AN: Hello everyone! Happy holidays! Here's another chapter.

Enjoy!

#

Chapter Nine

"Is pizza okay?" Steve held up two menus, one in each hand. "We can order from that Italian place your dad likes so much. Or that hole in the wall down the block. You pick."

Peter grimaced. Neither. He wanted neither. "Uh, the hole in the wall." Smaller slices.

Steve nodded and called in the order. Tony had insisted Steve eat meals with their son to foster father-son bonding in light of the clusterfuck of that morning. Steve wasn't sure why meals were the answer- not training or something else- but he wasn't going to argue with spending more time with his kid.

Especially when every time Steve saw him, he looked… less, somehow. Less like Peter. Less present.

Steve shook the thought away and went to tidy up the kitchen. Anything to keep his mind from getting stuck in a rut that something is wrong with Peter something is wrong with Peter something is wrong with Peter.

Meanwhile, Peter had slipped off to his new favorite place to hide.

The bathroom.

It was quiet, it had a lock, and he could spend absurd amounts of time in there without any questions.

Steve and Tony probably thought he had indigestion or Playboys tucked away somewhere. The last one made Peter's stomach curdle. But he needed to keep up the illusion. His mirror pep talks were the most effective way for him to keep up his diet.

Peter gave himself his latest pep talk while Steve went to the front door to get the pizza.

"You are stronger than this," he murmured to his reflection, taking all of it in. His sallow skin, his plump cheeks grandmothers loved to pinch, his wide eyes. He was equal parts terrified of dinner, equal parts exhilarated.

If he could get away with eating nothing, he was back on track.

If he ate pizza… he would need to find a way to undo it. Just like this morning.

This was a challenge. A puzzle. A basic math problem.

Peter plus too much bad food equaled a useless superhero.

Peter minus bad food equaled someone who could save the world, just like his dads.

"You can do this. It's no big deal."

"Peter!" Steve yelled from the kitchen. "Pizza!"

Peter took one last look at his face. Picked out the areas that would be improved upon without pizza in his system. His jaw would be stronger, his cheeks less childlike. He would look like a man, not a boy.

"Coming, Pops!" Peter replied and emerged from the bathroom. "Hey, can we watch a movie while we eat?"

Steve's face broke into a smile. "Sure. You pick."

Peter grinned back.

Pro tip: it was easier to not eat when someone was watching the TV instead of you.

It worked perfectly. Peter would take a fake bite, chew, and pull off pieces of the pizza slice and shove them into his napkin.

Steve was watching the movie, completely oblivious.

At least that's what Peter thought.

#

"Tony, are you busy?"

Tony glanced up at Clint, phone to his ear, and cocked an eyebrow. They were in the middle of a game of high stakes poker while Nat took one for the team by letting the rookie from S.H.I.E.L.D. debrief her. She was then going to repeat the useful bits to Tony, Clint, and Thor. Rapunzel himself would meet them on location.

"Go," Clint hissed and waved Tony away. "My hand was shit anyway."

Tony mouthed 'thank you' and stood up. "No, I'm free, Steve. Give me a minute."

Tony found an empty room on the ship and fell into a chair. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Steve never called him during a mission unless it was important.

Whatever this was… he probably needed to be sitting down.

"Alright. I'm alone."

Steve took a few seconds to reply. "It's about Peter."

Tony grimaced. Of course it was. "Just tell me, Steve."

"I-I don't really- I don't know how to… Damn it. Maybe I'm just overreacting and working myself up over nothing."

Or maybe you're more intuitive than you give yourself credit for, Tony thought. "Steve, please. Just tell me."

Confirm what Tony already knew but refused to believe.

"So, I did what you asked. I ordered a pizza with Peter and we watched a movie together. It was nice to spend some time with him, you know? But I cleared the trash and- Tony… I don't think he ate anything. Which wasn't weird considering the day he's had. I might not be in the mood for pizza either, if I was him… But he pulled the pizza into pieces and hid it in his napkin. Like he wanted me to think he ate something even though he didn't. Why- why would he- why did he do that? Why not just tell me he wasn't hungry or ask for something else?"

Tony's hand was shaking so hard he had to use both hands to hold the phone to his ear. "Shit, Steve."

Steve didn't say anything back, just breathed into the phone. He sounded just as worried as Tony felt.

"Okay," Tony said. "Okay."

But none of this was okay. Peter wasn't eating. Peter had passed out on the treadmill. Peter probably wasn't sleeping again, too, and Steve himself was still reeling from almost dying during their last mission. And Tony was on the damned quinjet heading across the country.

"I'm going to be home as soon as I possibly can, Steve. I promise." Tony didn't have any reassurances. He didn't have any advice. He didn't know what to do. This wasn't nightmares or panic attacks or PTSD. There wasn't a S.H.I.E.L.D. mandated training module on what to do when your son… when Peter needed help with something like this. "Try to watch him, alright? Make sure he's eating something, even if it's not much. We can handle it when I get back. Together. I don't want you to have to deal with this alone."

Especially not when you're two steps away from falling apart yourself.

"Tony, I'm sorry. I just… I don't know what to do and he- Tony." Steve's voice dropped even lower. Quiet enough that Tony barely heard him. "He looks thin."

Tony's chest was getting tight. He wanted to comfort Steve, to offer meaningless platitudes and gentle affirmations. But he couldn't find anything that sounded right. "I know. I'll be back soon."

"Tony-"

Tony needed to get off the phone. He needed to hang up before he got even more unsettled. This wasn't a good way to prepare for a raid on a techno-genius's house. He needed to have a clear head. "Steve, they're calling us in for a meeting. I promise, I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

Tony was a shit husband. Lying to get off the phone. The kind of bullshit he used to see Howard Stark do.

"Okay," Steve said, trying and failing to mask the panic and pain in his own voice. "I love you, Tones."

"You too, Spangles." With that, the phone finally slipped from Tony's trembling hand. Tony swore when he saw that a corner of the screen had shattered.

He deserved it.

Tony was now the kind of husband who hung up on his panicking husband so he could have a minute with his own panicking thoughts. Steve was probably worse off than he was right now and Tony hung up. Tony hung up because he couldn't fucking deal with it right now.

He dropped his head between his knees, tried to breathe.

Peter's smiling face was all he could see.

Peter- happy, lively, ray-of-fucking-sunshine Peter.

He wasn't eating. He wasn't eating. He wasn't eating.

Tony took another deep breath, ran his hands down his face, let the breath out.

Okay. Logic. Time for logic.

Tony's brain was built for logic. He was a human supercomputer. Facts. He could think about facts. He needed to focus on the facts.

Peter was skipping meals.

Peter had lied about his meals to both Steve and Tony.

Peter had been in a complete panic when Jarvis was about to disclose his food intake for the previous day.

Peter was a superhuman, like Steve, and needed more calories a day than the average teenage boy. Teenage boys, on average, ate their weight every few hours. Peter needed even more than that.

It was likely Peter had been like this for a few days at least, maybe even a week or two.

"Fuck, kid," Tony whispered. "What are you trying to do? Kill yourself?"

As soon as Tony got home, he was going to figure all of it out.

Because Peter didn't understand.

Skipping a few meals while human? Unhealthy, bad habit, the newest 'diet fad.'

Skipping a few meals with the super metabolism Steve and Peter possessed? Dangerous.

A skipped meal was closer to a skipped day.

Peter couldn't go on like that for much longer. Not before-

"Twelve hours," Tony mumbled to himself. "Twelve hours."

Fury got twelve hours before Tony turned the jet around to go be with his family.

He wasn't going to save the world if it meant he couldn't save his son.

Before heading back to their poker game, Tony shakily typed out a text to Steve and hit send. It might have been kind of alarmist but he wouldn't be able to focus on the mission if he didn't send it.

Make him eat something. He'll probably fight you but it doesn't matter.

Peter wasn't going to die in one day. Peter had been injured and shot up and drugged and plenty of other things that should've killed him but didn't.

Skipping meals for whatever reason… it was a bad habit. A dangerous habit.

Especially if…

Especially if Tony was right, and Peter's weird weekend was a sign of an eating disorder.

#

Hundreds of miles away, Peter was trapped in his own personal hell.

"Peter, please. Just a slice." Steve held the plate out, desperation leaking into his words.

"Pops, I feel sick- I think I ate something bad at breakfast."

Steve's eyebrows knitted together. "Peter that was over twelve hours ago. Why didn't you say anything before now?"

Peter threw his hands up and groaned. "I'm practically an adult! I don't have to tell you every time I get indigestion."

"Peter," Steve snapped. "Indigestion matters when you passed out earlier. It could be related."

Great. Now his dads were going to hover because they thought he was sick.

But maybe that would help him.

He could-

"Peter." Steve held a hand up and waved it in front of his face. "Did you hear me?"

Peter tightened his arms across his ribs and scowled. It would be easier to focus if Steve wasn't waving a slice of pizza in his face. "Yeah. Pops, it's just a stomach thing, okay? I'll be fine in the morning. Just- just leave me alone."

Peter expected Steve to get angry or continue to fight him on it.

Instead, Steve sighed. "The pizza will be in the fridge if you want some. Get some rest kid."

Steve's arms moved like he was going to pull Peter in for a hug and Peter turned on his heel in time to pretend he didn't notice. He wasn't mad at Steve but he didn't want to hug him right now either.

He needed some space.

Peter disappeared into his room before the first tear trickled down Steve's chin and he was none the wiser.

#

He wouldn't eat it. He went to bed instead, said he wasn't feeling well.

Tony was watching Nat win all of Clint's meager savings when his phone lit up with the notification.

"Well, fuck me," Tony whispered and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Only because you asked so nicely," Clint said.

Nat smirked and showed her cards. Clint began to protest right as Nat held up a hand and turned back to Tony. "So. Which Stark-Rogers is that face about?"

"I'm not making a face."

"You are making a face," Clint reported.

Tony scowled at Clint before he could stop himself and Clint's hands flew up in surrender. Both Nat and Clint's eyes changed from humored to apprehensive.

"Tony, if you need to go home, we can-" Clint began.

"He's saying it gently, but we don't need you," Nat finished.

But they did. Tony couldn't leave them to handle this one on their own. Steve's DNA was in the hands of some trust fund brat with a God complex and that was not a promising sign for the future of the human race.

Sometimes, Tony really hated being a hero.

This would be so much easier if he had less of a conscience. He needed to spend less time with Steve.

"It's fine," Tony lied, typing out a reply before Steve tried to call. He didn't want anyone overhearing what was going on at home. It was a family matter. "Just some drama with everyone's favorite angsty teen."

"Peter is not an angsty teen."

Tony cocked an eyebrow at Nat before turning back to Hawkeye. "Uh huh. Clearly you've never been around my son when we're out of his favorite cereal. You would think his pet chihuahua had died."

Try again later. Tell me how it goes.

Steve's reply came almost instantly.

Tony, there's something wrong. I can tell.

I know. I'll be back soon, okay? As soon as I catch this asshole.

"Tony, seriously, if you to need to-"

"Clint, why don't you worry about funding your own brats' college instead of worrying about my kid? Because I think Nat just smoked your ass again and you're going to need to tap into your savings for that one."

Clint didn't even look at Nat's cards. He just slammed his own down, let off a string of expletives that had both Tony and Nat chuckling, and walked off.

"How much did he have riding on that round?"

Nat shrugged. "I don't think he knows so I'm gonna come up with a number before he gets back."

"You're evil."

She leaned back and smiled. "Nah. Just gifted."

#

The raid was easy.

Too easy.

That little cheeky asshole was just sitting on a futon in the basement waiting for them to show up. His feet up on the coffee table, TV remote in one hand, a Mai Tai in the other.

"America's greatest!" Brandon exclaimed, arms out in welcome. "How kind of you to break into my house and-"

Nat punched him in the face, knocking him out, before Tony could stop her.

"We might need to talk to him later," Tony said.

"I'll wake him if it comes to that."

Clint whistled. "I don't think his nose looked like that when we got here."

"Probably not," Tony said.

Nat shrugged and walked off to find the lab.

That, too, was too easy. It was unlocked and conveniently doubled as the home's basement. The walls, ceiling, and floor were made of solid concrete, with a few vents built into the corners. The only stuff down there was discarded medical tubing, a few used syringes in a medical waste bin, and some old plastic sheeting.

"Guess he knew we were coming," Tony mussed, pawing through the used syringes. They would take them back to the tower to see if they could figure out what had been inside them.

Of course, there was no sign of Steve's sample.

"Alright. Let's pack all of this up, grab the trust fund fetus, and get back on the jet," Tony ordered. "Once the perimeter has been cleared and we've checked the rest of the house, there's nothing more to do here. Nat can question the fetus with S.H.I.E.L.D. and I'll work with Bruce to see what the hell all of this was used for."

"Sure thing, boss," Clint grumbled.

Tony practiced his sign language and Clint gestured right back.

Nat rolled her eyes at them and went back upstairs to help the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents clear the upstairs.

"We're missing something here," Clint said, scratching an arrow tip along the wall. "I don't know what, but… something."

"It just feels too easy." Tony released his faceplate so he could rub the bridge of his nose. "That's all."

But Tony was wrong. If he hadn't been so focused on Steve and Peter and the shitstorm brewing in the tower, he would have figured it out.

Something was indeed missing from their raid. Someone.

Someone currently fleeing the scene a few miles down on the beach, tract marks along one elbow, blond hair whipping behind her back.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had labeled her a non-threat.

That would come back to bite all of them in the ass.

#

"Peter? I'm going to bed. Do you need anything?"

Peter was sitting on his bed, stomach cramping as he fought the urge to ravage the kitchen.

During dinner, food was revolting. Calorie laden sludge he would not push past his lips.

Now, the hunger was a painful throb and all he could think about was eating. All the food he couldn't eat, because he wanted to change, and all the food he wanted to eat, because he couldn't eat it.

He pressed a palm right below his ribs. Peter could feel the empty spot. The missing bulge of his stomach where food would sit and soak after dinner.

But he hadn't eaten dinner. He was on track.

"Peter?"

Peter took a deep breath through his nose, let it stutter past his lips. He was shaking again. Why was he shaking? Was it leftover nerves from Tony confronting him? Or shakiness because he was about to launch into a panic attack?

Whatever it was, he didn't want Pops to see it. Not now. Not with Tony gone.

"Sorry, I- uh- I had headphones on. What did you say, Pops?"

"Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm fine. Just gonna get some sleep. Thanks, Pops." Another steadying breath. "Good night."

"Good night, Peter."

Peter felt a hint of guilt. He knew he was upsetting his dads by pushing them away.

But it was for a good reason. He was going to help.

He moved his palm up, just a few inches, so it was right over his ribs.

The bones were at the surface, right beneath the skin.

Another breath.

He was going to be so much better.

A few minutes later, Peter fell asleep.

But Steve didn't.

#

CW: disordered eating and thoughts, anxiety, and talk of panic attacks.

Thanks for reading!

~Ann