Chapter Text
Peter Parker hates the winter. It’s too cold, and too dry. When it snows in New York, it takes mere hours for it to turn from pristine white to a slushy, mushy grey that sloshes into shoes and soaks into clothes and is generally disgusting. It makes it hard to drive and harder to walk.
Peter Parker hates the winter.
He’s never had this kind of trouble with the weather before though. He can’t remember ever living through such a ridiculously cold winter. Sure the heating’s all but gone out in the school building due to all the snow in the past week, but it isn’t the first time that this has happened. He’s been in buildings with faulty heating before. The school has never had the most well-regulated temperature, during any season. But he can’t recall it ever being so freezing fucking cold.
He’s got layer upon layer on already, he’s pushing rules for the dress code with how many layers of sweaters and jackets he’s wearing and he’s still so goddamn cold.
He tries pushing it to the side, tries to focus on his schoolwork and pay attention to his teachers but by third period, he’s trembling from the cold, his joints aching with it. He doesn’t make it even ten minutes into the class before he decides it’d be best for him to give up. He feels sick, but that’s not possible. He doesn’t get sick anymore, not with the powers and the crazy enhanced healing and whatnot. He literally cannot be sick.
Something must be terribly wrong.
He raises his hand and the second the teacher looks at him, she sends him to the nurse’s office without him even needing to utter a word. That doesn’t exactly give him a surge of confidence.
Peter makes it halfway to the nurse’s office before he remembers that Aunt May is at work. There’s no way she’ll be able to come pick him up and there’s absolutely no way in hell that he’ll be able to make it anywhere on his own.
Shit.
Next he knows it, he’s lying on one of those stupid long chairs in the nurse’s office, and she’s asking him who she can call for him.
Peter debates it for a few seconds, before grimacing and heaving a deep breath.
“Captain America.”
“Very funny, Mr. Parker, but I’m really going to need a number I can call. I can’t let you go home alone.”
“Bruce Banner?”
“Mr. Parker!”
Peter shakes his head, and instead of saying a name, rattles off a string of numbers. The nurse sighs and rolls her eyes, picking up the landline to call the number he’d given her.
On the other end of the line, Peter hears Steve’s voice answer, “Steve Rogers, how can I help you?”
“Mr. Rogers, this is Nurse Caldwell from Midtown Science and Tech High. I have a Peter Parker here with me who isn’t feeling well. Are you able to come pick him up?”
“What? Peter’s sick? Yeah, yes, I can come get him, of course. Can I talk to him?” Phone-Steve says.
Nurse Caldwell responds in the affirmative, and passes over the phone to Peter.
“Peter, bud, what’s going on?” Steve says as soon as Peter’s got the receiver in his hands.
“Hey Cap. How’s it going?” Peter’s teeth chatter so hard as he speaks that he can barely make out what he’s saying himself.
“Jesus, kiddo, what happened to you?”
“M’Cold, Steve. M’Really, really cold. Can’t stop shaking. You’re coming to get me, right?” He’s just now considering that Steve might not actually be in the city. He knows that recently, Steve’s started keeping an apartment in Brooklyn, but he splits time between there and the compound. Peter’s got no real guarantee that Steve’s anywhere near him right now.
But, like he always does, Steve pulls through for him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m on my way in just a couple minutes. I’m at my apartment, so I’ll be able to get there quickly. Just. Okay, who did this to you, pal? Is it a poison? Some kind of chemical? You didn’t tell us you got into a fight recently.”
“Didn’t. I’m just really cold. I think I might be sick,” Peter mumbles.
“Peter, I don’t think you can get sick, with your powers. I’m really worried. Look, I’m on my way, just hold tight, pal. I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Thanks Steve. You’re the best.”
The phone disconnects then, and Peter hands the receiver back to the nurse, and curls in on himself to shiver and chatter his teeth in peace until Steve gets there.
He’s half dozed off by the time someone’s gently shaking his shoulder.
“Pete, hey pal, come on, we’ve got to get going.”
Peter rolls onto his other side, to see who it is, because that’s not the nurse’s voice, and he comes face to face with none other than Clint Barton.
“Clint!” Peter exclaims, but his teeth are still chattering, so it’s a clattery approximation of Clint’s name at best.
“Oh man,” Clint mutters, and then he signs, “You look awful buddy, let’s get you home.”
Peter weakly signs a thank you, with shaky, shaky hands, and then wraps his arms around himself. It feels like it’s only gotten colder in the time he’s been sitting waiting for Steve.
Wait.
Steve.
He was waiting for Steve, why is Clint here.
Apparently, he signs that out to Clint, because Clint shifts to the side and hooks a thumb over his shoulder. Steve is standing behind Clint, filling out an early dismissal form with the nurse, who seems to be completely dumbfounded by the fact that Captain America is standing there in civvies, signing out a sick student.
He loses track of anything except being ridiculously cold for a few minutes, and the next thing he knows. Steve’s got an arm looped around his waist, and he’s leading Peter out of the building, while Clint follows, talking to someone on the phone. Peter doesn’t pay too much attention to the phone conversation, instead opting to question Steve.
“Why’s he here too?”
Steve snickers, but answers, “I only had my bike with me at the apartment. Needed to borrow a car, and Clint was nearby. Bruce is going to meet us at my apartment too. We’re worried about you, kid. You shouldn’t be looking this rough.”
Peter nods a little sleepily. It feels like his bones are grinding together, rattling with his shivers.
He’s so fucking cold.
“Wow, language, Pete,” Clint chastises. Shit. Peter hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
“Sorry, dad ,” Peter teases through his chattering teeth. Clint snorts and then returns to his phone conversation.
Steve shoves him in the back seat of a car then, and Peter only vaguely aware of the car ride and Steve and Clint talking to each other. Steve gives Peter his jacket halfway back to the apartment, and he all but carries Peter up the two flights of stairs once they get there. Peter’s not actually that weak, but he is shaking he’s so freezing, and Steve takes pity on him.
Bruce is waiting for them when Clint kicks open the door.
“Peter, you’re not looking too good.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that? I get it. Rude.”
Clint snickers and helps Steve get Peter situated on the couch.
“Alright, let’s take a look, Pete,” Bruce says, and Peter lets Bruce check his pulse, and his blood pressure and his blood for toxins, and when he still finds nothing, sticks out his tongue to let Bruce stick a thermometer under it. He thinks it’s a little ridiculous, but he still lets it happen, because he figures, at this point, why not?
“Oh my god,” Bruce says when he draws the thermometer from Peter’s tongue to look at it. “There’s no way you should be alive right now, your temperature is way too low! How is this even possible?”
“I dunno. How bad is it?” Peter’s eyes widen comically when Bruce turns the thermometer his direction so he can read it. “Oh shit. That’s… I mean. That’s not right. What’s happening to me? I mean the heating was kinda out at school, but that can’t be it. I’ve never been this sick, not even before the spider bite.”
Bruce seems to consider that for a moment and then it’s like something clicks together all at once.
“Spiders. That’s it! Peter, spiders can’t thermoregulate. You’re not sick, it’s just-- Clint, turn up the heat, and Steve, grab as many blankets as you can. We’ve just got to warm him up, that’s all.” Bruce turns back to Peter once he’s done doling out tasks, and gives him a gentle smile, the kind they rarely ever see from Bruce. “You’re fine, Pete. You’ll be alright.”
Peter returns the smile, and clenches his teeth to keep them from clattering together, and breathes a sigh of relief when Steve returns with blankets. He sits up on the couch so he can curl himself into the tiniest ball he possibly can, to try to conserve warmth. He lets himself be wrapped in blankets and sinks back as far into the couch as he can go, and he drifts off before he even notices.
When Peter wakes, he’s comfortably warm, still wrapped in his blankets, and flanked on either side by Thor and Brunnhilde. He smiles and thinks he mutters something half unintelligible and slips back into sleep again.
He wakes with a start, again, a short while later, and glances around, his breath catching in his chest at the unfamiliar surroundings, before he takes in the people with him. Thor and Brunnhilde still sit on his either side, Steve and Bruce hard at work in the kitchen. Clint is sitting at the table, Wanda and Pietro with him, the three of them engrossed in a game of cards. Something plays quietly on the TV in front of them all. He thinks he hears someone mention the others coming soon for dinner.
Peter, warm and safe, is more content than he has been in a while.
He feels so content, that he almost falls asleep yet again.
That is until he remembers something that has him sitting bolt upright, panic coursing through his veins.
“Oh god, I forgot to tell Aunt May where I am.”