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“Hey, kid,” Tony says without looking up from his phone. He’s replying to an email, the kind Pepper calls very important. He calls them very boring, but he has a reason to stay in her good books.
Peter drops his backpack on the floor of the car and puts on his seatbelt. “Hey, Mr. Stark,” he sighs.
Tony furrows his brow and quickly presses send. He didn’t proofread the message, but he’s finished caring about business. “What, you have a tough day or something?” He wracks his brains for a question to ask that’s not stupid. Has the kid mentioned anything recently, like a test, or a bully?
“Nah, I’m ok,” Peter says. “Just…I don’t know. We did a bunch of sprints in gym…”
“Huh.” That explains why the kid’s practically glistening, but he usually doesn’t have a problem with athletics.
“…Then in history we watched a movie about the Civil War. Not, like,the thing between you and Cap,” Peter quickly backtracks. “The actual Civil War, you know, with, like, Lincoln.” He scrubs one hand over his eyes. “It was really boring.”
“Don’t tell me you fell asleep in class.” Tony keeps a straight face.
“What? No!” Peter reaches for his backpack. “I paid attention. I took notes, even. Look.” He digs for his folder.
“Hey, ok, I believe you,” Tony says. “You don’t have to go proving it to me.”
“Oh. Ok.” Peter drops his bag between his feet again. “Ned conked out, though. He was snoring.” He finally cracks a smile.
It’s not actually that funny, but Tony laughs. He’s relieved. The kid’s fine.
***
They work in the lab for a couple hours, then sit down to eat. But the pizza Pepper had ordered ends up being a disappointment even for gluten-free, so they both pick at their food until Tony decides it’s a lost cause.
“How about popcorn and a movie?” he asks. “FRIDAY, you wanna pull up the media collection? Everything in the PG-13 range, maybe?” He glances at Peter, expecting interest with a side of disdain. The kid never misses an opportunity to show off as a cinema buff. And a perceived adult.
“Uh, actually, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, pushing his plate away and scooting his chair back from the table. “I have some homework, and I’m kinda tired.”
Tony’s taken aback. “You’re really gonna do your homework on a Friday night?” He shakes his head. “That’s…nobody does that.”
“It’s, like, boring math problems,” Peter says. “I want to just get them done. It’s probably gonna put me to sleep, anyway.”
“Hm. Well, whatever you want to do.” Tony checks his watch. It’s barely 8:45. Nobody in before ten o’clock on a weekend.
But if the kid wants to be responsible… Tony’s not going to stop him.
Peter stands up. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Yup.” Tony stands too, and snaps his fingers so Dumm-E will come take away the leftover pizza. “Happy and I are gonna hit the ring at 7:00. You’re welcome to join. Or jump on a bag, or do the ropes course, or, you know. Whatever.”
The kid nods. He looks a little tentative, but he says, “Thanks, Mr. Stark. Goodnight.”
Tony thinks about going back to the lab now that he has the night unexpectedly to himself. But he knows that if he does, he won’t leave till two in the morning, or possibly later. So he takes his popcorn on the couch and tries to pay attention to the tail end of a baseball game, but his eyelids are heavy before he knows it. He crawls into bed beside Pepper at 10:02.
“I don’t get this too often,” she says, pulling one of Tony’s t-shirts over her head and slipping between the sheets. “You coming to bed. Willingly.” She chuckles.
“Thank the kid,” Tony mumbles. “He turned in early, so I guess I am too.” He shakes his head, then snakes his arm around Pepper’s shoulders.
***
“Sir?”
“Hm, what?” Tony grumbles sleepily.
“You asked me to alert you—” FRIDAY starts.
“If this is about the goddamn birds’ nest on the roof, cancel the alert.” Tony turns over and presses his face into the pillow.
“No, sir, it’s about Mr. Parker.”
“What?” Tony sits up. “What’s going on with him?” His heart’s suddenly thrumming a lot faster than it was a moment ago.
“He seems to be in distress. And his body temperature is elevated,” the AI reports.
“What, how elevated?” Tony slides out of bed, careful not to jostle Pepper.
“102.6 degrees, sir.”
“Shit,” Tony mutters. “What do you mean, distress? Show me the security camera in his room.”
A holographic screen flickers into life in the air, and Tony watches as the image forms. Peter rolls from his back to his side to his back again, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. The covers are kicked into a mound at the foot of the bed. His entire body is trembling. He looks small.
“Ok,” Tony sighs. “Be right there, kid.”
He jams his feet into slippers and takes the elevator two floors up, then hurries down the hall toward Peter’s room.
The kid’s fine. He has to be. His fever isn’t at a dangerous number. But he has a fever. He’s thrashing around, probably having some kind of night terror. He’s probably scared. The earlier pallor and tiredness suddenly make a lot more sense, and Tony runs the last few feet to the door.
“Hey, kid?” Tony knocks on the door before he opens it. “Peter?”
Peter’s curled on his side, his head off the pillow. He moans and drags his knees up toward his chest. “No. No, no…”
“It’s a dream,” Tony tells him. He pats Peter’s shoulder. “Wake up. Come on, kid. Wake up.”
“…no…” Peter bats at him, and Tony catches his wrist.
“It’s ok. You’re sick, you’re dreaming. Just wake up.” He gives the kid’s shoulder a gentle shake. “Come on.”
Peter jerks and his eyes snap open.
“Ok, good. Look at me. You’re ok.”
The kid looks around wildly, his chest heaving. A choked noise comes from his throat, and he vomits all over the sheets.
“Whoa. Shit.” Tony grabs a handful of Peter’s t-shirt and pulls him upright while the kid tries to brace himself on one trembling arm. He retches again, this time hitting the bed and his lap.
“Alright,” Tony says while Peter sputters. “Breathe. It’s ok. You’re ok.”
“I…god, I—” the kid cuts himself off with another gag, and a weak stream of bile comes up. Tony tries not to cringe at the sound of it splattering into the mess of sick.
“Shhh, you’re ok,” Tony whispers. Heat radiates off Peter’s skin, and his muscles twitch under Tony’s touch.
“S-sorry,” the kid breathes. The words are distorted and raspy, and Tony steelshimself, waiting for him to throw up again. But Peter starts to sob.
“No, kid, don’t worry about it. Just…you’re ok.” Tony slides his arm around the kid’s back and gives him a loose hug. Peter’s sweaty forehead finds Tony’s chest. “Get your breath, alright?”
Peter clears his throat. Sniffles. Then nods.
“Alright. Good. We’ll get you cleaned up. Well, Pepper might have to help you with that. But you’re gonna be ok.” Tony pulls back to peer into the kid’s face. “Ok?”
Peter wipes his eyes, then his mouth on the back of his hand. He slowly nods again.