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“Why do you make such strange noises, Man of Spiders? Are you choking on your ale?”
“Thor, I’m fi - hiccup - fine,” Peter muttered, trying not to call attention to his condition from the rest of the Avengers. “It’s just the hiccups.”
“Hick-cups?” the Asgardian asked, testing out the word. “If the cup is at fault, then I shall ask the Man of Iron to provide you with a new drinking vessel.” He turned away from Peter and began to thread his way through the crowded room in search of Tony.
“No, no no no - hiccup - no,” Peter begged as he trailed after the god, trying in vain to grab his arm and stop him, “please don’t tell Mr. Stark. It’s embarrassing.”
“What’s embarrassing?” asked Natasha as she snuck over, pouncing on the word like a cat hunting a mouse.
“No- gulp - thing,” replied Peter quickly, only just managing to swallow down the next strangled squeak that tried to escape from his throat. “It’s nothing, really, truly. Go back to the party.”
“The Man of Spiders is suffering from the hick-cups,” said Thor, oblivious to Peter’s indignant glare.
“No I’m - hiccup - not,” said Peter defiantly, cheeks already flushed from alcohol growing even redder.
“I was just explaining some human things to Thor. Like sneezes,” here he gave a horrible imitation of a sneeze, “and coughs,” obviously fake cough, “and - hiccup - and hiccups! See! Totally normal. Now go back to the party guys, really, enjoy. You too Thor.”
“What’s the kid going on about this time?” asked Tony from behind Peter, who jumped several feet higher than an average human upon being startled.
“Hang on, you may have scared them away,” said Nat.
“Scared what away?” asked a deep voice from the same direction as Mr. Stark. Great, now Doctor Strange was here to laugh at him too.
“Hiccup.” Peter groaned in defeat. There was no hiding it now. Here he was, exactly twenty-two years old today, and still he couldn’t hold his alcohol. Like the child they all still treated him as.
He would never live this down.
“Nope, there it is,” said Rhodey as he joined the small cluster of heroes, propping one elbow on Nat’s shoulder while the other hand pulled out his phone and began to record. “Say cheese, birthday boy!”
“Do hick-cups become frightened? I am confused. I did not think they were alive.” Thor turned to Peter and frowned. “Are you possessed, Man of Spiders?”
Peter shook his head. “ Hiccup .”
“You don’t know what… ” started Tony, “wait, never mind, stupid question. You’re a god, of course you don’t get hiccups. But no, he’s not possessed. Just young, and bad at drinking.”
Peter could hear the smile in the man’s voice. He spun around to face his mentor. Yep, suspicion confirmed - Mr. Stark was grinning from ear to ear.
“ Hiccup ,” he squeaked, somehow managing to sound indignant.
“You’re not far off from what people used to think though, Thor,” said Stephen. “In Russian folklore, hiccups were thought to be a sign that your soul was owned by the devil.”
“Seriously?” asked Rhodey.
“Yep,” confirmed Natasha. “No one believes it now, of course, but it’s a fun way to scare little kids who drink their milk too fast.”
“Hiccup, ” Peter yelped.
“And in some Japanese folklore, if you hiccup 100 times then it means you will die soon,” continued Stephen.
“Cool,” said Rhodey. “Awesome. So don’t go from Japan to Russia with hiccups, because you’re about to die, and you’re owned by the devil.”
“That would be most unfortunate,” said Thor, who only seemed to half-understand what was happening. “So the Man of Spiders will die, soon? Should we go on a quest to rescue his soul?”
“Thor, it’s - hiccup - fine. It’s just the beer. Hiccup.”
“While that’s likely in this scenario, hiccups can be a harbinger of more fatal illnesses,” said Stephen.
“Great, so you’re telling me that my protégé IS gonna die?” asked Tony melodramatically. He stepped forward to place his hands on Peter’s shoulders. “Well, it was nice knowing ya, kid. Someday I’ll see you in that big science lab in the sky.”
“Hiccup ,” responded Peter, rolling his eyes.
“They’re not fatal, let me clarify -” started Stephen.
“ - FATAL HICCUPS, Stephen, you said fatal hiccups!”
“You did say fatal, Wizard,” said Thor.
“No, hiccups will not kill you,” Stephen interrupted. “The thing causing your hiccups will kill you. But not Peter’s - I mean ‘your’ as in other patients with actual illnesses.”
“What kinds of deadly things can cause hiccups?” asked Clint as he sidled up to the group.
Stephen hesitated.
“Look, either you tell me or WebMD will.”
“... pneumonia. Liver cancer. Heart attack. Kidney failure. Neuromyelitis optica. All highly unlikely, of course.”
“Did you - hiccup - say cancer - hiccup ?”
“Take it easy, Peter,” reassured Natasha, “you know he doesn’t mean you.”
“But seriously, can someone get the poor kid some water?” Rhodey asked the group.
“I would be most happy to,” said Thor, heading in the direction of the kitchen. “Anything to save the Spiderling.”
“Sugar also works quite well,” Stephen shouted after him, causing the Asgardian to turn back around. “Hiccups are caused by overactivity of the vagus nerve, which controls the diaphragm. Eating something very sweet can overwhelm it and stop the spasms. There should be a box of sugar packets next to the coffee maker, Thor.”
Thor nodded his assent and made his way to the kitchen.
“Why do you know all this stuff?” asked Natasha.
“Um, because he’s brilliant,” said Tony, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. A faint blush rose to Stephen’s cheeks.
“Do you - hiccup - know more? About hiccups?”
The sorcerer hesitated.
Tony released his hold on Peter. Instead, he slung his arm around Stephen’s waist and spun him around to face Rhodey’s camera. “And on this episode of ‘My Husband is a Know-It-All… tell them everything you know about hiccups, sweetheart.”
“Do I really have to -“
“Come on, stop being modest, I know you love showing off your insane memory. And you know I love showing off my brilliant husband.”
Stephen rolled his eyes, but adjusted his body to wrap an arm around the engineer’s shoulders.
“Fine. What do you want to know?”
“Dealer’s choice,” said Clint.
And so Stephen began to ramble; it was a point of pride, by now, that he be able to answer their questions. Of course Tony, being Tony, decided to use the opportunity to banter.
“Medically speaking, hiccups are also called synchronous diaphragmatic flutter, or SDF.”
“Oh, yeah, ‘cause that’s easier to remember. Really rolls off the tongue there.”
“Singultus is another term for it. The word ‘singultus’, in Latin, loosely translates to ‘catching your breath while sobbing.’”
“Awesome, great peppy name there. Those Romans really knew how to have a good time.”
“Fine, smartass. Tell me why we hiccup, then.”
“Oh god, are you asking me?”
“Yep.”
“ Hiccup ,” squeaked Peter.
“I have absolutely no idea,” said Tony, “but I’m sure you do.”
“I don’t, actually. It was a trick question. Hiccups can be brought on by many things, like drinking fizzy drinks, laughing, or getting really emotional. But no one actually knows where the reflex comes from. In 2003, it was proposed by an international research group that it’s a vestigial trait-”
“- vestigial? Explain the fancy word for the viewers at home, sweetheart, or at least give them a few seconds to Google it.”
“Viewers?” Stephen looked to Rhodey in faint horror. “Are you livestreaming this?”
Rhodey coughed, lowering his eyes to the floor to avoid Stephen’s gaze. “What? No, no. Of course not.” He coughed again.
“ Hiccup .” Peter didn’t buy it.
“He’s totally livestreaming this,” said Nat, looking at Rhodey’s phone screen over his shoulder. “Congratulations Doctor, you are now lecturing to over eighteen thousand people. Say hi.”
Stephen turned to Tony. “You are a menace.”
“Me? I’m not the one livestreaming!”
“You convinced me to do this, knowing full well that he would.”
“Okay, fair point. Rhodey’s trying to build up his Insta following.”
“When we get home later, I am going on Amazon and investing in a gag for you.”
Tony wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Kinky.”
“ Hiccup .” Peter gave them both a face that clearly said “get a room”.
Stephen rolled his eyes in fond exasperation before turning back to the camera. “‘Vestigial’ means that something is an evolutionary hold-over. It used to be helpful, but now it’s pointless and stupid. In this case, researchers thought it might come from our amphibian ancestors. A more recent study, however, debates whether hiccups are related to the nursing reflex in infant mammals. Which is supported by the fact that fetuses hiccup.”
“Fetuses hiccup?” asked Natasha, surprised.
“Fetuses hiccup.”
“Fatal fetal hiccups, try saying that ten times fast,” grinned Clint.
“They’re not fatal -”
“Wait, go back to the hiccup cures thing,” interrupted Rhodey. “The viewers were loving that. What are some other really weird ways that we’ve tried to cure hiccups?”
“Well, the ancient Greeks thought that hiccups are a result of an enemy speaking about you, because they release the negative energy, or something preposterous like that. To cure the hiccups, then, they thought you had to guess which enemy is talking about you and say their name out loud.”
“Oh god, I would be so screwed,” said Tony. “If I had to start listing off everyone who hates me whenever I have the hiccups, I’d die before I reached the end.”
“ Hiccup ,” agreed Peter.
“In the Middle Ages, it was thought that hiccups were caused by elves. As a cure, they suggested that you try drinking the blood of a freshly killed pigeon.”
“Perfect. Delicious. I’ve always wanted to try one.”
“That is a complete lie, you hate pigeons.”
“Okay, but do you blame me? They’re the rats of the skies!”
“Oh, here’s a fun one. I found this article in the the Milwaukee Journal from 1944.” Stephen closed his eyes for a moment to visualize the page before looking back up at his husband and continuing. “Someone posted in the paper that a local man had hiccups for thirteen days straight. It must have been a slow news week, because after that a good portion of the town began to send in suggestions on how to cure him.”
“Do any involve pigeon blood?”
“No, but someone did suggest eating the heart of a salamander. Other fun bogus ‘cures’ included running naked through the woods at night -”
“- sounds like a great Thursday night to me -”
“ - and tying a live frog to your chest. They suggested that the man wait until the frog dies, and when it does it will take the hiccups with it.”
“Poor - hiccup - frog!” exclaimed Peter.
“Look, if I had the hiccups for thirteen days, I’d get a little desperate too,” argued Tony. “So was the guy ever cured?”
“Well, the doctor treating him wrote back to the newspaper and thanked all the townspeople for their suggestions, but said he’d decided to treat the patient with electroshock therapy.”
“Okay, there’s no way I would ever be that desperate,” Tony amended.
“Are you sure? Because the longest recorded case of hiccups lasted sixty-eight years.”
“Nuh uh, no way, you’re making that up,” interjected Rhodey. “Or at least misremembering or something. Sixty-eight YEARS?”
“I don’t misremember,” said Stephen a little smugly. “Go ahead and Google it. His name was Charles Osborne, and he contracted the hiccups in Iowa in 1922 while slaughtering a pig. They finally stopped in 1990, when he was ninety-seven years old.”
“Oh god,” said Peter in horror. “Did they - hiccup - did they stop because he… you know…?”
“Died? No, he passed away a year later.”
“Must have been a really great year for him, honestly. Like, it sucks to die, but at least he didn’t have to hiccup on his deathbed,” said Tony.
“Strange isn’t wrong,” said Clint, raising his phone triumphantly. “It’s in the Guiness Book of World Records.”
“Mmmm, god, baby you’re so hot when you know things,” groaned Tony, pressing a kiss to his husband’s cheek and pulling his body a little closer next to him.
“Down boys,” said Natasha, grinning into her vodka tumbler. “Let’s keep this show PG, shall we?”
Tony flipped her off, and her grin widened.
“So you said sugar works,” said Rhodey, trying to get the video back on track. “To actually stop hiccups, I mean, not like those other fake cures. Are there any others?”
Stephen spotted Thor out of the corner of his eye as the god returned from the kitchen, carrying a glass of water in one hand and several packets of Splenda in the other. Peter was facing the opposite direction, and didn’t seem to notice his presence.
“Anything that overwhelms the vagus nerve, really,” Stephen answered after a moment’s pause. “Sugar, lots of water. Interruptions to breathing -”
Tony winked at the camera.
“ Hiccup ,” squeaked Peter.
“ - digital rectal massage -”
Tony gave a bigger wink.
“I can practically HEAR your expressions right now,” said Stephen without looking away from Rhodey’s phone.
“Then stop saying kinky things!” argued Tony.
“ Hiccup .”
“They aren’t -”
Thor, who was now standing behind Peter, unceremoniously dumped the glass of water over the boy’s head. He jumped a few feet in the air, and spun around to face his attacker while fingering the triggers for his web shooters. “Thor?” he sputtered when he realized that the Asgardian was to blame. He squinted in an attempt to see the god through the fringe of wet hair which was now hanging in front of his eyes. “What the hell man?”
Tony burst out laughing, and Clint soon joined in.
“Is this not what you intended?” asked Thor, turning to Rhodey in confusion. “You asked for water for the Man of Spiders.”
“I think he meant to drink, buddy,” said Natasha, barely suppressing laughter of her own.
“But this is so much better,” chuckled Rhodey, eyeing the wave of approving comments now rolling in on his livestream.
“I thought you said he must be scared to be cured of the hick-cups,” said Thor to Peter. “My apologies, young one.” The god patted the boy on the shoulder, and his knees buckled a little under the force of it.
“You guys suck,” said Peter. “Next year I’m celebrating my birthday with Harley. And literally only Harley. None of you are invited.”
“Aww c’mon kid, you know you love us,” said Clint, ruffling his dripping, messy hair.
Peter rolled his eyes and batted the older man’s hand away, but the small smile on his face spoiled the facade.
“At least it worked,” noted Stephen.
“Yeah, seems like your hiccups are gone,” Natasha confirmed.
Tony, still recovering from his laughing fit, turned once again to the phone in Rhodey’s hand. “Well, I think that’s it for this whole little marital tour of misguided medicine - tune in next time to hear Stephen rant about more of the weird medical shit we used to do!”
“Next time? Tony, there isn’t going to be a next time!” objected Stephen as Rhodey stopped recording and put away his phone.
There was a next time.
There were many, many next times.
But as much as Stephen complained, they all knew he secretly enjoyed getting to be a know-it-all in front of an audience. Even if the audience was a digital one.