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Blink, Peter mutters to himself, mask gripped in between a tight fist while his other hand holds onto the support bar above. Blink, breathe, smile and nod along with Clint and Tony’s words, clench jaw– don’t let them see the shivering. Breathe slower, he mentally gripes to himself, noting with a frown that his heart is quickening in his chest, causing his breaths to come out in stuttered huffs.
He can’t let them see weakness, can’t let them know he’s been fighting against, he assumes, the flu for the last two days.
He takes in one, measured breath of air as he blinks past a slight waver in his vision. He clenches his jaw, swallowing past a wave of nausea, and smiles when Clint claps a hand to his shoulder.
“Isn’t that right, kid?”
Shit, Peter thinks, shooting a sharp, furrowed glance to see Clint looking at him expectantly. “Uh, yeah,” he agrees, smile wavering when Clint tilts his head in question.
“You aren’t getting cold feet, are you?”
No, Peter thinks to himself with a huff. He wracks his brain for some semblance of a satisfying reply, one that will get Clint off his back, but Tony pipes in, leaning forward in his seat across from Peter with an arched brow.
“I’m going to be incredibly surprised if you’re nervous, kid,” Tony starts with a breath of a laugh. “Considering you haven’t shut up about being included in this mission for the last two weeks.”
Ah, Peter thinks– they are talking about the mission. He shakes his head. “I’m not nervous,” he says, doing his best to make his voice sound strong, confident, but Tony frowns at his reply and gets to his feet, just as Steve’s voice filters in from the intercoms overhead.
“Prep for landing.”
Tony’s gaze flicks to the ceiling before he reaches for the support bar over head as he drags a studied gaze back to Peter. “Peter–”
“Prepare for landing!” Thor shouts suddenly as he races out from where Steve is piloting.
Tony eyes Thor with narrowed eyes. “We got it, Thor. Thanks.”
“You should sit, Tony.”
“Okay.” Tony says, moving across to take a seat beside Peter. “I’m sitting.”
Nodding, Thor turns back into the room behind him, letting the door shut on the others.
“We should talk strategies,” Peter starts, trying to deflect the stern eye from Tony. “Are we busting up in there as a group, or are we going to pair off and do some sort of sneak attack? Or-”
“Peter, look at me.”
Peter recognizes the tone immediately, and his shoulders hunch up into a defensive stance as he slowly pulls his face toward Tony until the two are locking eyes.
Frowning, Tony drags a careful gaze to Peter’s flushed cheeks that stand out as an angry red against an otherwise pale face that’s damp with sweat. He’s reaching a hand up to get a gauge on what looks like a nasty fever when the quinjet makes a rather rough landing that has Tony shooting back and hastily reaching for support bar before he flies off the bench.
“Jesus, Steve!” Natasha shouts when the rattling around the group stops.
Tony’s quick to regain his balance just as Peter hops to his feet and makes a move of reaching for the mask that he dropped during the landing.
“Sorry,” Steve mutters as he opens the door with a sheepish grin. “I’m still learning… Tony?”
Tony’s on his feet, and he’s got a tight hand wrapped around Peter’s arm, much to Peter’s dismay.
“Look at me,” Tony mutters sharply, just loud enough for Peter to hear. He can see Steve approaching the two, with Clint, Natasha, and Thor close behind, but his focus remains steady on Peter, until Peter finally obliges and turns to face him with a gaze locked to the floor.
“Tony, what’s wrong?” Steve presses, concern evident in his tone, but Tony ignores him in favor of pulling Peter’s face up with a finger to the younger boy’s chin until he can cup a palm to his forehead.
The heat warms his palm instantly, and he drops his hand to the side with a low sigh. “How long?”
“A couple of days,” Peter mutters before his eyes grow wide and bright. “But, I’m fine, Tony, really! I can help!” Even as he says this, nausea pulls at his stomach, and his words grate uncomfortably against his throat. But, he doesn’t back down; he presses his lips into a firm line and crosses his arms, bleeding off a determination to counter Tony’s authority.
“You’re sitting this one out.” Tony grumbles as he turns his back and starts out the wide opening from the back.
“Tony,” Peter tries, but a large hand clamps down onto his shoulder, prompting him to look back to see Steve shaking his head with somber eyes.
“Sorry, Pete,” Steve starts as he leads Peter back over to a bench with a strong grip. “It’s too dangerous if you’re sick.”
“I’m fine,” Peter presses, but Tony whips a quick gaze back.
“You’re not. You are going to wait here until we get back.”
Peter drops onto the bench with a loud huff, not bothering to look up when a blanket drapes around his shoulders, but he does pull a gaze up when a bucket is placed at his feet.
“Just in case,” Clint says before patting him on the shoulder.
Peter draws his feet up onto the bench, hugging his knees to his chest just as Natasha walks by and ruffles his hair.
“Feel better, okay? We’ll be back soon.”
Peter nods, offering Natasha a small smile, before he glances over to see Thor and Steve talking quietly with Loki, who’s got one hand handcuffed to the support bar in a corner, only on the trip because Tony didn’t trust leaving him alone at the tower since Bruce is away.
They talk for a few minutes before Steve steps away to retrieve a water bottle and bottle of pills from a pack. He moves toward Peter, crouching down with a stern, almost dangerous, look. “Take two, then rest, okay?”
Peter nods with a slight frown, curious about the older man’s odd demeanor. “Steve-”
“And take this,” Steve interrupts, handing Peter a small key. “Only let him out if you absolutely have to. Okay?”
“Okay,” Peter draws out slowly as Steve gets to his feet, spares a sharp glance toward Loki, then starts out of the quinjet with Thor close behind.
Peter waits until he’s sure the others are far enough away before glancing toward Loki, frown still playing at his lips. “What did Steve say to you?”
Loki keeps his eyes trained ahead, to the open back of the quinjet, and contemplates an answer before speaking. “He threatened me,” he starts, voice low, annoyed, as he opts to lean toward honesty. “He told me it would not be in my best interest if I so much as touch a hair on your head.”
“And Thor let him say that?”
A biting laugh slips past Loki’s lips as he drags a slow gaze toward Peter. “My brother doesn’t like me much, and the feeling’s mutual. Now, stop with the interrogation, take your medicine, and rest.”
Frowning, Peter scoots a little farther away from Loki before he downs two pills with a sip of water and lies onto his side, giving into the illness as defeat settles like a pressing weight against his chest. He tugs the blanket tighter around his trembling shoulders and clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from clacking together.
This sucks, he thinks. His immune system is constantly working against him, rejecting the idea of being a hero. He hates it because it seems like he’s the only one who gets sick and always at the worst possible times, whether that be on a major test day or on an important mission day, such as right now.
He squeezes his eyes shut and curls a little tighter around himself, swallowing back a pestering wave of nausea as he mentally wills sleep to come.
*****
Peter’s pulled from sleep by his stomach churning uncomfortably, enough to have him quickly reaching for the bucket to heave into it along a pressing wave of nausea. When he’s finished, he grimaces and gets up on shaking legs to step outside to empty the bucket, but he freezes in his tracks at the strained “don’t.”
Looking back, Peter can see Loki hunched forward with eyes trained toward the opening. “What’s wrong?”
“You need to get me out of this handcuff.”
“No way,” Peter mutters, wincing slightly at the sharp pang shooting across his head. “I was told not to.”
“Well I’m telling you that you need to.” Loki fires back, voice dangerous but low enough that only Peter can hear.
Frowning, he tilts his head to the side. “Why? Why would I-”
“Because you are in no condition to fight,” Loki fires back, eyes looking past Peter to the cluster of trees surrounding the quinjet.
“Fight? Why would I need to-”
“We got two in here, boys!”
Peter freezes at the unfamiliar voice and slowly looks to see a masked man holding an incredibly large gun pointed at him. “Shit,” he curses as Loki lets out an almost strangled “Peter.”
Peter flicks a web toward the guy with the gun before he can shoot then snatches the key from the bench. He stumbles toward Loki, hands shaking hard as he fumbles to get the key into the lock.
The second he twists the key with a soft click, Loki is on his feet and shoving Peter behind him before racing out of the quinjet toward a group of men approaching. Peter moves as if to follow, but his vision grays around the edges. He tries to blink through it, but the ground beneath him is tilting, and the last thing he sees is the floor rushing to his face.
*****
Peter comes to by someone shaking his shoulder harshly. He frowns, brows pulling together as the jostling aggravates his head, and slowly opens his eyes to see Loki hovering over him with an odd look– concern maybe? Peter contemplates commenting on it, but then he sees the blood trickling down Loki’s head, and he shoots up into a sitting position, one hand finding his head as a wave of dizziness hits him.
“Those guys,” Peter starts, swallowing thickly. “Where-”
“Dead,” Loki mutters as he gets to his feet, and only seconds later, shouting can be heard from beyond the trees.
Peter looks to Loki before snapping a gaze outside when he hears someone shout his name. Steve appears first, racing toward the quinjet with the others hot on his heels.
“Loki,” Steve growls when he sees the latter standing, and he storms toward him, only stopping when Peter scrambles to his feet, swaying on the spot and holding both hands out.
“No, don’t,” Peter gasps out, trying to ignore the buckling in his knees and the pain in his head. “I let him out– these guys showed up with guns.”
Steve drops both hands to Peter’s shoulders to steady him as he spares a glance to Loki, offering a slight nod when he sees the blood and bruises.
The rest of the group file in, and the next few seconds are a whirlwind of talking, forehead touches, worried comments, and moving, until Peter’s back on the bench with the blanket draped over his shoulders. Loki’s beside him, being left without the handcuff, and the two are silent as the others bustle around them, talking mission details while Steve pilots the quinjet with Thor at his side.
“You saved me,” Peter mutters, voice holding a hint of a question as he looks over to Loki with a side glance.
Loki keeps his gaze trained on the wall across from him. “No, I saved myself. Helping you was just necessary in keeping myself alive.”
A breath of a laugh slips from Peter’s lips as he sags back, dropping his head against the wall behind him. “Yeah, okay. Whatever you say.”