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Peter was sure it was summer allergies he woke up to one morning.
Scratchy throat, runny nose, coughing, his nose being itchy. It had to be. However the booming headaches he had and the urge to sleep till next summer was probably an indicator that it was indeed, not in fact allergies.
Crap.
***
If in fact, per say, he did have a cold, that shouldn't stop him from protecting the city! Crime won't stop just because he has 2 tissues stuck up his nose. His nightstand is decorated in about 3 different kinds of medicine. Ranging from allergy pills to DayQuil.
Ugh, at least I don't have class today. I think I'm going back to bed-
All units, coming from southbound, we have a robbery from the New York City bank, units guard carefully.
Peter already swung out.
-
"A little jumpy today, aren't we Spider-Man?" A group of men aimed their guns at the hero, firing all at once.
Spider-Man, reacting with superhuman speed, dodged everything with perfect precision. He was glad that he wasn't dripping mucus at the moment, because that would have been distracting and... gross.
He kicked their weapons away and webbed them up. With a few beeps and click, the police were called on his burner phone.
"You guys just don't know when to stop, do ya?" Spider-Man retorted, snapping the phone shut. " You know, you should someday-ACHOO!"
He sneezed loudly, feeling his nose starting to plug up. After a few sniffs, the mask began to soak from the inside.
"...Someday find another career path," He finished lamely, "Ugh."
The criminals looked at each other before the boss spoke up. Something about Spider-Man not being as chatty as they heard unnerved them. "You good, man?"
Spider-Man hacks up a lung.
"Summer flu always suck pal. Pretty irresponsible to be Spider-Man like that." The boss admits earnestly, his crew mummering in agreement. "We don't wanna get sick ya know."
"S' not the flu. Just a cold." Spidey defended himself. He left a note and took off to his apartment.
He was not going to wait and be critiqued by criminals.
Using the last of what energy he had in his body, he finally arrived to his apartment window and collapsed onto his bed.
He shuffled off his dirty suit, leaving himself in his boxers.
Forget eating. Not like i have anything other than rotting bread and ramen.
RING. RING. RING.
Ugh, I was already entering REM sleep! Who needs Peter Parker right now?
He wanted to cry, but for dignity sake, he bit back the tears.
"Uh, hello?" Peter winced when he heard how raspy and rough his voice sounded.
"Jesus, Parker. You put your throat through a meat grinder?"
Peter's eyes widened.
Jameson.
CRAP, his pictures- they were due this evening!
He looked outside and it was already dark.
"I- I'm so sorry sir," Peter apologized quickly, ignoring his throats plea to stop talking, "I have them with me, but I've just been so caught up in-
Another fit of coughs erupted from his chest.
"You sound awful." Jameson almost sounded concerned, but Peter was too tired to decipher that. "I was calling to fire you, but that instantly changed when Hoffman brought me a dozen donuts and black coffee. So, no firing."
"Thank you, truly." Peter mumbled out.
"Tomorrow. Pictures. Noon. Or else you're fired, for real. Got it?" He grunted out, his tone softer. "I can't pamper you all the time!"
Peter nodded, not that Jameson would see. "Yes sir."
With that Jameson hung up.
No biggie. Peter can deal with this.
***
Peter stumbled into the Daily Bugle. Luckily his nose wasn’t running and he wasn't sneezing like crazy anymore, but his body was on fire.
Pretty sure his brain too.
Betty looked up but soon frowned at Peter's state. "I couldn't believe Jameson until I saw for myself. Peter…you look like a mess! How long have you been sick?” she rubbed her neck. I'm embarrassed. “Sorry, that might have been too upfront.”
Betty was always super nice with him. He liked Betty. "It's okay. Uh, I don't know to be honest. A few days?" He coughed miserably and curled himself in his old high school hoodie.
Betty let out a soft sigh and handed him a bottle of water. "You haven't been taking care of yourself Pete. You know you can do that, right?" Seeing as Peter was gazing at her with droopy eyelids, she cut to the chase. "You can wait in Jameson's office. He's out taking care of a few things."
Peter gave her a smile and nodded, heading into Jameson's office and sitting down.
Robbie was already there and looked at Peter with a questioning brow.
"Shouldn't you be at home, resting?"
"Jameson told me pictures were due today, I'm already a day late." Robbie noticed the shivers that shook Peter's frame. "Jus' allergies, anyways."
Robbie mumbled a string of curses. What was Jameson doing in thinking of bringing Peter here!
"Pretty sure allergies don't make your body shake like that." The elder man let out a sigh as Peter placed his photos onto Janeson's desk. "You look like you're a minute from passing out. You need to go home.”
Peter clenched his jaw, trying his best to stay cool. "Jameson needs to look over my photos. I can't go till I see him." Robbie was about to object but stopped himself. The kid looked seconds from having a breakdown. Most likely from his sickness and that he relied desperately on his check.
Fine.
Not like he was discrete about his alter ego anyway.
A wet cough broke Robbie out of his trance.
"Okay, you can stay. Alright?" Something oddly protective clicked in him when he saw Peter stare at him with an imploring expression. "Do you wanna move to the desk over there? I'll wake you up when he's here." He asked softly.
Peter nodded as he got up and with the help of Robbie he was able to slide into the desk and lazily slump into it. His head was carefully laid under a small pillow that was lounging in the office and as soon as Peter relaxed, not sensing any threats, the kid was out like a light.
***
"Oh, he's asleep."
Jameson walked in, with his hands on his hips. He examined the untamed hair, Peter's pale skin and wheezing whenever he breathed. "He looks like shit."
"Yet you still asked him to come." Robbie added.
"Because believe it or not, Robertson, the paper goes on whether Parker has the flu or not." He went to his desk and looked at the pictures, giving an approved grunt. "Even when sick, this kid can take some pretty good damn photos."
Robbie nodded, walking over to Peter and placing his hands on Peter's head. His head felt abnormally warm. Peter started nudging his hand. "Shit. The kid's got a fever." He muttered, no seconds wasted as he quickly manhandled Peter out of the hoodie.
"Well duh. He's got that stupid jacket on him, it's like 100 degrees outside!" He watched Robbie set the hoodie aside.
"I doubt he's been taking care of himself." Robbie informed, “Probably been working himself shitless with all that college work that's been going on. Peter's been telling me how hard he's been trying to get ahead into the school year."
"Yeah, to qualify for that science internship." Jonah finished, remembering one day when Peter was happily babbling to anyone who was near about how he was so close to finding his dream job.
"Where you going boss?" The taller man asked as Jonah grabbed his car keys.
"To take care of business." He said as he walked out of the office "Make sure my best photographer isn't dead by the time I come back. Or you're fired!"
The door quietly closes.
Robbie chuckled as he shook his head in amusement. "Damn right my ass would be."
***
Peter awoke to the smell of chicken soup. He heard someone's heartbeat next to his left ear and felt hands caress through his hair.
"Mmh?"
"Welcome back to the land of the living, Pete. You really scared us." Betty, apparently, was really big- oh.
He was laying on her lap-. Face up.
Peter's face instantly flushed red, but made no effort to move.
A slammed door jolted him up, causing him to hide his pounding head against Betty.
Jameson walked into a room full of glares.
"Wha? Oh. Damn it." He walked over to Peter who still had his face smushed against Betty. "Sorry Parker, it's just a natural habit to slam doors."
Peter hesitantly glanced up. "J?" Was all he was able to say.
Jameson hummed. "Jeez, you look as shaky as a newborn kitten. Brant, sit him up. He needs to eat." He walked over to the microwave he had in his office and opened a can of soup. “You should be thanking Robbie. He let you rest when your fever spiked. I would have told you to suck it up.”
Robbie rubbed Betty's shoulder. "Hey, can you pick up ginger ale and cough drops at the corner store? We forgot to get some.”
She nodded, then kissed Peter on the forehead, making him blush. "Still burning. Gotta take care of yourself, Pete! Be back!"
As soon as she left and closed the door, Robbie pulled out two rolling chairs.
The microwave beeped in the background.
"From a can, but it's better than nothing." Jameson came over and sat on one of the chairs, placing the bowl on a nearby desk. He handed Peter a spoon.
Peter got the message. But clearly his motor skills didn't.
CLINK!
Peter sighed miserably as he looked at the spoon on the ground, "Sorry.”
The older man pulled out another spoon and looked at Peter with a shrug. "Your body is weak and you sweated out your electrolytes.” Jameson scooted closer and dipped the spoon in the soup. "Come on, eat."
huh?
What is Jameson doing?
"Mr.Jameson," He croaked. "I-what?" Was Jameson trying to? Oh. Oh.
Jameson is trying to feed him.
Peter could feel his face heat up immensely. "Sir, you really don’t need to-
Jameson held up a finger, "Clearly you can't feed yourself because you can't even hold a damn spoon." He interrupted him, holding the spoon closer. "Come on kid, my arm is getting tired."
Peter hesitantly opened up his mouth and let himself be fed, the embarrassment lingering within him.
Robbie hid the amused smirk he had. "Just enjoy the pampering while you can kid. It’s rare he does it but it happens.”
Peter snorted as Jameson defended himself, and continued to spoon-feed Peter.
Oh yeah, he’s definitely sick.