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The bell rings, and Peter’s eyes jerk open. It’s cloudy outside and he’s been fighting to stay awake all day. He gets up slowly from his desk, stretching a little to wake up the rest of his body. Grabbing his bag, he goes out to his locker and just rests his head against it for a moment, hoping the cool metal will offset the ache that’s beginning to pulse behind his eyes. He coughs slightly and swallows against the scratchiness in his throat just as his phone buzzes in his pocket.
iMessage- Tony Stark
Possible vibranium smuggling in Chelsea tonight, 8pm. Happy will pick you up at 7
Peter considers texting back that he’s not really feeling like going out tonight, but he stops himself. He’s sure Tony has worked through worse than this. It’s probably just the weather anyway—he doesn’t feel bad, after all. He just doesn’t feel all that good either.
He texts back a quick See you then! and opens his locker.
The walk from the bus stop is miserable in the rain, and he’s shivering by the time he reaches the apartment. He doubts May will be home by the time Happy picks him up, and that just makes everything a little bit worse. She’s been working extra hours because she’s close to paying off the last of her student loans, so he hasn’t seen her for more than a few minutes at a time this week, and the apartment feels very empty without her.
As soon as the door is closed, he leans back against it and sneezes three times. Each one just increases the pressure in his head, and he grabs the box of tissues from the coffee table as he heads to his room. Blowing his nose just makes his head hurt more, so he drops the tissues on the floor and barely takes the time to toe off his shoes before dropping into bed. He starts to drift off before he realizes how much he’s shivering and he pulls off his soaked hoodie, sliding under the covers in his t-shirt and jeans, which are only slightly damp, and he’s tired enough that it doesn’t matter after a few minutes; he’s dead to the world.
***
It’s the ringing that wakes him, but not for a while. He doesn’t even open his eyes as he digs his phone out of his pocket and answers it.
“Hello?” His voice is hoarse and tinged with congestion, but he can blame it being asleep.
“Hey, kid!” Happy practically screams. He pulls the phone away from his ear. “I’m outside!”
“Okay, hang on.” “What—”
Peter hangs up before Happy can say anything else and drags himself out of bed. Is it really seven already? He looks out the window, and the sky is dark grey, still layered with clouds. The rain drums against the glass. Peter staggers around his room, pulling off the rest of his clothes and pulling on the suit. In the moments before the suit is on all the way he starts shivering again, missing the warmth of his bed but chalking it up to the apartment being cold. He’s still not conceding that he might be under the weather, even though the scratch in his throat is a bit sharper now and his nose won’t stop running. He throws on some street clothes over the suit and grabs his mask, opting to take the stairs down to the lobby rather than swinging. His head is still foggy from sleep and he’s worried he’ll miss and crash into something.
Happy is not happy when he gets in the car.
“Took you long enough.”
“Sorry, you woke me up.”
Peter crosses his arms in an attempt to control the shivers racking his body and hopes Happy doesn’t clock how rough his voice sounds. It was bad enough in the dark in his room, but in the context of the real world it sounds even worse. He muffles his coughs well enough during the drive to the Tower, and Happy doesn’t ask any questions.
He’s still shivering when he gets inside, to the point where he thinks maybe the suit is malfunctioning. That’s the only thing he can think of to explain why it’s still happening after being in such a well-heated car for twenty minutes. He meets Tony in the basement to learn the details of what they’re about to do.
“Hey, Pete,” Tony says as he comes in.
“Hey, Mr. Stark.”
Peter sniffles slightly while Tony’s still distracted and then sits down, leaning against one of the tables.
“Alright,” Tony turns to face him, “here’s the deal. These two brothers, Miguel and Harry, one raised in Mexico City, one in Connecticut, you guess which is which, started smuggling various substances through their apartment in Upstate New York on their way to Canada, and now they’ve come down south to fuck—to mess up our supplies. Their end goal seems to be to get it to Montreal, where it can be sold by Lumiere Industries to all sorts of nefarious enterprises. Our mission tonight is to stop them and, if we’re lucky, to find out who the vibranium goes to before Montreal, because we know there’s one stop in between. Any questions?”
Peter shakes his head slowly.
“Really?” Tony raises his eyebrows. “Nothing? Wow. Alright, let’s roll out. I assume you have your suit on under that?”
Peter nods, wanting to use his voice as little as possible in case Tony realizes he’s hiding something and gets overprotective and calls someone else to help him. He needs any chance to show his mentor he’s good at what he does, no matter what.
***
Happy drives them to a secondary location and lets them off in the middle of the street a few blocks away from where the drop is supposed to happen so the criminals won’t see or hear them coming. The car ride is quiet until Peter, still shivering under his suit and altogether feeling unprepared for what’s about to happen, decides to see if Tony can fix his suit.
“Mr. Stark?” Tony doesn’t look up from his phone.
“Yeah?”
“I think the, um…” he rubs his eyes. “The thing is broken in my suit.”
“The thing?”
“Yeah, you know, the heat…” Why can’t he think of the word? “Thermoregulator.”
This makes Tony raise his head and glance over at Peter.
“What, you too warm?”
“Cold.”
“Huh.”
Tony squints at Peter’s suit in the dark, as if he can detect any malfunctions just from that. Peter almost believes he can.
“I’ll take a look at it when we get back.”
“Okay.” Peter coughs lightly, holding back a string of bigger coughs that have been building since they got into the car.
Once they get out at the location, he takes advantage of Tony and Happy yelling instructions at each other to let them out, muffling them into his shoulder as well as he can. The material of the suit doesn’t really absorb sound, but Tony doesn’t seem to notice regardless, and that’s the important thing. After another minute or so Happy drives away, and Tony activates his suit. “You ready, kid?” Peter nods with all the determination he can muster and slides his mask over his face.
***
The next couple of hours are a haze of adrenaline. Peter doesn’t even have time to think as he follows Tony’s lead, surrounding the brothers and subduing them. It’s harder than they anticipated, but once the brothers stop fighting Peter has a hard time believing that they run (or used to run) a successful multi-national smuggling operation.
When they’re done, Happy comes to pick them up again. Peter slips his hoodie back on over his suit with shaky hands, more wiped out than he should be after such an easy battle. Even better, the inside of his mask is covered in two and a half hours’ worth of snot, so when he pulls it off he quickly turns away from Tony and wipes it away with his sleeve. It’s the best he can do for now. He shivers. Now that he’s stationary, he can feel a dull, feverish ache creeping up his back, and there’s no denying anymore that the thermoregulator in his suit is fine; it’s his body that’s off.
Once they’re in the car, Tony gives him a curious look.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he comments.
Peter just shrugs, leaning his pounding head against the window, too tired to pretend he’s okay but not desperate enough to let Tony know outright that he’s not.
“You did good tonight, kid. I appreciate you jumping in at the last minute.”
Peter mumbles something that could be a “Thank you” and hopes Tony will leave him alone. His eyes begin to close.
“You falling asleep on me?” Tony’s words are the same as ever, but his tone is just a tad softer.
Peter still grits his teeth, wishing he would shut up. His face is starting to feel very warm despite the coolness of the window, despite the chill in the rest of his body.
“No, I’m okay,” he says, hoping to allay Tony’s fears. Unfortunately, his voice is worse for yelling during the battle. He can practically feel Tony’s concerns prick up, like a dog’s ears.
“You’re not,” he assesses. “What’s up? Those guys didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“No,” Peter assures him.
“Oh, is this just a teen angst thing? Are you being too cool for me?”
“Please stop talking.” Peter normally wouldn’t dream of being so blunt with Tony, but his head hurts so much and he’s trying not to cough and he just wants to sleep.
“Peter Parker—”
Before Tony can finish, Peter coughs, and then he keeps coughing, and his throat feels like sandpaper and his head is exploding. A gentle hand comes to rest between his shoulder blades, and Peter’s trying so hard to stop, and frustrated tears are coming to his eyes because he can’t, and he’s so tired, and then finally the coughs start to taper off and Tony’s other hand cups his forehead, and Peter hadn’t realized his head was so hot but Tony’s hand makes him shiver again.
“Karen, can you give me vitals on Peter?” Tony’s hand doesn’t leave Peter’s back.
“Mr. Parker’s respiration is normal, but his heartrate is elevated, and his temperature is 103.8.”
Tony swears under his breath, and for some reason, Peter still feels the need to protest that everything is okay.
“It’s fine,” he protests, “I always run hot.”
“Not that hot,” Tony counters, and he is obviously correct. “When did this start? Have you been sick this whole time?”
“He was asleep when I picked him up,” Happy calls from the front seat, and Peter wants to punch him.
Tony turns back to Peter, who’s struggling to keep his eyes open. “Is that true?”
Peter nods, sighing. “I started feeling bad at school—but I didn’t know!” he adds when Tony begins to look even more exasperated. “I didn’t know it would get this bad.”
“Still,” Tony begins, moving his hand to Peter’s headrest, “if you’re feeling off at all, I need to know that. I can’t have you compromised during a mission. You could have gotten us both killed!”
“I’m sorry,” Peter mumbles, close to tears again now, because he’s a pathetic little kid that Tony can’t trust and shouldn’t and never will. “I didn’t want to disappoint you. And heroes don’t have sick days. I’m sure you’ve worked through worse than this.”
Tony sighs and rubs his eyes. “Look, you might be a hero, but first and foremost you’re a kid. You’re just a kid, Pete, and I mean that in the best possible way. All of us have off days, and that’s allowed, especially for you. And haven’t I told you you shouldn’t model your habits after mine?”
“Yes,” Peter confirms gloomily. Tony pauses for a moment, examining him.
“Alright, we’ll have this conversation later. Just rest. You wanna go back to the Tower, or home?”
“Home,” Peter says, without hesitation. May should be there by now, and he needs to see her.
“Alright. Happy?”
“You got it,” Happy’s voice comes through again as Peter closes his eyes.
Just before he drifts off, he feels a hand on his cheek, then his forehead again, and then it gently ruffles his hair.
***
“Kid. Kid.” He swears he’s only been out for a second before Tony’s shaking him awake and he opens his eyes to see his apartment building looming outside his window.
“Come on, Peter.” Everything happens in a haze as Tony leads him into the building and up to his floor. When they get to the door Tony just holds out his hand, and Peter drops his keys into it, falling a bit into Tony as he does, leaning against him. As he unlocks the door, Tony puts an arm around his shoulders.
“Peter? Is that you?” May’s voice automatically makes him feel a little better.
“Special delivery,” Tony calls out. May’s face appears in Peter’s line of vision, eyebrows drawn together. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
“Kiddo’s just feeling a little under the weather,” Tony explains, and Peter doesn’t think he ever felt this much like a six year old, even when he was actually six. May comes over and feels his forehead.
“Honey…” She sounds sympathetic, not angry, and Peter is relieved. “Go get into bed, I’ll be in in a minute.”
As Peter obeys her wishes, he hears her thanking Tony for getting him home safely. At least, he thinks he does. Everything is fuzzy and tilted at about a thirty degree angle. He runs into the doorframe as the tries to enter his room.
“Text me and let me know how he’s doing,” he hears Tony say. “I don’t trust him to update me.”
Peter leaves his door open and just collapses onto his bed, very aware that he’s still fully suited. He hears footsteps, and then Tony’s voice.
“Hey, Pete,” he whispers. “I’ll see you forty-eight hours after your fever breaks, not a second earlier. Got it?”
“Sounds good,” Peter grunts in response. Some time passes, and voices come and go. Then he hears a door closing and there’s a hand on his cheek, gentle, and he loves May so much, and he wants to tell her that, but no words are coming out of his mouth.
“Don’t fall asleep yet, sweetie, I want to get some medicine into you.”
He doesn’t remember his mother’s voice, but he imagines it sounded exactly like May’s.
It takes so much effort to stay awake but he does it, mostly, and then he’s swallowing something thick and horrible that makes him gag. Soon afterwards, though, he stops shivering, his muscles relax, and he falls asleep with May’s hand running through his hair.
***