Chapter Text
Since he got bit, Peter rarely got sick - scratch that. Since he got bit, Peter had never gotten sick. He’d gotten a couple fevers from wound infections, but that wasn’t truly sick. So when he woke up with slight chills, and his throat aching, he instantly checked where he’d gotten shot two months back. The three bullet wounds had left faint scars, since the chemical that they’d been infused with weakened his arachnid abilities as he healed.
There was no green tinge to the scar, or odorous pus, so that couldn’t be it. He figured that it was just a middle of the night funk, so he turned over and went back to bed. It took him a while to go back to sleep, his chills quickly turning into a burning fire. When he did finally embrace the arms of slumber, he awoke barely an hour later, and repeated the entire process. This happened two more times before morning, and he began to become annoyed.
His alarm went off much too early. Well, technically, yes, it was on time, but it felt like he’d gotten two hours of sleep - he kinda had. As he rolled out of bed, his stomach churned and he clutched his mouth. He swallowed any puke that had risen, and began to get ready. The chills and burning heat that he phased through all night had not left him, and his throat was scratchier. He was sick. There was no denying it, at least not to himself.
Here was the issue. Today was important. He had an English test first thing in the morning, worth ten percent of his grade. In calculus, the teacher was introducing their culminating task, which was probably just going to be a hundred page packet that he had to do, but either way. In chem they had their unit closing lab. His third period was chill, thankfully, but honestly, what did photography really consist of anyway, besides taking photos and presenting them. After school, he was going to go to a cafe with MJ, and then she was going to show him this neat bookstore that she’d just found. It also happened to be lab day, which Tony had thankfully pushed to later in the day, since he also had meetings - which he was very displeased with (he was crying to Pepper about having to see the mean business men, no joke).
So to summarize, Peter could not be sick, under any circumstances.
He walked out of his room wearing jeans, a long sleeve shirt, a t-shirt, and a sweater on top. Thankfully, his choice of clothes wouldn’t be questioned, since it was early December, and the temperature had already dropped quite a bit. It also wouldn’t be frowned at when he added a winter coat on top of the ensemble, since everyone knew about his ability to thermoregulate, or lack thereof. Frickin’ arachnid genes.
“Hey, kiddo.” Tony pulled him into a hug, which Peter melted into. “Sleep well?” Tony asked him this every morning, whether he went to him in the middle of the night or not. Peter didn’t know if it was habitual, or if he just enjoyed asking.
Peter shook his head, knowing Tony would read through him. He had his own version of a Spidey-Sense, but for Peter’s sleep.
“Nightmare?” He heard Tony’s heart jump - more than it already did.
“No.” Peter didn’t expand, letting Tony just think he’d had a restless night of absolutely nothing.
“Okay, bambi.” Tony kissed his head before letting him go. He slid a stack of pancakes across the counter with a smile. “You have that test today, right?”
“Mhm.” He tried to eat the pancakes, but his stomach severely disagreed with him. When Tony took notice that he was just poking at it, rather than scarfing it down like it was his final meal, he became visibly worried.
“Are they not good?” He tears off a strip, tasting it for himself.
“No, they are!” Peter says quickly, afraid of hurting his feelings. “Just nerves, y’know. Stomach’s in knots and food is not helping.” He smiled weakly, the muscles in his cheeks shaking. Tony stared at him for a moment, just analyzing the boy, and-oh shit.
Peter could feel a cough creeping up his throat. It wasn’t one he could just play off by saying it was a crumb or something. No, it was one of those coughs that made it sound like a seal was dying in you chest, or you were in need of an exorcism.
“Oh, shoot, would ya look at the time!” Peter looked at his wrist, which did not currently have a watch on it. “I gotta go! I wanted to get a bit more studying in.”
“Al-.”
“Bye, Tony, love you, Tony!” He was in such a rush, he hadn’t realized what he said until he was in the elevator, which is also where he let out his exorcism-worthy fit of coughs. His chest was left burning and his stomach sore. Maybe walking would be better than riding with Happy, so that he wouldn’t have to hold in any more coughs. Doing so made him unable to breath, and his face replicated a pufferfish.
He went out the private door, the cool air striking his burning face pleasantly. In all honesty, a small part of him did miss walking to school. Of course, he’d take being driven over walking almost anyday, just for the extra sleep, but there was something nice about having earbuds in and walking down the street without a care in the world.
On his walk to school, he let out the awful coughs several times, earning him looks from everyone, including a woman who was in the process of speaking to a painting that was for sale at a small stand two blocks from Midtown High.
Suddenly, he spotted a beauti-errr funny brunette just feet away from him. I forgot MJ lived on this route. He barely even walked to school from the tower, since Happy would always just drive him. He picked up the pace, jogging - even though his body screamed at him for it - over to her, trying to scare her.
“Boo!” He croaked out, which was severely embarrassing.
“I can here you, y’know. You are the least quiet superhero I've ev-.” She whirls around to look at him, probably preparing to just deepen her loving bullying, but freezes in the middle of her words. “Jesus, loser, you look like you crawled out of the depths of hell.” That just made Peter feel so loved! Though she was probably right, with his nose pink and his body shaking with chills despite sweating. “Oh my god, are you sick? If you’re sick, stay six feet away from me!”
“M’not sick.” Peter groaned, yawning to enforce the lie. “Just slept badly.” He rubbed his eyes, truly feeling exhaustion so heavily, it seemed to seep into his bones. “Really badly.”
“Okay then…” MJ fell into step beside him. “Why’d you walk today? Happy sick?” Why did she automatically assume everyone was sick?
“No, I just wanted some fresh air. I have like ten tests today.” He smiles, and then feels a cough come up. “Woah, look at that!” He points somewhere in the sky, distracting MJ as he stepped away to let out his coughed.
“At what?” She squints at the sky, searching for a moment as Peter coughed. Somehow, the awful sounds don’t draw her immediate attention. When her gaze snaps back to him, he steps closer, as if he’d never moved in the first place.
“It was a massive bird. You must’ve missed it.” He shrugged. He then realized that birds did not exist in New York in December. Migration, and stuff. He just hoped MJ wouldn’t come to the same realization. Maybe he could play it off and say it was a canadian goose - wait, no, those migrate. Cardinals don’t, but they’re tiny. Whatever.
In the end, MJ didn’t notice, thank Thor.
“Who was coughing? I hate sick people.” MJ shuttered. I can tell. She’d only expressed such feelings at least twenty times now. “I never get sick. Except for in kindergarten, but that was when this kid, Ernie Cooper, got the flu and threw up all over me.” An image formed in his head of a little MJ covered in puke, and he decided that that was a whole other level of gross that Peter wished never to think of again.
“I think it was the guy going into the bodega?” Peter pointed his thumb behind them. “Do you think you’ll do well for chem?” He paled just speaking about it. “My dad let me practice everything in the lab, but I'm still feeling kinda iffy.” He’d messed up titration at least three times, and had only gotten it right four. That was a forty-three percent chance of messing it up in the lab, and Peter was not pleased with the largeness of that number.
“Your dad? That’s new.” MJ nudged him slightly, and his cheeks turned pink. He hadn’t realized he’d said it. He’d only called Tony his dad a handful of times, mostly after a panic attack or a nightmare, and usually in the darkness of night, where it didn’t feel as real as saying it in broad daylight, where it felt heavy and meaningful - not that it wasn’t meaningful!
“It’s nothing. Just answer the question. I need to know if I’m gonna have the worst mark in the class!” Peter cried, his voice sounding slightly higher pitched and nasally, probably from the fact that his nasal cavities and sinus’ were clogged.
“As much as I could. Not everyone has twenty-four hour access to a lab.” MJ sighed. Peter gave her a are you being so serious right now look, and she responded with a little what? arm gesture.
“I literally invited you over to study, like, five times - two times of which you said you couldn’t!” Peter defended himself, his arms in the air in the I surrender position. It was true. The two times she said no, it was like two in the morning, and he was panicking.
“Yeah, yeah.” She let out a huff. “You’ll be fine, loser. You’re the smartest kid in the class, even though you skip, like, half the classes. And yes, I know it’s for spidey stuff, but either way!” MJ chuckles just as they approach Midtown High. She lets out a dreadful sigh, pausing briefly. “God, I really hate this place.”
“Why do you come then?” Peter furrows his brows. “You could get into any STEM high school you wanted, full ride. Why here?”
“That’s a story for another time, Petey.” she says ominously, just as Ned falls into step with them from wherever he came from. Why was she always so mysterious and somehow managed to make her words sound almost prophetical? Someone needed to do a deep dive on this girl.
“Don’t call me that!” Peter grumbles, punching the girl in the arm softly. He didn’t like when anyone other than Tony or Pepper called him Petey, for some odd reason. The same applied for Pete. Though honestly, he wasn’t too bothered by MJ calling him that, but he couldn’t let her know that!
“Don’t call you w-Holy moly Peter, are you okay?” Peter lets out a sneeze as Ned looks at him in horror. Jeez, you call a man your best friend, and he still looks at you like something out of his trash can. They step into the warmth of the building, and yet Peter still shakes from the fever-thats-not-a-fever.
“I’m fine! Just a bad sleep, plus it’s cold.” Peter shrugs it off, but can feel another hacking fit come on. “I’m gonna run to the washroom, be back in a minute.” He stumbles over, pushes the door open, makes sure no one’s in there, then lets out his coughs.
He reconnects with his beloved friends, fifteen minutes before class is set to begin. He doesn’t really partake in the conversation, since a wave off nausea has washed over him like a-so-comforting blanket. Maybe if he puked, he’d feel much better. But puking took much longer than coughing, and someone was guaranteed to come in, and hear him, and tell someone, and then that someone will call Tony, and he’ll get in trouble for not telling Tony he was sick, and MJ will be mad at him for not telling her he was sick, and Ned will also be mad, and then he’ll have no friends, and-.
He’s snapped out of his panic when, unfortunately, Flash comes over. “Holy crap, Penis, you look like shit. I mean, you always look like shit, but especially now! Are you sick? If you’re sick, don’t come near me!”
“I’m not sick, goddamnit! Why does everyone keep asking-.” Another coughing fit builds in his throat. “Gotta go!”
He runs to the bathroom, repeats the process of making sure it was empty, then once again lets out the throat-wrecking sounds. There is a highly possible chance that hiding sickness was much harder than hiding the fact that he was Spider-Man.
Today was going to be long.