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Peter felt . . . unwell. He wasn’t sure how exactly, but there was a general sense of malaise he couldn’t quite shake. His throat twinged a bit, but he was a mouth-breather so that wasn’t uncommon. His head ached slightly and he felt like he could sleep for another three hours, but he’d been up late what with being out patrolling and then studying for AP Bio. Peter hadn’t been sick since the bite two years ago, but he lifted his hand to his forehead anyway. His brow was cool (probably? It didn’t feel warm). So, not sick. Not anxious either, he decided - he felt confident about the test that afternoon. Still none the wiser to the cause of his “unwellness,” Peter resolved to push through the day.
“Morning Aunt May,” he called, entering the kitchen. Like every morning, there was a glass of apple juice (no more orange juice was one side effect of the bite he didn’t enjoy) and a plate of eggs and toast waiting for him at the table.
“Morning honey,” May replied. “Did you sleep well?” She grabbed a bowl of yogurt and granola for herself and sat down at the table.
“Think so. I feel unwell. I’m not sick!” he hurriedly added. “I checked, no fever, but it’s something. I’m just not sure what.”
May frowned at him, and got up from her seat. She lay her hand on his forehead, then cheek, then neck, and frowned again. “No fever,” she confirmed. “Are you anxious?” Peter shook his head. “How late were you up?”
“Three,” he muttered, ducking his head.
“Peter,” May reprimanded, “we talked about this.” Peter nodded, mouth full. May sighed. “You’re probably just tired,” she told him. “But keep monitoring yourself or ask Ned to help you, and let me know if it gets worse or you figure out what’s wrong. Ok? Spider-Man might be a hero, but Peter Parker is just a kid.” He looked up indignantly. “I know, I know, you’re not a kid. Spider-Man and not Spider-Boy or Spider-Kid and all that.” She chuckled, well familiar with his arguments. “But humor me anyway, yeah? I have to go. Larb you,” she said, and placed the bowl in the sink before leaving the apartment.
“Larb you too,” Peter muttered, and drained his glass of apple juice.
“Hey Ned!” Peter called, spotting his friend across the hallway.
Ned turned, a smile already on his face. “Hey Peter,” he greeted, initiating their handshake. Years of practice made it easy for them to continue while moving towards their lockers. “Anything exciting happen last night?”
“Nope,” Peter replied. “But I’ve got the internship after school and Mr. Stark’s supposed to let me work on nanotech today.”
“Dude, that is so cool!” Ned said, shutting his locker. “You have to tell me all about it.”
“Obviously,” Peter said. “Hey, I’ll see you in third period, right?”
“You know it, man,” Ned assured him, and they did their handshake once more before parting ways.
With no change in his sense of malaise, Peter had forgotten he woke up feeling unwell. By third period, though, he was forcefully reminded when his slight headache turned into an anvil pounding at his skull. Frowning, he fumbled around his backpack until he found his earplugs.
“You ok?” Ned asked, coming in as Peter was settling back into his seat. He took the desk next to Peter’s.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Peter replied. With the earplugs reducing the noise, the anvil had turned into a hammer - still unpleasant, but manageable, and Peter assumed it would dissipate the longer he kept his earplugs in. Then, he remembered he was supposed to be monitoring himself. “Hey, uh, actually, Ned?” Peter hesitated. “Can you help me monitor myself? I woke up feeling unwell - I’m not sick, Aunt May checked - but she said to monitor myself or ask you for help.”
“Of course, man,” Ned replied. “What are you now?”
“Eight,” Peter said. “No, actually six. Seven? Go with seven.” He held up his right hand, thumb and ring finger touching. “Yeah, seven.”
“Bienvenidos, clase,” the teacher said as the bell chimed. “¿Están listos para hoy?”
By lunch, Peter was at a solid 4. He still wasn’t sure what was wrong, but the feeling of “unwell” was much more present. He followed Ned to the cafeteria, body on autopilot.
“Hey losers,” MJ greeted as they joined her at the table. “Parker, you look like shit.”
“Thanks,” Peter mumbled at the same time Ned protested, “He’s feeling unwell MJ, leave off.”
“Why are you here if you’re sick?” MJ asked, sparing a glance at Peter.
“I’m not sick,” Peter told her. “May checked me for a fever this morning. I didn’t have one. And I don’t feel sick, I just feel unwell.” He clenched his fists at the rising irritation. Usually he was a lot better at keeping himself in check, but something about the malaise made him snappier and more prone to overload. Come to think of it, being in the cafeteria probably wasn’t helping.
“If it walks like a duck and it talks like a duck,” MJ said, trailing off.
“But it doesn’t quack like one,” Peter told her earnestly. “It’s not a duck.”
MJ snorted and rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, Spider-Boy.”
Ned ushered Peter towards the lunch line before he could get too upset.
“Tell me all about the nanotech, ok?” Ned was saying as he and Peter exited the school building at the end of the day. “Seriously, I mean it. I want to know everything. I can’t believe you get to work on nanotech with Tony Stark, I mean how cool is that?”
Peter laughed, but his mind was elsewhere. Specifically, on the hammer in his skull that hadn’t disappeared despite the fact he hadn’t removed his earplugs. And, distantly, the sting of his throat as he swallowed. “I’ll tell you, I promise,” he said. “Gotta go, Happy’s waiting for me.” He pointed to the sleek back Audi parked on the curb. “Bye Ned!”
“Bye Peter!” Ned called, watching his friend scurry across the parking lot. “So lucky,” he sighed.
“Hi Happy! How are you doing today?” Peter asked, climbing into the backseat. He didn’t wait for a reply before continuing. “Mr. Stark said I get to work on nanotech today, isn’t that awesome? Ned was so excited, he could hardly believe it. I can’t wait to tell him all about it. Of course I have to get my homework done before I can actually do anything in the lab, that’s one of Aunt May and Mr. Stark’s rules, but it shouldn’t take long, and then I get to do nanotech! Isn’t it cool?” he gushed.
“Sounds great, kid,” Happy said, and rolled the divider up.
Peter grinned, settling back in his seat. Then, he winced. In his excitement, he’d forgotten about the malaise plaguing him, but without the distraction of talking to Happy, it was all coming back. His throat first - it felt like knives every time he swallowed. Then his head - the hammer had gone back to an anvil. Finally, the bone deep exhaustion that was only just now fully hitting him. The grin slipped off Peter’s face and he frowned, leaning his head against the window. The coolness was soothing. He checked his forehead again, but it was still cool. Well, not hot at least. A little warm, but that wasn’t unusual for him at this time of day, especially with having gym last period.
Before he knew it, they were pulling up in the garage. “Thanks, Happy! Bye, Happy!” Peter said as he climbed out of the car, backpack slung carelessly over one shoulder. He rode the private elevator up to the lab, once again grateful that Tony had judged him worthy enough to be granted full access to the Tower.
Tony was waiting by the elevator, typing something on his phone. “Hey Pete,” he said. “Is it ok if we get a snack before lab time? You can do your homework up in the penthouse too.”
“That’s cool Mr. Stark,” Peter responded, shifting aside so Tony could join him. “I’m so excited to work on the nanotech later. Ned couldn’t believe you were finally letting me have a go at it.” Peter chattered nonstop all the way up to the penthouse and continued talking as they entered the kitchen. At the moment, he was recounting his purposefully abysmal performance in gym. “And then everyone laughed at me because I was the worst in the class, except for Ned because he knew what I was really doing and then that made me start to laugh because it was like our own little inside joke but the coach didn’t find it funny so then -”
“Hi Peter,” Pepper said, entering the kitchen. “I take it you had a good day at school today?”
“Hi Ms. Potts!” he exclaimed. “I did have a good day at school today.” Suddenly, he winced, again reminded of his malaise. “Except I woke up feeling unwell and I can’t figure out why. Aunt May checked me for a fever this morning but I didn’t have one and I’m not anxious.”
Pepper frowned at him. “You’ve got your earplugs in,” she noted. “Headache?”
Peter nodded. “And sore throat. And I’m really tired, but it’s really only noticeable when I’m not doing anything. Like when I was talking to Mr. Stark I was fine and I feel fine now because I’m talking to you - well, not really because we’re talking about it but if we were talking about something else I’d be fine but it’ll come back once we stop.”
Tony turned around from where he was fixing Peter a snack at the counter. “Do we need to take a rain check on lab time?” he asked. “Your health comes first.”
“But I’m not sick,” Peter reminded him. “I don’t have a fever. May wouldn’t have let me go to school otherwise.” He took the plate of food Tony slid him and began eating.
“Do you mind if I check your temperature?” Pepper asked and Peter shook his head, mouth full. Gently, Pepper pressed her hand against his brow. She frowned, then moved it to his cheek, then the back of his neck, and finally back to his brow. “Peter,” she said gently. He looked at her, eyes wide.
“Let me see!” Tony interrupted, and now it was his hand moving across Peter’s face and neck. “Sorry Roos, but you’re hot enough to fry an egg.”
Peter glanced between the two of them bewildered. “But I’m not sick,” he repeated and lifted his own hand to his forehead. It felt normal to him. “I don’t feel sick. I don’t feel like I have a fever.”
“Humor me,” Tony said dryly, ushering Peter to the couch. “Pepper’s gone to get a thermometer so we can be certain. But you said that if you’re doing other things you don’t feel any different. Just sit on the couch for a bit, watch a show with me. If you still don’t feel sick or like you have a fever by the end of it, we can go down to the lab like normal. Otherwise, you’ve booked yourself an afternoon with the world’s best Spider-Baby babysitter.”
Peter rolled his eyes, but sat down on the couch anyway, letting Tony cover him with blankets. “Here, Pete, try this for me?” Pepper held out a thermometer, and Peter allowed her to slip it under his tongue as he leaned back against the couch. It beeped, and Pepper pulled it out. “It’s 100.3,” she says. “Not technically a fever, but definitely elevated.”
“Looks like you and me have a couch date, kiddo,” Tony exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “What’ll it be, Star Wars? Disney? Something else?”
Peter giggled. “Star Wars is Disney, Mr. Stark. Remember?” He ducked Tony’s halfhearted swat to his head. “Besides, I wanna watch Hallmark Christmas movies.”
Tony groaned. “Now I know you’re sick,” he said. “First, those movies are objectively bad. Second, it’s October. Christmas isn’t for another two and half months. Hell, we still have to get through Halloween and Thanksgiving!”
“Being bad is what makes them good,” Peter insisted, flipping through the options. “Besides, no one said you have to stay. I still maintain that I’m just unwell, not sick.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say Spider-Boy. Just put it on and let’s get it over with.”
As the movie played, Peter began to become more aware of his discomfort. The knives in his throat had transformed into razors and the anvil had become Mjölnir. His eyes hovered half closed, blinks extending in length. Peter cleared his throat. “Uh, Mr. Stark?” He waited until Tony was looking at him. “I don’t, uh, I don’t feel good,” he said, and swallowed thickly as if to prove his point.
Tony’s eyes crinkled sympathetically. “You want any drugs?” Tony asked, placing his hand on Peter’s forehead. “You feel a bit warmer. Try this again.”
Peter shook his head and slipped the thermometer under his tongue. “It’s 100.5 now,” he told Tony, showing him the orange-lit numbers. “That’s a fever.”
“I’m sorry, buddy,” Tony said. “I wish I could’ve been wrong.” He ran a hand over Peter’s head, noting the way his fingers tangled in the damp curls. “You’re sweating,” he told Peter. Come on, let’s get you changed. Ideally pajamas, but at least sweatpants, ok?”
“Houston, we have a problem,” Peter said, standing up. He giggled a bit, then winced when it hurt his throat.
“Yeah, kiddo?” Tony asked, keeping his hand on Peter’s back as they walked to the boy’s room. “What’s that?”
“I’m sick!” Peter told him, as if this were news. “We gotta tell Aunt May!”
Tony deposited him on the bed, then went to the dresser to pull about pajama pants and a thin shirt. “Pepper already texted her. You’ll be staying here the rest of the week and she’s gonna call you out of school tomorrow.” He handed Peter the clothing, then took a seat at the desk. “I know you’re sick, so it’s not ideal circumstances, but I wish you felt comfortable unmasking more,” Tony said, eyes averted. “It makes me happy when I get to see Peter instead of Peter Parker.”
Peter stared at him. “What about Spider-Man?” he asked seriously, and Tony couldn’t tell if he was being facetious or not. “Do you like Peter more than Spider-Man?”
“Of course I do,” Tony said instantly. “I like Spider-Man. I love Peter.” He clapped the boy on the shoulder. “Now come on. There’s a couch out there calling your name.”