Hello everyone! Greetings from the frozen mountain apartment in which I currently dwell. School is kicking my ass (the pandemic blues are real) but I've been finding respite in this story so that's been nice! How are you guys doing? I hope all of you are finding healthy outlets for stress relief and self care.
Here's the next chapter. It's a bit of a filler chapter, but don't worry! It's feeding into some over the top drama that's about to come for these boys with the next few chapters.
Enjoy!
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Chapter Eight
When Peter woke up, Jarvis was talking. Going on and on about something or other in his gratingly monotonous tone. But Peter couldn't understand anything over the ringing noise in his ears.
He was laid out on the ground, cheek against something cold. His head was pounding and his fingers splayed over something hard and smooth. Hardwood.
With a groan, he pushed himself up to his elbows and tried to piece together what happened. But Peter's arms were slick with sweat and sent him back down to the ground, landing on his jaw.
Grimacing in pain, he carefully lifted himself up again.
He was laying on the floor in the Tower's gym.
How did he…?
Oh.
Right.
He was running before, up on the treadmill, and now he was tentatively fingering a bruise along the ridge of his left cheekbone.
Had he fallen and passed out? Or passed out and then fallen?
Peter wanted to stand up and shake it off but his whole body ached from the impact. Just touching his cheek took enough energy to reignite the black dots in his vision. Instead, he rolled onto his back and finally tuned in to Jarvis's ramblings.
"-fathers are on their way right now, Master Peter, just try to relax."
That was all it took to launch Peter to his feet.
But he stood up too fast and simply tipped back to the floor in the opposite direction.
"Try not to stand up, sir. You took quite the fall-"
"Jarvis," Peter croaked before launching into a coughing fit. His lungs felt like they were stuffed with sandpaper. He needed water. "Tell them I'm fine. Don't-"
"Peter!"
Steve was at his side, hands on his son's face, before Peter could try and pull himself up again.
The overly bright florescent lights of the gym weren't helping him to focus in on his Pops' face. Peter blinked until Steve's worried eyes and locked jaw came into view. "What happened? Jarvis said you passed out on the treadmill and flew across the room."
Crashing footsteps announced Tony's entrance before his aggressive swearing started up. "Kid, I would say something about you flying across the room like Spider-Man, but, well-"
"Tony-" Steve started.
Tony knelt beside Steve and waved him off. "What the hell happened?"
"Well, sir, as I told you earlier-"
"He wasn't asking you, Jarvis," Steve snapped.
A hand came to rest on Peter's chest and since both of his dads could hover with the best of them, he didn't even know whose hand it was.
"Peter, you're soaked," Steve said, "How long were you down here?"
They were concerned. They loved him. They actually, honestly cared. But all Peter wanted to push his dads away.
He didn't want them to ask questions or put together the pieces as to how or why exactly he was currently laying in a puddle of his own sweat and unable to get up off the floor.
The dieting website, the one he found on social media, said all of this was normal.
That his body would need time to readjust to his new caloric intake and the lack of fats and carbs. It was natural.
"Dad, Pops, I'm fine," Peter managed. His throat was so scratchy he had to say it twice for them to understand him. "I just overdid it. I was trying to beat my personal-" But the coughing choked off his words and hands were pulling him up until he was sitting, his thighs and ass struggling to keep traction with the puddle of sweat underneath him.
Man, he was really soaked.
"Peter, you're covered in sweat," Tony said like it was a question. "Since when is distance running your thing?"
"How long were you running for?" Steve asked, examining Peter's arms and legs for bruises.
"Pops, it wasn't that. I was just in the zone and got dizzy."
Tony's arms were crossed and he didn't look convinced. Steve's worry was the only emotion Peter could read off of him.
"Give me a minute, okay?" Peter gently pried Steve's hands from his shoulders and dropped his face between his knees. "I'll be fine."
"Peter-"
"Dad. I'm fine. Please. I just-" Peter could feel his chest constricting. Slowly, but surely, like the grasp of a boa constrictor. "Space." The last word was pushed between his teeth, almost hissed- "please."
That was enough. 'Space' was something they all understood. Tony gently pulled Steve closer to him and further from their son.
Peter just sat there, breathing. Trying to breath.
"C'mon, kid." Tony said, moving so he was sitting directly in front of Peter, the gentle hum of the arc reactor the only noise in the room besides Peter's staccato breaths. "In. Out. Slowly. You can do it."
Steve clasped his own hands tight against his stomach as Tony talked Peter down. Steve was useless in these situations. Completely and totally useless.
"I'll give you two some space," Steve whispered just loud enough for Tony to hear.
Tony didn't say anything back but Steve could tell he had heard him.
Once he was out of the gym, Steve ran back upstairs and slammed his bedroom door hard enough to rattle the door in its frame. It was that or scream. And screaming would just scare Peter more and distract Tony from taking care of their son.
Steve's eyes burned but he wasn't going to cry. He was angry. Pissed off.
His fists were clenched at his side and he lifted them up in front of his face.
His hands were large, the kind of large that made other men's hands look dwarfed. They were rough with calluses. Usually, they ran warm.
Peter had pulled his hands off. He hadn't wanted him, his own Pops, to touch him.
What had Steve done wrong?
It always worked when Tony did it.
But maybe that was it. Maybe Peter just didn't want Steve; he wanted Tony.
Steve's eyes burned a bit more.
Of course Peter wanted Tony. They were two peas in a pod. Science and math proteges. Geniuses. Quirky, funny. Wild on the surface, in different ways, but kind at their cores. Both open with their struggles with anxiety and able to be there for each other in easy ways Steve couldn't replicate.
What did Steve have in common with them? Why would Peter possibly want Steve when Tony was right there and easier for him to be with?
Parenting was hard. Steve knew that.
But it felt harder when things like this happened. Things that confirmed what Steve had known the first time Peter showed promise at a science fair or watched a horror movie without flinching.
Steve was the odd man out. A second choice father.
He needed some space, some time.
With a grimace, Steve grabbed a jacket and went out.
It was okay. Tony had Peter.
#
People always said karma was a bitch but Tony saw karma as more of a conniving motherfucker with impeccably poor timing.
Peter was showering off the full body sweat he'd worked up during his run- which Tony fully intended to grill him about later because since when was Peter into fitness?- when Jarvis informed Tony that there was a S.H.I.E.L.D. assignment waiting for him on his desk and Fury had labeled it 'URGENT.'
"Fuck you and your eye patch," Tony grumbled, taking the file into his hands and sifting through it.
By the time he was done, he was ready to choke Fury out, Hulk-style.
"Jarvis."
"Yes, sir?"
"Prep the quinjet. Our pre-pubescent bastard is back."
Of course.
Of fucking course he had to leave now, in the middle of whatever- whatever this was.
"Tell Steve to meet me in the kitchen."
"Yes, sir."
#
"Tony, there's no way I'm letting you go by yourself. Not without knowing-"
"Steve," Tony reasoned. He already had a headache from screaming at someone from S.H.I.E.L.D. He didn't need to make it worse by yelling at his husband. "This isn't about me and you or wanting you to come or not. This is about going after a sick bastard who already got super serum DNA once and will try again if given the chance. We underestimated this kid-"
"Brandon."
"Wow, his parents really set him up for this life, didn't they?"
"Tony."
"Steve, giving someone a trust fund and a name like that… you're giving them a golden ticket for super-villain-ry." Steve was not entertained. Harsh crowd. "But I digress. There's no way I'm letting him anywhere near you. None. Not again. Not after last time."
Steve rolled his eyes. "Tony, stop acting like this is about my DNA. You just don't want me to break down ag-"
"Cut that out," Tony snapped. "That is not what this is about."
Steve crossed his arms, biceps bulging, and stared Tony down. Tony stared back.
Two could play in a game of stubborn will.
Honestly, so could their son, but that was nature, clearly. Not nurture.
"Steve. This is about your DNA, your superhero creating DNA. That, in the wrong hands, could start world wars and just as easily end them." Tony rubbed his eyes and checked over his and Steve's shoulders. They were still alone. "But… this is also about Peter. Something is up with him, Steve. I don't know what it is, or if I'm just worrying for no reason, but I need you to watch him.
"Trust me, I would hand off this baton quicker than Peter passing up on eating his veggies, but I'm the only Avenger available who knows shit about technology and science. Even if I let Nat, Clint, and Thor handle this mission alone, one of those dodos will accidentally grab a futuristic nail clipper instead of the devices or samples we need."
Steve's shoulders deflated a little but his face was still stoic and cold.
"Steve." Tony cupped his face and tried to get Steve to look him in the eyes. Unfortunately, their height difference meant all Steve had to do was look straight ahead to ignore Tony. "You know this is not about what happened in the quinjet or about me or anyone thinking you're not fit for duty. This is about national security and keeping someone here with our son."
Steve's eyes dropped from seeking out the wall and found Tony's. "How long are you going to be gone?"
"A day or two at most. I let Fury know that I was pissed over having to go at all and I think he understands the longer they keep me tied down, the higher the chance of me going AWOL and abandoning the mission all together, Brandon be damned."
"Fine." Steve kissed Tony quickly, chastely, before turning on his heel and walking towards the elevator. "I'll be here."
"Where are you going?"
"On a walk."
Steve had just gone on a walk under an hour ago. "Again?"
"Fresh air is good for the soul, Tony."
Tony smiled until the elevator doors closed and then dropped his face into his palms massaging his temples.
Steve was talking 'walks.' Mysteriously, long, walks.
Peter passed out on the treadmill.
Tony's eye twitch may or may not have started up again right before Fury's number popped up on his phone.
#
"Dad, you just got back!"
Peter's voice followed Tony into his lab where he was trying to make a last minute repair on one of the gears in the face plate of the Iron Man suit.
"Peter, you know I wouldn't be going unless I had no choice. It's about the last mission."
Peter spluttered, "But Dad-"
"Kid." Tony turned to his son, taking him in. Peter's hair was still dripping down the sides of his face from his shower. Maybe it was just the refraction of the light in the lab, but Peter's cheeks looked sharper. So did his jaw.
Peter was sharper. Thinner.
The gears turned, the hypothetical ones Tony always pictured when he thought of the inner workings of his own mind.
Little things clicked into place. Skipping meals, the exercise, the random walks Peter went on…
Was Peter…?
"Peter."
Peter's face went milky when he saw the change in Tony's face from gentle admonishment to concern. "Yeah?"
"When was the last time you ate?"
Peter's eyes flicked to the carpet for a second, maybe not even a full second, but that said it all. "Dad, what are you-"
"I asked you a question. A relatively simple one, I think. Peter Stark-Rogers, when was the last time you ate?"
"I ate breakfast with Pops," Peter snapped. Tony almost stepped back at the shift. He would've flinched if he hadn't been leaning on a worktable. "You saw us. Why are you asking me this?"
"You're right. I saw you this morning." Tony's tone was deceptively nonchalant. The tone he used when he had caught someone in a lie and both parties knew it. "But what about yesterday? Give me a summary."
"Uh, I don't know. Dad, how am I supposed to remember what I ate yesterday? I don't even remember what I ate for breakfast." That was a lie. Peter could list off every single item with perfect accuracy if prompted. With the amount of mental energy he dedicated to food, he could probably tell Tony his entire dietary history for the last week.
"Peter, you-"
"You know what?" Peter snapped his fingers and touched his chin thoughtfully. "How about we talk about something more interesting? I ate food yesterday, okay? I don't remember what, because I left my food diary in Queens, but let's just skip this part. Let's go back to you going on another mission tonight after what happened last time with-"
"Pops is staying here with you. Don't worry about that. Back to-"
"Dad, please, just-"
Tony felt stupid. So, so, stupid. Because there was a perfectly simple and easy to access way to find out what exactly Peter had been up to. "Jarvis, what exactly did Peter eat yesterday?"
Peter blanched and yelped. "Jarvis, don't! Code six two six!"
"Code six two six activated, Master Peter. Data deleted."
Tony didn't react at first. He didn't know how to.
His son had programmed a self-destruct code in Jarvis without his permission. Peter had gotten through Stark firewalls and successfully hacked into the Tower's defense system.
But more importantly, Peter had revealed this information in order to hide what he'd been eating. Or, if Tony was on the right track, what he hadn't been eating.
"Peter, what's going on?"
Peter smiled, his eyes just a little too wild. "Nothing! I just didn't want you to figure out how many of Steve's moon pies I ate." Peter patted his gut. "I might have caught diabetes."
Tony wasn't buying any of it. Not a single word.
But he also needed to deal with this particular issue after he got back. When Tony could help watch Peter and make sure whatever his son was going through was handled with all the sensitivity and care Tony wished his own teenage angsts had been handled with.
Tony did not need to confront Peter on his possible disordered eating right before he left for a mission and Steve…
Shit, Steve was in the red, too.
Tony was leaving his insomniac husband struggling with PTSD flashbacks with his son who stopped eating.
And it was a recipe for a fucking explosion.
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CW: disordered eating and discussions of disordered eating
Thanks for reading!
~Ann