Here to Help

If I was his son

TWs: mentions of suicide (Uncle Ben, it was discussed in Ch. 3), and this chapter goes a little more in depth about Peter's issues with his appearance and weight so be careful if you're sensitive with that

It was my stomach that woke me up, rumbling loud enough to make my eyes slowly creak open. It happens every night and yet I still panic in the first couple seconds after waking up. It always takes me a minute to remember I can go eat when I'm hungry, even at night.

There's always a rush of relief when I remember though, and I usually sit up in my bed and talk to Friday for a minute before heading to the kitchen.

But I wasn't in my bed this time. Instead, I was on the couch, propped up against Wade's shoulder, who was still fast asleep with his head at a slightly awkward angle against the back cushions. I chuckled, rubbing my eyes and wondering how I hadn't woken up from his deep snoring. I grabbed one of the throw pillows and pushed it under his head so he didn't get a crick in his neck when he woke up. Then, I looked over my shoulder at a clock on the wall.

6am.

Dad did say I could have two Munches tonight, I thought. But if I get up now, there's no way I'll be able to fall back asleep, the sun rises soon. But my stomach growled again, squirming with hunger, and I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep with the empty feeling below my ribs. Plus, if I didn't get food and someone found out, then Dad would be mad at me for not eating.

...Not mad. Worried. Not mad.

I'm... not sure when his name changed from Mr. Stark to Dad in my head. I know it was after I moved into the tower but I can't pinpoint an exact moment. It just happened one day, and I barely even noticed until a little while later. I sometimes wonder how he would react if I just called him Dad one day, but then I remember how much he hated his own dad.

My dad... god I hate calling him that.

He said the word like it was bile on the tip of his tongue, spitting out like he couldn't handle the feeling of it in his mouth. If he hated the word that much, I don't think he would appreciate me calling him that. Maybe he wouldn't get angry at me for not eating, but if I called him Dad? Out loud?

He'd probably kick me out. And then I'd be all alone. Again.

Besides, it's not like he wants to be my dad anyway. I mean... who'd want me to be their son?

Best to stick with just calling him Mr. Stark. Can't even call him Tony, even though he's said I can at least ten times, because the moment it gets too casual I know I'll slip up, I just know it. Keep it nice and formal. No chance of me fucking it all up and making him hate me.

I'll still call him Dad in my head though. It's not like he can hear me, and I mean... It's nice to pretend that maybe he wouldn't hate it if he was my dad.

If I was his son.

I carefully got up off the couch, trying not to jostle Wade too much, then tiptoed to the kitchen, opening up a couple cupboards and the fridge. Then, I sat on the counter and looked around, considering my options.

For a moment I was overwhelmed by the amount of food, all the options suddenly swirling around my brain in a way that made my heart pound. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to focus on one single thought, focus on one thought instead of the million that were buzzing in my head.

What do I want?

The answer to that came easier than I expected. Something sweet. I want something sweet.

I looked back at the cupboards and fridge again, I was happy to see that narrowed down my options a bit, making it feel more manageable. There were frozen waffles in the freezer I could have, some Froot Loops in the cupboard, and toast can be sweet if I put honey on it, and...