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Peter gripped the straps of his overnight bag, and stared at the Stark Jet sitting on the tarmac, waiting for them to board it. It wasn’t his first time on a plane, or even on one of Tony’s, so he couldn’t explain the dread, the tight knot sitting in his stomach, wound and ready, it seemed, to snap him in half.
That morning he’d woken up anxious, with a slight nauseous feeling and an ache behind his eyes. All day the anticipation built, built and built, by no single thought in particular, though the plane gave the anxiety a target, a threat in which to spiral and to tighten.
“What’s the deal with the sunglasses?” asked Happy, once the three of them got settled on the plane.
Tony chose the seat next to Peter. “Leave the kid alone, Hap, he’s obviously learned his fashion sense from the best. Sunglasses inside will always be hip.”
“Don’t say hip,” Happy told Tony. “You’re old just like me.”
“Old and hip, right, Pete?” Tony nudged him with his elbow, and the plane moved, at least it did for Peter. One look out the window told him that they were, in fact, standing still. “You okay, kid? You look sort of pale. And disturbed, like that time you were arguing with that film critic on Twitter.”
“He wasn’t a film critic,” said Peter. “Just some guy on the internet, and he got Star Wars completely wrong . Probably didn’t even watch it.”
Tony chuckled, and pulled his cell phone from his pocket and began to scroll. Peter was thankful for the distraction, redirecting his anxious, now angry, thoughts towards the people on the internet, until Happy made a move to pull his overnight bag from his hands.
“I want to hold it,” said Peter, clutching his bag, embarrassingly aware of how similar he probably looked to a child hugging a bear.
“Okay,” said Happy, giving him a suspicious stare. “You sure you’re alright? You’ve been acting weird all day.”
“I’m fine, Happy.”
“Just making sure.” Happy backed away from where Peter and Tony sat, and sat down at the table on the opposite side of the plane. “May would kill me if you collapsed before we even got to the conference.”
“What he really means is May will make him sleep on the couch.”
“Can we please not talk about that,” said Peter, quickly, before Tony took the conversation to awkward, uncomfortable places.
Happy grumbled in Tony’s direction, before sinking into his chair and pulling headphones out from his pocket, plugging them into his phone and ultimately, pointedly sticking them in his ears.
Peter thought Happy sort of had the right idea.
Headphones were what he needed for this flight, and he needed to get to them before the plane roared to life and they shot up into the air. He unzipped all the compartments of his bag, his search becoming more and more frantic as it had started to become apparent his headphones were missing.
“Shit.” He pushed his bag off him, and when it landed to the floor, his wallet fell out of the smallest pocket.
“Kid,” said Tony. “Take a breath. What’s wrong?”
“I left my headphones at home.”
“What? Conversation with me that unbearable, huh?”
Tony smiled at him, but Peter wasn’t in the mood for jokes. He turned his attention back to the floor, where his bag still laid with the contents spilling out. He kicked at it, and Tony gripped his forearm.
“Pete?” asked Tony, his voice low and quiet, making it clear his words were just for Peter to hear. “What’s up? Something’s clearly bothering you. Something a little deeper than headphones.”
Peter sat up straighter in his chair and looked straight ahead, his thoughts racing and spinning out, about the plane, and about having to confess that he was Spider-Man and that his anxiety was getting the better of him.
“It’s not a big deal,” said Peter. “Just feeling a little anxious.”
Tony frowned at him. “About the flight? You’ve flown -”
“I know, look, I know, alright?” Peter’s words left his mouth sharper than he intended. “I’m sorry, I’m just -”
“-Anxious.”
“Yeah,” said Peter. His arm flew to grip the armrest as the plane shifted beneath them. “And I don’t have my headphones.”
“I could steal Happy’s for you.”
Peter sunk down in his chair, and gripped the armrest even tighter. “Please don’t… please don’t turn this into a big thing.”
Tony raised an eyebrow at him.
“You know, like freak out about it, and call May, and discuss it like I’m not here, and get all concerned and worried and helicoptering.”
“Doesn’t help much, does it?”
And because Peter was too stressed to lie, he told the truth. “Not really, no.”
There was silence between them, until the plane started to roll forward, and Tony pulled his laptop from his own bag, placed it on the table in front of them.
“I have just the distraction,” he told Peter. He clicked a few buttons and the titles of movies appeared on the screen, all Peter’s favorites. “Thought I’d start working my way through the list.”
“What is this?”
“Everytime you make some off the wall movie reference I have FRIDAY add it to the list, if I haven’t already seen it,” said Tony. “So, how about it? No better time to knock one of these out than a flight.”
Peter nodded, allowing just a small smile, and distracted by his tightening anxiety by the revelation that Tony actually listened to him when he talked about things. The opening credits began, and Peter could do this. He could survive this flight.
*
Peter couldn’t do this.
It had been fine for a few minutes, once they got up in the air, and Tony had started the movie, and it had been easy to pretend they were anywhere else.
But everything went to hell when the turbulence started.
Peter gripped his chair so tightly he was sure the armrests would be dented and broken once he let them go. He imagined outside the plane was being tossed around like a ship on an angry sea, and once or twice, he watched Tony’s reaction, knowing he didn’t have to worry if his mentor wasn’t displaying any signs of distress.
And he wasn’t. Neither was Happy.
They were tense, clearly uncomfortable, but overall, not anticipating their impending doom the way Peter imagined being violently ripped from the dark, angry clouds.
Happy looked a bit like the time May forced him to come to a Decathlon meet and sit in the uncomfortable folding chair, and Tony frowned, the way he did whenever Peter mentioned hanging out with Harry Osborne.
“We’re good, Pete,” said Tony, after a particularly nasty bump. “All normal.”
Peter nodded, too nervous to be embarrassed by his anxiety. And he would’ve been fine, would’ve gotten over his draining feeling of doom that twisted his insides, if it hadn’t been for the nauseous feeling that came with it.
He tried to ignore it. Pretended that the only thing bothering him was the plane being tossed around, but then everything went still. The turbulence stopped. And it did nothing to improve the turbulence in Peter’s stomach.
He bolted from his chair.
Peter ignored Tony yelping in surprise and yelling at him to sit back down. Yelling that things were probably about to get rocky again, and because the universe always had to spite him, because Tony Stark always had to be right, that was exactly what happened.
The plane shifted, and Peter was knocked off his feet and sent stumbling towards the left wall, where his head caught the corner of a cabinet. It was sharp, blinding pain on the top of his head, so splintering that his eyes were dizzy with stars, so disorientating that he hadn’t realized he’d fallen to the ground until there was a weight on his shoulder and Tony’s head floating in the space above him.
“God, Pete, are you okay?”
Peter mumbled his words, unable to get them out in a way that made sense.
“Is he broken?” He heard Happy’s panicked question from somewhere out of sight. “He can’t be broken. We can’t return a broken kid to May.“
“Relax, Hap, Peter’s taken rougher falls than this one,” said Tony, his voice still calm, even if his eyes were panicked. “Right, kid?”
Peter’s stomach lurked, and finally, he knew how to say what he needed to say. ”Trash can.”
“What?”
“Throw up,” said Peter. “I’m gonna.”
Happy brought a trash can to where he was laid out on the floor just in time for him to stick his head into and throw up. Once he finished, he rested his head against the plane’s carpet and shut his eyes, until he couldn’t ignore the nudging on his shoulder any longer.
“Stop, Tony, tired.”
“Yeah, well, you can’t go to sleep.”
Peter opened his eyes and stared at him. “Why?”
“Because your hair is getting crusty with blood and you probably have a concussion,” Tony told him.
“Not a doctor.”
“Nope,” said Tony. “But I have Google, and I’ve known you long enough to have had cause to look up these symptoms at least seventy-two separate times in the past.”
“Can’t be that many,” said Happy, still somewhere out of sight.
“Have you met Peter?” asked Tony. “The kid attracts accidents and illnesses so often I’m starting to think it’s another side effect of the spider bite.”
Peter groaned, as his stomach lurched a second time, and as the plane shook some more. When things went steady again, Tony got up and left him, only to return minutes later with a warm cloth he used to gently attack his hair with.
“That’s a pretty nasty cut,” said Tony.
The mention of blood was too much for Peter’s weak stomach, and he stuck his head back in the trash can and threw up some more, with the added bonus of smelling and splashing around his puke from the first time.
“Hap,” said Tony, taking the trash can away from Peter when the second round was over. “Flush this.”
“Why do I have to be the puke dumper?”
“Would you rather flush the puke or clean the blood?”
Happy marched over and took the trash can with him to the bathroom, and Tony stayed with him on the floor, gently dabbing at his head between spurts of turbulence.
“This really sucks,” said Peter. His eyes were heavy, and sleep felt just inches away, beckoning him, willing him to just shut his eyes and give in. “I hate this. I want off this plane. I can’t take it anymore.”
“You can,” said Tony. “Because you have to, so you will, and we’re almost there. Just a few more minutes.”
“Never flying again.”
“Yes you will.”
“Will not,” said Peter. “Let’s take a train next time.”
“I don’t see how that’d be any different,” said Tony. “You’d just find a way to injure yourself on that, too.”
The plane shook again, shook the inside of Peter’s head, which already felt as if it were on fire. It shook the inside of his stomach, which still felt like he still needed that trash can.
Happy, as if he could read his thoughts, reappeared with the now empty trash can. Peter took it, and gripped the edges, but thankfully, the sick feeling went away. He was left hugging the plastic container, just in case, as the plane blazed through the clouds.
*
They went straight to the hospital once the plane landed. After being blinded with flashlights, and put through MRI scans, the doctor agreed that he had a concussion, but a mild one that allowed them to leave the hospital and check into the hotel.
Tony kept the lights dim in the suite. He pushed him into a bed, and ordered him to stay there while he went downstairs to the lobby to buy him ridiculously overpriced gatorade, ginger ale, and crackers. Happy stayed behind, and stared at him from the armchair in the corner.
“You still remember your name, don’t you?”
Peter made a big deal about looking up at the ceiling. “Uh, umm, it starts with a P, right? Something about a park maybe…”
Happy’s alarmed expression was enough to spin the entire trip, both the flight from hell and the visit to ER, in a brighter light.
“Chill out, Happy,” said Peter, the hint of a laugh in his voice. “I’m fine.”
He still didn’t look convinced.
“It’s Peter. God, I know my name.”
“That’s not funny,” said Happy, standing from the armchair and waving an accusing finger at him, at the same time Tony walked into the room with a bag filled with sick people remedies. Happy brushed past him, and grumbled, “I’m going to bed.”
The door to the adjoining room opened and closed, and Tony dropped the bag on the bed by Peter’s feet.
“Alright, what will it be?” asked Tony. “Glacier Cherry gatorade? 7up?”
“Uhhh,” said Peter. “...I’m good.”
“You have to drink something,” said Tony. “You’re getting the gatorade. I don’t wanna find out what dramatic thing happens when spiders get dehydrated.”
“I resent that,” said Peter, but accepted the frosty, cold drink anyway, knowing Tony wouldn’t let him hear the end of it if he didn’t at least sip on it.
He worked on taking slow drinks while Tony buzzed about the room, messing around with their suitcases and putting all the sick person snacks away. Finally, he sat down on the other bed, and looked at the TV they couldn’t turn on.
“Worst conference ever,” said Peter. “I’m rating it one out of ten.”
“Wow. That’s historically bad, bud, considering it technically hasn’t started yet, and we won’t even be attending anymore.”
That had been Tony’s call. Over protective, really, like refusing to turn on the TV and taking Peter’s phone away. No screens for the concussed. It was completely unfair.
Tony had declared on the ride from the hospital to the hotel that they’d stay in and rest the next day.
“I’m sorry I ruined your trip.”
Tony laughed. “It’s a technology convention, ran by people years behind SI, Peter. We weren’t going there for me. We were going for your college application.”
“I’m sorry to my college applications, then.”
“Don’t be,” said Tony. “There’s still plenty of time for that. Other conventions. Better ones. Truth be told, just wanted the time to hang out with you and Happy.”
“Could’ve just invited us over for pizza.”
“Nah,” said Tony. “This was more fun.”
“Fun isn’t the word I’d use.”
“Pizza, huh? That mean you’re getting through your pukey phase?”
“Maybe,” said Peter. He hadn’t noticed the bad feelings in his stomach had become less pronounced, had almost disappeared completely. “Hopefully.”
“How’s the anxiety?”
“Better,” said Peter. He chuckled, despite himself, and his concussion, the way the motion hurt his head. “Don’t really know what it was about, actually.”
“Anxiety doesn’t need a reason,” said Tony. “Or at least one that’s obvious.”
That idea of randomness, that anxiety would always be around, lurking, might have really fucked him over earlier. But it was a little easier to take knowing he had Happy providing trash cans and dumping his puke, and Tony to help him through it. Two extra people in his corner on bad days, so it was alright. Everything was alright.