Chapter Text
Peter was acting strangely. Not like his normal strangeness, but just, well, stranger than normal - we’ll just leave it at that.
Unsurprisingly, his best friend noticed his odd behavior first. Ned, ever the most knowledgeable and most knowing, had noticed it in the way Peter seemed to lack the energy to talk. To talk! The most talkative kid he’d ever met was struggling to speak! Scandalous, if you asked Ned. It was almost as if his best friend had had his mouth sewn shut like one of those creepy comic book characters that have two panels in the entire series.
And Peter was far more important than being a mute character in a comic book.
Days had passed as Ned’s concern continued to grow. Days of weirdness that made that pit in his stomach seem heavier every time he saw his best friend. Peter was getting skinny. Not like his usual skinniness - “Man! How is it that you get bitten by a spider and get abs too?! I got bit by a spider once, and my arm looked like the Hulk’s on a bad day!” - which was a completely different concern, no matter how Ned looked at it. He didn’t like to admit that it kept him up at night, worry gnawing at him until his grandma fussed at him for still being awake.
He just couldn’t shake the thought that something had happened to Peter - whether it happened when he was just regular ol’ Peter Parker or Spider-Man. And, sure, Peter rarely ever got sick - one of the better side effects from the spider bite he’d explained once - but he looked like he was damn near ready to collapse from just the breeze alone. And that made Ned’s concern grow into something a bit more frantic.
What if he was dying?!
“Dude!” Ned waved his hand in front of Peter’s face in a frantic display until bleary brown eyes seemed to come back from who-knows-where. He watched his best friend blink back the fog in his gaze. “Did you even hear a word I said?” He couldn’t help but sound incredulous.
The other teen opened his mouth as if to say, “Oh, yeah, totally!” But he quickly clamped his mouth shut and frowned deeply. Peter shook his head slowly, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, sorry, I was just thinking.” He peeked up at his best friend, a thin smile on his lips.
Ned pursed his lips. He really should be more annoyed than he actually is because, really, he’d just spent fifteen minutes talking about some new Star Wars theory he’d read up online last night and thought Peter would be interested in it, and he hadn’t heard him. But it's hard to feel mad when Peter’s swaying in his seat. “You okay?” He asked hesitantly, looking the other boy up and down. “You kind of look as if you might pass out…"
That thin smile just seemed to grow wider, yet Peter’s eyes seemed to grow foggier. Ned’s concern grew to planetary size. “I’m fine, really.” He tried to say, and every alarm in Ned’s head was blaring that no, he wasn’t, “Just tired.” His voice, though, sounded numb, lacking the type of enthusiasm that Ned was used to hearing.
“You sure?” He couldn’t help but ask. He had to ask.
“Of course.” Peter’s voice rose in pitch.
The week ended without a clear answer from Peter about what was going on, and Ned tried not to be worried. Maybe he just needed to get out of the tower? So, he’d tried to invite the teen to his house for an impromptu visit, but Peter had almost immediately declined, and so Ned held himself back, hoping that the weekend would fix what had been wrong.
It didn’t.
By next Monday, Peter’s skin had taken on a sickly pale hue. MJ was the first to notice the moment she saw him drag his body toward their lunch table. That’s another thing altogether: how Peter’s body seemed heavier, as if gravity was intent on seeing him lying on the floor. She was vaguely aware something had happened last week, given Ned's incessant texting about it and her own observations.
Peter seemed sick.
He didn’t think so.
She elbowed him harshly in the side when he zoned out again in Mr. Faulkner’s class. MJ knew he’d get chewed out by their teacher if Peter didn’t pay attention, and she didn’t feel like having their instructional time interrupted for one of Mr. Faulkner’s bitch-fits. Peter startled from the hit and stared at her with wide eyes. Something weird curled in MJ’s stomach from just that look alone, and she stared back at him.
“Why’d you elbow me?” He asked in the quietest whisper he could manage. Luckily, it was dark in the classroom, so Mr. Faulkner could present some boring slides about the history of technology or whatever it was - MJ hadn’t really been paying attention, what with Peter looking like one wrong move from puking.
She rolled her eyes, hoping nonchalance would hide her worries. “I don’t want to hear Mr. Faulkner whine about you not paying attention.”
Peter pursed his lips and looked away. “Sorry.”
MJ immediately turned to look at him, the gaze he’d given her just a moment ago being replicated in her own eyes. She wasn’t used to this kind of shutdown from him. The two of them had played this dance before, nitpicking at each other with playful comments. She was waiting for him to make some silly joke in response to her comment, not just apologize and go quiet. That was just wrong.
And it bothered MJ more than she’d like to admit.
“Pete.” She whispered to him. He just hummed in response. “Is something going on with you?” MJ internally cringed the moment the words came out of her mouth, just a bit too harsh for what she was going for. She meant empathy, not annoyance. She hoped their longtime friendship was enough for him to know the difference.
He shrugged, “I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.” She challenged. She eyed him up and down, feeling just as paranoid as Ned described himself to be over the weekend. Maybe she’d been a little too harsh when telling Ned that he was just imagining things.
Peter turned to look at her. “MJ, really, I’m good.” He flashed her a toothy smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“But did something happen?” MJ pressed, deciding to move on to another question instead of arguing with him.
He sighed with his entire body, looking ten years old and pale. “MJ, I’m f-”
“Mr. Parker!” Their teacher’s voice called from the front of the classroom.
And just like that, Peter’s attention was swept away, leaving MJ with more questions than answers and a pounding headache from Mr. Faulkner’s bitch-fit.
This odd behavior continued throughout the rest of the week, a brewing storm lingering in Peter’s eyes. Every day that passed just seemed to make him tenser, eyebrows crinkling together with a wash of concern on his face when he thought no one was looking. Ned and MJ had talked on and off throughout week two, discussing the moments when they saw how Peter would stare at the contact list on his phone for minutes on end as if idly waiting for something - someone.
And, to be frank, it was heartbreaking.
His friends would catch his gaze now and then, only to see Peter’s eyes glassy, as if he might cry right then and there. However, just as quickly as they’d seen it, it disappeared, the teen expertly controlling his emotions as if nothing had happened. No matter how many times they asked him if something was wrong or if something had happened, Peter wouldn’t talk.
“Hey man,” Ned saddled up beside him one afternoon after the last bell rang, intent on catching the other teen before he scrambled out of the school like a bat out of hell. For some reason, Peter was desperate to leave as soon as school ended.
“Oh, hey.” He coughed weakly, glancing at his phone for the umpteenth time.
He pursed his lips. “You know… if anything’s going on, you can tell me.” Ned couldn’t keep the pleading tone out of his voice.
Peter almost tripped, had it not been for Ned’s hand reaching out to catch him. He spun around, eyes wide as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Nothing’s going on!” Peter argued, voice an octave higher.
There was this weird, awkward air between them that Ned didn’t know how to fix. A frown crept onto Peter’s face and, for a moment, Ned worried he might’ve overstepped a bit. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing would come out. Thankfully, MJ showed up with a frown of her own. She eyed Ned and nodded towards him. “Good job on catching him before he dipped.”
Peter’s shoulders sagged, palming his forehead with irritation. “Guys!” He pleaded, “Nothing is going on!” His body was tense, eyes distant.
MJ crossed her arms over her chest. “Something’s obviously going on.” She spoke bluntly. Her demeanor screamed ‘I don’t care,’ but Ned could see the line in her brow that told him she was as concerned about Peter’s condition as he was.
“Pete, c’mon, man.” His eyebrows furrowed together. “Is it… I don’t know, something… spidey-related?” Ned’s voice lowered an octave into an almost nothing-there whisper, eyeing whoever might be nearby suspiciously. “Because if it is, then… I mean, I’m your man behind the computer, so… you know, you can tell me if something’s up!” He tried to smile, tried to be supportive, but there was just something so horribly distant in Peter’s eyes that made him falter.
Peter swore he was fine before bolting off just as fast as he’d done every day before then. They didn’t believe him. But what were they even supposed to do if he wouldn’t talk to them?!
Weirdly enough, the next ones who noticed just how off Peter was were, surprisingly, the faculty at the school.
The lunch ladies knew Peter Parker by name and school ID. It was hard not to know him, considering just how many times he trailed through their lunch line with an empty tray and a grin on his face, insisting that he was still hungry after two helpings. They noticed sometime during the second week of his odd behavior that the one and only Peter Parker hadn’t come through the lunch line once, not even for an apple or a soda. Only after that Wednesday did they start paying attention.
The lunch ladies noticed how Peter would push his food around as if he didn’t have an appetite - preposterous if you asked them! For someone the lunch ladies had known to get two, sometimes even three, lunch trays and pay out of pocket for the extra food, it was absolutely baffling that he suddenly went without eating at all. Some of the ladies had tried asking him if Peter would be ‘oh so kind’ as to help them polish off some trays of uneaten food at the end of the lunch period, which they were just going to throw away if no one ate them, but Peter declined every time.
“I’m just not hungry.” He’d always say with a grim smile. But every time they saw him, he somehow looked skinnier.
The food issue wasn’t just in the cafeteria; it was evident in the classrooms too. Peter was known to be a hungry kid, consistently starving, as the teachers liked to put it, and was often seen snacking in just about every class. It used to be a problem for a few of his teachers who liked a clean and quiet classroom, which didn’t align with the crunching and munching of chips in the back corner. That was until Peter passed out in the middle of his chemistry class, and since then, all his teachers have allowed him to eat whatever he wants, whenever he wants.
Yet, as a second week bled into a third, there wasn’t a speck of food to be found anywhere.
Given his prior history of passing out, Peter’s teacher began to worry. There had been a phone call or two… or fifteen phone calls home, trying to reach his guardian, but each went unanswered. They’d given Peter notes to take home so someone would know what was going on, with explicit instructions to call them back as soon as possible, but no one ever called. And after every unanswered call, with Peter sitting right in front of them and every note the teen had to bring home, the kid looked worse.
Then, much to the annoyance of both teachers and students, Peter started leaving his phone on vibrate, which made a loud, distracting noise no matter how many times they fussed at him to turn it off. He’d always look apologetic, but he didn’t stop. And if the damn thing did go off, Peter would excuse himself dramatically, scrambling out of his seat and booking it out into the hallway to take care of… whatever was going on. Most teachers didn’t have the heart to tell him to sit back down, to stop causing so many distractions, because Peter was a good kid after all.
And if he’s literally tearing out of his chair, then it must be important!
Yet, without fail, he’d be gone for a few minutes before returning more miserable than he’d been before he’d left. Peter would sulk back to his seat, glassy-eyed and looking akin to a wet cat. He’d lay his head against the desk and just stay like that for the rest of the class. The teachers who had witnessed this type of behavior worried that maybe one of his family members was in the hospital, and so they let it slide. Still, they called home a few more times only to hear that same voicemail:
“‘Sup, this is Tony Stark. If you’re calling about a meeting, call Pepper instead. If this is about anything related to planetary annihilation, call SHIELD instead. If this is about my kid, have him call me instead. I only answer his phone calls. Later.”
Other members of staff nearly confronted Peter about it just as the third week of his odd behavior was nearing its end, but it wasn’t under their jurisdiction to dig too hard into his personal life. Plus, he kept telling everyone he was fine and that they shouldn’t worry. By all means, one of the teachers should’ve reported something, but Peter is a good kid, so good, and maybe all he needed was time and patience. If he needed to talk, he’d come to them.
But Peter never did; in fact, he never went to anyone.
Hell, it wasn’t even just those closest to him who were beginning to worry about his well-being. Even Peter, or rather, Spider-Man’s regular baddies, were starting to glance at each other with unmistakable concern. The Spider-Man on the streets of Queens had grown stoic, silent in his crime-stopping. The regulars usually managed to get a few good one-liners out of their resident neighborhood superhero, but there had been nothing out of him for the last few weeks.
And a quiet Spider-Man was never a good Spider-Man.
Spider-Man had grown to be as cold and as boring as any of the other superheroes. But New York wasn’t used to that - not the residents nor the weekly baddies. The bad guys were used to their never-ending chatterbox hero who swung around the streets and talked to the people as if he were already their friend. The bad guys were used to this, too, but when Spider-Man kept a tight lip, it made some of them more than a little concerned.
“Cat got your tongue, Spidey?” One of the regulars called out, hand cupped against his mouth to make his voice louder. He stared up at the scaffolding above the alley they were in, Spider-Man staring down at them.
But that’s all he did - he stared.
They tried not to feel so weirded out.
Another among their group sighed, practically sagging against their crowbar. “What’s gotten into you lately, Bug-boy?” They couldn’t help but shout out.
“I’m fine,” Spider-Man told them. It was the first words they’d heard out of their friendly neighborhood Spider-Man in so long that some of them almost cheered.
“And you expect us to believe that?” Another had rolled their eyes, going through the motions of loading bullets into a pistol, knowing damn well that it would never work against the superhuman. It was just their part of the dance.
Spider-Man shook his head, immediately webbing the group up without so much as a quippy line. “I don’t have time for this.” That was the last thing the group heard before sirens echoed across Queens. And the bad guys couldn’t help but feel saddened by the disappearance of their happy-go-lucky superhero.
Spider-Man doesn’t have time for bad guys, and Peter Parker doesn’t have the time of day to take care of himself.
Two more weeks passed by in a similar dance, now making a total of five weeks where Peter just wasn’t right. And, unfortunately, that’s how long it took for Happy to realize that something was actually wrong with Peter, finally. This wasn’t just some teenage mood swing that he’d originally thought; this was something totally different and horribly wrong.
Happy felt absolutely terrible for not noticing sooner, and he’ll take this guilt with him to his grave. He doesn’t usually see Peter day to day, not that he was using that as an excuse. Tony and Pepper had instructed him to drive the kid home from school, but Peter was always adamant about taking the long way, or maybe he’d don his Spider-Man suit and swing home instead. So, on the off days when Happy got a text from the kid asking him to be picked up instead, Happy just assumed Peter didn’t want to walk or swing home. And if Peter didn’t talk on the drive back, he assumed he was tired.
However, it wasn’t until the frequency with which texts from Peter asking to be picked up from school cropped up on his phone, damn near every afternoon, that he started to realize that something was wrong. It took him five days straight to notice just how poorly the kid was doing.
Peter’s presence was suddenly like a ghost, haunting the backseat without a single word. The way his eyes stared unblinkingly out the window. Hell, he didn’t even beg for some kind of after-school treat like he always did; whines of “C’mon, Happy, one little Big Mac isn’t going to hurt, is it?” were replaced with stoic silence. And with a metabolism like Peter’s, the very notion of Peter not asking to eat something was enough for Happy to consider taking him to see a doctor.
The kid didn’t even want to talk about his day, which should’ve been a red flag the first time Happy had to start up the ol’ ‘how was your day’ kind of conversation that ended just as quickly with a rather lame ‘fine’ from the boy. This had to stop, but Happy didn’t know what to make of it. Or, rather, how the hell is he supposed to fix this?
He peeked up through the rearview mirror until Peter was in his sights. The bags under his eyes seemed darker than dark. How the hell hadn’t he noticed? “Kid.” He called out, voice just as gruff as it usually is, hoping some normalcy would bring back the teen he knew all too well.
“Hm?” Peter hummed, not taking his eyes off the world outside the moving car.
Happy sucked in a breath, gathering his thoughts. “Did… something happen at school? A fight, maybe?” He tried asking as gently as possible. Pepper would be proud of how even and sweet his voice was. “See, I knew you had an empathetic bone in your body!” He imagined her saying.
Peter sighed, looking years older than fifteen. “I told you, I’m fine.” The words were ground out, teetering on exasperation.
“You sure?” He managed to squeeze out, his voice meek.
And he watched with a frown as Peter seemed to sag completely against the car door as if the conversation was draining him of whatever energy he had left. “I’m fine.” He hissed, his exasperation leeching into annoyance.
Happy frowned deeper; every bone in his body was screaming at him that something was wrong. But what was he even supposed to do? Well, what he’s good at, he supposed. So, he stayed quiet, something he would say he was an expert at. But that wrongness stirred in his chest and made him peek up into the mirror again.
And as he watched Peter slink out of the car like a sack of potatoes and limp into the Avengers Tower, Happy stayed quiet.
Sometimes, Happy wished he were better at talking.
He stared at the Avengers Tower longer than he should’ve, a weird stirring in his chest that he just couldn’t get rid of. He reached for his phone and quickly dialed Tony’s number, holding the cellphone close to his ear in a tight grip. Tony could fix this; he was sure. The kid adored him, so-
“‘Sup, this is Tony Stark. If you’re calling about a meeting, call Pepper instead. If this is about anything related to planetary annihilation, call SHIELD instead. If this is about my kid, have him call me instead. I only answer his phone calls. Later.”
Happy hung up before the dial tone, then immediately dialed again.
“‘Sup, this is Tony Stark. If-”
He ended the call for a second time. Happy gritted his teeth and dialed a third time.
“‘Sup, this is-”
Happy clicked the red button and didn’t call again.
Even past the school and the streets of Queens, past Happy’s car and deep inside the Avengers Tower where Peter called home, he still couldn’t escape from the worry of those around him.
Pepper had long clocked his offness, the sleepless nights, the mornings when he was late for school because his exhaustion kept pulling him under. Of Peter’s habit of skipping breakfast and slinking back to his room right after getting home from school as if the world was trying to pull him under. She hardly heard him on the phone with his friends, and barely had to knock on his door and tell him to go to bed because he and his friends were still chatting on a school night. He didn’t come out of his room for dinner no matter how many times Pepper knocked, and FRIDAY had informed him of this more than a few times when he was beyond distraught, sobbing his eyes out in his room.
But he wouldn’t talk to her.
She wasn’t ignorant of why he was acting like this. In fact, she was worried too. More than worried, actually, but there wasn’t much she could do as a civilian. Pepper had already managed to snag both a phone call with a SHIELD operative and a holographic meeting with Fury, using the direct line Tony had given her for emergencies. But there were no answers. “Just wait.” She’d been told often, but her kid was drowning, and she couldn’t do anything about it.
Pepper tried to get Peter to watch a movie with her, share a meal with her when her meetings were finally done for the day. But he always declined, waved her goodnight, and disappeared back into his room. And without Tony in the country, Pepper was having to do a lot more of the workload and, thus, had to leave Peter by himself more often than not. She tried her best to delegate tasks elsewhere so she could be there for him in Tony’s absence, but too much sensitive material needed either her or Tony’s eyes on it.
“I’m sorry, sweetie, I’ve got another meeting.” She’d said mournfully one afternoon right as he was walking into the penthouse after school.
He smiled at her, eyes dark and moody. “That’s okay.” Peter immediately said, “I think I’m just gonna go take a nap anyway.”
And maybe he did take a nap, but Pepper just knew he was crumbling, and there wasn’t anything she could do. It was so frustrating! If only Tony were here…
It was precisely when she was having those thoughts that Tony’s public phone started going off. He’d left it in Pepper’s care while he was on his mission with the rest of the Avengers. It was a civilian phone for people to reach him, especially about Peter. She hadn’t been able to answer it, either in a meeting or on a different call.
One afternoon, though, as she was shredding some personal documents Stark Industries no longer needed, the phone rang. Pepper walked to her desk, clicked answer, and held it to her ear. “This is Pepper Potts answering on behalf of Tony Stark. Who am I speaking with?” She answered diplomatically.
“Hi, Ms. Potts!” A man answered on the other line, “It’s good to get a hold of someone finally! It’s been such a week…” He sighed dramatically. “I’m sorry, I’m Mr. Harrington, Peter Parker’s decathlon coach.”
“Oh, Mr. Harrington, it’s nice to get to speak with you finally.” She smiled. “Peter’s talked quite a lot about you.”
He laughed easily. “Hopefully nothing too bad.”
Pepper shared the sentiment, shaking her head even though he couldn't see her. “All good, no worries.” She sat down at her desk. “May I ask what you’re calling about? If it’s about Peter’s academics-”
“It’s actually about his well-being.” He cut her off.
She furrowed her brow. “His well-being?” She repeated.
On the other side, it sounded like Mr. Harrington had flopped onto a couch. “Yes, I am… worried, to say the least.” He explained softly, “He hasn’t come to a single decathlon meeting in… a month. And Ned’s had a lot to say about Peter’s absence, but I can tell he’s worried. If Peter’s not even telling his best friend what’s on his mind, well… it’s just got me-”
“Worried.” Pepper finished with a swallow. “I’ve also noticed things at home.” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“Is he… alright?” Mr. Harrington asked.
“I don’t think he’ll be alright until his dad gets home.” She admitted with surprising honesty, “He’s out of the country right now, and we haven’t heard anything from him in some time.”
It was quiet for a moment, until the teacher spoke up again, asking, “Is Mr. Stark alright?”
Pepper frowned, eyes sliding shut. “I… don’t know. No one will talk.” She whispered, “How has he been at school?”
“Not good, I’m afraid.” Mr. Harrington’s voice sounded so far away. “From what other teachers and I have observed, the kid doesn’t eat much anymore, and he’s been running out of classes the moment his phone goes off.” He began, “No one can get him to focus. He’s just been… down.”
Her head hurt. Her heart hurt. Peter, suffering like this - it was almost too much. When she got ahold of Tony, she was going to strangle him. “Thank you, Mr. Harrington, for calling.” Pepper finished, “I’ll see what I can do.”
The next morning, Peter was waiting for FRIDAY to bring the elevator up when Pepper finally managed to catch him before he went to school. She hadn’t been able to in the last several weeks, with him sleeping in until the last moment before school and early-morning meetings that kept her from seeing him off. “Good morning.” Pepper greeted him easily, observing just how run-down he looked. It made her heart break a little more after that phone call the night before.
He awkwardly smiled at her. “Hi, Pepper.” Peter waved at her, peeking at the elevator’s red numbers above the doors; it was damn near twenty floors away. Was FRIDAY purposefully taking longer bringing up the elevator?
“Hi, sweetie.” Pepper smiled gingerly at him, holding out a lunch bag for him. “I made you something for lunch today.”
He reached out for it. “Oh, um, thank you.” He zipped it open and peeked inside. It was all of his usual favorite snacks, but even just the sight of them made Peter’s stomach roll uncomfortably. It was easy to hide his discomfort with the motions of zipping the lunch bag back up and tucking it under his arm. “You didn’t have to do that.” He coughed awkwardly.
Pepper had this look of knowing. “Well, I got a call from Mr. Harrington last night and I...” She took a deep breath, trying to look like the epitome of openness and ‘you can talk to me’ energy. “Is there something you want to tell me?” She asked as gently as possible.
“No, ma’am…” Peter looked down at his shoes, using his superhearing to listen for the elevator nearing ever closer, but not fast enough.
“He said you haven’t been eating much.” She continued, “You know you’re supposed to eat, what with your metabolism and whatnot. We’ve talked about this, Peter.”
His nostrils flared a bit, indirect anger pooling into his words. “I am eating. I’ve just…” He tried to think of something, eyes wandering around the room. “I just don’t eat in the cafeteria or in class anymore, or… I’m trying not to.” Peter finished lamely.
Pepper’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why not? Is that Flash guy giving you trouble again?” She asked worriedly, “I can have another conversation with the principal or his parents if you need me to.”
And, to be honest, it’s the first time he’s even really thought about Flash. The kid hadn’t bothered him in weeks, maybe because he’s stopped responding to the jabs that usually got Peter riled up. Maybe it was something else. But Pepper was waiting for an answer. “It’s nothing like that, really.” He waved her off, the elevator just a couple of floors underneath them. “Just… eating elsewhere.” Peter smiled at her, the lunch bag feeling heavy under his arm.
She frowned even harder. “Well… Just make sure you’re eating, okay, sweetie?” She held her hands close to her chest, rubbing them soothingly as the elevator dinged, sliding open for Peter. “Have a good day at school, Petey.” Pepper smiled, watched him slip inside, and waved her goodbye. The doors slid shut, and he was gone.
Pepper felt like something was very wrong. No, she knew something was wrong.
She reached into her pocket, pulled out her private phone, and navigated to the contact she kept for emergencies only. “Tony… Please, answer the fucking phone.” She whispered, pressing the cold phone against her ear. It immediately went to voicemail.
“Hey! If I’m not answering, it’s not you, it’s me!” Tony’s voicemail laughed at her, Pepper squeezing her eyes shut. How long had he had this stupid voicemail? Ages, she thought. He probably won’t ever change it, considering only a few people have his personal cell phone number. “You know me.” He continued as Pepper numbly made her way to the couch, slumping against the cushions. “I must be somewhere you can’t reach, so don’t feel bad! You know I’ll call you when I get the chance.” Her eyes watered. “I love you.”
She hung up, burying her head in her hands.
Peter was drowning, and she knew the only way to make him feel better was Tony. It was always Tony.
If only he were here.