Chapter Text
Peter had never felt this grateful to see Happy waiting for him as he left Academic Decathlon practice. His day started out great, but quickly went downhill after lunch. Now, he had a migraine and craved the muted 40 minute drive to the Tower. As he slid into the backseat, he made sure to softly close the door instead of his usual enthusiastic slam. “Hi, Happy,” Peter could hear the tiredness in his own voice. “How are you today?”
“Better than you, it seems.” Happy merged into traffic.
“It’s been a long day; I’ll be fine.”
Satisfied with his answer, Happy rolled up the divider. Peter put on his noise-cancelling headphones and closed his eyes, willing his headache to disappear. It was still there when they arrived in the Tower’s garage.
Before Peter could get on the elevator, Happy stopped him and motioned for him to remove the headphones. “Kid, Tony’s meeting is running late, and he can’t leave because Pepper is watching him like a hawk. He’ll meet you in the common floor living room once it wraps up.”
Happy was gone before Peter could reply. Stepping into the elevator, FRIDAY greeted him. “Hello, Peter.” Peter winced. “Boss will be with you after his meeting. Until then, you are to wait on the common floor.”
“Thanks for the info.” The elevator arrived. Peter entered the floor, kicking off his shoes near the lift. Heading over to the kitchen, he dropped his backpack onto a chair before heading to the fridge. The car ride nauseated him, and he knew ginger ale could help. Opening the fridge, he saw a lonely can sitting on the shelf. Steve labeled it as his while threatening pre-dawn calisthenics for a week towards whoever took it.
Peter was too tired to try and figure out why Steve was so protective over the can of soda and took it anyways. He knew he could get FRIDAY to erase the kitchen footage so Steve would not know who took the last can. And if Steve did somehow manage to figure out it was him, he could play the age card. If that did not work, May would get involved.
Smiling at that thought, Peter went over to the large couch in the common area, opening the can and taking a sip before setting it down on the coffee table. Since no one was around and he had no idea when Tony would be free from his meeting, he decided to try taking a nap again. After FRIDAY lowered the blinds, he made himself comfortable with the throw pillows and blankets before taking off the headphones. Peter knew the area was pretty much soundproof, and no one was around to make noise, so he would be fine. Plus, it was easier to sleep without headphones than with. He closed his eyes, wishing for sleep.
The next thing he knew, he was on the floor. He fell off the couch, which meant he did manage to sleep. Groaning, Peter picked his head up before deciding that the rug was comfortable enough to take a nap on. Reaching blindly above him, he grabbed a pillow off the couch and tucked it under his head, willing himself to fall asleep once again.
It almost worked, too. Peter could feel himself drifting off when he heard Natasha ask, “Peter, are you okay?”
Not bothering to lift his head from the pillow, he muttered, “If I die tonight, I don’t care.”
“I can tell; you took Steve’s last ginger ale,” Natasha joked. When Peter did not respond, she switched to genuine concern. “What’s wrong?” She sat down on the couch above Peter.
“Ms. Nat, I’ve had a headache since right after lunch, and felt a little sick earlier. That’s why I took the last ginger ale. If Steve makes a fuss, I’ll have FRIDAY delete the kitchen footage. And if finds out it was me, I’ll guilt him with my age. As a last resource, I’ll stick May on him.”
“Good planning. Your plans have contingent plans. How did you end up on the carpet?”
“I was on the couch. I must have dozed off because I woke up when I hit the floor. I was going to get up, but everything started spinning, so I decided the floor was good enough for me.”
“Are you feeling well enough that you won’t be sick or suffer from vertigo if we get you back on the couch?”
“Maybe?”
“Okay, we’ll go slow. Let’s start with you untangling yourself from the blanket.” Peter freed himself and handed it to Natasha. “Great, now slowly move yourself into an upright position.” He dutifully followed her instructions. “Now that you’re upright, take a few sips of ginger ale. You don’t need to become dehydrated; it could worsen your headache.”
“Looks like I can add you to the list,” Peter mumbled under his breath in between sips of pop.
“What list?”
Peter quickly assured her. “I didn’t mean for you to hear that. It isn’t bad or anything. The list consists of my friends and the adults in my life that attempt to prevent me from doing stupid things. May and Mr. Stark are at the top of the list, followed by Ned, MJ, Wanda, and now you.”
“Keep drinking the soda. How did Wanda end up on the list?”
Peter took three sips before speaking. “She went over knife safety when we made guacamole a few weeks ago.”
“You do realize that all of the Avengers look out for you?”
“I’m aware. But my list consists of those who’ve told me to my face to be safe, follow instructions and/or not be a dummy.”
“You done with the soda for now?” Peter nodded. “Okay, take your time and join me on the couch. I have your blanket, and I’ll grab the pillow you were using.” Peter complied; less than a minute later, he sat on the couch next to Natasha. “Now,” she patted the pillow next to her, “I want you to lay back down and rest your eyes.”
Once Peter was situated on the couch again, Natasha threw the blanket back over him. She gently combed through his hair, listening to his breathing slow down. She continued to card her fingers through his hair while she texted FRIDAY, asking her to summon Tony at his earliest convenience.
Less than five minutes later, Tony rushed out of the elevator. Before he could speak, Natasha motioned for him to meet her in the hallway past the kitchen. After quickly and quietly extracting herself away from Peter without disturbing him, she silently walked to where Tony was waiting.
“What happened?” Tony whispered. “Happy said that he had a rough day at school, but didn’t mention a headache.”
“All that I got from him was that it came after lunch. When I found him, he was lying on the floor in front of the couch. He fell off it while dozing and was too nauseated to attempt laying back on the couch. Look, Tony, I think he may have a concussion; he needs to go down to the MedBay.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Helen’s at a conference in Seattle. FRIDAY, please request Bruce to come up here. Ask him to bring anything that is needed for a concussion test--”
Natasha jumped in, “And tell him we know that he’s not that type of doctor, but Cho is out of town and it’s for Peter.”
It was silent for a few seconds before FRIDAY responded. “Dr. Banner agreed to administer a concussion test and will be up in a few minutes.”
Natasha glanced at the ceiling. “Thank you so much, FRIDAY.” Turning to Tony, she motioned for him to follow her. “Let’s get back to Peter before Bruce gets here.”
Tony rubbed his hands together. “Let’s wake up the Spider-Baby!”
It turned out that Peter was already awake. He stared blearily at Tony and Natasha for a moment before sitting up. “I wasn’t sleeping, just resting my eyes.”
“Of course you were, Kiddo.” Tony sat down next to Peter. “Natasha tells me you’ve had a migraine since lunch. Do you know what might have triggered it?”
“It happened right after lunch. Flash was annoyed about something and took it out on me. He pushed me into a set of lockers, and I hit my head on a lock.”
“Peter, that’s not good, bud.”
“I’m fine. It’s just a migraine.”
“Yeah, a migraine caused by blunt force trauma. That kid should be suspended for causing bodily harm to another student. You know what, I’m going to talk to May about this and have her schedule an appoint with your principal.” Tony was working himself up.
“Please, don’t Mr. Stark. I can handle Flash. And if he stopped picking on me, he would choose someone else. Someone who doesn’t have a healing ability.”
“Speaking of healing factors, Bruce will be up here in a few minutes to give you a concussion test.”
Peter groaned and collapsed against the cushions. He knew better than to try and argue. Soon, Bruce was walking up to the couch that the three of them were sitting on. “Hello, Peter, Tony, Natasha.” Peter waved while Natasha and Tony greeted him.
Bruce moved the can of pop and the headphones on the coffee table before sitting down. “Hey, Peter, can you please sit up and look at me?” Once Peter followed his instructions, he continued, “Thanks. Can you please tell me where you are right now?”
“On a couch in the common area of the Tower.”
“Great. What’s your address?” Peter rattled it off. Bruce confirmed it was correct before he continued his questioning. “Can you tell me how you injured your head?”
“I was walking to study hall after lunch when this guy who hates me pushed me into some lockers. When I fell into them, I bumped my head on a lock. I didn’t black out or anything, but I do have a horrible headache because of it.”
“That sounds like it hurt. Can you tell me about the rest of your day up until I showed up?”
“Sure. I went to the library and found the most secluded area so I could take a nap. Since my head hurt so much, I knew that the only thing that would help was blocking out as much stimuli as possible, so I put on my headphones and buried my face in the sleeves of my hoodie. Then, I went to physics, where we went over... something. I’ll get the notes from Ned later. After that, I went to Academic Decathlon practice, where I was absolutely miserable. Ned looked really concerned for me, and MJ kept on giving me all five of her Worry Disguised As Disappointment™ looks, which is really bad. Finally, Happy picked me up and brought me here. I tried to take a nap, but it didn’t work.”
Natasha cut in. “You left out the part where you got the ginger ale because you were feeling nauseous and that you were on the floor when I found you.”
Based on Tony’s nonreaction, Bruce figured he already knew about this portion of the story. “How did you end up floor, Peter?”
“Well, Dr. Banner,” he began playing with the fringe on a throw pillow, “I must’ve fallen asleep on the couch, because I woke up when I fell to the ground. I was going to get back on the couch, but the room started spinning when I lifted my head up. I decided that the rug was a good enough place to rest, and Ms. Nat found me there.”
Bruce nodded at Peter’s story before rummaging through the bag he brought with him. He pulled out a foam stress ball and held it up so Peter could see. “Peter, I’m going to throw this at you, and I want you to try and catch it, okay?” He lobbed the ball.
“I’m Spiderman, of course I can--” Peter cutoff as he fumbled to grab it.
“It looks like your reaction time is off,” Bruce commented. He combed through the bag again. “Let’s take a look at your eyes. You said he was nauseated and showing signs of vertigo earlier?” Glancing at Natasha he validated her previous account.
“Yes, he was.”
“Then we should give him a trash can for this next test.” Natasha reached over the side of the couch and handed him a small waste basket. “Thanks.”
“Wait!” Peter held up his hand. “I am confusion. My pupils aren’t different sizes. Why do you need to shine a light into my eyes?”
“To make sure they react properly to light.” Bruce turned on the pen light and handed him the pail. “Ready?”
“No.”
“Sorry.”
Bruce shone the light in both of his eyes, causing a white hot pain to riccrocet around his brain as if it were in a blender. “Aagh” Peter clutched his head and dry heaved into the bucket on his lap. “I can’t believe you’ve done this.” Tony rubbed comforting circles on his back.
“Again, I apologize, Peter. Good news, though, your pupils are working properly. Now, there’s only one more thing I have to do.”
“What’s that?”
Bruce put on a pair of latex gloves. “Can you show me where you hit your head?” Peter gestured to the back of his head. Bruce prodded the area before taking the gloves off and throwing them in the trash can that was still on Peter’s lap. “It appears your healing ability already took care of any physical injury from the incident.”
“So, what’s your verdict, Brucie?” Tony inquired.
“Peter has a mild concussion.”
“This is so sad, FRIDAY, play ‘Despacito.’”
Tony gave Peter a baffled look. “No, FRIDAY, no music.” Turning back to Bruce, he inquired, “What do you recommend?”
“Give him some pain pills and let him sleep it off. His brain needs to heal, and sleeping will help.”
“Does someone need to wake him up every few hours?” Natasha asked.
“No, that’s not needed anymore. I also advise Peter to take it easy for a bit.”
“No Spiderman for at least a week, Underoos. I’m sure that Aunt Hottie will agree with me when we talk later.”
Peter nestled back into the cushions. “Can you please not refer to my aunt like that?”
Instead of answering, Tony changed the subject. “Hey, don’t get too comfy on the couch. You can sleep in your bed soon.” He glanced at Bruce, “Is there any other test you need to do, or can I put the Spider-Kid to bed?”
“No more tests, but he can have some pain medication.”
“Okay Peter, you sit tight for a few minutes.” Tony stood from the couch and stretched. “Bruce, Natasha, and I are going to get you some pain meds, and then I’m going to put you to bed. Please don’t go to sleep until after I return.”
“Bye Dr. Banner, Ms. Nat. Thanks for looking out for me.”
“Anytime, Peter,” Natasha replied as the elevator doors closed.
A few minutes later, the elevator doors slid open again, revealing Tony. He helped Peter off the couch, despite his protests. Wrapping an arm around Peter’s shoulder, he asked, “Can you survive a ride on the elevator without spilling your guts on the floor? If not, we can take the stairs.”
“Bad choice of words, Mr. Stark, but the elevator is fine.” They rode up two floors in silence. Tony did not release Peter from his grip until they reached his door. Once it opened, he made a beeline for his bed.
Before he could flop onto it, Tony’s voice stopped him. “Are you sure you want to sleep in a hoodie and jeans?”
“No, I guess not.” Sighing, Peter changed directions towards his dresser, pulling out pajamas.
“You change, and I’ll grab you a glass of water from the kitchen.” When Tony came back a few minutes later, Peter was sitting up in his bed, awake. Walking over, he handed him the pills and the water. He took them gratefully, a silent thank you in his eyes.
While Peter took the pain killers, Tony went over to his desk. Sitting down, he rolled the chair across the room, propping his legs up on the edge of the bed. He whispered, “You tired?” Peter was snuggled into his comforter.
“I can hold a conversation, Mr. Stark. What do you want to talk about?”
“Why didn’t you call someone if you had a migraine? Or at least go to the nurse’s office?”
“I’ve had headaches before, Mr. Stark.”
“It could’ve turned into sensory overload.”
“But it didn’t.”
“Would you have called someone or gone to the nurse if that happened?”
Peter was quiet for a few seconds before answering. “Probably.”
Tony rubbed his hand down his face. “Okay, back to the original question. Why didn’t you call someone?”
“May was at work, and I thought I would be fine after study hall. Plus, MJ set me on one-absence-a-month for Decathlon. She doesn’t want a repeat of last year.”
“I’m pretty sure your intimidating friend would excuse you for having one of the worst headaches of your life and a concussion.” Based on Peter’s sheepish look, Tony figured he was correct. “You could’ve called me. I would’ve sent Happy to pick you up earlier.”
“Sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter yawned. “I didn’t think to do that.”
“We’ll blame it on your head being scrambled. It sounds like your getting tired; I’ll let you sleep. Your head will feel better when you wake up.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and lowered the screen brightness as far as it could go.
“You’re not leaving?”
“Nope.”
“But Dr. Banner said--”
“I know what Bruce said, but I’m staying. May will have my head if I don’t watch you like a hawk while your concussed.” Neither acknowledged the white lie of omittance within the sentence.
Peter knew Tony staying was mostly for his own assurance. “Okay, Mr. Stark.” He rolled over. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Tony responded only after he was sure the teen was asleep. “Sleep tight, Peter.”