TWs: Discussion of suicide event, mentions of abuse, and while Peter doesn't actually have an eating disorder, his behavior/the descriptions may be triggering to some.
"Peter, stop looking at the price tags, they don't matter," I said. Peter looked up at me, then dropped the tag on a pair of pants and shoved his hands into his pockets, looking nervously around the store. Peter had only one thing in the cart: a pair of jeans from the clearance aisle. He seemed to be having a very hard time trying to find something that he wouldn't feel guilty for getting. I kept trying to assure him he wasn't being greedy but it wasn't doing much good.
Peter knew that he couldn't wear the same clothes every day, but he seemed to be terrified of getting new ones at the same time.
"C'mon kid, there's gotta be something in this store you like," I said. Peter looked around, an almost scared looked growing on his face.
"I--I'm sorry Mr. Stark, it's just everything here is so expensive looking--"
"Oh my god!" I said, smacking myself on the forehead. Peter jumped, then stared at me like I was crazy. "Jesus I'm an idiot , I brought you to a billionaire style store instead of a Peter Parker style store--"
"A what now?"
I grabbed Peter's hand and started pulling him out of the boutique.
"Of course you don't like any of the stuff here, you don't go to stores where they sew the clothes with gold thread. I'm taking you somewhere more your speed."
"My speed?" Peter said, as we hopped into the car.
"Yep." I pulled up the location on my phone, then held it out for Happy to see. "Drive us here Happy."
Happy grumbled and then set off. Peter wrung his hands beside me, looking more and more worried.
"Hey," I said, and he looked at me. He looked so scared that I squeezed his hand. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"
"Yeah, I'm just--I'm fine."
"Are you sure? You seem nervous," I said.
"I, um, well a little bit, but I'm okay," he said. But he didn't relax. I almost said more, but Happy pulled into a parking lot and I looked out the window. And I couldn't help but grin at what I saw.
It was a Target store. Not a billionaire, I-pay-people-to-look-at-me store. Just a normal Target.
"Is this more your speed Underoos?" Peter looked out the window and gasped.
"Are you kidding? My speed is fuckin' Goodwill--This is awesome!" he said excitedly. "Aunt May never liked buying me clothes, she would just grab random stuff off the racks in the men's section at Goodwill and make me wear them. Most of it wasn't the right size."
I couldn't help feeling sad for him, but he was out of the car before I could say anything.
When Peter entered the store, he gazed around it like a child on Christmas day, looking far too excited for someone entering a common grocery store. He practically skipped to the menswear area, and started sifting through all the clothes without having to be prompted at all.
Peter found several superhero and science joke shirts that he liked, and after I reassured him that yes he could buy all of them, we went to the changing rooms to try some on.
But it only took one outfit for Peter to realize something was wrong. He came back out of the changing rooms with most of the clothes still folded up in their original position, and a frown on his face.
"What's up kid? Not the right size?"
"No--Uh well, yes, but also no, um..." He scratched his head while he gathered his thoughts. "Well these would be the right size, if I was my normal weight. But um, I'm not. The only ones that fit me were the small sizes."
"What size normally fits you?" I asked.
"Medium. Sometimes large, depending on the brand."
"I see. Well, why don't we pick out the clothes in a size that would fit you normally , and then we can just get you a few belts that you can wear until they fit you better? The shirts will still be a bit baggy but you'll grow into them. Does that sound good?"
Peter beamed and nodded vigorously, putting his pile of clothes into the shopping cart. Eventually we got almost everything he needed (I snuck in a few "expensive" things that Peter wouldn't even look at). Peter now had plenty of shirts, pants, sweaters, coats, socks, underwear, and pajamas to last him quite a long time. Now the only thing he needed was a couple belts.
Peter started to say that he really only needed one, when I cut him off, saying that having at least two was good in case the other one broke. To be honest, I really just wanted to be able to spend more money on Peter. I wanted to communicate to him that money was and never will be an issue for him, and that I loved him enough to spend copious amounts of it on him.
However another problem arose when Peter started trying to find the right ones.
"Uh, Mr. Stark?" he said, putting the belts he had picked out back on the rack. "None of these are small enough for me."
"They're not?" I said, frowning at them in confusion. Though as I took a closer look I realized there was no way for any of these to fit him. None of the holes went back far enough.
"But, how do the pants you're wearing right now fit you? They must have become too large just like your shirt."
Peter turned red.
"Uh--Well..." he said, before lifting his shirt a little so I could see his waistband. Instead of a belt, he had a strip of cloth that was tied in a knot in the front.
"It's um, a bit of one of my old shirts," he said, putting his shirt back down. "Aunt May always bought me clothes that were too big anyway, and she never bought me belts or anything, so I usually ended up cutting up an old shirt or using shoelaces from old shoes."
I looked at him for a moment, before pulling him into a tight hug. Peter gave a squeak of surprise, but after a second or so he hugged me back. When we broke apart he looked up at me in confusion.
"What was that for? I wasn't even sad."
"I would hate to be anything like your Aunt. Which means that I give you so many hugs you have no idea what to do with them all. But it also means that I'm going to have a couple belts made specially for you."
Peter started to open his mouth to protest, but I raised a finger to stop him.
"I know you don't like me spending money on you like that but this time you really need it. I'm not having you wear bits of old shirts with your new clothes until you fit into them. I promise, this is the only billionaire-style article of clothing I'll buy you, and even then it'll look just like a normal belt. Is that alright?"
Peter hesitated, then nodded.
"Alright then. Looks like we're done shopping! I'll get us checked out, you can go back to the car and wait with Happy. And no , you may not come to the checkout with me, I know you're going to try and look at the price," I said sternly, and Peter gave me a slightly disappointed look before leaving.
I kept an eye on him as he started to walk out, but I did a double-take when he paused for a fraction of a second, raising a hand to clutch his stomach. He made a beeline to the drinking fountains near the entrance, and drank deeply, chugging the water for almost a full minute. Then he left, disappearing through the automatic doors.
I checked my watch and realized it was almost three pm. We had breakfast almost five hours ago, and now that I'm paying attention I realize I'm actually pretty hungry. Which means Peter must be absolutely starving.
I sighed, and pinched the bridge of my nose.
That must've been why he was so nervous in the car. He was hungry. Why can't I seem to take care of him properly? Why doesn't he feel like he can tell me these things? Is it something I'm doing wrong?
No, there's no time to dwell on that now. He's obviously famished, so I have to grab him something to eat in the car to hold him over until we can get him some real food.
If I had been thinking a little more clearly I would've gone to see if they had any healthy snacks for him, something with actual protein, but instead I grabbed the first thing I saw, which happened to be a family size pack of oreos. Yep, I'm a great caregiver, I totally, 100% know what I'm doing.
I got everything checked out as fast as I could and got it loaded into the car with Happy's help. Peter had gotten out to try and help as well, but I told him to stay in the car, saying I had a little surprise for him. Curiosity and guilt battled on his face as he hesitantly got back into the car.
Crap. I didn't mean for him to feel guilty. Maybe if I told him he needed to eat he would feel less guilty. But he does have to learn that he's worthy of things he doesn't actually need . But then again, I was barely able to convince him to let me buy him clothes, something that is far more important than oreos. I wouldn't be surprised if he won't even touch the cookies when I give them to him.
I closed the trunk, and Happy got into the front seat while I sat next to Peter in the back. I told Happy to take us home, shut the window between the front and back seats, and then held up the oreos for Peter to see.
Peter's eyes went wide. His stomach gurgled quietly and pressed his hand to it, as though trying to silence it under his palm. Then his face turned bright red and he looked away.
"Sorry I didn't feed you earlier," I said, holding them out to him. "My bad. I'm shit at remembering when I'm supposed to eat, much less than you have to eat more often than me."
"You don't have to be sorry, it's not your fault. I should've reminded you," he said, fiddling with his sleeves but still not touching the package.
"I guess that's true," I said, setting the package down between us. "But I know that's hard for you to do. I don't expect you to instantly improve after one heart-to-heart. Until you're able to remind me, I'm going to do better and remember myself. Or have Friday remind me. I told you you weren't going to go hungry anymore and I intend to keep that promise."
"You shouldn't have to take care of me. I'm almost sixteen now, I should be able to take care of myself. I should be able to go get food and clothes and everything by myself," he said, still not acknowledging the package.
"Yeah that's about the dumbest thing I've ever heard, and I've heard some pretty stupid shit. You're only fifteen, I would be very surprised if you could take care of yourself at all. Your brain stops growing at age twenty-five, and even then most people are shit at taking care of themselves. I don't think I figured it out until I was twice your age, and I didn't even have a million things pulling me down like you have.
"Besides," I continued, opening the package and pushing it towards Peter, who finally sighed and took one, "I'm still bad at taking care of myself, even though I know how to. I don't sleep, I'm shit at remembering when to eat, and I think I drank nine cups of coffee yesterday. Plus I'm pretty sure that salad we had with dinner last night was the first healthy thing I've had in like a month."
Peter laughed around the cookie in his mouth. He took a few more and started eating them too, and I gave him an encouraging smile.
"And then of course," I said as we pulled into the garage of Stark Tower, " You don't need to take care of yourself right now. I'm taking care of you. I am. You have nothing you need to worry about."
Peter smiled, and continued to eat his cookies.
When we got home, Peter took the oreos, as well as his clothes, to his new bedroom, but didn't bring the oreos back down. I guessed it was hidden under his bed, with a few cookies left there just in case.
He'd done the same thing with the leftover salad last night. Putting it into a container and pushing it under his hoodie (technically my hoodie, which he stole) when he thought I wasn't looking, before quickly going to his room.
I really need to contact Steve with this , I thought, as I started putting together a few sandwiches for us. It's worse than I thought . With Steve, he only did it every once in a while, I think the most he did it was three times a week, and only after a particularly hard mission. But Peter... Peter's been taking food to save for later at least once a day, usually more.
He's terrified.
But maybe if I remembered to feed him more he wouldn't feel the need to do that.
I started to set up a reminder when I realized... I actually have no idea how often Peter needs to eat. These past couple of days it's been me running around getting custody of him (not in the most ethical of ways either, but I wasn't about to let him go into the foster care system, so if I had to grease a few palms to get him to be able to stay here, then so be it), so I haven't been able to keep track of his eating habits as well as I would like. I would really just force food under his nose whenever his stomach growled, which was rather a lot, the poor kid, and then we would have meals together. But there's no way that's enough for him.
"Hey kid," I said, handing him a couple sandwiches and taking a bite of my own as we sat down on the couch. "So, how often do you get hungry?"
"I dunno," he said, swallowing a bite of sandwich so he could talk. "Pretty often I guess. After I eat breakfast I get hungry maybe an hour later? My stomach starts to hurt an hour after that, then if I still don't eat I'll probably pass out before lunch."
"Jesus kid, how did you make a week out there by yourself?"
"I... didn't really. I passed out a lot," he said.
"And no one at work noticed?" I said, surprised.
Peter looked away.
"I would... hide. If I felt like I was going to faint. Go to the bathroom, or climb onto a roof if I was outside taking pictures. Only one person saw me faint because I didn't make it to the bathroom in time, this kid named Wade. He actually goes to my school, he's an intern, he just gets people coffee, prints things, runs little errands like that. He bought me coffee everyday, even though I couldn't pay him back. He even knew how I liked it, which was funny because he could never remember anyone else's orders."
"So he saw you faint?" I prompted, hoping to know the rest of the story.
"Yeah. When I came to, he'd carried me and set me on the couch in some random office. He said no one used it anymore so he had a secret hideout in there. Then he told me he was taking me to go to get a sandwich from Mr. Delmar's. Heh, he said he'd heard my stomach rumbling while I was asleep, said I should've eaten breakfast this morning and this wouldn't happen. That was the day Mr. Delmar put extra stuff on my sandwich too. I guess I had a few different people looking out for me that day," he said with a smile.
I nodded and thought for a moment. Looks like I'm going to have to find this Wade kid too, see if he wants a new car or something. I hadn't found time to get Mr. Delmar a gift either. Turns out trying to get custody of a kid you're not related to takes quite a bit of time, I haven't had a free moment until today.
And this kid bought Peter coffee. Remembered how he liked it. Every single day. Something tells me those weren't platonic coffees.
"What about at night? How often do you get hungry then?"
"Well, I don't get as hungry at night. I'm not using much energy to sleep, you know? But..." Peter bit his lip and looked down. "I do get hungry around the middle of the night. Sometimes I can't get back to sleep."
I sighed and put my hand on his back, rubbing it comfortingly.
"I've told you you're allowed to get up and get food, remember? You don't have to worry that I'll stop you."
"Yeah, I know, I know, it's just so hard . I've tried, but almost every single time I've talked myself out of it. I did eat something once, but I didn't eat enough . I just finished a crust of some pizza still left in the box. The kind of thing no one would notice was gone," Peter said, finishing his sandwiches. I pulled a Hulk bar out of my pocket (not a Spidey Bar, I'm still in the process of making those), and handed it to him.
I rubbed his back again, and he leaned into my touch as he ate the bar. His ribs still stuck out, but not as much as they used to. That's good, he's gaining some weight back.
I suddenly got an idea.
I quickly pulled him close and he squeaked in surprise, but then relaxed, snuggling closer to my side.
"Safe?" I said.
"Safe," he replied.
"Good. Let's keep it that way. Friday? Remind me when Peter needs to eat. Every hour should be good. On the dot , mind you. Never let me forget about meal times either. And when Peter wakes up at night, be sure to tell him to go grab something from the kitchen. Suggest some things if he's not sure what he wants."
"Yes Boss," Friday said sweetly.
Peter paused for a second, as though unsure that had actually happened. Then he suddenly clutched me closer, hiding his face in my shirt.
"Thank you," he whispered. "No one has ever done something like that for me before. Well, Ned and MJ and Wade have done things but--"
"It's not the same," I said.
"Yeah. It's nice when your friends help, but it's also nice when... someone older helps. I've never had someone older help me like this. Until I met you."
"Really? Not even your Uncle Ben?"
"Uncle Ben... Uncle Ben was... I think he was good. He never hurt me like Aunt May did. But he never stopped her either. She hurt him too. He was scared. It got worse after he... was killed. She took it all out on me. No one was there to stop her, and her husband had just died. So she blamed me."
"She shouldn't have done that. It's not your fault he died."
"Yes it is. I was there, I was in the apartment when he died."
"...Kid you told me he was killed when someone tried to mug him on the street."
"I lied ," Peter said.
I froze.
"He didn't die out there. He died in his room. He shot himself in the head."
Peter said this as stiffly and as emotionlessly as he could. I could tell he was holding back his tears as he went on.
"I was in the living room. My spidey sense went off five minutes before I heard the shot. He was sitting on his bed with the gun in his hands for five minutes . I should've gone in there, I should've checked on him. But no, I sat there and I watched tv, making up excuses for why my spidey sense went off--"
"Peter," I said. "It's not your fault. I thought the same thing when my parents--"
But I cut off. My parents. Killed by the Winter Soldier. Steve knew. Steve .
No . This is not the time to be thinking about that.
"It's not your fault. I promise, it's not your fault, it was his choice. It was a result of the circumstances he was in and it was a bad decision. He shouldn't have done that, but there was nothing you did wrong. You did nothing wrong."
Peter took a shuddering breath, before sitting up and wiping tears from his eyes.
"I don't think I want to talk about that anymore," he said quietly.
"That's alright, we don't have to," I said. "How about you help me update your suit? We never actually got around to doing that did we?"
Peter's eyes lit up and he bounced off the couch, sprinting towards the lab, all sorrow evaporating from the air.
"I'll race you there!" he shouted over his shoulder.
"Hey! You know I have heart problems! And you've got Spidey Powers, I think this race is unfair!"
"You gave yourself an arc reactor for a heart but didn't give yourself superspeed or something? I'm disappointed Mr. Stark!" Peter said as he skidded into the elevator and repeatedly pressed the Close Door button.
"Friday, do not let those doors close!"
"Yes Boss."
"Hey that's cheating!"
"If Spidey Powers isn't cheating then using Friday isn't cheating," I said, almost falling into the elevator after him.
When we got out of the elevator Peter sprinted to the lab, and was already getting out tools and pieces of paper when I arrived. We spent the rest of the day working on his suit, to the point where Peter fell asleep on the desk.
It was then that I got an idea.
~~~
I crept back into the lab where Peter was still sleeping, his head on his arms and snoring softly. It was around two am now, and Peter had fallen asleep around ten. He must've been pretty exhausted, because even though his stomach was clearly awake and rumbling so loud I could hear it from across the room, the rest of him was dead to the world.
I flicked on the lights, but only so they were bright enough to see where I was going. If his eyes were sensitive like the rest of his senses, I wouldn't want to overwhelm him with the light.
"Peteeeerrrr," I said, walking over and shaking his shoulder gently. "C'mon, wake up kid. I made you food!"
Peter snapped up suddenly at "food", and almost fell out of his chair. He stared at me with bleary, squinted eyes before speaking in a slurred voice.
"Tha's good, m'tummy is hungry," he said, rubbing his stomach as it grumbled. "It's bein' very loud."
I could barely hold back a laugh.
"I can tell, it's been growling for the past ten minutes or so. I just wasn't done making your food yet. C'mon, lets go get you fed, I think you'll like what I've made for ya."
As we went down to the dining room, Peter started to wake up more, bouncing a little on his feet in excitement. And when we finally made it to the table, Peter's eyes went wide at what he saw.
"Pie?" he squeaked.
" Cherry pie," I said. "My recipe. Well technically one of my great-great-great-great grandmother's or something, but I make it better than her I'm sure. Anyway I figured we never had dessert so why not have some tonight?"
"I've never had this before," Peter said enthusiastically as he sat down in his usual spot.
"You've never had cherry pie?"
"I've never had any pie," Peter said, practically vibrating with excitement and hunger.
I paused at that statement, but quickly started serving Peter slices of pie to mask it.
"Really? Not even pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving?"
"There's no way we could get any relatives to come over. Everyone knows what Aunt May is like. My last Thanksgiving was the one before my parents died, and I don't even remember it."
"Why would your parents leave you with your Aunt and Uncle if they knew what your Aunt was like?"
"I don't know if they really knew. And technically I wasn't left with both of them, I was left to Uncle Ben, and he happened to live with her. Then when he died, I was left alone with Aunt May. Maybe my parents thought he would break up with her soon, maybe they forgot to change their wills, maybe they thought she was just crazy and not actually abusive. Either way I ended up living with her. Up until now. Now I'm with you!"
Peter gave me a smile, until his stomach reminded him rather loudly about the food and he dug in.
"Mmmmmmmm..." he moaned, chewing slowly before swallowing. "This is it. I found my favorite pie."
"Kid I think there are a few other pies you need to try before you decide--"
"Nope, to hell with all the other pies, this is the one , I could eat this every day for the rest of my life ."
I laughed and started eating my pie, the flavor of cherry tang bursting on my tongue. Peter finished five slices of pie, though the last two I had to encourage him to eat because he was still hungry, he was just scared to say it. When he finished, he laid back and rested his hands on his belly, sighing happily.
"You full Spider-Boy?" I said.
"It's Spider- Man . And yes, this was the best. It was like lunch, but instead of the middle of the day it's the middle of the night. Midnight Lunch. Munch ."
I burst out laughing and Peter joined.
"I'm calling it that now," Peter said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "It's called Munch now."
"Friday, schedule Munch for every day at midnight," I said.
"Done Boss. Munch is now scheduled," Friday said, and Peter and I laughed at how funny the word "Munch" sounded when Friday said it.
Eventually we both stopped laughing, and headed to bed.
"Goodnight Peter," I said.
"Goodnight Mr. Stark," Peter said with a yawn.
I was just starting to shut my door when Peter spoke again.
"Hey Mr. Stark?"
"Yeah kid?"
"Thank you. For everything."
I smiled softly.
"It's no problem. You deserve all the good things. Like I said, I'm here to help."
A/N: Fun Fact: According to The Internet, Peter's favorite food is Aunt May's cherry pie! Of course I changed it to Tony's cherry pie, seeing as Aunt May isn't our favorite person in this story ;]