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Due to his humble upbringing, Peter Parker was frugal. He liked saving whatever money he received and when he did spend it, it was never all at once. Even the smallest of purchases were weighed heavily, and he rarely paid full price for large ticket items. Patience was a virtue and if he genuinely wanted it badly enough, he could wait for it to go on sale. It was something that, like his good manners, had been instilled in him since birth and that wasn’t likely to change.
Due to his age and enhanced metabolism, Peter Parker was perpetually hungry. On an exceptionally hectic day, he could eat a full breakfast and be hungry again less than an hour later. His Aunt May did a valiant job at keeping him well fed and he appreciated the effort. But sometimes, knowing the amount of food he required made him feel unnecessarily guilty. And when that happened, he would eat the food that had been provided to him at home and then stop by the corner store on the way to school to buy a ‘second breakfast.’ Like a Hobbit,' Ned had joked but the term had stuck.
It was on the days he chose to use his own money to obtain an additional meal he would realize that being remarkably frugal and persistently hungry weren’t quite compatible. He would find himself rummaging through the store, picking up various items to compare the cost to the calories and then putting them back again. However, the debate would typically end with him placing something from the ‘daily specials’ rack onto the counter. And on the days that he was feeling particularly indulgent, a bag of gummy worms as well.
Corner store’s prepared food wasn’t particularly good, in general. But since he wasn’t an especially finicky eater, it didn't really matter how close it was to its sell-by date. Food was food and was happy for anything that would take up some of the empty space in his stomach. It was fine. All the way up until the day it wasn’t.
It was Thursday morning and even though Peter had already eaten three bowls of cereal before leaving his apartment, he was still hungry. So he walked up to the corner store, looked inside of his wallet and eyed his bank card. But after making a rather large purchase over the weekend, he’d told himself he wouldn’t spend anything else with it for a while. Outside of that, there was an empty Starbucks gift card and the two twenty dollar bills that Tony had insisted on giving him a few days prior. It had been his intention to deposit it into his account but seeing as he’d yet to get around to it, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to spend a little bit of it.
With that in mind, he gathered a deep breath in through his nose and stepped into the store, smiling. “Good morning, Mr. Sundar! Got anything marked down yet today?” he pleasantly inquired as he came through the doors. The older man gestured towards the cooler box near the front and Peter skipped towards it. It took a moment to pinpoint what the storekeeper had been referring to but after shuffling a few things around he found several egg salad sandwiches wrapped in cellophane and adorned with a bright orange, fifty percent off sticker. “Bingo,” he whispered to himself and then hurried towards the register to pay.
Peter sat in the seat at the back of the overcrowded train, promptly opened the sandwich and took a bite. It wasn’t horrible. The bread was a little dry and the egg salad was a little tangier than he would have liked but he didn’t think much of it. There wasn’t really any time to. There were only three stops before he had to hop off the train and high tail it the rest of the way to school on foot.
In fact, by the time he'd skidded into his classroom, just in time for the bell to ring, he’d forgotten about it completely. That is until his lower abdomen began to cramp about half way through the lesson. At which point, he was starting to think that perhaps egg salad wasn’t the best way to start your morning. It had seemed reasonable at the time. People eat eggs for breakfast. It was normal. Just not covered in mayonnaise and maybe vinegar? He wasn’t sure. He’d not bothered to read the label.
“Are you okay, Dude?” he heard Ned whisper.
Having not realized he’d had his face scrunched up in mild distress until that moment, Peter took a second to school his features before nodding his head. “Yeah, man. Just- missed the bottom part of the last slide. I didn’t get to write it down,” he easily lied. He’d unintentionally stopped taking notes within the first few minutes of class.
“Oh, that’s easy,” Ned replied. “You can copy mine during lunch.”
Peter thanked his friend with a weak smile but in reality, he was starting to wonder if he’d make it to lunch. Nausea was starting to accompany the cramps, and he was having to periodically swallow just to remind his stomach where it belonged.
Between classes, Peter typically walked with Ned to his locker before heading to his own. However, the discomfort had become persistent and he’d had to hurry towards the bathroom instead. He’d really hoped that the pit stop would be enough to reduce his misery but it wasn’t. The cramps and queasiness remained steady and, as he looked in the mirror he realized that a thin sheen of sweat had appeared on his brow. He washed his hands, splashed some cool water on his face and ended up walking into his next class feeling far worse than he had in his last. Though no one outside of Ned and MJ seemed to notice.
Ned kept sending him questioning looks, while MJ held up a drawing of him looking all kinds of pathetic while mouthing the words, ‘you look like shit.’ He wanted to reply. To say that he felt like shit too but then his stomach gurgled ominously, sending his fist to his mouth. “May I be excused?” he blurted out, not bothering to wait for a reply before snatching his things and fleeing the classroom at a whirlwind pace. But once he got to the hall he had a choice to make. He could go to the bathroom to wait out the nausea and hopefully return to class, or he could go straight to the nurses office and just go home.
The debate didn’t last long. The longer he stood in the hallway, the more horrible he felt. His stomach hurt, his intestines were in knots, and despite his enhanced strength, his backpack was digging into his shoulder as though it weighed a thousand pounds. He could practically hear his bed calling his name, and he desperately wanted to go to it. Ergo, with a hand wrapped protectively around his abdomen, he trudged towards the front of the school.
“Stomach ache?” the nurse observed, and Peter grimly nodded his head. “You have someone to call or do I need to look up your contact information?”
“You don’t need to look anything up. I can call my aunt.” Peter sighed as he drew his phone out of his backpack and dialed his aunt’s number. Then he flopped onto the nearest cot and waited for her to answer. It only took two rings for the lines to connect and for May to start worriedly questioning him about why he wasn’t in class.
“I don’t feel so good,” Peter whined in reply. He didn’t mean to whine but he’d not been any kind of sick in a very long time. The sheer misery of it all was making him want to cry. He could feel the pending tears burning the back of his throat. “I have a tummy thing, and I really just want to go home. Can you come and pick me up?”
“I’m sorry you don’t feel good, Petey,” May sympathetically cooed “-but I’m sort of locked in at work right now and-”
At those words, Peter’s already upset stomach absolutely sunk. “-Oh I’m sorry, Aunt May I shouldn’t have called-” he interjected, only to be cut off before he could finish his thought.
“-Hey, it’s fine, sweetie. I want you to call me when you need something,” May gently placated before her voice took on a slightly more serious tone. “Now. I have two choices for you. You can give me a little while to finagle my schedule and find someone to cover my shift. Or you can call Tony,” she offered, much to Peter’s bewilderment.
“What good would it do to call him?” he asked because he had to have a parent or a guardian sign him out and Tony was neither of those things. Then May explained that the man had been on his emergency contacts list since the beginning of the year and no one had bothered to tell him. Had he not been feeling so terrible he would have probably questioned the choice but at the moment he was simply grateful to have another way out. Though he wasn’t sure he had the energy to have another conversation.
“Will you call him for me? Please?” he pleaded, sighing in relief when his aunt agreed to do the talking for him. And the moment he got text confirmation that the man was on his way, he curled up into a ball and closed his eyes. Only to be shaken awake, after what felt like only a few seconds later.
“Hey, Kid,” Tony whispered, leading Peter to crack his eyes open. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah,” he croaked. His head was foggy with sleep, and the short nap hadn’t done anything to appease his stomach. It was still painfully twisting and turning. “My tummy hurts,” he complained, too sick to care that he’d just used such a childish term in the presence of his super-hero mentor.
Tony chuckled and assisted Peter to his feet. “I know, Buddy. May filled me in on that,” he said as he grabbed the loaded backpack that had been abandoned on the floor. And then flung it over his shoulder. “Come on. I’ve got your stuff.”
Peter followed the man out to the car and climbed in when Tony held the passenger side door open for him. He sat down and pulled the seat belt across his chest, but his hands were shaking and he couldn’t quite get it to buckle. It was frustrating to the point that his eyes were starting to water and he couldn’t stop it. He felt awful, his fingers weren’t cooperating and being unwell inevitably made him overly sensitive.
“I’ve got it, Bud,” Tony said as he gently took over the task, giving Peter’s hand a gentle squeeze as he did so. “Do you want to go to your apartment or the penthouse?”
“May’s not home,” Peter replied, never really considering that he’d not answered the actual question. All he knew was that he didn’t particularly feel like being alone at the moment. Not because he couldn't take care of himself. He was sixteen and definitely could. He simply wanted company.
“Does that mean you want to come home with me?” Tony asked with a quirk of his brow to which Peter responded with a pathetic nod of his head. “That’s fine. Let’s get you to your room, so you can try to sleep whatever this is off.”
Peter sighed profoundly and leaned against the window. “I think it was the half-price egg salad sandwich I bought at the corner store,” he mumbled under his breath, but he was certain Tony heard him. He didn’t even have to look to know the man was staring at him. He could practically feel his eyes burning into the side of his head.
“I gave you forty dollars the other day, and you bought a half-price egg salad sandwich. From a gas station,” Tony blandly replied. To which, Peter perked up just enough to respond.
“It was a corner store, Mr. Stark. Not a gas station,” he corrected. The corner store, unlike the gas station, had an abundance of groceries in stock. It didn’t really offer much in the way of fresh produce, but it was a reliable food source for the neighborhood.
“Same thing,” the man flippantly replied but Peter lacked the necessary motivation to argue any further. “No wonder you feel sick. You probably have salmonella from eating heaps of rotten eggs and mayonnaise.”
The mention of spoiled food had Peter’s stomach churning a bit more violently, and saliva was starting to collect excessively under his tongue. He swallowed several times in an attempt to subdue the nausea, but it continued to build. Then a sickly burp sent a hint of acidic liquid painfully creeping up his throat, and he knew he didn’t have much time. He needed to say something.
“Mr. St-” Peter began, wanting desperately to give the man some warning but it was too late. The moment he began to speak his stomach lurched and a rush of vomit cascading into his lap. ‘Kid?’ he heard the man exclaim and felt the car swerving to the right as he continued to heave.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he gasped, as soon as he could get a good breath. But that was followed by another weak gag that sent a dribble of bile running down his chin. He turned his head to wipe it off on his sleeve without thought. The shirt was a complete loss anyway. “I didn’t mean to do that,” he sluggishly explained, using the back of his hand to surreptitiously wipe at his eyes.
“Hey, It’s okay,” Tony reassured as he put the car into park and looked Peter over with sympathy. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s really gross- but I know you couldn’t help it. Let’s just worry about getting you cleaned up.”
“Okay,” Peter said with a sniff and tilted his head back on the seat.
“Are you ready to go or do we need to sit here for a minute?” Tony questioned, obviously not wanting to get back onto the road until he was at least marginally sure that there would be no additional mess.
Peter gathered a few wobbly breaths and swallowed thickly before nodding his head and closing his eyes. And the next thing he knew the car was stopping outside of a small gas station. He watched as his mentor walked inside. And when he returned a few minutes later, Peter allowed the man to help him get his shirt over his head. And after being handed wipe after wipe he managed to get himself and his jeans mostly clean.
Tony passed him an over-sized t-shirt and bottle of clear soda before climbing back into the front seat. As the car pulled onto the highway, Peter took a tentative sip of the cool drink. It was refreshing, and that combined with the clean shirt was enough to make him feel at least a little better. And the way his mentor’s hand would periodically fall onto his shoulder was comforting. Then, he looked down to see that a splash of vomit had landed on his brand-new, white shoes. His eyes teared up, his throat ached and his bottom lip trembled at the sight. He hoped Tony didn’t notice. But a small sob hitched in his throat, essentially giving away his emotional state.
“What’s wrong, Buddy?” Tony softly inquired.
Allowing his tears to fall freely, Peter gestured towards his feet and frowned. “I threw up on my shoes,” he choked out past the lump in his throat.
“Yeah,” Tony replied in mild confusion followed by a small uncomfortable laugh. “You kind of threw up everywhere, Kiddo.”
“I know. But I just got these shoes, Mr. Stark. And they’re already ruined,” Peter cried, knowing he was overreacting. The shoes could probably be washed. But at the moment, the idea that they would never be the same again was causing his chest to clench and he couldn’t seem to stop crying.
Tony cracked a small smile and placed a hand onto the back of Peter’s neck. “Lordy, Kid. I can buy you a new pair,” he replied with a tone that teetered solidly between sympathetic and amused.
“I had to save up my allowance for weeks,” Peter pressed while furiously wiping at his wet cheeks. Then he took a deep breath in and held it there in a desperate bid to stop the pathetic sobbing. He finally managed, but just barely and had to take several measured breaths to forcibly prevent himself from breaking down all over again.
“I know, Bud. And you did a great job. But I don’t mind helping you replace them,” Tony placatingly promised and then squinted his eyes in mirth. “As long as you promise me that you’ll never consume any kind of marked down food every again,” he offered with a broad wave of his hand. “I’ll provide the necessary money and you’ll stick with Egg McMuffins and Breakfast Burritos.”
Peter turned his face towards the wind that was blowing through the open window and fought the urge gag. “Please stop talking about food, Mr. Stark,” he whined piteously.
Tony looked beside him and laughed deeply. “Sure thing, Kid. Do we have a deal?”
“Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sure. We have a deal,” Peter replied, sighing in overwhelming relief as the car pulled into the tower’s underground garage. The previously quelled nausea was beginning to return, and he was practically itching to get into some more comfortable clothing.
“Good. Now let’s get you inside,” Tony as he shifted the car to a stop. “Because you look like you could use a hug and I refuse to give you one until after you’ve showered and changed out of those pants.”
Peter laughed as he hopped out of the car and headed towards his bedroom as quickly as his iffy stomach would allow. Not only because a shower sounded absolutely fantastic but also because the man was right. He really could use a hug.