Chapter Text
1
It was an “internship weekend,” as Peter had taken to calling them around those not in the know.
Mr. Stark had managed to convince Natasha and Vision to train with him, and it was going to be awesome. He was going to get his ass kicked several times over the course of the weekend, but he’d still love every second of it. He could hardly sit still through school, channeling his excited energy into endless leg bounces and finger taps that pulled his attention away from nearly every moment of his morning classes.
The nervous energy caught up with him and backfired midway through the day, so he trusted Ned to give him a head’s up if Flash got too close to their table while he dozed his way through lunch period at the back of the library. His stomach grumbled loudly in protest, but he’d already spent all of this week’s lunch budget anyway and there was no way he could get through three more classes without some sleep. Mr. Stark usually started internship weekends with a sizable after-school snack anyway, so he’d be able to make up for it later. Plus, it was payday, so he’d have money for lunch again on Monday.
He was glad to see the fidgeting was all but vanished after his nap, and he even jotted down some useful notes in physics and English.
He was ready for another nap when Happy parked in the pickup zone, but the driver gave him a weird enough look that he couldn’t bring himself to sleep through the hour-long drive. He’d never seen concern cross Happy’s face. He tried to subtly check his reflection in his phone screen to see if he looked off enough to warrant the expression. Finding nothing of note, he got a head-start on his homework instead, focusing on the worksheets that even his lingering fatigue couldn’t make too difficult to understand. When they pulled up to the compound, he only had a one-page essay and a lab report for chemistry left to do, and it would be no problem to squeeze those in before bed tonight. Even through the tiredness, he was uncontrollably bouncing in his excitement as always when Happy stopped outside the entrance.
At the compound, Peter barely had a chance to race to his bedroom and dump his backpack on the floor before FRIDAY was relaying a message ordering him down to the indoor training level. He would’ve appreciated some downtime for one more quick nap or a bite to eat, but he was well used to Mr. Stark’s rushing during the weekends when he could gather everyone in one place. There were only so many hours in a day and only so many days he could come here, and he was meant to be training to be a future Avenger—“If that’s the path you choose,” Mr. Stark occasionally repeated to him—so he understood the need to go go go. Understanding alone couldn’t completely rid him of the stress that sometimes came from these weekends, though. He stepped into the suit in practically no time but straggled long enough to lean against a wall and take a couple slow, deep breaths to calm himself down before he made for the elevator and let FRIDAY automatically route him to the right floor. He thought longingly of the well-stocked kitchen fit to feed what remained of the team several times over, but if he was allowed to sit down for a snack before training, Mr. Stark wouldn’t have been so insistent that he get downstairs. He shook his head in a slightly successful attempt to clear his mind of all things food before the elevator doors slid open.
He found Natasha scrolling through her phone waiting at the edge of one of the larger padded mats in simple black workout gear while Mr. Stark looked engrossed in a thick packet of papers on the far side of the room where the team members without artificially enhanced strength lifted weights sometimes. Vision wasn’t in the room, but he rarely watched the others spar unless he was joining in himself, so that wasn’t a big shock. Knowing the usual schedule, it was easy enough to guess that they’d be doing hand-to-hand while Mr. Stark watched—i.e. looked up every couple minutes before falling back into his work—but Natasha confirmed it aloud anyway.
“Hand-to-hand today! Your defense has been coming along nicely, but your offense still needs a lot of work.” From most people, the statement would be offensive, but there was something charming about being addressed by Black Widow, even when she was flinging minor insults.
Natasha had already warmed up, so Peter only took a few minutes to run through some stretches of his own before joining her on the mat and taking up his starting position. Tony glanced up long enough to call the match to a start, and they were off, each attempting to knock the other down while dodging each other’s attacks.
Things seemed fine, so he was taken aback when his body didn’t deem him worthy of much of a head’s up to what was incoming. One second, he was flipping onto the ceiling to avoid Natasha’s sudden lunge, and the next, he felt suddenly hotter while his vision was near blacking out and dizziness overwhelmed all of his other senses. He started to fall gracelessly back down to the floor without noticing at first. He managed to maneuver his body before too late so his side took the brunt of the force instead of his head, but it still hurt more than anything Natasha had done to him the whole afternoon. He was still too warm, and his head felt… cottony, maybe. It wasn’t a feeling he could easily describe, but definitely not something he was enjoying. He was aware of falling to his knees as he tried to get up once, twice, and then pushing himself back up and regaining his footing on his third attempt. He staggered his way in the direction where he remembered solid ground waiting, but his consciousness faded away before he made it to the edge.
Mr. Stark was hovering uncomfortably close when Peter came to, and that was saying something because Peter wasn’t afraid to admit to himself he was a bit touch-starved and craved human contact more often than not. Right now, however, it was too much. It overwhelmed him to have anyone so close, so he shoved himself off the floor and onto his elbows and scrambled backwards until he had a few feet of space.
Tony looked startled but remained where he was and raised two hands placatingly.
“What was that?” he demanded, harsher than he meant if Peter had to guess based on his suddenly softening tone. He took a moment to simply stare at Peter, who ducked his head to avoid eye contact.
“Any injuries I should know about?” A head shake.
“Try any weird drugs recently?” He glared and shook his head no again.
“Still skipping sleep?” It took a second to think back to last night and remember it had been a good night or not, but he’d gotten at least seven hours this time, maybe more. Another shake of his head.
“Are you hungry?” That was the easiest question he’d heard all day.
“Starving,” he answered, voice cracking.
“Okay, we can work with that.” Mr. Stark looked relieved to have somewhere to throw the blame for the situation. He tossed a look Peter couldn’t read from this angle over his shoulder at Natasha. “Can you go grab him something?”
“When did you last eat?” he asked when the elevator doors slid shut and left them alone in the room.
“…breakfast?” He was having trouble sifting through his recent memories so soon after passing out, but he couldn’t think of what he had for lunch, so he must have skipped it. “Oh! I slept through lunch.”
“Probably not the best idea to skip meals with that metabolism, kid.”
Tony must have seen something in his expression because he didn’t drop the topic.
“This was a one-time thing, right?” Peter’s eyes widened. Mr. Stark didn’t need to know about his Peter Parker problems, but how could he lie when the guy was looking right at him? “Peter. Has this happened before?”
He squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could and nodded.
“Shit. Alright, clearly it’s time for a discussion.”
Peter didn’t answer.
“Kid, can you at least look at me?”
But no, he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand to see Mr. Stark disappointed in him. Why did this have to happen here of all places? He could’ve handled this anywhere else.
“I’m not mad,” Tony said. “Is that what this is about? I’m not angry, just… concerned. You shouldn’t be fainting ten minutes into practice if you’re healthy.”
He sucked in a slow breath and tilted his head back up and over toward Tony, still sitting in the same spot a few feet away. Natasha strolled back in before either could say or do anything. She seemed to pick up on the atmosphere right away when neither of them verbally acknowledged her presence.
“I’ll just leave these here then,” she said while she crouched down to place a serving platter full of sandwiches on the mat. She plucked one from the sizable pile for herself and quietly padded out of the room. The silence thickened in Natasha’s absence while the two struggled to restart the conversation until finally they made accidental eye contact, pulling Tony out of the daze.
“No bullshit,” Tony warned, pushing one of the sandwiches into Peter’s hand and waiting for him to take the first bite. “I may not have a doctorate in biology, but if it’s anything like Steve’s, I know that metabolism of yours has you hungry, what? An hour? Two hours after you eat? No way you didn’t notice you were starving yourself today. Seriously, what’s going on with you?”
“I wasn’t hungry?” Peter tried, but even through the thick feeling that still reigned in his head, he could tell that Tony’s expression was that of a man who wasn’t buying that lie. “Okay, fine. I couldn’t afford to eat today. We have a school lunch budget and I spent the last of it yesterday.”
Peter carefully observed the other man while he spoke, so he saw the shocked disbelief before Tony had a chance to push it back and school his features. It made him apprehensive. This could go one of two ways: he was just so used to having money that he’d never considered an Avenger-in-training might go hungry by necessity and he’d pity Peter, or he’d blame Peter for not coming to him and using him for his money. After all, he could’ve done more to bulk up his diet if he’d really tried. He could’ve taken people up on their hospitality too often and made himself a burden or begged for change or crammed a part-time job into his already jam-packed schedule. None of those had ever felt like options, though.
“And you didn’t think to come to me or May?” Tony sounded more hurt than Peter thought he had a right to be.
“Mr. Stark, I’m not going to put you out of food just because I overestimate the budget sometimes. And May didn’t get her paycheck until this afternoon.”
“Peter, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a billionaire. As in, I have billions of dollars. Effectively an unlimited amount. You’re not putting me out—nope, no interruptions, I’m talking here—by letting me chip in for food, and even if you were, I would still do it because I care about you. If something’s hurting you, I want to help, no matter what.”
Peter wanted to interrupt again, to tell him that no, he can take care of himself, he doesn’t want to impose, but Tony cut him off as soon as he tried.
“If this is some lower-class pride crap, just cut it out, kiddo. You don’t have to impress me or whatever you’re trying to do here by sacrificing your health. I don’t care about how much money you have; I care about keeping you safe. Now, we’re going to set up a fund for you, and you’re going to be one hundred percent honest with me about your needs. Sound good?”
There was no room for disagreement when Mr. Stark was involved. Peter could see why he was so good with business meetings now. Not trusting himself to speak again, he simply nodded his head and followed Mr. Stark out of the training room.