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Peter woke up slowly today.
Once he managed to convince himself that it was worth it to get out of bed, he pushed himself up on his elbows and took in a deep breath.
Today was just like the others, he told himself, eyes half lidded and taking in the day's rainy weather through the blurred glass of his window.
Well actually, every single day became a challenge ever since he stepped onto the wobbly path of recovery -- so no day was really like any other day anymore.
Sure, the better overweighed the worse, but he still struggled. He still had a broken bone, hiding somewhere deep down, making him stumble with every new step he took, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he didn't need crutches for extra support anymore.
When sometimes he forgot that he was supposed to be better by now, he realized how easy it would be to slip and fall right back down into his eating disorder.
It was there, sitting in the back of his mind, lulling to him like the worst kind of siren, instead of singing of love and riches painting the perfect picture of an unattainable body, made of skin and bones.
He wasn't alone anymore, he had to remind himself of that when he felt himself start to spiral:
When he felt like an insect, causing disgusted gasps from around the room, sprawled under the dissecting gaze of a scientist, ready to be cut open, yet somehow still wanting to escape.
When he was an open wound all over again, which was only just ready to close, cruelly tore open again, starting to seep blood and painting everything around it a dark deep red.
No. That wasn't the case anymore. Peter was slowly sewn back together with care and love. So much love.
Tony made sure of that -- Peter's heart ached as he remembered.
Tony finding out, Tony closing his eyes and taking a deep breath like hearing how much of a mess Peter had become phisically pained him.
Tony chosing to help him. Chosing to love him regardless.
Because Peter could finally believe it now. Tony loved him, fully and unconditionally.
However, today some of the stitches that held Peter together got ripped out. They left Peter gaping like a black hole, neverending and infinite in its darkness.
Sometimes he hated how fragile his healthy state of mind was. How easy he could be pushed off the very thin line of his recovery, of feeling okay, feeling like he wouldn't shatter into a million pieces by an unexpected remark or judgmental glance.
Peter looked at himself in the mirror once he finished brushing his teeth and put his toothbrush back on the sink.
His pale complexion and brown big eyes, with circles a little too black to be healthy glared back at him.
Every single flaw he had stood out, laughing at him, mocking him.
In therapy, Peter learned how to ignore the way they screamed at him.
Today they were harder to block out. Today they seemed real, living their own lives, swirling and tainting every thought Peter had.
Yeah... today sucked.
---
"I'm going to need two volunteers to step on the scale for this next exercise. If no one volunteers I'll pick two students myself," Mr. Harringrove said to the class and Peter's stomach sank.
What the fuck, he thought to himself as he desperately tried to appear small enough that he could hide under someone's shoe, seeking refuge in a crack on the floor.
As Mr. Harringrove explained the task again, 'someone will step on the scale and the class has to guess how much they weigh', Peter desperately rocked his mind to find a way, any way to get out of this hell of a situation.
He desperately looked over at Ned, who got seated at the other side of the classroom.
His friend sent him a reassuring look, and mouthed: it's okay.
But it wasn't okay. It wasn't okay at all.
Old demons, demons he thought he already fought and defeated once and for all, now poked their heads up again inside Peter's mind, and he felt panic claw at his throat, making it hard to breathe.
Peter pinched the inside of his forearm, hard.
1,2,3 in 4,5,6,7 out.
He tried to distract himself of the wave of anxiety that was slowly but steadily growing within him, getting inexplicably and irrationally bigger and bigger, slipping from the weak grasp of Peter's control.
Peter wanted --
He wanted Tony.
He wanted to be curled up on the couch next to him, his hair stroked and being reassured and safe and and not feeling like-- like this.
Not reminded of all those months starving himself, hating himself, weighing himself.
Peter bit down on the flesh inside of his cheek, the force of it drawing blood as he distantly registered Mr. Harringrove picked out the first person.
Peter got up, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor disturbing the silence in the room.
Before he knew it his legs took him to the door and he bolted out of the classroom, not even sparing a second glance at the teacher or any other student.
Peter ran.
He ran until his side burned and there was only one thing on his mind.
Call Tony.
---
After fumbling with his phone, unable to unlock it with how badly his fingers were trembling, Peter finally managed to dial Tony's number. He waited anxiously for the man to pick up, running his hand through his hair a couple of times.
"Pete?" Tony's voice was a bit strained, he probably didn't sleep well, Peter's mind provided but any regret he might have felt for disturbing Tony, was replaced by the sheer amount of relief he felt by hearing his voice.
"Can you please come pick me up?" Peter rasped, voice shaky and making him sound weaker than he felt in a very long time.
"Sure... I'll, I'll be there in ten," Tony answered without missing a beat, worry evident in his tone, sounds of him putting on his jacket in the background. "Pete are you, you're... safe?" he asked after a beat, already dreading the answer even though deep down he knew what it was.
"I'm okay," Peter shuddered, hugging his middle, in a self-soothing manner.
Tony is coming.
Tony will soon be here and he will make it all stop.
Tony was a mechanic, he was constantly building and reinventing, working out bugs, repairing all that was broken.
Peter thought that in him, he might have found the first thing he couldn't fix. He might have found something that was truly and utterly beyond repair.
---
"Where the hell is my kid?" Tony barked at the receptionist sitting next to the entrance of the school, without any greetings whatsoever, all formalities brushed aside.
Peter needed him and he wasn't picking up his phone and Tony actually felt sick with worry now.
"Mr. Stark," tha man behind the desk tried, but Tony's eyes caught sight of a small form in red and blue pressing against the wall of the corridor and Tony didn't think, he just rushed to the kid's side, ignoring the protests of the man meant to guard the schools entrance.
"I got you kiddo," he whispered as he pulled Peter into a quick hug, far too quick to Tony's liking.
Passing by the stunned receptionist, the two of them headed out of the school and towards Tony's car, that was parked right in front of the building.
Tony started the engine once Pete fastened his seatbelt, but something wasn't right. Tony tilted his head, chancing a glance at his kid.
Peter's breath stuttered and he finally let his face contort in pain, a pain that was until now hidden behind a neutral mask he was so damn good at keeping on, even in front of Tony.
Tony felt like someone flicked down a light switch inside him, suddenly making everything go dark and cold.
He automatically leaned closer to Peter and touched a hesitant hand against the kid's shoulder, not sure if it was okay to touch, okay to comfort. Whether that was what Peter needed right now or not. Tony so desperately wanted to do the right thing, he wanted to do right by Peter, needed to make sure he was okay, that he could talk to Tony, that he was safe.
"Come on, talk to me kid," he pleaded as he gently brushed away a tear falling down Peter's cheek.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut then opened them again, slowly, like it hurt.
"Was this," he gestured at his body, lips trembling slightly, "all a mistake?"
Tony, confused for a second, furrowed his brow, trying to decipher what Peter could possibly mean by that.
Did he--? Could he think?
"Peter, no," Tony breathed, his voice coming out strained, the words breaking out like chained lions ready to devour in order to protect.
To protect Peter from his very own mind.
"Recovering is never a mistake." "Pete, please look at me," Tony paused, desperate for Peter to hear him, for the words to sink in and leave an imprint on Peter's pain and fears. "Getting help, getting better is never and never will be a mistake."
Peter hesitated for a moment, meeting Tony's eyes, gaze glassy and betraying how deeply upset he felt.
Tony couldn't bare to see that look on his kid's face for much longer.
"Okay," Peter said, exhaling slowly, taking in a couple of measured breaths before breaking eye contact, letting Tony know he was ready to go.
---
They went up straight to the penthouse, Friday making the elevator go faster than usual, probably once she noticed Peter's shaken state, barely able to keep himself up, threatening to fall apart like a house of cards.
Once they entered the apartment and took off their shoes, Peter grasping Tony's arm for balance, Tony offered to watch a movie and eat one of Peter's comfort foods.
Peter said yes, when in reality he felt so far away from hungry at that moment that the mere thought of pushing something down his throat made him nauseous.
Peter was a bottomless well today, no matter how much water flowed in, he could never be filled.
He couldn't be stopped, he didn't trust himself to stop grabbing more when his body told him it got enough, he wasn't even sure if it was capable of doing that anymore, or if it all just got too messed up, broken beyond repair.
He sat down on the grey couch in the living room, allowing himself to sink back into the cushions which always felt a bit fluffier against his strained back than he anticipated them to be.
While drowning out the distant sounds of Tony moving in the kitchen, turning the stove on and picking up two plates, Peter felt his hands still tremble slightly, another annoying thing about himself he couldn't do anything about.
He felt out of place. He was a pickle in a jar full of strawberries, inadequate and eye-catching, but not in the good way.
"Pete," Tony started as he put down a plate of grilled cheese infront of him onto the coffee table. The man sat down slowly next to him, not too close but still in close enough so that if Peter reached out his arm he could easily touch him.
"Sweetheart, what happened?" the question broke out of Tony like water bursting through a ruptured dam.
And what in the world was Peter supposed to say to that?
'Sorry, I broke down because a stupid teacher made us do a stupid exercise?'
Stupid, stupid. This was all so stupid.
"In math class, Mr. Harringrove wanted to weigh two students and have the others guess how much they weigh." Peter rushed the words out, not stopping to take a breath, not letting himself actually think through what the words meant, shielding himself away from the way they stung him, reminded him of the dread he felt overtake him.
"I-- I panicked," he admitted, feeling his cheeks turn pink.
"I'm, I'm so tired of myself, Tony. I know Mr. Harringrove was in the wrong, but fuck. I should be better than this by now. You put so much energy and money into me and my recovery and I just, I'm still stuck. And it's hard. It's so hard, it's ridiculous. I don't think I can, this isn't profitable anymore, and I think--"
"Stop," Peter heard Tony's cutting tone interrupt him.
"You're, you're not a project I invest in, Pete. You're, you're my kid. You're my person," Tony whispered, looking up to the ceiling before meeting Peter's eyes, gaze fierce yet so, so gentle. He too, sounded dangerously close to tears, mirroring Peter's emotional state.
"I don't care if it, if it takes years or decades, I'm in it with you till the end of the line, kiddo," Tony said with so much conviction in his voice Peter felt himself shudder by the power behind those words.
Tony put his hand out in a silent offer, and Peter found that it was easy to hold it, feel the callouses on Tony's hand, letting the man's warmth wash through him, like Tony was able to take away all the bad poison cursing through Peter's veins and replace it with appreciation and pure love.
Something about hearing Tony say those words so explicitly, in such a simple, straightforward way made something crack deep within Peter's most vulnerable side.
A wall he built around himself, a wall to hide all his complicated emotions and heavy thoughts, thoughts he should have gotten rid off by now, still in there, buried deep but never completely gone.
Tony gave him a ladder. A ladder on which the thoughts could escape, by which Peter could channel them to safety, where he could see them, monitor them and keep them in check.
It wasn't perfect. But it was progress. And if Peter had to make progress every single day for the rest of his life, than so be it. He deserved an entire lifetime's worth of effort and work.
"Thank you," Peter whispered and let himself be pulled into one of Tony's signature hugs, a hug which screamed: I understand, kid.