"What do you think, Spike?" asked Peter. "Will he go for it?"

The plant on Peter's nightstand didn't reply. Its narrow, green leaves did wave around with the heat being pumped out through the bedroom vents, but that hadn't exactly answered his question. It only made him frown, made him worry all that hot air wasn't good for Spike.

Carefully, he gripped the edges of the nightstand and moved it, so it still sat in the sun, but away from the vents, then went back to what he'd been doing before breaking to have a conversation with a plant, pacing.

He walked back and forth, back and forth, working out a script in his head. He needed to get the words just right. He needed to be convincing, and Peter knew from just his brief time with him, Tony Stark wasn't convinced easily.

"Pete!"

Peter jumped, froze in place, and focused his ear. He heard the sizzle of the grill, heard the sound of grease popping.

"Lunch is ready!"

Tony didn't give up easily, either. He'd only been living with him a day, and there'd already been five attempts to get him to abandon his protein shakes and eat badly. He closed his eyes, took a breath to prepare himself, both for denying lunch and to make his request, before leaving Spike and the bedroom behind.

Tony stood in the kitchen, behind a counter-top grill. He held a spatula, and he was using it to take two burgers off the grill and slide them onto plates.

"Ready to eat?"

Peter dropped his shoulders and slid on one of the stools lining the island in the kitchen. It was sort of getting exhausted, refusing to have meals with him over and over again. The truth was, the food, the real food, smelled sort of good.

"Cheeseburgers are almost ready."

"No thanks," said Peter. "I'm good with my shake."

"Suit yourself, kid," said Tony. "But you're missing out."

Peter shifted around on the stool and watched Tony quietly assemble his burger. That was the strange thing about Tony. He always asked, always made extra food, but he was too weak to push, too feeble to enforce his own will. It bothered Peter, in a way, that it was easier to exist around the man that kidnapped him than it was his own father, who'd never allow Peter even the chance to say no.

Richard didn't ask questions. He shouted out orders, that were obeyed and obeyed immediately, unless you wanted a short-lasting, but painful, black-eye or something heavy thrown at you.

Tony smashed the top bun down on the burger and took a bite, and Peter considered abandoning the dietary rules his dad had set for him. He remembered a time when it was different, when he ate regular food his mom cooked for him, but then she was gone and he got bit by a spider and Richard declared Peter's body a machine, something that ran only the super-nutrients packed into the powder he manufactured.

He might as well, a voice in Peter's head told him. The stuff the Avengers were supplying him with to make protein shakes wasn't the same, anyway, and probably wasn't as good as the stuff his dad made. But in the end, as tempting as it was, Peter knew he couldn't.

Someday his dad would send rescue, probably in the form of a few dozen Hydra agents. Someday he'd be back living with the same rules, so he might as well stick to them now.

"Something on your mind?" asked Tony, abandoning his burger, only to dump some chips on his plate.

"Um," said Peter, his mouth suddenly dry, the speech he'd been preparing earlier suddenly missing from his mind. "I just – I need to use the internet."

"Why?"

"I need to do some research," Peter answered. "And figure out what species Spike is."

"Who the hell is Spike?"

"The plant."

"Spike the plant," said Tony, bobbing his head up and down. "I like it, but you already know the problem with you using the computers." Peter did know. He'd heard it before from him and Steve both, about a thousand times. "We can't have you sending messages to anyone."

"Aren't you a genius?"

"Why do you keep bringing that into question?"

"You could just block me from sending message. Problem solved."

"I could," said Tony, as though it'd been on his mind from the beginning. "I'll tell you what, kid." He abandoned his plate of food and turned back towards the grill, one the lone plate with the lone burger sat. He grabbed it, turned back around, and placed it in front of Peter. "Just eat half, and I'll build you something you can use for your plant research."

Peter looked down at the burger, the smells hitting him again. He wondered if Spike was worth betraying his dad's rules. He wondered if his dad would ever even be able to find out, once they were back together, that he'd broken them. If he ever got back to Richard, who'd tell him? Peter sure as hell wouldn't.

"Fine, deal," said Peter, keeping his voice stiff, careful not to let on this was a rule he was happy to break.

For Spike, of course, and for his sanity, he assembled a cheeseburger, mimicking all the same steps Tony had taken until it was finished. Peter opened his mouth, and took a bite, ignoring the way Tony had stopped eating to stare at him.

He chewed slowly, mystified by the flavors exploding in his mouth. They weren't chalky or metallically. They were savory, and they forced Peter to take his next bite quicker, forced him to eat more than half of the cheeseburger.

Peter had chills, then he was sweaty. He wanted his blanket, then he didn't, and so it went, throughout the late hours of the night.

He lay perfectly still on the bed in Tony Stark's guest room, with his face planted into the pillow and one eyeball staring across the dark room at Spike, as if looking at him might bring some sort of comfort, as if Spike had the ability to put the fire out in his belly.

He didn't, though, of course he didn't. Spike was just a plant, useless against the fiery knots tightening in his stomach, knots that made Peter hold his breath and wish away. He wasn't going to get sick. He wasn't. He was determined to beat whatever poison that wormed its way into his system via cheeseburgers, by sheer force of will

That was sort of the problem, Peter realized, throwing off the blankets and swinging his feet onto the ground. As Richard was always reminding him, his will wasn't strong enough to beat anything. He made to the bathroom in time to shove his head in the toilet and puke, and by the time he was raising his head out and flushing the toilet, Tony stood in the doorway of the bathroom, his face ceased in a way Peter hadn't seen before.

An expression that was mysterious and unknown, or at least, long forgotten. It cut him deep, and he looked away.

Tony, on the other hand, began to freak out.

He guided him into the suite's living room, pushed him down on the couch and pressed a cold washcloth on his forehead with an order not to touch it. He started pacing around, and Peter wished he would cut it out, it was making him dizzy, but Tony didn't stop. If anything, he got faster, pulling a phone from his pocket and pressing it against his ear as he walked back and forth.

"What do I do if a kid gets sick?"

"Tony," said the tired voice on the other end. Peter was eavesdropping, he didn't care. It took his mind off how miserable he was. "Is this your way of telling me that you changed your mind and you don't actually want a baby?"

"This isn't hypothetical, Pep," said Tony. "I have a kid and he's puking his guts out."

"You have a what?"

"I'm babysitting – "

"-not a baby," Peter mumbled out.

"He's just thrown up and now he's just lying on my couch, spitting out nonsense and looking miserable."

Peter stopped listening in to their conversation and went back to his misery, remembering the last time he felt this way, right after the incident with the spider. He'd gotten a fever, just like he was sure he had now, and he'd thrown up, a lot. He was left in his room, sweating it out on his twin bed, while Richard checked up on him from time to time to ask him clinical questions and scribble on his clipboard, stoic and unmoved.

Not at all like Tony Stark, who was currently having a meltdown in his own home, when he wasn't even the who with the fever. He must've been broken in a way Richard wasn't, Peter decided, he must've been a much weaker man.

"Pep said I need to get your temperature," said Tony, as he slid his phone back in his pocket. "But I don't have a thermometer, so we're just gonna skip that step and I'm gonna take you straight to the medcenter."

Peter forced himself to sit up without a word, deciding the only way to get Tony to stop talking and walking so fast was to comply.

"I'll never eat another cheeseburger again," Peter moaned.

He was sandwiched between a mountain of blankets and the medical bed, curled into a ball, and clutching his arms around his belly, while he and Tony waited for the doctor to come back and tell them what disease was currently killing him. It was mostly formality. Peter was pretty sure what caused the fire in his stomach.

"You put asbestos in my food," added Peter, since his original comment hadn't earned a response. Tony had gone strangely calm, strangely quiet, and Peter missed the noise. It helped distract him from his pain.

"I was joking," said Tony, evenly. He straightened out in his chair, leveling his gaze at Peter. "I'd like to think you know me better than that."

"Why would I? We're practically strangers."

"Yeah," said Tony. "You're right, so let's get to know each other. I'll start. I'm Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, ex-playboy. I like building things and Black Sabbath. Now it's your turn. Go."

"Peter Parker," he grunted out. "The kid you kidnapped and poisoned."

"You forgot to mention what you like."

Peter opened his mouth, then shut it. His brain sputtered out, searching for an answer to what should be a simple question, but coming up empty each time.

"I don't like anything," said Peter, and that felt like the truth. If he couldn't come up with an answer, it must be.

"Oh, come on, of course you do," said Tony. "What do you miss from home?"

His mother, easily. He missed her, but she wasn't around anymore, wasn't home, so maybe she didn't count.

"Can we stop talking now? It makes everything hurt worse."

"Okay, kid," said Tony, always quick to back off. There was a softness to his voice that annoyed him. It sounded a lot like pity. "Whatever you say."

Peter hugged himself a little tighter, shivering even under all the blankets Tony had piled on top on him. He repeated a mantra in his head, over and over again, promising to appreciate feeling normal so much more if he could just get back to feeling that way. He repeated it like a prayer, as if some god somewhere was listening, and would decide to make it all go away.

The fever, the stomach pains, the feeling of emptiness that had crept up inside him and settled after Tony had asked his question.

"Well, I have good news," said Dr. Banner, stepping back inside the room. "It wasn't the cheeseburger. Just a stomach bug. Completely normal, and with your healing rate, you'll probably be feeling better tomorrow, even."

Peter didn't know if that made him feel better or worse. Tomorrow was soon, but also incredibly far away.

"So, just to be clear, the food was just a coincidence?" asked Tony, standing up for the chair. "There wasn't asbestos in his system?"

Peter shot Tony an annoyed look, and Dr. Banner scratched his head.

"Uh, no, no asbestos," he told him. "But maybe next time start him out with something a little less greasy? While he's transitioning back to solid food it's probably better to keep it simple."

Dr. Banner gave him a speech about resting and staying hydrated, before turning to Tony to tell him that he was going to bed and unless he wanted to speak to the other guy, he wouldn't wake him up in the middle of the night. Peter didn't know exactly what that meant, but it was enough for Tony to give a small nod and promise it wouldn't happen again.

After the tortuous walk back up to the Stark suite, Peter was completely zapped of his energy. He didn't even have enough energy to make it back to the guestroom, so instead, he collapsed on the couch, burrowing down into the cushions and savoring the way the cool fabric felt against his burning, hot skin.

Not long after Tony was coming at him, in multiple trips, with pillows, blankets, a water bottle, a packet of crackers, and the last item, a tall glass filled with ice and something clear and fizzy. A straw hung out from the top.

"What's that?" asked Peter, as Tony put it down on a T.V. tray, next to the other items.

"It's 7up," said Tony. "Jarvis used to give it to me when I was sick. Helps settle the stomach."

Peter stared it, unsure anything was possible of making him feel better.

"Try it, you might find out you like."

He was skeptical, but now curious enough to take a slow, hesitant sip. Cold, refreshing, different from the cheeseburger, but miles away from the chalky protein shakes he was beginning to despite. He took another sip through the straw while Tony turned on the TV and settled down on the armchair.

"Alright kid, what will it be? What do you wanna watch?"

Peter didn't want to admit watching TV and movies was another thing he wasn't quite familiar with. It was a luxury that left the manor when his mother died, just like so many other things.

"You pick."

"Don't have to tell me twice," said Tony.

Tony ended up picking a really old movie called the Breakfast Club, and it turned out to be pretty interesting. There were kids close to his age. They went to school, something so normal for the kids on the screen they had the luxury to complain about it, whining when they got in trouble and had to be there an extra day.

"I think I would've liked school," said Peter, thinking back to Tony's question, as the movie continued to play. "If I'd ever gotten the chance to go."

"Yeah, you do sort of seem like a nerd."

Peter turned his head to look at Tony and found him grinning back, no venom behind his words. A joke, he guessed, and maybe a true one. Maybe he would've been a nerd. Maybe that was an identity he could cling too, so he could stop feeling so empty inside.

"You might still get the chance," said Tony. "You're barely old enough for high school. There's still time."

Peter fell silent and didn't talk the rest of the movie. When the Breakfast Club ended, Tony turned on a different movie, another one about a kid Peter's age.

He didn't get to watch the entire movie, because Dr. Banner had been right. His stomach pains were subsiding fast, and without the edge of pain keeping him awake, his eyelids were heavy and hard to keep open.

He drifted off, listening to Ferris Bueller lie his way out of going to school, listening to the calming, annoying comforting sound of Tony's occasional chuckle. He faded in and out of dreams absent of any screaming, but instead filled with walking down hallways lined with lockers and having fantastic adventures in a giant city, surrounded by people who smiled and tall buildings that stretched miles into the sky.

The next morning, Peter woke up with a small smile on his face and with his stomach rumbling in hunger. Normal was back. He took a moment, as promised, and appreciated the marvelous feeling being normal, completely absent of the pain that made him want to puke his guts out.

He sat up, and looked around, losing his smile once he saw the armchair Tony had occupied empty. His stomach growled again, and he looked at the unopened pack of crackers on the TV tray.

They were just crackers, but they loaded with feelings.

It'd been nine days since he disappeared from the manor, nine days since he was spirited away in the middle of night. He was still here. Apparently, he wasn't worth the risk of rescue. Not even worth it to his own father to send a few agents to come and get him and bring him to the place they would have moved to if the Avengers hadn't gotten in the way.

Maybe it was childish to assume his father understood why he left and where he was, but at the same time, they weren't strangers. He should know Peter better than that, than to think he'd just run away if he wasn't being forced to, if he wasn't in danger.

Nine days made it feel like he wasn't even looking. Probably, he wasn't. Richard didn't have the time for that. His research and experiments were more important, Peter knew, but it didn't mean it hurt any less.

Peter opened the pack of crackers. He had one, then another, then five. Even plain, dry crackers were better than chalk he was used to. He washed them down with watered down 7up, then jumped up to find the TV remote.

He wanted to finish watching Ferris Bueller's Day Off, but he wasn't even past the ten-minute mark when the elevator dinged and Tony stepped off it, with a tablet in his hand.

"Hey, Pete," said Tony, looking around and surveying the living room. "I take it you're feeling better?"

Peter nodded his head.

"Good." said Tony. He held up the tablet to show it off. "I brought something for you."

Tony plopped down on the couch next to him and powered on the tablet. "This has everything you'll need. Internet, Netflix, YouTube so you can get caught up on all the memes – "

"What's a meme?"

"Uh, well," said Tony. "You know what? This feels wrong. We need to get you someone your own age to explain this shit."

Peter frowned and creased his face. He didn't understand what age had to do with defining a word, but he figured it was just another one of the Tony's oddities.

"Here, take it," continued Tony. He pressed the tablet into Peter's hands, and he accepted it. "I'm sure you'll be able to research everything you need to know about Spike on that."

"Thanks, Tony."

"Not a problem, kid. Just a warning for you, though, you try sending any message out on it, if you try hacking it, you'll brick it and I'll get an alert, got it?"

Peter nodded. He didn't have anyone to send any messages, too, anyway. Richard certainly didn't care.

"Good, now," said Tony, his eyes drifting down towards the crackers. "Should I make us a proper breakfast?"

Peter didn't hesitant before nodding again, and Tony didn't hesitant zooming off to the kitchen, no doubt ready to capitalize on his willingness to eat.

While Tony prepared their breakfast, Peter wandered off to the guestroom to check on Spike. He was standing a little taller that morning, looking a bit greener and fresher and healthy. Peter supposed he did like something after all. He liked Spike.

The plant was at the top of his list, right above 7up when his stomach ached and the Breakfast Club and who knew what else. He'd have a lot of time to figure it out, because if there was one thing Peter was sure about, it was that rescue wasn't coming for him anytime soon, and the worse part, he wasn't even sure if he cared that it wasn't.

A/N: I know! it's been awhile! just know i plan on finishing the fic and if you want to read ahead, i usually post on ao3 first! under the same screen name (i just posted chapter 5 over there today))

thank you so much for reading! i'm hoping to post the other two chapter later tonight and tomorrow, then after that there's five left!