Work Text:
By the time Peter got home from school, he had already decided that he was going to lie.
Not a serious lie. Nothing dramatic, nothing that required preparation or a convincing story or the sort of complicated mental gymnastics Peter usually associated with lying to adults. Just a little one. A harmless one. The kind that would make everyone’s life easier.
He was fine.
That was it.
He was fine.
Peter stepped out of the elevator on the residential floor of the Tower and adjusted the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. His shoes squeaked faintly against the polished floor as he headed toward the common area, and before he even reached the corner, he could smell food. Something warm and cheesy, probably something that had been cooking for a while. His stomach immediately growled.
Peter stopped walking and looked down at himself. “Absolutely not,” he whispered.
His stomach growled again.
Peter sighed. “Okay. Maybe a little.”
He rounded the corner and found exactly what he expected. Steve was in the kitchen, moving between the counter and the oven with the concentration of a man who had somehow managed to turn dinner into a military operation. Sam was sitting at the island with his feet stretched out in front of him, scrolling through his phone, while Bucky sat beside him quietly eating something straight from a bowl.
Tony was nowhere to be seen.
Peter felt a tiny, stupid flicker of disappointment.
He ignored it.
“Hey, kid,” Steve called without looking up. “You’re late.”
Peter dropped his backpack beside one of the chairs. “School.”
Sam looked up from his phone. “That’s generally where they keep teenagers during daylight hours.”
“Really?” Peter asked. “I thought I was being held hostage.”
Sam’s mouth twitched. “How was it?”
“Educational.”
Sam stared at him for a second. “That bad?”
“Geometry.”
Sam nodded sympathetically. “My condolences.”
Peter smiled as he pulled out a chair.
It was easy.
That was the thing.
Smiling was easy. He could joke. He could complain about school. He could make fun of Sam’s inability to understand modern slang and listen to Steve ask whether he’d finished his homework. All of that was easy.
It was the other things that had become difficult.
Like admitting that he hadn’t understood half of what his math teacher had explained that morning. Or mentioning that he’d gotten another email from school. Or telling Steve that he’d been staring at the same paragraph in his history textbook for twenty minutes the night before because he was too tired to understand what he was reading.
Those things didn’t matter.
At least, that’s what Peter kept telling himself.
“There’s lasagna,” Steve said.
Peter’s head snapped toward him. “Seriously?”
Steve laughed. “I knew that would get your attention.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were.”
“I was just looking.”
“You were looking like a starving dog.”
Peter frowned. “That’s kind of offensive.”
“You want a plate?”
Peter hesitated.
For half a second, something inside him told him to say yes. He was hungry. He’d skipped breakfast because he’d overslept, and lunch had been a granola bar because he’d forgotten his lunch at home. He’d spent the entire afternoon thinking about food.
But dinner was still a little while away. And he had homework. And there was an email he needed to answer. And he’d promised himself he would finish everything before bed tonight.
“No, I’m good,” Peter said.
Steve turned around.
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
Peter smiled again. “I’m gonna shower first.”
He picked up his backpack and headed for the elevator.
Steve watched him go.
Peter didn’t notice.
His room was exactly as he’d left it that morning, which was both comforting and slightly horrifying. His bed was unmade, a hoodie was hanging off the back of his chair, and his desk was covered with notebooks, pens, and several textbooks that Peter had been meaning to organize for approximately three weeks.
He dropped his backpack onto the floor and sat down on the edge of his bed.
For a moment, he didn’t move.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
Peter stared at the wall until his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out.
Another email.
He didn’t open it.
He already knew what it said. He’d been avoiding it since lunch, when he’d seen the subject line and immediately locked his phone again.
He unlocked it anyway and read the first few lines.
A reminder from one of his teachers about an assignment.
Peter closed his eyes.
“I know.”
His voice sounded strange in the empty room.
He tossed the phone onto the bed beside him, but it buzzed again almost immediately.
This time it was Tony.
You alive?
Peter stared at the message for a few seconds before typing back.
yeah
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
That’s suspiciously brief.
Peter smiled despite himself.
im alive
Better.
Peter waited.
Another message appeared.
Dinner in forty.
Peter looked at the clock. He had forty minutes. He could shower, finish the assignment, answer the email, review chemistry, and then go downstairs. Easy. He could do that.
Peter stood, and halfway to the bathroom, his phone buzzed again.
And eat something.
Peter stopped and looked at the message.
His smile faded a little.
He typed I will, stared at it for a second, and sent it.
He didn’t know why that one felt like a lie.
Tony noticed things.
It was one of the more irritating qualities about him.
Peter had discovered early on that Tony could somehow tell when he’d changed his shampoo, when he’d gotten three hours less sleep than usual, when he’d been lying about having eaten lunch, and when he’d secretly modified something in the lab.
Tony noticed everything.
Which was why Peter had become careful.
He didn’t want Tony noticing this.
There wasn’t really anything to notice.
That was what Peter kept telling himself.
He wasn’t sick. He wasn’t injured. Nothing terrible had happened. He was just tired.
Everybody got tired.
Tony Stark got tired. Steve got tired. Natasha got tired. Bucky probably got tired, even though Peter wasn’t entirely sure Bucky experienced normal human fatigue anymore.
Peter was allowed to be tired.
He just wasn’t allowed to make it everyone else’s problem.
That was different.
By the time Peter came downstairs, everyone was already eating.
Tony was at the table, talking to Sam about something on his tablet. Peter walked into the room and Tony looked up immediately.
“Hey, Webhead.”
“Hey.”
Tony’s eyes moved over him.
Peter hated when he did that.
Not because Tony was doing anything wrong. Because Peter could never tell what he was looking for.
“You eat?”
Peter pulled out a chair. “Yeah.”
Tony’s eyebrow lifted.
Peter realized his mistake.
“Like—I’m about to.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I’m hungry.”
“That’s also not what I asked.”
Steve put a plate down in front of Peter. “Just eat.”
Peter smiled. “Thanks, Cap.”
Tony leaned back in his chair.
Peter could feel him watching.
So he ate.
He ate more than he thought he could. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until the first few bites disappeared, and for a while nobody said anything. Sam was telling a story about a mission, Steve was arguing with him about some detail, Bucky was mostly listening, and Natasha walked in halfway through dinner and took the empty seat beside Wanda.
It was normal.
Comfortable.
Exactly the kind of evening Peter usually loved.
But tonight, he kept glancing at the clock.
He needed to get back upstairs.
He had work to do.
Tony noticed.
Of course he did.
“What’s the rush?”
Peter looked up. “What?”
“You keep checking the clock.”
“Oh.”
Peter shrugged.
“Homework.”
Tony nodded slowly. “Since when do you voluntarily care about homework?”
Peter gave him an offended look. “I always care about homework.”
“You’re right. That was unfair.”
“Thank you.”
“You care about getting the homework done five minutes before it’s due.”
Peter laughed.
Everyone else did too.
For a second, everything felt normal again.
Then Tony said, almost casually, “You know you don’t have to finish everything tonight.”
Peter looked down at his plate.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Peter glanced up.
Tony wasn’t smiling anymore.
Peter’s chest tightened.
He smiled anyway.
“Yeah.”
Tony studied him for another moment before finally nodding.
“Okay.”
Peter finished eating, thanked Steve, and took his plate to the kitchen even though Steve told him not to bother. Then he went upstairs.
Tony watched him disappear into the elevator.
He didn’t say anything.
Not yet.
The next morning, Peter overslept.
Not by much. Seven minutes.
Seven minutes was nothing.
Except seven minutes became twelve because he couldn’t find his other shoe, then fifteen because he’d forgotten where he’d put his homework, and then twenty because he’d stood in front of his closet staring at his clothes while trying to remember whether it was Wednesday or Thursday.
By the time he reached the kitchen, he was already late.
Steve was there, pouring coffee.
“You have five minutes.”
Peter grabbed a piece of toast. “I know.”
“Sit down.”
“I can’t.”
“You need breakfast.”
“I’ll eat at school.”
Steve frowned. “Peter.”
“I’m really late.”
Peter gave him a quick smile, grabbed his backpack, and headed for the elevator.
“Bye!”
The doors closed.
Steve stared at them.
Bucky looked up from his coffee.
“He’s not okay.”
Steve sighed.
“I know.”
Peter spent the day running on caffeine and stubbornness.
By lunch, his head hurt. By third period, he couldn’t remember whether he’d submitted his assignment. By the final bell, he was so exhausted that the noise of the hallway felt physically painful.
He made it outside and stood on the sidewalk for a few seconds, simply breathing.
Then his phone buzzed.
Tony.
Need a ride?
Peter stared at it.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard.
He could say yes.
Tony could pick him up. Peter could sit in the passenger seat and complain about school. Tony would probably get him food. It would be nice.
Peter almost typed yes.
Then he remembered the work waiting for him.
nah im good
The response came quickly.
You sure?
Peter swallowed.
yeah
He put the phone away.
Then he walked home.
It took him forty-three minutes.
By the time he reached the Tower, his feet hurt.
He stepped through the doors.
Happy was at the security desk.
“Hey, kid.”
“Hey.”
“You’re walking?”
Peter shrugged. “Nice weather.”
Happy looked through the glass doors at the gray sky.
“It is actively raining.”
Peter looked outside.
“Oh.”
Happy laughed.
Peter smiled and headed toward the elevator.
He didn’t notice Happy watching him go.
Tony didn’t ask about the ride.
That was worse.
Peter had expected some kind of comment. Instead, Tony was sitting in the lab when Peter came in, working on something that looked complicated enough to be illegal in at least four countries.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
Peter put his backpack down.
Tony didn’t look up.
“How was school?”
“Good.”
“Anything interesting?”
“Nope.”
“Any tests?”
“No.”
“Homework?”
“Some.”
Tony finally looked up.
Peter smiled.
Tony’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You’re very boring today.”
Peter laughed. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m fascinating enough for both of us.”
Peter nodded. “That’s true.”
He moved toward the workbench.
Tony watched him.
Normally, Peter would have immediately started talking. He’d show Tony something he’d built, ask about a piece of technology, or point out some ridiculous thing he’d seen online.
Today, he just stood there.
“You okay?”
Peter nodded.
“Yeah.”
Tony waited.
Peter waited.
Finally Tony turned back to his work.
“Okay.”
Peter picked up a tool.
He didn’t touch it.
After a minute, he said, “Can I work here?”
Tony looked at him.
“Of course.”
Peter sat down.
For the next hour, neither of them said much.
And Tony began to understand.
Peter wasn’t avoiding them.
He was trying not to need them.
It happened slowly.
That was what made it difficult.
If Peter had suddenly stopped eating, someone would have noticed. If he’d stopped sleeping, someone would have noticed. If he’d come home crying, someone would have noticed.
But Peter was doing none of those things.
He was simply becoming quieter.
He stopped wandering into the kitchen at midnight. He stopped stealing Steve’s food. He stopped asking Natasha questions about things he didn’t understand. He stopped arguing with Sam. He stopped sitting beside Bucky during movie nights.
He stopped asking Tony if he could come into the lab.
Instead, he would appear in the doorway and ask, “Are you busy?”
Tony would say no.
Peter would say, “Never mind,” and disappear.
It happened so often that eventually Tony started counting.
The first time, he thought nothing of it.
The third time, he noticed.
The sixth time, he started worrying.
By the tenth, he was angry.
Not at Peter.
At himself.
Because Tony couldn’t figure out what he’d missed.
One night, Tony found Peter asleep at the dining table.
It was nearly one in the morning.
Peter’s textbook was open beneath his cheek. A pen was still between his fingers.
Tony stood in the doorway.
For a long moment, he simply looked at him.
Peter looked younger when he slept.
Not Spider-Man.
Not the kid who could swing across Manhattan.
Just a teenager who had fallen asleep doing homework.
Tony walked over quietly and picked up the pen.
Peter stirred.
“Tony?”
“Go to bed.”
Peter blinked.
“What time is it?”
“Late.”
“I have to finish.”
Tony pulled out the chair beside him.
“Peter.”
“I’m fine.”
There it was again.
That sentence.
Tony sat down.
“You’re tired.”
“I’m always tired.”
“That’s not the defense you think it is.”
Peter rubbed his eyes.
“I just have a lot of stuff.”
“What stuff?”
Peter hesitated.
“School.”
Tony waited.
Peter looked down.
“Nothing.”
Tony’s jaw tightened.
He wanted to push.
He didn’t.
Instead, he picked up the textbook.
“Come on.”
Peter frowned. “Where?”
“Bed.”
“But—”
“Kid, the homework will still be there tomorrow.”
Peter stared at him.
Tony softened his voice.
“You’re allowed to sleep.”
Something flickered across Peter’s face.
So quick Tony almost missed it.
Relief.
Then guilt.
Peter stood.
“Okay.”
Tony walked him upstairs.
He didn’t say anything else.
But he remembered that expression.
Three days later, Peter got sick.
Not seriously. Just enough that his body finally gave up pretending it could keep up.
He came home pale.
Tony saw him step out of the elevator.
“Hey.”
Peter looked up.
“Hey.”
Tony stood.
Peter immediately shook his head.
“I’m fine.”
Tony stared at him.
“Did I ask?”
Peter blinked.
“No.”
“Exactly.”
Peter smiled weakly. “I’m just tired.”
Tony walked closer.
Peter stepped back.
It was tiny. Barely noticeable.
But Tony noticed.
He stopped.
“Peter.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re pale.”
“Lighting.”
“You’re sweating.”
“Humidity.”
“We’re indoors.”
“Very humid indoors.”
Tony stared at him.
Peter stared back.
Then Peter sneezed.
Tony sighed.
“Okay.”
Peter rubbed his nose.
“Okay?”
“You’re sick.”
“I’m not.”
“You just sneezed so hard you nearly folded in half.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
Tony reached for his forehead.
Peter flinched.
Tony froze.
Peter immediately looked guilty.
“I’m sorry.”
Tony’s expression changed.
“For what?”
Peter didn’t answer.
Tony lowered his hand.
“Go lie down.”
“I have homework.”
“Peter.”
“I really need to finish.”
Tony looked at him for a long moment.
Then he said quietly, “You don’t have to earn your way into bed.”
Peter’s eyes dropped.
“I know.”
But he didn’t.
Tony could see that now.
Peter went to his room.
Tony stood in the hallway for a while before going downstairs.
Steve was in the kitchen.
“He sick?”
Tony nodded.
“Yeah.”
Steve frowned. “He’s been off for weeks.”
Tony leaned against the counter.
“I know.”
“You know what’s wrong?”
“No.”
Steve was quiet.
Then he asked, “Do you think he knows?”
Tony looked toward the elevator.
“I think he thinks knowing isn’t the same thing as being allowed to say it.”
Peter woke up the next morning feeling better.
Not good.
Better.
That was enough.
He got dressed. He went to school. He came home. He smiled. He laughed. He told everyone he was fine.
And for the first time, Tony realized that Peter wasn’t trying to convince them.
He was trying to convince himself.
The breaking point wasn’t dramatic.
There was no accident. No villain. No fight. No emergency.
It happened on a Tuesday night.
Peter had been working on a school project for three hours. He’d rewritten the same paragraph seventeen times, and every time he read it back, it looked wrong.
His laptop screen blurred.
He blinked.
The words came back.
He read them again.
Nothing.
His chest felt tight.
He closed the laptop.
Then opened it again.
He had to finish.
He checked the clock.
11:47.
His eyes burned.
He looked at the assignment.
He couldn’t do it.
Peter leaned back in his chair.
For a moment, he considered calling Tony.
His hand moved toward his phone.
Stopped.
He stared at it.
What would I even say?
Hey, can you help me with homework?
That was stupid.
Tony had work.
Steve was probably asleep.
Everyone had their own lives.
Peter put the phone down.
He tried again.
The words wouldn’t come.
His eyes filled before he realized he was crying.
Peter wiped his face angrily.
“Come on.”
His voice cracked.
“Come on.”
He hated this.
He hated being tired. He hated feeling stupid. He hated that everything seemed so much harder than it should.
He hated that he couldn’t even explain what was wrong.
Because nothing was wrong.
Nothing big enough.
Nothing important enough.
He wasn’t allowed to fall apart over homework.
Peter covered his face with both hands.
His shoulders shook.
The door opened.
Peter froze.
Tony stood there.
Neither of them spoke.
Tony looked at the laptop.
Then at Peter.
Peter wiped his face quickly.
“Hey.”
Tony didn’t move.
Peter forced a smile.
“I was just—”
“Don’t.”
Peter swallowed.
Tony closed the door behind him.
He walked over slowly and pulled the chair beside Peter’s.
Peter looked away.
Tony sat down.
For a while, neither of them said anything.
Peter could hear his own breathing.
Finally Tony said, “How long?”
Peter frowned.
“What?”
“How long have you been doing this?”
Peter looked at him.
“I don’t know.”
“Weeks?”
Silence.
Tony nodded.
“Yeah.”
Peter’s throat tightened.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“I know.”
“I wasn’t trying to hide anything.”
“I know.”
“I just…”
His voice disappeared.
Tony waited.
Peter stared at his hands.
“I thought I could handle it.”
Tony’s expression softened.
“I know.”
Peter laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“That’s the problem.”
Tony didn’t interrupt.
Peter took a shaky breath.
“I can handle it. I should be able to.”
“According to who?”
Peter didn’t answer.
Tony leaned back.
“Peter, you’re seventeen.”
“I know.”
“You’re supposed to need help.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Peter looked at him.
Tony’s voice was quiet.
“Do you actually know that?”
Peter’s eyes filled again.
He looked away.
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
Tony’s face fell.
“Peter.”
“You guys have enough stuff.”
“We’re adults.”
“I know.”
“We can handle our own stuff.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you trying to handle ours too?”
Peter frowned.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Peter shook his head.
“I’m not.”
Tony looked at him.
“You think needing something makes you a burden.”
Peter went still.
Tony didn’t push.
He just waited.
Peter’s eyes dropped.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s okay.”
“I just…”
Peter swallowed.
“I know everyone would help me.”
Tony nodded.
“But?”
Peter’s fingers tightened together.
“I don’t know how to ask.”
Tony’s chest hurt.
Peter looked embarrassed.
“Like, I know you would help. I know Steve would help. I know everybody would. But every time I think about actually saying something, it just feels…”
He searched for the word.
“Stupid.”
Tony shook his head.
“It’s not stupid.”
“It feels small.”
Tony was silent.
Peter continued.
“Everybody has real problems. You guys have missions. The world literally needs you. And I’m sitting here freaking out because I can’t finish a history assignment.”
Tony looked at him.
“Peter.”
Peter rubbed his eyes.
“I know it’s dumb.”
“It’s not dumb.”
“I know it sounds dumb.”
“It doesn’t.”
Peter’s voice became smaller.
“I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”
Tony stared at him.
“Kid.”
Peter looked up.
“Being overwhelmed doesn’t make you weak.”
Peter said nothing.
Tony reached over and closed the laptop.
“You’re done.”
“But—”
“Done.”
“I have to submit it tomorrow.”
“Then you submit it tomorrow.”
“But—”
“Peter.”
Tony waited until Peter looked at him.
“You don’t have to be useful every second you’re in this building.”
Peter’s eyes filled again.
Tony continued quietly.
“You don’t have to be Spider-Man here.”
Peter looked down.
“You don’t even have to be the smart kid.”
A tear slipped down Peter’s cheek.
Tony pretended not to notice.
“You can just be Peter.”
Peter’s mouth trembled.
“And if Peter’s having a bad day?”
Tony shrugged.
“Then Peter’s having a bad day.”
“What if he has a bad week?”
“Then we have a bad week.”
Peter laughed weakly.
“What if it’s a bad month?”
Tony smiled.
“Then we’re gonna have a really annoying month.”
Peter laughed again.
This time it was real.
Tony smiled.
There it was.
Peter leaned back in his chair.
For the first time in weeks, his shoulders dropped.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Tony noticed.
Of course he did.
Peter stared at the closed laptop.
“I really don’t know how to do this.”
Tony nodded.
“That’s okay.”
“How do I learn?”
Tony considered it.
“You start small.”
“Like what?”
“Next time you’re hungry, you tell someone.”
Peter frowned.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“I can do that.”
“Good.”
Peter nodded.
Tony stood.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“Kitchen.”
Peter looked suspicious.
“Why?”
“You’re hungry.”
Peter opened his mouth.
Tony raised an eyebrow.
Peter sighed.
“…I’m hungry.”
Tony smiled.
“See? You’re a natural.”
They walked downstairs together.
The Tower was mostly quiet. The kitchen lights were dim, and Steve was sitting at the counter with a book.
He looked up when they entered.
“Everything okay?”
Peter stopped.
For half a second, he almost said it.
I’m fine.
The words were already there, ready and automatic.
Then he looked at Tony.
Tony didn’t say anything.
He just waited.
Peter swallowed.
“I’m hungry.”
Steve smiled.
“Okay.”
He stood immediately.
“What do you want?”
Peter thought about it.
Then smiled.
“Lasagna.”
Steve laughed.
“I knew it.”
Tony leaned against the counter.
Peter sat down.
Steve reheated a plate.
Nobody asked what had happened. Nobody demanded an explanation. Nobody made him talk.
They just gave him food.
Peter took the first bite.
It was warm.
Comforting.
Normal.
He looked around the kitchen.
Tony was there.
Steve was there.
The Tower was quiet.
For once, Peter didn’t feel like he had to fill the silence.
He could just sit in it.
And that, somehow, felt like the beginning of something.
The next morning, Peter walked into the kitchen and said, “I’m tired.”
Steve looked up.
“Okay.”
Peter blinked.
That was it?
No lecture? No concern? No questions?
Steve simply poured him a glass of orange juice.
“Sit.”
Peter sat.
A few minutes later, Sam walked in.
“Morning.”
Peter looked up.
“Morning.”
Sam opened the refrigerator.
Peter stared at his breakfast.
Then he said, “I didn’t finish my history assignment.”
Sam nodded.
“Tragic.”
Peter smiled.
“I’ll finish it tonight.”
“Good.”
No judgment.
No disappointment.
Just good.
Peter looked down.
Something inside him loosened.
Later that afternoon, he walked into Tony’s lab without knocking.
Tony looked up.
Peter held up a small device.
“I broke this.”
Tony stared at it.
“You broke it?”
“Yeah.”
“On purpose?”
“No.”
“Excellent.”
Peter smiled.
Tony held out his hand.
“Give it here.”
Peter walked over.
Tony took the device.
Peter stayed.
Tony glanced at him.
“You need something?”
Peter hesitated.
“Can I stay?”
Tony looked back at the device.
“Kid, when have I ever made you leave?”
Peter smiled.
“Never.”
“Exactly.”
Peter pulled up a chair.
He sat beside Tony.
For a while, they worked in silence.
And it wasn’t uncomfortable.
Peter didn’t need to talk.
Tony didn’t need to fix anything.
The room hummed softly around them.
After a few minutes, Peter leaned back in his chair.
“Tony?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Tony glanced at him.
“For?”
Peter shrugged.
“Being annoying.”
Tony smiled.
“Anytime.”
Peter laughed.
Then he looked down at the device in Tony’s hands.
There were still things he didn’t know how to say.
There probably always would be.
He was still learning.
But now he knew something he hadn’t known before.
He didn’t have to know how to ask perfectly. He didn’t need the right words. He didn’t need a reason big enough to justify needing someone.
Sometimes he could just walk into the room.
Sometimes he could just sit down.
Sometimes he could say, I’m tired.
Or I’m hungry.
Or I don’t know what I’m doing.
And someone would answer.
Not because he’d earned it.
Not because he’d proven himself.
Just because he was Peter.
And apparently, that had always been enough.