It's a two chapter kind of night! Enjoy!
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Chapter Twelve
Steve felt anxious for an entirely new reason while he pulled his clothes on, struggling to get the fabric over his damp skin.
Peter was… he wasn't eating. He was exercising excessively. He was passing out and sleeping more.
And if Jarvis's most recent report was to be trusted, Peter had stopped healing.
This was so much worse than Steve could have imagined.
"My scans tell me Master Peter's healing process is approximately 143% slower than it usually is due malnutrition and dehydration."
"Tony, should we call Bruce?"
Tony shook his head, running his fingers over his facial hair. "No. Not yet. Peter will want a chance to work on this without the Avengers knowing first." Before he could stop himself, Tony smacked his fist against the wall. "Fuck! This was never good. Nothing about this is good. But if he's stopped healing… Steve, he's so much further along than we thought he was. He's must have been doing this for at least a week or two. Maybe even longer."
"And I didn't notice," Steve murmured.
"Steve, no one would know to look for this. This wasn't in the manual the adoption agency gave us. We didn't know."
Steve pulled the final layer over his head, a knit sweater that was big, even on him. He loved it.
"Ready?"
Tony held a hand up for Steve to wait. "Before we do this… Jarvis, give me everything you have on talking to someone with an eating disorder. I want things to say, things not to say, statistics, treatment plans, all of it. Give me as much as you can in two minutes. Go."
"According to the National Eating Disorders Association, young men make up 25% of people diagnosed with anorexia nervosa and are more likely to…"
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Peter was curling up into his ninety ninth sit up when someone knocked on his door.
"Uh, just a minute!"
He swore and rapidly scanned the room for some clothes. He had done the sit ups in his underwear to keep his clothes from getting all sweaty.
He pulled an oversized t-shirt over his head and stumbled into a clean pair of pajama pants.
"Peter?" Came Steve's voice. "We need to talk."
Peter sighed in relief. Even though he would rather eat thumb tacks than have this talk with his dads, he couldn't help the stress leaving his body at the sound of Steve's voice. He sounded normal.
The cold episode was over.
"Coming! Just a second!"
Quickly, Peter wiped his sweaty brow on the edge of the bedspread before cracking his door open.
Tony and Steve stood there, both eerily quiet and pensive.
"Yeah, what's up? I, uh, I did what you asked Dad so can I-"
Tony shook his head and Peter's chest hollowed. He felt like his heart was going to stop any minute now.
Oh.
They were actually going to have the talk.
And there was no way to get out of it.
Peter glanced at the elevator. Too far.
He could slam the door in their faces, buy enough time to lock the bathroom door. But Jarvis would unlock the doors since all the locks in the tower were automated.
He could-
"Monkey," Tony started, his voice catching as he coughed to clear his throat. "There's no way out of this."
Peter was trying to escape, Tony thought. He's trying to run away like Steve and I are about to torture him or something like that.
Steve gestured for Peter to come to him, to burrow himself into his Pops' side like he used to do when he was a kid after a nightmare.
Because Peter was scared, and there was nowhere else to go, he did just that.
He wrapped his arms around Steve's waist, latching on like Pops would dissipate if he gave him the chance. Peter knew he was shaking- he always shook when he got nervous- but Steve's arms came to rest on his shoulders and it helped.
Why did he ever think that he could make his dads stop hugging him?
"I'm-" Peter said, his voice too weak to carry past the doorway. "Pops, I'm-"
I'm scared. I'm so, so scared because I don't know what to do. I don't know how to stop. I don't know how to stop because when I eat, it hurts, and when I don't, it hurts too.
Every day, I feel like I take up less room in the world. But it's never enough.
Because I'm not a hero like you guys. I'm just a kid who likes pizza more than he likes being a hero.
Who would choose pizza and cheese fries and hot Cheetos over being a superhero?
Me.
That's who.
And that's why I'm scared. Because what kind of hero does that make me?
Steve's arms were big and warm and enough to block out the world for a few breaths.
Peter didn't realize he was crying until Steve gently pulled him back and used a clean corner of his t-shirt to wipe off Peter's face.
"I'm sorry for getting stuff all over your shirt," Peter said, dragging the back of his hand across his chin. "I don't… I don't know why I'm crying."
"C'mon, kid," Tony said, unceremoniously dropping a kiss in his hair. "Let's- wait." Tony gripped the side of Peter's head and leaned down, sniffing his hair. "Peter. Is that my shampoo?"
Peter blushed as Steve began to cackle. "Dad!" he squeaked, "it's not my fault! Ned used all of mine and I couldn't find an extra one so I borrowed yours. I was going to give it back next time I went to the store, I swear!"
Tony didn't buy it. "Ned is bald. Literally. Why would he take your shampoo?"
Peter threw his arms up and bugged his eyes out in an 'yeah, I know, tell me about it' expression. "That's what I want to know! But he's a shampoo thief, I swear."
Tony rolled his eyes and grumbled, "well, next time you better take Steve's."
On that note, the three of them finally walked into the main room of the tower. Tony was three feet ahead of Steve and Peter, mentally going over everything Jarvis had said.
Ask him to explain why he's been struggling to eat. Eating disorders, like any other mental illness, are on a spectrum.
Tell him why his behavior is dangerous without belittling or minimalizing him. Make sure he understands that there is nothing wrong with him fundamentally. He's sick, just like when I have anxiety attacks or when Steve has a nightmare.
Whatever else you say, remind him this is because you love him.
Tony sat down in one of the recliners, letting Steve and Peter settle on the couch directly across from him. Selfishly, he wished Steve was sitting at his side. He would have loved to hold Steve's hand during this.
But based how shaky and breakable Peter looked under one of Steve's arms, Steve was where he needed to be.
"Talk to us. Tell us what's been going on with you."
Peter looped his arms across his abdomen and squeezed tight, like he was keeping his guts inside through sheer effort. "I- I don't know what to say."
Steve grimaced as Tony sighed.
No one knew what to say.
"Why don't you start by telling us how long this has been going on?" Tony said, nervously toying with his wedding ring. "When did all of this start?"
Peter's arms tightened and he looked anywhere but at his dads. "About two weeks ago."
"Can you tell us what happened?" Steve asked, tone reassuring and calm in a way only Steve could be.
"It's so stupid," Peter blurted. "Please, please don't make me tell you."
Tony considered this. "You have to tell someone, Peter. You don't have to talk to us but you have to talk to someone."
"If I tell you, I don't have to tell anyone else?"
"That depends." Tony didn't want to say that depends how far into this mindset you are so he left things vague. Peter was more likely to open up if he didn't know how heavily the next weeks of his life rested on this story. "I don't want to make any promises, kid, but we'll try to keep this between us and a professional. No one else."
"Wait… you're gonna make me go back to therapy?"
Steve nodded. "That's a given. I'm going back, too. So is your dad."
"Superhero family therapy," Tony mussed. "Super-fam-apy. There you go. Now it even has a cool name."
Peter blinked. If he went back to therapy…
The game was up. He would have to give up his diet completely. His dads… he could fool them. At least for a while. But a therapist? He knew from experience that there was zero chance of that working out.
This was it.
"But Dad! If I- If I go to therapy, they're gonna make me-" they're gonna make me eat.
Tony didn't know it was possible for him to feel even more depressed, even more wrecked, but Peter managed to do it. Watching the panic and dread flood his son's face at the idea of eating… that snapped something inside Tony's chest. He fought to keep it between his ribs and out of his voice.
"Peter, there's no choice here. You can't go on like this. If you were human, this would be dangerous. But you're superhuman. Like your Pops." The taste of the words made Tony nauseous but he needed Peter to understand the gravity of this. "Peter, you can't keep this up. You're going to die if you try."
Peter's eyes thinned to serpentine slits. There it was. The mean streak that cropped up only when Peter started all of this. Pre-ED Peter would never have made that face. He would have been incapable. "I'm not gonna die. You're just trying to scare me so I…" But Peter didn't finish the thought.
Both Tony and Steve caught on to that.
"So you what, Peter? Tell us what you're thinking."
Peter didn't reply. Just sank further into Steve's side.
"Why would we try to scare you?" Steve asked. "Why do you think we would lie about this, Peter?"
Peter's eyes were firmly downcast.
"Kid."
Nothing.
"Peter. C'mon," Tony began. "We have to- we have to talk about this. Right now. Whether you want to or not."
Peter shrugged. "What is there to talk about? You're going to make me go to therapy and start spying on me and I'm- I'm never going to-"
"Never going to what?"
But Peter had clammed up again. Tony could see the 'system shut down' initiating behind Peter's eyes. Tony wasn't going to get any more details out of Peter tonight.
"We're doing this because we love you," Steve said, his hand running over Peter's hair.
They sat there, letting the silence wrap around their shoulders and calm the air. Tony stared down at his hands, Peter trembled against Steve's side. It was an interlude to the second half of the confrontation. The half that Tony worried might kill him. Not that there was no choice. If Tony didn't do it… it could kill his son.
And that wasn't an option.
"Peter, there's something else."
It was as if Peter's Spidey sense was tuned in to Tony's thoughts. His head jerked up and he paled instantly. "No! Dad, please don't make me-"
Peter tried to jump up and run for it but Steve's arms tightened and carefully but firmly help Peter on the couch.
"Dad! Pops! You can't- you can't make me! You can't!"
Tony didn't want to start crying. Really, it wasn't helping him maintain his dignity. But his vision was blurring in seconds.
"Hey, it's not like that," Tony whispered, getting out of his chair to kneel in front of Peter. "No one wants to make you do anything. That's not what this is.
"Peter, you're smarter than I am, so I'm not going to talk down to you. I'm not going to lie to you. You know that you're human and not human at the same time. While Pops' serum and the bite are different in many ways, they are also incredibly similar. One of those ways you and Pops are the same is your metabolism. You know this."
Peter wasn't getting enough air. He was panicking. But Tony couldn't stop.
This was the only way to get Peter to understand exactly what was going on.
"Your dad needs almost four times the amount of food as the average adult man his size. That's why I make all of those nasty specialized protein shakes for him. So he can get enough to eat without polishing off the refrigerator every couple hours.
"Your body is like that, too, Peter. Except you're a teenager, which means you need even more. You need about six or seven times the amount of calories- energy- a teenage boy eats. That's not because you're gluttonous or unhealthy or anything. It's because your body chemistry is more advanced and accelerated.
"Right now, Peter, your body is starving. Cells are dying and not getting replaced because you haven't been giving your body the fuel it needs. If you keep going like this- eating so little and over exercising and not sleeping- your body is going to shut down. Do you understand that?"
Peter's hands had crept up over his face but Tony saw the minute nod.
"I don't know what happened or what's going on, but monkey, you've got to let Pops and I help you before… before it gets worse. Can you do that?"
Peter leaned into Steve's arms.
It wasn't a yes. But it wasn't a no, either.
Tony stood up and found one of Steve's protein shakes in the fridge. It was an experimental formula that tasted like regular chocolate milk but packed almost eight hundred calories.
Tony ripped the nutrition label off the bottle and stuck it into his back pocket. Another insight from Jarvis: nutrition labels were a no-go because calorie counts were a huge trigger.
Returning to the living room, Tony found that Peter had shifted so his face was completely hidden in the crevice between Steve's neck and shoulder.
"I know the last thing you want to do right now is eat. Food is hard right now, right?"
Peter flinched.
Why did feeding his kid feel just as cruel as abuse?
"What about drinking this?" Tony held the bottle up, waving it enticingly. "Just to give you energy to burn." Enough to keep you conscious.
Peter shuddered before peeking through his fingers just long enough to take the bottle from Tony's hands. He composed himself, taking deep, slow breaths before running his fingers over the smooth glass. His nails caught over the sticky residue left from the peeled label. "Where's the-the sticker?"
Tony played dumb, cocked an eyebrow.
Peter sniffed and dragged his palm beneath his nose. He wasn't stupid. Tony had taken the sticker off so he wouldn't try to check the calories or processed sugars. "Dad, where's the sticker?"
"Don't worry about it."
"No, no, no. You can't- you took the sticker off so I couldn't read what was in it. It's probably a thousand calories or something and you just- you just want me to…"
Steve shook his head. "Your dad didn't take the sticker off to hurt you or force you into anything."
"I thought it would make it easier," Tony murmured.
Considering how hard Peter's hands were shaking, Tony had been wrong.
The label was burning a hole in Tony's pocket yet he couldn't help believing that as bad as this was, if Peter did get to see the calorie count… It would only be that much worse.
"Is there anything we can do to help?"
Peter shook his head and picked at the sticky paste left behind, letting the glue under his fingernails distract him.
There was no way out of this.
If he didn't drink it… things would get worse with his dads.
If he did drink it… he would-
He would-
He would start eating again, just like he had before. No care for calories, or health, or superhero fitness. He would be right back where he started, soft and pliable and definitely not super.
But Steve was holding him and Tony was watching. Peter had to do something.
It was time to choose. Refuse. Give in. Throw the bottle at the wall and use the shock lag to run for it again.
However.
His legs were too shaky to run.
His resolve was too weak to refuse.
So Peter gave up and popped the top.
Steve rubbed his shoulder encouragingly and Tony was chewing on his thumbnail. His dads were paying more attention to him drinking this stupid thing than they had when he debated at national tournaments or gave speeches at school fundraisers.
Some of the milk sloshed onto his fingers as he began to lift the bottle. He watched the liquid hit the floor. Good. Calories lost.
It took too long. The journey for his hand to lift from his lap to his lips. Like it was in slow motion.
Peter closed his eyes and took a small sip.
Almost immediately, his gag reflex kicked in. If Tony wasn't sitting a foot away, his eyes boring into Peter's, Peter would have spit it back in the bottle. Given up and beelined for his room.
But he didn't want to have to eat something else. That was worse.
So he swallowed and took another sip. Two tablespoons of whatever this was.
Probably a hundred calories. Maybe more.
"There you go, monkey." Tony's hand found Peter's knee and squeezed. "That's it."
That's it? Peter thought. I'm getting an 'attaboy' for drinking a protein shake? Dad shouldn't be congratulating me over this. He should be terrified. I'm going to be old Peter again.
The idea of old Peter was all it took for Peter's throat to close. Coughing, he recapped the bottle and set it on the ground.
Four sips.
Too many calories.
"Can I… just- take a break?"
Tony wanted to scream. You don't get to take a break. Not when your face is white and you're trembling. You need to finish the drink.
Drawing a hard line wouldn't work right now, though.
"Of course." Tony pulled himself onto the couch beside Peter, kissing the side of his head before his son could push him away.
Peter let them hold him. Let his dads touch his hair and hug him like they had done back when we was a scaredy cat toddler with his thumb in his mouth.
Because as long as they were comforting him, they weren't trying to make him eat.
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CW: disordered eating
Thanks for reading and reviewing!
~Ann
