Happy 2021 everyone! Let's put that hellscape 2020 behind us and celebrate by reading (and writing) even more fanfiction. That's my 2021 new year's resolution. What are some of yours?

Enjoy!

#

Chapter Ten

Tony got home during that fuzzy hour of the morning where he and Steve sometimes passed each other in the bedroom, Steve, getting up early, Tony, going to bed late.

Tony was twitchy. Anxious. Like he'd mainlined a few gallons of caffeine into his bloodstream. Nat and Clint didn't ask any questions, just shoved him off the quinjet the moment the tires hit the helipad.

He loved them a little more for it.

Peter's room was closest to the elevator, so Tony tried to check on him first. The door was locked.

Another red flag.

He's just looking for some privacy after whatever happened at dinner, Tony thought. That's all it was, right? That's all.

"Tony?"

Steve was standing in their kitchen, a mug gripped tight in one hand, the other palm balancing his weight against the counter. He looked like death warmed over.

"Steve." Tony walked over, stopping only a few inches away. "Why aren't you in bed?"

Steve leaned in, kissing Tony softly, before wrapping his arms around his shoulders. "I'm glad you're here."

That wasn't an answer. "Steve, it's almost five in the morning."

"Couldn't sleep. Not after- you know." Steve melted against Tony, his arms heavy across Tony's shoulders. "I'm so glad you're here."

Tony gripped him tight. "Me, too."

They stood there, like that, for a few minutes. Steve's heartbeat slowing down as Tony's breathing deepened. They weren't okay. Not by a long shot. But they were better, just being together.

"Tony- I'm…"

"I know. I… I know." Tony pulled back. "He locked the door. Did you get him to…"

Steve shook his head and ran a hand over his hair before crossing his arms. "He kept telling me he felt sick, so I let him go to bed. I wasn't getting anywhere."

"That's okay. We'll worry about it in the morning. C'mon. I need to shower and then we can try to-"

Tony's hand was on Steve's arm, urging his husband to follow him, but Steve didn't move. He shook his head and ran his palms down his face. "Tony, I can't. Not with- not knowing Peter…"

How could Steve go to bed knowing something was wrong with their son? Something this serious?

What if Peter got worse, or needed them, or wanted someone with him, or anything like that, and Steve was sleeping, completely oblivious, while his son suffered-

"Steve." Tony reasoned, cupping the side of Steve's neck. "He's locked in his room, asleep. It's almost five a.m. There's nothing we can do right now except-"

"Tony, I need-"

"Sleep." Tony said. "You need sleep. I need sleep. Peter needs sleep. All of us need to wake up in the morning with clear minds so we can have a serious conversation. This isn't going to be something you can be foggy and exhausted for."

Steve slowly let the mug clatter to the counter, the rattling of the ceramic on the granite subsiding once Steve released the handle.

Tony showered in record time, barely rinsing all of the shampoo out of his hair. Usually, the jets of warm water between his shoulders were his favorite part of coming home from a mission. Cleaning the silt and soot from his body as the heat eased the tension in his shoulders.

Tonight, every second under the spray was another second to stress over Steve and Peter and everything happening here.

It didn't help that the mission was still lurking in the back of his mind. Something was wrong. They were missing something. Something big. Something-

Tony's hand shot out and shut off the water.

Focus, Stark. Family first, mission later.

Tony dried off, slipped into some clothes he could sleep in, and went back to the bedroom.

Steve was already sleeping.

"You're killing me with this, Cap."

Tony climbed in beside his husband. Usually, the heat emanating from the other body across the bed was enough to lull Tony to sleep, just like a lullaby.

Tonight, it wasn't enough.

Tony faded in and out of a restless sleep for a few hours. After the sun had been up for an hour, Tony couldn't take it.

He got up and put the coffee on.

Once Steve and Peter were awake…

Simply put, Tony was going to need the caffeine.

#

"Two hundred."

Peter hissed in pain and finally let his back smack into the carpet.

His spine was raw with rug burn from doing sit ups in his underwear but it was going to be worth it.

His fingers danced over his stomach.

Flatter. With coarser ripples than before.

Progress. He was making progress.

Peter stood up and gripped the bedpost when his head swam. Damn, the dizziness felt worse today than yesterday in the exercise room. He needed to drink some water before he did something stupid like pass out in front of his dads again.

They might actually freak and take him to Uncle Bruce if that happened.

Peter cranked the water in his bathroom and hoped the noise wouldn't wake Pops. It was a little after eight, so he was probably already awake, but Peter didn't want to deal with that yet.

Something about last night felt tense and wrong. Like Peter not eating had given Steve a piece to a puzzle Peter didn't even know his dad was trying to solve.

It made him nervous.

Originally, he was going to wash his face and get back in bed like that. But after a glance at his sweaty torso and the small rivulet of sweat trickling from his navel down his inner thigh, Peter realized he needed a real shower.

He cleaned off, wrapped a towel around his waist and dared to look in the mirror.

Using his hand to wipe the condensation off the mirror, Peter dared to look up and took his body in.

He wedged the fleshy bit of his palm between his teeth before he could sob verbally. Tears threatened to drip down his cheeks.

He was still… puffy. Soft. Terribly, terribly, far from his goal.

His spine was bruised from the sit ups and his eyes sallow and sunken from a sleepless night. His stomach heard the cue to throb and curled in on itself.

And all of it meant nothing because Peter was still-

Still-

He couldn't even think the word.

Instead he gave up and cried in the bathroom at eight in the morning.

#

Tony was waiting in the kitchen when Peter came out of his room for a glass of water.

They locked eyes. Both stopped in place.

Tony was surprised by how terrible his son looked. He seemed sickly. But not just physically. There was something blank and desperate behind Peter's eyes that made Tony's blood run cold.

Peter was in shock because his dad was supposed to be across the country, fighting bad guys. Not staring at him across the hall like Peter was breaking his heart with every second.

"Peter, you…"

"Dad!"

If Peter acted normal, maybe Tony wouldn't pick up where they left off before he boarded the quinjet.

So Peter rushed to his dad's side and hugged him tight.

Tony's hands squeezed back.

"Hey, kid."

For a few seconds, Peter just held Tony tight and hoped that would be it. They would have breakfast as a family, talk about the mission and whatever they were going to do this weekend and that would be it. No talk of food, or the incident in the gym, or-

"We need to talk, Peter."

"Dad, please-"

"Not this time, kid. This isn't up for debate."

Tony pulled away and sat at the kitchen table, gesturing for Peter to take the seat across from him.

Peter wanted nothing less but it would be too suspicious to walk away.

"So." Tony took a menacing sip of coffee. "Talk to me. What the hell is going on, monkey?"

Peter crossed his arms. "Nothing is going on. I was sick yesterday. That's all. You're making this a way bigger deal-"

"Sorry, but I smell bullshit, so let's try again."

Peter's knee started twitching. "Dad, I'm telling you the-"

"Peter Stark-Rogers," Tony leaned over the table, the morning sun reflecting behind him like a defunct halo. "I'm serious. Whatever is going on, you're not in trouble. But don't lie to me about it. Don't sit here and tell me you have the stomach flu or that nothing is wrong. Something is going on, kid. And I can't help you, Pops can't help you, unless you let us try."

I don't want your help. I just want to be like you. And there's no way for me to do that unless I do this.

"Nothing is going on-"

"Okay." Tony's hands went up and out in surrender. "Fine. You're right. Nothing is going on and I'm overreacting. Prove me wrong."

Peter had been shaky and cold since he saw Tony standing in the kitchen. Now, he felt a full body tremor building at the base of his spine. "Wh-what are you talking about?"

Tony got up and went into their industrial pantry. Peter was worried if he tried to turn the chair and watch he might knock the chair over. His whole body weak with anxiety.

"Eat this."

The words alone made Peter's vision dance. The sight of the iconic silver foil in Tony's hands made it worse.

He would have thrown up if there was enough in his stomach to throw up.

There was no way, no way no way no way, Peter could eat that.

Especially when Tony's fingers shifted as he sat back down and Peter realized Tony was holding not one packet of Pop-Tarts, but two.

Eight. Hundred. Calories.

There was no way he could eat that and not- not… not feel it stick to his body.

Something shifted in Tony's eyes when he realized Peter was on the verge of a panic attack.

"Peter, hey," Tony pushed the Pop-Tarts to the side and reached for one of his son's hands. Peter curled his fists against his chest, out of his dad's reach. "You don't have to eat them, okay? I don't want to eat them either. But we need to talk about what you have been eating. Because I don't think you've been eating, kid."

Peter could tell he was on the verge of tears and the humiliation of crying over snack food made him want to cry even more. Ever since this diet started, he was always crying and panicking and having breakdowns over the tiniest things. He hated it. "Please don't make me eat those, Dad. Please. I can't! I can't eat those. They- they're bad for me."

Peter's words hit Tony right in the solar plexis. Knocked the wind right out of him.

His theory was right.

Peter wasn't…

"You don't have to eat them, okay? No one is going to make you."

The first stray tear trickled off of Peter's jaw.

"Kid, you don't have to eat them. I meant that. But you need to talk to me. I need you to tell me what is going on because something is wrong. I'm your dad. I can see it."

"Dad, I'm-"

"Fine people don't cry over Pop-Tarts, monkey," Tony said, his voice barely carrying. He looked emotional himself. "But it's okay not to be fine. I just want you to tell me what's going on so we can find a way to get back to fine."

That had Peter seeing stars.

He didn't want to go back to the way things were. He didn't want to be soft, weak Peter Parker. He wanted to become a new, stronger Peter Stark-Rogers. He needed to earn his last name.

Why didn't Tony see that this was the way to do that?

"Dad, you wouldn't understand, okay? You don't know- you don't know what it's like."

Tony's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't understand. Kid, that's why I want you to tell me what's happening."

"I-I can't do that." Peter growled in frustration and pawed at his face. "You just won't get it! Okay? You won't- you can't understand because you're-"

Tony waited. He wanted to cut Peter off- tell him he was wrong, he would understand- but Peter needed to get this off his chest.

"Because… because you're Iron Man, okay?" Peter shook, trembled painfully, but his voice was forceful. "You can't understand because you're you, Dad! I'm not you! I'm not Pops! I can't be like you guys- brave and strong and muscular! Instead… look at me!" Peter was shamelessly crying now. He motioned to himself. "I'm pathetic, Dad. I'm weak and pathetic and nothing like you guys."

"Peter."

At first, Peter couldn't tell why Tony's voice felt like it was coming from behind him. He was half blind from the tears and half deaf from the rage pounding in his ears.

Then, a hand fell on his shoulder and gently turned his chair to the side.

"Peter, how can you say that?" Steve asked, his exhausted eyes searching his son's. He knelt in front of Peter so they were about level. "You're not pathetic. You're a city-wide hero and you haven't even finished high school. You have a mind that rivals, if not surpasses, your dad's and he's the smartest man I've ever met. You're kind and funny, two things the world could always use more of. You are not pathetic."

"Pops," Peter whispered, refusing to look at either of his fathers. "You have to say that. You're my dad."

"Peter, Pops is right." Tony added. "You're not pathetic."

Steve wanted to pull Peter into his arms. Wipe the tears off his son's face with the pads of his fingers and kiss where his hair fell against his forehead. Hold him close until he remembered that he was anything but pathetic.

But his mind flashed back to the night before when Peter scurried off like being touched by Steve burned his skin.

"Peter, talk to us." Tony begged.

Steve gave in and dropped a hand on his son's knee.

Peter jumped up like he had been electrocuted and made it to the elevator before either one of them could stop him.

"I'm sorry," said Peter, right as the elevator doors began to close around him.

"Peter!" Tony yelled. "Get back in here, right now!"

"No!"

Both Tony and Steve were taken aback. Peter was whiny, and difficult, and a tad hormonal.

He was never hostile.

They wasted a few precious seconds staring at each other, jaws slack, while the doors clanged shut and their son disappeared down the elevator shaft.

"Jarvis, where is he going?" whispered Tony when he finally found his voice again.

"I'm sorry, sir. Master Peter instructed me not to say."

Steve looked pale, even compared to that morning when Tony had come in. "Peter is programming Jarvis now? How did he- when did he do that?"

"I don't know, Steve. But I'm going to be honest with you." Tony pushed back from the table and began searching for his jacket. "It scares the hell out of me."

Steve caught on and went to get dressed himself. They couldn't comb the streets for their son with Steve in his underwear. "Yeah, me, too."

"Steve!"

Steve turned around, one hand on the doorpost, the other clenched at his side.

"I'm-" Tony's eyes were wide, his face slack. He was scared. "I don't-"

"I know," Steve murmured. "I know."

#

Peter had no idea where he was going.

He wasn't wearing shoes or a jacket. Just fleece Spider-Man PJ pants and an old MIT hoodie he stole from Tony's closet.

He wasn't dressed to be on the run.

His bare feet slapped against the concrete sidewalks of Manhattan as he pulled his hood tighter to hide his face. This outfit wasn't suited for the eleven o'clock news, either, and he couldn't risk being photographed right now.

He needed to get out of Manhattan. He could lay low in Queens for the day. Camp out somewhere. Figure out what he was going to do about his dads.

Peter would need to take a bus or the train over to Queens. Usually he would swing, but incognito Spider-Man meant no web shooters. Besides, he had left them at the tower anyway.

He found a bus, because no wallet meant no trains or subways, and slipped into the back row before anyone recognized him.

Pillowing his head against his arm, Peter tried to sleep.

It was a long ride to Queens.

#

"Where would he go?"

Tony shrugged. "School? Ned's? He wouldn't go to any of the Stark Industries offices or to any of the other Avengers. He knows we'd find him."

"What about that bodega he used to get sandwiches from? He went there almost every day last summer." Steve offered, tucking his hands further into his jacket pockets. An icy breeze was coming off the Hudson and Steve could feel the cold in his bones.

Peter was out in this weather without shoes or a coat.

What was he thinking?

"I don't think he's in the mood for a sandwich right now," said Tony.

"Why not- oh. Right."

Tony pushed his sunglasses up higher and tugged his baseball cap down over his brow. "We'll find him. He's probably pouting somewhere at school. I'll text Ned and MJ real quick. Make sure he isn't hiding with them."

"Do you think they'll tell us if he's there?"

Tony smiled. "I'm pretty sure Ned would do anything I asked him to. MJ will sell Peter out because she thinks it's funny."

Steve wasn't comforted by that at all but he tried to calm down. Peter was a teenage superhero. Not a missing toddler. He could handle the streets of New York for the duration of his temper tantrum.

"Let's go find our son, Cap."

They boarded the train for Queens and sat side by side, Tony's fingers lacing with Steve's.

"He's fine," Steve whispered. He was saying it for himself, but it couldn't hurt for Tony to hear it, too. "He's fine."

#

By the time his bus made it to Queens, Peter was sluggish and even dizzier than he had been earlier that day. His head was pounding and his stomach was clenching like a fist.

When he stood up to get off at his stop, he tipped forward and almost faceplanted in the bus aisle.

"Hey, man, you good?"

Peter took a moment to school his expression before smiling up at the man, middle-aged and in a suit, and giving him a weary thumbs up. "Yeah, sorry. Stood up too fast. I've got a migraine."

The man didn't seem to buy it but nodded and went back to his phone.

Peter was standing on the curb, the bus pulling away in a puff of foul smoke, the screech of metal axles ringing in his ears. He was on limited time. He needed to find somewhere to settle in for a nap.

A nice rooftop lounge. There were plenty of Queens rooftops empty this time of year. He could find one near his school and relax until he was ready to go back to the tower.

Except… he couldn't find a rooftop lounge because his web shooters were at the tower. Shit. He could climb the side of a building but he wasn't sure he had the stamina for that right now.

"Awesome planning there, Peter," he mumbled to himself, shoulders braced against the breeze. "Really, awesome. The school it is."

His dads would find him sooner rather than later if he camped out at the school, but it was better than nothing. He could hide somewhere clever and maybe then they would miss him anyway.

He couldn't stop the conversation Tony had begun that morning, but he could sure as hell delay it.

Pulling his hood tighter and tucking his hands into his armpits, Peter trekked to school.

#

Thanks for reading and happy new year!

~Ann