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Peter is halfway through a bag of potato chips when he sees it.
Has anyone noticed that Spider-Man has gained weight in the last couple months?
He stares at the cruel words, fingers tightening over his cracked phone. His stomach curls with something unpleasant and dreadful as he bites the inside of his cheek. The Spider-Man suit is in a heap on the floor, discarded until his next patrol.
Peter’s gaze flits from his phone to the half-empty bag of chips. He hadn’t even really thought about how much he was eating; he’s used to opening the fridge and cupboard the second he gets home from school or patrol and grabbing the first thing that looks appealing.
Has he gained weight? Tony told him a while ago that he has a hyper-metabolism because of the bite and needs to eat a lot more than the regular person. He thought that all the exercise he gets done between swinging and training would prevent him from gaining anything. Maybe he was wrong.
Okay, so maybe he has gained weight, so what? Everyone gains weight in the colder months, it’s not a big deal. May always starts making comments about needing to lose her winter weight the second the snow starts to thaw. It’s normal, right? Why is he letting some stranger on Twitter hurt his feelings?
That’s not really an excuse, anymore. It’s late February now, he’s had more than enough time to lose any extra pounds he might’ve put on during snowstorm season. This doesn’t make any sense. Tony updates his measurements for the suit every month and he hasn’t made a single comment about having to loosen it. Is the suit even getting tighter?
Peter stands, heart in his throat, and pulls off his hoodie and gym shorts. He pulls on the discarded suit and walks, silently, to May’s room to find her floor-length mirror. She’s working overtime all week, which means he’ll probably be asleep by the time she gets home.
He stands in front of the mirror, pinching the material around his stomach and trying to see if it’s tightened. It doesn’t feel any different, but who knows? He pulls out his phone again and finds a picture of Spider-Man, mid-swing, from late November. He holds it up next to himself in the mirror.
Lo and behold, his thighs are noticeably bigger now and his stomach is sticking out just a hair more than it was three months ago.
Peter strips out of the suit and doesn’t bother getting dressed again. A weird, pinching feeling plants itself in his stomach. It doesn’t go away for the rest of the night as one, fairly distressing question swirls around in his head.
Is he fat?
-
The following afternoon, it’s still bothering him.
Peter is sitting at the lunch table, staring at the tuna sandwich he haphazardly made for himself this morning like it’s personally offending him. Ned seems completely oblivious to his best friend’s internal dilemma, blabbing away about an English project in a class Peter doesn’t even share with him.
“Ned?” Peter swallows thickly, eyes not leaving the table. Out of the corner of his eye, Ned stops talking and turns towards him, giving the teen his full attention. “Do you think I've gained weight?”
Even MJ, who is sitting across from them silently, looks up from her book to raise her eyebrows. Peter feels his face turn red, but he doesn’t back down. Ned would tell him the truth, right?
“Huh?” Ned looks absolutely bewildered.
“I mean- I just think I might’ve... gained a few- a few pounds and I wanted to see if you... agree?” Peter cringes at his incompetence, fighting with the strong urge to run away from the table and spend the rest of his lunch hour in the washroom, to hide from his shame.
“I don’t know.” His best friend laughs a little, clearly uncomfortable. “I don’t think you look any different, if that makes you feel better.”
“Thanks.” He mumbles, picking at the crust of his sandwich. His stomach is growling loudly, like it always does at this time of day, but for some reason, food sounds like the most unappealing thing on the planet. But MJ and Ned are both looking at him with suspicion, so he has no choice but to eat it, guilt curling in his stomach with every bite.
Later, while leaving their final class, Ned confronts him.
“You okay, dude?” Ned corners him at their lockers, before Peter has the chance to make a mad dash away from the school.
“Yeah.” Peter tries to smile, but he knows it comes out strained. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Ned will believe him with no further questions. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I mean... that question at lunch was a little out of the blue, and the guidance counselors are always telling us to watch out for these things with our friends, so I was just-”
“Ned.” Peter says, placing a hand on his best friend’s shoulder. He feels awful for making him so worried; it was just supposed to be a simple, innocent question. He’ll know better than to ask questions, next time. This seems like something he should keep to himself, anyways. “It’s not like I have an eating disorder or anything, okay? I was just wondering. I’m sorry for stressing you out.”
Ned doesn’t ask any more questions, after that.
-
Peter doesn’t stop at Delmar’s on his walk home from school.
He sees Mr. Delmar in the window, making another customer’s order. He sees the pickles and the sauces and the cheese and, God, how many calories does he usually eat? Has he just subconsciously been using his metabolism as an excuse for eating so much?
The fifteen-year-old leaves before Mr. Delmar can see him, stomach growling as he walks back to the apartment.
-
“I’m starving.” Tony announces, not even an hour after Peter arrives to the tower for their Wednesday lab day, which has become a ritual since shortly after the Homecoming Incident.
Peter feels mildly panicked at the declaration. It’s been nearly forty-eight hours since he saw the post, and it still hasn’t left his head. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him or why this particular post from some anonymous guy on Twitter bothers him more than all the horrible things The Daily Bugle claims about him.
“What about you, kid? Want me to order some pizza?” Tony asks, wiping off his dirty hands with a rag. “I should clarify that I absolutely refuse to order that pineapple monstrosity that you like. I’m pretty sure there’s seventeen different laws against it.”
“Uh...” Peter chews on his nail, pretending to be completely engrossed in the broken circuit board sitting neatly on his workbench. “I had a big lunch. I’m pretty full.”
It’s a complete and utter lie. He has planned on skipping breakfast, just to avoid that new, awful guilty feeling he gets every time he eats, but May was home with him this morning which meant he had a piece of toast with jam, so she doesn’t get suspicious. It wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy the hunger he’s grown used to having since the bite.
Tony raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry, you filled up on school lunch? I mean, I know it’s a private school and all, but any facility that has a Mystery Meat Monday terrifies me.”
Despite himself, the teenager huffs out a small laugh. “It was, uh, turkey dinner special. Ned already bought me one before I could tell him not to, so, yeah.”
“Fine by me, that just means I get more pizza.” The billionaire grins at him. “At least come upstairs with me, though. We can make those suit adjustments you mentioned the other day.”
Suit adjustments the teenager is really starting to regret mentioning, now.
They take the elevator upstairs together. Peter is vaguely aware that Tony is talking about something, but he’s hardly paying attention. Anxiety hums underneath his skin at the idea of having to get measured again for the suit. What if his mentor notices his weight gain? Oh, God, what if he’s noticed for months but has been too polite to say anything about it?
“Kid?” He blinks back into focus when he notices Tony staring at him in worry, halfway out of the now stopped elevator. “Are you okay?”
“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine.” He smiles, hoping it’s enough to convince his father-figure, even though he knows it’s not. Tony doesn’t press anymore, however, as he leads him to the kitchen where they wait for the food.
The pizza gets there a few minutes later (how Tony is able to order so quickly is still a mystery he refuses to answer), and Peter only realizes when Tony opens the box how hungry he is. He’s been so used to eating until he’s beyond full for so long, that going not even a full day without it is having a serious effect.
“You sure you don’t want any, buddy?” Tony asks, completely unaware that Peter feels like he could just cry from the effort to not dive for a slice. His hand clenches into a fist under the table, biting the inside of his cheek and feeling so, utterly humiliated. What is he, a rabid dog? He should have more control than this.
“No.” Peter chokes out, shaking his head. “I’m good.”
“I didn’t ask if you were good, I asked if you wanted any.” Tony smirks, holding a slice out. “Seriously, kid, don’t tell anyone I feel this emotion, but I’m worried. Dr. Cho and I have both talked to you about taking care of your crazy metabolism.”
Shit. He’s practically caught. What is he supposed to say to that? A part of him wants to confess, wants to tell Tony about the post that won’t leave his head and the sudden extra weight on his thighs and stomach, but what good will that do? Tony doesn’t like serious, emotional things. There have only been a handful of times, since they started getting close like this, where their conversations have turned in that direction. What if Tony doesn’t understand? What if he thinks Peter is just being a stupid, self-conscious teenager? What if he’s right?
“Okay.” Peter says quickly, grabbing the slice with too much force and shoving half of it into his mouth in one go. Maybe having pizza almost every time he comes over to the tower is what’s making him gain weight. How many calories are in one slice, anyway? He makes a mental note to look it up, later.
“Good?” Tony asks, clearly concerned.
“Great.” Peter lies.
-
An hour later, the vigilante is standing in just boxers in the middle of the lab, arms raised to his sides as Tony measures him for suit-related updates.
“Is it good?” Peter asks, for what feels like the fifteenth time in the last twenty minutes. He’s just waiting for Tony to tell him that he needs to lose some serious weight in order to be Spider-Man, that he needs to cut back on food and-
“Kid.” Tony says plainly, wrapping the measuring tape around his waist. “Just let me actually, you know, do the fitting, and then I’ll let you know.”
Peter pinches his lips together and uses every ounce of his willpower to keep quiet, even though his mind is swirling with worst-case-scenarios. He’s been in various degrees of undressed in front of Tony plenty of times before, between getting hurt on patrol and suit fittings, but his insecurities are ramming at him with the force of a high-speed train, now.
“Everything is fitting fine, kid. Your measurements have barely changed from last month.” Tony claps him on the shoulder and shoots him a reassuring smile. Peter hastily starts to get dressed again, brain stuck on only one word.
“Barely?”
Tony isn’t even looking at him as he says, “Yeah, but don’t worry about it. You’re an honor student, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that your weight will change a million times between now and when you’re fifty.”
A horrible, bitter taste fills the teenager’s mouth. The unsaid words that he has gained weight are clear as day.
-
The ironic thing is; Peter was always a scrawny kid.
There was never really any room to be self-conscious about it when he was eight or nine years old and the most important thing at the time was getting home in time to watch the newest episode of Ninja Turtles.
But even with the veneer of childhood innocence, he knew he was skinny. Peter was all limbs and ribcage and tiny fingers that built little robots for the science fair. He spent most of his time reading or running around the apartment with homemade Iron Man gloves; he never had the time to get any meat on his bones.
Then The Bite happened, and things changed pretty significantly.
Peter remembers liking his abs and new veins on his forearms, but not knowing what to do with any of it. He remembers eating more but not gaining any weight, suddenly craving everything in the kitchen. He remembers not taking a break from Spider-Man for so long, too wrapped up in trying to do something good that he forgot to let himself rest.
Now, Tony makes him rest. He benches Peter when he merges on the second week straight of patrolling every night, makes sure he spends an equal amount of time as Peter Parker as he does Spider-Man.
Somewhere along the way, while trying to take care of himself for his mentor’s peace of mind, did Peter get lazy? Did he start eating everything Tony and May offer to him without thinking about working it off while swinging later?
Tony and May will obviously get suspicious if he’s suddenly spending double the amount of time on patrol for no good reason, so there’s only one, crystal clear solution.
He needs to eat less.
-
May takes him for dinner.
Peter had come up with just about a million excuses for why she should save her bonus on something else, something not food related, but she insists. He almost considers faking the flu to get out of it, but May just looked so happy when she announced that they were finally going to a semi-fancy dinner instead of ordering take-out like they have been for months on end, he couldn’t deny her this.
He tries to ignore the pit in the bottom of his stomach, tries to focus on getting to spend time with his overworked aunt, but the second the waiter asks for their order, his palms start to sweat. He wipes them on his jeans and swallows thickly when the waiter turns to him questioningly.
“I’ll, uh, I’ll just have a- the salad, please?” Peter cringes at his own incompetence, physically pained when he catches sight of the pasta order he could be eating. The waiter disappears to a different corner of the restaurant, leaving May to raise a questioning eyebrow at her nephew.
“Who are you and what have you done with my nephew?” She narrows her eyes.
“What?”
“Sweetheart, I have raised you for eleven years and I’ve never even seen you willingly eat a salad, let alone order one at a restaurant that I know, for a fact, has burgers and pasta.”
“I just- like salad.”
“You suddenly like salad?”
“No, I-” He breathes harshly, angry at her for being so nosy. Why is it such a big deal that he wants to drop a few pounds? No one has ever cared before. “I’m just... getting older. My taste is... refining.”
May looks amused. “Okay, mister refined taste buds, you should know that most adults only pretend to like healthy things. If there was a plate of lettuce and croutons on one side of me, and a cheeseburger on the other, I know which one I'd eat, and it’s certainly not the salad.”
“I’ll...” He swallows heavily. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Tony doesn’t have you on a diet, does he?” She asks suddenly, face set in tight anger.
“What? No, of course not.” Peter is bewildered.
May pursues her lips together in that motherly way that usually means she’s about to thoroughly annoy Peter in the most loving way possible. She shrugs and says, “You know I don’t trust Tony as far as I can throw him.”
“Accusing Mr. Stark of having me on a diet is a little extreme.” May is always making comments like that, clearly not meaning to upset her nephew but she does, nevertheless. She doesn’t see what Peter sees when it comes to Tony. She only knows him as the Tony Stark that the TV shows, not the Tony Stark that Peter knows. He tries not to hold it against her.
“What can I say? I tend to be a little extreme.”
And just like that, all of his aunt’s concern is evaporated. Peter doesn’t know whether to be relieved or not.
-
Peter skips breakfast and lunch three days in a row. He eats dinner, only because he knows he still needs to eat something, to avoid passing out in the middle of fourth period.
A week after first seeing the post, he finds himself alone at the apartment again and scrolling. Turns out, there’s a whole, mini debate going on in the trenches of social media and Avengers related blogs about health and weight gain. Some people are vocal about minding their business and keeping any comments about any hero’s weight fluctuations to themselves. Others say they have the right to comment on it when they put their faith in The Avengers to protect them.
There’s a few more posts about Spider-Man's weight, mostly in response to the first one he saw. Most of the comments scold whoever originally posted it for being shallow and mean, but a handful of people agree that he has, in fact, noticeably put on a few pounds.
Peter stands in front of the mirror for twenty-three minutes, not moving an inch. He still has abs, still has veins on his forearms, still has, vaguely, the body of an athlete, but he weighs more than he did three months ago. He can hardly see a visible difference, but he knows it’s there and that makes everything else seem insignificant.
He’s so hungry; he’s been fighting with his natural instinct to scavenge the fridge, for days now. Going from eating with no restraint to eating only once a day, especially with his super-metabolism, is bound to be a big adjustment, he reasons.
Eventually, just being in the apartment starts to make him feel dizzy with hunger, so he pulls on the suit and swings until it’s dark out and his limbs ache. By the time he collapses back into bed, everything else is sore enough that he can ignore the gurgling in his stomach.
It’s better this way.
-
“Aren't you supposed to be in school?” Tony irritated, slightly breathless voice filters through the comms. Peter winces.
“Uh... surprise?” He tries, propelling himself from the building he’s latched onto to grab ahold of a web. The news of the giant lizard-thing attacking Brooklyn had broken almost immediately, so there was no way Peter was just going to sit in Spanish class and leave Tony to handle it.
Tony mumbles something that the teenager can’t make out, then says, “Fine, but you’re on crowd control, you hear me?”
“Yessir.” Peter swings to where most of the onlookers are gathered, pointedly ignoring the emptiness in his stomach that makes him feel uneasy. He’s merging on Day Ten of his new diet, and his body still seems to be rebelling against it. All he’s had to eat today are four blueberries from the very bottom on the tin, all sour and red.
Peter tries to encourage the crowd to find shelter as he moves unsuspecting onlookers away from the danger, while Tony flies around the lizard-thing and blasts it from every angle. He can see it start to get tired as it stumbles around, knocking into buildings and filling the street with rubble.
It’s tail knocks into a building and sends a large chunk of rubble towards the street, right over a group of civilians. Peter acts quick, catching it just in time and throwing it into the same building. It’s only then, with his arms raised and the group of civilians singing their praises of him, that a wave of dizziness crashes over him like a tidal wave.
He grabs ahold of the nearest wall as the world spins, head pounding. It’s so intense that he drops to his knees before he can even realize it, holding his head in his hands and screwing his eyes shut.
“Kid?” There’s a heavy clunk and then Tony is in front of him. A metal hand lands on his back. “What’s wrong? Did you get hit?”
“No, I’m- I’m okay.” He lies, trying to straighten up so he doesn’t look so damn pathetic. His head is still spinning like a record player. “I’m just dizzy.”
“Dizzy?” Tony leans down to inspect his face. “What’s your blood sugar?”
“Um... seventy.”
“Your blood sugar is seventy.” The billionaire repeats flatly, looking like a cross between disappointed and worried. “What’s going on with you, huh?”
“Nothing, Mr. Stark.” He lies, the words tasting like acid on his tongue. Why is the universe punishing him for this, for wanting to lose weight? Why can’t he just have something simple and uncomplicated for once in his life?
Tony opens his mouth to say something more, probably to call Peter out on his bullshit, but the teenager beats him to it, stepping away and launching himself in the air with a web attached to a building. “I need to get back to school.”
He doesn’t look back.
-
“Do you have an eating disorder?”
Peter chokes on nothing, looking up from where he was washing his hands to stare in bewilderment at Ned. In nearly ten years of friendship, he’s certainly heard weirder questions from his best friend, he just didn’t expect this one to be in the boys’ bathroom of all places.
“What?” The water stops running but Peter doesn’t move an inch. Dread coils up within him, making a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck. Yesterday, after swinging back to the apartment, the dizziness wore off, but the embarrassment didn’t. Happy is supposed to be picking him up after school today so he can spend the weekend at the tower, and Peter can’t help but dread what is usually his favorite part of the week.
“You haven't eaten lunch since last Tuesday, Peter.” Ned says, twisting his fingers around anxiously. The last time Ned confronted him about odd behavior, they were nine and he wanted to know why Peter had been acting weird since he got a new babysitter.
“I just haven't had time.” He defends weakly, turning away to grab a piece of paper towel from the dispenser to dry his wet hands. “I’m not- I'm not avoiding eating or anything.”
Ned pinches his lips together; the silent message is clear as day. He doesn’t believe him. “Pete, I know we don’t really talk about-”
“Just drop it, Ned!” He shouts, not even meaning to. Ned flinches back, and it feels like a slap to Peter’s face. He wants to apologize for yelling, wants to make Ned understand that he needs to lose this weight, but nothing comes out.
Peter stomps out of the washroom with tears in his eyes.
-
Tony is acting weird.
It’s been five hours since Peter arrived at the tower for the weekend, and the billionaire has already excused himself from the room twice to make private phone calls, both times giving Peter a sort of strange look on his way back.
Peter hasn’t commented on it, trying to push it to the back of his mind and tell himself it’s just Avengers-related stuff that he shouldn’t stick his nose in. Still, it’s hard to calm his nerves, and he finds himself jittery with each passing moment of silence.
“Peter?” Tony turns around in his chair suddenly, looking very serious. “If I ask you something, do you promise to tell me the truth, no matter what it is?”
“Uh, okay?” The fifteen-year-old swallows, wracking his brain for anything and everything he could’ve done to warrant such a serious discussion. Is Tony still upset about him running off yesterday, after the fight? Has he somehow found out about what’s been going on since last week?
Tony takes a deep breath. “Have you not been eating?”
The question feels like a bucket of ice water being dumped all over him. Peter opens his mouth but nothing comes out, spluttering uselessly as he tries to form some kind of answer to express the thunderstorm of emotions he’s suddenly been hit with.
When the teenager doesn’t answer, Tony continues, “I talked to your friend from school. He told me about what happened today. Then, I called your aunt, and she told me about the whole salad situation when you went out for dinner last night.” He speaks in a carefully neutral tone, but Peter can see the underlying worry in his expression.
“Ned called you?” He’s horrified. “You talked to May?”
“They’re worried about you, kid.” Tony defends. “We all are. And to hear that you haven't been eating practically anything?”
“I just-” Peter stands, intent on walking out of the lab, out of the tower, but pauses before he can take a step. He crosses his arms over his chest and tries not to cry, even though he can feel the burn of tears in his eyes. “I just wanted to lose a couple pounds, okay? Why is everyone making such a big fucking deal about it? It’s not like I’m- I’m throwing up, or something.”
“First of all, you don’t need to lose any weight, Pete. You're ten times more fit than literally every other fifteen-year-old boy out there.” Tony stands, too. “Second of all, you need a lot of calories every day to keep up with your metabolism. Even if you did need to lose weight, starving yourself isn’t the way to do it. You know that.”
“I can’t be Spider-Man if I’m fat!” Peter shouts suddenly, arms flailing. The first tear slips down his cheek. The last week-and-a-half crash down on him as he starts properly crying, uselessly trying to mop his tears with his sleeve.
Tony looks heartbroken, if such a thing is possible. He lowers his voice to a near whisper and says, “Kid, who told you that? You’re not- you're not fat, Jesus Christ. Who’s making you feel this way because I swear to you, they’re lying.”
Sniffling, Peter pulls out his phone and scrolls to the post that has haunted his every waking moment for almost two weeks. He gingerly hands the phone to his mentor and looks down to the floor as the man reads, not wanting to face his shame.
He knows when Tony is done reading when a warm hand settles on his shoulder. He looks up. “Pete, buddy, this- this jackass who posted this knows absolutely nothing about you, right? That’s all this is, kid, just some loser who has nothing better to do.”
“I just...” Peter swipes a hand over his face, trying to banish the last of his tears. “I don’t want to disappoint anybody.”
Tony sighs sadly, then places a hand on the back of the teenager’s head, keeping his full attention. “Listen, I know I don’t say this a lot, mainly because I’m an emotionally constipated asshole, but I care about you a whole lot, kid. And you should know that I would care about you whether you were four hundred or forty pounds. Your weight doesn’t matter, and I know May and your friend feel the same way.”
“You don’t think I’ve gained weight?” Peter asks quietly, feeling an inch tall.
“So what if you have?” Tony seems to immediately recognize that it’s not the perfect response. “And for the record, you don’t look any different than you did when I dragged you to Germany for my benefit.”
Peter finds himself laughing a little, through his tears. “I forgive you.”
“Good to know.” Tony smiles warmly, tugging him in for a hug. He wraps both arms around the teenager, one hand twisting his curls around and one rubbing up and down his back. “Eases my conscious.”
They stay like that for a while, not saying a word. It’s peaceful.
When they pull away, Tony says, “Promise me that you’ll talk to me if you ever feel like this again, okay? I may not be able to fully understand, but I want to help you, kid.”
“Okay.” Peter agrees.
They both know that this isn't the end of it, that Peter will still have to work to get back to eating without horrible guilt curling up in his stomach, but Tony is here and for now, that’s enough. It’s always enough.
Peter doesn’t fall asleep hungry, that night.