TWs: Mentions of past emotional/physical abuse from a parent, a small panic attack, PTSD symptoms, and while Peter doesn't have an eating disorder, his behavior/the descriptions may be triggering to some
✏️=Authors Notes. I'm putting notes about my writing process for each chapter in the comments! If you see that pencil in the comment, it means I'm giving basically a "behind the scenes" for that moment in the story :D
I slammed my fist against the table in frustration as the program failed again. I'd been trying to code DUM-E to fix one of my suits for the past few hours, but none of the codes I put it seemed to be doing what I wanted them to.
"Friday can you run a scan on this?"
"Sir, I've scanned this three times already."
"Yeah yeah, I know, I just can't figure out what's up with it. I've had DUM-E fix my suits before, but it just doesn't want to work today. Just try scanning it again."
"Alright. Scanning now," Friday said. I walked to the window while Friday did another scan, and stared down at the city below. I wasn't too far from the ground, my lab on the higher floor was being renovated, so I had to move down. It wasn't bad down here, I can see things better from this height. Cars didn't look like little lego pieces, they looked more like Hot Wheels.
I also liked watching the people, I hadn't realized how mesmerizing it was to just watch people walking and going about their day. I watched someone with a blue jacket walking down the sidewalk, and suddenly realized it was my intern, Peter Parker. I smiled, remembering how good he was with tech. Maybe he can figure out what's up with DUM-E , I thought.
But Peter didn't go into Stark Tower like I expected him to. He went down an alleyway on the side of Stark Tower, one that I knew for a fact lead to a dead end. What the hell is he doing?
I watched him until he was out of sight. Something wasn't right. That alleyway doesn't go anywhere. And he can't be changing into his suit for patrol, he had an internship meeting with me in about five minutes, I was going to help him update his suit. So what the hell was he walking into a dead-end alleyway for?
But now that I thought about it, I hadn't heard from Pete in about a week. He usually left me messages and called me all the time, updating me on everything from patrol. But he hadn't spoken with me once this week. I was so busy with meetings that I didn't notice.
A sick feeling formed in my stomach, guilt creeping into my chest. Clearly something was wrong. I had to find out what it was.
It didn't take me long to get down to the ground floor, and I rushed out the doors of the tower, becoming more and more worried with every second. I practically sprinted through the alleyway.
"No, no no no! They're gone! Oh god they're all gone, fuck, no, no no no..."
I froze, hearing Peter start to sob. My heart clenched at the sound of his voice cracking with misery. I rounded the corner.
There was Peter, hands running through his hair as tears fell down his face. He was staring at a shopping cart, which was empty except for a half-full water bottle and an open trash bag. Peter looked thin and tired, and he had small patches of dirt all over his face and clothes. His tears actually made visible tracks through the grime on his cheeks.
"Peter?" I said.
Peter snapped up, his eyes wide with fear. I wasn't used to people being afraid when they saw me, most of the time they looked happy to see someone coming along to help them.
"Peter, what's wrong? What're you doing here, why--" and then I saw the tent set up in the corner.
Peter looked like he was going to run for a moment, but as he realized I'd already figured it out, he started to cry even harder. He put his hands over his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut and looking very much as though he'd rather disappear.
"Oh my god, Pete, hey, shhh, it's okay," I said, rushing to him and pushing his curls out of his face, trying to see his eyes. "Hey, hey it's okay, kid. Can you tell me what's wrong? I'm here to help kid, just tell me whats' wrong, I can fix it."
"Aunt--Aunt May--" Peter said through broken sobs, "She, she kicked me out. She kicked me out last week. I couldn't-- I didn't know where else to go!"
"It's okay, it's okay," I said, pulling his hands away from his mouth so I could see his face.
"S-so I came here, and I thought I'd stay here in case you needed me for a mission, but--but I had to get a job and--and now all my clothes got stolen--" Peter broke off with a sob.
So that's what he meant by "they're all gone". Someone had taken all his clothes. His clothes were some of his only possessions , I realized, looking around the alleyway. And someone just took some of the last things Peter owned.
"Do you want a hug kid?" I asked.
"We're there?" he said, looking hopeful for the first time.
"Jesus, of course we're there kid, come here," I gathered him in my arms, holding him tightly to my chest.
I had far too many questions. Why did his Aunt kick him out? How did I miss this? He had to get a job? Why didn't he tell someone? Why didn't he tell me?
He's so thin. I swear I've seen him in this sweater before, and it didn't hang off his body like it does now. I'm not used to feeling the knobs of his spine, and his shoulders are bony and poke painfully into my skin.
"You're way too thin kid, have you been eating?"
"Not-Not really," he answered quietly. "I think the last time was a day or so ago."
"Shit kid. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I didn't notice."
"It's okay, it's okay Mr. Stark, it's not like I made it very obvious in the first place. I didn't want anyone to notice."
I pulled away from him, holding his shoulders and leaning down to look in his eyes.
"Don't tell me it's okay. Don't ever think it's okay to go unnoticed. Don't ever think it's okay to stay quiet and suffer in silence. You need help, you get it, okay? You need help, you make sure people know and you make sure that you get the help you deserve, okay?"
Peter looked at me with mixed confusion and relief.
"No one has ever told me that before," he said. "I-I thought I wasn't supposed to have help, I thought I was supposed to do everything by myself. I thought..."
Peter heaved a shaky sigh, and I realized just how heavily he was leaning on my hands. I held him steady while he finished his sentence.
"Well I'm the hero right? I'm the one who's supposed to help people, I shouldn't need help, I'm supposed to be okay. Right? I shouldn't have help, I'm not the person who needs--"
"Pete you help people every day, and you didn't think once that you deserved the same kind of help you give to others?" I interrupted. I pushed his curls out of his face again, gazing into his dark, red-rimmed eyes. "You are important. You can't help others if you yourself are hurting."
"Yeah, I definitely feel that, I haven't been able to go on patrol since I started my job at the Daily Bugle."
"You work at that place?" I said. "But they hate Spider-Man!"
"It was the only place that was hiring and paid well enough for me to maybe get my own place someday. They like my pictures."
"Is that why you didn't call me? Because you didn't go on patrol?"
"Well yeah, I mean what was there to report?"
"Oh I dunno, maybe that your Aunt fucking kicked you out and you're living in an alleyway? Maybe that you don't have a place to go and you're starving? Maybe that you needed some help?"
"Oh. Heh, I guess I thought about it, but I didn't want to bother you, you've got all this stuff going on with running your own company and everything with the Avengers breaking up, and I didn't want to give you another thing to stress about."
He was worried about me . He didn't want me to stress, so he tried to shoulder all this by himself.
"Pete, you are far more important than the freaking company. You are worth the stress, you are worth the worry, and I would do anything to see you happy and healthy. But, obviously, you are neither of those things right now," I said.
Peter gave a weak laugh, wiping the tears from his cheeks and consequently smearing the dirt more.
"No, heh, not really. Feel kinda shit to be honest."
"So, would you like some help?" I asked. Peter paused for a moment, looking at the ground, then met my eyes and nodded.
"Yeah, yeah I think... I need some help," Peter said.
Peter suddenly never looked more powerless. He'd been trying to hold some sort of courage, any scrap of strength he could find in himself this whole time, and it seems that he'd finally admitted defeat. He somehow looked smaller, more neglected and scared than when I had first found him back here.
"Alright then. Let's go up to my space. We'll get you cleaned up, I'll make you something to eat, make you feel better. You look like you need some good food and rest. Do you need anything from your tent? They didn't take your suit too did they?"
"No, I kept that in my backpack," he said, gesturing to his backpack lying in the corner of the alley. "I didn't want to leave it here even though I knew I couldn't use it because of my job. I can't imagine leaving home without my suit. There's not much in my tent, just a sleeping bag and some school books I need for next year. Anything that's really of value, besides my clothes, I keep in my backpack. So my camera, my computer, my suit, all of that stays with me all the time."
"Alright, well I'll get your school books and backpack, just wait here a moment." I let go of his arms. I had barely walked a step before I heard Peter whimper.
"Mr. Stark?" I whipped around to see Peter swaying dangerously. "I think I'm gonna fall?"
"Shit." I caught him just as he started to keel over, and Peter struggled to stand upright again. "Nope, no, stay down kid, just sit down, lean on that wall, there you go, just rest there for a moment."
"I'm sorry, I just--I can't--"
"It's okay, you're fine kid. You're not in trouble, nothing to apologize for." I looked down and spoke to Friday. "Hey Fri you know those special protein bars Bruce made for after he Hulks out? Could you send a suit down here with one of those?"
I heard Peter's stomach rumble at the mention of protein bars, but oddly enough Peter didn't look very excited.
"Doesn't Dr. Banner need those?"
"Kid, we don't even know where Bruce is right now. He won't miss them. Unfortunately you probably can't eat more than one, they have this special sedative in it that makes sure Bruce stays Bruce after his transformation. There have been a few times where he'll have a relapse of the Hulk after a battle from a panic attack, so we put basically a very powerful anti-anxiety pill in the bar. But your enhanced metabolism won't burn through it as quickly as with other foods, so eating more than one of that serum could cause you to fall asleep, which would be bad because then we wouldn't be able to get you cleaned up or give you any real food."
"That makes sense," Peter said a little dazedly. I'm not sure he'd really been listening .
I opened the flap in Peter's tent, and I had to bite back a gasp at what I saw.
Peter had been sleeping in a ripped, old sleeping bag on the gravely alleyway floor, and upon seeing the inside I realized how little room there was in here. Peter's books were stacked on the side, and there was an empty plastic water bottle by where his head would lay. I realized that Peter must have been filling up on water when he couldn't afford to eat.
I found myself trying to think of all the places Peter could get basic needs, trying to figure out what Peter had to do to get by this week. Where was the cheapest place to buy food? Were there water fountains nearby? Where could he shower and clean himself? How did he get to and from work?
I left the tent with Peter's books in hand, and found him and my suit waiting for me. My suit was kneeling down and holding the protein bar wrapper, while Peter ravenously dug into the bar.
I wished I could get this kid some food sooner, but I can't just feed him fast food, he needs real, good food that will give him nutrients and energy. Maybe some pasta, with vegetables? Roasted broccoli doesn't take too long to make, and I know Peter likes Fettuccine Alfredo. I'll make that for him then , I thought.
Peter finished the bar, and got up a little shakily. But he wasn't falling over, so that was good.
I stepped into the suit and flew up to my lab with Peter clutched in my arms bridal style. He clung tightly around my neck, though the only thing I noticed was how light he was.
When we made it up there I let his legs drop and steadied him before stepping out of the suit.
"Alright kiddo, why don't we get you in the shower, I'll make you something to eat while you're in there okay?" I said, as my suit flew out the open window again and I set his things on the kitchen counter.
Peter only nodded, looking a little relieved at the thought of getting clean. I led him to the shower and showed him how to turn it on and off and control the temperature.
"You good to shower? I wouldn't want you to fall in here," I said. Peter nodded again.
"The bar made me feel a little better, I don't think I'll fall."
"Alright then, I'll leave you to it," I said, setting some spare clothes on the counter as Peter started to take off his sweater and lift his shirt. But I wasn't more than five steps away from him when I heard a strangled gasp.
I turned around to see Peter standing shirtless in front of the mirror, a hand clasped over his mouth and tears spilling from his eyes. Peter's bones were jutting sharply out of his skin, his stomach sunken and hollow, concave between his hip bones and rib cage. Peter stared in horror at himself, as though he didn't recognize the person there. His thin shoulders shook as sobs wracked through him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, looking rather frozen in place.
I slowly walked towards him again, and leaned against the doorway. He opened his eyes, and seemed to calm down a little at the sight of me.
"Does it scare you?" I asked softly. He looked from me to himself in the mirror, then down at the tiled floor.
He nodded.
"You know--" I said gently, "--you can wait. We can wait till later to get you cleaned up. You don't have to do it now. Do you want to wait until after dinner to shower?"
He blinked and thought for a moment, dropping his hand. "I... I want to get cleaned up, it's just..." He trailed off and made a vague gesture at his reflection in the mirror.
"You could just wash off your face. Washing your face will help. That's often what I do when I don't have enough energy to shower after a fight. Feels better than doing nothing."
Peter gave a little sigh, looking relieved at the compromise. He nodded and put his shirt back on.
"Meet me back out there when you've finished," I said patting his shoulder as he splashed water onto his face.
I went to the kitchen and began cooking, boiling the water, putting the broccoli in the oven to roast, and melting butter in a saucepan. I started cutting the garlic as Peter came around the corner.
"Hey! You feel better now that you got all the grime off your face?"
"A bit," he replied, walking over to the sink and filling up a large glass of water. I noticed how he had to hold the cup with both hands, trying to keep it steady as he sat down behind the counter.
"Well you look a lot better," I said, pouring the chopped garlic into the pot of simmering butter. The delicious smell of buttery garlic filled the room and Peter sniffed the air.
He swallowed thickly as his stomach gave a hollow rumble, advertising loudly how hungry he was.
"Sorry," he said sheepishly. Peter picked up his glass of water and started taking large gulps, trying to silence his stomach by filling it with liquid.
The timer for the broccoli went off and I set the pan in front of him, gesturing for him to take some.
"You don't have to fill up on water anymore. Eat," I said. Peter reached out for the broccoli a little hesitantly, but popped a floret in his mouth with a moan all the same.
"Broccoli never tasted so good," he said with his mouth full.
"Makes sense, you haven't eaten in a while, and it's even worse with your enhanced metabolism. What did you eat this week?"
"Well I had a sandwich from Mr. Delmar's on Monday when I was kicked out, and then I had another one on Wednesday. I think he knew something was wrong 'cuz he put extra stuff on it. That was nice."
"That was nice," I agreed. I made a mental note to do something for Mr. Delmar as a thank you for taking care of Peter. "So all you've had this week is a couple sandwiches?"
"Well, I had coffee every day at the Daily Bugle, and someone left a cereal bar on the breakroom table after work on Tuesday so I ate that," he said, putting another piece of broccoli in his mouth. I could tell he wanted to be eating much faster, but the food was too hot.
"So not really food huh?" I said, stirring the pasta as it boiled. Peter sighed and shook his head.
"No, not really food no. I was so hungry I wanted to cry last night."
Something inside me snapped at that moment, and I slammed the spoon on the stove with a rather loud bang.
"I'm sorry!" Peter shrieked, suddenly getting up from the chair and backing away. It took me a moment to realize what he was reacting to. "I'm sorry Mr. Stark, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry--"
"Sorry? Pete what're you-- Oh no, it's okay! I'm not angry at you, it's okay," I said. What on earth did this kid's Aunt do to him?
Peter put down his arms but he was still breathing like he'd run a mile, and his hands shook so hard it looked like they were vibrating.
"Woah, woah hey kid? Kid look at me, deep breaths okay? Can you hear me?"
Peter nodded, but his breathing wasn't getting better.
"Peter, I need you to try and breathe deep, okay? Breathe all the way down to your belly, okay? Can I touch your arms?"
Peter nodded again, and his breathing slowed a bit as I rubbed his arms and shoulders. I'm not sure why I was doing it, I just knew it was nice when I had panic attacks. Suddenly Peter was leaning forward and hugging me around the middle, speaking into my shirt.
"I-I thought you were gonna--Gonna hurt me, I don't--I don't know why I thought that--I know you wouldn't do that, I just got scared--"
"It's okay, it's okay, it's not your fault. We can work on that okay? It'll get better, I promise kid. I'm sorry I scared you, I wasn't angry at you, I was angry at myself. I can't believe I didn't notice."
"It's okay Mr. Stark. Like I said, I didn't want anyone to notice. I was fine being alone."
"You don't have to be alone. I'm here for you. I'm here to help."
"Yeah. I know that now."
I held him tightly for a few moments before Peter's stomach grumbled, reminding me of the pasta.
"Heh, your stomach's rumbling. I think it knows the pasta is almost ready," I said, gently pulling away to drain the pasta. Peter went silent for a few moments.
"Aunt May always told me to quit eating so much," he said quietly.
I paused, realizing Peter was actually opening up to me now. I didn't want to bring it up, but I'd been wanting to know why she kicked him out. What had she done to him?
"She did?" I said. Peter nodded.
"'Quit being so needy,' she would say. She said she'd kick me out if I kept making her spend money on me like this."
I froze.
"She... said that to you?"
Peter nodded, looking down at the counter.
"Told me I wasn't hungry unless she said I was. I wasn't tired unless she said I was. I wasn't sad or happy or angry or scared unless she said I was. I wasn't allowed to sleep until she said I could, if she was in a bad mood, I had to stay quiet, if she was in a good mood I had to be in a good mood too. I wasn't allowed to ask for anything, or take anything, I was only allowed what was specifically given to me. I was only supposed to eat what she gave me, and not to take anything else from the house. I tried to follow the rules, I really really tried but some days I was just I couldn't do it. I'd cry or I'd ask to go to bed, or I'd get home from patrol and my sandwich from Mr. Delmar's wouldn't be enough and I would try and find something to eat that she wouldn't miss, something she wouldn't notice was gone. And it worked most of the time, but I guess she caught me breaking the rules one too many times on Monday, because she told me to pack up my stuff and get out. If I wasn't gone by the time she came home from work then she said she was gonna get me transferred out of school so I couldn't see Ned or MJ again."
"What were you doing?" I asked.
"I was eating a bowl of cereal in my room. She came home and I didn't hear her come in because I was stupid and had my headphones on. She came into my room, took it, threw it out the window, bowl and everything, then told me to get out."
I set a plate piled high with pasta in front of him, and his eyes went so wide I thought they might just pop out of his skull. Peter practically fell on the food, wolfing it down desperately, as though the protein bar and the broccoli had never even happened.
His Aunt starved him , I thought. And kicked him out when she found him eating. He was just eating, he was just trying to get by, and she wouldn't let him. What kind of person does that to a kid? A child?
Peter was still eating rapidly, and I realized he should probably slow down. If he eats too much at once he would throw up, and he needs to keep his food, he needs the nutrition. I reach up and touched his shoulder.
"Hey, Pete--"
Peter flinched violently at my touch, and the fork he was holding bent in half beneath his fist. He calmed down not a second later though, but stared at the fork in his hands.
He didn't seem to understand what happened for a moment. He swallowed the bite of pasta in his mouth, and set the fork down with agonizing care, as though he were holding something extremely delicate. And after that, he did nothing. Just sat there, staring at the ruined fork.
"I can get you a new fork," I said. "I just needed you to eat a little slower, I'm sorry I scared you."
"It's okay, I was just startled, I spaced out," he said flatly, still staring at the fork.
"I don't know how this is going to get better Mr. Stark," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I'm safe here, I know you would never hurt me like Aunt May did. But I'm still scared. I don't know why, but I'm so, so scared , and it feels like I'll never feel okay again.
"And part of me... Part of me worries that maybe I deserved it. Maybe I'm broken and Aunt May was giving me exactly what I deserved, and she wasn't in the wrong at all to kick me out. I broke the rules, so of course I got punished for it."
I gave a deep sigh as he finished. I reached up slowly, picking up the ruined fork and turning it over in my hand.
I handed it to him, and he looked at me like I was crazy.
"What... What do you want me to do?"
"Bend it back. As best you can."
Peter stared at me for a moment, then looked down and started bending the fork back into shape. It took a few tries for him to get it right, at some points he bent it wrong in another place, or the tongs of the fork got mashed together, and he had to separate them again. But eventually the fork looked like a fork, though definitely not the same as before it was bent.
"You're gonna be alright Pete," I said, looking at the fork as well. "There are going to be some setbacks of course, recovery isn't linear. And you'll still have the memories of what she's done to you. But you'll be okay. You'll be happy, and safe, and you are loved so much. Look at me," I said. Peter looked up, rubbing at a slight divot in the fork's handle.
"You are not worthy of the abuse your Aunt gave you. You are not worthy of any of the horrid things she's done to you. None of this is your fault. You are not broken." I got up and walked to the silverware drawer. "And know that when you're ready to start working on yourself--" I plucked his fork out of his hand. "--Me, your friends, and all the people who love you will be here to help you become everything you could ever want to be." I put a new, untarnished fork in his hand.
Peter stared at the new fork, and gave a small smile. He stood up and hugged me tightly.
Peter finished his plate, then went to the bathroom to shower. When he came back out again, wearing my hoodie, he stared at the pasta for a few minutes before remembering he was allowed to eat if he was hungry now. We watched tv (mainly cartoons, the nerd) while he ate the rest of the pasta and broccoli. When his head started to droop, I lead him to a spare bedroom next to mine. He pressed a hand to one of the pillows, muttering something about how fluffy they were, before flopping down and snuggling himself under the thick blankets.
I walked back into the dining room and picked up Peter's still slightly mangled fork, then went back to his room to find him snoring softly, his face half-buried in the pillows.
I left the fork on his bedside table.