Peter tries to hide it; he really does. He lags behind the two to stifle his persistent sneezing. He swallows back coughs and takes in short, light breaths to keep from jostling his lungs too much. He’s got his body tensed to keep his limbs from giving into chills, and he’s already slipped his mask over his face to hide the deep flush of fever.
And, his focused attempts in keeping Tony and Steve in the dark about this stupid flu that’s been going around school are successful, with both older men too focused on their differing battle strategies.
That is until FRIDAY interrupts the three when they are only seconds from exiting the tower.
“Sir, I believe Peter is unwell.”
Peter has just enough time to shoot a sharp glare toward the ceiling before Tony and Steve whip around to face him.
“I’m fine-”
“His temperature is elevated.”
Peter’s clenching his fists at his sides and cursing the damn system hard enough in his mind that Steve would have his head if he heard. He parts his lips to argue, but Steve cuts in and addresses FRIDAY while keeping two sharp eyes on Peter’s masked face.
“How bad?”
“I don’t-” Peter tries, only to get cut off by the system once more.
“102.8 degrees Fahrenheit, sir.”
Peter is taken aback by this, and he’s thankful that his mask hides the abrupt surprise that washes over his face. He’s feeling bad, sure, but he figured his temperature was sitting more around 100.4 or somewhere close to that. The high number, however, explains why it feels as if someone is pulling his head into two and why his body is leaping from stifling hot to icy cold in a heart beat.
A finger slipping under his mask pulls him from his thoughts, and he takes a staggering step back, trying to put some distance between himself and Steve. He holds both hands up in clear form of surrender, seemingly necessary considering the tense gazes watching him. “You guys, really. I’m-”
The final word catches in his throat, coming to a grating stop that carries a series of forceful coughs behind it. His chest burns for release, and he caves, slipping his mask up and doubling over to cough harshly into his fist, over and over until tears blur in his eyes as his face heats to a deep red.
Every muscle in his body is trembling from the force, but he can still faintly feel a large hand smooth over his back. And, it’s a struggle, but he can just make out Tony’s rapid talking with FRIDAY. Though, he can’t seem to make out the words because everything sounds muffled, faint, with only each grating cough bursting against his eardrums.
Panic stemmed from lack of air begins to settle within his chest, but his coughing finally tampers off before the panic can spark into anything major. He swallows thickly, wincing at the burning pain from the back of his throat, and straightens his back.
“I thought I told you to get a flu shot,” Tony says, crossing his arms and quirking a brow toward the young boy.
Peter’s face scrunches up under Tony’s unyielding gaze. Yes, he remembers Tony strictly telling him to get the flu shot, but that same day, there had been a store robbery, and he had gotten so tangled up in that that any thought of a flu shot slipped his mind.
And when he remembered the next morning, he just casually pushed the thought to the far back of his mind because he may be slightly afraid of needles. Slightly. Really, just a tiny bit.
“I forgot,” he rasps out, smoothing one hand over the back of his neck just as Steve slips his mask the rest of the way off to slide a large hand over his forehead.
“You forgot,” Tony repeats slowly just as Steve drops his hand with a deep frown etched on his face.
“That doesn’t matter now,” Steve says. “What’s done is done, and now he’s very sick.”
“It does matter,” Tony spits out, dropping both hands to his sides. “If he can’t listen to one simple order, how is he going to listen to important orders as an Avenger?”
Steve whips around to fully face Tony with an expression colored in disbelief. “He forgot, Tony. People forget things.”
“Not Peter,” Tony argues. “He’s got a brain the size of Atlantis. He doesn’t forget things.”
Peter tries hard to follow the sharp words, but he’s suddenly feeling incredibly hot, hotter than he’s felt all day. A small voice in the back of his mind tells him this is different than a temperature shift stemmed from his fever. No, this is a burning heat brought along a wave of adrenaline as his body fights a losing battle to stay conscious.
“Um, guys,” he mutters out, voice sounding hollow in his ears. He blinks heavily as both men turn around, and then the ground is rushing toward his face as everything fades to black.
*****
He comes to to the sound of hushed, tense voices paired with an odd feeling over him, and when he cracks an eye open, he can just make out Steve and Tony fighting over a blanket draped over him.
“That’s just the fever! You’ll smother him if you pile on too many blankets.”
“You’re supposed to keep a person warm when they are sick!”
Tony sighs. “And we can still do that without fifty blankets, Steve.”
Peter’s blinking is slow, heavy, and very confused. He can’t remember getting to the bed. He can’t actually remember much of anything, if he’s honest. All he knows is that his throat feels drier than the hottest desert, and it hurts, along with his head, his muscles, hell, his entire body hurts. He now knows what it means when someone says they feel as if they’ve been run over by a truck. He’s completely sore from head to toe, and he feels utterly drained.
“Guys,” he rasps out, the small word cutting up his throat enough to throw him into a coughing fit. There are hands suddenly pushing him up into a sitting position, and he coughs harshly into his first for an endless moment until the coughing tampers off along with his fleeting energy.
The sudden drop back against his pillow is slowed by strong hands, and when he’s settled, he struggles to keep his eyes open.
“You okay, Pete?” Steve asks, voice gentle and laced with an obvious hint of worry that Peter catches onto even in his sorry states.
Peter shrugs weakly. “Been better,” he mutters, tired eyes lighting up when Tony brings a glass of water with a straw sticking out to his lips. The water is like an oasis down his desert of a throat, and he takes in as much as Tony will allow before the older man pulls the glass away.
“That felt nice,” he breathes out, eyes fluttering closed. But, he pries one back open when Steve brushes damp bangs from his forehead.
“How does a shower sound?”
Tony scoffs from his spot on the other side of Peter’s bed. “He doesn’t need a shower; he just needs medicine and rest.”
“He’s covered in sweat,” Steve argues, and Tony spits out a biting laugh.
“Because you’ve been smothering him with blankets.”
“Because he’s shivering!”
“From the fever!”
Peter squeezes his eyes shut, hoping to block out the loud voices that are driving nails into his pounding head, but they are too close, too persistent, and he just wants to sleep. A third voice coming into the mix has him cracking both eyes open.
“Permission to speak out of term, sir.”
Tony and Steve fall silent, and Tony offers an affirmative hum in response to FRIDAY.
“What Peter needs right now is for both of you to shut up. Give him one extra blanket, but no shower until he’s feeling strong enough to stand on his own. He needs rest, and he can’t get rest with you two bickering at each other. So, either shut up, or leave the room.”
Peter’s jaw falls slack, and he blinks slowly at the AI’s sharp words. He drags a slow gaze between the two, noting Steve’s similar look of surprise that contradicts the brief twinge of irritation coloring Tony’s face.
“Okay,” is all Tony says, and he and Steve fall silent, both looking to Peter.
“I... Sorry?” Peter mutters, unsure of what to say against the weight of two unreadable gazes.
“No, we’re sorry,” Steve says, smoothing the extra blanket over Peter’s trembling frame. “Just get some rest. We promise to behave.”
“Yeah, kid. We’ll shut up, so you get some sleep.” Tony adds.
Peter nods, face pulling into confusion as his eyes slip closed. He’s going to have to ask FRIDAY how often the system gets to snap like that when he doesn’t feel like death warmed over, but for now, he’s already succumbing to sleep. He can hear faint shifting about the room paired with quiet talking that carries no heat with it.
