Prompt: Peter runs out of antidepressants
Honestly, it really was Peter's fault. He'd known that he'd be staying with Mr. Stark at the tower for two weeks while May and Happy went on their vacation. And he'd known that he was getting close to running out. But he'd forgotten to get them filled and May always had to give him money for them…she usually reminded him but she must have forgotten what with the big trip coming up. So maybe it was May's fault?
No…it was Peter's fault. Not May's. He couldn't blame her for this. She was always the one who kept track of this stuff, but he was basically an adult now…old enough to get his own medicine.
Happy and May were going on a road trip. An honest to goodness road trip. Like they were college students on spring break. Not that he was upset…Mr. Stark had offered to let him stay at the tower while they were gone, even though he was almost sixteen and didn't need a babysitter. It was summer vacation though, and May didn't want him staying home alone every day, so Mr. Stark had insisted. And it wasn't so bad. He loved hanging out with Mr. Stark and Pepper…it was just…well, he was running out of antidepressants.
He ran out on day four.
Honestly, he'd be fine, he told himself. He'd gone a day without them before when he'd forgotten to take one, and he had been fine. He would just…get more when May returned from her vacation. And he would be fine. It was only a week…okay, ten days. Ten days was nothing. He was fine. He'd been feeling fine lately…everything would be fine.
Peter had started taking antidepressants almost two years ago. It had started with a sadness that had seemed to fold over him like a blanket, little by little, until he'd felt suffocated by it. Homework had been next to impossible to focus on. Nothing had seemed fun anymore. And Ben and May had been worried. It hadn't been too long before Ben had been sitting down with him in his room, an arm around his shoulders, and Peter had tried to explain that he was just…sad. That he didn't know why, but that he couldn't make it go away. And sure, he'd had happy days too…but they'd seemed so few and far between.
That's when Ben had taken him to therapy for the first time. He'd explained to Peter that Richard Parker had started showing the same signs when he'd been twelve or thirteen and that their parents hadn't caught it nearly early enough…that Peter's father had suffered until college when he'd finally gone to a doctor about his depression. Ben had promised Peter that he wasn't alone…that he was going to be okay, and that Ben and May would be there for him if he ever needed to talk. And in addition to the therapy Peter had gone to for a few months, he had started taking the medicine every day. Thankfully, his spider-metabolism hadn't affected it, and he could still take the same dose without having to talk to a doctor about the fact that he was now a genetically enhanced superhero.
He didn't know if Mr. Stark knew about the antidepressants. It wasn't something they'd ever talked about, but on Peter's second day without them, he woke up with a headache that made his whole head pound, starting at his temples and working its way around to the back of his skull. He closed his eyes as soon as he opened them, rolling over and begging Friday to close his curtains…the light made it a thousand times worse.
Mr. Stark knocked on his door, then entered when Peter muttered his best impression of the words 'come in.'
"Hey, kiddo. You alright. It's almost noon. I know teenagers like to sleep in, but we're cutting into valuable lab time." He teased, placing a hand on his back.
"Yeah…" Peter croaked, still unable to open his eyes, and he felt Mr. Stark press the back of his hand to Peter's forehead. "Headache."
"I'll grab you some medicine. We have some pain relievers that should work on you." Mr. Stark told him, all teasing dropped from his voice as he went serious. He brushed his hand over Peter's hair, and Peter hated himself for worrying the man. Still, he couldn't bring himself to tell Mr. Stark that he needed his antidepressants…that he wasn't sick but in withdrawal. It was…it was embarrassing! He was a superhero! Tony Stark was his mentor and he had superpowers! What did he have to be depressed about?
He swallowed the pills that Mr. Stark gave him with a glass of orange juice, then dropped back onto his pillow. "You want to sleep some more?" The man asked in a whisper, and Peter gave a quick nod. "Alright. I'll wake you in a few hours."
It felt like Peter blinked and then the man was shaking his shoulder gently, a hand pushing hair back from his face. Peter was so cold, his whole body shaking, and he looked blearily up at Mr. Stark who was sitting on the side of his bed. "I'm …I'm cold…" He muttered, feeling like he was slurring, and Mr. Stark nodded, pressing his hand to Peter's clammy forehead.
"I think you have a little bit of a fever. Think you can get up? I made some soup. We can get your sheets changed while you're eating."
Barely comprehending anything he was saying, Peter nodded, then let himself be pulled up only for his knees to buckle. Mr. Stark swore, lunging to catch him…and then Peter was gagging, the vomit escaping before he could do anything about it. Mr. Stark swore again, but caught him before he could faceplant, holding him up and getting the vomit on his pants and socks as it splashed on the ground.
Peter closed his eyes, suddenly sobbing, and Mr. Stark wrapped a firm arm around him. "Sorry…sorry, sorry, sorry…" He sobbed, his whole body aching, but Mr. Stark shushed him, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
"Hush, Pete. It's okay. You're alright. Let's get you back in bed."
The world spun and Peter practically fell into bed, head hitting the pillow hard as his whole body shook. Mr. Stark made sure to cover him up, then disappeared for a moment, reappearing in fresh clothes. "My fault…" Peter whispered, tears still escaping from his eyes. "I'm sorry…Mr. Stark…it's my fault."
"It's not your fault that you're sick, Peter." Mr. Stark rebuked him gently, getting a hand under his neck and helping him sit up, then guiding a glass of water to his mouth. "I think we'd better get you down to the Medbay."
"I'm not sick."
"Buddy, you've got a fever and you can barely sit up. You're sick." Mr. Stark told him, voice patient.
Peter shook his head. "Not sick. I…I quit taking them." He all but whispered, and Mr. Stark paused.
"What? Stopped taking what, Pete?"
"I shouldn't need it."
"Friday, what's he talking about?" Mr. Stark asked, apparently giving up on getting a straight answer for Peter, which was a relief…he didn't want to have to say it.
"I believe Peter is referring to the antidepressants he has been taking for the last two years. He ran out of medication two days ago and is experiencing antidepressant discontinuation syndrome or antidepressant withdrawal."
The hand was back on his head then, but Peter had long since closed his eyes, so he wasn't sure if Mr. Stark was angry or not. "Kid, why didn't you tell me you were out of medicine? We could have gotten some more."
"I shouldn't need it." He whispered again.
Mr. Stark tapped a finger against his cheek. "Hey, Spiderling. Look at me." Peter did, reluctantly opening his eyes despite his headache. "You're too smart of a kid to believe that. Hell, Pete, you're a genius. And you know that depression isn't just feeling sad sometimes. It's a problem with the chemicals in your brain. You aren't responsible for brain chemical balances." Peter lowered his eyes and shrugged, and Mr. Stark cupped his cheek for a moment. "That's not something to be embarrassed about, Peter. Especially not with me. I take medicine to manage anxiety every day. It's no different than a person with diabetes taking insulin, or people with bad allergies getting allergy shots."
Peter finally managed to meet Mr. Stark's eyes and give a quick nod. He knew all this. He really did. Just…the thought of approaching THE Tony Stark and asking him for $20 so he could refill an antidepressant prescription had seemed impossible.
"I'm going to send someone out to fill that prescription, and then, when you're feeling better, we're going to get some food in you and we'll chill out on the couch, okay?"
He nodded. "Thanks, Mr. Stark." He all but whispered.
"In the meantime, scoot over." Mr. Stark ordered, and Peter did with a smile, melting into the man's side as he wrapped an arm around his trembling shoulders. "Friday, get whoever is filling in for Happy to fill that prescription, and turn on whichever episode of The Office we left off on."
"You got it, boss."
