ to think I was using it as an excuse. As captain, she helps Harrington make the decision. And you know how she is, how she can be."
Ned shrugs. "Yeah, but Harrington gets the last say. He knows you're smart, and he knows you've had a rough couple of months. He's not going to make you an alternate over one test, Peter."
"I don't want any special treatment." He sighs again, fiddles with the pieces in his hand. "I want my spot fair and square, just like everyone else on the team, especially after I ditched Nationals that time."
"Regardless, Flash is so dumb he confused Teddy Roosevelt with FDR during a lightning round of drills when you were out. MJ practically kicked him out of practice for that one."
Peter laughs. "She would."
"No, man," Ned says, laughing. "She actually threatened to kick him off of the team! She was all Daddy can't buy your membership here and it was fucking awesome!"
"Wish I had been there to see it," he says, biting his lip to avoid the flashbacks of his week post-diagnosis. He busies himself to shift his focus, sorts the pieces for the hut by color and then shape. He's got the walls built in minutes, is starting on the roof when Ned restarts the conversation.
"I've been trying to make a list of movies to download for the bus ride to States."
"The Goonies," Peter says with a knowing smile.
Ned pretends to be offended. "You know me better than that! You know I'm better than that!"
Now Peter's offended, lifts his head up to gape at Ned. "We love The Goonies!"
"Yeah, but like, the whole bus doesn't need to know that! We're nerds, Peter, but we need to like, mitigate our nerdiness within the pool of nerds, you know?"
"Okay, so...are we talking 80s classics, 90s? I can go through Ben's collection of VHS–"
"More like underrated movies that everyone would like, even Betty. And dare I say, Flash." He grimaces. "We need to appease the peasants, too."
"Grease?"
"Ew, no," Ned says, laughing. "We need something more recent and a little less...sing-songy. National Treasure?"
"Oh, because that one's not nerdy at all," Peter says, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "National Treasure isn't even historically accurate, man. God, that's the last thing we need, Flash seeing it just before we compete!"
"Facts," Ned says, nodding in agreement. "Okay, so then where does that leave us? Back to the Future, Space Jam..."
"Spaceballs!" Peter yells out.
"Yes!" Ned pumps his fist in the air.
"And Back to the Future! For the trip home," Peter adds.
The two go back to their building, Ned moving on to the Whomping Willow after building the Hogwarts boats. Peter's eyeing the plans thrown to the side so that they can start building the castle.
"May and Tony are okay with you going on an overnight trip?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't they be?" Peter asks, the realization washing over him a second later. "Oh. Uh, I don't know, we haven't really discussed it, to be honest. I just assumed I was going." They'd won the downstate competition back in February, before Peter had been diagnosed, and with May's wedding, the conversation had fallen to the wayside. The States competition is scheduled for the beginning of June to avoid the AP and New York State Regents exams, which leaves Peter with approximately two weeks to figure everything out.
"I know Harrington usually decides who gets to room with who, but I'm sure if we asked, he'd put us together again. You know, in case you went low or whatever at night."
Peter thinks about it while he gathers the shrubbery pieces for the hut. "I don't know, I don't want him to think I'm asking just so that I can stay with you again."
"Well, someone has to stay with you. Someone that knows what a Dexcom low alarm sounds like. Could you imagine Charles' reaction?" he asks, shuddering. "He gives more unrelated answers to the questions than Flash does. I wouldn't trust Charles with my goldfish."
"Well, I'm glad I'm worth more than your goldfish," Peter says, laughing. "But I'm sure it'll be fine even if we don't get to room together again."
"Peter, I know you don't like asking for things because of your diabetes, but like...you know that you can, right? You can ask for something when it's going to keep you safe, or–"
"They're called accommodations, and I don't need them. I'm Spiderman, for goodness sake. I've been to space. I think I can handle a single night away from May and Tony," he says with a laugh, but it's awkward, catches in his throat in a way that almost makes him start crying. He doesn't like the direction this conversation is going in, wishes Ned would stick to LEGOs and anything but diabetes.
"It's not that I don't think you can handle it, Peter. I know that you can. But like, you just said that you were afraid to tell Harrington about your blood sugar during the test, and I know you can take tests another time if your blood sugar isn't great, and–"
Peter drops the LEGOs in his hand, closes his eyes, and exhales sharply. "I don't need them!"
Ned pauses, licks his lips, before giving a small sigh. "Just, hear me out, okay? We've been through a lot, with Ben and everything. I was there for you then and I'm here now, too. You can talk to me about this stuff, trust me to make sure you're okay or listen when you need me to. I can do that. You know that I can."
"I know," Peter answers, upset with himself for getting angry at Ned. "I just don't feel like talking about it right now. I...it's hard to talk about."
"That's okay."
Peter shakes his head, his voice cracking when he says, "It's not. At least, that's what May and Tony keep saying. They want me to go to this support group at Children's on the Upper East Side. I didn't want to go, I still don't want to go, actually, but I figure sitting and listening to everyone else talk might be easier than going and sitting with a therapist by myself for an hour." He shrugs, shakes his head. "I don't really want to do either option, honestly. But they said I can't go to Nationals this summer if I don't at least try the support group."
"Okay, so, you go once and say you don't like it."
"They'll make me go to regular therapy."
"You went to therapy after Ben died."
"Because I needed it."
"So, what's different now?"
"I guess I just feel like I've been handling this just fine? I don't know. Like, why do I need to talk about it if I don't even know what to say about it yet? It's only been three months."
"When does the group start?"
"The next meeting isn't until the middle of June." He'd had a long conversation with May on the topic, but it hadn't helped, not really.
"Well, maybe by then you'll have something to say."
"Maybe."
"Kiddo, pre-bolus!" Tony bellows down the hallway.
"Already did!" Peter shouts back.
"Liar!"
"He always knows!" Peter grumbles, pulling his pump from his hip.
"You didn't ask about a carb count on dinner!"
"How many?" Peter yells out.
"54!"
Peter inputs the amount on the screen, decides to also let the pump correct his blood sugar of 284. When it calculates as nearly 8 units for his bolus and correction, he pauses. It feels like a lot of insulin to be taking all at once, even for lasagna, and he's been going low a lot, so he decides to do an extended bolus where it delivers 50% of the total insulin now and the rest over the next hour. It's a gamble, since they're still figuring his insulin sensitivity out. Sometimes it's lower in the morning and higher in the evening, and other times it's the opposite. He's learning that he can do the same thing for the same meal twice and have two different results. He clicks "confirm," confident that he's made the best decision he could for the moment, and initiates the bolus. When he lifts his gaze up, he sees that Ned is giving him a look.
The look, to be exact.
The sad eyes that everyone else gives him when he does literally anything diabetic.
He knows Ned is trying, but it doesn't stop Peter from feeling that flutter of nerves in his chest at the reminder that this isn't normal, that other people don't have to do this.
"Peter!" Morgan calls out, entering the room with an American Girl doll under one arm. "Mommy said dinner's ready!"
So much for that pre-bolus, he thinks, reclipping his pump.
"Thanks, Mo! We'll be there in a second, okay?" Peter herds a spattering of LEGOs near the door into a pile to avoid the dreaded misstep one of them always has when they return from a break.
She nods, scampering down the hallway.
"Heads up, Pepper likes to hide vegetables in food for Morgan," Peter says, rising from the carpet. "So, don't comment on it if you find peas and carrots in your lasagna. We're trying to keep it a secret."
Ned gets up from the floor. "Dude, she's probably doing it for you, too."
"What do you mean?"
"Don't comment? That's so you'll eat them, too. And Tony. Classic motherly tactic, if you ask me."
Peter considers this, smiles at the thought as they walk toward the dining room. May's always been great with the mom stuff, is the closest thing he's ever had to a mother. He likes that Pepper treats him just like May does, holds him to the same standards and gives him the same consequences. It makes him feel like he truly belongs in the Stark household, like he finally has the extended family he always wished for.
There's a nagging worry in the back of his mind, though, that one day Pepper and Tony might get tired of the Dexcom alarms and pump changes, that it will eventually add up and be too much, that they'll sit him down and tell him he has to go back to May's. He knows that it's stupid, that they took him in after he got sick and jumped on board just as much as May, but it doesn't stop his anxiety from kicking in when his blood sugar is on a rollercoaster, when he needs help figuring out a carb count or calculating a bolus, when it's the middle of the night and he's shaking, covered in sweat from a low, and calling out for Tony. It makes him feel like baggage, like extra responsibility that they don't need on top of everything else they have to deal with.
He wants to be everything they see in him, everything they want for him, but the truth is that Peter isn't sure he sees much in himself, and he doesn't know how to fix that.
x
When they're finally settled at the table and about to dig into the lasagna Pepper's dished out, Tony's phone rings.
"Excuse me, I've gotta take this. Be right back," he announces, eyes focused on the caller ID.
"Really, Tony?" Pepper asks, unimpressed, but he ignores her, gets up from his seat and leaves the room. She rolls her eyes and takes a deep breath before plastering a smile on her face and making a big show of going to the kitchen to whip up a quick salad for everyone.
"Dude, your family is so much cooler than mine," Ned comments.
Peter laughs. "You only think that because you don't live here."
"Come on, man. What isn't there to love?"
A pang of guilt hits Peter square in the chest. He rethinks his words. There's a lot to be thankful for, a lot to love, about living with the Starks. He doesn't actually mind Tony taking phone calls during family time or the predictable arguments between Tony and Pepper over everything from how to load the dishwasher correctly to whose turn it is to cook dinner. It reminds him of May and Ben, back when things felt good. Safe. It's not that he doesn't feel those things now, but Peter's much more aware of how life can change in an instant, and he's struggling to balance the two without one side weighing more than the other.
When Pepper returns, she makes bowls for each setting at the table and offers an "I'm so sorry about Tony, Ned. We usually have a 'no business' rule at the table, but you can imagine how well that goes."
"That's okay, Mrs. Stark...Potts...Stark..." he stammers awkwardly.
Pepper's eyes soften. "You can call me Pepper. Mrs. makes me feel old."
Ned relaxes. "Thanks for inviting me over for dinner. It looks great."
"So, good news," Tony announces, returning and taking his seat. "The prototype for a clean, renewable energy source that Peter and I have been working on in the lab has just been picked up by NASA!"
"Honey, that's amazing!" Pepper congratulates, leaning over and kissing him on the cheek.
Peter sits, beaming, his excitement hard to contain. It feels good to have accomplished something so unexpected, so monumental. NASA wants their work! They're going to be working with NASA!
"The core of the design is my element, but the rest is all you, kiddo," Tony explains with a wide grin on his face, pointing his fork at Peter. "You deserve most of the credit. We'll have to celebrate when May and Happy get home."
Peter grins and gives a small thanks when Ned gives him a small punch in celebration.
Morgan tilts her head, scrunches her face in confusion. "Does that mean Peter's going to space? I don't want him to go to space!"
Tony laughs. "No, baby. In a few years, when we send astronauts to explore Mars, they'll use what we've created to get them there and back."
Morgan shifts her focus to tightening the loose lid on her cup, eyes narrowing in concentration. The second she tilts it, the lid and straw pop off, milk pouring out and onto the table. "Shit!" she yelps, eyes wide.
Ned chokes on his first bite of salad, has to cover his mouth to keep the food from coming out while he laughs. Peter tries to hold back his laughter as he reaches over with his napkin, but Pepper gets there first.
"We don't use that word, honey, that's Daddy's word!" Pepper warns in a motherly tone, trying to hold back a laugh as she rights Morgan's cup and mops up the milk with napkins.
"But Daddy said it was your word!"
"This is extortion!" Tony shouts playfully.
"What's that?" Morgan asks, face twisting in confusion.
Ned leans over to Peter and whispers, "Is it always like this?"
Peter closes his eyes in embarrassment and whispers back, "Yes."
Tony grins as he says, "We'll try not to humiliate you too much."
"Can't make any promises on that front with this guy at the table," Pepper says, Tony elbowing her. She elbows him back.
"As long as you don't start fighting," Peter adds, sighing. Despite the good news and excitement over the NASA deal, he can feel his appetite waning. He's not usually like this, especially before he's even started eating, but suddenly he's tired.
He briefly closes his eyes, wonders if maybe he overdid it on patrol the night before.
"As long as this one keeps his mouth shut, we'll be okay," Pepper quips.
Tony scowls. "Oh, I'm the one that always starts the fights?"
"Guys," Peter cuts in. "Please." He nods his head toward Morgan as a reminder of how upset she gets when they raise their voices, the two backing down. His head is pounding all of a sudden and he has to close his eyes again.
A Dexcom urgent low alarm, four short beeps, fills the room.
He knows his body well enough by now, knows that Dexcom is usually fifteen minutes behind. For him to feel as shitty as he does, to be having such a hard time keeping his eyes open, he has to already be below 50. He rubs his left temple and takes a deep breath.
"Pete, can you hear me?" Tony's asking, his fork falling to his plate and chair legs scraping against the floor as he gets up, but it all sounds like it's underwater.
"I'm okay," he whispers, but he can already feel the sweat on his back, the pins and needles in his hands. He feels woozy, like the world around him is phasing in and out.
"Open your eyes," Tony's coaxing, but Peter's afraid that if he opens them, it'll throw his entire body off and send him face first into his food or worse, toward the floor. He's not sure how, but he knows it's sometime later, that there's been some kind of gap in time when Tony rubs his shoulder in an attempt to wake him. "Kid? Open your eyes or say something, please." There's fear in his voice, and it pushes Peter to say the first thing he can think of.
"J-juice," Peter finally announces, eyes still closed. He's not sure if what did come out is even comprehensible, but it doesn't seem to matter because soon there's a straw at his lips and after a few sips, he feels okay enough to cautiously lets his eyes open. There's a scared Morgan in Pepper's lap across the room, Ned looking about the same on the edge of his vision, and Tony in front of him.
"We waited too long to eat," Tony says, regret in his eyes and voice. "And then there was all of that excitement from the NASA announcement. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry, kiddo. This is my fault." He sighs, pushes Peter's hair out of his eyes. "How are you feeling? Do you need another juice box?"
"A little better," he answers, blinking the fogginess away. "Not your fault, though. Got distracted. Should've remembered...my pre-bolus." It's hard for Peter to find words sometimes when his blood sugar is low, but his fingers aren't tingling anymore, which he's happy about. He finishes the juice box and goes to take a bite of his lasagna.
"You sure you're okay?" Ned asks quietly as Tony's unwrapping the straw on a second juice box.
"Y-yeah," Peter lies, willing the conversation to move away from him and onto something else entirely.
Tony seems to read his mind when he says, "You know, I tried patenting the element as badassium, but Pepper and the legal team struck it down, said it caused too many legal issues," Tony explains with a laugh, shaking his head as he nonchalantly places the juice box next to Peter's plate. "I still think that would've been a kick ass name, don't you think, Ned?"
Ned pauses, surprised that Tony's gotten his name right, the attention suddenly on him to respond.
"Daddy!" Morgan laughs, covering her ears. "Now you're saying bad words!"
"Right," he answers, playing along. "No more bad words for anyone at the dinner table!"
She giggles, pushing her hair out of her face.
Peter's still feeling embarrassed about his low, how it interrupted everything, especially the good news about NASA. He knows Tony tried to take the focus off of his diabetes with his story about badassium, is telling jokes to lighten the mood, but he's still not fully himself yet, is having a hard time following the conversation even though he's taken a few bites of his lasagna and has some carbs in his system to counteract his low.
"Enough with the dad jokes, Tony," Pepper warns playfully. "You need to eat, too."
Tony takes a forkful of lasagna, exaggerating for effect. He follows up with "When does a joke actually become a dad joke, anyway?"
No one answers.
"When they become apparent."
Peter and Ned laugh, Morgan too busy with her cup again to notice the joke.
"I refuse to entertain these poorly constructed puns," Pepper gripes, but Peter can tell she's trying not to laugh as she sips her water.
"The shirt says it all," he says with his classic Tony grin, lifting the top edges of his I tell dad jokes periodically shirt so that it's visible. "I'm a dad now! I get to tell all the bad jokes I want!"
Peter moves the lasagna on his plate around with his fork as he listens, thinks back to his site changes from a week ago. Tony had jumped right in with dad jokes and a quick science lesson on warp speed to distract him from reality, just like he is right now.
And Peter's not sure why, exactly, because he's still trying to figure out why he sometimes is completely fine with the diabetes stuff and other times a puddle on the floor over it, but he, in turn, had sobbed in Tony's arms, mumbled strings of words that made no sense until his voice was hoarse. When his eyes were swollen and heavy, his brain too exhausted to say one more word, Tony had tucked him into bed like he was five years old.
"Sometimes we go through things that we don't understand," Tony had whispered, sniffling. "It's an unfair battle, kiddo, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that you have to do this. I wish I could take it away."
Peter had been on the verge of sleep, but he'd heard Tony, realized then just how much of Peter's emotions about his illness Tony truly understood.
As the table conversation shifts toward the new Star Wars movie coming out, though, Peter's quiet, focused more on clearing his plate and trying to figure out how if Tony understands, like truly understands, why in the world would he give Peter such a shitty ultimatum?
x