Outnumbered

Chapter 9

Tomorrow is the last day of school, so Peter's stayed out on patrol later than usual. Tony's often sitting up, waiting, which Peter finds overbearing, but when he tiptoes out of the elevator and sees that the living room is dark, he finds himself glad that Tony's finally backing off and getting some sleep.

He wants nothing more than to shower and pass out, but he's on his way to the kitchen to fulfill another one of Tony's stupid rules: Peter has to grab a snack after patrol if he's below 100.

He's 84.

Low-ish, but technically not low low.

When he's nearly across the room, the light switches on, illuminating Tony on the loveseat, a book in his lap and glasses perched on his nose.

Peter throws his head back and groans. So much for freedom.

Tony chuckles. "I love how you thought I'd go to bed before you got home from patrol."

Peter deflates a little, embarrassed. "You don't have to stay up for me. I can do this, Tony. I'm getting the hang of it, no pun intended."

"I know you can do it, kiddo. Dexcom had you trending down about an hour ago and I wanted to make sure you grabbed something to eat before heading to bed so we didn't have a repeat of last time."

Peter had come home just as exhausted a few weeks earlier and forgotten to grab a snack, woke to Tony forcing apple juice on him at three in the morning. He'd slept through the Dexcom alarms, had to shower once he was back in range because he'd sweat through his t-shirt.

"I mean," Peter starts, feeling like he has to explain himself, hands wringing his Spiderman mask. "I had a churro on patrol, didn't even need insulin, but swinging made me feel low, so I headed home." He hates admitting it, but it's the truth. That familiar low headache had started pressing half an hour ago and he'd popped two glucose tabs on his way back to the Tower to hold himself over.

Tony gets up slowly, uses only his left arm to lift his body from the couch. Peter itches to help, but he gives Tony his space, heads to the kitchen instead and thinks about what will be enough to bring him up. He grabs the peanut butter jar and a spoon, hoping that the protein will keep him steady for the next few hours.

When Tony joins him, he opens the fridge. "We've got orange juice and that Mott's for Tots berry stuff Morgan loves."

Peter laughs with the spoonful of peanut butter in his mouth. "I mean, the berry stuff tastes great, but remind me why you keep it in the house after Pepper accidentally put it in her smoothie and needed her epi-pen?"

"Morgan won't drink anything else! It's like when I try to buy the off-brand dino nuggets. She can taste the difference! I tried the regular stuff, but she hated it. Eh, it's probably for the best, anyway. It's got like 40% less sugar."

"Yeah, wouldn't want her to get diabetes or anything," Peter jokes. He thinks it's hilarious, but Tony's frowning, has his head tilted.

"Kid."

"Just some dark, harmless humor," Peter defends. "Anyway, I guess I'll take some of the death juice."

Tony glares at him. "Peter."

"Come on, Tony. It's funny!"

"It's not," Tony says, but Peter can see that he's shaking his head and trying not to laugh as he attempts to use his left hand to pour juice into a glass.

"You can laugh, you know. I am pretty funny," Peter says, lifting his eyebrows.

Tony doesn't say anything, just rolls his eyes and hands the glass over.